Chapter Text
Their captors had caught on after the first week or so. True to their initial resolve, neither spoke, neither gave up the code that allowed them to communicate with one another. They had not, however, been allowed further communication.
He had not seen Daniel since, and the days had begun to bleed into one another. That had been the fracture, the sliver through which a knife slipped to begin prying Q apart.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” Bulbous said. He’d been given no names so Q was left to devise his own, a commentary on the man’s intellect for all that it was applicable to his girth. “Come now,” the vile man continued in unaccented English, “you cannot maintain this charade forever.”
Q maintained his silence. The man leaned over the back of Q’s chair, uncomfortably close. Q could smell onions on his breath and his stomach churned. “We know it’s you , Quartermaster.” Q jerked his head away in disgust. “We know who you are and one way or another you will help us.”
Q sneered but persisted in his silence. Bulbous backhanded him, snapping his neck back painfully. He allowed himself a hiss before glaring back up at his torturer. He was allowed a moment of hate before being jerked up and led back to the basement room that served as his cell. He’d grown adept at navigating the too-familiar rooms to his jail blindfolded. It was the only way he ever experienced them. Bulbous was his only human connection. The name had been funny enough the first few days. Q had laughed at his joke. So had Daniel. It wasn’t funny anymore.
Trapped in ever-present grey with only his memories, he was sure he felt himself going a little mad. That night he dreamt of James saving him and woke with a start, cursing his weakness. The next morning Bulbous was not alone in their sparse interrogation room. There was a screen behind him and a laptop on the table beside him.
On the monitor, bound, gagged and gaunt was Daniel.
Time had compressed and expanded to emerge as an eternal day of relentless searching that had stretched into weeks. Food was fuel and sleep an enemy that took him unawares only to be overthrown at his first opportunity. James criss-crossed Europe following lead after lead and his body ached, his eyes burned and his mind felt in danger of permanent fracture.
He was here, surely. All signs pointed to Q still being in Europe and James had been relentless following the leads.
"James." A voice called him; his name hung in the air, ignored. "James, come back."
He blinked and looked around. “Mariana,” he said using her new name. Lucia walked from the darkened room to stand beside him on the shallow ledge that served as the balcony outside a large full-height window. Lucia pulled from her cigarette and let out a puff of air. Bond watched it shroud the air between them before disappearing into the night.
Lucia’s face was cast in the half light of the new moon, the only illumination of the sleepy town in which she’d settled, high in the mountains of the Sierra Nevadas. In the distance, unseen, a stream babbled into the night. Together they looked down upon the white village cast in the eerie glow of the moon. Far in the distance, further down the mountain were the cerulean dots of other villages.
“I have few connections left. None that know I am still alive.” Lucia took a final drag from her cigarette before flicking it past the railing. He looked at her with the little bit of hope he could muster. She was his only point with any sort of tie to what was left after Spectre’s demise. “Why should I do this for you? Risk that to find one person?
“It is a lot to ask,” James acknowledged. He knew he should regret what he was doing. She’d made it out, she was in hiding no matter how she wanted to pretty up her retirement, but he was desperate. “I would not come to you had I any other option.”
“It is a bother that you were able to find me so easy,” she said.
“It wasn’t easy.” He offered her a sad smile in apology. It truly hadn’t been easy. He’d come to her as soon as he’d realized who and where she was.
A hand reached for him, settling on his bare forearm and he recoiled. Her touch seared his over-sensitive skin.
“This is new for you,” she said. “I would not imagine you are a man who often rejects a woman’s touch.” Lucia’s words shook Bond, their sting needled into him.
He could not stop his reaction. He grabbed for her, hand finding purchase on the swelling curve of her hip. His fingers dug into soft, yielding flesh. Too hard, yet her gasp was tinged with pleasure. She smiled but her eyes were hard. Incensed, he yanked her against him and molded himself into her, his body was a weapon, sex a deflection, negating her words.
She melted into him, quicksilver flowing over the planes of his body. Memory gave promise to the hitch in her breath. His free hand let go the cool wrought iron of the balcony railing to bury itself in the silken warmth of her hair. He pulled, arching her neck, and she groaned, heat rolling in waves off her skin.
Bond claimed her mouth: a definitive statement on his virility, masculinity. A sham.
James’s body recoiled even as he pressed himself against her. His blood was sludge in his veins and his cock lay dormant, uninterested where it pressed between them. Irate, he broke off the kiss and Lucia looked up at him, lips full and wet but her eyes had changed, grown sad.
“It’s like that, is it?” Lucia’s voice was soft. He let her go, hands stinging, and turned back to the cool mountain breeze. “Poor woman.”
“Man,” James corrected.
“Man, now?” Lucia asked. James grunted. “The one you are seeking?” Understanding colored her voice as whatever she saw in his face was answer enough.
“I saved your life once.”
Lucia hummed in response, sharing his view. A soft sigh drifted into the night as she turned and went to the cabinet beside them. She pulled out a bottle and poured two shots. “They will insist I stay in the states this time. The Americans.” She scoffed. “As if that would make me any safer.” She crossed back to him and offered her second glass. He took it but did not drink.
“Some of the States are quite nice,” he said.
“I had to fight for Europe. No one thinks anything of an old woman living on a mountain side.”
“Old?”
“Flattery is unbecoming of you.”
“Lies are unbecoming of you.”
Lucia smiled almost despite herself.
“I did save your life,” James said, returning to his point. Her lips narrowed and her eyes sparkled in the moonlight as she glared at him.
“Desperation is also unbecoming.”
“I am desperate.” For one brief moment, an eternity, he let the layers shrouding him slough off. He was desperate and with her eyes on him, he let himself actually feel it. He was stripped bare, more exposed than the night they’d shared together that winter. More exposed than a hundred breathless nights spent with a mark. A hand rose to flutter the hair over his brow, a gesture achingly painful, disarmingly maternal. His breath stuttered in his chest and he closed his eyes, grasping for the fragments of his soul to piece back together.
“You are so incredibly broken,” Lucia whispered. He words were the nail on the coffin he could feel pressing against his shoulders.
“Yes,” he said and the word tore his voice raw. “He means so much. Is worth this much.”
“How can one price salvation? A person cannot be one man’s savior.”
“Then I’m damned,” he snapped, pulling back from her. “But I already knew that.” He drained the glass in his hand.
“I will do it,” she said when he wrenched the empty glass from his lips. “Because of the look in your eyes this moment, I will do it.” She paused. “And because it is owed.” Relief swept through James, claws of hope digging deep into the aching pieces of his heart. “But know this, James, should I ever see you again, should you ever come to me again, you will not walk away.”
He nodded.
“Sleep, James,” she said, voice again deep and maternal. “I will find what can be found.” The elegant tap of her heels echoed down the hall until there was silence. Lost, James lay over the bright coverlet of the bed she’d provided. The mountain breeze drifted in from the open windows but even it’s gentle caress could not soothe the restlessness living in his skin. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
“Is that the best you’ve got Double-Oh?” the Quartermaster’s voice mocked, for all the man’s ass must be smarting from that last landing on the sparring mat. James didn’t feel the need to respond, opting instead to lean over and offer Q a hand. Q waved him off, irritation clean in his eyes as he stood and brushed non-existent dust from his pants. James chuckled with affection. His Quartermaster resembled one of his preening cats.
“Again?” Bond asked, resuming his stance a pace away from Q.
“Yes a-bloody-gain, you brute,” Q said barely loud enough for James to hear. He smiled and noted that Q had positioned himself in a perfect fighter’s stance, hands up and feet evenly placed to bear his weight. Good .
Not giving his trainee a chance to breathe, Bond attacked. Not giving ground, Q met him, deftly blocking a blow before dancing lightly away. Very Good.
“You learn quick,” James said.
“Fat lot of good it will do me.”
“Now, Q,” James said, voice as patronizing as it could go, “you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.” Q scoffed and bounced on the balls of his feet, dodging another attack on his legs. “See, you’re doing so well.”
“Insufferable man.” Q ducked a punch and reached to offer one of his own, Bond spun away a half breath before it landed. “Fuck!”
“Come on, Q.” James’s voice practically dripped seduction. Exhilaration and lust sang in his blood as their bodies circled each other, clashing for potent moments before disengaging. “If you want to hit me, just hit me.”
Suddenly, Q was a flurry of movement, limbs and slender frame moving faster than James would have expected, taking him off guard and onto the ground. “Oof,” he grunted, then sighed as Q’s momentum propelled him right onto James’s hips, legs straddling him and fists poised for a punch. “Oh, Q.” Bond winked to hide his shock. “If I had known you wanted me on my back-”
Q lurched back and James sat, bringing his knees up to keep him from leaving. “No, don’t,” James pleaded. *This is wrong.* James brought his hands up to cup Q’s face and watched his lips as a soft, sibilant breath puffed out.
“James,” Q said, and his voice was unbearably tight. “Bond what are you doing?” There was no color in his voice, his words were barely a whisper. “James-”
James groaned and pulled Q’s face down to meet him, lips burning as they pressed together. *This isn’t how it happened.* Q gave a shudder and pressed against him, sending lighting down James spine. “Oh, God, James, God.” Q pulled off the kiss far enough to press their foreheads together. “What are you-”
James forestalled further discussion by rolling them over the mat, pressing Q down to the floor and covering him, hands running through his hair, down his neck to his chest. “James, please,” Q begged and James littered his pale neck with nips and kisses, bringing bright flushes of red to bloom under his skin. Impossibly long, slender legs wrapped around his hips and instinct pushed James into a thrust. “Yesss,” Q hissed, “oh, yes, Double-Oh.”
James jerked, the designation snapping something in him. “This isn’t what happened,” he said incongruously and sat bolt upright, heart racing. His stomach churned and his skin was slick. The wind blowing in from the window left him feeling queasy. Blinking, James let the room settle from its rocking lurch and realized his pocket was buzzing.
Confused, he retrieved and unlocked the phone. Signal had been intermittent in the mountains. A series of messages loaded in quick succession. One caught his eye an email from M. The search for Q was being called off. They were abandoning Q to his abusers. Bond closed his eyes as his world went red. Breathe . He resumed reading, seething at every word.
There was going to be a memorial service. Mallory could all the damned services he wanted. James didn’t have to do what the man told him anymore, not that he had ever been good at doing so to begin with.
Another email came through moments before he could throw the phone in disgust. Eve’s name atop the message spared the phone.
From: Eve <EMoneypenny@MI-6 . gov>
To: Bond <007@MI-6 . gov>
Date: Wed, Feb 24, 2016 at 10:07 AM
Subject: Memorial Service
You should come
-E. Moneypenny
He flipped to the messenger and replied to her directly.
007 21:47pm
Not bloody likely.
The phone rang before he could work himself up.
“No, really you should come,” Eve said, voice brusque. He tried to reply but she cut him off. “You need to come.”
“He isn’t dead, Moneypenny. It’s a waste of my time.”
“Have you found a lead? No, nevermind.” She took a sharp breath. “Come anyways.”
“Eve-”
“James, I am telling you. You need to come to the service in London .”
Bond recognized the tone of her voice, her words hid layers of meaning. “I do have a lead,” he offered.
“Tell me about it when you get here.” She rang off. Blasted woman . He threw himself from the bed and stalked to the main room of the house.
“There hasn’t been time,” Lucia said, shocked as James marched to her. She placed the book she’d been reading on the table beside her arm chair. “I’ve only just reached out to my contacts. They are, understandably, skittish.”
“No, I understand,” James said. “I need to go.”
“But-”
“Here.” James held out a hand and gestured towards the notepad by her book. “Text this number when you get anything. Send anything, a word, gibberish, it doesn’t matter. I will meet you 24 hours later, exactly. At San Antonio de la Florida.”
She eyed him, weighing, calculating. A slender, manicured finger tapped at her lip. “Very well,” she said and took the notepad with its scribbled numbers.
James had nothing to offer but himself. Taking her face in his hands he turned her lips up to him and kissed her. He was firm, gentle, an apology for earlier, and an offering of gratitude. He could not offer passion but he allowed a little of himself to slip through their shared breath. Using every trick he knew Bond overwhelmed her, taking her, for the briefest of moments, away from this small forgotten life on the side of a mountain. She panted as they broke apart and her smile told him she understood. “Go,” she whispered.
London was cold and dreary, stereotypes being stereotypes for a reason. The last of a miserable winter held its grip tight, lashing James with wind-driven rain as he walked through full streets. He filed it away, barely feeling the knifing cold water stinging his face. It was just another data point.
James had been tracking Eve, remarkable in a red sheath dress covered by a fitted coat, for nearly six blocks. Instinct had driven him to her first. After another block her step faltered and she stopped to gaze at an evening gown in a shop window. She tapped a foot thrice, paused, then twice, then gave a second pause before delivering a final tap. Eve looked up at the display a moment longer before resuming her walk.
A cold smile of acknowledgment tugged at James mouth. Clever girl. She knew she was being followed. Her pace was a bit more deliberate as she wove in and out of the crowd. He could not discern her destination as her path wound through the city. But she’d proven herself and so he followed.
Navigating the tube had been a struggle but he managed to keep eyes on her from one car back. Eventually she disembarked in a small station, empty but for the eyes behind obviously placed cameras. James moved to buy a paper from a dispenser, ostensibly eyeing the headline. Eve strode purposefully to a door situated just out of view of the cameras and entered a code on the door, slipping behind it quickly. Folding his paper he followed her. They keypad gave him no pause. He tapped in 0-0-7 and was rewarded with it’s opening snick.
Eve was waiting for him, just on the other side of the door.
“James,” she said, mouth twitching in amusement and eyes sparkling. James was not feeling indulgent.
“Moneypenny,” he snapped. She sighed and began walking down a long, narrow hall. Bond fell into step beside her.
“There was a mission. Two nights ago,” Eve said. “We had solid intel and made an attempt. It was successful on some counts.”
“What are you telling me?” James’s heart pulsed. Q’s been found.
Eve paused at a green door and looked at him before opening it. Bond lost sensation in his limbs and his breath froze. They found him. James took him in, too-pale face and long limbs stretched over a hospital bed and a panoply of medical equipment. His heard the gentle beep announcing a steady heartbeat. He felt his own pulse fall into its rhythm, a reckless fancy.
“Daniel Boothroyde was apparently also taken at the same time as the Quartermaster,” Eve said, voice gentle. Confusion flooded James. Daniel , that wasn’t Q’s name. James had hacked MI-6 Q’s name was-. “The Quartermaster has a twin brother. Identical,” Eve added. Realization settled in as James suddenly felt the ice cold of the glass separating their observation room from the Quarter- Daniel’s hospital room. His hands curled into fists. “They were both in the same city,” Eve continued. “Whoever took them knew only what Q looked like and didn’t know which was which, so took them both.”
James needed to focus on her words but weeks of no sleep and a fragmented heart caught up with him. He slumped to the floor.
“James.” Eve knelt, wrapping arms around him. “James.” He looked up at her.
“Who?”
“We aren’t sure. The house we raided was spare and the ownership is a tangled mess. We need the Quartermaster to unravel it.” Her mouth twisted bitterly. “All we had to go on was a bit of chatter intercepted from past known spectre contacts but we don’t know who’s behind it or where they are. We went expecting Q but they’d split the twins up.”
“So we’re no better off.” James turned away from her eyes.
“He will not work for them willingly. That was likely a bit of a shock, but from what we gathered from Daniel before he slipped into unconsciousness was that they were using him to coerce Q into helping them. ” Eve looked at him pointedly.
“Q is steel,” James confirmed, understanding.
“They lost their pressure point on Q. They’re going to need another.”
“The memorial is a front.”
“They haven’t been able to penetrate into MI-6’s files yet, despite having Q. They are going to need another incentive to keep him cooperative. At least that’s what we’re hoping.”
“You’re thinking someone we recognize might show up at the memorial, looking for more of Q’s family.” James realized why Eve had been so insistent on him returning. Eve nodded. “I’ll need a suit,” James said.