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Q wasn’t good with dating.
Correction: he was terrible with dating.
“It’s just too much,” his boyfriend choked out, eyes wet. “The late nights, the secrecy, your attitude--I just can’t anymore, Richard.”
Q stared quietly at the man, letting him gather himself.
They had been together for six months. He was surprised it lasted that long, if he were being honest. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Marcus--hell, give it a couple more months and he might’ve even called it love. But most boyfriends couldn’t deal with the constant running off to fix an emergency at work, the long work hours, the cyclical mood swings. It was a lot to ask a person to deal with, especially when Q wasn’t able to give straight answers.
“ This is what I mean, Richard.”
He hated that name, Q couldn’t help but think to himself. It was fake, nothing more than another identity crafted to hide his true name and connections to people of his past life, anything that could be used against him.
“I know, Marcus,” Q said heavily. He took off his glasses and rubbed a hand down his face. “I understand.”
There was nothing else he could say, nothing that would make life easier or make this work. When he told Marcus that, the man had looked torn between bursting into tears and slapping Q, neither response which the genius would have held against him.
“So you’re just–done?” Marcus asked, aghast. “This is it?”
“This is it,” Q confirmed quietly, and Marcus’ face crumbled.
They quietly worked together to gather Marcus’ things into the living room. It was natural that his things had started to migrate into Q’s apartment after how much time they spent together, and vice versa. It felt oddly therapeutic, and a quiet companionship fell over the two.
When they had finished and set a date for Q to pick up his own things, Marcus hesitated before opening his arms. Q accepted the hug.
He pressed one last soft kiss to Marcus’ lips. “Thanks for trying.”
***
Later that day, James noticed–of course he noticed. He zeroed in on Q’s perceived weakness, his quiet attitude and the way he didn’t rise to the bait, and circled around him the entire day.
“Trouble at home, Quartermaster?” he taunted, but there was real concern in his eyes. “Something I can help with, perhaps?”
Q couldn’t help but let out a weak laugh at that. “Nothing to concern yourself with, 007.”
“Well, you can’t say that,” James purred. “Anything bothering my Quartermaster has to do with me, too.”
Q hummed, but attempted to end the conversation by turning back to his paperwork.
He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.
“You know, my MI6-appointed therapist tells me that bottling things up isn’t healthy. She tells me it’s better to talk about it.”
“And since when do you listen to therapists?”
James shrugged innocently. “Just a thought I figured I’d share.”
“Well, in the future, please don’t.”
“What, think? Or share?”
“Both.”
James was fighting down a smirk, trying to keep his cool demeanor. “I’ll make a note of it.”
Q hummed in agreement, typing rapidly on his computer. There was silence for a moment before James spoke again.
“Tell me how I can help, Q.” The teasing tone was gone now, replaced by something low and earnest.
“I really don’t think there’s much you can do to help, James.”
“Humor me.” James’ solemn eyes met his. “Let me take you out tonight.”
Q almost said no. Honestly, all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and pretend like the world didn’t exist for a few blissful hours. His chest felt heavy with exhaustion.
But he remembered what his therapist had told him about getting into his patterns when he was in a depressive episode.
“Just a few drinks,” Q clarified as he straightened his jacket. The smile James gave him was beaming.
The place was classy, and Q felt underdressed in his comfortable cardigan. It was dimly lit with private booths and gentle jazz music playing under the quiet murmur of voices. Exactly the kind of place Q would expect a man like James to haunt.
James led him to a table in the far back, going so far as to pull out the chair for Q. The genius highly suspected it was just to get a rise out of him, if the snicker at his disgusted expression was anything to go by.
“Your drink of choice? They have a lovely whiskey collection.”
“Just a gin and tonic, please.”
Q watched as James waltzed over to the bar, fully in his element as he chatted up the bartender. He knew that the test had already begun–it was an extreme show of trust to have the man handle his drink. Even watching James, it would be easy for an agent of his caliber to slip something into it.
James settled across from Q, passing him a drink.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Are we going to talk about what happened?”
Q rolled his eyes minutely. He paused before admitting, “My boyfriend broke up with me.”
James kept his face carefully schooled, but some of his ire slipped through. “And how did this come about, exactly?”
Q wasn’t particularly surprised by the barely controlled anger. While they bickered constantly, the duo had gained certain soft spots for the other.
“It was a long time coming,” Q explained, toying with the glass in his hands. “Things hadn’t been well for awhile.”
“So it was…amicable.”
“ Yes , 007.” As amicable as it could’ve gone, anyway. “Your services aren’t needed.”
James grunted, and seemed like he wanted to argue with his Quartermaster. But he held his tongue, instead commenting, “He’s still a git for making you feel like this.”
Q smiled, but there wasn’t any joy in his eyes. Instead, there was a sort of sad tenderness that made James’ heart ache.
“I understand why he ended it,” he said simply. “It’s how all of my relationships end. The secrecy, the–” the emotional instability , he caught himself from saying. He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “It’s a lot for a normal person to handle.”
Q knew that James had caught the almost-slip up. But instead of calling him out, he simply took another sip of his whiskey. “Have you thought about dating in MI6?”
Q snorted. “I don’t date coworkers,” he stated. “Been there, done that, ended up having to leave my job.”
“Oh? Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“Not really,” Q denied. “I was young and stupid. It was little more than a fling, but when he realized it wouldn’t be more than that, things became…uncomfortable.” He didn’t need to go into details. There was no need for James to know that this had happened when he was still running with the crowd he’d been with before MI6.
James hummed, but kindly didn’t push.
Instead, he eased the conversation into safer territory, namely about Q’s newest project (which James decidedly shouldn’t know about due to its security clearance level). Q felt himself perk up, and after a brief chastisement about snooping, he gave into temptation to blather on about it.
James leaned his chin in his hand and watched him with open fondness, making affirming noises at appropriate noises and asking questions when there were lulls.
Before Q knew it, last call had come around, and he had been talking with James for hours. He felt lighter than he had in weeks, some of the heavy blanket of his depression easing away.
James and Q stepped out into the frigid night air. Q shivered, burrowing further in his jacket, while James seemed unbothered, straightening his gloves. After a moment, Q spoke.
“Thank you, James.”
He smiled at Q, showing off his dimples. “Of course, my Quartermaster.”
***
What followed in the coming weeks was a ritual. Once or twice a week, James would appear expectantly behind him to coerce him away from work and to go out for drinks.
Q was blunt. When it became apparent that their relationship was turning serious (despite his misgivings of sleeping with coworkers), he told James about his disorder, and expected the worst. In his mind, why would someone like James Bond understand mental health? He was the type to drink away issues and repress them until they didn’t exist anymore.
However, the man surprised Q, instead asking questions and listening intently to the answers. He pinned Q into place with his piercing blue eyes for hours, wringing out information with the intensity of an agent on a mission.
“I understand that it’s a lot,” Q said after they had lapsed into silence, “but I figured you should know before we start anything. I won’t blame you if you’d like to put an end to this.”
James laughed breathlessly, and Q wanted to wrap himself in the sound. “Darling, that’s not going to scare me away,” he rumbled. “I may need to read up on some things, but I’m here to stay.”
Oddly enough, the words felt truthful. Even with the man’s track record of leaving a string of lovers dead or heartbroken, Q couldn’t help but feel like the risk was worth it.
“I’d like to kiss you,” James said as he leaned forward, eyes darting to Q’s lips.
“I’d like that, too.”
***
“I’m scared,” he finally admitted into James’ skin under the cover of inky blackness. “I’m scared that I can’t ever have a normal relationship.”
James had held his hand, brushing his lips over knuckles. “We’re too much for normal relationships,” he’d said with a wry smile.
Q hadn’t had the heart to tell him that there was a difference. James, with his sweet smile and shockingly gentle hands and stable emotions. Sure, he had large reactions at times (in his own quiet way), but that was the thing: they were reactions. They weren’t chemical imbalances wringing out every possible human emotion out of him at every inconvenient moment.
But maybe this would be enough, Q thought to himself as he buried himself further into James’ side. Maybe this sense of almost-normalcy would last.
***
Everyone loved his highs, even if they found them almost unbearable. On the other hand, he hated them.
Night after night without sleep, no rest or time to relax. He felt like he was cruising on empty, always on the verge of some time of breakdown or meltdown but physically unable to stop.
Occasionally, he could tell when they were coming. It felt like he was watching a storm slowly rolling in and over him, and he was completely helpless. But he’d done this more than once, and knew what to look for and what to do.
He broached the topic hesitantly at dinner with James.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on in your brain, or are you going to stare at me all night?” James asked casually between bites. Q fought down a blush at being caught.
“I…believe I may have a manic episode in the next few weeks,” Q finally admitted.
James swallowed his bite of food, nodding slowly. “Alright,” he said, drawing the word out. “What does that entail?”
“Well, a lot of things,” Q stammered, pushing up his glasses. “No sleep, less appetite, rash decisions. Nothing to endanger work,” he hastily added at James’ raised eyebrow. “I’ve been through them before during missions before and everything went smoothly.”
Some of the tension left James’ shoulders, seemingly satisfied.
“What’s the best way I can help you?”
Q’s hand stilled, food halfway to his mouth. Pondering the question, he slowly lowered the fork. He…he couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked him that question with a level of sincerity. Sure, he’d had some boyfriends throw it out, but it had always felt like they were reading a script, saying what they thought needed to be said.
But coming from James, it sounded real.
“I’ll have a think about it,” Q responded after a moment. “But…I suppose the usual, stereotypical things. Making sure I get some rest. And food. And don’t make any life-altering decisions. I may be more irritable.”
“You’re always irritable, darling.”
Q shot him a glare. “More than normal.”
James gave him a mockingly dismayed look. “The horror of it all.” His face went back to something softer. “What else?”
The conversation continued until James’ natural curiosity and need for information was satiated. He nodded, pressed a kiss to Q’s cheek, and asked him if he wanted dessert.
***
As much as he tried to prepare for it, the episode still snuck up on him, like it always did. One day he felt normal, and the next realized he hadn’t eaten or slept in two days, yet was filled with an exorbitant amount of energy.
Q knew he looked rough. His lack of sleep was evident by the dark circles under his eyes, and his clothes were wrinkled and oil-stained from projects in R&D. While he usually tried to project a put-together image for those who doubted his competency, he didn’t particularly care at the moment. He had more important things to do.
James knocked on a nearby table to draw Q’s attention. He glanced at the agent and saw that he had Q’s jacket draped over his arm.
“It’s time to go home, Q.”
“A few more minutes,” Q responded immediately. “Then I’ll be done.”
James didn’t look convinced. “You’ve been saying that for an hour, love.”
“Well, I mean it this time. Just give me a little bit longer.”
James sighed, and reached out to grab Q’s elbow, stilling his typing. “Q,” he said in a low voice. “You’ve been awake for forty-eight hours. You need to get some rest.”
Q was ready to argue, but deflated when he saw the meaningful look in James’ face. Logically, he knew that James was just trying to do what they had agreed upon and step in when he thought Q was close to breaking, but he couldn’t fight the irritation that rose in his chest.
Taking a few deep breaths, he closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he felt only marginally less on edge, but felt a lot less likely to lunge for anyone’s throat.
“Fine.”
James helped him pack away his belongings as Q shut down his work station. It wasn’t until he was helping Q shoulder on his jacket that 002 and 003 entered Q-Branch, fresh off their mandatory time off and sharply dressed.
“Looks like we made it just in time,” 002 observed with a considering tilt of her head. “Heading home?”
“Obviously,” Q uttered under his breath as he turned away from them.
“Daddy going to tuck you into bed?” 003 cooed, drawing dirty looks from everyone else in the room. His cheeks flushed. “Sorry.”
"I'll let it slide this time," he said with a tight smile.
“You need to relax ,” 002, Anna, chided him. “Why don’t you come out for some drinks with us?”
It was obvious she was joking, and didn’t expect the Quartermaster to actually accept her offer. 003 even snorted at the suggestion. Something about it set Q off.
Q’s eyes flared before settling on something dangerous. “Alright,” he all but purred.
002 paused, an elegant eyebrow raised. “Alright?” she repeated.
“Let’s go get drinks.”
James snagged Q’s arm as the man walked by him. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked, voice lowered.
Q wrenched his arm out of James’ grasp. “I’m allowed to make my own decisions, James ,” he hissed, anger flaring.
“I’m not trying to stop you,” James said, not rising to the bait. He held his hands out in a peaceful gesture. “I’m just asking you to consider this decision.”
“I’m not making a life or death choice,” Q retorted. “It’s just a few drinks between some colleagues . Is that suddenly not allowed?”
James looked conflicted, but reluctantly loosened his grip on Q’s arm. “Just a few drinks,” he confirmed. “And then we’ll go home.”
Q nodded, and the two bundled into the car, heading to the destination Anna had texted them.
James was shooting daggers at 003 as he passed out the drinks. He’d been watching the agent like a hawk, making sure that he didn’t tamper with Q’s gin and tonic. Luckily, 003 seemed to have at least a few brain cells left in his head and didn’t try anything as he brought drinks to the table.
“So,” 002 said, dragging out the word. “Tell us about yourself, Q. Or should I call you Q?”
“Yes, you should,” Q said primly, taking a long drink from his gin and tonic. “My identity is still above your clearance. What do you want to know?”
“Where did you grow up?” 003 chimed in.
Q hummed. His drink was already halfway gone. “London,” he responded vaguely.
“Well, that’s not very–”
“Have you seen the new designs that R came up with for your next mission?”
003 blinked. “Pardon?”
After two hours of ranting about his and R’s newest design, including diagrams written on a napkin, the two agents were confused and thoroughly baffled. They hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise as Q talked in heavy jargon. James alternated between gin and tonics and water, making sure the genius wasn’t getting too drunk.
Q surprised all of them when he abruptly pivoted the conversation.
“I’m sorry this isn’t the wealth of personal information you were hoping to get when you perceived a weakness in me.”
James hid his grin behind a sip of his whiskey.
“That’s–well–”
Q’s grin was toothy. “What, did you think I would be having a heart to heart with you? I know when I’m being mined for information.” He took the shot in front of 003 and downed it without so much as a wince. “Don’t ever do this again. You’ll regret it if you do.”
He slid from the booth, grabbing his jacket and tugging James along with him. The agents gawked after him, stunned to absolute silence at his behavior, while James looked torn between worried and turned on.
“Well, that certainly didn’t turn out how I expected it to,” James said dryly as they exited the warmth of the pub.
Q shivered at the cold breeze, tugging his jacket on. “I don’t appreciate being used for information,” he stated simply. “I appreciate it even less when it’s my coworkers doing it.”
His voice was stained with disappointment, unable to hide the sadness he felt at the betrayal. He’d had an inkling of what they wanted, but his mind had pushed him to believe it was a genuine offer to spend time together. He was sorely lacking in the friends department.
“Another pub, or are we heading home?” Q asked, hopeful. It would certainly be nice to keep up the buzz and forget about the night…
“Home. You need rest.”
James’ tone brooked no room for argument. Rolling his eyes, Q got into the car.
“It’s not like I’m gonna get any sleep, anyways,” Q uttered, rubbing his eyes.
James sent him a sympathetic glance before shifting gears and heading towards Q’s flat.
***
It was only downhill from there.
The next morning Q seemed even more irritable, and this time, he let everyone know. After making one of his subordinates cry, R had banished him to his office, where he angrily did paperwork and tinkered with a watch for 009.
“I hear you’ve been a menace today.”
Q looked up and glared at James, who was lounging in the doorway. Instead of looking affronted at the glare or taking it as a challenge, James met his gaze with kindness.
That was what finally broke the tepid control Q had had over his emotions.
When the first tears started to spill, James looked alarmed and quickly locked the door behind him, hiding Q from any prying eyes.
Heaving sobs wracked through his body as he curled in on himself, clutching at his chest and clawing at his throat to try and dislodge the weight sitting there.
Q hated this. He fucking hated this .
James looked at a loss with how to help him, hovering over him in a rare display of nerves. He gently but firmly grabbed Q’s wrists before he could inflict actual damage to himself with his scratching. Q made a strangled noise, more tears falling as he gasped for breath.
“Stop,” James urged. “Q, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
Q was beyond verbally responding, damn near hysterical as he cried and curled in on himself. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to calm down any time soon, he blindly reached out for James, who took his hand and squeezed.
“Need my medicine,” Q gasped out.
“Where is it?”
“Top right drawer,” he strangled out.
James obeyed without question, opening the drawer. He hesitantly grabbed the pill bottle, holding it up to Q, who nodded rapidly. Q took one of the pills dry with shaking hands.
The placebo effect was immediate, but it took almost twenty minutes for the medicine to properly start kicking in. Q was still gasping for breath, but his tears were starting to subside at the promise of relief. It was a heavy dose, enough to knock him flat on his arse. Throughout the whole episode, James stayed next to him, holding his hand and making soothing noises.
Eventually, they were situated so they were sitting on the floor, James with his back against the side of the couch as he cradled the increasingly drowsy Q to his chest.
“You shouldn’t have seen me like that,” Q slurred out, medicine slowing his speech and lowering his walls. “I’m sorry.”
“Q. Don’t apologize.” James pressed a firm kiss to the top of Q’s head. “What kind of partner would I be if I couldn’t handle a little bit of crying?”
(Later, when he had calmed down and reviewed the situation extensively, he’d get caught on that sentence again and again. The use of the word partner. The purposeful downplaying of the incident to ease some of Q’s guilt. The tenderness in James’ voice.)
“It’s more than that and you know it.”
“You’re right,” James acquiesced. “But that doesn’t make me care any less.” His arms tightened minutely, and he pressed another kiss to Q’s temple. “Get some rest. I’ll stay here.”
Q mumbled something, but it was lost as another wave of sleepiness rolled over him. Under the watchful, kind gaze of his partner, Q was lulled to sleep for the first time in days.
***
Hell must have frozen over, because it was James that recommended Q visit Medical.
“What do you expect them to do?” Q had snorted derisively. “They’ll just send me back home.”
“It would make me feel better if you were at least checked out,” James said, gently running his calloused fingers along Q’s jaw. “Please?”
“You’re a worrywart.”
“Never said I wasn’t.”
In the end, Q had been weak to James’ pleading blue eyes, which is how he found himself sitting in Dr. Smith’s private office on a Saturday morning.
Dr. Smith sighed, running a hand down his face. “As long as you’re being careful, there’s not much we can do,” he said. “I’ll make sure you have ample refills for your klonopin, and I want you to use it as you see fit.”
Stoic, Q nodded.
“Do you feel as if you’re a danger to yourself or others?”
Q thought back to his panic earlier. “No,” he answered after a moment.
“Let’s keep it that way,” Dr. Smith said, nodding. “If that changes, please make sure to call and we can work out some arrangements.”
Q knew what the arrangements would be. He would be taken to a safehouse and kept under 24/7 sedation and surveillance, and only be allowed out during his lucid moments to do his job. He’d be allowed access to his projects–MI6 couldn’t stand the idea of him being not productive for an extended period of time–but leading missions would wait until he was able to form a coherent, logical sentence, or if it were life and death.
Whichever came first.
Q excused himself from the room and chose to walk back to his apartment, enjoying the chilly but sunny morning. When he entered his flat, he chucked off his jacket and shoes and beelined for the bedroom, where he found James sprawled on his front, naked under the sheet wrapped around his waist.
Without hesitation, Q crawled up the bed and flopped onto James’ back. The other man let out a quiet “oof”, but didn’t try to move.
“What did medical say?” James asked, running a hand lazily down Q’s arm.
“To drug myself and wait it out,” he said sourly. “What they always say.”
James hummed, a sympathetic noise. He tilted his head to the side and sighed as Q pressed a kiss to his neck.
“Do you want to take it now?”
“No, I have a virtual meeting with M in an hour that I need to be alert for.”
James’ grin turned cheeky. “So I have you all to myself for an hour.”
“I suppose that’s one way to take that statement.”
In a surprisingly graceful maneuvre, James flipped their positions, pressing their chests together. He smirked lazily at the huff Q let out at being manhandled. They leisurely kissed as James started unbuttoning his partner’s shirt.
Q luxuriated in the feeling, but his mind couldn’t help but wander. He’d left off at a good point on 009’s watch, and had left detailed instructions for his subordinates to follow, but he couldn’t help but worry. There was always the chance that something wouldn’t translate over text, and the agent would be left with a faulty tool in the field. Oh, but perhaps he could tweak some of the design, and ideas rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind…
“You’re not paying attention.”
Anxiety zinged through Q, and he froze. This was it. This was the beginning of the end, and it had been for all of his relationships. His mind never stopped working, never stopped thinking about the next innovation or improvement for work, and it had driven more than a handful of his lovers into insanity.
But instead of the annoyance Q was expecting, James was watching Q with a smirk, chin resting on Q’s chest.
“Sorry,” Q said sheepishly. “It’s…hard to turn it off. Impossible, sometimes.” Irritation leaked into his voice at the admission.
“I think we have a few options,” James said, pressing a kiss to Q’s chest. “We can pick this up later, and you can go work on whatever brilliant idea’s knocking around that pretty head of yours, or I can fuck you until all you know is my name.”
Want shivered through Q, and he knew that if he was standing his knees would have gone weak.
“Well?”
“Second option, please.”
James’ smirk turned rakish, and he made do on his promise.
***
“I’ll always be here to support you, Q.” James carded his fingers through the other’s hair. “Always.”
Q didn’t know how long “always” would last, but it was long enough that for once, Q felt secure in his relationship with someone else.
***
003 came in with his tail tucked between his legs and an expensive bottle of wine.
“I’m sorry about the other night,” he said sheepishly, clearing his throat. It was clear he wasn’t used to being in this position. “Anna is, too.”
Q raised an eyebrow, and blurted out before he could stop himself, “Are you apologizing for doing it, or are you apologizing for getting caught?”
003 shrunk under his scrutinizing gaze. “The former,” he responded. “We just–it’s natural to want to know more about the person in charge of your life.”
Q tilted his head. He knew he should let it go, but he found that he couldn’t. “Indeed. But what isn’t okay is using tactics against said person.”
Devon swallowed, a rare show of nervousness. “We’re sorry,” he repeated, holding out the bottle of wine. “We were hoping we could try again, sometime. As friends.”
Q hummed thoughtfully and accepted the wine, setting it on the corner of his desk. “I’ll consider it,” he said simply. “Now, if you don’t have anything else to apologize for, I do have work to do.”
Thoroughly chastised, Devon left the office.
***
“Get in the car.”
Q frowned at James.
He was just coming down from another destructive high. Well, destructive in his opinion. The new firewalls installed during the episode and the three consecutive successful missions spoke otherwise, but he was left feeling hollow, like a shell of his usual self.
James had noticed. He was hovering incessantly, a constant presence when he wasn’t on a mission. Q would occasionally snap at the agent, demanding space, but for the most part, he tuned him out and hyperfocused on his work. James didn’t seem to mind, choosing instead to gently remind Q to eat and sleep, going so far as to physically wrap himself around Q at night to get him to stay in bed.
Now, Q stared in disbelief at James in his Aston Martin. With a sigh, he climbed into the passenger seat without a comment. James sent him an approving look before smoothly pulling out of MI6’s parking garage.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere I think you’ll like,” James responded simply. He turned on the radio, smooth jazz filling the empty air.
Q allowed himself to relax, trusting James to not take him somewhere dangerous. Exhaustion weighed heavy on his eyes, and he allowed himself to doze as James drove. Eventually, he was awoken to a gentle hand running through his hair.
He frowned in confusion, looking out the window at the green, windswept field stretching around them. When he glanced back at James, the agent had put the car in park and was absently tapping away on his phone.
“Where the bloody hell did you take me, James?”
James didn’t reply nor look up from his phone. “Take as long as you need,” he said simply. “I’ll take care of work until then.”
Q stared in disbelief, but the agent seemed content to type away at the phone and ignore Q. After a moment, he unbuckled the seatbelt and exited the car. He was almost immediately buffeted by a vicious cold wind, but he managed to regain his footing and burrow into his jacket.
He didn’t know quite what he was expected to do. Was he supposed to silently ponder his life? The universe? Was this supposed to magically cure him of being bipolar, even out his moods with the magic of nature?
Another gust knocked into him, and he steadied himself. He glanced back at the car, but he could see that James hadn’t glanced up from the phone–or, more likely, he had quickly looked away when Q had turned.
Sighing, Q turned around again to face the cliffs.
Well. He wasn’t sure what James wanted him to get out of this, but at the very least, he could enjoy the view and fresh air.
Q closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and let the breeze hit his skin.