Q (__q__) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2013-03-30 20:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed |
Who: Q and James Bond
Where: Their apartment
What: James is drunk, Q is awesome.
When: Fucking ages ago, brah. I'll let you know
Rating: HIGH HIGH HIGH
Status: Complete
Q has always been a patient man. Which has always worked well in his job, has been one of the merits of his profession because it means he can take all the time that is needed for tiny little things, things that take a long time, things that need a lot of attention.
James is one of them. James is one little predicament that Q has all of the patience in the world for. He doesn't know why and he certainly doesn't want to take the time to justify it to himself. He'll just let it be and not try to rationalise why he's standing downstairs waiting for James. It's cold and it's dark and Q regrets that he didn't put any socks on and that he's in his pajama bottoms and that his jumper is the only thing he's wearing on top because what's the point in just wearing a jumper? It's a layer. Dammit.
But he's putting himself through that to wait for James, because he wants to make sure he makes it home okay. he wants to make sure he makes it up the stairs in one piece. And he just wants to be with him. In any capacity. He'll take what he can get.
James was glad that Q wanted him to go back to the apartment. The pub has stopped being an escape- he was at that level of drunk that lent itself to horrible introspection. It was like every emotion had just rushed to the surface, and he wasn't terribly good at focusing that anywhere in particular. So they just overwhelmed it. And even the whiskey was burning with every drink, his body insistent that it couldn't take any more of his abuse. He would have stayed out and tried to sober up, if Q hadn't seemed so keen.
So, instead, he stumbled homewards. The promise of tea and a bed was welcoming, but he was feeling rather embarrassed. Even in his drunken state, he knew he'd already said far too much. Q didn't seem to mind, but it seemed like a lot to put on his shoulders. He was sure that he had enough to be dealing with on his own without taking James's problems on board as well.
Like he'd promised, Q was waiting for him. It was all James could do not to fling himself at him and start weeping- he'd actually cared enough to come down the stairs to make sure he was okay. It was sweet, but James felt like an absolute moron. He forced a bit of a smile. "You must be freezing," he told him. It was meant to be an apology and a thank you all at once, but he was sure it fell a little short.
Q had started to smile as soon as he saw James at a distance, staggering though he was. Still, he was glad to see him, and that was never not going to be the case, apparently. Q couldn't count the amount of times he'd breathed a sigh of relief at seeing James bloody Bond.
"Hello to you, too," he said when James was close enough to talk to him. "Well yes, it's cold out here and I'm not dressed for the weather, but I'm hoping-" he was hoping that James would warm him up. But he doesn't finish that sentence, Q just shrugs and steps away from the doorway to let James in past him. The doorway is narrow, James presses against him as he comes through the door. And he's not as warm as he could be, but that's just the cold clinging to his clothes. Beneath his clothes he's warm and firm.
He closes the door behind James and keeps the warmth in, then slides up behind him, wrapping an arm around James' waist in case he needs support. And really just for selfish reasons. James doesn't need him to help him up the stairs. "The kettle is on. Do you want tea or coffee? I didn't want to go and look for your pajamas, so you can dig them up whilst I make you a drink."
"You're hoping?" he asked immediately, quirking an eyebrow at him as he slides past into the foyer.
The arm around his waist was surprisingly welcome. He doubted that he really needed any assistance, but decided not to make a fuss. He didn't want to discourage him. It was nice- feeling cared for, for once.
"Tea, please," he replied, sitting himself down on the sofa. He slid his jacket off of his shoulders, and pulled off one shoe and then the other. He laughed softly when Q told him he should go and find pajamas. "Not sure I own any, Q."
"You don't own any?" Q asked, not really knowing what James was talking about. What was James talking about? Oh! Pajamas! "Oh, well, it's- well, it's your flat too, isn't it?" he said, though he wasn't entirely sure what he was saying. James had strolled around before in various states of dress, so perhaps Q should have assumed- "You can, you can do as you want. However you want. In your- whatever you want," he stuttered, yanking his own pajama bottoms up slightly. "Tea. Okay, tea."
He busied himself doing that, busied himself making them drinks. And then he made his way over to James, standing- perching awkwardly on the sofa beside him, edge of the cushion. Now he felt awkward. But he could feel the heat of James' body and he wanted to move towards it. He could feel the goosebumps on his skin beneath his jumper. From the cold of James being so near he didn't know, he couldn't say.
"Glad you made it back in...in one piece, James."
"No. Well, I haven't stolen any for myself," he explained. Q was stuttering away, but James hardly noticed. He just wondered why Q was giving him step-by-step instructions of what to do. Did he seem that incompetent?
"Yeah, I will, don't worry," he said with bit of a smile, settling back for the time being. It was strange, being so fussed over. The comfort of the sofa and warmth of the room relaxed him again- things felt significantly less awful now that he was 'home'. If he just didn't think about the phone call, then it would ll be fine.
"Thanks," he smiled as Q returned with the tea. He took a warming sip. "Oh, you know me. Always do, eventually."
"Yes," Q murmured, looking into his drink. "Yes, I know you do. But you scare me enough along the way." They hadn't even known each other that long in the real world, in the grand scheme of things. It hadn't been too long, but still, Q knew he had seen a lot of James, he'd watched him through a lot of things, and James-
He looked over his shoulder at him, pursing his lips. "It was- I'm glad you called me, James," he started, looking back at his tea. "I'm glad- I don't- I kind of think we need to rely on each other. Or- no. I don't know. I'm rather tired," Q sighed. "But I'm glad you called." He can't articulate why. He can't tell him why. That James, drunk, thought about him. Him.
"Will you- um." Did James want to go to bed with him? Did he? Platonically or- no, it would be platonic. James didn't- wouldn't think of him like that. Ever.
"I don't mean to scare you," he pointed out, reaching into a pocket and taking out a packet of cigarettes. He offered one to Q before he took one himself and lit up, alternating puffs with sips of tea. Strange multi-tasking, but the mixture of tea and nicotine was helping to level him out a bit.
"Really? I was about to apologise again," he admitted, feeling a little embarrassed. It wasn't good, letting people listen to his shit when he was just that drunk. He sighed, shuffled slightly, and finished smoking in almost thoughtful silence. "Well. Thank you. I'm glad I- I'm glad that you were there, to answer it. I- hmm, appreciate it," he told him. Maybe he was laying it on a bit thick, but it wasn't insincere. He was just drunk, it was making everything a bit more intense.
Cigarette stubbed out, James gave Q a curious look, waiting for the end of the question. "Hmm? Q?"
"I know you don't. It's part of my job. Taking care of you. It's actually specified in the Quartermaster's job description," Q teased, looking at the cigarettes. He took one and placed it between his lips, staring off thoughtfully without lighting it.
"There's no need to apologise. For all we know about each other we don't really spend a lot of time talking. I mean, we don't have to talk. I- I don't regret answering. Oh," he shook his head. "I- it's fine. Not to be- not to sound...you know? But- if you want to talk to me or anything- well you know where I am. I don't go anywhere." Q shook his head and picked up a lighter from the table, lighting up and leaning back against the sofa, closing his eyes for a few moments. Now he had a cigarette he had at least three minutes of silence. Or no-
"I didn't know if you were feeling okay or- you can go to bed. You don't have to stay awake. Or-" come to my bed. "-if you don't want to be alone-" He put his cigarette to his lips again, taking a deep drag to stop himself from speaking.
"Mm, well not here, it's not. And yet you still do, remarkably well," he smiled, wondering if it was just habit or something more. Probably habit, probably just familiarity, or maybe Q was just a decent guy.
"No, I suppose we don't," he agreed- keep things professional, too much talking just made that harder. But it didn't have to be that way anymore- James doubted they were getting to come home. They might as well help each other. "Thank you. I- I know, I just keep saying it."
He thought about it for a moment, watching Q as he smoked as he tried to come up with a decent answer. His head was swimming with alcohol. "I'm okay. I'll be okay. I am tired, though- are you? You said you were tired," he replied, surprised to find himself stumbling over his words a little. Did he mean- "You'd come with me? To bed? You don't mind?"
Q turned his head again, though this time it was just to look to the side. He wasn't drunk or intoxicated in any way, but he knew exactly what he wanted. Well, he did know exactly what he wanted, and he wasn't going to go after it. Or was he? "No," Q said, shaking his head and standing, leaning forward to stub out half of the cigarette, stepping around the table and starting towards his bedroom. "You're coming to bed with me," he smiled, turning so that he could look at James as he backed away, a tiny little smile on his face. It shouldn't be there, but Q- he couldn't help himself. "Take your time, Bond."
Even thought James was drunk, it didn't mean that he wasn't aware of what he was doing- but he didn't fully understand himself. He wanted Q close, he wanted him to come to bed with him, and hold him, and make everything okay again. And he wasn't sure when he'd started looking to Q as someone who could do that for him. Of course he wanted to sleep with him, and properly this time, but it wasn't just that. It was more than that, and it rarely was with James.
He glanced up as Q stood, and started toward the bedroom. A small smile mimicked Q's- he was hardly even aware that he was doing it. He gave him little nod, and then stood and followed, managing it without looking like total drunk, somehow.
On reaching the bedroom, he removed his socks, trousers and jumper, leaving him in just boxers and a t-shirt, since he didn't have any pajamas to speak of.