Work Text:
1.
The first time it happens, Q really shouldn’t be surprised. Of course the day Bond chooses to return is the day he’s decided to finally agree to a date, planning on spending the night talking and eating before ending it with a nice glass of wine. Instead, he’s typing away on his laptop, trying to decode what’s been missing from the hard drive M had given him just yesterday.
Maybe he would have sent Bond away, and Eve too, if it hadn’t been for the fact that the fate of the world was, once again, resting on their shoulders.
But then again, when is it ever not?
“You can get these with hair now, too, you know?” Bond teases from where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter and Q rolls his eyes at him.
“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to follow their lead.” He then replies, throwing a brief look over his shoulder at the other man, instantly regretting it, because Bond still looks good, great even. Despite the cut on his nose and the large bruise Q can see showing just above the collar of his shirt. “They talk far less than you.”
He finishes typing in the last command and waits for the hard drive to reboot, ignoring the way he can feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
Bond is watching him, probably considering if he should reply, and Q doesn’t quite know how to deal with it. Usually it’s the other way around, or it used to be anyway, with Q watching Bond’s every move to navigate him through a mission safely and successfully, but now things have changed.
Bond is no longer a double 0 agent and Q has a date in less than thirty minutes. Twenty-seven to be exact.
His computer makes a noise that indicates the hard drive is done being reassembled, and when his eyes fall onto the list of names that suddenly pops up, Q feels his stomach drop.
“Well shit,” Bond says over his shoulder, and Q reaches for his phone, typing out a message without even looking.
Sorry. Have to cancel. Work emergency. x
2.
“Morning Q. Coffee?”
Bond’s living with him now, and Q really doesn’t quite know how that has happened. He almost regrets getting the bigger place with the guest room, but there’s a small backyard which is great for the cats who, by the way, seem to love Bond more than they love him.
Traitors. Q thinks as he steps into the kitchen and nods. He prefers drinking tea, but they’ve spent most of the night awake, trying to come up with a way to get M to agree to let them handle this mission, and he doesn’t know for how long he’ll be able to keep his eyes open if he doesn’t elevate his caffeine intake.
“Good morning, Bond.” He eventually responds, maybe a minute too late, taking a careful sip of the coffee that’s being handed to him. It tastes surprisingly good, and if Q’s being honest then he’s not even sure he had coffee in the house in the first place.
“M’s probably going to call you in today. There’s no time to waste.”
Q knows the matter is pressing, but when is it ever not? He’s chosen this job, and he knows there’s odd work hours, but ever since the number 7 has been given to another agent, things have become a little quieter, or more organized anyway. There’s still odd hours, but usually everything goes according to plan and he’s home when he expects to be home.
“We should probably hurry. We can get breakfast on the way.” Bond adds eventually, and Q raises an eyebrow, his phone buzzing in his pocket.
“Are you paying?”
Dinner tonight? :) x The message reads, and Q sighs.
“Of course. What do you take me for?” Bond then replies, his lips curving into a slight smile.
Sorry. Can’t do. Raincheck?
3.
Usually, Q leaves his private phone turned off during work hours, but then his work usually doesn’t involve actually going on missions, though maybe he should have known better considering Bond has returned, and things are never quite as simple when the other man’s around.
“007? Can you hear me?” He loses contact to both agents rather rapidly, the thick walls of the bunker keeping the signal from going through, and he really needs to figure out a way to work on this for future operations.
“...found...have to...later...” the words come through in bits and pieces, and Q sighs when his phone buzzes, displaying Jerry’s number. He instantly feels bad, because he hasn’t talked to the other ever since that morning when they had been called to M’s office, and he hasn’t felt the need to, either.
Jerry’s a nice guy, and Q remembers being excited about going on a date again, but ever since Bond has returned from his retirement, and moved in with him of all people, it has felt wrong to go on a date.
It sounds incredibly stupid, Q is very aware of it, but there’s not much he can do about it. Especially not when he feels his eyes drawn to the agent’s half naked body as he steps out of Q’s shower, or makes coffee in the morning, casually leaning against the kitchen counter like he’s been living here for ages.
“Jerry? Yes. Sorry. Can I call you back? I have another emergency at work. No, I’d still love to go out. Wednesday? Wonderful.” If I’m still alive by then, he thinks before ending the call.
“Agreeing to go on dates while my life is on the line, Q?” The voice in his ear crackles, and Q realizes that he hasn’t muted his mic. “I gotta say, I’m a little hurt.”
“None of your business, 007.” He eventually replies in the most neutral voice he can muster. “Just focus on not dying, will you?”
Needlessly to say, Bond doesn’t die, but Q doesn’t go out for dinner on Wednesday either.
4.
They fall into a weird routine after that.
Bond gets reinstated as a 00 agent and, for some godforsaken reason, doesn’t move out of Q’s apartment. He knows they have apartments for agents and people who work for MI6, because he’s lived in one before he bought this house, and Bond knows it too, and yet he doesn’t seem to particularly care about leaving.
The worst part is: Q doesn’t want him to leave, either.
It’s not like he hasn’t known it before, that Bond had always been a little more to him than just a colleague, even more than just a friend. Though Q isn’t even sure they qualify as friends.
It’s all up in the air, and yet Bond still greets him with a cup of tea every morning, whenever he’s not out of a mission, and Q doesn’t quite know how handle it.
Especially not when Jerry texts him again, asking if he wants to go to dinner, and Q doesn’t know how to respond. On one hand he’s flattered, because this is the longest anyone’s ever actually tried to date him, but on the other hand he isn’t quite sure if he wants to go out anymore, and he hates it.
It’s not like Bond is actually trying to date him, he’s just...existing in Q’s space, and Q hates the fact that he’s getting used to it.
Typing in the code to his apartment, Q unlocks the door, the phone already pressed in between his shoulder and ear as he waits for Jerry to pick up.
“Hello? Yes, it’s me. Sorry about the constant delays...” He steps into the apartment then, and the lights are turned on fully, the smell of food wafting over towards the entrance, and there’s Bond, in Q’s kitchen, a glass of wine in his hand, and wearing one of Q’s aprons.
“Evening Q, you hungry?” Bond smiles one of his trademark smiles, and Q actually groans.
5.
Q gives up on Jerry and deletes his number after that, because while he’s not one to believe in fate, he has a distinct feeling that the universe is trying to tell him something.
He briefly considers online dating, but while he’s not about to post all of his personal information online, it’s quite interesting to take a look at the people so desperate to find love that they’re willing to post the most unflattering photos of themselves, probably thinking they looked cool that one time they dressed up as Superman for Halloween.
It doesn’t help that Bond still lives with him, too, and that Q finds himself missing the other man when he’s away.
He doesn’t go on long missions yet, just brief trips to gather some information here and there, and those are usually missions that don’t have to be supervised. So Q finds himself sitting on his couch, with one of his cats in his lap, giving him a what he can only describe as an accusing stare.
“Yes. I know. I miss him too.” He sighs, shaking his head as he reaches out to pet her. “But we can’t tell him that.”
There’s worse things than talking to his cats, Q is sure of it, but Eve seems to think differently. “I can set you up with someone, you know? Because it hurts my heart to see you act like a lovesick puppy.”
“I’ve never quite understood that expression. Why would puppies be lovesick? Or does it come from their big, pleading eyes? Which, by the way, does not apply to all breeds.” He replies, but Eve doesn’t seem to be distracted by his words at all.
“Do you want me to set you up on a date now? He’s really nice. A pediatrician, and he’s handsome and very well versed in all kinds of things, too. You’d love him. I can ask if he’s free this week?”
Part of him wants to say no, but then the rational part of his brain kicks in. Yes, Bond sleeps in his guest room, and he makes a habit of walking around the apartment only wrapped in a towel, and he knows how to cook Q’s favorite food, but he’s never made a move on him, and maybe it’s time to move on.
Chinese take out for dinner? Bond texts.
“No.” Q says.
+1
They’ve fallen into a routine, and Q’s not sure what to think about it. It’s been a few weeks since Bond’s been reinstated, and yet he still hasn’t made an attempt to move out and well, Q hasn’t asked him to, either.
Sometimes, when he’s away on a mission, Eve comes over with a bottle of wine, and Q’s thankful that she’s taken to only silently judging him, because he knows he’s being stupid. Every now and then he thinks he’ll come to his senses, but then the other man’s in his kitchen again after returning from a mission, making breakfast and Q doesn’t know how to handle it.
Worse, he doesn’t know how he’s going to handle it when Bond actually moves out, because Q knows he will.
“That’s going to have to be done by tomorrow so I can review it and send it off for testing.” He notes, passing one of the work tables as he makes his way towards his office. It’s late already, and Q’s thinking about going home, but Bond’s away on a mission, so he’d just be going back to an apartment that would be empty, safe for two cats who were still judging him.
So he decides to work on the new decoder for a bit, not quite realizing how much time has passed until there’s a knock on the door. “007.” He blinks, not having expected the agent back from his trip to Ireland before tomorrow.
“Q.” The other man’s lips are curved into a smile, and he steps up to the desk. “I have something for you.”
“Is it my equipment that you were supposed to return unharmed?” Q counters with a raised eyebrow, but Bond doesn’t seem to be phased, instead pulling out a postcard with what he assumes is Dublin’s sights printed onto the front.
“You know, you’re supposed to send those via mail.” Q quips and Bond laughs.
“Just read the damn card, will you?” He then responds, and there’s something smug about him that should have told Q something was up, and still, he finds himself turning the card over anyway.
Dinner? x is the only thing written across the back of the card and Q raises another eyebrow.
“Is this your way of telling me you’re cooking tonight?” He then asks, and he’s not sure what kind of response he’s expected, but when Bond leans in closer, Q’s heart misses a beat.
“I was thinking more like...the nice Italian place down the street from our place. I heard it’s the perfect spot for a date.” He whispers, and Q finds himself blushing just a little.
Our place. He thinks, trying to make sense of his thoughts so he doesn’t sound like a complete idiot when he speaks. “So...a date then?”
Bond’s smile gets a little wider as he pulls back, nodding slowly. “Isn’t that what I just said?” He then chuckles, “I’ll meet you outside after my debriefing.”
“You haven’t been debriefed?” Q asks, and Bond shakes his head.
“I considered this to be...more important.” He then grins and Q has to keep his lips from turning into a smile while the other man is watching. He won’t quite give Bond the satisfaction of knowing how much of an effect the other man is having on him, but then again it probably doesn’t matter anyway. Bond, though Q would have never admitted it, probably knows him better than most people.
“Don’t let M hear you say that, 007.” He then replies and Bond laughs again, shaking his head.
“I think it’s high time you called me James, don’t you?” He adds as he turns to walk out of the office, leaving Q to watch him with a stupidly big smile on his face.