“Penny for your thoughts?”
Q didn’t have to look over to know that Bond was doing the thing. The thing where he flashes a smirk as tailor-made as one of his ridiculous suits (and really, Q still doesn’t understand that at all, I mean in headquarters it would be one thing but surely out in the field it would simply be more sensible to – oh never bloody mind). But the thing about, well, the thing, is that no matter how much levity Bond tries to introduce into what he says, or whatever laissez-faire expression he has going on to make it seem like couldn’t possibly give enough damns if he tried, Q knows by now that if Bond asks a direct question? Double-oh-seven times out of ten, he means it.
“I was just thinking,” Q broke off suddenly, curling his fingers into the sheets. Bond, to his credit, didn’t reply sarcastically, didn’t reply at all, except for to run a warm, rough hand along the length of Q’s thigh.
“I was just thinking about how it’s all very well for you to actually be here when I have, you know – “ Q nonchalantly twisted his hand about in mid air, which in Q’s brand of sign language meant: “when I have the night terror that’s been plaguing me ever since we started doing this, started sharing a bed, come to think of it was there ever a time before we started doing this because I really can’t picture it, but we fall asleep and I dream that you’re cold, so cold, and it drowns me and I can’t breathe and I wake up and for a minute and it’s fine and I’m being silly because you’re there next to me but when I go over to wake you you’re still cold and you’re not moving not at all and oh god somehow they got you, and then I wake up for real.” Q draws in a breath, exhausted by the mere avoidance of saying what means. “When you’re here it’s all fine and dandy but one day I’ll wake up,” he finally turned to look at him, brown eyes against blue, “and you won’t be. Here, that is,” he finished somewhat lamely, and looked back at the bedspread.
Bond kept gazing at Q, eyes just about as soft as they could get. “You know I can’t promise anything,” he began, and Q nodded, eyes still fixed on Bond’s top-sheet. “But if you think it would help to forget a bit…” and here he leaned over, pressing Q back down against the bed and situating himself on top of Q, leaning forward onto his elbows to bracket Q’s face with his arms, forcing their eyes to meet again, “…I think I could assist with that.”
A small smile quirked at the corner of Q’s mouth, and he reached up to tug Bond towards him. Q drew in a breath against Bond’s lips.
“Then I think you’d better start.”