Jul 30, 2019
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Random Acts by Dassandre
Rating: Mature
Pairing: James Bond/Q
Tags: Hate Crime, Homophobia, Torture, Pre-Slash, Heavy Angst, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Graphic Violence
HEED THE TAGS!
Though Q hit the frozen ground with an audible thump, his corresponding grunt was more of an aborted, muffled whimper; the gaffer’s tape plastered over his lips -- securing the ball gag which apparently just wasn’t enough on its own -- prevented anything more than that. Normally, Q would have been exasperated at the redundancy of the tape which had been wrapped thrice around his head, but his situation was far from normal. Q was too bloody terrified to be worried about the sodding tape.
He had known better than to eschew a Six-approved driver to take him home after working 52 hours straight. He really had. Eve had given him a right bollocking the last time he’d done so. He’d fallen asleep on the Tube and found himself at the end of the Jubilee in bloody Stratford of all places.
That time, Q had been on the final train of the night: a frighteningly typical scenario. However, in a staggeringly atypical fashion, he’d left his wallet -- home to his Oyster card and the rest of his cards and cash -- on the table in the foyer when he’d rushed out of his flat on a rare day off to meet the driver sent to bring him to Six to salvage a mission gone pear-shaped. The same driver Eve asserted he should have used to get home instead of forcing her to turn cabbie.
“It’s why we have drivers, Q,” Moneypenny had groused with a sharp snap of her forefinger to his temple in a move far too reminiscent of that employed by his easily irritated eldest brother when Q was but a child. “Use them! I’m not driving out to Stratford or Stanmore or sodding Cockfosters to pick up your scrawny arse again!”
Q had thought it only prudent to remind her it was the Piccadilly line that terminated at Cockfosters. Not the Jubilee.
Quite the opposite of prudent, really.
Rubbing his now quite sore temple, Q had thought Eve’s anger a bit excessive at the time, even if he had pulled her out of a warm, and probably not ... solely occupied, bed to come get him.
So, Q promised Eve -- who after her initial outburst, had driven him the long miles back to Lambeth in stoney silence -- and Mallory, who cited as his concerns the safety and security of his Quartermaster, that he would use a driver for any future late nights.
Q had had every intention of fulfilling his promise -- M was mildly threatening, but Moneypenny was bloody terrifying -- and had done quite well the first two months, but after running three complex missions in two different hemispheres, Q was exhausted. However, he had agreed to meet Bond for an early lunch after the agent’s return from Detroit the next day and had been desperate to get home and grab some kip. Exhausted and grouchy, waiting for a driver had been just one more unnecessary, tedious frustration Q didn’t care to contend with. Besides, a walk up to Westminster Station and quick ride under the river would see him to his flat behind The Old Vic in short order.
He never made it home.
Keep Reading at https://archiveofourown.org/works/15424161