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Title: Blackbird
Author: gwylliondream
Pairing: James Bond/Q
Rating: R
Words: 54,694
Warnings: Identity theft, cyber-crime, terrorism, brief non-consensual touching.
A/N: Blackbird was written for NaNoWriMo 2015. Please see chapter 1 for additional notes.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading.



Two weeks later…

Glencoe House rose from the shore of the loch where Bond spent much of his youth. The B&B featured gourmet meals and spacious rooms with the finest linens. Every evening during their stay, Q had lit the fire to warm their room. Bond should have known that Q was a pyromaniac from the way he delighted in exploding things at Q-branch.

Bond hadn’t been back to Skyfall since the Silva incident, but with two weeks to kill, the timing seemed right. Q only needed a day of walking in the vales to impress Kincade with his shooting skills. The stitches in Q’s arm made it only slightly stiff. The black eye had faded to yellow at the end of the first week. Few would even remember it, by the time they returned to MI6.

“You’re going to spoil me,” Q said one night as they watched the fog settle over the moors.

“This was the best option for a holiday where you wouldn’t have to fly,” Bond said. He took a sip of his whisky and set the glass on the windowsill.

Spring had come and the moorlands were full of life. The scent of peat and heather wafted through the open window.

Q murmured his approval and finished his whisky. He handed Bond his glass which he set down beside his own.

Bond stayed in the window, while Q stretched behind him, fitting his limbs around Bond’s sleepy body.

Q kissed the top of Bond’s head and held him close. The warmth of Q’s love made every day a homecoming for Bond.

“I always hated this place,” Bond said. “But I’ve had to re-think it lately.”

“How so?” Q asked, leaving a few unhurried kisses on Bond’s neck, a tender press of lips on his shoulder.

“All the times I was lonely,” Bond said. “It’s almost as if I was waiting for you.”

For the first time, Bond felt comfortable looking over the expanse of granite and fog, marsh and moorland. He had often wondered how to keep his heart safe from the tragedies that had befallen him with his family, his wife, his women, Vesper, and the people he had loved and lost. But he no longer worried. Q sensed his pain and took care of it, healing all the dark places that Bond’s mind went to when he was on the brink of despair.

Bond was finished fighting the battles that sparked from having no true sense of place. The war was over. He and Q had won. In Q’s arms, Bond was finally home.

Bond inhaled the highland breeze. The wind swept over the moors like a love song.

~ The end ~

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