After his next mission Bond came home with not so much as a bruise and it had Q flummoxed. When he also gave back his equipment in near-mint condition, the quartermaster stared at his agent in bafflement.

007 leaned against the desk, smug, eyes alight with something that had Q brace himself.

"Q."

He glared. "007."

"Problem?"

"Not at all. Did you even go to Norway?"

"I believe I did. Ask 003 if you want. I also remember quite clearly that you were there with me."

Q examined the completely unscathed cell phone. Not even a dent!

"I believe pairing you with other agents might be healthier for the equipment's wear and tear."

003 approached the desk, sporting a bruised cheek bone. "While it's hell on the agent paired with this menace," the man commented, but there was no bite in it. "Hey, Q."

"003. What happened?"

"Your partner happened."

Q didn't twitch a single muscle at the 'your partner' remark. Of course Bond was his agent. He was his handler.

"I told you to duck," Bond remarked amiably. "You should have listened."

003 snorted and handed Q his equipment. "Around you, ducking never helps, Bond. At least you got him back in one piece this time, Q."

Q raised his eyebrows, glancing at the other Double-Oh while he examined the money clip camera. It was functional.

"And I'm thankful, 003."

The agent smirked and turned to Bond. "M wants to see us."

Q shot his partner a pointed look. Bond showed no sign of leaving.

"Shoo," he said absent-mindedly when he turned back to examining the returned equipment.

"You heard the man," 003 called. "Shoo."

Bond went, but not without another look at his partner.

Q smiled to himself and only looked back up when the two men were gone. His underlings were glancing at him, some hiding grins, and he wiped his own off his face. He didn't manage it completely.

Damn. What was that man doing to him?

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Bond still slept with whoever he had to to achieve his mission objective. He still used his charm and sexuality like a weapon. It was a weapon, Q knew, had always known. Like so many other things it kept Bond calmer, more even-tempered, and it sated a hunger that normally only violence could. He was an attractive man, handsome and oozing sexuality. Women were drawn to him, freely flung themselves at him.

And 007 used every weapon he had at his disposal.

Q accepted it. Sometimes he was privy to it. And every single time it was far less disturbing than it probably should be.

It was Bond's job. He did his job exceptionally well. He got his job done, he recovered data, stole objects, eliminated dangerous targets.

Q watched and listened and guided. He broke electronic locks, blocked cameras, interrupted security feeds without the watcher even noticing, and he pushed whole city blocks into blackouts if it was needed. He wrote complicated code, cracked encryptions, rewired servers from the inside.

All in a day's work.

Jealousy didn't fit into the world of spy games and death. It didn't fit them because what they were individually was already far beyond natural. As a preternatural Bond sought his thrills and sated them.

Tanner shot him surreptitious looks sometimes, especially when he was there as Bond seduced his lady of the week, his one-night stand, his source of information or a key to the real target's home.

Q returned it blandly, functioning efficiently, several steps ahead of his agent to spring into action the moment 007 had the necessary data.

No, jealousy didn't figure into this. He knew that this was temporary and necessary. Q had part of Bond no one had ever touched, ever seen. It was more precious than any vows.

It was what linked them, balanced them and let them develop their full potential.

Q gave Tanner a brief half-smile as Bond left the lady's room and reported back with the access codes.

Back to business.

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It was just too bad that quartermasters couldn't always control everything. Like Double-Ohs who were so set on their goal that they got themselves almost torn to pieces.

The retrieval team in Syria was there to pick up those not-quite-pieces, bringing home a severely injured James Bond, clinging to life with a fierceness that astounded Medical.

Until he died.

That fact was only known to M and Tanner, and of course Q. He had been watching through the cameras, waiting for his agent to stabilize of completely decline.

Bond didn't do him the favor of stabilizing, the bloody bastard. Of course he would go the hard way and die. Q had come prepared and Medical wasn't even aware of the death since none of the myriad of machines monitoring James Bond so much as hiccupped.

Q diligently informed M and Tanner of what had occurred as he kept on watching that no night nurse would make the discovery. Whether or not anyone suspected James was a preternatural was of no consequence; knowing that he could rise from the dead was knowledge kept so secret, no electronic file contained it.

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Bond was moved into an isolated area.

Medical didn't ask too many questions, but the head of the department protested briefly. M took him aside and whatever was spoken – no, Q wasn't watching or using a lip-reading program to get that particular tidbit – it did the job.

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Q was there when his agent opened his eyes. From death to life in a heartbeat. There was a soft inhalation of air, a twitch to his eyes.

So easy.

Q hadn't expected the literal rise from the ashes. That would have been preposterous. But it all happened so quietly.

What wasn't quiet was the very air around the man. Maybe it was because of the connection between them, that unexplainable thing that was so powerful and strong and unbreakable. Q almost tasted the fire. It was the creature, pure and untamed as it rose from death.

Bond was too weak to even lift a finger, but that didn't stop him. It was probably a deeply ingrained instinct, a reaction that happened without thinking. Pulling at the IV running into one arm, clawing at the needle, he tried to free himself from Medical with a stubbornness that was ingrained in Double-Ohs it seemed.

Q placed a hand on the fingers pulling at the needle. Cold fingers, the blood flow not back to normal, but still stronger than his own. He didn't doubt Bond's ability to break every single one of them if the touch was perceived as a threat.

"Leave it, 007."

The slightly cloudy blue eyes sharpened. The phoenix snarled. Q held that gaze.

"I said leave it."

"Are you my nanny, too?" he rasped.

He lifted one corner of his mouth into a half-smile. "With you, my job is never done. Now leave it. You were dead."

"I know."

"You are also not quite alive just yet."

Bond exhaled slowly, grimacing. "I'm not staying here."

"You are, preternatural or not. Tonight. Tomorrow we can discuss a different arrangement."

Bond glared.

Q just looked at him, calm and collected.

The glare intensified, but the agent was too weak to do much else.

"For once, just listen."

"I always listen to you, Q."

"Unless you don't want to. Like right now. You're safe here, James. I'll be here."

He briefly tightened his hold on Bond's wrist.

"Give yourself time to heal. You're not alone any more."

The blue eyes, still unable to focus properly, spoke another language. The man had stubborn bred into himself. He gave the word obstinate a new definition.

But Q simply waited Bond out until his physical demands had him slide into sleep once more.

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By morning Bond was gone.

Of course.

Q had left the room for a necessary relief and to get himself tea and breakfast. It had been enough time for Bond to escape.

"James, you bloody idiot!"

The man had no self-preservation! Half torn apart, held together by too many stitches to count, he had fled Medical. Bond didn't trust in doctors, he refused to stay put, and he was 'fine' even with a bleeding gut shot. Of course he was fine; he was a bloody phoenix! But he was also a first class idiot.

Q sighed deeply put upon and went through the security feed of Medical and the rest of MI6, hunting for his wayward agent. He found him after a while and it didn't surprise Q that Bond had evaded almost all cameras. He was simply so good.

But Q was better.

He followed the injured man as he snuck out of Medical, then MI6, and then Q had to use facial recognition software.

He was impressed that even though he employed his own program, Bond managed to lose him time and again. He also seemed to be all over London. Yes, very impressive. Also ridiculous.

Then again, he had a good suspicion just where the man had disappeared to and when M demanded to know where 007 was, Q gave him all he had, which was little to nothing.

The head of MI6 looked livid, but he only turned and stalked out of Q branch. Tanner raised his eyebrows.

"You think you know where he went," he stated.

"I believe so, sir."

"Then go take care of him."

X X

It was the first time he took off work so early. With approval by his boss.

X X

And of course Q found him in his flat. He had had no doubt. Looking like a shoddily reassembled puzzle of a man, stitches and bruises and scraped off skin. There were bandages peeking out from under the clothes that didn't really fit Bond and which he had probably lifted out of someone's locker. Half his face had met the ground with too much force, leaving a lasting impression until he could heal himself. One hand was in a cast where his wrist had been broken.

Q knew the medical facts and there was too much broken and torn in the phoenix for him to even move without excruciating pain, but the kind of agent Bond was came with a high tolerance for it. A very high tolerance.

"Would it have killed you to stay in Medical?"

"Most likely," was the tired, rough answer.

The stubbled face looked older than Bond truly was. Regeneration was a slow process. Being alive was primary, the cosmetics came in the end. Bond was exhausted, so much it showed, but he was stubborn, yes. He refused to give in.

"I'm not a nurse."

"I don't need one."

"Hallucinating now, are we, 007?"

Q approached calmly, aware of the danger the man presented in his current state. He was a wounded animal and recuperation needed time. He sat down on the bed, gazing at Bond.

James curled surprisingly strong but very lacerated looking fingers around the wrist closest to him.

Q smiled as he studied him. "Bloody stubborn git."

Bond smirked. Then his eyes closed and he let himself fall asleep again.

Q stroked a gentle caress over the pale, roughed up features. The feelings inside him were numerous and conflicting.

Almost absent-mindedly he logged into his own net and sent a brief message to M and Tanner. Bond was still alive, he was with him, and Q would take care of the obstinate agent.

M's answer was brief and to the point. 'See that you do.'

Tanner only wished him good luck.

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It took Bond a week to be back, to be functional, as he called it. Q was there, watching, guarding, taking care of his partner. Functional for Bond was walking more than three steps without breaking out in sweat or almost keeling over. It meant being able to see with at least one eye and have at least one hand working at eighty percent capacity.

Q called it a bloody nightmare. He called him all kinds of unfavorable words, too.

But he was there when the phoenix stretched its wings, the dark creature rising to full power and looking hungrily around.

It focused on the man bound to it in so many ways.

Q cocked his head, the even expression tinged with only a little annoyance at the display of dominance as Bond approached him.

"Really?" he asked, rather superfluously.

Bond's hands were more gentle than anyone would have expected, fingers running over pale, smooth skin, carding into the long strands of the ridiculous mop of hair, then he kissed his quartermaster with a possessive need that was only a fraction of what was running hotly through his veins.

Q buried his fingers in the dark blue shirt, bunching it tightly, pulling him closer.

"I'm not a bloody girl," he hissed.

"Oh, I noticed, Q. Quite early on." The wintery eyes sparked with humor. "Missing some parts. Extra parts somewhere else."

The spark was now too bright to ignore. It was also the beginning of a blaze that burned everything else like wildfire.

"Parts I really appreciate," he added in that low, gritty voice that went straight through Q, having him react while he fought not to lose it.

He wasn't a girl! He wouldn't… Oh, bloody hell!

Q pulled him into a kiss that he ended with a bite to Bond's lower lip. "Then stop treating me like I'm made of glass," he whispered sharply.

Strong hands pushed him back, colliding with the wall, and somehow Bond suddenly had Q's wrists trapped against the wall as well. The smile was downright hungry now; primal and so very, very hungry.

"I would never dare," the predator breathed.

Q closed his eyes and his breathing hitched when blunt teeth bit at his throat.

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He watched his partner as Bond stood in front of the bathroom mirror, semi-naked, and Q appreciated the view. There were only red lines left where stitches had held torn flesh together just a week ago. Bond looked like his old self again. The tired lines had smoothed out, the pallid skin looked healthy once more, and his strength had returned. He would hit the agency gym again and soon he would be back in shape.

M had yet to clear him, of course.

Q had no doubt that would happen.

James left the bathroom, light gray dress shirt still open, showing the smooth expanse of muscular chest and Q appreciated the sight.

Bond smiled, quite aware of the technopath's reaction. "Q."

"007."

Bond drew him close by grabbing the loose cardigan. He kissed him slow and with such single-minded intent, Q wondered if they might not be late this morning.

X

They weren't.

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After this, Bond came home in one piece more often than not. He still had the battle wounds to show, but there was no doubt he was alive. Only once it was a close call and no one knew if he had actually died again or not.

Q knew.

He saw it in the cold eyes with their fiery center. He felt it between them as tension rose exponentially. He didn't fight it when Bond took what he needed to calm down the primal side that always, always hissed and snapped at everything when he had pulled another miracle survival.

Resurrection might be his thing, but it came with a price.

Q was not frightened. He had never been. He looked at the phoenix, aware of everything. He felt the darkness and balanced it with cool logic. He gave James what he needed. He helped him stay human, healed the fractures and breaks, and he refused to let the beast tear itself to pieces.

He wasn't a one-night stand. He wasn't a good fuck who would be paid handsomely. He wasn't a bed partner never to be seen again. He wasn't someone Bond had to hold back with. He held his own against the force of nature, the preternatural beast that could never be tamed completely. He let the chains fall and gave himself to that hurricane.

Q came out well-fucked, tingling, featuring a few interesting bruises. He didn't care about them one way or another. Anyone who claimed he was a meek computer geek had never seen him like this. He wasn't passive; he had desires and demands. He was an equal.

Bond came out of it out of breath, exhausted, mellow, and clinging to his quartermaster like a lifeline. Yes, resurrection went a long way for a phoenix and his recovery rate had Q moan in pleasure-pain into the pillows, deciding that he truly didn't have to be jealous of the marks Bond slept with. They would never have the man like Q had him. Never.

If Bond sometimes allowed Q to return the favor, it was never spoken about. If Q enjoyed sinking into the strong form, watching his agent lose himself in the pleasure the technopath gave him, it was never mentioned.

Never in words.

James looked at him, holding his gaze. Q knew what they were, what they shared. He knew what it meant for both men. He knew what he was for James Bond, preternatural, a phoenix. He knew James in turn had accepted his own part in Q's life.

The explosive encounters grew less frenzied. The need was no longer so unstoppable and primal as the fact that Q was there to stay sank in. It was new for a man like James Bond, who had lived on this edge for too long. It was a learning process and Q watched it all.

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Tanner didn't comment on the fact that James Bond still didn't have a new flat. His rented place had been given up and there were no hotel bills charged to any of the cards Bond used. He hadn't requisitioned a place either.

Q worked as effectively as ever. The way he did it was pure magic, his fingers flying over the keys, calling up maps and data streams, the screens around him flashing with whatever was needed. Split screens showed camera images and stills. He talked calmly, evenly to his agent, guiding 007 through a maze of streets like he was talking about the latest movie he had seen.

Tanner listened to the easy banter, noticed the brief smiles as Q was amused by something Bond had said, sometimes replying with sharp taunts and teasing.

M had told him that their resident technopath had managed what no other had before him. He had tamed James Bond by unleashing him completely and had managed to keep control of the primal creature he was. In turn Q had found the quiet center he needed, that anchor that was his lifeline.

Tanner would never in all his life have called Bond calm or a collected center for anyone. He knew what was underneath the cover of civility. He had seen it often enough and it was terrifying.

Q could work with it. He had faced it and survived.

It could have ended in a tremendous explosion that might have taken out both men. It had ended in a partnership that gave both men what they had needed all their lives.

And maybe it would bring back Bond alive more often than before.

One could only hope.

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So the first fic is done and somehow, somewhere in the middle of it this became a series called Firewall. Part 2 is in the making. Actually, so are more fics. Someone please give me my life back because those two have taken over!