Mallory had made his way down into the vaults of Q-branch. Ever since he had become 'M' he had made it his daily ritual to stand in the shadows of one of the columns, watching Q command his minions. Q knew, but pretended not to notice. When he first had found out, he had been furious, demanding Mallory stopped stalking him. Just because he was omega didn't mean his bloody alpha should come nosing, supervising his work!

Of course Q had a point, and Mallory made sure he was hidden from view, not wanting to undermine Q's authority. Yet, he couldn't resist watching Q in his element. Calm, disciplined, attentive–Q was a conductor, guiding his staff with quiet orders. He was friendly, but demanding, leading by example.

Returning back to his office, Mallory opened the drawer and poured himself a glass of whisky. For once, everything was running smoothly at Six and he went to the window overlooking the Thames. As he stood and watched the water flow by, his mind went back, back to when he had first met Q.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" The young omega yelled at him, spitting blood on the roadside.

The bomb had exploded just as the funeral convoy had passed the junction. It had been a remote controlled detonation, targeting one specific vehicle. The young omega was the only survivor, badly wounded, bleeding profusely, but still fighting off the alpha medics. Mallory wondered if the omega even were aware of being in mortal danger.

"Easy now, we're here to help you. We need to stop the bleeding," Mallory kneeled beside him, not touching or leaning close.

His breathing had become laboured. His eyes were wide, trying to take in his surroundings, but unable to focus.

"Where is my mother?" he asked "Is she, she is dead, isn't she?"

His voice broke, as he was heaving for air, stifling a sob. The look he sent Mallory was a plea for help, for reassurance. But Mallory just shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"The hell you are. You lot are fucking responsible for this mess," the omega screamed at him, tears wetting his face.

He was gasping for breath, trying to hold onto life, to keep off the Lieutenant Colonel kneeling by his side. But he was losing the fight and as the pool of blood under him grew larger, he lost consciousness, finally allowing Mallory and one of the medics to take care of his wounds.

It had been touch and go for Q. Mallory had reported back to duty, but every free minute he would spent sitting by the too large bed in the hospital, watching over Q. An omega from a Catholic family, a family who had been wiped out by the bomb that injured Q. He was the sole survivor, clinging to life with a stubbornness Mallory would come to recognise as one of Q's characteristic traits. Many years later, whenever Q's persistence would be driving him mad, Mallory would think back to these days, spent holding a lifeless hand, reading out loud, hoping against hope.

The doctors had given up on him. A Catholic omega without family and unbonded? He was regarded as less than a stray dog. It was Mallory's repeated insistence, pulling rank unashamedly, which brought the doctors back to Q's bed. When he at long last opened his eyes, blinking and frowning, Mallory felt a deep emotional relief as if something clicked into place inside of him.

Unaware of Mallory's fight for getting Q the best care possible, Q was continuing his rant almost exactly where he had left off.

"Don't touch me!" he muttered, too weak to shout, pulling his hand away from Mallory's hold.

He looked around the room, obviously confused.

"Where am I? This doesn't look like a prison."

"You're not a prisoner," Mallory answered surprised.

"Then why are you here? If not to keep me from escaping!"

Mallory looked exasperated at Q.

"Escape? Really?"

Q muttered something unintelligible, turning his head away. He lied still for a moment, Mallory contemplating if he should call the reluctant doctors, when Q again spoke.

"They are all dead, aren't they?"

Mallory swallowed before answering affirmatively. They were both silent, then. Only the muffled sounds from outside the room were heard. The silence between them stretched out, became comfortable, a shroud, keeping them save from the threats of the world. A quiet rustle betrayed Q's hand scouring over the sheet, searching for Mallory's hand and finding it. Grounding both of them in this moment, both knowing this was the inception of their bond.

Mallory smiled, drinking. They had fought. Each other, society's expectations, Mallory's family. In the end, it had been Q's stubbornness which had kept them together. As much as he had resented Mallory, once Q had decided to take his hand, to hold on to him, he defended their bond against any obstacles. Including Mallory's overly protectiveness and his often appalling cluelessness when it came to omega sexuality. God, some of the late night discussions they would have, both naked, aroused, and Q refusing to let Mallory touch him, instead giving him a lengthy lecture on omega heats and the stupidity of alphas. Sometimes, he would even go and fetch his laptop, ordering him to watch instruction videos or read up on emotional bonding.

Most of this, though, first came to be long after Q had been released from the hospital. Mallory found a small room for Q to stay, close to the military base. Their tenuous relationship had to be kept a secret. Both sides of the conflict would see it as fraternisation with the sworn enemy. That was right until the day, Mallory was abducted and Q put aside all concerns for safety and propriety and began his fight for bringing Mallory back.