"Run, 007, faster!" Q's normally cool and collected voice kept threatening to crack as he watched his lover being chased through the streets, pursued by eight armed criminals, on the other side of the Channel. He could hear Bond panting through the earpiece; for the first five kilometres his chaser's had been in cars.

"Turn right into that doorway ahead of you, go downstairs, then left. No, left, Bond!"

Gunshots sounded across Q-Unit, exploding from Bond's earpiece.

"Q, I can't shake them."

"Don't you dare," Q said, as he recognised Bond's tone of voice. "You're outnumbered! You can't! Don't you dare!"

"Q," Bond puffed. "You know this is the best shot we've had at this bloody organisation for months! I can't let this file get away!"

"If you die, Bond, then we'll lose the information as well!"

More bullets peppered the wall near Bond's head, and he swore as he felt brick shards skate across his face.

"Where's the trust, Quartermaster?"

Before Q could say another word, he heard Bond fire back at the attackers, leaping to get into a better position.

"Someone get me CCTV, anything, now!" He yelled across Q-Unit, sending his minions scurrying.

"I'm sorry, sir, we can't! They've been shot out!"

Q swore under his breath just as the firing stopped from the earpiece.

"Bond? 007, report!"

There was nothing for one horrifying heartbeat.

"Targets eliminated."

Everyone in Q-Unit let out a sigh of relief, and Q had to brace himself on his desk to stop his knees giving way.

"Are you injured?"

"Minor scratches, nothing to be concerned about, sir. But you're still more than welcome to look me over once I get home." His tone slipped from teasing to suggestive.

Q rubbed his forehead, ignoring Bond's comment and the giggling from the minions behind him, and motioned for someone to go get him more tea. He then straightened his back and squared his shoulders, once more becoming the Quartermaster of MI6.

"Return as soon as possible, agent. Your car's still waiting back on Main Street."

"Thank you Q, I should return in four hours."

"You better," Q muttered, only loud enough for Bond to hear him.

Bond laughed.

"Or what my dear-" Two shots echoed through the connection, surprisingly loud, and all of Bond's vitals on the screen went blank.

"No," Q thought, his mind going numb as he saw Bond's heartbeat and blood pressure both blank out. "No, James, please."

All of Q-Unit had gone completely silent.

"Tracker!" Q ordered, his voice pure authority. "Get his tracker now!"

"Bond?" He said into 007's earpiece. "James, please! Please, please answer!" There was only static.

"Sir," R said behind him. "We've lost the signal from the tracker. It's gone."

Q picked up two phones at once, his work one and his personal one. He dialled Bond's number from his personal, and 003's from his work. 003 picked up while Bond's was still ringing.

"Q?" He was puffing, Q knew he was down in the gym, running a training exercise for the new recruits.

"003, come to Q-Unit now, you're going to France. We've lost signal on Bond."

"On my way," When 003 hung up, Bond's phone rang out.

"James."

Two hours later 003 was dropped off at the same town Bond was in, armed only with a gun and an emergency first-aid pack. As soon as he touched the ground, Q walked back out of his office. R looked at him in dismay. In 120 minutes he'd gone from the unruffled, untouchable Quartermaster, flirting with his agent boyfriend, trying to bring down an illegal international organisation, to a complete wreck. His hair was out of control, as if Q had been clawing at it, and his eyes were red with tears. R could see his hands shaking as well; not a good sign.

"Q, can I take this one?" She asked hesitantly, but he shook her off.

"I'm fine." His voice was hoarse and didn't come out louder than a whisper. He listened to 003 on the comms as he walked in to where Bond had last been heard.

"Q, his car's here. I can see it in the road. The tyres have been shot out."

Q heard a door open.

"Including the spare. No-one's near the car. I'm going inside."

A few more seconds silence.

"I can see the bodies. There's seven dead here, all which match the pictures you got of the pursuers. I can't see Bond, though. But Q…"

"What? What else is there?" Q's knuckles were white against his desk, his heartbeat thundering through him.

"There's heaps of blood. And it didn't come from the seven here."

"Can you follow it?"

"No, it stops near the doorway, someone was pressuring it."

Q felt a flicker of hope and he clutched at it wildly.

"003, is it possible that it was Bond who got out? Because we're still missing one of the attackers, too. Eight of them followed him in."

"At the moment it looks like it could have been either of them… Hang on Q, there's something around the corner…"

Q counted to five in his head and then couldn't stand it, hope filling his chest.

"003, what is it? What do you see?"

"It's… Oh shit, Q… I'm so sorry."

Q could feel the whole of Q-Unit's eyes on his back.

"It's," 003 continued. "It's the eighth man and… Q, it's Bond. It's James."

The world crashed around Q. His ears roared, and he could vaguely feel himself falling, and then hitting the ground, hard. He was only dimly aware of R's voice, and someone's hands trying to move him, and then giving up and letting him lie on the cold floor. Because this couldn't be true, not after everything that had happened, not after Markusi, it couldn't be James, it couldn't be now… Without realising, Q started sobbing, huge gut-wrenching sobs that caused his body to begin shaking like he'd touched a livewire. His eyes were closed, but his head was spinning, as if it was physically trying to make him look at the problem from another point of view. After an indeterminate amount of time, he felt new hands on him and Eve's voice sounded softly in his ear, breaking him out of his haze. She tugged on his hand and he unconsciously got to his feet and staggered into his office, where the door was shut and he collapsed on his couch. It still smelled like James, who had been lying here not two days ago… This couldn't be happening.

"Q," Eve was speaking again. "Q, you need to listen to me now, OK? You need to know. James was shot and killed in the alleyway, after killing the last of his attackers. His face… 003 couldn't recognise his face anymore, but he knows Bond's body shape, and the man had Bond's Walther on him, as well as his phone. 003's bringing him home now, he'll be here in two days."

Eve looked at him, her expression a horrible mix between pity and professionalism.

"I'm going to get you a drink. Sit tight."

She got up and left.

Once the door clicked shut, Q tried to sit up, his muscles aching as they minutely relaxed from his position on the floor. He took a deep breath, but the room span even more and he bolted of out of the office and into the bathrooms, emptying his stomach in one of the cubicles. His whole body, his whole being, rejecting what Eve had told him.

Eventually he stood up again, sticky with sweat, and made his way back to his office, not even feeling the stares he was given by some from Q-Unit, and the tears of others. R quietly got everyone's attention back and continued them working, organising 003 and 007's return home.

Q closed his office door and spotted a full wine bottle and a glass on his table, presumably from Eve. He picked it up, but the sweat from his hands made the bottle slip and floor. Q lunged forward trying to catch it before it hit the carpet but only managed to knock it onto the table, where it smashed beneath his hands. Immediately his white carpet, cardigan, and pants were covered in red as the wine stained the material. Q swore and bent down to pick up the pieces of glass when pain lanced up his arms. He looked at himself more closely and realised that a new shade of red was blending with the first.

A wave of helplessness crashed over him. He couldn't do this without James, he couldn't face the world without him. Even before Markusi Bond had been Q's rock, always settling him, comforting him against failed missions and missing agents, being the first person Q had trusted for years…
He was broken out of his thoughts by the door opening and R rushing in. Her face turned from concern to shock to horror as she took in the spilt drink and the blood.

"I heard the crash… I'll get some towels."

She backed out, closing the door behind her. Q looked around the room, completely lost.

"James."

"I'll take him home," Eve volunteered. It was four in the morning, and the last of the paperwork had been written up – there was always so much to do after an agent fell in the field – and the only thing needed was the Quartermaster's signature, as he'd been 007's handler for the mission, but even M said that it could wait a day. Q had stayed in his office, not opening the door since R bought him some towels to clean the alcohol.

"Thank you, Eve, but no." M looked exhausted, dark smudges having appeared under his eyes. "I think it would be better if he stayed here."

"But sir-"

"Thank you for your input, but I need Q under my supervision." His tone was final.

Eve nodded and picked up her bag.

"I'll be in my flat if I'm needed."

Once she left, M let out a huge sigh and sank down into his chair. He knew he needed sleep, but he couldn't leave MI6 with Q holed up in his office. No one else, not even Eve or Tanner, knew Q's file, knew his history. M didn't even think Bond had. M accessed the surveillance system for the headquarters and hooked his computer up to the camera showing Q's office door. He wouldn't invade Q's privacy by watching what he was doing inside, but he could instantly see if Q left the room.

Someone needed to watch over him tonight.

Q didn't sleep either. He sat in the corner of his office staring at his phone, his arms wrapped around his knees, tears falling down his face. After Markusi, whenever Bond was on a mission he always texted, every night he was away. It was always the exact same text, and Q once joked with him that he just copied and pasted it, but Bond had looked him in the eyes and said he wouldn't dream of it, because he meant it every time.

"I'm missing you. I'll be home soon. Stay safe."

But no matter how much he stared at it, wishing, praying, Q's phone stayed blank.

After another few hours Q heard workers in Q-Unit again, chatting as they came in and then falling silent as the night shift told them what had happened. There were a few footsteps near his door, but he heard R's voice call whoever it was back, and the footsteps faded away.

Time passed slowly. It was two in the afternoon when there was a knock on the door, and Q ignored it, not wanting anyone to come in, not wanting to talk to anyone. To his distaste a key card sounded and the door unlocked itself. M stepped in, holding a steaming mug, and a bottle of water. He closed the door, cutting off the bustle from the Unit, and looked at Q on the ground. Q looked at his phone. M didn't say anything for minutes. Finally he put the water and tea down on the table and walked back to the door.

"I'll be in my office."

Then he was gone.

After a while, the day shift ended and Q-Unit emptied again. When there was no sound coming from outside, Q slowly stood up and opened the door. R was the only one there, and she looked up, saw Q's expression, and looked back down at her computer. Q stepped over some food trays that had been left outside his door and went to the bathrooms. By the time he got there, he was shaking again, and he only just managed to reach a toilet before he threw up the nothing that was left in his stomach. He wiped his mouth on some damp paper towel and walked back to his office, ignoring the food, R, and anything else that could have been in between. He collapsed onto the sofa, unable to support himself, and fell back into the darkness of his thoughts.

Upstairs, M sighed. He'd watched Q move outside of his office for about five minutes, and then return, looking weaker than he had during the day. He picked up the phone, and dialled a number he never thought he was going to have to call again. Like this morning, it was picked up straight away.

"Not good," M responded to a question. "No, he hasn't eaten, or drunk anything. Could you…? No, I understand. I'll keep an eye on him. Of course, sir, I'll call you if nothing changes… Or if something does."