#u.u.

     “ IF IT’S TO ME,  you’ll have to try very hard. “ He sets the book down on his lap then and looks her over. “If it’s to your brother, just don’t make him cry too much. “

Qs are not field agents, not in the least. They’re trained for certain instances, sure, but mostly they were tech jockeys meant to dream up smaller better gadgets and monitor and prevent security threats.

But sometimes the fight comes to them; sometimes they’re unable to rely on their agents for their own safety.

And sometimes, picking up a gun and killing a man in defense, is an inevitable part of the job.

He’d seen death before; seen people get shot over CCTV feeds, been around to see covered bodies carried out in gurneys— but he had never shot a man.

Until now.

The man had crumpled on top of him, a dead weight pinning Q down and Q scrambled to be free; to get away and continue running as fast and as far as his legs would take him— but shock had rooted him in place the moment he stood, gun still pointing at the dead body of his pursuer until hurried footsteps rounded the corner and drew his aim.

“Q!— Q, it’s me…”

007 lifted his hands, stopping in his tracks before Q realized who it was. James recognized that wide-eyed look; had seen it so many times before.

It’s here he’s slow and gentle, tentatively moving to lower Q’s weapon, maintaining eye contact. It’s here he assess the scene with a quick glance, from the man on the floor to Q himself.

--There’s another man’s blood on Q’s cardigan.

It isn’t something he brings up, not now at least. He needs his Quartermaster to focus. So he does what he thinks is enough: He lifts his hand, placing it solid against the back of Q's neck, letting thumb touch upon a cheek.

It’s grounding; Q’s eyes flicker to James, wide, still full of fear, but focused. That’s right, 007 was here now, he was safe.

But before he could manage words, James is leaning in, pressing lips against his forehead which draws another kind of shock; aborting any thought process what might’ve been kickstarted by touch alone.

James pulls back, leaving his hand in place, “You alright?”

Q nods, a quick and abrupt motion; tense in delivery, but he’d completely forgotten about the body on the floor, or the gun in his hand. 

“Good.” Spoken coolly. James takes the gun from Q’s grip with one hand, before gently taking his wrist with the other to lead him away. 

@tomhuntz

After today's sermon, I was asked by a member of our church what "worship" meant to me.. She was curious to get a pagan's input on the discussion.

I replied by saying that I never really identified with the word "worship." Worship has always had a christian connotation to me. I call myself a pagan but my views on existence are very much pantheistic. Science teaches us that we all derive from a primary source, an explosion of matter composing the entirety of the cosmos as we know it. This is the main reason pantheism appeals to me.