@yourkindquartermaster Source
Sympathy and Bond were akin to oil and water. When shaken up or given the right chemical aid, they might come together to provide something--but mostly they remained entirely separate. If Q were indeed feeling ill from any number of factors--up to and not excluding how far off of the ground they were, the miracle of flight, and just whom was flying--Bond lacked the capacity to articulate his concern in any other way than humor. "What would have given him that impression, I wonder." It weren't a question, he knew that Q had once again laid himself out to be flayed alive simply to rescue Bond, but if the young quartermaster expected an apology he would have to wait a very long time for it. "You could always try enjoying the view." Sweeping a hand toward the sprawl of earth beneath them, it was a struggle to fend off his little grin. Slanting that icy gaze toward Q, Bond gave an appraising once over. "Less concern for staying airborne in a perfectly aerodynamically sound craft, and more for the story about your ill, non-existent Grandmother should be more than enough to take your mind off of that fear, Q."
