Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God - Chapter 9
Title: Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God
Author: gwylliondream
Pairing: 00QAD (James Bond/Q/Alex Turner/Danny Holt)
Rating: R
Words: 50K
Warnings: Minor character death
A/N: Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God was written for NaNoWriMo 2017. Please see Chapter 1 for additional notes.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading.
Barbara slid the keycard into the slot and waited for the light to turn green. The instructions were simple enough. They had been printed out for her at MI6 and she had been required to memorize them. All four hundred and fifty-nine steps that she would need to complete to restock the room. She had already completed the first twenty steps.
Barbara had always had a photographic memory. Her ability to consume large amounts of information and recite it accurately never scored any points for her in school or with employers. At least it would prove useful to MI6.
Eve was kind to check in occasionally with her to see how her training was going, but other than that, Barbara took directions from Tanner. She remembered Tanner from when he ordered copious amounts of take-away carbs at Le Papillon. He was easy to get along with and she didn’t mind performing her tasks in the precise order, if it meant that Tanner didn’t regret hiring someone with limited experience in government service.
Besides, she saw to it that she passed the drug test and the security clearance.
Barbara stepped inside the hotel room, taking care to make sure she wasn’t followed. She had already disabled the security cameras and affixed her fake identification card to her uniform. And if anyone scanned the electronic employment records of the hotel’s housekeepers, the data would reveal that Barbara had worked there for two years, three months, and six days.
Her MI6 training had been brief, but very thorough. It was a good job for Barbara, who had virtually no friends, unless you counted the anonymous pen pal with whom she shared her thoughts, and no social life beyond her own imagination.
Barbara closed the door behind her and flipped on the lights. She didn’t flinch at the bloodstained sheets. Nor the tattered clothing that was scattered from one end of the room to the next. The medical kit had been torn open. So many of the objects that it contained at one time were now missing. She found the scissors shoved into the hole of the electrical socket. Barbara wondered what had transpired here that made the agent need to cut the power.
She donned a pair of latex gloves and began to go through her checklist of items to replenish, using her memorization skills to recall the components of the medical kit. Both suture kits were missing and there was nothing left of the paracetamol or the oxycodone.
Someone must have suffered here a bit, Barbara mused as she wiped the blood from around the drain in the shower. Under the bed, she found a jammed Glock 19, which she swiftly unjammed and unloaded before placing it in a plastic bag to take back to MI6. Unfortunately, when she checked beneath the other side of the bed, she found that one of her agents had vomited on the floor. She sighed and grabbed a roll of paper towels.
The agent who used this room must have been raised in a goddamn barn.
~
“I-can’t-believe-you-slept-with-him,” Q gasped out.
Q’s ankles were wrapped around Bond’s neck, his legs deliciously stretched over his shoulders.
The feeling of Bond’s rough strength holding him in place, keeping him pinned while he had his way with him was almost as good as the tightness of ropes against his pale skin. Almost.
Perhaps there would come a time when he would be bold enough to express his deepest desires to Bond, but this was not that time. Besides, Q had his doubts about what Bond would think if he asked to be tied up or properly restrained. Just the thought of being rendered immobile was enough to send Q’s orgasm crashing through him. But Q knew, from reading Bond’s file, that he had been horribly abused at the hands of Le Chiffre. Q certainly wouldn’t blame him if he thought much differently about a little bondage than Q did. Although Bond’s vanilla brand of seduction and romance wasn’t Q’s preferred lovemaking style, he had gone without for so long that he wouldn’t dare complain.
“I couldn’t help it,” Bond said as he thrusted into Q. “I must have a thing for mathematical geniuses. Who knew?”
“I hate you,” Q said, toes curling with pleasure. “I really… really… hate… oh, oh, yes, right there….”
Nearly a week had passed since they first started sleeping together on their trip to DC to rescue Alex Turner and they had been fucking daily ever since. It was a matter of self-care, Q told himself. Since he couldn’t masturbate effectively with the cast on his wrist, he simply accepted Bond’s offer of help.
Q’s skin itched beneath his cast. He looked forward to having the bloody thing cut off in another week’s time, but not if it meant losing Bond’s assistance in the form of a helping hand… and other parts of Bond’s body that proved equally useful.
Bond treated Q sweetly, bringing flowers to Q-Branch when he showed up on Friday night to take him to dinner. Double-oh Two still had no leads as to who broke into Q’s flat and it was deemed off-limits to Q. Q had volunteered to sleep in his office when they returned to London, but Bond would have none of it. On their first night back, after they got Alex settled in a safehouse of his own, Bond drove Q back to his sparsely furnished flat and they made love until Q realised that Bond had meant for him to spend the night.
Q couldn’t refuse. Bond’s bed was much more comfy than the second-hand cot that Q commandeered from medical to use in his office. Besides, his cats weren’t at his office either, and he would miss their company there just as much as he would miss them at Bond’s. Eve insisted that Pampuria and Turing stay with Danny Holt for their own safety, although Q didn’t quite understand Eve’s insistence that he not let the cats stay in his office in Q-Branch like normal. Eve pleaded with him, explaining the importance of pets in reducing a human’s stress level.
He couldn’t disagree with that. He had a big cat of his own to contend with. Bond curled around him to sleep and he regularly hunted down food for the pair of them to enjoy in Bond’s flat. It was a perfect arrangement, despite the lack of personal space.
“He was lonely,” Bond said as he tied off his condom and tossed it into the bin.
“What?’ Q asked, still blissed out from another round of fantastic sex with his own double-oh.
“Alex Turner,” Bond said, crawling back onto the bed and covering Q from head to toe, a warm sheen of sweat the only thing separating their bodies. “He was lonely. Like you.”
A flush washed over Q as he lay there ensconced in Bond’s affectionate touches and caring gestures. He supposed it was true. And now he was overwhelmed with sadness at the realization that they could have been together all this time and he could have been spared the loneliness that drove him to work himself ragged month after month, year after year.
What had he been thinking?
Q’s mobile began to ring.
Q worked himself out from under Bond’s body to answer it, but he was too late.
“Q’s answering service,” Bond said, answering the call. “The Quartermaster is unavailable at this time. Please leave a message after the tone.”
“Give me my mobile, Bond,” Q yelled.
“Bond, you’re insane,” Eve said. “What have you done with Q?”
“He’s a complete arse!” Q shouted.
“He’s right here, but I’m not sure he’s able to come to the phone. He seems to be having difficulty walking these days.”
“TMI! You are horrible,” Eve said. “I can’t believe he’s putting up with your disgusting antics.”
“I do have my finer moments,” Bond said. “Let me see if he wants to speak to you.”
“So much for discretion,” Q said, after finally wrestling the mobile from Bond.
“Q?”
“Hello, Moneypenny,” Q said. “I do apologize for the company I’ve been keeping. Tell me, is there any way I can move back into my flat so I can get some actual sleep?”
“That’s what I’m calling about,” Eve said.
“The team has reviewed all of the footage from the cameras surrounding your flat. It’s not one hundred percent clear, but we think we have an image we can use. It’s only one still photo that the back-up caught when the cameras were being disabled.”
“Do you have the photograph… can you text it to me?” Q found it difficult to speak when Bond wrapped himself around Q and tackled him back into the bed.
“I’m afraid it’s not that concise,” Eve said. “The only thing we can glean from it right now is that the person who broke into your back door was a woman. She looked to be of average height and build. I’m sorry we don’t have more.”
“No, that’s all right,” Q said. “It’s a start, at least.”
“And that’s not all,” Eve said.
Bond must have been chilled because he grabbed the duvet and pulled it over the both of them.
“What else?” Q asked.
“The team found explosives planted in your flat.”
“What?”
“They were rigged behind the electrical sockets in your living room, your bedroom, your kitchen,” Eve said, her voice full of concern. “I’m afraid someone had it in for you.”
“Do you think it’s related to my kidnapping?” Q asked as he stuck his feet out from under the covers.
“I would assume so,” Eve said. “But until we find a connection, your flat is still off-limits.”
“Thank God you had the sense to get Pampuria and Turing out of there,” Q said, grateful for the same thing that he was bitching about earlier when he lamented the loss of their companionship. “And I’m so glad you weren’t hurt when you stopped by to check on them.”
“You miss them,” Eve said. “In fact, you’re not going to be without them for much longer.”
“Oh?”
“For one thing, you’re due back at work on Monday,” Eve reminded him.
Q needed no reminding. His mandatory two weeks leave was up. He supposed he would have been absolutely stir crazy for those days, if not for Bond’s distracting lips, and mouth, and tongue, which Bond reminded him about, even as he spoke on his mobile to Eve.
“And for another thing, we’re about to conclude the investigation into Danny’s kidnapping. He’s going to be released in a day or so.”
“Will he be able to go back to that posh residence he inherited?” Q asked.
“The very same,” Eve said.
“Well, I’m not going to let him take my cats with him!” Q insisted.
“No, of course not,” Eve said.
Q listened to her with scepticism.
“Q? I understand your concerns. In fact, we’re done questioning him. Why don’t you pay him a visit. You know he’s at Pickwick 332.”
Q looked at Bond and raised his eyebrows. “I may just do that,” he said.
~
Danny had barely finished brushing Pampuria’s long floofy fur when there came a knock on the door. Fortunately, Eve had told him that the cats’ owner might stop by, so he was sure to make the cats look their best. He had benefited tremendously from their company during his time in the safehouse and he thought it would be appreciated by their owner. Between Frances’ murder and the knowledge that Alex was quite possibly still alive, he would have lost his sanity if not for being able to pet Q’s two cats for hours on end, whenever the mood struck him.
Being held in the MI6 safehouse was a bit like being in jail. Danny knew a thing or two about getting caught breaking the law and being incarcerated. His years of partying hard had shown him the inside of London’s scarier places. Since he met Alex, he had stayed away from recreational drugs that he had used to get high almost daily. There was no need for a high when he had Alex, the handsome investment banker, as his soul mate and life companion.
When everything changed on that awful night three months ago, he could have been tempted to turn to drugs again, but instead, he swore off the drugs for good. A drug-addled mind couldn’t make sense of what happened to Alex and Danny wanted to stay sharp in case they found a way to bring Alex’s killers to justice. He and Frances had a plan until last week, when their plan went to shit. What seemed like a good idea, bringing their concerns to MI6, seemed instead to be the start of when their plan went out of control. Now Danny wondered if anything had ever been under their control.
He walked to the door and asked for the password. He thought the Dickensian passwords MI6 seemed to favour were funny.
Unfortunately, Jack Bunsby and Daniel Quilp were less amused by them when Danny answered the door. They were probably accustomed to such MI6-style shenanigans.
“Hello,” Danny said, extending his handshake. “Eve told me you were coming. I’m Danny, Danny Holt.”
Q pushed past Danny and knelt on the floor where Pampuria and Turing paced when they heard the door open. His messenger bag landed beside him.
Bond shook Danny’s hand and said, “Bond, James Bond. Don’t mind him. He’s a little stressed out about his cats.”
Danny turned toward Q and said, “Oh, I completely understand. It can’t have been easy for you to have been separated from them. They’re such lovely pets.”
He knelt on the floor beside Q and petted long strokes along Turing’s back.
“You’ve groomed them?” Q asked.
“Oh, yes,” Danny said. “They like to be brushed, so it’s pretty easy. Eve had brought over a basket of their cat supplies she found when they were searching your flat. I’ve got them right there.”
Danny reached behind the small loveseat-sized sofa that separated the sleeping area from the living area. This safehouse accommodation was more like a studio apartment than most, with a tiny kitchenette in one corner a table and chairs in the other. The loveseat divided the room in two and opened toward the sleeping area where a bed sat covered in colourful pillows.
Danny looked at Q and confirmed what Eve had told him before. He did look a lot like Danny. They could have been twins, except Q looked to be much younger.
“I’m Q, by the way. Thank you for taking such good care of the cats for me,” he said.
His voice sounded so sincere. In all Danny’s life, he had never heard such a tone of gratitude, except maybe from Alex.
“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Q,” Danny said, the single letter sounding strange to his ears. What sort of mess had he gotten himself into where people used passwords and names that were only a single character?
Danny noticed that Q had stopped paying attention to the cats. Instead, he studied Danny from head to toe.
“Q?” Danny asked.
“It’s true what Eve said. “Do you see it, Bond?”
“The resemblance is uncanny,” Bond said.
Danny’s eyes met Q’s. Behind his glasses, they were the same hazel colour with green flecks that one could see only if you looked closely enough. They were kind, as Danny had been told once before. He had kind eyes, Alex had said. How Danny missed him.
Compared to himself, Q was beautiful. Danny admired his smooth skin, cleanly shaven, unlike Danny who had been living on safehouse handouts for days. His hair had a lustrous glow. It was artfully arranged with what Danny thought must be a lot of gel, but it still looked like it would be soft to touch. Q’s eyes lacked the wrinkles in the corners that Danny knew was from smoking cigarettes for so many years. Alex had suggested that Danny would be healthier of he tried to quit, but Danny could never quite manage it. When Alex… disappeared, Danny tried harder to stop. He was nearly successful.
Danny was embarrassed by how long he stared at Q. He began to laugh, something he often did when he was nervous.
“I’m sorry,” Danny said. “I shouldn’t have-”
“It’s all right,” Q said, clapping Danny’s shoulder.
“Oh, your hand,” Danny said taking Q’s cast in his hand and tracing his fingers over the bright green plaster. “What happened?”
“It’s a long story,” Q said with a laugh.
Danny let go of Q’s wrist and turned to Bond. He asked, “Do you know, I mean, I don’t expect that you can share too much information with me, but do you know when I might be able to see Alex?”
Danny wasn’t sure why he thought Bond would be able to give him more information than Q would. Or more information than Eve had already shared with him. Maybe it was the Savile Row suit and impeccable grooming- on a Saturday no less, that made Bond seem like he was a source of more official information than the two other MI6 people he had met.
“I’m sorry, Danny,” Bond said, “I can’t give you any information.”
So, it was true, Bond was part of the MI6 establishment that kept everything under wraps no matter how important the information was to Danny, Alex’s partner- the one person who suffered worse than anyone because of MI5, MI6, and the whole lot of them.
“Can’t? Or won’t?” Danny asked in frustration.
“Danny, it’s not like that,” Bond said.
Danny was furious. He glanced accusatorily at Q, then took a step toward Bond.
“Why won’t you tell me what you’ve found? What do I have to do to get information from you? Eve told me that you’re some kind of gay Casanova,” Danny yelled. As he took another step toward Bond, he grabbed the hem of his MI6 safehouse-issued shirt and pulled it over his head, displaying his bare chest. He went to untie his track bottoms, yelling, “Is this what you want?”
“Danny, no,” Q said, getting between Danny and Bond. “It’s not like that at all.”
Danny felt Q’s warm hand on his shoulder. It calmed him somewhat. He didn’t mean to get so worked up, nor did he mean to insult Bond with the insinuation that he held back information because he was a powerful MI6 official.
“I’m sorry,” Danny said, dressing himself in the safehouse shirt again. He flopped down on the loveseat to sulk. He always felt better when he could sulk a bit.
“It’s all right,” Q said. “You have every right to be upset.”
“I mean you no harm, Danny,” Bond said. “I simply can’t share more information with you until we’re sure it won’t put you or Alex in harm’s way any more than you already have been in harm’s way.”
“I’m sorry,” Danny said. “I understand.”
“Look,” Bond said, “Q would love to visit with his cats and I have some other business to attend to. Why don’t I leave Q here with you, Danny. I’ll pick him up in an hour or two.”
“Will you bring Danny and I some take-away when you come back?” Q asked.
Danny smiled at the thought. He was pretty sick of eating the Hot Pockets, which seemed to be the only edible food the safehouse refrigerator contained.
“Of course,” Bond said. “I’m sorry to upset you, Danny. Do you have any requests for what toppings you like on your pizza?”
“It’s me who should be apologizing,” Danny said. “Anything but anchovies is fine with me.”
“Very well, then,” Bond said.
Q looked a bit surprised when Bond kissed him on the lips and said, “I know you like sausage,” before he closed the safehouse door behind him.
“Danny,” Q said, sitting on the sofa beside him. “Forgive Bond. He’s been through a lot when he’s tried to protect the people he cares about. It’s hard for him to not come off at an arse.”
Danny nodded. “So, you know Alex is alive? Is he well?”
“We’re taking very good care of him. It won’t be long now.”
Pampuria twined between Q’s legs. Even Turing came out from beneath the loveseat when the yelling stopped. Danny reached down and picked Turing up, setting him on his lap for some petting.
“I know it’s not easy staying here,” Q said. “And I know all too well that the safehouse clothing leaves a lot to be desired.”
“Why is it all so itchy?” Danny asked.
Q laughed. “You even have sensitive skin like me. I’ll tell you what, I grabbed my overnight bag from my office before we stopped here. I’m sure I have some grooming supplies that I can spare.”
“Do you, really?” Danny asked. The thought of some moisturizer was like heaven.
“It’s the least I can offer you for grooming my cats,” Q said.
~
Author: gwylliondream
Pairing: 00QAD (James Bond/Q/Alex Turner/Danny Holt)
Rating: R
Words: 50K
Warnings: Minor character death
A/N: Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God was written for NaNoWriMo 2017. Please see Chapter 1 for additional notes.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading.
Barbara slid the keycard into the slot and waited for the light to turn green. The instructions were simple enough. They had been printed out for her at MI6 and she had been required to memorize them. All four hundred and fifty-nine steps that she would need to complete to restock the room. She had already completed the first twenty steps.
Barbara had always had a photographic memory. Her ability to consume large amounts of information and recite it accurately never scored any points for her in school or with employers. At least it would prove useful to MI6.
Eve was kind to check in occasionally with her to see how her training was going, but other than that, Barbara took directions from Tanner. She remembered Tanner from when he ordered copious amounts of take-away carbs at Le Papillon. He was easy to get along with and she didn’t mind performing her tasks in the precise order, if it meant that Tanner didn’t regret hiring someone with limited experience in government service.
Besides, she saw to it that she passed the drug test and the security clearance.
Barbara stepped inside the hotel room, taking care to make sure she wasn’t followed. She had already disabled the security cameras and affixed her fake identification card to her uniform. And if anyone scanned the electronic employment records of the hotel’s housekeepers, the data would reveal that Barbara had worked there for two years, three months, and six days.
Her MI6 training had been brief, but very thorough. It was a good job for Barbara, who had virtually no friends, unless you counted the anonymous pen pal with whom she shared her thoughts, and no social life beyond her own imagination.
Barbara closed the door behind her and flipped on the lights. She didn’t flinch at the bloodstained sheets. Nor the tattered clothing that was scattered from one end of the room to the next. The medical kit had been torn open. So many of the objects that it contained at one time were now missing. She found the scissors shoved into the hole of the electrical socket. Barbara wondered what had transpired here that made the agent need to cut the power.
She donned a pair of latex gloves and began to go through her checklist of items to replenish, using her memorization skills to recall the components of the medical kit. Both suture kits were missing and there was nothing left of the paracetamol or the oxycodone.
Someone must have suffered here a bit, Barbara mused as she wiped the blood from around the drain in the shower. Under the bed, she found a jammed Glock 19, which she swiftly unjammed and unloaded before placing it in a plastic bag to take back to MI6. Unfortunately, when she checked beneath the other side of the bed, she found that one of her agents had vomited on the floor. She sighed and grabbed a roll of paper towels.
The agent who used this room must have been raised in a goddamn barn.
~
“I-can’t-believe-you-slept-with-him,” Q gasped out.
Q’s ankles were wrapped around Bond’s neck, his legs deliciously stretched over his shoulders.
The feeling of Bond’s rough strength holding him in place, keeping him pinned while he had his way with him was almost as good as the tightness of ropes against his pale skin. Almost.
Perhaps there would come a time when he would be bold enough to express his deepest desires to Bond, but this was not that time. Besides, Q had his doubts about what Bond would think if he asked to be tied up or properly restrained. Just the thought of being rendered immobile was enough to send Q’s orgasm crashing through him. But Q knew, from reading Bond’s file, that he had been horribly abused at the hands of Le Chiffre. Q certainly wouldn’t blame him if he thought much differently about a little bondage than Q did. Although Bond’s vanilla brand of seduction and romance wasn’t Q’s preferred lovemaking style, he had gone without for so long that he wouldn’t dare complain.
“I couldn’t help it,” Bond said as he thrusted into Q. “I must have a thing for mathematical geniuses. Who knew?”
“I hate you,” Q said, toes curling with pleasure. “I really… really… hate… oh, oh, yes, right there….”
Nearly a week had passed since they first started sleeping together on their trip to DC to rescue Alex Turner and they had been fucking daily ever since. It was a matter of self-care, Q told himself. Since he couldn’t masturbate effectively with the cast on his wrist, he simply accepted Bond’s offer of help.
Q’s skin itched beneath his cast. He looked forward to having the bloody thing cut off in another week’s time, but not if it meant losing Bond’s assistance in the form of a helping hand… and other parts of Bond’s body that proved equally useful.
Bond treated Q sweetly, bringing flowers to Q-Branch when he showed up on Friday night to take him to dinner. Double-oh Two still had no leads as to who broke into Q’s flat and it was deemed off-limits to Q. Q had volunteered to sleep in his office when they returned to London, but Bond would have none of it. On their first night back, after they got Alex settled in a safehouse of his own, Bond drove Q back to his sparsely furnished flat and they made love until Q realised that Bond had meant for him to spend the night.
Q couldn’t refuse. Bond’s bed was much more comfy than the second-hand cot that Q commandeered from medical to use in his office. Besides, his cats weren’t at his office either, and he would miss their company there just as much as he would miss them at Bond’s. Eve insisted that Pampuria and Turing stay with Danny Holt for their own safety, although Q didn’t quite understand Eve’s insistence that he not let the cats stay in his office in Q-Branch like normal. Eve pleaded with him, explaining the importance of pets in reducing a human’s stress level.
He couldn’t disagree with that. He had a big cat of his own to contend with. Bond curled around him to sleep and he regularly hunted down food for the pair of them to enjoy in Bond’s flat. It was a perfect arrangement, despite the lack of personal space.
“He was lonely,” Bond said as he tied off his condom and tossed it into the bin.
“What?’ Q asked, still blissed out from another round of fantastic sex with his own double-oh.
“Alex Turner,” Bond said, crawling back onto the bed and covering Q from head to toe, a warm sheen of sweat the only thing separating their bodies. “He was lonely. Like you.”
A flush washed over Q as he lay there ensconced in Bond’s affectionate touches and caring gestures. He supposed it was true. And now he was overwhelmed with sadness at the realization that they could have been together all this time and he could have been spared the loneliness that drove him to work himself ragged month after month, year after year.
What had he been thinking?
Q’s mobile began to ring.
Q worked himself out from under Bond’s body to answer it, but he was too late.
“Q’s answering service,” Bond said, answering the call. “The Quartermaster is unavailable at this time. Please leave a message after the tone.”
“Give me my mobile, Bond,” Q yelled.
“Bond, you’re insane,” Eve said. “What have you done with Q?”
“He’s a complete arse!” Q shouted.
“He’s right here, but I’m not sure he’s able to come to the phone. He seems to be having difficulty walking these days.”
“TMI! You are horrible,” Eve said. “I can’t believe he’s putting up with your disgusting antics.”
“I do have my finer moments,” Bond said. “Let me see if he wants to speak to you.”
“So much for discretion,” Q said, after finally wrestling the mobile from Bond.
“Q?”
“Hello, Moneypenny,” Q said. “I do apologize for the company I’ve been keeping. Tell me, is there any way I can move back into my flat so I can get some actual sleep?”
“That’s what I’m calling about,” Eve said.
“The team has reviewed all of the footage from the cameras surrounding your flat. It’s not one hundred percent clear, but we think we have an image we can use. It’s only one still photo that the back-up caught when the cameras were being disabled.”
“Do you have the photograph… can you text it to me?” Q found it difficult to speak when Bond wrapped himself around Q and tackled him back into the bed.
“I’m afraid it’s not that concise,” Eve said. “The only thing we can glean from it right now is that the person who broke into your back door was a woman. She looked to be of average height and build. I’m sorry we don’t have more.”
“No, that’s all right,” Q said. “It’s a start, at least.”
“And that’s not all,” Eve said.
Bond must have been chilled because he grabbed the duvet and pulled it over the both of them.
“What else?” Q asked.
“The team found explosives planted in your flat.”
“What?”
“They were rigged behind the electrical sockets in your living room, your bedroom, your kitchen,” Eve said, her voice full of concern. “I’m afraid someone had it in for you.”
“Do you think it’s related to my kidnapping?” Q asked as he stuck his feet out from under the covers.
“I would assume so,” Eve said. “But until we find a connection, your flat is still off-limits.”
“Thank God you had the sense to get Pampuria and Turing out of there,” Q said, grateful for the same thing that he was bitching about earlier when he lamented the loss of their companionship. “And I’m so glad you weren’t hurt when you stopped by to check on them.”
“You miss them,” Eve said. “In fact, you’re not going to be without them for much longer.”
“Oh?”
“For one thing, you’re due back at work on Monday,” Eve reminded him.
Q needed no reminding. His mandatory two weeks leave was up. He supposed he would have been absolutely stir crazy for those days, if not for Bond’s distracting lips, and mouth, and tongue, which Bond reminded him about, even as he spoke on his mobile to Eve.
“And for another thing, we’re about to conclude the investigation into Danny’s kidnapping. He’s going to be released in a day or so.”
“Will he be able to go back to that posh residence he inherited?” Q asked.
“The very same,” Eve said.
“Well, I’m not going to let him take my cats with him!” Q insisted.
“No, of course not,” Eve said.
Q listened to her with scepticism.
“Q? I understand your concerns. In fact, we’re done questioning him. Why don’t you pay him a visit. You know he’s at Pickwick 332.”
Q looked at Bond and raised his eyebrows. “I may just do that,” he said.
~
Danny had barely finished brushing Pampuria’s long floofy fur when there came a knock on the door. Fortunately, Eve had told him that the cats’ owner might stop by, so he was sure to make the cats look their best. He had benefited tremendously from their company during his time in the safehouse and he thought it would be appreciated by their owner. Between Frances’ murder and the knowledge that Alex was quite possibly still alive, he would have lost his sanity if not for being able to pet Q’s two cats for hours on end, whenever the mood struck him.
Being held in the MI6 safehouse was a bit like being in jail. Danny knew a thing or two about getting caught breaking the law and being incarcerated. His years of partying hard had shown him the inside of London’s scarier places. Since he met Alex, he had stayed away from recreational drugs that he had used to get high almost daily. There was no need for a high when he had Alex, the handsome investment banker, as his soul mate and life companion.
When everything changed on that awful night three months ago, he could have been tempted to turn to drugs again, but instead, he swore off the drugs for good. A drug-addled mind couldn’t make sense of what happened to Alex and Danny wanted to stay sharp in case they found a way to bring Alex’s killers to justice. He and Frances had a plan until last week, when their plan went to shit. What seemed like a good idea, bringing their concerns to MI6, seemed instead to be the start of when their plan went out of control. Now Danny wondered if anything had ever been under their control.
He walked to the door and asked for the password. He thought the Dickensian passwords MI6 seemed to favour were funny.
Unfortunately, Jack Bunsby and Daniel Quilp were less amused by them when Danny answered the door. They were probably accustomed to such MI6-style shenanigans.
“Hello,” Danny said, extending his handshake. “Eve told me you were coming. I’m Danny, Danny Holt.”
Q pushed past Danny and knelt on the floor where Pampuria and Turing paced when they heard the door open. His messenger bag landed beside him.
Bond shook Danny’s hand and said, “Bond, James Bond. Don’t mind him. He’s a little stressed out about his cats.”
Danny turned toward Q and said, “Oh, I completely understand. It can’t have been easy for you to have been separated from them. They’re such lovely pets.”
He knelt on the floor beside Q and petted long strokes along Turing’s back.
“You’ve groomed them?” Q asked.
“Oh, yes,” Danny said. “They like to be brushed, so it’s pretty easy. Eve had brought over a basket of their cat supplies she found when they were searching your flat. I’ve got them right there.”
Danny reached behind the small loveseat-sized sofa that separated the sleeping area from the living area. This safehouse accommodation was more like a studio apartment than most, with a tiny kitchenette in one corner a table and chairs in the other. The loveseat divided the room in two and opened toward the sleeping area where a bed sat covered in colourful pillows.
Danny looked at Q and confirmed what Eve had told him before. He did look a lot like Danny. They could have been twins, except Q looked to be much younger.
“I’m Q, by the way. Thank you for taking such good care of the cats for me,” he said.
His voice sounded so sincere. In all Danny’s life, he had never heard such a tone of gratitude, except maybe from Alex.
“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Q,” Danny said, the single letter sounding strange to his ears. What sort of mess had he gotten himself into where people used passwords and names that were only a single character?
Danny noticed that Q had stopped paying attention to the cats. Instead, he studied Danny from head to toe.
“Q?” Danny asked.
“It’s true what Eve said. “Do you see it, Bond?”
“The resemblance is uncanny,” Bond said.
Danny’s eyes met Q’s. Behind his glasses, they were the same hazel colour with green flecks that one could see only if you looked closely enough. They were kind, as Danny had been told once before. He had kind eyes, Alex had said. How Danny missed him.
Compared to himself, Q was beautiful. Danny admired his smooth skin, cleanly shaven, unlike Danny who had been living on safehouse handouts for days. His hair had a lustrous glow. It was artfully arranged with what Danny thought must be a lot of gel, but it still looked like it would be soft to touch. Q’s eyes lacked the wrinkles in the corners that Danny knew was from smoking cigarettes for so many years. Alex had suggested that Danny would be healthier of he tried to quit, but Danny could never quite manage it. When Alex… disappeared, Danny tried harder to stop. He was nearly successful.
Danny was embarrassed by how long he stared at Q. He began to laugh, something he often did when he was nervous.
“I’m sorry,” Danny said. “I shouldn’t have-”
“It’s all right,” Q said, clapping Danny’s shoulder.
“Oh, your hand,” Danny said taking Q’s cast in his hand and tracing his fingers over the bright green plaster. “What happened?”
“It’s a long story,” Q said with a laugh.
Danny let go of Q’s wrist and turned to Bond. He asked, “Do you know, I mean, I don’t expect that you can share too much information with me, but do you know when I might be able to see Alex?”
Danny wasn’t sure why he thought Bond would be able to give him more information than Q would. Or more information than Eve had already shared with him. Maybe it was the Savile Row suit and impeccable grooming- on a Saturday no less, that made Bond seem like he was a source of more official information than the two other MI6 people he had met.
“I’m sorry, Danny,” Bond said, “I can’t give you any information.”
So, it was true, Bond was part of the MI6 establishment that kept everything under wraps no matter how important the information was to Danny, Alex’s partner- the one person who suffered worse than anyone because of MI5, MI6, and the whole lot of them.
“Can’t? Or won’t?” Danny asked in frustration.
“Danny, it’s not like that,” Bond said.
Danny was furious. He glanced accusatorily at Q, then took a step toward Bond.
“Why won’t you tell me what you’ve found? What do I have to do to get information from you? Eve told me that you’re some kind of gay Casanova,” Danny yelled. As he took another step toward Bond, he grabbed the hem of his MI6 safehouse-issued shirt and pulled it over his head, displaying his bare chest. He went to untie his track bottoms, yelling, “Is this what you want?”
“Danny, no,” Q said, getting between Danny and Bond. “It’s not like that at all.”
Danny felt Q’s warm hand on his shoulder. It calmed him somewhat. He didn’t mean to get so worked up, nor did he mean to insult Bond with the insinuation that he held back information because he was a powerful MI6 official.
“I’m sorry,” Danny said, dressing himself in the safehouse shirt again. He flopped down on the loveseat to sulk. He always felt better when he could sulk a bit.
“It’s all right,” Q said. “You have every right to be upset.”
“I mean you no harm, Danny,” Bond said. “I simply can’t share more information with you until we’re sure it won’t put you or Alex in harm’s way any more than you already have been in harm’s way.”
“I’m sorry,” Danny said. “I understand.”
“Look,” Bond said, “Q would love to visit with his cats and I have some other business to attend to. Why don’t I leave Q here with you, Danny. I’ll pick him up in an hour or two.”
“Will you bring Danny and I some take-away when you come back?” Q asked.
Danny smiled at the thought. He was pretty sick of eating the Hot Pockets, which seemed to be the only edible food the safehouse refrigerator contained.
“Of course,” Bond said. “I’m sorry to upset you, Danny. Do you have any requests for what toppings you like on your pizza?”
“It’s me who should be apologizing,” Danny said. “Anything but anchovies is fine with me.”
“Very well, then,” Bond said.
Q looked a bit surprised when Bond kissed him on the lips and said, “I know you like sausage,” before he closed the safehouse door behind him.
“Danny,” Q said, sitting on the sofa beside him. “Forgive Bond. He’s been through a lot when he’s tried to protect the people he cares about. It’s hard for him to not come off at an arse.”
Danny nodded. “So, you know Alex is alive? Is he well?”
“We’re taking very good care of him. It won’t be long now.”
Pampuria twined between Q’s legs. Even Turing came out from beneath the loveseat when the yelling stopped. Danny reached down and picked Turing up, setting him on his lap for some petting.
“I know it’s not easy staying here,” Q said. “And I know all too well that the safehouse clothing leaves a lot to be desired.”
“Why is it all so itchy?” Danny asked.
Q laughed. “You even have sensitive skin like me. I’ll tell you what, I grabbed my overnight bag from my office before we stopped here. I’m sure I have some grooming supplies that I can spare.”
“Do you, really?” Danny asked. The thought of some moisturizer was like heaven.
“It’s the least I can offer you for grooming my cats,” Q said.
~