TITLE: Seasonal Currents

SERIES: Firewall

RATING: R-ish

DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belongs to me, sadly. They are owned by people with a lot more money :)

FEEDBACK: Loved

Series list:

1. High Voltage

2. Live Wire

3. Sometimes the Words are Hidden

4. Season Currents

x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx

James Bond was a weapon. In every sense of the way. He could kill a man with his little finger. He could take a life in cold blood. He had no conscience in that regard. He followed orders and he did what was expected of him.

He was also a ruggedly handsome man. Muscular, lean, trained, fit. Anyone who had watched him in the exercise room could attest to that. Despite being the oldest Double-Oh agent, he was one of the fittest. He drew looks and not because he looked his age; far from it. The younger ones would call him a dinosaur, outdated and ready to retire, but things had changed. No one knew why, they just knew when.

After Silva. After the former M had been killed.

After Q had become quartermaster. Actually just before he had become Bond's new and only handler.

Though no one had made that connection just yet. Some whispered rumors, but there was no concrete evidence. No one dared to speculate because while office relationships happened, they didn't happen with an agent like Bond. He was a one-night stand kind of guy. He had slept with some of his fellow agents and it had been casual and never for more than recreation.

It was like an agreement between the field operatives: no relationships. No closeness. Intimacy was for the bed only. Afterwards matters returned to normal.

So for Q to fall for his charm was one thing – and his team would argue that their boss wasn't that kind of man anyway. But for them to have a steady, intimate relationship…? It boggled the mind and it wasn't really discussed. Or mailed about.

As for Bond, he wouldn't lose a word about it either.

He showed up in Q branch whenever there was nothing else he had to do. He brought back equipment in relatively good shape or even without a scratch, and he would give Q an infuriatingly knowing smirk. He would spend hours on the couch that was only his and his alone, and he would write reports, read up on whatever had been mailed to him.

Even just sitting there James Bond looked vaguely menacing. That would change into not-so-vaguely dangerous when he turned cold, blue eyes on anyone watching him for too long. They would quickly scurry away.

And those eyes would follow them. There was a warning in them, a calculating look that froze every thought about what kind of relationship this was. No one dared to whisper while Bond was there. Everyone was studiously working on their tasks.

Those eyes were a clear warning. Their pale color was astounding. They were almost hypnotic in their intensity, but they could be soft and vulnerable as well.

Double-Ohs were good actors. It was their job to be someone else, to get close to a mark or a target, seduce or charm, and 007 was one of the best.

Q could appreciate a lot about his partner as well. He had seen more than probably most of his branch and he knew what was hidden underneath those perfectly tailored clothes. He had seen every detail of the man and he had seen him without his shields. Q was probably the only person alive who knew who James Bond was.

And he was one of the few who knew that he was a preternatural. Not quite human, not supernatural. He was a nightmarishly dark creature, one that would consume itself with every rebirth until its soul was completely torn apart. Q was the stability the phoenix had been looking for all its life and he knew what was underneath that handsome exterior.

It didn't mean he was immune to the charm. He could also watch that perfect body for hours and not tire of it. He enjoyed the man in all his states of dress or undress. Many women and men had seen the same, had been Bond's bed partners, but even with that knowledge, Q wasn't jealous and never would be. He had a special connection to the preternatural no one else could achieve. Bond had chosen him, had given Q more in turn, and their connection was unbreakable.

x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX

Q followed the fascinated gaze of his newest intern and suppressed an eye-roll. That would be completely unprofessional. He realized that the object of the young woman's fascination was nothing new and that many had looked at Bond that very same way. She wasn't the first to fall for his looks and charm and she wouldn't be the last.

Her eyes were firmly on his butt and Q couldn't fault her for it. The black pants stretched over those muscular cheeks in a very enticing way and Q had admired that very same picture often enough. The narrow waist enhanced the impression of sex-on-legs, and the white dress shirt did the rest.

Bond knew what he was doing. He knew what he looked like. He was a weapon and he used everything he had to achieve a goal. Sex was a weapon, too. He might not be drop-dead gorgeous, turning heads because he was the perfect fantasy of every living being on this planet, but he had this… appeal. There was something there that drew people closer, even those who might not be attracted to a blond, blue-eyed man.

The intern turned and found Q looking at her. She flushed red and stammered an apology.

"You aren't the first, Susan," Q only said mildly.

"I… I'm sorry, sir." She held a report out to him, shaking a little, her cheeks still burning.

Q took it and she darted out of the room, embarrassment clearly on her features.

The quartermaster refused to smile, but he was clearly amused as he turned to his work. The few underlings milling around studiously avoided looking at their boss.

Yes, that ass was a prime example of what regular exercise and work-out could make of the human body, and Bond was acutely aware of every inch of himself. Q had never met a man so open with his body, his sexuality, his habit of sleeping with whoever he fancied. He had the power to bring a genius level brain to a grinding halt.

Q smiled a little more.

Maybe he was having a little too much fun with this, but it was entertaining to watch colleagues who sniffed at field agents and had this aloof air about themselves secretly check out Bond.

Q knew they were. The cameras told him.

A weapon indeed.

x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX

Bond was back about an hour later, looking positively bored out of his mind. He was prowling along the rows of work tables and stations. He had left the suit in a locker and had donned his sweats. Blue pants, blue long-sleeved t-shirt, no vest. With the skin tight t-shirt covering the very fine physique Q could appreciate the view like any other red-blooded human being in the room.

And yes, he knew that his partner was doing this on purpose.

Q reminded himself that a field agent trained himself for a reason and part of that training was using his body. If this was Bond's way of seeing how much of an effect he still had on unsuspecting interns, Q would have to give him maximum points. He could see another intern openly staring at the Double-Oh.

"You'll be the death of them, 007," he remarked when Bond's prowl took him to Q's work table.

"They'll learn to deal."

"Before or after they have hyper-ventilated or expired from cardiac problems?"

"Perils of the job." Bond smirked and leaned close to Q, looking at what he was typing. "What about you?"

"I've learned to ignore you."

"You wound me."

Q glanced at him. "You have to learn to live with it."

Bond shot him another quick smile, then brushed past his quartermaster and left again.

Q did roll his eyes when he saw him shoot flirtatious looks at one of the interns. The poor girl flushed a bright red and fled to another room.

"Menace," he muttered.

His menace.

Yes, Q could be very proprietary sometimes.

x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx

The weather had declined steadily over the past few days. It was mid-December and winter had taken a hold of the country. Forcefully, one might say. Wind and rain had swept over the land, bringing with it the cold and some sleet, which had finally turned into snow. The snapping cold had people hurry across the streets, trying to get into their warm offices or the shops. There were Christmas decorations everywhere and the flurries of the day before had settled on the ground. By now those flurries were a steady snow-fall and Q watched it all with almost disinterest.

He was bundled up against the cold, his duffel coat thrown over a fleece jacket, which again covered a burgundy, woolen sweater over a dress shirt. Thick-soled boots crunched through the snow on the ground. He evaded hectic shoppers and those who just wanted to get home. It was already late and the shops were finally closing.

Q enjoyed the less crowded streets, eyes flickering over the window displays, smiling a little to himself. He wasn't a very Christmassy person himself. Yes, he got the whole spirit of the thing, but his childhood hadn't been filled with carols and lots of traditions. Christmas was just another day, like New Year's, like Easter, like Thanksgiving. He appreciated the lights and the smell of sweets and traditional food, but he didn't celebrate.

Burying his nose a little into his thick scarf, the wind biting into his skin, he headed for the tube station.

It was his first Christmas as the quartermaster of MI6 and he had let his underlings enjoy themselves. There were a few harmless Christmas decorations around the office. Non-flammable. Not explosive. Actually, not even with batteries. One never knew.

After-work Christmas parties had been announced. He had politely declined the get-togethers, thankful for every agent who needed his help abroad or for every employee who wanted to get home to his family, so Q could simply and seamlessly take over whatever the woman or man had been doing and finish it.

To him, Christmas wasn't special and he couldn't understand why that shocked some of his team. He didn't celebrate. What was wrong with that?

The tube was moderately full and he leaned against the wall, watching people get on and off until it was his station. It was a short ride. He could have walked, but it was simply too cold right now and taking the tube the sensible thing to do. He didn't want to end up as an icicle.

The flat was warm and he shed his clothes. The snow had mostly turned to water and he would need to dry the coat. There was the sound of the TV running on a news channel and it told him that Bond was already home. That and the fact that he had automatically checked the network's log technopathically when he had exited the elevator. It was a habit.

Bond came out of the kitchen, a glass of something alcoholic in hand, looking casual and relaxed. Yes, his partner could do casual very well. And Q could appreciate the casual very much. He could appreciate the man in all kinds of outfits – or out of them.

The relaxed part was something Q had never seen outside these four walls.

Outside he was 007. He was an agent. He was Bond.

In here he was James. He was the phoenix, yes. He was always the phoenix. But the walls came down, the shields were gone, and the expression in that ruggedly handsome face would have sent Q's interns into cardiac arrest.

"You're early," Bond remarked, sipping at his glass.

It was close to eleven. Way past normal work hours at a government institution, but rather the norm for Q and MI6. At least the MI6 that was Q branch or dealt with the field agents. Handlers rarely had nine to five hours. They were online when their agents needed them, even at four in the morning, when their partner insisted on racing a terrorist across the icy planes of some godforsaken lake in the middle of nowhere. Yes, Q had been through several of those thrilling experiences.

"Slow day after you were gone," Q remarked as he walked over.

He gave the other man a kiss, more like a brush of lips against lips, and he felt Bond smile. He tasted of scotch.

"Amazingly, we got some work done, too."

Bond raised his eyebrows. "I can hear a warning."

"Stop torturing my team."

"You know I can't do that, Q."

Q pulled his agent closer, sliding his hands under the black sweater, over the warm skin, over the hard planes of muscles, and over an old scar. It felt so normal to have Bond here, with him, in their flat.

Theirs.

It had happened somehow, had come in under the radar, and he enjoyed the presence of another person when the person in question was in London.

"You need a new hobby."

"Any suggestions?"

The kiss was teasing, just a brush over Bond's lower lip and a little nip that had the crisp, blue eyes darken. Q knew how to play with his partner, knew how to tease the phoenix, and he also knew he could get away with it all.

"You're a bright boy, 007. You'll think of something."

The other man set down the glass and wrapped his arms around the slender form of his quartermaster. He caught his lips in an open-mouthed kiss. Q went with it, enjoying the thrill it gave him, enjoying the skill of his partner.

"But I like torturing your interns," Bond whispered against his mouth.

"And they love ogling your ass," Q replied, hands sliding over just that particular body part.

"As do you."

"Hm, as does everyone."

"But only you get a piece of it."

"Unless you're on an assignment."

Bond had maneuvered him back toward the couch and Q pulled the other man with him as he sank onto the cushions.

"That's work. This here is fun."

"I have to agree."

Yes, making out on the couch was fun and it relaxed Q more than anything else. There was no rush, no pressure, just the closeness of his agent, his phoenix, the man he… And still he couldn't express it in words or thoughts. It was a concept so new to him, so alien, it stalled his brain.

Bond looked at him with those intense blue eyes, the smile playing around his lips warm and filled with something Q refused to interpret. He leaned close, expression so very soft.

"I know, Q."

Q traced the strong jaw, feeling the light stubble. He knew Bond's file. He knew that the Double-Oh's emotions in that regard were as stunted and withered as his own. He knew they were so much more alike than anyone would ever be able to understand.

And Bond understood him.

Q cupped his jaw and guided him into another kiss, pouring everything into it. The response he got was just as strong and singularly driven as his own.

x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX xxx

Christmas fell onto a Saturday and the frenzy that had gripped everyone the day before had had Q work late, even later than shop closing hours. A few desperate shoppers were still on the streets, haunting twenty-four hour corner stores for any kind of Christmas gift, even tacky ones, or chocolate gift boxes to make up for their lack of forethought.

Amazing how Christmas happened on the same day of the same month at the same time every year, Q mused with a hint of sarcasm. And people were always, always caught by surprise.

He had tried to follow the tradition of gifts, but like those late shoppers he had always come up blank with what to get a partner. Not that he had been in longer relationships anyway. Mostly they had never made it to any of the more important holidays, or if they had, Q had managed to wheedle the promise out of them not to exchange gifts.

His team had had a little gift exchange, a Secret Santa of kinds, and he had played along. He had received a Rubik's cube, which had been a pleasant surprise.

Bond had been on assignment these past two weeks. It had taken him all across Indonesia and halfway into China, then to India. It had been strenuous and complicated. It had Q at his station almost around the clock. Bond had finally caught up to the target and eliminated it, though that had been the less appealing solution to an international theft. The man hadn't been willing to stand trial, had tried to kill Bond, so the Double-Oh had retaliated.

Q had been there for every moment of that final showdown. He hadn't just heard it all, he had seen it, too. The tiny camera had sent back high-resolution images and nothing had been left to the imagination.

No, Q had never been out in the field, but he had seen plenty of people die.

This had been just one more.

It was weird, he mused, how he had gotten used to that.

Bond came back twenty-four hours later, tired, in that mood he had when a kill meant he had made a mistake – at least he saw it that way – and everyone got out of his way. Miraculously he was almost unharmed, aside from the obligatory bruises.

Surprisingly no new orders had been waiting, though MI6 rarely had any consideration for holidays, festivities or personal needs.

He didn't see his partner at all for the rest of his work day and projects were keeping him busy. Q only briefly checked into the status of his agent and found no change. He was still listed as at home, to be debriefed, scheduled for the usual after-mission loops to jump through.

Oh well.

x X XX xx X XX xxx x X XX xx X XX

By eleven Q walked along the riverbank, enjoying the lights, the steady snow, the crisp air. Aside from him only a few people took the same late stroll. Most were couples, some were obviously tourists. Everything was beautifully lit up and nature had been kind enough to let it snow copiously lately, much to the chagrin of many travelers and commuters.

Q watched the snow flakes. He knew the forecast. It would stay this cold and snowy for the next few days. There were countless warnings all over the radio and tv. Ice patches, snow storms and the like. He hadn't planned on leaving London. Actually, he hadn't planned on much over the holidays. Right now he wanted some fresh air, then go home and enjoy the white world outside from the comfort of his couch, tea in hand.

London winter wonderland.

Q headed for the tube and rode home, looking forward to a day off tomorrow. He would be informed if his presence was required and he was always on stand-by should anyone working in Q branch need his help. Then there was the fact that his laptop was logged into the MI6 network and he was updated on any developments he might need to know about.

This time when he walked into the flat he was alone, but not for long. He had just finished making his tea when Bond unlocked the door. He looked as snowed in as Q had a few minutes earlier.

"Long debrief?"

The agent shrugged out of his coat. "The usual."

Q took a moment to admire the black suit, enhancing the preternatural's nicely shaped figure. He also noted the lines of exhaustion, the blue eyes a little duller than normal. Jet lag and little sleep on the assignment had led to that expression. A phoenix might be able to come back from death, but it was still a human preternatural at heart. Lack of sleep affected Bond just like everyone else.

"New assignment?"

That got him a little smile. "If I had one, you would be the first to know. Checking up on me, Q?"

"Hm, very true. And no, I'm not checking up on you. I simply wanted to make sure we have tomorrow together."

Bond joined him at the window, so close to his partner that Q could feel his body heat. He leaned unconsciously closer, enjoying the silence, the view outside, the fact that they would have the next two days together.

Not that he had any plans. He never made plans when it came to their private time. Plans could go out the window fast in this profession, so Q decided on a whim what to do. If they did anything at all. Mostly it was this rare, quiet intimacy within the heavily protected flat.

It reaffirmed their connection. For Q it seemed to refresh his technopathic batteries. Just having James with him, so open and accepting of what it meant to be a technopath's anchor, all shields down… it amazed and warmed Q like nothing else. He would be completely safe; a mental safety, not a physical one. He could drop his own shields. He could work on his abilities and not get lost.

He was always amazed again at how easily this worked between them. Well, not smoothly. Nothing would ever work smoothly when it came to a man like James Bond. He was a bloody nightmare to handle as an agent and he was just as obstinate and aggravating as a partner on a more personal level.

But the trust…

Q wouldn't have believed it if he had been able to read up on this kind of partnership/relationship in some kind of book on preternaturals. Or an article about a phoenix. And he had looked everywhere to find even the tiniest bit of information on this preternatural creature. Facts, not myths or rumors.

Nada.

Zip.

Zero.

They were both learning out of this with each and every success or failure.

But yes, the trust and ease with which this independent man had come to rely on him as his balance was astounding. There was no hesitation, just the firm knowledge and conviction that surrounded Bond like an aura.

Q was his stability. He was Q's anchor. The connection was only between them and would have been impossible for anyone else to have with either man.

Three months into this and never any doubt.

Sometimes Q wondered if he had been alone in his reluctance to rely on his partner. It seemed like it, because the phoenix was fixated on him with an almost terrifying, singular determination. He could feel the creature inside Bond, could almost see it rise when the last barriers fell, and it was a beautiful sight. He had never been afraid of it.

His only fear had been to let go of his own independence.

Despite the fact that James was what kept him sane and able to control his technopathy, he had fought it. Maybe being alone all the time had made those walls hard to bring down, he thought.

But they were down now.

"We have tomorrow and according to M, the next two days after that," Bond drew him out of his thoughts. "He pulls rank on you, quartermaster. Too much accumulated vacation time."

Q groaned.

"Merry Christmas, Q," James murmured and slipped an arm around his waist.

The touch was powerful. It was almost electric. It was something he experienced only in these moments, soft and gentle and open, and it touched him through the psychic connection they shared as their respective balance and anchors.

All shields down. No pretense, no masks. Nothing but them.

Q closed his eyes, barely aware of the fact that it was past midnight and Christmas already. He simply savored this… this… indescribable feeling of the phoenix.

Dark, dangerous, feral and nightmarish at its core, it was still exactly what he needed. That darkness healed him with every touch. Right now it seemed to stretch huge, midnight wings, obscuring everything but itself, drawing Q into the terrifying void that held no horrors for him.

He let himself fall.

Emotions he had no words for enveloped him, thoughts that he couldn't translate into appropriate words flowed by, and the presence that was everything surrounded his own mind.

This was more than physical. It was so much more, so much deeper, and still so strange, but only between them.

"I got you nothing at all," Bond said, his voice low and rough. He brushed his lips over Q's left temple.

Q pulled himself out of his mind. The sensation of completeness didn't change. He was still surrounded by the absolute presence of his partner, still absolutely safe.

"And it's exactly what I wanted from you, James."

The unguarded, open smile broadsided him, made him almost dizzy. For a moment the exhaustion was chased away by something that could be happiness, could be deeper, could be everything James Bond denied he could ever feel again.

And it was.

Q knew it, Bond knew it.

"Come on," he said softly, eyes never leaving those pale blue ones of the preternatural as he stepped back and tugged gently at the other man to follow him.

His partner did. Into the bedroom, into bed, curling around Q and resting his head against the other man's chest. One arm was slung around his waist. Q lightly scratched the short, blond hair, smiling to himself as Bond dropped off to sleep.

Trust.

Absolute trust.

And no doubt about what they were for each other.

It was what defined them.

And maybe it was a gift. Long before this Christmas and not forced onto him by a dusty old tradition. It was a gift that hadn't come wrapped or boxed. It had been building slowly, steadily, and it meant more to him than anything else he had ever received.

"Merry Christmas, James," he murmured.

The only answer was a tightening of the arm around his waist, a soft sigh against his side.

It was enough.

For Q, it was more than enough.