All the Words Are Gonna Bleed From Me (James/Q)
Title: All the Words Are Gonna Bleed From Me
Fandom: James Bond
Pairings: James/Q
Rating: PG-13
Summary: There's a vital part of information on Q that Bond is missing. In the end, it turns out it's not really that vital at all.
Author's Notes: *talks quickly under breath* This is my first fic for this fandom and I don't actually know if it's any good because it's kind of halfway meta and there are probably a lot others like it, but I'd sort of like to know what you think because I'm really not sure how it turned out. Feedback is most welcome!
Also posted on AO3.
Q liked to think of his home - or what passed for a home whenever he had the time to actually remove himself from his desk - as his sanctuary. It didn't matter that he took most of his work home; there was still a firm and very much real border between the acceptable things that could happen between these walls.
Secret agents barging in for no apparent reason were, curiously, on the unacceptable side of the list. It wasn't that he minded this particular agent's presence - most of the time, he even encouraged it - but he'd engrossed himself in his work in the past few hours and didn't have the physical or mental strength to kick him out now.
"How did you get past the security?" He asked evenly without lifting his eyes from his laptop screen. His fingers were still flying over the keyboard and the sound could almost drown out the uneasy shuffling of someone's dress shoes over his carpet. Almost.
"I dismantled it."
Not much of a surprise. Q gave a sigh of resignation, but his enthusiasm for his current project didn't falter. "And what about the security guard downstairs?"
"I bribed him."
He finally looked up from his work. "Remind me to fire the security guard downstairs," he said, voice overflowing with politeness, and got back to his work.
It didn't take long before his uninvited visitor went on, unperturbed by the lack of cooperation. "What're you working on that might be more important than someone breaking in your house?" A pair of blue eyes peered curiously over the edge of the laptop and Q closed it primly.
"You break into my house all the time, James," he reasoned. "It's long since I've stopped caring."
It's been months since they'd started this thing between them that neither could really specify. Q was humble enough to admit that Bond was probably fond of him and enjoyed his companionship and honest enough to realise that he himself had probably fallen for the man ever since he'd been made Quartermaster and had read everything about his adventures - which was (not that he’d ever admit that to anyone) before he’d even met him in person. James - as he'd insisted on being called in private - had let him set whatever rules he had and so far the only one he'd asked for was being discreet. Of course, he wasn't naïve enough to expect James Bond of all people to be discreet, but he'd at least hoped to avoid the rumours at his workplace by having said man wander about his flat too much.
He opened his laptop once again and with the slightest bit of reluctance asked, "How can I help you?"
"I don't know your name."
Well. That was... unexpected. Despite his efforts to stay unaffected by whatever demented idea James had brought him into now, Q felt worry raising its head inside him.
"Are you sure the medical staff checked you out carefully last night before sending you off?" He asked tentatively. "Was it a thorough examination? Maybe you've got a concussion."
“Very funny," James shot back as he plopped on the bed next to him, suit and all. "You know what I mean."
"I'm afraid I don't," Q said and could feel that the ending of the sentence sounded a bit like a question. Bond tended to be just a bit weird in the few hours after he came back from missions, but this was a little excessive. "I'm serious, are you all right? I watched you on the surveillance cameras; you hit your head pretty bad in that tunnel."
"It's not that, Q," James countered and now there was a fair amount of exasperation in his voice. "I don't know your actual name."
Also unexpected. The matter had never been brought up until now and Q would have honestly preferred to keep things that way. "And why would you want to?"
"Why wouldn't I want to? I can't just keep calling you Q, now that we're..." He motioned the bedroom with his hand. "It's ridiculous."
"I don't see your point," Q said, valiantly trying to keep his point and mentally cringing at the amount of energy the double-oh agent would throw into this new mission. He knew him well enough to realise that once he'd thought of that, he wouldn't let it go.
"You don't call me 007 in bed, do you?"
"You haven't asked me to," Q shrugged, doing his best to look lecherous enough to distract him. He really didn’t pull of lecherous well, but, it didn’t really matter. In nine out of ten cases, James would have taken the bait.
Much to his misfortune, it didn't work now. But then again, Q hadn’t actually expected it to. His day had proven to be rather unlucky way before that.
"So are you going to tell me?"
Okay, enough. It was time for drastic measures. “Do you want this country to fall apart before most of its citizens have even had breakfast today, James?”
He had the decency to look affronted. “Of course I don’t.”
“Then let me do my job,” Q said with the most pleasant smile he could manage and got back to work. And that was that.
If only he’d been so lucky.
o.O.o
“Is it something terribly embarrassing?” Q didn’t have to look up to know that James would be leaning with faked nonchalance on the doorframe of his office, his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. It was the look he usually had when he wanted something. Q saw it all too often. “Something like, I don’t know, Bert or Rufus?”
“Do I look like a man called Rufus?” Q asked. He didn’t want to take any part of the agent’s ridiculous quest, but he couldn’t help but get involved. After all, he was the target.
“No, you don’t,” James conceded. He actually looked troubled by the lack of progress, bless him, and Q tried to suppress a smile. There was no reason to encourage him. “You look more like a Diggory to me.”
“It’s not Diggory,” he said automatically and then wanted to slap himself. It was better to just keep quiet and let this whole thing come to its natural conclusion - which, hopefully, included a slightly more peaceful working space for him.
“It’s not Diggory,” James echoed with a triumphant smile and neared him, bracing his hands on his desk. “That’s something, I suppose.”
“Yes. Now you just have to go through millions of other names,” Q said, reaching out so he could pat him on the shoulder just patronisingly enough to put him off. “Good luck with that, but could you please do it quietly and not here?”
James gave him a look that said, “I’m not letting this go” - another thing that Q saw all too often - and left the office with a huff.
o.O.o
“Is it Quentin?”
The time to be polite was long since over. “Go away, James.”
“It could be something that- What are you doing?”
“Designing you glasses,” Q said as he brandished said object for the agent to see. “There’s a camera in them, of course, and also access to our entire database. It’s voice activated and it works only on you.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” James said with that ridiculously big smile of his that always appeared when there was new tech to explore and Q held them out of his reach.
“No, I shouldn’t have.” Honestly, he’d never thrown as much effort on any other agent. It wasn’t really a secret that James was his favourite even if he tried not to flaunt that and he loved designing things especially for him, even if they rarely saw the end of the mission. “But if you want them to work properly, then you’ll have to let me work.”
“I won’t be in your way at all,” James assured him and Q did his best not to let his doubt show. “I was just wondering, maybe it’s something that starts with Q and that’s why you don’t mind being called just that.”
“Really?” Q dropped the screwdriver he was holding so he could chance a look at his direction. “What are the odds?”
James shrugged. “You tell me.”
“None,” Q said and resisted the childish urge add evil laughter to the end of the sentence. “The same as your chances to actually get somewhere with this. Don’t you have anywhere to be? Countries to save? People to shoot at?”
“Not for another week,” James said innocently, but the implication was clear. He’d have to bear this for a week more.
o.O.o
In reality, another three days passed before Q’s seemingly infinite patience finally snapped. The continuing inquiries of his name had went on in any possible situation - up to and including mid-coitus, which was not a situation Q wanted repeated - and he couldn’t stand to hear any variation of the same question one more time.
“What exactly is the matter with you?” He asked, voice lowered almost to a hiss. He had no intention of attracting the attention of everyone in Q-branch because of one overly persistent agent. “Can’t you ever take no for an answer?”
“It’s not a yes or no question,” James pointed out, irritatingly unruffled as ever. “I think I’m being fairly straightforward.”
“Why does it matter?” Q pressed. “Why do you even care about this? Just because you like to announce your name whenever you enter a room doesn’t mean that the rest of us like to do it, too.”
“I just want to know,” James said and looked around them as if to see if there was anyone listening. Q was pretty sure that everyone in their remote surrounding was trying to see what the problem was, but he doubted that anyone could actually make out what they were saying. “It’s just a part of you, isn’t it? I just wanted to know something about you.”
And suddenly, this entire fixation got just a bit less infuriating. It was something that James would never have admitted unless he was explicitly forced to, as he had been now, but it was a peace offering. It wasn’t just some strange idea that had come out of nowhere; it was an attempt to get to know him better.
“I understand,” he assured, trying to tread as lightly as possible over the apparently sensitive subject, “But it really doesn’t matter to me. When I accepted this job, when I started working here... it was the name they gave me that signified that I myself have changed; that I’ve become something new.”
He wasn’t good with words. In fact, in most cases he was absolutely rubbish. He could create masterpieces from just a few wires and think of the best plan possible for almost any situation any from MI6’s agent could possibly find themselves in, but when it came to words and expressing anything through them, Q always got just a bit lost. Still, it seemed that James was listening intently, so he tried to do his best.
“It’s my name,” he said in the end, shrugging a bit helplessly. It wasn’t a hard concept, really, but maybe it was from the other man’s point of view - he was more of a people’s person than anyone else Q had met and it was probably hard to understand why a new name someone had given him was good enough for him. “You know me as Q, because that’s who I am and, more importantly, who I want to be. Is that good enough for you?”
There was a brief moment of hesitation and Q could practically see the thought process happen behind James’s clear blue eyes. Then he nodded resolutely. “Yes.”
“Yes what?” Q asked, hoping for some clarification on what of his unusually long speech had been accepted, but James seemed to misunderstand.
“Yes, it is. Good enough, that is,” he specified. “Q.”
Fandom: James Bond
Pairings: James/Q
Rating: PG-13
Summary: There's a vital part of information on Q that Bond is missing. In the end, it turns out it's not really that vital at all.
Author's Notes: *talks quickly under breath* This is my first fic for this fandom and I don't actually know if it's any good because it's kind of halfway meta and there are probably a lot others like it, but I'd sort of like to know what you think because I'm really not sure how it turned out. Feedback is most welcome!
Also posted on AO3.
Q liked to think of his home - or what passed for a home whenever he had the time to actually remove himself from his desk - as his sanctuary. It didn't matter that he took most of his work home; there was still a firm and very much real border between the acceptable things that could happen between these walls.
Secret agents barging in for no apparent reason were, curiously, on the unacceptable side of the list. It wasn't that he minded this particular agent's presence - most of the time, he even encouraged it - but he'd engrossed himself in his work in the past few hours and didn't have the physical or mental strength to kick him out now.
"How did you get past the security?" He asked evenly without lifting his eyes from his laptop screen. His fingers were still flying over the keyboard and the sound could almost drown out the uneasy shuffling of someone's dress shoes over his carpet. Almost.
"I dismantled it."
Not much of a surprise. Q gave a sigh of resignation, but his enthusiasm for his current project didn't falter. "And what about the security guard downstairs?"
"I bribed him."
He finally looked up from his work. "Remind me to fire the security guard downstairs," he said, voice overflowing with politeness, and got back to his work.
It didn't take long before his uninvited visitor went on, unperturbed by the lack of cooperation. "What're you working on that might be more important than someone breaking in your house?" A pair of blue eyes peered curiously over the edge of the laptop and Q closed it primly.
"You break into my house all the time, James," he reasoned. "It's long since I've stopped caring."
It's been months since they'd started this thing between them that neither could really specify. Q was humble enough to admit that Bond was probably fond of him and enjoyed his companionship and honest enough to realise that he himself had probably fallen for the man ever since he'd been made Quartermaster and had read everything about his adventures - which was (not that he’d ever admit that to anyone) before he’d even met him in person. James - as he'd insisted on being called in private - had let him set whatever rules he had and so far the only one he'd asked for was being discreet. Of course, he wasn't naïve enough to expect James Bond of all people to be discreet, but he'd at least hoped to avoid the rumours at his workplace by having said man wander about his flat too much.
He opened his laptop once again and with the slightest bit of reluctance asked, "How can I help you?"
"I don't know your name."
Well. That was... unexpected. Despite his efforts to stay unaffected by whatever demented idea James had brought him into now, Q felt worry raising its head inside him.
"Are you sure the medical staff checked you out carefully last night before sending you off?" He asked tentatively. "Was it a thorough examination? Maybe you've got a concussion."
“Very funny," James shot back as he plopped on the bed next to him, suit and all. "You know what I mean."
"I'm afraid I don't," Q said and could feel that the ending of the sentence sounded a bit like a question. Bond tended to be just a bit weird in the few hours after he came back from missions, but this was a little excessive. "I'm serious, are you all right? I watched you on the surveillance cameras; you hit your head pretty bad in that tunnel."
"It's not that, Q," James countered and now there was a fair amount of exasperation in his voice. "I don't know your actual name."
Also unexpected. The matter had never been brought up until now and Q would have honestly preferred to keep things that way. "And why would you want to?"
"Why wouldn't I want to? I can't just keep calling you Q, now that we're..." He motioned the bedroom with his hand. "It's ridiculous."
"I don't see your point," Q said, valiantly trying to keep his point and mentally cringing at the amount of energy the double-oh agent would throw into this new mission. He knew him well enough to realise that once he'd thought of that, he wouldn't let it go.
"You don't call me 007 in bed, do you?"
"You haven't asked me to," Q shrugged, doing his best to look lecherous enough to distract him. He really didn’t pull of lecherous well, but, it didn’t really matter. In nine out of ten cases, James would have taken the bait.
Much to his misfortune, it didn't work now. But then again, Q hadn’t actually expected it to. His day had proven to be rather unlucky way before that.
"So are you going to tell me?"
Okay, enough. It was time for drastic measures. “Do you want this country to fall apart before most of its citizens have even had breakfast today, James?”
He had the decency to look affronted. “Of course I don’t.”
“Then let me do my job,” Q said with the most pleasant smile he could manage and got back to work. And that was that.
If only he’d been so lucky.
o.O.o
“Is it something terribly embarrassing?” Q didn’t have to look up to know that James would be leaning with faked nonchalance on the doorframe of his office, his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. It was the look he usually had when he wanted something. Q saw it all too often. “Something like, I don’t know, Bert or Rufus?”
“Do I look like a man called Rufus?” Q asked. He didn’t want to take any part of the agent’s ridiculous quest, but he couldn’t help but get involved. After all, he was the target.
“No, you don’t,” James conceded. He actually looked troubled by the lack of progress, bless him, and Q tried to suppress a smile. There was no reason to encourage him. “You look more like a Diggory to me.”
“It’s not Diggory,” he said automatically and then wanted to slap himself. It was better to just keep quiet and let this whole thing come to its natural conclusion - which, hopefully, included a slightly more peaceful working space for him.
“It’s not Diggory,” James echoed with a triumphant smile and neared him, bracing his hands on his desk. “That’s something, I suppose.”
“Yes. Now you just have to go through millions of other names,” Q said, reaching out so he could pat him on the shoulder just patronisingly enough to put him off. “Good luck with that, but could you please do it quietly and not here?”
James gave him a look that said, “I’m not letting this go” - another thing that Q saw all too often - and left the office with a huff.
o.O.o
“Is it Quentin?”
The time to be polite was long since over. “Go away, James.”
“It could be something that- What are you doing?”
“Designing you glasses,” Q said as he brandished said object for the agent to see. “There’s a camera in them, of course, and also access to our entire database. It’s voice activated and it works only on you.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” James said with that ridiculously big smile of his that always appeared when there was new tech to explore and Q held them out of his reach.
“No, I shouldn’t have.” Honestly, he’d never thrown as much effort on any other agent. It wasn’t really a secret that James was his favourite even if he tried not to flaunt that and he loved designing things especially for him, even if they rarely saw the end of the mission. “But if you want them to work properly, then you’ll have to let me work.”
“I won’t be in your way at all,” James assured him and Q did his best not to let his doubt show. “I was just wondering, maybe it’s something that starts with Q and that’s why you don’t mind being called just that.”
“Really?” Q dropped the screwdriver he was holding so he could chance a look at his direction. “What are the odds?”
James shrugged. “You tell me.”
“None,” Q said and resisted the childish urge add evil laughter to the end of the sentence. “The same as your chances to actually get somewhere with this. Don’t you have anywhere to be? Countries to save? People to shoot at?”
“Not for another week,” James said innocently, but the implication was clear. He’d have to bear this for a week more.
o.O.o
In reality, another three days passed before Q’s seemingly infinite patience finally snapped. The continuing inquiries of his name had went on in any possible situation - up to and including mid-coitus, which was not a situation Q wanted repeated - and he couldn’t stand to hear any variation of the same question one more time.
“What exactly is the matter with you?” He asked, voice lowered almost to a hiss. He had no intention of attracting the attention of everyone in Q-branch because of one overly persistent agent. “Can’t you ever take no for an answer?”
“It’s not a yes or no question,” James pointed out, irritatingly unruffled as ever. “I think I’m being fairly straightforward.”
“Why does it matter?” Q pressed. “Why do you even care about this? Just because you like to announce your name whenever you enter a room doesn’t mean that the rest of us like to do it, too.”
“I just want to know,” James said and looked around them as if to see if there was anyone listening. Q was pretty sure that everyone in their remote surrounding was trying to see what the problem was, but he doubted that anyone could actually make out what they were saying. “It’s just a part of you, isn’t it? I just wanted to know something about you.”
And suddenly, this entire fixation got just a bit less infuriating. It was something that James would never have admitted unless he was explicitly forced to, as he had been now, but it was a peace offering. It wasn’t just some strange idea that had come out of nowhere; it was an attempt to get to know him better.
“I understand,” he assured, trying to tread as lightly as possible over the apparently sensitive subject, “But it really doesn’t matter to me. When I accepted this job, when I started working here... it was the name they gave me that signified that I myself have changed; that I’ve become something new.”
He wasn’t good with words. In fact, in most cases he was absolutely rubbish. He could create masterpieces from just a few wires and think of the best plan possible for almost any situation any from MI6’s agent could possibly find themselves in, but when it came to words and expressing anything through them, Q always got just a bit lost. Still, it seemed that James was listening intently, so he tried to do his best.
“It’s my name,” he said in the end, shrugging a bit helplessly. It wasn’t a hard concept, really, but maybe it was from the other man’s point of view - he was more of a people’s person than anyone else Q had met and it was probably hard to understand why a new name someone had given him was good enough for him. “You know me as Q, because that’s who I am and, more importantly, who I want to be. Is that good enough for you?”
There was a brief moment of hesitation and Q could practically see the thought process happen behind James’s clear blue eyes. Then he nodded resolutely. “Yes.”
“Yes what?” Q asked, hoping for some clarification on what of his unusually long speech had been accepted, but James seemed to misunderstand.
“Yes, it is. Good enough, that is,” he specified. “Q.”