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How could you be so unbearably thick?! You should have dumped that tea on the floor the moment he handed it to you. You’re an absolute disgrace to MI-6; might as well resign if you get out of this alive. Who wants a Quartermaster who lets someone kidnap him out of his own lab? You have no one to blame but yourself, Sherrinford. No one but yourself.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Q whispered furiously to the voice in his head.
His jeering self-doubt was the last thing he needed right now. He needed to focus and get his bearings. The blindfold over his eyes was made out of something that felt like burlap, the too tight handcuffs biting into his wrists were probably Scotland Yard standard issue, the restraints binding his ankles to the chair legs were thinner, but just as tight; most likely zip ties. Judging by the damp thickness of the nearly-suffocating air, he was probably in a tiny basement somewhere. He thanked God that he had decided to wear his heavy jumper today or he probably would have frozen to death.
Any 00 worth their salt would have escaped by now. No wonder M keeps you locked in the lab all day. You’re like a child, not even able to take a night shift alone. They probably aren’t even surprised, that is, if they even notice you’re gone. Bloody Tanner would make a better agent than you.
Q squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. No. None of that would get him out of here. He took a deep breath. The last thing he remembered was working late, long after everyone else had gone home so he could finally have some peace and quiet to work on plans for a Bond-proof car that even 007 couldn’t destroy. C had wandered in somewhere around 2:00 am, carrying two cups of coffee shop tea and bearing his trademark seemingly innocuous but perpetually suspicious grin.
“MI-6 is lucky to have someone with your work ethic,” he had said innocently. “The world would be a better place if every intelligence agency had employees as dedicated as you are.”
“I’m just doing my duty for queen and country,” he had replied with an ounce of sarcasm without looking up from his computer screen.
“Still, I imagine it gets lonely down here with none of your minions scurrying around. I’d be happy to give you some company.”
That should have been the red flag, and Q should have told him to leave right that instant or discreetly texted Eve to come remove him. But no, he just took a sip of that damn tea to reduce the extremely uncomfortable tension and that was the end of that. Completely black.
Stunning job, Quartermaster. Highest marks in the class.
The sound of a large door creaking open and the sudden rush of an incoming draft made Q jump. No doubt it was his captor coming to make his demands or, knowing C, to gloat. He sucked in a sharp gasp of air as he heard the footsteps approach him. Stay calm, stay collected, he commanded himself. What would Bond do? Stay calm, stay collected. Stay one step ahead.
“C, I assume? Would you care to enlighten me as to why you’ve interrupted my perfectly productive night?” he said confidently into the darkness.
He was met with an exasperated gasp.
“I’ve asked you countless times to call me Max. All this formality and secrecy is so suffocating. There aren’t any secret agents here, Sherrinford, just friends.” The words were so close, Q could almost feel them on his ear.
“M is the only one who knows my name,” he growled back, trying to sound intimidating, but C only chuckled.
“I know everything, dear boy. I thought you of all people would know that by now. Surveillance technology is limitless these days. There isn’t a secret on earth that I can’t bring to life.”
A shiver ran down Q’s spine when he a pair of hands came to rest on his shoulders, fingers clamping down slowly around his collarbones as if trying to gradually crush them. He winced when fingernails dug into his skin even through the heavy knit of his jumper. But while the fingers continued to bruise his skin, one thumb trailed gently across the nape of his neck.
“I know you have two older brothers who tormented you your entire life, crushing your self-esteem even though you were always your parents’ golden child. I know you got into Cambridge at 16 and completed your first degree in two years. You have a Masters and two Ph.D.’s, but you don’t like to talk about them because you’re afraid to sound too pretentious. The whole ego thing is just an act you started after your first marriage fell apart. It’s always heartbreaking when the man you love leaves you for a girl whose way too young for him. How is his sister doing, by the way? I hear she’s very broken up after he died in that car crash in 2009. But it’s good that you moved on. I’m sure our friend James will realize your little crush soon enough.”
Though he knew it was impossible, Q hoped that if he closed his eyes tightly enough maybe all the images of his past would stop flashing in his brain. No one was supposed to know any of that. Hell, he’d done his best to repress most of it himself! It felt as if every organ in his body had turned itself inside out and any minute now he might vomit. The skin on arms burned and his chest ached like someone was squeezing his lung, but he swallowed hard anyway and prayed his face wasn’t showing what a massive sting of nerves C has carved open.
“If you have no other purpose here other than recounting my life’s story, forgive me if I drift off to sleep again,” he sneered and hoped C didn’t notice the waver in his voice.
“Oh don’t be so self-absorbed,” the other man scoffed. “This actually has barely anything to do with you. It’s Mallory and Bond I really want. You just happen to be the irresistibly delectable bait they will inevitable come running for. Not that they can be blamed at all…”
The death grip on his shoulders disappeared, but the relief was short lived. Q stifled a gasp as the buttons on the top of his jumper came undone and a rush of cold air hit his exposed skin. But the sudden exposure was nowhere near as jolting as the palm that landed possessively on the middle of his chest, fingers resting threateningly at the base of his throat. The darkness imposed by the blindfold became ten times more enclosing and so heavy that it promised to crush him completely. He could feel the heat of C’s breath against the tender spot where his jaw met his neck, and the chill of his lips just barely brushing the skin. Q fought to bite back another rising gasp. It had been a very long time since someone had touched him so intimately, but this was different. This wasn’t affection, this was ownership. The voice in his head tried to make some scathing remark, but even that fell short into a mumble that he couldn’t understand.
Stay calm. Stay collected. Stay one step ahead. If he lost his head now, that would be the end of it all. Q strained his wrists against the handcuffs, digging the biting metal into his skin so the pain would distract him from C’s wandering hands and conquering lips. If Bond was in this situation, he would undoubtedly let his enemy believe he had the upper hand and then strike the moment they let their guard down. But how to get out of these damn cuffs and zip ties?!
Think, think, think, you useless twit! MI-6 might find and rescue you, but what if they don’t? What if you’re on your own? Christ, you’re a goddamned Quartermaster, fucking act like it. Think of something!
He was doing his damnedest to come up with escape strategies, but C was not making it easy for him. Q was about to let out an exhausted breath when fingers twisted into his hair and a rough kiss attacked his mouth. The tips of his toes curled with disgust. Intimacy was not something that came easy to Q, and having it thrust upon him by a man he hated while bound to a chair was racking his nerves raw. He had no idea how James could seduce so many women for information; the insincerity and the violation of it all just felt wrong in so many ways, especially while trapped in complete darkness. Q prayed that C would stop, that he would get bored of his unrelenting stiffness and leave him in peace to come up with a plan, but Q was far from that lucky. He could have sworn his heart stopped beating as he felt the buckle of his belt come undone.
Panic suddenly took hold of Q’s stomach and beads of sweat began to rush down his neck. He needed a plan. He needed a plan NOW! His fingers extended as far as he could reach them through the cuffs, struggling to get away from C’s assault, but all they reached was the wood of the chair. Then it struck him. Wood. The chair was made of wood! Though almost all of C’s body weight was racked against Q’s chest and lap, he knew if he did not take the chance now, it wouldn’t make a damn difference in the world if MI-6 rescued him or not. Taking a deep breath, mustering his strength, and bracing for pain, Q threw all of his momentum to the left once, twice, and on the third time went crashing to the ground.
He couldn’t hold back the scream that escaped when his arm him the ground. He wasn’t sure if it was the radius or the ulna, but one of his bones snapped where it was crushed between the back of the chair and the concrete floor, but it was worth it. As he had hope, the wood had splintered and with a few harsh kicks, his legs were free. Q heard C groan, and began desperately dragging his face across the floor until he worked the blindfold off. Thankfully the room was dim, so it took hardly any time for his eyes to adjust. They were in what looked like the basement of a factory, and a large one at that. Hope surged through him. The cellar was filled with enough debris that there was bound to be something sharp enough to saw at the handcuff chains!
Q clenched his teeth to work through the pain in his arm and began inching his way across the floor, but he barely got three feet before C grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, painfully throwing him onto his back. Much to Q’s pleasure, the man’s nose was bleeding.
“And here I was being kind,” C hissed, spitting out some of the blood that had run into his mouth. “I had rather hoped that we might enjoy our time together, Sherrinford, but I will make Bond find the pieces of you if I have to. It’s a shame, really, that such a pretty face has to go to waste…”
Q’s confidence quickly ran dry when C reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife half the size of his forearm. He tried to roll off to the side, but his captor swiftly had his left foot pressed down on Q’s chest, forcing his full weight onto the broken arm behind his back until there was nothing he could do but scream in agony. Through the haze of pain he could just barely think straight, what would Bond do? What would Bond do? What would Bond do? He tried to think straight, to give himself an answer, but rather than come up with anything useful or life-saving, he simply cried out hoarsely, “Please, help me!” He didn’t know how or why it slipped out. There was no one around to hear. No one around to help. Just a madman with a knife.
With a final heave effort, Q kicked and flailed with the very last of his strength, but C simply laughed and completely pinned him down, the cold edge of his blade coming to rest against Q’s face, tip digging sharply into the skin over his left cheekbone.
“Hmmm… maybe an ear first? I might make wearing specs a bit more challenging, but at least you’d still have your looks.”
Q closed his eyes and braced for the worst. He had exhausted his energy and his options. And now the end began.
But it didn’t. Instead the air froze completely still except for the sound of two clicks. The clicks of two pistol hammers being cocked.
“Drop it, Max!”
“The next hand you put on him comes off, C.”
Q’s eyes flew open. Eve?! James?! A flood of relief swept through his body as his most obnoxious and absolute favorite 00 grabbed C by the neck and hauled him off of Q so Moneypenny could yank the keys out of his pocket and free the Quartermaster’s hands. He groaned at the nearly paralyzing sting that ran through his arm, but had never been so grateful in his life for that much freedom. The basement began to flood with MI-6 and MI-5 operatives armed with pistols and flashlights, no doubt a stronger force that what C had been expecting. Bond swiftly handed his prisoner off to another agent and bolted to Q’s side.
“Impeccable timing, 007,” he attempted to joke, but it came out as more of a miserable moan. “A few more moments and I would be…”
He stopped short. What had started as a sardonic remark suddenly became very real, and Q suddenly realized that he could not feel any of his fingers.
“I must be in shock,” he whispered, looking down at his hands.
“Paramedics will be here for you soon,” Bond said reassuringly. “It looks like you gave C one hell of a fight.”
Q wanted to explain the whole story. He wanted to tell Bond every detail of his rampant failures and fear and hopes throughout the whole night. He wanted to share the voice in his head and shining mantra that kept him going. He wanted to give 007 everything, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out but a dry croaking sound and suddenly there were tears running down his face. Shock. Fucking shock. He expected the seasoned field operatives to laugh at his pitifulness, but James simply pulled him into a warm embrace, fingers gently stroking his hair as Eve softly patted his shoulder. It should have been mortifying. He was a grown man, not some child who needed to be coddled! But that’s not what it was at all. He didn’t feel weak, or worthless, or pathetic at all. No, just the opposite. Despite his burning eyes and shaking hands, he felt strong and he felt loved. So very loved.
The two agents helped him limp over to the ambulance, and James stayed by his side the whole ride to the hospital, never letting go of his hand and not saying a word. There was an inextricable amount of comfort that came with the smooth motion of the ride, the callouses on Bond’s palm, and the steady blueness of his agent’s watchful eyes. Q finally let himself close his eyes and rest. The voice in his head was completely silent.