Chapter Text
"Oh my god, just look at the two of you."
"Mum what are you even–"
There's the unmistakable sound of a camera shutter clicking and the bright flash that accompanies it is more than enough to make Q lose whatever precarious balance he had been trying to maintain, Q landing sorely on his arse while above him, James blinks owlishly in the wake of a camera going off in his face.
Eileen is beaming.
"Was that a–"
"Yes," grunts Q and James at least has the presence of mind and enough inclination towards self-preservation to stick his hand out for Q to pull himself up with. "Yes, it was. Mum what did I say about turning the flash off while indoors?"
"Oh darling don't be such a spoilsport." Eileen snaps another photo of them and Q doesn't want to know what sort of demonic scrapbook that shot is going to get put into later, he really doesn't. “Until you start bringing your beaus back home more often–"
"Beaus," James mouths to Q over Eileen's shoulder, apparently having recovered from having his photo taken. He has one hand flung dramatically over his face in what Q supposes is James’ approximation of a very bad Mills and Boon cover. "Beaus."
"–I'm going to treat each occasion like it's Christmas. Lord knows it only happens once a year, and that's only if we're very, very lucky.” Eileen fiddles with the camera a bit before turning round to face James. “And on that note, James dearie, whatever my ingrate son tells you about dropping by, don't listen to him, okay? You come by whenever you can, with or without him."
"It'll be my pleasure, Eileen.” James smiles in a way that reminds Q of Cheshire cats and to some smaller extent, great white sharks. “It’ll my absolute pleasure."
What happens next easily makes it way into Q’s Top Twenty Scenarios From Hell. Smile still firmly in place, James bends down a little towards Eileen and Q can only watch on in glowering horror as James gets dangerously close to Eileen’s ear.
“After all–“ James purrs in a loud whisper that’s definitely meant more for Q than anything at all, “–I don’t always have to share you with him, do I?”
Eileen lets out an honest to god giggle and Q doesn’t know whether he should kill himself or go for James first. Maybe both at the same time will be the best course of action, because while flirting with his sister might be one thing, James seducing Q’s mother is just wrong on too many levels to let live.
“That’s quite enough, thank you,” Q finally manages out in a strained voice. In front of him, James is contentedly letting Eileen pat him on the cheek, blissfully unaware of, or at the very least, purposefully ignoring how Q is trying to plan a suicide-homicide.
“Oh hush, you, it’s not like your mam is going to steal your man away.”
“Not that she doesn’t have the abilities to,” James chimes in traitorously and the only thing preventing Q from sticking his head in the oven is the tray of salmon that’s already occupying the top rack.
“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” One final pat and Eileen finally consents to backing away so she can shepherd Q towards James. “How that wretched son of mine managed to reel someone like you in, I don’t think I’ll ever know.”
“He’s very good at what he does,” is all James says coyly, accompanied with raised eyebrow and everything. “And very talented in many…areas.” Q silently shuffles over to stand by James’ side under his mother’s instruction, too mortified to even argue anymore. The only thing Q can console himself with at this point is the fact that James isn’t going to see any of those areas for a long time to come after tonight’s dinner.
A very, very long time.
Thanks to Eileen’s intervention and insistence, Q is passed the unholy role of official house-tour guide, with James as the sole member of his impromptu tour group.
"Dining area," Q says with little inspiration as he leads James through the house. “Living room. Hallway. Bathroom to the side. Kitchen behind you." In spite of Q’s blatant lack of enthusiasm and bland commentary, James actually seems to be enjoying himself. Silly bastard, Q thinks to himself with surprisingly little venom and watches James wander up to the mantelpiece.
Everything that shouldn’t be interesting in the slightest is inexplicably proving to be of extreme interest to James, which accounts for why James is trailing after Q at a speed that would be embarrassing for a septuagenarian, never mind a trained double-oh agent. Every nook of every cranny demands careful investigation and James studies Q’s childhood home with the sort of intensity that most field assignments don’t even aspire to receive.
Q’s not sure if he should be worried or flattered.
Maybe both.
James is in the process of picking a cushion up to look at the embroidery on it.
Okay, definitely both.
“I don’t remember signing up for the express tour,” James protests when Q has to physically drag James away from the living area least James gets on the floor to look at the carpet there. “This isn’t a tour, it’s a sprint.”
“Well, tough,” Q mutters as he steers James away from where James has started studying the wallpaper and forcibly manhandles James onto the first step of the stairs. “I don’t remember signing up for a tour to begin with, so too bad for you.”
They still have the upstairs rooms to cover before Q’s father comes back from store with Gracie’s new chew-toy cum boyfriend and given James’ intense interest in everything, that endeavor is starting to look more improbable by the second.
“You know,” says Q after he has successfully gotten James onto the stairs, but is still failing spectacularly in getting James onto the next floor. “If you reserved half as much concentration for missions as you did for this, things would go a whole lot faster for everyone.”
Eileen has lined the way upstairs with various family photographs and James is stubbornly refusing to move until he has peered at each one in turn, occasionally quizzing Q on each. Q can’t even remember when, where or how most of them were taken, but that’s probably due to Q having the uncanny ability to block out bad memories.
Like what appears to be the Halloween of 1997, for example.
“Missions aren’t half as interesting,” James is saying as Q hastily tries to reposition himself in front of the offending photograph. “Half as interesting, half my attention. Now if you’ll kindly step aside, I’d really like to see what you’re trying to hide behind your back because if you’re going through such great pains to not let me see it, it really must be worth seeing.”
“It isn’t,” insists Q, because he still has some modicum of dignity left. “It really isn’t.”
“I’ll be the judge of that myself, if you don’t mind.”
Q braces himself against the wall and wonders how much commotion he’ll cause if he flings the photo frame over James’ head and down the stairs.
“In that case, we have a conflict of interests because I–“ Q inches up closer to the wall, backed up against the photo while James closes in, “–certainly do mind.”
“You know that the more you try to hide it, the more I’m going to want to see it.”
James is practically crowding Q now and Q doesn’t want to think about how they must look like hormonal teenagers trying to have a quick snog on the stairs.
“James, if you know what’s good for you, you’re going to go up those last few steps and forget this ever happened.”
“And why on earth would I want to do that?”
“Because I know for a fact that if I let you see this, I am going to regret it for the rest of my waking hours?”
“Such paranoia,” sniffs James and Q bleakly takes note of how James doesn’t exactly deny Q’s prediction. “Whatever it must be, it can’t be as bad as you’re making it out to be.”
Taking into account all that has happened tonight, it almost feels like a given that one of two worst case scenarios will happen.
One: Since being in a pseudo-relationship with a secret agent while not exactly being a secret agent himself means Q has to abandon all hope of winning in any sort of match pertaining to physical capabilities, Q ends up being uncouthly manhandled aside. The photograph in question is commandeered, James makes copies of said photograph via taking photos of it with his mobile and Q lives out the rest of his days in fear that the bloody thing will show up on the MI6 internal mailing list.
Two: Since they are on the stairs, completely in full view of everyone who might enter the living area, Q’s father walks in through the front door with Tim or Thomas or whatever Gracie’s new boy toy is called, only to see both Q and James in the most compromising position imaginable. Shocked silence ensues, first impressions are ruined with horrific efficiency, Eileen stumbles into the picture wielding the camera from before, and the moment is forever immortalized in .JPG format.
What Q doesn’t take into account is scenario one and two happening at more or less the same time.
"Put that down or I swear to god I will–" Q doesn’t exactly flail, but he comes damned close to it, James taking the opportunity to sneakily slip his hand behind Q’s back and wrench the photo frame away.
“You will?”
“Oh,” comes a startled sound from the door and not for the first time that night, James turns around only to be blinded by the light of a camera flash.
“Look at these two, can’t keep their hands off each other for a moment, can they?”
“Mother we weren’t–…”
“Bugger,” mutters James to Q, low and decidedly cross against Q’s ear. “Thank god I brought a gun.”
“You what?”