James Bond opened the door to the apartment and called out Q's name. There was no reply. He made his way into the living room, only to see Q standing behind the couch, eyes fixed on nothing, rage streamlining his angular face.

"Q?"

Q looked up and Bond took an involuntary step back, the anger in Q's eyes burning him.

"Q?" He asked again, worried now. His mind was racing. "What did I do? Did I wash the dishes? Was I meant to be home early? Our anniversary isn't until next week… Isn't it? Oh bugger!"

"Q, talk to me. What's happened?"

Q inhaled deeply.

"Q-Branch. The new interns, they…" He let out a huge sigh. "There was a prototype and they thought it was ready for fire testing, they didn't check with me first, and it was still flammable and it's completely destroyed."'

Bond relaxed for a second, with the knowledge that Q's fury wasn't aimed at him.

"I'm sorry," Bond said. "Do you still have the blueprints?"

Q rolled his eyes.

"Of course, but it took me months to get to where I was up to, and it had a…" He cut himself off, and Bond saw the knuckles on the back of the couch whiten.

"Had a what?" He prompted gently.

"It had a time limit on it," Q spat out. Then his shoulders slumped and he walked around the couch to sit on it, sinking deeply into the cushions. Bond sat down next him and started massaging his shoulders.

"I didn't know you had an important project due soon," he said, knowing that Q would feel better if he talked it out. But Q just sighed deeply again.

"You weren't meant to know. It was… It was a present for our anniversary." He looked up and cupped Bond's face. "I'm sorry James, there's no way I can get it ready for next week. Not if I have to start from scratch."

Bond looked into Q's green-grey eyes and smiled.

"The actual anniversary is a gift in itself. Don't you worry about it."

Q leant into his shoulder.

"Thank you."

They stayed there for a moment, before James shifted Q's weight off him.

"I need to go have a shower. Do you want me to put the kettle on for you?"

Q just shook his head.

"Don't worry, I'll do it."

Bond kissed him on the forehead and then walked to the bedroom, grabbing his clothes and a towel. Even though he and Q had been together for a while now, they didn't officially live together. But most of Bond's wardrobe had seemed to end up in Q's apartment anyway. Bond turned the shower on and stepped under the water, feeling the sweat from his training session earlier in the day wash off and the tension started draining from him.

He stood in the shower for ten minutes, relaxing his muscles and working through a kink in his left shoulder. Once he felt completely loose again he turned the water off and towelled his hair before wrapping the towel around his waist. He stepped back into the bedroom and stopped, listening.

He recognised Beethoven's Fur Elise drifting through the apartment, but the sound was too pure, too sweet, to sound like a recording. He threw his clothes on and treaded lightly down the hall.

Q had a piano, a beautiful old thing, but Bond had never seen him play, or even look at the instrument before. There was never any music set up and when Bond had asked about it, he only got a non-committal shrug from the Quartermaster, which Bond recognised as his way of pushing off subjects that he didn't want to talk about.

So when he rounded the corner and saw his lover's lithe figure was sitting on the piano stool, he was intrigued. Bond leant on the doorway as he watched Q bring the piano to life. He didn't need music, he obviously knew the whole piece off by heart, and his fingers moved over the piano keys just as elegantly and efficiently as they did over the keyboards in MI6.

The music filled the room with passion and grace, and Bond leaned forward, surrendering his mind to the music from Q's fingers. Q was leaning too, leaning in to the piano, being swept away by the changes in the piece, storming through the darker section before rising to follow the sweet sounds again. When the last chord died away, Q stood up slowly and placed the piano lid down, shutting the black and white keys away again. His hand traced over the wooden structure lovingly and Bond could sense him smiling.

Q then turned around, and jumped back as he saw Bond watching him, before his ears turned a delicate shade of pink.

"I… I was just…" he stammered out, and Bond was completely taken aback. Why was he so nervous?

"That was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard, Q."

Q stopped talking, and looked confused.

"Why haven't you ever played in front of me before?"

Q frowned.

"Music isn't exactly the quintessence of masculinity, James," he said, snapping slightly.

Bond walked up and crushed Q gently to his chest.

"I don't know who told you that, but they're wrong. You're beautiful, I loved watching you play. Could you… Could you play Fur Elise again, please?"

Q opened his mouth, as if to disagree, but Bond cut him off.

"Please. Just once more, I want to hear the whole thing."

Q regarded him suspiciously for a moment before he walked back to the piano and opened it up again. Without looking at Bond he began to play, and Bond closed his eyes, losing himself in the melody. When Q finished, he pivoted on the stool and Bond reached out and grabbed him. He kissed him persuasively, pushing him against the wall next to the piano. Q broke away, laughing.

"If I'm going to get this response when I play Fur Elise, I should show you my Chopin," he teased, but Bond's eyes lit up.

"Could you? Would you?" he asked, looking so expectant Q had to laugh again.

"Sit down," he said sternly, and Bond walked over to the couch and lay along the length of it, watching as Q turned back to the piano and started another piece. Q played for an hour before James let him get up and agreed that it was time for a dinner-break. As they sat down at the table Bond was trying to get as much information as possible out of Q about his music.

"How long have you been playing? Where did you learn?"

Q smiled at him, still looking a bit dazed that someone was this interested in his piano.

"I learnt at school, we all… We all had to learn something, and piano keys reminded me of something familiar," he joked.

"And why are you so good?"

"James, I'm hardly-"

"No, Q, don't, just don't. Why are you so good?"

Q huffed.

"Well, I had to find another hobby, something to take up the time when the Internet was down, or my download had run out for the month. One more question, James, then that's really enough."

Bond sighed, but knew that he had managed to get Q talking about himself for perhaps the longest time running yet, so he let it go.

"Where did you get that piano from? It looks old."

"It is old. It's a family hand-me-down. My mother played piano, too, and this piano came from her great-grandfather, so it's been around for a while." Q stood up. "It's your turn to wash up tonight," he said, smiling, as he walked to the couch and flopped onto it. Bond smiled at the back of Q's head and walked over to join him, squeezing into the space left on the seat.

"You know what the best thing about washing up is?" Bond asked, as he kissed the line from Q's jawline to his shoulder. Q rolled his head to the side, allowing Bond access to the rest of his neck.

"What?"

He felt Bond grin against his shoulder.

"It's still there in the morning."