#cianur00

Stranger: Please do. I can't stay here any longer. 007

You: Why? Too hot for you? -Q

Stranger: In more ways than climate. 007

You: Do explain. -Q

Stranger: I may or may not have some debts to settle. 007

You: /Oh/. -Q Give me details. -Q

Stranger: I don't need to give you details, Booth. Just get me out of here. 007

You: It's going to take time, I do home you realize this. -Q

Stranger: It could have taken time yesterday. But today, right now, I need you to cheat. 007

You: Rate your danger on a scale of 1 - 10, ten being immediate. -Q

Stranger: The level of danger is not the issue. The level of clean-up is at least a 20. 007

You: [Delayed] Very well. Don't pester me for ten minutes. -Q

Stranger: You're an angel. 007

You: [Six Minutes Later] You owe me. -Q

Stranger: To you, I will repay my debts. 007

Stranger: Boarding now. 007

You: Yes, because if you don't, I will lock down all your accounts, secure your flat, and make sure your gadgets burst during use. -Q

Stranger: I'm usually at your flat anyhow. 007

You: I'll simply kick you out. -Q You're only ever there because I allow you to be there. -Q

Stranger: Yes sir. 007

You: Good. -Q

Stranger: And what will I owe you this time? 007

You: I haven't decided this time. -Q

Stranger: Will you be home when I get back, or do I have to wait patiently? 007

You: I'll be home. I'm there now. -Q

Stranger: I'll be with you. 007

Stranger: Planes were a hassle, bags were an utter disaster, and getting home was unmentionable. It was far too late for a normal person to be awake, but Bond was sure his Q was anything but normal. The agent looked better than he felt, and that was not a compliment. He only had a duffle bag with him, but inside was what he knew would buy him safety with Q. This time he'd managed to return the equipment with barely a few nicks. He wondered if the door might be unlocked as he came towards it, footsteps muffled in the cramp hallway, but knocked anyway.

You: Now with Bond safely on board, Q had to work out each kink and kiss the arse of each network he'd burst through in his rush. Mallory was peeved, having been notified when the Quartermaster hacked in through his personal laptop, but the man was easily placated with a white lie of 'just testing security.' Now he was busy cleaning up the mess the agent had him make to save his arse from whatever bad deal had gone down. The hours were beyond him, body hunched over in bed as he typed wildly. He was almost done and-a knock. Lifting his head, he gave a soft grunt and checked his phone for the camera system above the door. /Bond/. Unlocking the door with just a tap of a finger, he went back to work, calling out peevishly, "Make me some tea first!"

Stranger: Bond was in the door the moment he heard it click. He was very used to the position he held in Q's life, and satisfied with it. The duffle bag was thrust across the floor and forgotten, the door locked back before he left for the kitchen. He could put the kettle on while he dealt with the rest. There was a cut on his forearm that would need a bandage, at least. Bond left his jacket on the back of a chair and his holstered gun on the seat. "Is the first aid kit still here?" He called after checking the usual cabinets. Looking up, he waited for a response from where he knelt in the bathroom.

You: It was almost as if the Quartermaster hadn't even realized Bond walked in, and just a few minutes later and... He was at a minor check point for a break. Looking around the room, he sucked in a deep breath and moved his laptop the side to walk and get his tea. All until the words 'first aid kit' drifted to his ears. "You didn't go to Medical Bay?" He questioned, opening the door to slip into the bathroom, removing the medical kit from the linen closet behind the agent. "No, of course you didn't go to Medical Bay. Show me the wounds."

Stranger: Bond stood up once he saw the other at the door. He felt a bit too big to share the space, being pushed into the sink. "S'no need for Medical, it's just a cut." His face showed no room for argument, brogue slipping through the tired cracks in his voice. He held out a hand for the kit, looking Q over with drooping eyes. "Go get your tea. I'll have it fixed up soon."

You: Q quirked an eyebrow, looking at the other male as if he thought the other were an idiot for suggesting otherwise. "Show me your your arm." He ordered, his very own tone showing that he wasn't going to just off and pop as if it were nothing. He tucked the kit beneath his arm and washed his hands quickly, beginning to ready the cleaning alcohol and the paracetamol.

Stranger: "I mean it, this time it's really just a cut." You could see the crimson stain on his white shirt, even though he kept his arm away from Q. He stood steady for a few moments before giving in with a sigh. Unbuttoning the shirt, he controlled any sound of pain as he peeled the fabric away. It was more of a gash really, bruised around the outside and shrouded by thick blood. "You should just let me handle it. I've had worse."

You: "You should just let me take care of you." He shot back, expression entirely displeased. "Give me your arm." He ordered, voice clipped now as he held the flannel for cleaning. He could see the blood, knew it was likely more than just a simply cut. It was always more than something so simple. He wanted to see it and he wanted to ensure it was cleaned properly. He was trained in basic first aid. Considering he ran Q-Branch where explosives and chemical burns happened constantly...

Stranger: That voice, mixed with such choice words, raised Bond's eyebrow. He stayed silent, a pondering frown on his lips as he stepped closer to the other. Giving over his arm willingly, he only gave a slight hiss when the alcohol touched his wound. Q wasn't the only person to take charge of his wounds, but he was certainly the most. . . protective. He looked over the bandage once it was on, appreciating the good work. "I'll throw this away." He murmured, peeling his shirt the rest of the way off.

You: Relief filled Q when Bond finally held out his arm. Good. Then he could give it a thorough once over and make sure it was done correctly. He cleaned it methodically, fingers working diligently to ensure the any salve or ointment was spread on correctly to keep it from getting infected. Once certain, he bandaged it and washed his hands before putting the kit away. The murmur went beyond him until he was turned around again, facing the man. Instead of averting his eyes and giving privacy, Q scanned Bond's body, looking for any other injuries whilst also taking his time enjoying the sculpted frame. "I left some paracetamol out for you. Take it whenever you wish."

Stranger: "I haven't been able to take acetaminophen without whiskey since grammar school." Bond teased with a straight face. He certainly enjoyed watching Q watch him. In the harsh light of the bathroom, he was well exposed. There were scars almost anywhere you looked on the agents body, but he didn't much mind it. "Really, I could use a lie down." He murmured after brushing knuckles over his forehead.

You: Q merely nodded, finishing his observations before he opened the bathroom door. "There isn't any whiskey unless you've stashed some. Knowing you, I wouldn't be surprised." He mused, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk before he slipped into the kitchen. The kettle was still going, thankfully, and he made quick work of readying his cuppa and steeping his tea. He likely ought to eat, but there was work still needing to be done.

Stranger: Bond stepped out once Q was headed for the kitchen. He made his way to the bedroom, not touching a thing until he could sit down. It didn't occur to him how tired he was until he felt the soft mattress against his body. The covers were cool against his skin, and before he could bend over to untie his shoes, the agent was laying on his side. The day didn't even come into his mind. It felt like ten years ago that he had got the cut on his arm.

You: Returning with his tea and a bottle of whiskey he'd found hidden behind a pot an pan (clever considering the Quartermaster never learned how to cook). Stopping by the door, Q took in the sight of the agent before giving a tsk and quick shake of his head. He set the paracetamol and whiskey down on the night stand with his cuppa before he worked at undoing the man's shoes and socks. He didn't want to jar the man, or make him panic, so he spoke in code. Giving a steady stream of words and dashes to ensure the man knew it was him as he took care of him.

Stranger: Bond could have rousted himself. He could have bit away the exhaustion and functioned properly, but something stopped him. The way Q touched him, acted so deliberately with his small noises. He didn't feel a need to be proper, if only for that night. Sleep fell on him as soon as he was left in the still. The pain in his arm would wake him up at promptly six o'clock, meaning it was tim for three tablets and a large swallow of the whiskey. He was glad it had been found. Checking the bed beside him would be the joy of his week, and the week was almost over.

You: Q smiled when Bond was settled in, blanket tugged up to his chest. His tea was slowly cooling, so he rushed to drink it, moving to the other side of the bed so he could finish working. He didn't move for the rest of the night, even as the fatigue hit him. He'd had to edit and recreate the papers, which would typically take a short amount of time, except there had been a large issue in the process and he'd had to trace it and-it had simply been a mess. But fifteen minutes after Bond had awoken, Q was finally able to settle with his laptop moved to the side, glasses set on the second nightstand, and fingers rubbing his tired eyes. "Is there any whiskey left?" He questioned, not bothering to look at the agent.

Stranger: "Of course." Bond whispered, picking himself up to rest against the headboard. He handed the bottle over, eyes trailing over the tired Q. "Can we turn the light out?" Was the first question, the agent rubbing over the stubble on his face. He slid his body just a bit closer to Q's, feet touching his cold ones.

You: Snorting at the inquiry, he took the bottle and lifted his phone to turn the lights off without having to move. He shut everything down and enforced the security system, and all within a matter of minutes. Taking a deep swig from the bottle, he settled down, moving so he could rest directly beside the agent. "Welcome home, James..."

Stranger: It was the first time the agent had heard those words used in such a situation. "Home." He repeated, without question. The idea of having a home had always been completely foreign to him, no matter how much he liked his flat or Q's. Home was far away and gone. He slid his arm around Q, once he decided to move from the headboard and lay down. Checking the clock on the wall, he could see it just barely, enough to say "Good morning." before he closed his eyes again.

You: Q took another drink before set the whiskey down, moving in to nestle against the agent. He soaked in the warmth, turning so he was better curled into the man, and sighed contently. "Mmmn. Yes, I suppose it is a good morning." He smiled momentarily as the exhaustion and wear of staring at a computer screen took it's time catching up. He hadn't had enough whiskey to get drunk, nor overly tipsy, but it had set to warming him from the inside out. Which was enough for the moment as sleep was calling his name.