Series List:

1. High Voltage

2. Live Wire

3. Sometimes the Words are Hidden

4. Seasonal Currents

5. Redeemed

6. Not All the Facts

7. Under Pressure

8. Circuit Breaker

9. That Which Is Home

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For those who know Person of Interest: this was written before the great multi-parter reveal (season 2, episodes 11, 12, 13). I also take some liberties here because, hey, supernatural elements!

For those who don't have a first clue about POI, here's the very brief intro:

Person of Interest follows former CIA paramilitary operative, John Reese, who is presumed dead and teams up with reclusive billionaire Finch to prevent violent crimes in New York City by initiating their own type of justice. With the special training that Reese has had in Covert Operations and Finch's genius software inventing mind, the two are a perfect match for the job that they have to complete. With the help of surveillance equipment, the work "outside the law" and get the right criminal behind bars.

Or to put it into Finch's words: You are being watched. The government has a secret system, a machine that spies on you every hour of every day. I know because I built it. I designed the Machine to detect acts of terror but it sees everything. Violent crimes involving ordinary people. People like you. Crimes the government considered "irrelevant." They wouldn't act so I decided I would. But I needed a partner. Someone with the skills to intervene. Hunted by the authorities, we work in secret. You'll never find us. But victim or perpetrator, if your number is up, we'll find you.

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The sun was still high in the sky, the dust on the road settling as the dark blue convertible drove toward the next big town down here in the South of the US. It was clearly a tourist car, and the one occupant looked the perfect picture of someone who had spent the long weekend in Mexico enjoying himself. Sunburned, blond-haired, blue eyes that were bright and piercing and just the right side of distinctive and slightly unusual enough for the ladies to swoon over.

Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, a leather jacket completing the outfit, James Bond looked a far cry from his suited self, but he wasn't a stranger to all kinds of clothing. Whatever the situation required, right down to rags and filth.

It had been a hard two months of undercover work, getting close to a major player of a Mexican cartel and bringing him down. The man, while no better or worse than the average drug boss, had made a few more enemies than others, namely MI6. Bond had been the latest of many agents sent after him and he had been the only one successful in taking out the threat.

He had the wounds to show it.

The graze from a bullet to his thigh had been patched up. There were scrapes on his hands and his right forearm that weren't bad, just bothersome, and the blow to the back had left a bruise that made sitting a bit more difficult.

But he was alive.

There was nothing else to wrap up in this case since he had taken the kill shot and then disappeared like the ghost he was. Mexican authorities would never know about British involvement in eliminating the man they had been after themselves, and Bond had already been across the border by the time the body had cooled.

He got rid of the rental halfway to San Antonio, leaving it in favor of a less obvious car. The rental company would probably throw a fit, but the name it had been rented under belonged to a known criminal. If the company pursued the perceived theft and abandonment of the car, Bond was completely in the clear. They would get their hands on a forger instead.

Two birds, one stone, he mused.

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It wasn't unusual for him to enter a hotel room with his gun drawn and pointing it at an intruder.

It was simply unusual that it would be a room he had just checked in at the San Antonio International Airport.

And if Bond had listened to his instincts a bit more closely, if he hadn't been so tired and looking very much forward to a shower and some sleep before his flight, he might not have pointed his service weapon at his partner.

"Q."

Brown eyes, hidden behind oversized glasses, met his own calmly and without fear. "007."

The gun was still pointing at the quartermaster of MI6 and Q raised an eyebrow. He sat cross-legged on the queensize bed, in jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt with another t-shirt on top of that. It looked… casual. Nerdy. Bond could see a gun next to one knee, untouched, and his skilled eye told him that it wasn't secured. Q could have easily pointed it at him while Bond pushed open the door.

He hadn't.

"I believe you have to work on your skills, 007."

Bond lowered the gun. "What are you doing here, Q?"

"Ah, yes, and welcome to the US of A. How was your flight? Terrible, I have to say. Too many bumps and the in-flight program was boring. The landing could have been better and it didn't help with my perceived fear of flying."

"Q," he gritted out.

The quartermaster smiled. "I'm happy to see you too, James. And I'm here with new orders."

The Double-Oh had by now locked the door, slipped out of his suit jacket and placed the gun – secured – on the desk. He felt gritty and tired, close to exhaustion, and like a long soak would only alleviate the surface of his tiredness.

"M sent you?"

"I thought you would be happier."

He walked over to his partner and leaned down, kissing that smart mouth, feeling tension drain from his body when the technopath slid a hand up his arm.

The phoenix reacted immediately to the presence of its balance, the stability Q provided without ever doing more than just touching Bond. He felt it lodge deep within his soul, permeate every cell of his body, blanket him in a safety net that had him wanting to curl up with his partner and do nothing but touch him.

Q was warmth and safety and reassurance.

"I am," Bond murmured, briefly resting his forehead against Q's.

He had missed this. He was able to function perfectly without Q, of course. It would be impossible for James Bond to be an MI6 agent if he couldn't be away from the man linked to him. But it helped settle him immensely, almost immediately, to have Q there.

Q smiled. "Shower, bathe, whatever. Then I'll give you the briefing. We're leaving tomorrow."

Nimble fingers were already undoing his tie and James buried his face in the messy strands of longish, dark hair. He inhaled the clean scent, the very Q scent, and the phoenix rumbled softly.

"Focus," Q murmured, pulling the tie off.

"I am."

Buttons were undone and the shirt was suddenly open, Q's fingers unerringly finding the bruises and scrapes.

Pale blue eyes watched him, sharp and focused and so very much aware of what was going on in that agile brain.

"How bad?"

"Manageable," was the curt answer.

"Which translates into damn painful for us mere mortals?"

Bond chuckled and leaned down to kiss his bonded partner. "It means no broken bones, no bullet or shrapnel in my body, and no need for a doctor, Q."

Q's expression was neutral, searching his face for lies and finding none. Bond kept caressing the narrow, pale face, his tanned skin in stark contrast, and he felt a shiver race down his core.

Damn.

"Good," was Q's verdict. "Now shower."

Bond was given a little push and he raised a suggestive eyebrow.

Q scowled at him. "Shower," he repeated. "Alone."

"You take all the fun out of it."

It got him a little, quirky smile. "We can see about fun later."

So he went.

The shower was hot and relaxing, washing away grime and dust and blood. It sluiced off him, swirling away down the drain, and he cleaned the wounds thoroughly, despite the burn.

The phoenix was a dark, even presence inside him, totally at peace with the presence of its partner, and Bond felt it so strongly because he had lost all of the previous tension. Q relaxed the primal beast. It was one of the reasons why he went down to Q branch, stayed there, on his couch, around Q, watched and worked while his partner did the same.

Q never minded. And his underlings had grown used to it as well.

Right now it meant the exhaustion had easy play, but he didn't mind. He let the hot water beat on his tired muscles, enjoying the pliable state of his mind, though he never lost that one edge. He was able to snap back into fight-or-flight mode at the drop of a hat.

When he walked back into the room, Q had made some space for him on the bed, though he had yet to get rid of the laptop, and his quick smile and appreciative look told Bond that he approved of the clean version of the phoenix. With only a towel around his hips, James Bond left little to the imagination of the genius-level mind.

And it wasn't like Q saw him for the very first time today.

He didn't mind the look. Actually, it had him preen a little.

Damn.

Neither did Bond mind that the moment he hit the mattress there was nothing but sliding together and exchanging soft touches. Q had pushed the laptop onto the side table and slender fingers ran over his tired form, found the cleaned wounds, the scars from weeks before, and he pulled James close.

He went.

It was what he wanted. This closeness, this intimacy. This. No demands, just a low-level hunger for nothing more than just this.

Slender fingers scratched lightly over his scalp. Q was a warm weight against him, on him, around him.

Bond simply surrendered to his body's needs, let the slender body he was curled up to and the familiar heart-beat lull him into sleep.

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Bond sat with his back against the headboard, stark naked, not a care in the world how he looked – and Q didn't mind at all. He liked the picture, even though he wouldn't give in to temptation. That had been the wake-up call, which had been hot and heavy and very intense. Blue eyes, pale and filled with the fire of that intense encounter, followed the quartermaster's every move as Q got his laptop and activated it.

The terrifying bird of prey that lurked in Bond's soul was watching him. Not as prey. As its partner, its mate, its bonded, and Q had not a single self-conscious bone in him. He liked it, enjoyed it, and he very much liked the reminder from just half an hour ago.

But now it was time to be professionals.

"We lost 0012 two days ago," he opened.

The intense look was replaced by cold distance. Like a switch had been flipped. Tension lined that muscular form, seeped into every move, every twitch, and Q knew it had been a cheap, though effective mood killer.

At least for now.

Bond wasn't a man easily deterred from a goal even by the most life-threatening or gruesome circumstances. Q was very well aware of his partner's background, of his past, and he didn't care or mind. He had accepted it all the moment he had become more than just a handler.

"He was in New York, working a joint task force with the CIA. His handler and a CIA agent were also found dead. The CIA agent was a werewolf."

Pale eyebrows rose in surprise. The CIA was known for employing the supernatural. They thought it gave them an edge.

MI6 begged to differ.

"We'll be meeting with an old friend of yours in New York this afternoon. Felix Leiter. The CIA is launching their own investigation into the death of their man, but they will cooperate with us in finding the killer. M told me that Leiter has additional information, though he won't be involved directly in this. He will be the liaison."

Bond nodded.

"Our flight leaves in three hours. It gives you time to catch up on 0012's mission. I'm not sure whether it relates to his death or not, but you should still know the details."

Another nod. Bond's expression was stony. Of course he had known 0012. All Double-Ohs knew each other and the two men had worked a mission before.

Q picked up his laptop and handed it to James. The mission file was on there.

His agent was in his professional mode, despite his very unprofessional dress code – or lack of clothes in that regard.

He was done with the file in fifteen minutes.

They left the hotel half an hour later.

Bond didn't talk about it, just watched the road, the buildings passing by the windows as the cab took them to the airport.

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Their flight had been on time. Q had gone through his normal pre-flight unease and had been tense and monosyllabic until they were in the air.

Aviophobia was one thing; he didn't have that. But he knew too many facts and his brain was too good at storing them. And then there was the matter of feeling the plane's network all around him, hearing the echoes of its communications coming in and going out.

Bond had simply been there. He hadn't talked, he hadn't tried to soothe his nerves, he hadn't held his hand. Him being there had been enough. The phoenix had been that dark, calming presence wrapped around him without physical contact.

"You don't have to watch me the whole time!" Q grumbled.

It got him a smile. "Nothing wrong with the sight I'm looking at."

Q shot him an aggravated look. "Next you drop a line about the Mile High Club."

"Now that you mention it…"

"In your dreams."

"I can dream up a lot of very nice scenarios, Q."

"You would."

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Thankfully the flight had been short and without notable incidents. The inflight meal had been a dry sandwich, which Q had declined.

New York was a change from the dry climate of the south. It was cold, wet and snow drifted through the frigid air. The snow wasn't staying, just making everything seem even more wet than it already was, the sky slate gray and promising more precipitation.

Q buttoned up his thick coat and followed Bond outside.

A limo delivered them right to their hotel. The drive was spent silently, looking out the window and watching the city come closer and closer. He had never been to New York, be it pleasure or business, and it hadn't been on any of his lists where he would like to go at least once in his life.

Well, here he was.

Q had known where MI6 had booked a room – he had actually been the one to handle the reservations personally – but he was still impressed by the splendor and luxury.

Not Bond.

The man walked through the posh entrance hall as if he owned it. Q trailed after him, secretly amused by the act. He watched as his agent charmed the receptionist, a young, blonde woman with a nice smile and even nicer eyes. She didn't blush, but she flirted back.

"You are incorrigible," Q muttered when they walked to the elevator where the bellhop was already waiting for them with the cart.

Bond shot him that little half-smile that only crinkled the corners of his mouth. "But fun."

"Only you would break her heart and see it as fun."

"Her heart is intact."

"You would know."

Bond shot him a grin.

Q just about refrained from rolling his eyes.

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Their room was actually a suite and overlooked Central Park. Snow drifted merrily past the huge window panes, but the forecast promised dryer weather this week.

Not that it mattered. Whatever the forecast, the mission would run, be it sunshine or pouring rain. And Q would spent most of it holed up in this suite and in front of his computer screen.

There was a separate conference room, a fully functional kitchen which no one expected you to cook in, two bedrooms, a bathroom that was bigger than the apartments some people lived in, and a fireplace.

Q went into the conference room, set up his laptop and connected it to the computer system inlaid into the table. He checked the set-up, then hacked into it and worked his own magic. It didn't take him more than five minutes of technopathic prodding and some light hacking and he was a) in and b) had implemented a few safety measures. The hotel would be unable to keep track of what they were doing.

"Incorrigible, Q," Bond murmured into his ear and placed a light kiss against one temple.

Q smiled and leaned back. "But fun."