Archive of Our Own ^beta

“James Jamesington Bond from Jamestown…”

Bond blinked.

“Jamesdonia.”

Most of the people surrounding them seemed to be torn between pressing in closer or backing away slowly.

“You, sir,” Q waved a finger in what he probably thought was Bond’s general direction. “You. Are.” He stopped.

“Q…” Bond ventured warily. “I’m what?”

“You’re not what, you’re Bond!”

“Oh my God.”

Bond looked about the room, trying to find an explanation for his spectacularly sloshed partner. Q didn’t mind the odd alcoholic indulgence, but getting completely drunk at the MI6 Christmas Party definitely wasn’t part of the plan. Minions all-but dove out of the way of his stare, leaving Tanner, M, and Eve to get the full brunt of it. M and Tanner hastily stepped away from Moneypenny, who was failing at looking innocent.

“Eve,” Bond growled, taking a step forward only to be stopped by Q flinging himself at his arm.

“James. James. James. Jaaaaaaaaaames.”

“Q darling, you need to go sit down. I just need to talk with Eve for a moment.”

“But I love Eve! Not as much as I love you, and differently. I wouldn’t enjoy sex with Eve. She’s a girl.” Q nodded sagely, apparently disregarding the giggles coming from his coworkers. “She told me to drink the eggnog! It was lovely!”

The eggnog.

Bond glared at the offending bowl on the drinks table before turning back to Eve, who was now cackling.

“Come on James, he’s not working tomorrow and he’s earned a night’s worth of letting his hair down.”

“And I’m not disputing that, Eve, but he’s going to hate himself for letting loose in front of the minions.”

A chorus of ‘We don’t mind!’ came from the floor. Bond ignored them.

“James, really. What’s the worst that can happen? Have a drink and relax.”

“I think I’m going to stay sober tonight, actually. I need to look after the Quartermaster.”

As soon as the words left Bond’s lips, he felt two very familiar arms wrap around his torso. He turned and caught Q as he staggered off balance, trying to keep a loving smile under control.

“Q, how about we head home, yeah?”

Q stared at him for a full ten seconds before Bond shook him gently.

“Q, time to go?”

“James,” Q whispered, raising a hand to cup his face. “You have the most beautiful eyes. I’ve never seen something so… blue. Not the sky when you took me to Scotland, or the ice reflecting on the Arctic. Not even in those sapphires I love, or the vanadyl sulphate we have in the labs or the colour copper chloride makes when it’s in a fire. God you’re beautiful.” There was a pause. “The lights, James. The Christmas lights made me notice them all over again.”

James kissed his forehead gently.

“Q, love, we have to go.”

He grabbed their coats and shuffled Q out the door, giving the room at large a generic nod farewell, before ducking his head against the cold. But not before Eve noticed the pink blush that highlighted his cheekbones, blossoming from Q’s words.

***

The peace of the morning was shattered by Bond’s mobile. There was a kerfuffle underneath the doona, accompanied by a large amount of groaning, before a calloused hand snuck outside the warmth and scooped up the offending phone.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, 007! You sound cheerful!”

“Eve, I swear to God, if the world isn’t about to end, I will kill you for this phone call.”

“Ah, but you’ll have to get out of bed first.”

Bond opened his mouth to respond, but was distracted by a whimper next to him.

“James,” came a hoarse whisper. “I need you to stop talking, please.”

Bond kissed Q on the cheek, before turning his attention back to the phone call.

“What do you want, Eve?”

“Now that’s just rude. I wanted to check up on our favourite Quartermaster, of course! I take it from the whining that he’s alive?”

“Barely. But I’m pretty sure he’s not going to drink anything, including tea, made by you for six months minimum. And I don’t blame him.”

“Oh, hush, Blush. It was just a bit of fun.”

“Well, let me plan the fun next time, why don’t yo-”

Hang on.

“What did you just call me?”

“Hmm?”

“Eve Moneypenny, what did you just call me?”

“Oh. Blush. As in, after your spectacularly red face last night when Q complimented your eyes.”

Bond sputtered.

“I. Do. Not. Blush.”

The phone vibrated against his face.

“There’s the first picture. I can send more if you’re still unbelieving.”

Bond opened the photo. He was supporting a sleepy-looking Q outside the building, and he was blushing. Bollocks.

“It was the alcohol.”

“Bullshit. You were sober, you told me.”

“I lied.”

“You don’t lie when it’s about looking after Q.”

“It was the cold.”

“You spent four months in a wooden hut in a Russian winter. You’re immune to cold.”

“It was-”

“Just admit it, James! You blushed!”

Like the mature, adult assassin he was, James hung up on her.

Q rolled over and sprawled himself over Bond’s chest, flinching as his stomach rolled.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing Q, love. Absolutely nothing.”