Bond, of all the people who works for MI6, has been in too many horrible scenarios which force him to run for his or the other's life. That day, Bond outrun them all with such record that would make an Olympic runner envies him.

How marvelous is it, that a simple emotion such as rage can make a man push his limit to the very edge of killing himself. Pain is numbed, broken bone being ignored, and vision is painted red. Bond does not experience the last one, though. Instead of red, all he can see is a target.

He is running through the fire escape stairs, chasing his target that is two stories ahead of him. His shoulder is bleeding heavily and got a few broken ribs from the earlier engagement with the target, but he keeps running.

He cannot afford to lose the man. Not after what he did.

The target is moving quite fast for a man who got a shot wound on the thigh, but Bond does not expect less from a man with the same 00 title as he is. The man is getting clearly desperate because he wastes his ammo by trying to shoot Bond while he is running ahead of him. Bond keeps his for now; he will only use it only when he got a clean shot to any of his target's body part that he could hurt.

Bond keeps running until he reaches the door that leads to the rooftop. The harsh light from the sun blinds him for a second before, like a spotlight, shows him the man he once called a friend, now dragging his limb leg to the edge of the building. The target, realizing Bond has caught up with him, turns and shoots twice at Bond, only to hit the door when Bond runs passed them. When he tries to make the third one, the gun gives a hollow click.

Bond is still running when he makes the shot.

A round got into the other leg, another on the left side of his stomach, and the last two on both shoulders. The target does not even have the chance to scream in agony when Bond's shoe connects to his jaw and sends him on his back without a chance of getting up or even moving at this point.

"Bond, I-"

The word turns into a broken sob as Bond shoots him in the right palm. After what he had done, he dares to call his name?

Those brown eyes that Bond used to trust are not radiating with fear. The man he thought was his colleague, his friend, is now lying Bond's feet. The 004 agent who MI6 believed to be their second best agent after 007 is now waiting for the execution for treason and murdering many of their own. Bond, however, does not do this to avenge them.

He will only avenge one man who died that day; the one who matters the most to him.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry . . ." 004 is still trying to make his excuse. Even 00 agents like him will break on the brink of their own death. "SPECTRE. They coerced me into-"

Bond does not blink when he shot the other palm.

"Does Q try to reason with you like what you did just now, or you just shot him cold boldly like what I did to you?" Bond said with voice colder than ice.

The sob grows louder and it disgusts Bond that he shoot at his left lung to silence him. The sob soon is replaced with a choked sound as 004 gargles his own blood. The blood unexpectedly gives Bond a flash of Q, smiling at him with blood trickling down his lips. Before he knows it, he empties his magazine by shooting it repeatedly on 004's face.

It takes five seconds for him to process the whole situation. Slowly, adrenaline leaves his system and he stumbles onto the ground, next to the dead man. His body is screaming in agony he himself doubts he could get back up on his own. He could and should contact MI6 to clean the mess and send him medical evacuation but he left his comm on the café where he was monitoring 004's movement across the building. M could and would discharge his 00 status for destroying his mission, which is to retrieve 004 back to MI6 alive, and for disconnecting his comm while pursuing the target. The worst situation is 002 would come any second now and kills him right there as his punishment but Bond could not care even less.

He finally avenged Q's death, but everything is still the same.

His eyes wander at his surroundings, for the first time taking a good look on the view. He should be on a nice restaurant, not in the rooftop of some random office building with a dead body. He should be there with Q, celebrating their wedding in private. He should be looking like a teenage boy deeply in love, not a wreck old man whose heart was shattered to pieces in just one night.

Four months after his love's death, Bond sheds more tears in that rooftop.

"I'm at Collins Street," Bond confirms his location to his comm as soon as he sits on the street café across the busy traffic in the heart of Melbourne, Australia. The coffee that he ordered is being forgotten as his eyes wandering at the crowds walking pass him.

"Stand by and wait for further instruction," M's voice rings from the comm.

Bond took the time to observe the neighborhood. The lunch break sends almost everyone onto the street for food. The café where Bond currently waits is full booked both inside and outside. No seats are unoccupied, except the one in front of Bond.

"James, stop drooling over me. It's embarrassing," Q teases him when he caught him staring at the young programmer.

Bond chuckles as Q drinks his tea. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Me?" Q shakes his head, putting down the cup. "I bet on this lunch that you must be wearing the same expression every time I talk you through the comm."

Bond throws a smirk at that. "And how can you prove it?"

"Either I fake a video recorder as your radio on the next mission or I walk straight to Tanner after this and make him confess. I think the latter is much faster, don't you think?"

"Then I should silence you before it happen, shouldn't I?" With that, Bond leans forward and captures Q mouth with his; silencing him in the sweetest way.

"007!"

He jerks in shock when M literally shouts for his attention. Bond is half way opening his mouth to answer him when a black sedan stopping across the street catches his attention. Coming out from the car is Senator Harley.

"I see Harley. He's heading toward- "

What he see next freeze his limbs for a full second.

Months of searching the traitor who once he called a colleague, the reason why the chair in front of Bond is empty, finally come out to the surface. 004, no, Frederick Warder is crossing the street and walking toward the very same building that Senator Harley went just now.

"Warder's joining Harley. I'm going in."

"Bond, remember your mission!" M pressed on just when Bond stands and punctures both of his eyes toward the target. "This is a retrieval mission. We need him a-"

Bond plugged out the comm and put it on the table without removing his eyes, and then he walks toward that building like a predator he is. The target and his ally have not recognized his presence as they strode casually into the front door. Bond follows them into that door five seconds later and just when he sets a foot on the building, he withdraws his Walther, the first weapon Q created for Bond, and all hell breaks loose.

"Walther PPK/S 9mm short. There's a micro-dermal sensor in the grip. It's been coded to your palm print so only you can fire it. Less of a random killing machine, more of a personal statement."

For a moment, Bond feels as if Q is there the moment he uses that gun, helping him delivered his personal statement to his murderer.

Bond almost hit Eve with the bottle of Scotch he was holding when he passed out on the couch the moment her finger touches his arm.

He has been drowning in alcohol for months now. He still takes missions, though, for the sake of his country and his insanity; but after it was over, he would crawl back to his and Q's apartment and succumb into whatever drink he could get on the way home.

Home. The apartment used be their home, a place where he and Q could disrobe their title and formality and just be themselves; two men who loved each other. Now, Bond still cannot even go into their bedroom because everything reminds him of Q and it hurts much more than any bullet wounds he suffered in his service time to England combined.

Eve simply takes a step back while Bond tries to focus his mind on the woman in front of him. He does not bother to try to sit up from the couch where he passed out when he greets her.

"Stop doing that."

The woman does not reply to his warning nor giving the annoyed look as she usually do. Instead, she gives him a sympathetic look before saying the line that changes everything.

"We got an eye on Warder."

His heart instantly freezes. Four months since that day and the man somehow managed to escape the radar but now . . .

"Where is he?" Bond demands instantly as he abruptly stands, the bottle falls from his grip and staining the carpet. He does not wait for her reply and quickly moves to the desk beside the fireplace to get his Walther and his jacket from the chair.

"Bond, listen-"

"Keep your counseling tips and tell me, Eve!" he cuts her as he strides back toward Eve, almost in threatening manner. The fact that he is still drunk makes the situation even worse. Eve takes another step back from him as she eyes the gun on his palm.

"James-"

"WHERE IS HE?!"

Before Bond could grab her, Eve unexpectedly moves at the same time and flown her fist to his solar plexus to take him down. Bond, out of habit, catches her hand with his free hand midair and pulls her toward him with intention of hitting her back with his knee. Suddenly, Eve sweeps her feet at his other leg and practically knocks him down. If it was not because of the alcohol, Bond would get back up in no time but the impact amplifies his headache and he could only groan in defeat when Eve kicks the gun from his hand.

Bond never begs. He has been held hostage five times where he almost lost his life for real in three of them, but he never begs. Today, lying defeated on the feet of his friend, he swallows his pride and begs.

"Please, Eve, don't try to stop me," he said with broken voice, almost too quiet to hear but knows that she does.

Eve does not say anything for a moment and simply sits on the floor beside him. After sighing heavily, she put her hand over his shoulder and said, "Who do you think I am, trying to stop you?"

When she succeeds catching his attention, she continues. "Intel informs us that Warder is going to be in Melbourne in three days to seal a deal with a politician. The Chairman of the Intelligence and Security Committee assigns 002 to pursuit him," Eve lifts her finger when Bond is about to cut her, "tomorrow."

Whatever Bond was going to say died the moment he heard what she said.

"I am delivering M's order for you to take this mission and leave London tonight. He thinks you can be trusted to bring Warder back here alive for questioning and will not let personal vendetta getting on the way." Eve stops for a moment and stares him right in the eyes, then utters the question both of them already know the answer to it. "Do you accept this mission?"

Bond closes his eyes for a second and oddly manages to breathe calmly when he says, "I do."

Eve nods and helps him to sit down before taking out the necessary items Bond needs for the mission. "Your ticket, documentation, and passport," she says as she hands a white envelope to him. "There's a comm in it. M insists you to wear it all the time; he will be your handler for this mission."

Finally, Eve retrieves the Walther from the floor and carefully hands it back to the agent. She does not let it go immediately, but once again catches his eyes with hers and speaks with a tone sharper than a knife.

"Avenge him, James."

Bond squeezes her hand back as he slowly letting a calculated amount of rage to flow onto his system.

"With pleasure."

It is rare for Bond and Q to be able to get home together like that night. Bond has just returned from Croatia and Q managed to finish the new comm in a record time just so they could go home together. Bond is driving the car and both he and Q almost get out from the MI6 when Q's phone rings. Q groans and Bond can only smile in amusement when the man takes out his cellphone. His annoyance turns into confusion when he sees the caller's name.

"Warder? What does he want at this hour?" Q speaks his confusion before taking the call. Hearing the name of his fellow colleague who he taught was still in Paris, Bond decides to pull over before they reach the gate.

"Q. SPECTRE's file? Yes, I do; it's in MI6's archive database. I can get it for you tomorrow . . ." Q rolls his eyes at the banter Bond cannot hear. "No, I suppose you cannot wait until the next morning. I'll be there shortly."

Q curses as he cut the call. "Damn those 00 agents and their urgent matters. No offense to you."

"None taken," Bond replies with an apologetic smile. As he turns the car back to headquarter, he tries to reassure the grumbling programmer. "It will only take a few minute. The apartment and our warm bed won't go anywhere."

"It's not the bed that I want right now," he said, making a cute pout like a kid.

"You mean your precious laptop?" Bond teases him as he makes the last turn.

Q rolls his eyes again. "Aren't you a psychic?"

Bond parks the car in front of the entrance but keeps the engine on. He pulls the programmer toward him and gives a quick kiss, saying, "Be quick, then. You don't want to break your laptop's heart, do you?"

"Hmm, five minutes," Q smiles at him before getting out of the car and walks back to the door guarded by two men.

Bond busies himself with the thought of the gift he prepared for Q back at home; two tickets to Melbourne, Australia. He already asked M for five days off for both of them and, surprisingly, got the permission. They will leave tomorrow morning as a normal couple, something that both of them always wanted to try.

Then, Bond will finally ask Q the ultimate question; permission to wed the one that caught his heart the moment Q said his alias on the National Gallery where they first met. The ring that will be the silent witness is kept on Bond's safety on their apartment. It is not fancy, just a simple silver ring; the special part is the carving inside the band.

It is the date of their first meeting at the museum.

He waits for 10 minutes and Q has not coming back to the car. Worry begins to creep inside his mind but he decides that maybe the situation is more urgent than they thought.

In the minute of 12th, the alarm blares loudly across the entire MI6 building. His heart skipped a beat as he freezes for a second before one thing slams his sense back for him to react.

Q.

Bond sprints passed the two guards before they could react, heading straight to the Q-Branch. He pulls out his Walther as his heart goes crazy in panic but cannot call for Q because it would attract unnecessary attention onto him. He keeps running through the building and meets no one, which is not surprising considering it is 1 A.M. and most of the people are already safe at their home.

Then, outside the door of the Q-Branch, he finally sees someone. His stomach lurches when he gets closer and recognizes the man who is lying with a gunshot wound on the head as one of Q's men. Bond's body goes cold as he pushed the glass door of the Q-Branch with his gun ready, expecting a mercenary to welcome him with a shot.

Instead, he sees Q, lying on his back with blood pooling on the glass floor of Q-Branch.

Dear God.

In the next second, Bond runs to Q's side and throw away the gun to assist the damage that has been done to the young programmer; shooter to be damned. Panic covers his usually calm mind when he sees a gunshot wound on Q's chest and stomach. The blood bubbling from his mouth indicates, much to Bond's horror, that the bullet damaged his lung.

Q's eyes are opened but unfocused when Bond pulls his body to his embrace and tries to stop the heavy bleeding on two places at once.

"Q! Q, stay with me. If you can hear me, try to stay awake," Bond speaks urgently, lowering his head to rest on Q's. His skin is clammy and cold begins to radiate from Q's shaking body as he struggles to breathe. Slowly, the eyes find Bond's and his lips are moving, as if wants to speak to Bond.

"J-Jame . . . " Cough suddenly erupts and more blood spilled from his mouth, dropping onto the floor to join the other amount that leaks from the fatal wounds.

"Don't talk, Q. Save your strength." Bond knows he is failing in maintaining his calmness when he realized that his voice was trembling like a leaf in the wind. Help should be on their way, he just needs to keep Q alive for . . .

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I should've come faster." Bond chants the words like a prayer as Q is dying on his arm. He should have known something was not right when he clearly knew that Warder was not supposed to be here tonight. Now he pays the ultimate price for his ignorance. He kept putting pressure on the wound but, deep down his heart, he knows that he was too bloody late.

"Not . . . your f-fault," Q somehow manages to muster the word weakly. "I'm just . . . not f- . . . fast enough."

A sob breaks Bond's walls and soon enough tears are leaking from his eyes. The light on Q's eyes dims to another level and there is nothing he could do to stop it. "Hold on, Q. Hold on. You're going to be okay. I promise," he says more to himself as he tightens his embrace on his love.

"James?" A drop of panic stands out to Bond when Q calls him urgently. Bond immediately cups Q's cheek with one hand and turns him so their eyes meet. The brown eyes show a hint of recognition that slowly turns into relief. A smile appears on his red lips as, with a trembling and barely above a whisper, Q mutters his last word to Bond.

"Thank you."

With that, Q releases a deep, rattling breath, and the life slowly disappears from his eyes.

"Q?" Bond calls him once but those eyes keep staring pass him. The chest stops moving and his face feel like ice. For his last effort, Bond slowly plants a kiss onto the bloodied lips and for once hoping for a miracle.

Nothing happen.

For the first time since forever, Bond cries and keeps crying until there are no more tears left in him.

"Melbourne, Australia," Q says spontaneously.

He and Bond are lying on their bed, with Q's head lying on Bond's leg while the agent's arms are folded to support his own head. It was a lazy Monday evening for the two of them as they do nothing and simply talk their heart out. It has been 6 years after their first meeting and four years since Bond moved in with Q. It has been great years they had passed.

That night, out of the blue, Bond asks Q if there is a place he wants to visit I he had the chance to. Without any hesitation, the Quartermaster gave his answer.

"Any particular reason on picking one of the farthest places from England?" Bond asks.

Q shrugs his shoulder. "I just want to get away from all of this. Temporarily, of course," he adds quickly. "I figure it will be nice to spend a day like a normal person. Also, the city looks similar to London, only minus MI6," the last word sends a smirk on his lips.

Bond gives a thought about it for a second and he also smiles at the idea. "It does sound nice. A day without M or Tanner sounds great to me."

Q chuckles at the name of their employer. "It is decided, then."

The older agent sits up and plants a kiss onto the smiling lips. He does not rush it but cherish every second that he spends on worshipping the man he loves. The same he does on the next day, and the day after, and the cycle continues.

They have got the rest of their life to do it.