#q threads.

hours had blurred into days had blurred into over a week since they had brought him home. oliver had waited at his bedside like a dutiful nurse, keeping a close eye on his bandages or watching for any hint of movement. he’d only left his post when absolutely necessary - at least once a day to feed the cats, and to check in on the office to ensure no tech had exploded in his absence. since the incident in cambodia (because he refused to call it anything more) had occurred, oliver had slept very little. 

he’s curled up in the chair beside hamish’s bed today, hunched over the glowing screen of his laptop as he runs through lines of code. he’s had to keep himself busy somehow. he’s clad in what very well could be one of hamish’s sweaters, though he’ll vehemently deny it if he’s asked, with the sleeves pulled down past his knuckles. the steady beeping of the monitors picks up and oliver’s head snaps towards the bed, laptop cast aside as he jolts to his feet. “hamish?”

oliver’s been better. his first instinct had been to seek out merlin as soon as he’d arrived, teetering precariously in the doorway as he stares blankly at the older man. his blood-stained hands wring the strap of his messenger bag. “i-” he swallows hard as his empty gaze turns towards the floor from behind lenses speckled with crimson. “i think i’m in trouble, hamish,” formality is tossed aside in this instance - titles are meaningless anyways. “i saw something. i don’t - i’m not safe.” he’s never so strapped for words. oliver is always so carefully poised and put together, right down to the smallest of sentences, but now he’s unable to focus on one thing long enough to be coherent. he reaches out to grab hold of the door frame as he visibly sags. “i tried to save someone - they were stabbed, i think - and i saw something i shouldn’t have. someone’s after me for it.”

as dark a thought as it is, q knows how to behave when he’s being tortured. he’s been trained by mi6 for years to not crack under the pressure and pain - he knows exactly what to say and how to say it, but he’d never expected to actually need to use the information. having joined kingsman, he thought he was out of the woods. but here he was, tied to a chair, spitting blood onto a concrete floor and trying not to think about the deep ache in his ribs. 

a phone is thrust in front of him and he’s ordered to speak into it. “my name is oliver boothroyd. i don’t know what these people want.” he speaks through gritted teeth, trying to make his voice sound as frantic as he can. his heart pounds in his chest, but he remains level headed. “they’re asking about something called kingsman, i don’t know what any of this is - they think i know about some kind of code? i’m innocent, sir, you have to help me-” he knows if he rambles long enough, merlin can trace them. at the very least, q’s glasses should be transmitting what he can see.

“it’s quite the set up,” q says after a moment of contemplative silence. much better than his own at home. this room, with its monitors and quiet electric hum, puts him at ease. his fingers itch to touch the keyboards and get to work, but he stays put with his hands tucked idly in his pockets. “can you view all of the security monitors from here?” he glances at merlin with a raised eyebrow. if he’s going to be working here, he wants to know the ins and outs of each bit of tech. 

“don’t touch that!” q snaps, his eyes lifting abruptly towards the other approaching his desk, “the new rule for q branch is for you to keep your hands to yourself.” he frowns deeply. being interrupted already has him on edge, but having to snatch his belongings back from someone’s hands makes him all the more grumpy. “it’s a work in progress. you’re going to get yourself electrocuted if you keep fiddling with it. what do you want?”

the american has arrived. or so q has been told by one of his underlings, he himself has been far too engrossed in his current creation ( a particularly brilliant watch with an exploding timer ) to look up for the last several hours, let alone welcome guests into q-branch. but the man stops short of q’s desk, so he finally tears himself away from his work and tries his best to appear friendly. he’s still frowning, though, so it’s less successful than he’d hoped. “bourne, i presume?”

“i’m no happier about this than you are, mr. solo. but as MI6 likes to remind me, every now and again a trigger has to be pulled - and that’s where you come in.”