Where Angels Fear To Tread

Chapter 6

The train was quiet. Blissfully so.

The compartments were small so Bond left Q alone to shower before joining him for food in the centre carriage. It gave the agent some time to contemplate on everything that had happened and ruminate on the almost certain danger into which he was leading Q right now.

The Quartermaster had proven to be worth his weight in gold, easily locating the area in the desert for which they were destined, in which White and his daughter had pointed them. Still, he thought ruefully, he should have sent him back to London. Yet....

The truth of the matter was simple enough even Bond couldn't deny it. In Arthur Clifton, he'd found what he'd been searching for and somehow felt all the more invincible for it. After so many experiences and years of betrayal he'd found someone he could trust. Unequivocally. Still, there was that niggling sensation that there was more to the man than even Bond could fathom, and he was bloody good at reading people. Coupled with the knowledge he was being selfish, keeping Q so close and putting him in danger, made for some conflicting feelings. Not that he could stop the stubborn little shit from sticking his oar in. He could, however, confidently compartmentalise those feelings. He had years of training and practice doing so after all, but he was aware they were ever-present. Sitting comfortably on the edge of his consciousness, like his Mother's smile, his Father's godawful attempts at quoting Shakespeare, Vesper's eyes...

He was undoubtedly heading exactly where SPECTRE wanted him, exactly where Obenhauser wanted him. Obenhauser. It seemed he wasn't the only one with a knack for resurrection. White had been right. He was a kite dancing in a hurricane, but now, holding firmly onto his string, grounding him, was his Quartermaster. Bond was under no illusions about his place in the world. He was a killing machine. Being human had not been an option since his parents died. That day was the day he put away childish things and became a man. He stood to the sound of compartment door at the end of the carriage sliding open and smiled.

For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.

As expected. Bond swore that Arthur wore those cardigans he favoured so just to annoy him and because he knew Bond was always motivated to get him out of them in the shortest time possible. What Bond did not expect was to see the gun in Q's hand as he raised it and pointed it in his direction.

"James. Down. Now."

Bond turned when he heard the door at the other end of the carriage slam back and backed away as the assassin Hinx moved swiftly through and towards them. Bond dropped to the floor while reaching for his own weapon inside his jacket. Q got off four volleys into the body of the man before Bond had landed his first. Hinx crashed down heavily on Bond as he collapsed under the barrage of bullets.

He was looking over the shoulder of the body of their would-be killer when Q reached him. "Need a hand, 007?"

"That would be lovely, thank you, Q."

With some difficulty, they rolled the dead weight off him and he stood up straightening his jacket and pulling down his sleeves. "Well. Glad to see our time on the shooting range is paying off."

Q rolled his eyes, tucked the gun into the small of his back and folded his arms. "A thank you would have sufficed, though I shouldn't be surprised you'd take the credit for my saving your backside. Again."

James just smiled at him then, giving him the look of a man with the intention of furthering the evening's exploits in a direction Q was more than happy to take. "Would it be inappropriate at this time to point out that I have saved my own backside on numerous occasions with the full intention of handing it on a plate to you?"