The flight home was eventless. Q had forcefully kept himself from logging into the plane's network. James had wrapped strong fingers around his wrist in the end, pulling him away from temptation, and when the cabin had darkened and Q had fallen asleep, Bond had held the contact.

He didn't sleep a lot himself.

Neither man felt inclined to head into MI6 after the plane had touched down. Q felt severe jetlag and Bond didn't look like he had any ambitions either.

So the flat it was.

Q dumped his luggage and felt himself unwind completely the moment he was within the confines of his own place, his home, his private network. He sent off a quick message to M and Tanner, telling them that he and Bond were back but would take this day. He didn't expect either of the two men to argue about it. They knew better.

A strong hand gently squeezed his neck.

Bond smiled knowingly.

Q raised an eyebrow.

It got him a kiss, then Bond walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink.

Q felt tired, the jet lag catching up to him a little, and he didn't resist when a glass of scotch was pressed into his hands. He sipped it, feeling the warmth spread through him, and when Bond pulled him close, he just followed the gentle nudge.

The kiss was warm, tasting of scotch, their bodies flush against each other. Bond was taking all of Q's weight, leaning against the table behind him, one arm looped around his waist.

Q closed his eyes, sighing softly.

"There's a good way to fight jet lag," the phoenix suggested, voice a rumble.

He chuckled.

Bond nosed his chin, then let his lips and teeth slide over the pale neck.

Q shivered.

A harder bite had him make a rather undignified noise. He leaned fully into the strong, hard-muscled form.

James smiled more.

He turned them, so that now Q was with his back against the desk, then just went to his knees. Q's eyes widened and he quickly placed the tumbler next to Bond's – and when had he put it there? – and then his pants were open and hands were brushing over their prize. He couldn't take his eyes off the blond head, the intensely blue eyes meeting his. There was a wicked spark in those eyes and before Q could say something, Bond swallowed him.

"Dear god," he managed in a breathless groan when teeth scraped over his hardening dick.

This wasn't just teasing, this was down and dirty and hard and slightly rough.

And what he needed.

x X XX xx X XX xx XX

He looked at the peacefully sleeping man in bed with him. Dark hair a mess, more unruly than ever, the glasses no longer hiding and shielding his eyes, skin pale and soft looking. Q was wearing a t-shirt – Bond's – but it wasn't hiding the marks the preternatural had left on him.

The phoenix approved. It liked to mark its mate, liked to hear Q's encouragement and lust.

His own lust surged, filled with need and rightness. This was his. This was Q.

The phoenix couldn't love. It couldn't…

It was a nightmarish creation, an abomination, a terror that frightened larger and more dangerous predators without them ever knowing why.

It couldn't love… but it did.

A growl of irritation rose inside Bond's throat.

Staring at the sleeping technopath, he felt his emotions whirl. He had thought he loved Vesper. James might even have loved her, but the phoenix hadn't. The preternatural side hadn't accepted her. It had never felt the connection it had created with Q.

Q was someone the phoenix needed to live, to survive each resurrection, to still be whole and not lose itself, consume every last shred of awareness and finally fade.

And Bond needed him.

The desire had been there; strongly. He had liked what he had seen, the body, the mind, the sense of rightness. And the desire had become more. It had surpassed the psychic link, had turned into something so strong his dark nature was unable to dominate it.

And Bond didn't mind.

He didn't care.

Because… because he wanted this man. He needed him, lusted after him, protected him.

Because he… the phoenix… they… loved.

It was a revelation that left him breathless, almost thunderstruck, and James closed his eyes as he tried to reign in his emotions.

Q moved sleepily, but he didn't wake.

Bond opened his eyes and calmed himself. He curled closer to his partner, felt the warmth seep into him, his skin, his mind, his soul. He felt the phoenix stretch contentedly, purring like it was just a big cat, and he closed his eyes again.

This wasn't what he had thought he felt for Vesper. This was more. This was a lot more intimate and intense. This was… Q.

He kissed the warm skin under his lips.

This was them.

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

Nothing had changed, really.

But everything was different anyway.

A new number had come up. They worked their 'case' and tried to discover who wanted to harm a twenty-nine year-old substitute teacher. Reese was his efficient self. Finch was always there, in his ear, sometimes venturing out into the real world and braking a dozen laws in an hour.

In the end they saved a life.

And John was there, in the library, looking completely at ease and in total control.

Nothing had changed between them.

Finch knew it was a lie. A bold, bright lie that kept him up at night, had him run all kinds of searches on the net, and he had become quite an expert on hellhounds in the past few days.

Because he needed to understand and yet he failed to do so.

What had prompted John to make that offer? What had John be so sure of their relationship that he would willingly, knowingly, bind himself to the damaged soul that was Harold Finch?

If this failed, John would be completely at a loss, more broken than before, more alone, and probably unable to function normally for the rest of his life. A life, Finch was sure, the man would make sure to end.

It had him stare at the information on the screen, frozen in terror of this connection, this devotion, this loyalty.

But there was no stopping Reese.

A warm hand landed on his shoulder – just briefly, a second – then it slid down his spine, bypassing his injured neck.

Finch closed his eyes, only too aware of his own reaction to the intimate caress. And he wondered if it was his imagination that he seemed to feel a hint of claws. Reese had never shifted in front of him, but now he knew and the hellhound was free to be himself.

"The more you fight, the more convinced I am that I made the right choice, Harold," Reese murmured, his voice touching something deep within him.

Finch was sure that it wasn't anything like what existed between James Bond and Q. They had come together for a different reason and would always have a much deeper connection. This, though… this was coming from John – and Finch wanted it.

He turned his head as much as he was capable of. Reese moved, leaning against the table, making it so much easier, and also coming so impossibly closer.

"I believe I'm making the most sensible choice for both of us," he replied stiffly.

"Sometimes a belief is wrong, Harold," was the soft murmur.

The closeness was overpowering.

"You have nothing to lose," Reese went on, "if you let yourself trust in this."

He looked up, met the blue eyes, saw the offering and the promise in there.

"There is always loss," Finch replied. "I could lose you, Mr. Reese. And you could lose everything, including your life."

"Not much of a difference to the current partnership then."

"You don't understand…"

"I do. Much better than you think."

And then he leaned down and placed a soft kiss over one eyebrow. When Finch looked up, startled and eyes wide, Reese caught his lips in a quick, almost playful nip. He drew back a little and when Finch didn't seem to object, he repeated the gesture.

Longer this time.

And Finch found himself reacting.

"I want this, Harold," Reese murmured, the silver shimmer in his eyes tell-tale. "And we can take this slow." He smirked a little. "Glacial, if you want it."

Finch smiled a little. "Slow, yes. I'm a bit… rusty. Glacial isn't necessary, though."

"Good to know."

"I appreciate the offer."

The next kiss ended with a breathless whine coming from Reese and Finch smiled. His hand was on the other man's knee and the silver shimmer had intensified in the preternatural's eyes. Slow would be good for them both. Finch's body wasn't as agile as his mind and the last time he had been intimate with someone was… a lifetime ago. Another life.

John smiled. That secret little smile that had Finch almost blush.

"Slow," the hellhound only murmured, voice low and hypnotic.

Slow. And it might just work.

He didn't need an anchor for his mind, but he needed… someone. To do the work he was unable to do, yes. To be the man in the field, yes. But also… differently. Not just for physical needs, which had been far and few ever since his 'death'. Reese was so much more. Knowing that the hellhound was consciously life-binding himself to Harold Finch had the other man shiver inside.

This was so, so much more. For both of them.

*x X XX xx X XX xx XX x X XX xx X XX xx XX x X XX xx X XX xx XX x X XX xx X XX xx XX x X XX xx X XX xx XX x X XX xx X XX xx XX

Q had looked at the facts, had turned events over and over in his head, had read medical files, and he had gone over all of Bond's past missions.

With a fine-toothed comb.

Now he was more than a little rattled. He was torn between scientific fascination and personal fear.

"Q."

The soft voice didn't really startle him. Q had heard the almost noiseless steps, aware that Bond was approaching. His partner hadn't tried to startle him, to scare him.

"007." He turned his head and gave the phoenix a little smile.

"Tell me," the agent only said as he sunk gracefully onto the couch that Q had chosen as his work place.

The quartermaster was silent, looking at the screen with the split screen, all windows showing either mission files, medical reports or evaluations of James Bond.

"You resurrected within four hours," he said, voice even.

Bond raised an eyebrow.

"Your throat was torn out. You lost three quarters of your blood. One lung punctured, two ribs fractured. You had several deep claw wounds; deep enough to go to the bone. Still you resurrected within a short amount of time."

Q looked at his agent, trying to maintain his professional voice, his professional distance, his very professional expression. Bond didn't really twitch at the list of injuries.

"You came to life and you started to heal. The doctor only closed the wounds and set up transfusions and IV lines for nutrients. It took you two days to be mobile, 007. A new record. Even for you."

Bond shrugged casually. "Good care."

"Hardly. I have gone through all your past missions, went over every major injury and every single occasion you most likely died, though that never made it into official reports." He quirked an eyebrow. "I have M's more private notes. She knew when that occurred."

"She always was a nosey busybody."

"You never recovered this quickly before. Never. It took you weeks to heal from the shots in Istanbul."

Bond grimaced a little.

"It's been twelve days since you were mauled by a werewolf, James," Q said softly. "And you have healed every single wound. There are only scars that are fading away." He ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair. "You… changed. Evolved, maybe."

When he looked up, Bond was very close. He had moved without Q actually noticing.

"Why did I evolve, Q?" the Double-Oh asked, voice low and rough and touching something that echoed deep within Q's soul.

"I'm not sure. I only have theories…"

"You have more."

He shook his head. The blue eyes were intense, drawing him in.

"Q."

He closed his eyes, felt a hand touch his cheek, calloused fingers caressing his skin.

"James."

"Tell me what you think. What changed?"

"Everything. We… bonded. The phoenix accepted me as your balance."

It got him a soft chuckle. "You gave me what I never had, Q. Freedom. You freed everything; you gave the phoenix its wings."

Q looked at him, slight tremors racing through him. This was monumental. This was nothing he had ever read about, though to be truthful, there was so little about the preternatural called phoenix that anything could happen.

"You stopped my decline. You gave me back everything. You gave me back my life. I've never felt more alive, Q. Because of you." His thumb caressed one temple. "I know that being your anchor sounds like a much bigger deal. It isn't."

"The phoenix is evolving," Q whispered.

"Yes. I can feel it. Like I said, I've never felt more alive than now. It's like a second chance. Maybe this healing ability, the sped-up recovery rate, is what a phoenix should be capable of. I never was because I didn't have you."

Q was silent.

"It changes nothing."

"It changes everything," the quartermaster argued.

Bond tilted his head a little, his lips curling into that tiny smile. "I'm not going to throw myself into any more danger than before," he murmured.

Q gave a little laugh. "Liar."

"It doesn't make me invincible nor immortal. I know my limits. Death is something I have come to accept as part of my job."

He reached out and pulled Bond close, catching his lips in a kiss. "You are a Double-Oh agent, 007. You are a field agent. Injury and death is part and parcel of what you are. Just… don't rely on resurrection too often."

"I never do." Bond kissed him back, pushing him into the couch and settling lithely over the slender man. "I know I have limits."

Q shot him a doubtful look. Bond grinned and kissed him again. It turned into a very heavy make-out session and Q groaned with the rising arousal.

The phoenix's expression was predatory and hungry.

"You saved me, Q. This… this is just something you gave wings. It's my preternatural side and it's no longer suppressed or tied down."

No, it wasn't. The phoenix, that vicious nightmare, that primal beast, was completely free. Control was fickle after a resurrection, but otherwise nothing had changed.

Except for a few little things. Like faster healing. Like resurrecting so much faster. Like feeling Q. Like Q sensing Bond's death for that one moment.

Despite the hunger and need, the kiss was soft, gentle, loving, and expressing Bond's emotions better than words.

"This is a partnership, Q," he murmured against the reddened lips. "Give and take. You have given me everything. Control of what I am."

"Like you gave me control of what I am," Q replied.

They looked at each other and Bond's smile was soft and private. Q traced the ruggedly handsome face. A face with a lot less lines than when they first met. A face that looked younger, calmer, reflected how settled James Bond had become. It was a face of a man younger than his years, fitter than ever before, completely in tune with his preternatural side.

His partner. His phoenix.

Bond curled around him, half his weight on Q, like an enormous, heavy, living blanket. His face was buried against Q's neck. And Q's arms were around him.

He would keep a very close eye on these developments, on what was happening to Bond, to himself, to their connection. Q was happy for James; the phoenix was slowly reaching its full potential. It calmed him, in a way. It was elating.

No files would be kept on any server anyone could ever get to. All that information was beyond top secret or eyes-only.

Q closed his eyes, listening to the soft breathing of his partner, feeling the strength of the muscular body, hard and unyielding and yet so soft, curled around him. He buried a hand in the short, blond hair, blunt nails scratching mindlessly.

James gave a grunt of pleasure.

He smiled and let the relaxed atmosphere ease his mind.

Whatever this was, whatever was happening, they would go through it together.

Ups and downs and all.