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Notes: For an anon and an ask box meme on tumblr. You can submit them anonymously if you're interested.
Title: so all must be well
Fandom: Skyfall
Pairing: James Bond/Q
Words: 482 words
Prompt: Leave a “Nurse Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character healing another.
so all must be well
-How much do you know about treating gun shot wounds?-
Q was just getting off the tube, heading back up to walk the remaining distance to his flat when he got the text. It was from an unknown number, but considering that it was Bond he wasn't too surprised.
-Obviously not enough. I'm your quartermaster, not a doctor.- Oh sure, he knew the basics of first aide, but anything more complicated than that and he was rather lost. Really, Bond's unwillingness to seek proper medical attention was rather frustrating.
He didn't get a response to that, but he knew better than to think it meant that Bond had gone to find proper medical attention.
Bond was waiting for him when he got home. Q came in through the front door, but he was well-aware that Bond had probably either picked the lock or come in through a window. Bond was leaning against the counter in his small kitchen, there was a rather large stain of blood on his left side.
Q dropped his bag on one of the chairs and slung his jacket over the back of it. He rolled up his sleeves as he walked over.
"Really, you should stop making this a habit of yours," Q said, pulling out the first aide kit from one of the cupboards. Ever since Bond had started this, he'd learned to keep one in almost every room.
Pushing his glasses up his nose, he inspected the wound. It was relatively clean, for once, and just a graze, but it would still probably need stitches.
"I hope you're aware that my stitches are shit," Q continued.
"So long as it's done, it's fine." The jagged scars that dotted Bond's body were a testament to that lack of care.
"Of course."
A comfortable silence fell over the two of them as Q cleaned the wound and threaded the needle. Bond gave no response to any of this apart from a small twitch in his jaw when Q pressed a hand to the wound and began to stitch it up.
Blood welled up as Q worked and he had to paused a few times to mop it up before continuing with his job. Once he was finished, he surveyed his lop-sided stitches. Well, they weren't perfect but they would get the job done – so long as Bond didn't do anything stupid.
He stood up after bandaging the wound and washed his hands, throwing the bloodied gauze and other supplies into a bag and tying it off to be disposed of. Q was aware that he had a disdainful look on his face as he washed his hands; he really didn't like the sight or smell of blood.
Bond caught hold of his hands once Q had dried them off, pulling him towards the bathroom. There was something in his eyes that made something stir deep inside of Q as he said, "Let me make this up to you."
"It's a start."
FIN.
Title: so all must be well
Fandom: Skyfall
Pairing: James Bond/Q
Words: 482 words
Prompt: Leave a “Nurse Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character healing another.
-How much do you know about treating gun shot wounds?-
Q was just getting off the tube, heading back up to walk the remaining distance to his flat when he got the text. It was from an unknown number, but considering that it was Bond he wasn't too surprised.
-Obviously not enough. I'm your quartermaster, not a doctor.- Oh sure, he knew the basics of first aide, but anything more complicated than that and he was rather lost. Really, Bond's unwillingness to seek proper medical attention was rather frustrating.
He didn't get a response to that, but he knew better than to think it meant that Bond had gone to find proper medical attention.
Bond was waiting for him when he got home. Q came in through the front door, but he was well-aware that Bond had probably either picked the lock or come in through a window. Bond was leaning against the counter in his small kitchen, there was a rather large stain of blood on his left side.
Q dropped his bag on one of the chairs and slung his jacket over the back of it. He rolled up his sleeves as he walked over.
"Really, you should stop making this a habit of yours," Q said, pulling out the first aide kit from one of the cupboards. Ever since Bond had started this, he'd learned to keep one in almost every room.
Pushing his glasses up his nose, he inspected the wound. It was relatively clean, for once, and just a graze, but it would still probably need stitches.
"I hope you're aware that my stitches are shit," Q continued.
"So long as it's done, it's fine." The jagged scars that dotted Bond's body were a testament to that lack of care.
"Of course."
A comfortable silence fell over the two of them as Q cleaned the wound and threaded the needle. Bond gave no response to any of this apart from a small twitch in his jaw when Q pressed a hand to the wound and began to stitch it up.
Blood welled up as Q worked and he had to paused a few times to mop it up before continuing with his job. Once he was finished, he surveyed his lop-sided stitches. Well, they weren't perfect but they would get the job done – so long as Bond didn't do anything stupid.
He stood up after bandaging the wound and washed his hands, throwing the bloodied gauze and other supplies into a bag and tying it off to be disposed of. Q was aware that he had a disdainful look on his face as he washed his hands; he really didn't like the sight or smell of blood.
Bond caught hold of his hands once Q had dried them off, pulling him towards the bathroom. There was something in his eyes that made something stir deep inside of Q as he said, "Let me make this up to you."
"It's a start."
FIN.
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