Title: Stick Together
Rating: R
Warnings: Murder
Fandom: James Bond
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Tags: Established Relationship, Angst, Happy Ending
Summary: Q hated it when James was injured.
Word Count: 1,460
Beta: Grammarly



Nothing was worse than knowing that whatever one did, nothing would come of it. There was something about just existing that sometimes made it better, but on the whole, it was just getting through it.

Q snagged the remote to the TV, and he found a station that wouldn't piss him off. He found some cooking show and thought that at least it would be something that he might learn something if he listened. He picked up the glass of scotch and debated going back for the bottle but decided that once he was done with this one, he would make that decision.

The mission had been fucked from the start of it because someone at MI5 had given them false information at the start. James had felt like it had been a cock up from the start, but Mallory hadn't listened to him, and he hadn't listened to Q asking to allow him time to verify the information.

Now James was fighting for this life in Medical, and Q was debating an assassination attempt on Mallory. The man had said some things that had been troublesome from the start, but Q had laid them down to him, trying to fill massive shoes after the death of M. Now it seemed that he was a kid dressed up in his father's clothes ad trying to do his job.

Which wasn't the best when the job was what it was.

Q took another drink of the scotch before he decided to say fuck it and get the bottle. He also grabbed the menu for the place down the street and ordered enough food for the weekend. He had been barred from Medical and MI6 by not only James' doctor but Mallory himself. So, Q was here by himself and hated it.

Drinking himself to sleep would be the only sleep he would get if he didn't do it; he would play the mission over in his head again and again. The first three days of James in medical had been full of a debrief of things by an outside entity, and now Q had submitted his mission brief that was fifty-three pages long, and he didn't regret it. He had laid it all out and didn't care if he was fired over it. He would be taken in by any company in the world.

Working for MI6 was rewarding, but he could move anywhere. He wondered if maybe the CIA would want him. He didn't even need to be the head of the CIA but over a small group or over the ones who made it their life to piss off MI6. There were a lot of rewarding things he could do.

He would make sure to stick it to MI6 if he went anywhere else. He also refused to go to jail over what he had done to make sure that James got home. He would ruin MI6 and even England if they tried that. He loved his country, but he refused to submit to taking the blame for something. He refused to let anyone die over something that someone else wanted.

Ethan was going to be killed within hours, and no one would be able to prove it was him. The idiot in MI5 would die, and he would know what it was for as soon as it started, but he wouldn't be able to tell anyone who had done it. It was a death that Q would not feel sorry over. The man had decided that he wanted Q and that meant that no one else could have him. It was why he had made up information that had nearly gotten James killed. It had been something that Q had known as soon as he figured out where the information came from.

Picking up the bottle and filling his glass again, Q looked at the time. He picked up his cell and called in the order of food he wanted, and he was glad that the place would leave it with the desk and his card was on file to be charged. There was not much else he needed to do as security would already bring the food up to him since he had told him he planned to get shit-faced.

Once it was all done, Q laid down, setting the glass on his chest. He tried to remember what James looked like before he had been brought home. The smile on James' face before he had left Q-Branch. The way James had fucked him the night before that. There was nothing like having all of James' attention on him. It was what had lured Q in in the first place. When Q was with James, he was the only thing that mattered.

Q felt like they were matched well and would stick together through it all. If James lived.

The knock came on the door, so Q got up, setting his glass down on the coffee table before heading to the door. It was the guard who usually brought his food up to him.

"Miss Moneypenny dropped off a supply bag as well. I think to deal with your hangover you are working toward."

"Thanks. I don't plan to get that drunk. I've gotten shit-faced many times. I'll be fine, but make sure that no one gets up here. I want no visitors."

"Of course. Ring if you need anything, even if it's help getting to bed."

Q would have cursed him out, but the man had come before to help him to do bed once. That had been when Q had been injured on the job, an idiot who had spilled oil in Q-Branch, and Q's back had been messed up. The pills he took to get better left him unable to move around sometimes, so the guards came up to help, and it seemed that this one had worked the entire time Q was laid up hard. He had been the only one to come into the flat and help him. Then, of course, Q discovered that he and James were drinking buddies, and he had promised James he would look after Q.

"Thank you," Q said. He shut the door and ensured it was locked before heading to the kitchen. He put most of the food in the fridge, carried what he would eat, and then went to the living room again. The next days were going to suck.

---

Q hated his dreams. He hated the feeling he got when he dreamed of James.

"Q," James said.

Q curled into himself in the dream.

"Move over, Q."

A firm hand on his shoulder, shaking, told Q he was still dreaming, but someone was there. Q reached for the gun under the pillows and found it was gone. He tried to turn, but his body hated it after falling asleep on the couch at a bad angle for the fifth night in a row.

The hand on his shoulder held him down, and it was only when the fog of sleep started to fully leave that Q smelled disinfectant as well as the normal scent that clung after someone was in Medical for a while. He opened his eyes and found James leaning over him. He looked like death.

Q moved to allow James into the bed. He wanted to ask if James should be out of there, but Medical wouldn't let him out unless he was safe to do so.

"I have to take it very, very easy, and I need to sleep more than anything, but I was too antsy with everything there. I wasn't sleeping. Tanner's getting everything set up in the kitchen to take care of me as well as my pills. I have everything in the bathroom for you to go over when it's time to get me cleaned up. I've already promised I won't do anything stupid, which was the only reason I was allowed out. I'm tired from the drive home, and Tanner's going to stay for a while. Let's nap and then you can talk to him and send him home."

Q wasn't sure what to say to that. He had no idea what to say. He moved to get comfortable on his side of the bed, watching closely as James laid down beside him, his body covered in white from the various wrappings he had. Once James was down on his side, Q scooted closer and let his eyes close. There was no way James was really ready to be home, but at least he would get sleep here, usually with Q in bed with him.

They would get through this, but it was iffy who in MI6 would get through what was coming.

The End