Chapter Text
It was six months later, and the memory was still fresh and raw in Q’s mind. Trying to navigate Bond through the mission, and then sudden gunshots echoing over the comms, an unmistakable rumble of rocks, and then an eerie silence that no amount of shouting and calling and begging could reverse. The other agents confirmed it--Bond had been shot, and the blasts had caused a cave-in, sealing James off from them. James was dead, along with two other agents.
Q had quit MI6 a month and a half later. He had taken some personal time, hoping he could grieve, and then get back to work, so he could make up for his terrible failure. But two days into working again, he had a break-down on the job--a full-blown anxiety attack that led to two days under psychiatric observation. Despite M’s pleas and offers of to get Q help and bring him back to his former standing, Q couldn’t accept. He was no good to anyone anymore.
He kept his tiny apartment, boxing up anything that had been James and keeping it in the back closet, and slept most nights on the couch. He lived under the alias of Alex Talbot, a hacker who worked occasional programming or infiltration jobs. He had an MI6 pension, though, that kept his heat on, and at least some food in the fridge (though he was eating less and less). Eventually, though, he fell into a quiet, numb pattern of holding back emotion and staying separated--the only way he thought he might stay safe.
Had James known any of this, he would not have vanished, not even for the sake of his own safety. They had been looking for him, and he hadn’t been able to get in touch with MI6 to alert them of his predicament. So he went to ground. He returned to MI6 6 months later 25 pounds lighter and heavily bearded, but M had recognised him right away.
“What in hell’s name is going on?” James stared down the gun, not blinking as he was herded into a holding cell and stripped.
“You impersonating a dead man, a dead man.” It was three hours before James was released, secure in his own identity. The first thing he did was go to Q-branch. But there was another man at Q’s desk.
“Where is Q?” The man looked up, blinking in surprise.
“I am Q.”
James wasn’t given an opportunity to respond. A strong hand on his shoulder turned him around, just in time for another to collide solidly with his face. Eve Monepenny stood, staring at him, practically shaking with indignation and rage. “How dare you.”
James blinked the slap away, looking down at Eve’s livid face.
“I deserved that,” he remarked mildly.
She was not appeased. “Do you have any idea what your stunt has done to us? To him?” Rage was still burning in her features, but her lower lip trembled and her eyes were full of tears. “If this was some selfish retirement kick again...” she didn’t have to finish the threat. Her hand was already on her hip holster.
“Better this than being tortured and killed,” he said softly. “When I couldn’t reach you, I did what I had to do to stay alive. Now tell me where Q is.”
Her posture relaxed slowly. “I...I can’t tell you where Q is. He quit. Officially, I don’t know his whereabouts. Unofficially, I am his friend, and yours, and...and you don’t want to see what this had done to him,” she said, her voice breaking slightly.
James grabbed her arm, his hands beginning to shake.
“Tell me,” he growled. “Tell me now.”
Fear flashed through her eyes. “I can’t tell you now. Not here.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into her office. Eve shut the door behind them, and sighed. “Q had a breakdown after you left. He tried to come back but...the guilt was too much for him, I think. He left MI6, but I still keep tabs on him. He’s...he’s become a shadow. A fraction of what he was before. I don’t know how much longer he’s going to be able to live with himself.”
“I can only hope I came back in time to save him,” James said hoarsely. “Please. Eve... I need to know how to find him. He was the only reason I came back at all, and if I’ve lost him...” A pained shudder ran through his body.
“Just...help me.”
She shook her head. “I can’t tell you that. You know I can’t.” She bit her lip, and went to her computer, clicking a few keys, then straightened up. “I’m going to leave this office. If, in the time I am gone, you happen to look at the computer screen, I will have had no hand in the matter.” She left, giving him a last, mournful glance.
James took one glance at the screen and left the room, schooling his pace so he didn’t outright run. Percy--not Q, not anymore--was still living at their own flat. Every red light and every stop sign made James’ very skin itch, and he just wanted to get there. But when he did, he stood by the door for a long moment before knocking on the door.
Percy moved towards the door, slightly surprised. Moneypenny had been over last week, it wasn’t likely to be her. His mother and sisters thought he had been relocated to Northern Ireland, so they wouldn’t be calling. His neighbors didn’t acknowledge him, and anyone he worked for had no idea where he lived, let alone his real name. “Yeah, what--” He froze as the door opened and those eyes met his, those piercing eyes that had quite literally haunted his dreams for months. Percy’s world came crashing down, violently, tearing up every little bit of carefully planted calm he had and sending him physically reeling, stumbling backwards as he cried out. James...no he couldn’t be alive, he couldn’t, there was no way, and fuck, he couldn’t breathe... “No!” he cried out desperately as he fell into the wall, sinking down and shaking, holding his arms out in front of him to protect from god-knows-what. “No, no nonono...”
James simply held out his hand, letting Percy’s hands brush against her fingers as he knelt down in front of him.
“I’m here, Percy,” James murmured. “It’s really me. Shhhhh.....” He looked terrible. Percy had always been just this side of too skinny and he had fallen across the line while James had been gone. As much as he had always loved Percy’s collarbones, there was too much of them now, and his always delicate wrists looked like they would crack at the slightest pressure.
His vision was starting to gray out, and Percy felt like he might implode. Curling in on himself, away from whatever...whatever this was that was happening, he pulled his knees to his chest and wound his hands through his hair, pulling. “No, can’t...” he sobbed, his breathing coming in shallow gasps.
“Percy...Q breathe with me.” James took Percy’s shaking hand and pressed against his making sure his own breathing was exaggerated and deep. “I want you to focus on my breathing, Q. Just breathe.”
He wanted to pull out of this apparition's grip, and hide from everything, but the hand over his was warm and strong, and calloused in ways that were still familiar, even after all this time. And that’s when he broke, when he realized this was real, and that James was here, alive. He sobbed, choking on his own breaths and falling forward against James, shaking like a leaf.
“I hope you can forgive me someday,” James said softly. “Though I would not be surprised if you couldn’t.” James cradled Percy, hating that he could feel every rib against his chest and that the knobs of his spine and shoulder blades were so pronounced.
Percy clung to James weakly, his only port in this storm. His shallow breathing was starting to make the edges of his vision go dark, and the fact that his body was hardly able to manage the shock didn’t help. “James,” he managed to gasp before going limp in his arms, the only defense his body had left.
It wasn’t until Percy was safely in bed that James allowed himself to cry. He had been too light, just a whisper of himself, and even the blankets seemed to swamp him.
“Oh God,” James choked. “This is all my fault. Percy, you know I didn’t want to do this to you. God, I’m sorry...” Once he had gotten himself under control, he went to the kitchen determined to find something Percy could eat when he woke up. But there was so little. With a heavy heart, James ordered out, soups for both of them. He then resumed his vigil at Percy’s bedside.
Almost as soon as Percy came to, his chest was tight again, and the overwhelming panic was trying to set in. He would have bolted, if his body had been capable of it. “How...how?” He whispered.
“Luck,” James said softly. “And a nice old man who just happened to run a rural clinic.” James knew the bullet and the resulting injuries from the cave-in should have killed him. “And then I couldn’t contact HQ or find a way out of the country so I kept my head down and managed. Had I known....” James made a helpless gesture. He hadn’t. What was done was done.
Percy couldn’t handle it. In the back of his mind, logic was arguing that James was right, and that he shouldn’t feel so awful. But he did. He felt betrayed, abandoned and alone. Pushing back from James, he stumbled towards the small bathroom, closing the door behind him and falling back against it. He cried, but it was less panicked, more wounded and aching. They were tears similar to those he had cried at James funeral, where all his grieving had now been proved for naught. One he had sobbed himself out, he sat quietly, trying to piece his reality back together.
James put his back to the door, trying not to hate himself when he hears the lost and lonely sounds coming from behind the bathroom door. When the doorbell rang, James went to get it, paying for the take-out with a weak smile.
“I bought soup,” James said quietly through the door. “Chicken dumpling. You should eat.”
Percy sighed, cried-out and exhausted. “Why couldn’t you have contacted me? I would have kept you safe...” He leaned back against the door of the bathroom, shivering on the cold tile floor. “I thought...I had failed.”
“I tried,” James said helplessly. “And then it became too risky. Had I know... I should have tried harder, but... But I didn’t. And that wasn’t your fault no matter what you say. Now please come out and eat something. You need to get better.”
Percy scooted away from the door, and opened it. "I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep it down," he confessed quietly. "I haven't been eating well lately." He stayed where he was, on the floor, also unsure if he could stand without too much of a head rush. "I might need some help."
“Try?” James pleaded, scooping Percy into his arms and setting him on his feet. Too skinny, too skinny. Steering him back to bed and tucking him in, James went to go get the soup, pouring himself a bowl as well as half a bowl for Percy.
“Start with this,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding out the clear broth with a spoon.
He obediently opened his mouth and accepted the spoonful of soup. It was hot, and good, and Percy sighed with joy. It burned the back of his throat as it went down, but he didn’t mind. Better burning than too cold. He had been too cold for weeks, wrapping himself up in blankets and sweaters (never James’, though) and turning the heat up until the superintendent complained. Even now, he shivered. “Thank you,” Percy murmured.
“Too skinny!” his mind clamored as he saw Percy shuddering even though the room was slightly too warm for James in his long sleeves and dress pants. Holding out spoonful after spoonful, he said nothing, just thankful Percy was eating at all.
Percy began to eat more vigorously, swallowing quickly past the heat and opening his mouth quickly for the next bite. In the back of his mind, he felt a bit absurd, like a baby bird or some other equally helpless creature that depended on a stronger being to care for it. Honestly, Percy was relieved to have someone to depend on. It was a nice change.
Soon enough the bowl was empty, and James took a moment to eat his own and let Percy’s stomach settle. Setting his own bowl aside, he asked if Percy wanted anything else to eat.
“I have more soup,” James said. “Or I could see about making tea and toast.”
“I’m alright,” he replied. His eyes traveled over James’ face, finding new valleys and deserts of wrinkle and scar that hadn’t been there before. There was more gray mixed in with the blonde, now, and deeper circles around his icy blue eyes. “You’ve changed,” he murmured, fascinated by the face he had been denied for six long months.
“I’m not immortal,” James said softly. “And these past months have not been kind to me.”
Percy blinked back a few tears at that, determined not to cry again. “Were...were you comfortable, where you were? Did you have a place to live, a home?” He asked.
“I was fine.” James didn’t want to burden Percy with the details just yet. He was far too fragile, and did not deserve to bear the guilt of weeks of just one meal a day, at the mercy of the elements during one of the hottest summers on record. Because somehow he would blame himself, though it was anything but his fault.
The old Q would have pressed for details, begging to know everything. But Percy was just too tired. He wanted to curl up and wallow in pain and uncertainty, he wanted to touch James but was afraid of shattering one or both of them. He wanted everything to go back like it had been, the past six months erased from time so he didn’t have to feel how much it hurt to have James back. “And are you going to stay?” He asked, his voice small.
“Of course I’m going to stay,” James said mildly, slipping into bed beside Percy, still unsure if he could touch him. “You need me.”
He nodded, a tiny bit of weight lifted from his chest. At least he didn’t have to worry about losing James twice. That he couldn’t handle. As their shoulders brushed, though, Percy pulled away, nervously twisting his hands--his tic when anxiety was high and his OCD cropped up.
James wasn’t quite sure what to do. He knew all the signs (between working and living with this man it was hard not to) but he was not sure his usual method of soothing would work.
“Can I...hold you?” he asked finally.
Percy considered, trying to assess his own level of anxious tension. “I don’t...you can try,” he murmured, watching his hands.
James started by simply scooting closer, letting their shoulders touch before he took Percy’s hand.
Percy took a deep breath and nodded. This was okay, so far. This he could handle. It was just James, after all. But in the back of his mind, getting progressively louder, was the constant voice telling him that this wasn't acceptable, that this wasn't safe or clean or okay, and he had to fix it. Biting his lip, Percy fought the urge.
James didn’t push it any further. He could tell that Percy was tense and unhappy and he didn’t want to do anything to make it worse. He expected Percy to pull away at any moment, and hated himself for letting it come to this.
Percy tried, as best as he could, but he wasn’t in the habit of fighting the anxious urges, and so had to give in. He tugged his hand out of James’ grip, green eyes wide and apologetic. “I am so sorry...I just...I can’t, not now, I’m sorry.”
“I know,” James said sadly. “I’ll be here if you need me.” The exhaustion was catching up to him, and he snuggled down into the blankets. But he wasn’t going to sleep. Not as long as there was any possibility that Percy would need him.
He ran his hands anxiously through his hair, and watched James. “Please...you should rest. I can tell how much this has...” Percy couldn’t find the right word, so he simply sighed. “I’ll be alright. I’ll wake you if I need you.”
James fought to keep his eyes open, but he couldn’t resist the siren song of the first real bed he had been in in half a year, and his eyes began to slip closed.
“Promise?”
Percy couldn’t promise. Because part of him was terrified of James seeing him like this--he knew how bad it was, he was no fool. And part of him was afraid of letting James help. “Mmmm,” was all he could say, a noncommittal noise. “Rest, please.”
James slipped under nothing but his face free of the blankets. But when his eyes closed, his mind opened into a cave--the cave. His whole left side ached and his hands were clasped around a bloody hole in his chest. But that was where the dream and reality split. Because trapped there with him was Q, emaciated and scared. He tried to move towards him, but the pain was too much. And so right before his eyes, he watched a man in a finely pressed suit take blade and brand to skin, pliers to teeth and fingernails, mallet to bones. And when the man turns, he is wearing James’ face.
As James slept, Percy sat and thought, quietly trying to sort out everything that had happened and reorganize his reality to fit it. James was alive, which was both incredible and earth shattering at once. Neither of them were in a healthy place, though, and that required attention. They would have to be careful...but if there was one thing Percy certainly knew, it was that no matter what, even if it took months of hard work on his part, he was never going to lose James again.
James let out a groan in his sleep, twitching slightly. Percy sat up, and ever-so-gently ran a hand through James hair (getting shaggy, six months without a trim). “James?”
There is a goon resting his hand on the top of James’ head and there is laughter in his ears. The man doesn’t even have to hold him James is so weak.
“Stop,” he whimpered. “I don’t want to hurt him. Please...”
“James,” Percy said, louder as he became more alarmed. “James, please, wake up, it’s alright...”
“I never meant to hurt you,” James whispered when confronted with betrayed and pain-filled hazel eyes. “Q, I’m sorry!” With that James jerked awake, only to be confronted with the very same eyes. Scrambling out of the bed, he landed on his back, trying to keep himself together.
Percy pulled back, terror flashing through him. “James, shh, love, it’s okay...it was just a dream. You’re safe, I promise.” It was throwing his whole universe off balance, seeing James cowering like a trapped animal. “Please...”
God, it was just like his dream. And what was worse, it was James’ fault. He had done this to Percy, even if it hadn’t been as deliberate as torture. He quit the job he loved, hid himself away and looked like he was this close to dying from starvation. And James could have spared him all of this by posting a letter or making one damned phone call.
He sat up and pulled his knees to his chest, not willing to crawl back into bed without an express invitation.
“James,” Percy whispered hoarsely, still not sure how aware James was. “James, it’s okay...you’re okay, whatever it was isn’t real. It was just a dream.” His hands shook as he held them out to James. “Please come back to bed. Will you?”
He did so, hands shaking as they brushed against Percy’s as he got up.
“If only it was just a dream,” James said sadly.
Pushing aside his own fear, Percy took James’ hands. “Of course it was just a dream. Of course it was.” His eyes searched James face, hoping for some sort of clue as to what had frightened him so deeply.
“It wasn’t,” James insisted. “Maybe what happened wasn’t the same, but the result remains. I hurt you. Hurt you to the point of...” At this, James couldn’t go on, looking at his hands before turning away so he wouldn’t have to look at how skeletal Percy’s hands were in his.
“You’re dying,” James said, voice tiny. “Slowly killing yourself by not eating or sleeping and if I had come back a week later I might have found a corpse. And it’s my fault.”
Hearing James say it makes something in Percy’s chest ache. Because, James is wrong. Not about everything--yes, he was killing himself in the most laissez-faire way possible, that was true--but James wasn’t quite right. “No. You listen to me, James Bond. This is not your fault. This is me...I chose to take a destructive path when I thought you were dead. I could have done things differently...better. And I didn’t. I...I don’t know why, probably has something to do with my dad,” he said, letting out a weak, teary laugh, “and all those issues he caused when he left...but not you.”
“I could have stopped this and I didn’t.” That’s the crux of the matter for James. He should have gotten in touch with Percy somehow, owed the man that much at least. He remembered vividly the desperate cries he couldn’t answer, headpiece receiving but not sending and right then he should have known Percy was going to fall apart. But he didn’t and he hadn’t and guilt swamps him every time he sees Percy shudder, or force himself not to pull his hands out of James’ grip.
Percy was silent for a moment. He didn’t know what to say, what to think, how to deal with this terrifying and infuriating man...and then a wave of emotion crashed over him as he realized that James really was back. That this was the first time in six long, painful months that Percy had seen James, and been perplexed and made anxious by him, and it was a decidedly euphoric feeling. Despite everything, despite the fact that he had left and put Percy through hell, James had come back with more guilt than any human being should ever possess because he had hurt Percy, enough guilt to threaten his sleep and his resolve. A few tears dripped down Percy’s face. “I forgive you,” he whispered hoarsely. “I...I’m still scared, and upset...but I forgive you.”
James blinked at him with big, disbelieving eyes and burst into tears, curling in on himself rather than around Percy like he wanted to. He hadn’t been invited to touch, and he knew better than to try without permission. So he tucked himself into the smallest ball he could and just sobbed.
Still shaking and full of conflicting emotions, Percy lightly rubbed James’ back. “Shh, shh...it’ll be okay...” he whispered. He let James sob with abandon, having moments of euphoria as he felt James’ tears on his jeans. Gently, he scooted James’ so his head was on Percy’s lap. It made him only slightly uncomfortable, and he knew it would make James feel better--a necessary compromise.
It’s not what James wants, but he can’t deny the soothing effects of the hand in his hair and the warmth against his cheek. He dozes off again, and this time, he doesn’t dream.
Percy gently shifted James to a pillow and covered him with blankets, relieved that he didn’t stir. Shakily he got off the bed and started towards the kitchen. Tea seemed like an excellent idea, but suddenly it seemed like the hallway was stretching out and going fuzzy...
Percy came to a moment later, slumped against the wall. His head was pounding and he was dizzy. Trying to get up proved impossible. “James!” He called, desperate.
Even though James had been fast asleep, Percy’s call has him bolt upright in a matter of moments, stumbling out of bed to find Percy slumped in the hallway, shaking and sweating. His heart is jackrabbiting under James’ fingers in an irregular rhythm and all James can think of is ‘heart attack’. Racing to the phone, he calls an ambulance, too focused on making sure he gets everything right to pay attention to the shaking of his hands.
The medics take far too long to arrive, and Percy is barely conscious when James opens the door for them. They are giving him oxygen and trying to resettle his heart with an AED, and James refuses to leave Percy’s side, choosing instead to ride in the front seat while they fight to save Percy’s life.
Moneypenny was already waiting at the hospital. Some phone tracker picked up on Percy’s address being given, and naturally worried, she followed up. As the paramedics rushed him in for continued treatment, she stood quietly in the waiting room, watching James. Slowly, she went to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “James,” she whispered, her voice hiding how broken she felt. “James, come along, lets go sit, dear.”
He knows Eve will be able to tell that he had been crying. She’ll know by the telltale redness of his eyes and the set of his shoulders and the utterly defeated air about him. He isn’t even angry at her for not looking after him better. He wasn’t going to blame beautiful brave Eve for his own failings.
“You wouldn’t have let him die, would you?” James needs the reassurance, now that he realises just how bad things really are. “You would have...I--God this is all my fault.” He buried his head in her shoulder, trying not to shake apart.
She wrapped an arm around him, shielding him from the harsh glare of the lights and the darkness of the real world. “No, no...you think I would have let the most brilliant mind I know whither? I just...couldn’t. He said he wanted to be strong, that he would get better. And I let him try, because I wanted it to be true. I felt if he got better, we all could. I was so foolish. But no, I wouldn’t have let him die.”
Eve looked up at the nurse and mouthed, ‘Sedative.’ The nurse nodded in response and came over a moment later with a pill and a glass of water. “Thank you. James, why don’t you take this?”
James doesn’t want it. He knows what she’s trying to do, and he doesn’t want to be fuzzy. He had months of that. But he sips at the water, and after one too many pointed looks, he swallows the pill, gulping the rest of the water to wash out the foul taste. Out of habit, he fights the pull of the drugs, but soon he is lax and half awake in Eve’s grasp.
“There we go,” she crooned softly when he finally relaxed in her arms. With all the tenderness of a mother, she settled James against her shoulder and smoothed his hair. “He’ll be okay. I promise it will all be much better soon.” She kissed his hair.
It was nearly an hour before a doctor came out. She gently shook his shoulder. “James, the doctor is here...”
This is why James hates drugs. He can usually snap right awake, head clear no matter how little or how deeply he’s slept. But now his mind is brutally foggy, and words feel far away. He rubs his eyes and accepts a glass of water before his head clears enough for him to understand what’s going on. And when he does, it’s like the glass in his hand was just splashed on his face.
“Is he ok?”
The doctor sighed. “His prolonged malnutrition and hyponatremia caused a heart arrhythmia, which triggered a heart attack. He is very weak, but stable. He should make it through the night. You’ll want to get him into treatment, though. Anorexia is a tricky beast to manage on your own.”
“Anorexia?” James’ brain is still going slowly, and he doesn’t draw the connections right away. Eve jumps in with a quick smile for James.
“It was grief, more than anything else,” she explained softly. “It was how he coped with an unexpected loss. We’re hoping that now that the...misunderstanding has been resolved that he will want to get better. However, if there is specific treatment you’d recommend, bearing this in mind, we will consider all options.”
The doctor nodded. “Support groups and individual therapy are helpful. I can get you some paperwork on it.” He turned to leave, then looked back. “You can see him now, if you’d like. He was still unconscious when I left, but you’re welcome to visit.”
Eve took James’ arm and guided him down the stark, white halls to the room Percy was in. It wasn’t private (he no longer had the full governmental sway behind him), and Eve ushered James to the last bed, the one near the window. She pulled back the curtain and let James go in first.
It’s like the first time he saw him at the door of their flat. He is pale, too pale, and it’s only now, under the harsh hospital lights, that James notices that he can see every bone in Percy’s face. He sits down heavily in the hard chair by his bed.
“Eve is here,” he said softly, not sure what else to say.
Fighting the urge to tear up, Eve put her hand on James shoulder. “How did he react? When you came home? Was he happy?”
“He cried and blacked out,” James whispered. “He thought I was a hallucination.”
Eve’s gut twisted at those words. “I should have done something sooner,” she said, her voice starting to sound raw and emotional. “I should have made him eat, I should have taken him to see someone...”
“You aren’t the one at fault, Eve,” James said softly. “You weren’t to know.” James doesn’t tell her of all the guilt he still holds. He’ll get through it, simply because Percy has forgiven him.
From the bed, a quiet moan came. Blearily, Percy’s eyes opened. Vision still foggy from drugs and exhaustion and lack of glasses, he looked around helplessly. “James...?” He rasped.
“I’m right here,” James said softly, stroking Percy’s hair gently with one hand as he pulled his glasses out with the other. “Eve is here too.” He slipped Percy’s glasses on, mustering up a faint smile.
“Glad to see you awake.”
Percy blinked at him for a few moments. “You’ve got...that look on again,” he finally said, words having to force their way out through dry lips.
“If you mean the ‘I hate what I’ve done to you’ look, you’d be right,” James said, the truth of his words twisting the joke.
“James, this is not your fault,” Eve soothed, hating that they were both so fragile and upset. “We’ll fix this.”
Percy nodded, slowly and weakly. “We both...did some rather stupid things.” He blinked plaintively up at James. “I want to get better...with you.”
James blinked back more tears and pressed a kiss to Percy’s forehead.
“We can do that,” he said softly. “I’m going to stay with you until you get sick of me.”
Percy forced a weak smile. “Won’t...happen. I’m gonna sleep now,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. He was out almost instantly, a look of peace on his face as the ventilator helped him breathe deeply. Eve sighed softly, and fished her phone out of her pocket. “I’m having Anthea bring you dinner, alright? And something for him if he’s up for it. I have to get back to MI6, Mallory’s holding up a meeting right now for me.”
“Tell him I’m on extended leave,” James said softly. “No missions, no work, not until I’m sure Percy isn’t going to fall apart without me.”
“Already arranged. He doesn’t want you back until you’re in peak medical and mental condition, and that isn’t happening anytime soon, I can tell.” She gave him a small smile. “No offense, darling, but you’re a wreck.” Eve pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “And if we can get Percy back on his feet, it shouldn’t be long before he’ll be Q again.”
James stroked Percy’s hand, a smile playing on his face.
“It will be good for him, having real work again,” he said softly, hating that Percy was wrapped up in so many machines. But at least he was alive, and would get better. Resting his head against Percy’s leg, James drifted off.
~ ~ ~
Looking at the scale, Percy smiled. 61 kilograms. Not bad, all things considered. A fair lot better than he had been 2 and a half months ago. He had been under 50 kilos, dangerously thin, but now, he was closer to where he should be. Small miracles, and constant progress, and he would be back where he started in no time.
And that didn’t just go for health. He was back at MI6, assisting in Q-Branch operations, though not yet promoted to Quartermaster, though Eve kept giving him sly looks and “accidentally” calling him Q. That was another thing that brought a smile to his face. He pulled a t-shirt on (James’ t-shirt, actually), and some jeans, and wandered into the kitchen. “Morning, love,” he said, pressing a kiss to James’ forehead.
James knew that he had been doing well, gaining over 10 kilograms in the past months. But James knew it was still not enough. The first month had been intensive out-patient care as he dealt with the costs of long term starvation. James had wanted to just feed him, but the doctors told him that Percy couldn’t physically eat as much, thanks to a wasted and shrunk stomach, and to ensure Percy remained healthy, food intake had been increased very slowly. But now he was eating normally and putting weight back on. There was more dimension to his face now, and while he had always been nobby and boney, there was roundness to him that James made sure he always praises and loves. Even though most of Q’s weight had turned him pudgy (much to Percy’s dismay) it was an utter relief to James.
Grinning, Percy went to the tea pot and poured himself a cup of Earl Grey. His usual morning dreariness and lethargy was surprisingly absent that morning. “Guess who gained another half-kilo this week?” He asked, grinning cheekily at James. James beamed, pulling Percy into a hug, pressing a hand to his belly.
“Every bit counts, love. 4 more doesn’t seem insurmountable now.” James remembered the first weeks, where Percy had barely gained any weight at all and had felt so discouraged. But now Percy had his energy back, and had a healthy pink in his face. Clinging like a limpet, James hummed happily.
Percy chuckled. “What did I tell you about touching and carrying on like I’m...I’m pregnant or something?” He joked, kissing the top of James’ head. When James had first come back, it had taken a week for Percy to be alright with being touched by him. Now, though, they were just as casually affectionate as before. “I suppose not, though. Maybe by the end of the month?”
“If things keep going as they are, you’ll be there in no time,” James said fondly. “And you know the reason I touch. You were...concave when I first came home. I like feeling that you’ve rounded out. It...reassures me.”
Percy smiled softly. “Very well, I can’t really argue with that.” He nudged his glasses back up his nose. “Oh, I don’t know if you noticed, but my mum dropped off another plate of casserole or something yesterday. I’ve told her you’re perfectly capable of feeding me.”
“You scared her, Perc,” James said softly. “It’s how she shows her love.”
Frowning, he leaned down to rest his chin on James’ head. “I know...I had hoped to keep it from her until I could at least pretend it was only a bad case of the flu or something.” He sighed. “Who told her, you or Eve?”
“I did,” James confessed softly. “She kept calling and eventually I caved. I now understand where you get your persuasion from. At least I managed to keep her from coming over that first month. I don’t think she could have stood it.”
Percy shook his head. “No, nor I. I would have...it would have been too much for me, I think,” he said quietly. They sat there for a moment, letting the ugly, raw memories come back ever so briefly, then Percy kissed the top of James’ head again and straightened up. “Well, thank you. She deserved to know.” He went to the cupboard and pulled out the prescription of heart medication he had to take until he was okayed by the doctor. “Have you made breakfast yet, speaking of shoving food on people?”
James handed Percy a plate of eggs and hash, saying nothing but giving him a knowing smirk. There was already orange juice on the breakfast table, and James grabs his own plate and sits down.
Percy smiled and popped a bite of eggs into his mouth. "Thank you, darling." The past few months had been a learning experience on many fronts--James and Percy both had to learn their way around a kitchen, as well. Percy had groused and grumbled and been exceptionally disappointed when he couldn't immediately cook with no mistakes, but with the help of Moneypenny and Anthea, he was starting to be able to cook something half-way decent. His goal was being able to make James a birthday dinner. Something French, maybe.
"Has Mallory put you back on active duty yet?"
“He wants to,” James said. “But I told him not until you had gained the last kilos you need to be back at a healthy weight. Personally, I wanted to wait until you had been reinstated as Q, but...Well, I’ll be ready before you are, and I wasn’t going to deny them my services for that long.”
Percy frowned, but nodded. "You don't have to do that, you know. Wait for me. You're right, you'll be ready long before I am, and it's...it's really not necessary, love." He hated that he wasn't getting better faster, and that James was trying to shoulder all the responsibility, and that because of that Percy was holding James back... He glowered at his plate and took another bite.
“It was because I left you alone that all of this happened,” James said bluntly. Most of the guilt was gone, but this whole event had shifted his world focus. Percy had become so much more important to James than his work and that was only highlighted as he recovered. “Being here with you has become more important than anything else.”
Percy wanted to sigh, and argue and find some way to convince James that he hadn’t been to blame, but instead he simply sipped his orange juice, having done all those things over the past two months to no effect. “That’s a gross oversimplification of the situation and you know it,” was all he said, reaching over to take James’ hand.
“Maybe the first part,” James said softly. “But since I came home, my...priorities have shifted. I’m not young anymore, Perc. Call it sentiment if you will, but this whole ‘Queen and country’ thing is losing its shine.”
A small smile flitted across Percy’s face. “Well...don’t give up MI6 because of me. I’ve just barely started there, and I hope to keep going. But...I would feel quite a bit safer knowing you weren’t getting yourself blow up every other afternoon.”
“I’m not giving it up,” James said with a smile. “Just...putting things on hold until you’re better. Because I’ve sorted out my priorities now and they lie with you.” It’s gooey, dripping with feelings that James thought were foolish until he felt them, but its the simple truth. He would give up being a double-oh, give up his work at MI6 and live a normal boring life if he knew it would keep Percy safe. And it wasn’t until now that he fully understood this.
Percy found himself blushing, deeply touched that James loved him that much. He leaned over and kissed James. “Thank you. I love you.”
“Marry me?” The words are out of his mouth before James can stop them (it was supposed to be something asked over expensive wine and candlelight, not to mention with a ring) but James meant them. But when confronted with Percy’s open mouthed silence, James feels guilty and drops his gaze.
“Please say yes...”
“I...I want to- to be with you always,” Percy stammered after a solid minute of staring in shock at James’. He hadn’t expected this in a million years. “A-and I love you, James, I love you so much...” Oh no, he realized, it sounded like he was turning him down. “I’m not saying no!” He hastily said. “I just...god...can we even...is it...I’m terrified,” he finally admitted, eyes wide and searching.
“I’m scared, too,” James confessed. “More than I’ve ever been during any mission. But I want this, enough to give up anything and everything to make it happen.”
That level of trust, and devotion, was like nothing Percy had experienced before, not even in his close-knit family, and he knew, right then and there, that there was no way he could say no. “Well, we’ll need r-rings, if this is going to happen.” There were tears in the corners of his eyes, and he smiled shyly at James.
“Yes,” James agreed, happy for something concrete to hold onto in the storm of his emotions. “Let’s go right now.”
Percy laughed, his smile growing. “Bit eager, aren’t we?”
“I’ve wanted this for a very long time, Percy,” James said, voice rich with love and wanting. “And you know I am not a terribly patient man.” He grabbed Percy’s hand, maybe a little rougher than he had meant to, and dragged him to the door, body quivering with the flood of love and joy.
They practically ran to the car, giggling and tripping like a pair of teenagers. As Percy watched James, he couldn’t help but smile as wide as possible. It was so deeply moving that James wanted this for them--James, who had cut himself off from all emotions for so long. It made it that much more special, Percy thought.
The store James had in mind was simple and small, because all James wanted was a pair of gold bands in the right sizes. He lets Percy get fitted first, watching in something approaching rapture. When Percy holds out his hand, the ring glimmering warmly in the soft light, James almost cries.
Percy beamed, but there was a crafty glint to his eye. “I may have some...alterations made, at some point,” he said, already planning on a tracker beacon being embedded. Maybe even a heart rate monitor, just to be safe. But he was distracted from those thoughts as soon as James slid his ring onto his calloused finger. “Oh...oh, James,” he said, trying not to be too sappy.
“I’m sure you have thought of a hundred ways to weaponize my ring since we stepped into the store,” James said with a grin. “It’s how you show you care.” He then blinked and looked at his watch, sighing when he realized they were going to be late. It hardly mattered.
Percy blushed. “Not weaponize, per se...install a tracker, maybe. One that only I can trace. So I can find you, if something were to happen. If you wouldn’t mind. Though...weaponizing might be fun.” he smirked, and hugged James tightly. “I love you.”
“If it soothes you, by all means,” James said with a tender smile. “Now to face the wrath of Mallory for being late to work. He is a stickler for these sorts of things, though the lecture will be worth it.”
Percy nodded. “Hopefully Christofson won’t be too angry,” he said, referring to the new Q, a title he refused to call him. He knew it was a bit vain and petty, but it was hard being back in that office without being the Quartermaster.
The ride was quick and routine, and they hurried through the security check. Miss Moneypenny gave them both a sharp look as they hurried in. “He wants a word with you both,” she said, nodding towards M’s office door.
“Of course he does,” James said mildly, making sure Eve saw the ring on his finger. “I would expect nothing less.”
She stared, eyebrows going. After a few seconds, her eyes went back up to their faces. “Well about bloody time.” She pressed the intercom. “They’re here, M.” As James and Percy entered M’s office, Eve did a silent, gleeful dance in her seat, careful not to be seen by anyone.
“This is unusual behavior for two seasoned agents,” Mallory said with a frown. “I hope you can explain yourselves.” James simply held up his hand, the new ring glinting softly.
“It was important.”