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Agent. Spy. Assassin.

They were all words that had been used to describe Bond's job over the years since he had joined MI6. Out of all of them, he preferred agent or spy the most. They made him sound like more than just a cold-blooded killer. There had been other words used to describe Bond over the years.

Orphan. Sailor. Husband. Womaniser. Alcoholic.

All of them true at some point or other. There had been a new one to add to the collection in the last six months or so.

Partner.

At his age, Bond had pretty much resigned himself to being single until he was inevitably carried out of MI6 in a body bag. He was too battered, too abrasive, too cynical, had too much blood on his hands to be a good partner to anybody. And then, somehow, Q was in his life as so much more than just his Quartermaster. It seemed as though one minute they were just friends who went out for dinner and drinks together and then Bond had blinked and they were in a relationship. Bond had, unsurprisingly, freaked out. He had taken the first mission that he could and promptly left the country. It hadn't worked. Q had picked him up at the airport and driven them to a hotel, forcing Bond to talk, not giving him any chance to run away.

Bond could remember it as though it were yesterday. He had tried to persuade Q that it wouldn't work, that there was too much bloody on his hands, that everybody he had ever loved, ever cared about had been killed. He hadn't quite been expecting Q's steadfast refusal to give up. He had known since Skyfall that, despite his geeky appearance and almost fragile frame compared to Bond's own, Q was a tenacious thing, had seen it countless times on missions but he wasn't quite expecting that personality trait to be applied to this. To Bond.

Every reason that Bond could come up with, Q rebuffed it with a counter of his own. The one that really stuck with Bond was Q's answer to Bond's insistence that he had far too much bloody on his hands. He hadn't been expecting Q to counter with the fact that he had just as much blood on his hands as Bond. He certainly hadn't been expecting Q to compare the two of them to a statue of Lady Justice.

The last thing he had been expecting had been for Q to compare himself to the scales that Justice carried, acting on the intelligence that he received, weighing up whether it needed to be acted upon immediately or whether or not it could be left to see what became of it and the ripples that could be caused. Even more surprising had been the fact that Q had referred to Bond as the sword of justice, meting out whatever punishment Justice and her scales deemed suitable.

That description had clinched it for Bond. Q had understood more than any other person ever had and if Q was so adamant about being in Bond's life then who was Bond to argue? Especially as he wanted Q there just as much. Even so, he had spent the first two months on edge, half-expecting Q to retract his words and break it all off but he hadn't and, at some point, Bond had realised that this wasn't going to end and he could relax, enjoy it.

Now, Bond was as domesticated as he had ever been, as domesticated as a double-0 could get. Having Q to come home to made an immeasurable difference and, for the first time in a long time, he realised with a smile that he was happy.

“Now that's a smile that I don't see too often. Should I be waiting for a phone call to say you've blown something up?”

“Q!”

And that was something else; Bond was so comfortable with the younger man that he hadn't been disturbed by his approaching presence. The only other person in the world who could do that was Alec Trevelyan, 006. Not caring that they were in public he reached out and speared a hand through those riotous curls that he had developed such a thing for and pulled Q into a searing kiss. Q didn't protest, his body going pliant against Bond's as Bond licked into Q's mouth, tasting the familiar combination of bergamot and something that was purely Q. Still, as tempting as Q was, he managed to pull back from Q with one last nip to that lush mouth.

“Home.”

The word was practically growled out as Bond slid off his stool at the bar and led Q out towards the car. He might be weary, he might be battered and he might be the oldest double-0 still serving Queen and Country but with Q acting as the scales to Bond's sword, he might even start considering being the first double-0 to ever retire rather than being carried out in a body bag.