Holiday Hitch
Summary: Q breaks up with the Reader during Christmas. Word Count: 542 Rating: G Warnings: Heartbreak? - use of [y/n]
Christmas had come and gone and in the limbo interim between then and the new year you’d consumed so, so many sweets. An ungodly amount of sweets. You were an unsupervised child and the single minimum-wage shop worker had gone on break. Life existed between bed and work with a constant of stomach pain and headaches.
“[y/n]?” James sounded surprised to see you. “You look like shit,” he noted as you slogged to your desk.
“Thanks grandpa Bond.” You had energy enough to be offended.
Concern crossed his features and you quickly busied yourself looking at something else. Why the hell did he care? He pulled up a chair and sat next to you. You allowed yourself an exasperated look around the empty office. It was that or deal with the emotions that’d been choking you since Christmas eve.
“What’d he do?” Bond asked.
You signed into the computer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said as you organized your work from yesterday. Tears pooled in your eyes, but your voice remained level. Thankfully you knew your keyboard well enough to navigate with your eyes closed.
The first tear fell but you refused to give in. “Clearly not,” James said. His voice was low as if he was talking to himself. He didn’t move to touch you, but the presence of him… You hadn’t expected him to take up so much space.
“He dumped me. Okay?” you admitted bitterly to your computer screen. “He left me and then he ran away on holiday.” You choked on the words and Bond’s hands were on your back – soothing. He turned you sharply and shoved his chair into yours. You fell into his chest and for the first time in two weeks you felt release. You cried, loud and ugly, into him for far longer than was appropriate. Although in the back of your mind you knew none of this was appropriate. You were a right mess and James was your acquaintance at best.
“I’ll kill him if you like,” he whispered. You let out a wet laugh and pushed yourself away from his chest. In proper fashion, or the fashion you were accustomed to from him, he insisted on wiping your tears away himself. At least he used a napkin. You thought he was as liable to use his tongue as anything else.
You wrapped your arms around yourself. His eyes flicked from that to your face and you saw he still wasn’t pleased. He had to know you crying was a step in the right direction. You watched him pick his battles. It was an interesting thing to see. He was an interesting thing to see. “Thank you,” you said quietly.
“I wasn’t joking,” he warned.
“If I’m to live so must he,” you sighed.
“Poetic.” His tone was dry and the look his gave you was one you were not sure how to decipher.
“Pathetic,” you corrected.
“Should you ever need someone…” You thought he trailed off on purpose. Allowing you to fill in the blank returned some agency to your life. Choices. You offered him a lopsided smile in return. He took that as his cue and left you at your desk feeling better than you had in weeks.
