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“You’re bleeding,” he murmured, eyeing the slowly growing red stain on Bond’s white dress shirt with slight concern.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Bond’s tone was dry, and pained, and tired. He looked miserable standing in Q’s doorway, sopping wet and dripping blood and water all over his wood floor. But there was a slight quirk to his lips when Q raised his eyes to his, so he knew he wasn’t bad off physically. This time. He didn’t want to think of the other times.
Wordlessly he held the door open, and Bond limped in, clutching his side. Before he shut the door, he stuck his head out into the hall and glanced down both hallways. While he trusted Bond to make sure he wasn’t followed, trust breeds complacency, and complacency gets you killed real fast. It was clear, like he thought it would be, so he backed back into his apartment and quietly shut the door behind him, swiping his right palm over an infrared reader mounted on the wall to the right of the frame. Only after there was the reassuring ‘click’ did he turn around-
-only to see Bond down more vodka then was probably healthy, considering.
“If I’m to be giving you pain meds, you know the rules.” He walked into the kitchen area, and snatched the bottle from him, pointedly ignoring the annoyed expression on the man’s face as he set it near the sink and pushed him towards the bedroom. “Go. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Bond obeyed without a word, limping away, though looking more relaxed. Q pursed his lips. At least he knew the man would get some sleep tonight, even though it would be a drugged sleep. He picked his battles wisely, so stayed silent and bent down in front of the sink, opening up the cabinet doors. He reached in and up, fingers feeling for where wood became plastic. Finding it, he yanked, and the unfortunately familiar medical kit fell into his hands. He stood, knees creaking, and toed the doors shut. From the bedroom he heard the sound of the shower starting.
Carrying the kit into the bedroom, he set it on the bed, simultaneously opening it and slipping off his slippers. He rummaged around in it for a moment, searching for the superabsorbent cloth. Once he found it he set it on the bed, then methodically set out some gauze, suture materials, and antibiotic ointment. Resisting the urge to sigh, he started stripping, tossing his clothes onto a chair near his bed. He’d clean up tomorrow.
He snatched up the cloth, and now naked, padded into the bathroom. He stared at Bond’s hunched over form through the glass shower wall. Steam filled the room, and he absentmindedly flicked the fan on before heading over to the shower and cautiously stepping in. And finally getting a good view of the damage.
Bruises littered his back, some half healed and a horrid mustard color, while others a deep blue and recent, maybe even hours old. A nasty knife wound, most likely from a serrated blade, his mind supplied, due to the jagged edges of the wound, had split his skin from the upper left of his rib cage down to his middle back. The water underneath their feet had a faint red tint to it, he wasn’t surprised to see. Recent too then.
“Might I suggest next time avoiding the knife,” he said, running gentle fingers around the open skin, pressing against the slick, hard muscle underneath. Bond didn’t reply, but he did relax a little under the touch. That was good.
Q stepped around him, walking fully under the warm spray of water, and scanning the front of his body. Much like his back, it was a patchwork of bruises, and even a few welts. He was glad they were just those, instead of bullet holes. His gaze travelled downward , and wasn’t surprised to see his upper thighs and lower legs weren’t immune either. Looking back up, he tried to muster his most disapproving look but it mostly came out as relief instead as he met the tired blue eyes.
“Sorry,” Bond rumbled, and damn him. It was familiar though, and not the first time he’d heard it. He tightened his grip on the now wet cloth and swallowed hard.
“Hold still.”
An hour later, he was silently watching James sleep next to him, his stitched up back rising and falling regularly, an arm draped over Q’s lap. His laptop was open, sitting on his thighs, and he contemplated what to say to M this time. Fingers hovered over the keys, unsure. He knew the woman was observant, she had to be considering. The look she’d given him the day after last time had startled him, and he had a feeling that she knew more than she would ever say out loud. After a moment, he finally settled on something simple and to the point. Why bother with false words.
007 back. Expect report tomorrow.
Q
Hitting send, and shutting the laptop, he quietly set it on his bedside table and let out a breath. His gaze slid back to James, and he just watched him moving, breathing in the dark room. Alive. Like he always did, he wondered if this would be the last time he’d see life in his body. If it’d be the last time warm, strong arms would be wrapped around him. He knew eventually it would happen. Double-o’s didn’t have a long life expectancy, though he was working on that. Without a doubt James would’ve died during the last mission if not for his creations. It was little reassurance though, considering the nature of the job. He could only do so much from his lab. The rest was on James.
But for now, Q was doing his job- watching over James Bond when no one else would.