Q says nothing when Bond stumbles into Q –branch waiting to go home. Another mission completed. Another day alive to fight for Queen and Country. Q brushes his hand across the agent’s neck as he walks past, a silent message of “I love you” and “I missed you,” but finishes his work without a word. Even after the mission is complete and the agent is home safe, Q is still working hard.
When they get home, he patiently helps 007 undress, a ritual for them following one of Bond’s trips. Pausing, he takes in the new wound to his already beaten shoulder. Shallow, superficial, but still troubling.
However, there are other marks on Bond’s well worn body that pierce Q to his core, much more than any stab or gunshot wound. Bond can survive those and has numerous times. These other marks, even though they are skin deep, are much harder to recover from.
James leans back onto the bed pulling Q with him with lips and pleading clear blue eyes. Q kneels over his lover, reclaiming what is rightfully his. The words are barely more than whispers, but Bond hears each one, hears the sentiment behind them.
“Mine,” as lips brush over teeth marks that do not belong to Q.
“Mine,” as hands smooth over bruises much too small to be made by Q’s fingers.
“Mine,” as tongue glides over the scratches up and down the back he knows so well.
They both know and understand what he must do in the line of duty, what must be done to ensure the success of the mission, but neither of them like it.
Perhaps once, for James seducing beautiful women was exciting, a thrill equal to anything else done on a mission. Now all he could think of during those moments of feigned intimacy were mussed black curls, glasses askew with lust blown green eyes peering out, a long lean body with not one curve save for a luscious arse, typist’s fingers artfully reducing him to nothing but lust and love.
Q hands off the ear piece during those times, letting someone else monitor the mission. Unable to sit and listen to the false promises that would be true if he was the one underneath 007, Q retires to his office, head in his hands, heart thousands of miles away.
After every mission, 007 lays back and lets Q restore him, make him whole, becoming James once again. “Mine,” Q whispers, pulling the memory of the woman from James’ lips and replacing it with his own.
And silently, as he kisses Q, he responds as clearly as if the words were spoken, “I always belong to you. Mind and soul. Always.”
Q understands. As he also understands that he occasionally has to share Bond’s body. But as much as he knows this, as much as he gets it, he makes sure that Bond understands at the end of the day, at the end of the mission, he is Q’s. As Q is his.
In the end, they only need that one word. “Mine.”