TITLE: Not All the Facts

SERIES: Firewall

AUTHOR: Macx

RATING: PG13

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

FEEDBACK: Loved

Yes, another short one. Have at it while I work on a much longer case fic or two :) Due to renovations going on upstairs and the noise level and all I find it hard to concentrate on longer stories. Hopefully they'll be done soon.

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Series List:

1. High Voltage

2. Live Wire

3. Sometimes the Words are Hidden

4. Seasonal Currents

5. Redeemed

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"You are afraid of flying."

Q looked up from his work. He scowled at Bond. "I am not."

"Moneypenny believes so."

Another scowl. "When did you discuss that particularly uninteresting topic?"

Bond smiled. "I find interest in many things, Q. Especially concerning you."

"Is that so. It speaks of obsession."

Bond regarded him with that fine smile, that crinkle around his mouth, the blue eyes pale and fascinating. He leaned closer to his partner, looking over his shoulder as Q kept on doing whatever it was he was doing.

"So are you afraid of flying? I find that very hard to believe."

Q didn't look up. "Aviophobia is a psychological condition."

"It would be in your file."

"Like so many other things that aren't?" It was a rhetorical question.

Bond smiled more, glancing at the line of code on the screens around him, a complex construction he had no chance of ever understanding. It was enough that Q did.

"You're not afraid of flying, are you?"

It got him a put upon sigh. "No, 007, I'm not afraid of flying."

Bond silently waited.

Q refused to be baited.

The agent perched himself on the work desk. To anyone else but Q it would have been a provocative, imposing, even looming move. Q himself just frowned at the clear alpha male behavior.

"You are a bloody nightmare," the quartermaster muttered.

"You knew that the moment you accepted the position as my handler, Q. So, no aviophobia."

"No."

A pointed look.

Q gritted his teeth.

"Don't you have an assignment? Her Majesty to serve?"

"I do. I'm protecting her assets."

Q's fingers never stilled and he briefly looked up to one of the bigger screens, a fine line of concentration on his forehead. Then he was back to typing.

He knew he couldn't win this. Bond had been trained by the best. He was a ruthless interrogator. He would know which buttons to push. Since James Bond was also his partner and anchor, he knew even more. But because of this connection Q had a very good handle on the preternatural as well. He could sit this one out, though it would be painful as long as it lasted.

Bond was aware of all of it, knew it was a challenge in its own right.

He liked a challenge.

Especially when it came to Q.

"I'm working, 007," he said evenly after a while, fingers still flying over the keys.

"Am I keeping you from anything?"

"Hardly."

"Then you don't mind if I stay, do you?"

Q looked up, shot his agent a dark look, then continued.

For another two hours Bond prowled around Q branch, lounged on his couch – yes, it was his – and generally made a silent, ever-present nuisance of himself. Q's underlings nervously worked around him, though he was never truly in their way, and the quartermaster did his own work.

A mug of tea appeared next to his work station and Q looked up, meeting the wintery eyes. The predator loomed over him, calm and dark and waiting. Q raised his eyebrows and took a sniff at the hot tea.

"Bribes, 007?"

"You work too hard, Q. You need a break."

He turned to look at the agent completely, all lean lines and darkness and cold, calculated hunger.

"I'm working a single shift today. Hardly tiring."

"If you say so."

Bond picked up a small tracking device, studying the intricate circuitry. Q plucked it out of his hands.

"This is not for you."

"Because it doesn't explode?"

Q's eyes narrowed. "No, it doesn't explode."

"Too bad. Would be an idea."

"No."

Bond's smile was downright teasing.

Some of Q's engineers seemed to edge away a little more.

"Please?"

"No!"

Bond settled back again, watching his quartermaster.

Q finished the last rows of code and shut down the laptop as the mainframe took over. He picked up his tea and turned to Bond.

The preternatural was still watching him like a bird of prey. The pale eyes were cool, calculating, and just a little bit more intense than before. Q met the gaze evenly, studying the other man. All that quiet grace and coiled strength.

"I'm not afraid of flying," he finally said, fingers cradling his Scrabble mug.

Bond watched him with that unreadable expression. He was waiting.

Q sighed.

"I fear the take-off and the landing. Most accidents happen within the first minute of take-off and throughout the landing procedure."

Bond studied him like he had just told him something so important it would change the world. Then he smiled and walked off, drawing looks from the other scientists.

Q shook his head. The man was truly a bloody nightmare.

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By the time Q left MI6 it was snowing. Not just a few flakes, but a true snow fall. Obscuring the view, covering the ground without melting. He pulled up his collar and jammed the woolen hat onto his head. Flakes danced around him, settling on his shoulders, his hat, everywhere. Q buried his nose in his scarf and his gloved fingers in the coat's pockets.

Dreadful weather.

He walked home, despite it. It was a good walk; it was good to walk.

He was alone when he came home and it didn't bother him. He shed his clothes and switched on his computer with a brief thought directed through his network. His flat was safe for the technopath and he liked stretching his legs, so to speak.

Q changed into more leisurely clothes, made himself some tea, warmed up yesterday's dinner, and settled down on the couch.

Outside the snowstorm grew in strength and he found himself gazing at the whirling whiteness with relaxed fascination.

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James found his way to Q's flat – well, their flat, since Bond didn't really sleep anywhere else when he was in London – before midnight. By then the traffic had nearly died down completely because of the heavy snow. There were warnings broadcasting over the internet, tv and the radio. Q heard them through the connection he held with his network. He logged off when Bond came in, sharp eyes sweeping the place.

Like Q he shed his coat, shoes and other protection against the cold, then padded over to where the technopath sat.

Like a huge cat, lithe and silent and deadly, Q mused. A predator of immense deadliness. The icy eyes gave nothing away, pale and hard.

Q raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

The answer was Bond sliding over him, pinning him to the couch and claiming a kiss. Q answered it, pushing his hands under the suit jacket, encountering warmth covered by a thin dress shirt.

"Fly with me, Q," the preternatural murmured as he leaned even closer.

Q blinked, slightly thrown. "Now?" was all that left his mouth.

Bond chuckled against his neck, kissing his pulse point. He met the astounded brown eyes with that annoying smirk.

"I'm not required in the field, 007," the quartermaster said into the silence.

"You could be."

"I doubt M would make me."

"M can make you do a lot of things for Queen and Country."

"No mission would require me to leave MI6. I can be there without a physical presence," Q said.

Bond's presence was powerful, nearly overwhelming, demanding and strong.

"Do you trust me?"

"Completely," he answered without hesitation.

The phoenix smiled that deadly smile. But he truly did trust Bond, Q knew. All of him. At all times. Bloody menace that he was, he trusted him with his life, his sanity, with everything.

"Then fly with me."

"I hate flying, 007."

"No, you don't." He kissed him, then withdrew. "A car is more dangerous than a plane."

Q snorted. "Read up on your facts?"

"Extensively."

"And you think by seducing me you can get me to fly?"

Bond looked downright pleased. And hot. Damn, the man looked hot. Q knew the attraction was only part of this package, of what they had, but he liked the very nicely presented exterior of it.

As if reading his mind, his agent slipped out of the suit jacket. With only the white shirt covering a very fine physique, Q found his blood pool somewhere down south. For all his strength when it came to this man, he wasn't an idiot to turn down such an offer.

"It's working," Bond purred.

Q busily undid the buttons to reveal the hard planes of Bond's chest, scowling when he looked into the dancing eyes.

"Hardly."

He was silenced with a kiss that drained the rest of his blood from his brain and showed him just once more why James Bond was considered such a lethal weapon. In every way that counted and in several that didn't. Q didn't mind being seduced by the preternatural. He didn't mind sating the hunger of the phoenix, though this wasn't the darkness clamoring for satisfaction after rebirth.

This was purely James.

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Bond had a new mission waiting for him the next morning. Q had been aware of it since M had sent him a brief, to the point email during the night.

The man apparently knew no sleep.

Q was in early, the whole of Q branch still rather empty, a few late stragglers from the night before just leaving, the first early birds arriving. He set up his station, went through the mission briefing, and prepared the equipment for his agent.

Bond gave the gun an appreciative look, the gleam in his eyes tell-tale. He just liked his weapons. Q lifted a corner of his mouth.

"Try to bring it back, 007."

"I'm not losing it on purpose. Maybe I need an incentive."

Q tilted his head a little as if studying an interesting line of code. "I'll let M know."

Bond snapped his watch on. "Anything to keep my handler happy."

"I'll be happy if you come back in one piece, without bullet holes or knives sticking out of various body parts."

"You're easy, Q."

"And you're a bloody pest."

Bond smiled. Q raised his eyebrows.

And then the agent was gone. Q heard a soft click as the earpiece was switched on.

"You're logged in."

He sighed. ::Whatever gives you that idea, 007?::

A soft laugh was his answer. "So easy."

Q accessed MI6's camera network, seeing the images of Bond moving smoothly through the underground bunker and heading for the car pool.

His agent stopped and winked at one camera.

::Good luck, 007:: Q only sent, smiling briefly.

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Bond was on his way to Italy an hour later.

"I'm sure M would have sprung for another ticket," Bond remarked in a low voice as he walked aboard the British Airways flight. The first class cabin was spacious and comfortable. "You'd enjoy the in-flight entertainment, Q."

"I believe we had that conversation already, 007."

"You never gave me an answer." He accepted a drink from the stewardess with a smile.

Q chuckled a little. "Enjoy your flight, Mr. Bond."

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And yes, he came back without a single hole in his body or scratch anywhere.