Fanfiction: Albedo 7/? (James Bond - Skyfall)
Title: "Albedo 7/?"
Status: WIP
Fandom: James Bond (Craig!Bond; Movieverse)
Pairing(s)/Character(s): James Bond/Q; M, Eve Moneypenny, Bill Tanner, minor OCs
Disclaimer: The James Bond Franchise belongs to MGM and Ian Fleming, not mine, no claim.
Rating: T
Genre: Alternate Universe, Sentinel/Guide, spirit animals, H/C, angst, humour, slash, 00Q
Warnings: unbeta'ed, canon-typical violence, language
Summary: Their dinner leads to trivial, oh-so-important secrets being shared...
Note: "Albedo" is a collection of drabbles and one-shots, situated in the same AU, as such each part is a stand-alone and complete.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten
101
It turned out that the “Stuzzico” was indeed a nice Italian restaurant not too far from Hyde Park. Q had expected something posh, the kind of place Bond frequented on missions, so he was pleasantly surprised by the warm atmosphere, even if the menu was decidedly pizza-free.
He felt relaxed by the time the light outside had faded, eating his excellent Parmigiana to the murmur of the other patrons, while Bond dipped the last of his salmon into the decorative spots of wine sauce on his plate.
After they had finished the main course and the table was cleared Bond caught the eye of a waitress. She soon came back and placed a glass of Macallan and the bill-fold down within easy reach; her suggestive smile turned frosty as it was ignored.
"Are you sure you don't want one for the road?" Bond asked, swirling the amber content of his glass with a connoisseurs appreciation.
"I am." Q waited until Bond had settled the bill and the young woman was gone, then added: "Every Guide is well-advised to avoid alcohol, as I'm sure you know."
"And here I misjudged you as a lightweight."
Q caught himself studying the amused tilt of Bond's lips with the same intensity he usually reserved for lines of code. It felt natural, considering that his whole awareness of Bond had shifted since their sharing in the National Gallery.
Q took a sip of his mineral water, then admitted with a shrug, “You didn't.”
Whether he could hold his liquor or not was of no consequence, but it was one of the precious few informations not included in any of the files MI6 had about him. That fact lent it an importance people outside their line of work would fail to properly appreciate. Bond, of course, noticed its significance immediately and Q felt the gentle rush of his piqued curiosity.
"Tell me more, Q."
His voice was soft, oddly hesitant, and Q knew all came down to trust again, that one elusive thing they were both reluctant to give. Having started them on this road, Q resolved to keep things lightly.
"More trivia?" he offered and propped his chin up on his hand in consideration; elbow resting on the tabletop. "Friendship book level, perhaps?"
"Really, Q?" Bond utterly failed to sound doubtful.
"Silly idea, isn't it?" Q raised one eyebrow. "Especially when you suddenly look so intrigued."
Their eyes met over the candlelight and Bond huffed a laugh that turned some heads from neighbouring tables.
"Please go ahead."
"Good. So... My favourite colour is blue - "
"How fortunate for me." Q gave him a half-hearted glare. "Mine is black."
"- and animal would be the magpie."
"German shepherd." Bond hesitated, then added: "We had one in West Berlin, for a short while."
Q, knowing better than to pick at a wound that was scabbed-over with repression and denial, decided not to comment. “You just treated me to my favourite dish and I'm sure you filled my Scrabble mug often enough by now.”
Bond grimaced. “My suits smell of bergamot after debrief.”
"How terribly inconvenient."
His smile was rather disarming as Bond said, “Not really.”
"Macallan?"
"Yes, but in a bind any whisky will do. And I have no favourite dish, though Moneypenny's cookies might come close."
"Duly noted." Q drained his glass. "What is left? Oh yes. I do hate to admit to any kind of cliché but I do love the first 'Tron' movie. And I've read 'The Count of Monte Cristo' eight times to date."
"That often? Why?"
Q, for once, did not think before answering and did so with venom in his voice: “The thought of taking revenge and yet sailing into the sunset unchecked appealed to me for a long time when I was younger.”
The sudden tension pulling at muscles his cardigan might have covered but the instinctive bracing of his shields was damning. The atmosphere in the large room shifted, catching something darker where they sat.
Bond leaned closer, keeping his voice low. “Q - “
"No James." Q looked down, felt those sharp blue eyes watching him. He had said 'please' without using the word and they both knew it. "Not yet."
As hoped-for, Bond let it go, choosing instead to take his turn: “I don't read much, but I really liked 'Perfume'. I doubt you'll have heard of it, it is - “
"- the story of the murderer Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, who set out to create the perfect perfume with the help of his extraordinary sense of smell. Sadly, his methods left much to be desired and shortened the life expectancy of many young women," Q finished for him too quickly, smile flat and forced.
The light mood lost they agreed to call it a day soon after, yet the only thing Q felt from Bond was his frustration at not being able to understand and offer comfort.
It was a short walk from the restaurant to where the Aston Martin was parked; Q burrowed into his parka against the chill wind.
"I would offer to drive you home but I'm sure you would decline."
It was more a statement of fact than a question, though Q felt the hint of hopeful anticipation that made it past his shields. He could see it in Bond's eyes as well, highlighted in the cone from the street lamp.
He stepped close enough to feel the heat of Bond's body, the muscles hidden by fabric, and kissed his cheek. Slight stubble scratched his lips and the spicy note of aftershave was pleasant. Q drew back with a smile, his decision made.
"Next time."
His wrist was caught, but Q could break away from those callused fingers with ease if he wanted to. Bond's breath was warm on his face, his thumb moving circles over his pulse that was quicker than it should have been.
"I'll hold you to that."
"I would be very disappointed if you didn't."
[The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity. The fears are paper tigers. You can do anything you decide to do. You can act to change and control your life; and the procedure, the process, is its own reward. ~ Amelia Earhart]
The End
Status: WIP
Fandom: James Bond (Craig!Bond; Movieverse)
Pairing(s)/Character(s): James Bond/Q; M, Eve Moneypenny, Bill Tanner, minor OCs
Disclaimer: The James Bond Franchise belongs to MGM and Ian Fleming, not mine, no claim.
Rating: T
Genre: Alternate Universe, Sentinel/Guide, spirit animals, H/C, angst, humour, slash, 00Q
Warnings: unbeta'ed, canon-typical violence, language
Summary: Their dinner leads to trivial, oh-so-important secrets being shared...
Note: "Albedo" is a collection of drabbles and one-shots, situated in the same AU, as such each part is a stand-alone and complete.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten
101
It turned out that the “Stuzzico” was indeed a nice Italian restaurant not too far from Hyde Park. Q had expected something posh, the kind of place Bond frequented on missions, so he was pleasantly surprised by the warm atmosphere, even if the menu was decidedly pizza-free.
He felt relaxed by the time the light outside had faded, eating his excellent Parmigiana to the murmur of the other patrons, while Bond dipped the last of his salmon into the decorative spots of wine sauce on his plate.
After they had finished the main course and the table was cleared Bond caught the eye of a waitress. She soon came back and placed a glass of Macallan and the bill-fold down within easy reach; her suggestive smile turned frosty as it was ignored.
"Are you sure you don't want one for the road?" Bond asked, swirling the amber content of his glass with a connoisseurs appreciation.
"I am." Q waited until Bond had settled the bill and the young woman was gone, then added: "Every Guide is well-advised to avoid alcohol, as I'm sure you know."
"And here I misjudged you as a lightweight."
Q caught himself studying the amused tilt of Bond's lips with the same intensity he usually reserved for lines of code. It felt natural, considering that his whole awareness of Bond had shifted since their sharing in the National Gallery.
Q took a sip of his mineral water, then admitted with a shrug, “You didn't.”
Whether he could hold his liquor or not was of no consequence, but it was one of the precious few informations not included in any of the files MI6 had about him. That fact lent it an importance people outside their line of work would fail to properly appreciate. Bond, of course, noticed its significance immediately and Q felt the gentle rush of his piqued curiosity.
"Tell me more, Q."
His voice was soft, oddly hesitant, and Q knew all came down to trust again, that one elusive thing they were both reluctant to give. Having started them on this road, Q resolved to keep things lightly.
"More trivia?" he offered and propped his chin up on his hand in consideration; elbow resting on the tabletop. "Friendship book level, perhaps?"
"Really, Q?" Bond utterly failed to sound doubtful.
"Silly idea, isn't it?" Q raised one eyebrow. "Especially when you suddenly look so intrigued."
Their eyes met over the candlelight and Bond huffed a laugh that turned some heads from neighbouring tables.
"Please go ahead."
"Good. So... My favourite colour is blue - "
"How fortunate for me." Q gave him a half-hearted glare. "Mine is black."
"- and animal would be the magpie."
"German shepherd." Bond hesitated, then added: "We had one in West Berlin, for a short while."
Q, knowing better than to pick at a wound that was scabbed-over with repression and denial, decided not to comment. “You just treated me to my favourite dish and I'm sure you filled my Scrabble mug often enough by now.”
Bond grimaced. “My suits smell of bergamot after debrief.”
"How terribly inconvenient."
His smile was rather disarming as Bond said, “Not really.”
"Macallan?"
"Yes, but in a bind any whisky will do. And I have no favourite dish, though Moneypenny's cookies might come close."
"Duly noted." Q drained his glass. "What is left? Oh yes. I do hate to admit to any kind of cliché but I do love the first 'Tron' movie. And I've read 'The Count of Monte Cristo' eight times to date."
"That often? Why?"
Q, for once, did not think before answering and did so with venom in his voice: “The thought of taking revenge and yet sailing into the sunset unchecked appealed to me for a long time when I was younger.”
The sudden tension pulling at muscles his cardigan might have covered but the instinctive bracing of his shields was damning. The atmosphere in the large room shifted, catching something darker where they sat.
Bond leaned closer, keeping his voice low. “Q - “
"No James." Q looked down, felt those sharp blue eyes watching him. He had said 'please' without using the word and they both knew it. "Not yet."
As hoped-for, Bond let it go, choosing instead to take his turn: “I don't read much, but I really liked 'Perfume'. I doubt you'll have heard of it, it is - “
"- the story of the murderer Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, who set out to create the perfect perfume with the help of his extraordinary sense of smell. Sadly, his methods left much to be desired and shortened the life expectancy of many young women," Q finished for him too quickly, smile flat and forced.
The light mood lost they agreed to call it a day soon after, yet the only thing Q felt from Bond was his frustration at not being able to understand and offer comfort.
It was a short walk from the restaurant to where the Aston Martin was parked; Q burrowed into his parka against the chill wind.
"I would offer to drive you home but I'm sure you would decline."
It was more a statement of fact than a question, though Q felt the hint of hopeful anticipation that made it past his shields. He could see it in Bond's eyes as well, highlighted in the cone from the street lamp.
He stepped close enough to feel the heat of Bond's body, the muscles hidden by fabric, and kissed his cheek. Slight stubble scratched his lips and the spicy note of aftershave was pleasant. Q drew back with a smile, his decision made.
"Next time."
His wrist was caught, but Q could break away from those callused fingers with ease if he wanted to. Bond's breath was warm on his face, his thumb moving circles over his pulse that was quicker than it should have been.
"I'll hold you to that."
"I would be very disappointed if you didn't."
[The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity. The fears are paper tigers. You can do anything you decide to do. You can act to change and control your life; and the procedure, the process, is its own reward. ~ Amelia Earhart]
The End