Who? Bond & Q Where? Their apartment. When? Saturday night. What? PTSD & comfort Rating? HIGH. Status? Closed, ongoing.
It was no secret that James was prone to bouts of paranoia. Q knew, Q understood- there was a reason they had so much security set up around the apartment, there was a reason James slept with a gun, ready to shoot any intruder at less than a seconds notice.
Perhaps it had been his brief conversation with Grey and Mitchell that had subconsciously worked him up. The thought that someone could be listening into his private conversations and he would never be any the wiser was not a comforting thought for anyone, but certainly not for Bond.
Still, he'd gone to bed- with Q, as was becoming more than just a habit- and he had fallen asleep with reasonable ease, despite the worry. It was a couple of hours later that he got out of bed. He was still asleep, unaware of what his subconscious was making him do. He practically glided through the apartment, the location of each trap imprinted on his mind. He checked them as a methodical professional, one by one, with a great attention for detail. He had to be certain, not even an invisible intruder could gain entry. He had to keep them safe, keep them secure.