#i have so much of a clearer idea of who my trevelyan is. he’s my original da character. he’s The Guy

[vigilskeep]

SIGH. i probably should have started this first full run of dai with my trevelyan instead and i don’t know what to do about that now

[notsuchacleverboyq]

00Q Prompt

Q undercovers as a woman to help Bond on mission.

This idea came through my mind this morning when I saw an Instagram Reel about a writing prompt: the tech guy is forced to go undercover as a woman to a party, due to a lack of female agents.

And I basically screamed: "THAT'S Q!".

The night was now close, darkening the sky over Paris as the three of them holed up in the same hotel room.

- What time did you say the party starts? - Alec questioned.

- Ten p.m. - James reminded him, giving the outside a quick glance through the window.

They had already planned their next move, leaving free room for improvisation in case they needed some. Still, there was a detail that kept bothering 006.

- It would be much easier if we had a woman with us - Alec mumbled, for the umpteenth time that day.

The agent puffed as James aimed no attention in return.

- Think about it: instead of just get our target outside like two fuckers, we could just let a woman in and he'll get out on his own will - Alec continued.

James hummed in response, thinking about the good sides of 006's suggestion: seducing a target was easier and more discreet than guiding him outside unwillingly.

- Irene is currently in Greece - 007 muttered and Alec just leaned against the wall with nuisance.

After a few confused words in a fluid russian, James' attention was caught by a flick against his right shoulder.

He turned around to look at 006 again, who was staring at Q's figure typing on his laptop while sitting with crossed legs on top of the bed.

- We might lack of Irene, but we've got a techie - Alec said triumphantly.

At those words, Q, who had given all of his heed to his laptop only since he sat down, raised his gaze to look at the two agents with a questioning look.

- I beg your pardon? - he snapped.

James let his look wander over Q's body, as if he was analysing his thin figure, smirking as he pictured their plan for the night changing completely.

The laptop closed shut as Q quickly shook his head, understanding what the agents were alluding to.

- Don't even think about it - the quartermaster blurted, immediately getting up.

- Come on, Q - 006 protested.

Q crossed his arms, not moving as Alec approached him.

- You know I can do anything for you two, but I'm not dressing like a woman to flirt with a man - Q complained.

In the distance, James smiled smartly.

- I thought you were into men - the agent replied and Q sighed heavily in exasperation.

- That's not the point, 007... - the quartermaster started.

- Then, I see no problem here - Alec interrupted him.

Q immediately grumbled loudly.

- I'm not a field agent - he snapped, pronouncing every word as if they were part of a different sentence, just so that they sounded clearer.

James puffed, approaching the quartermaster.

- We're not going to abandon you there - he specified.

- I don't speak French - Q replied.

- You're a tourist - 006 answered, solving the problem, with a shrug.

James chuckled quietly as Q looked at them with a sceptical expression.

- I have body hair - the quartermaster reminded them.

- It's going to be too dark in there for them to notice - 007 replied and Q sighed heavily.

The agents stared at the quartermaster with mischievous smirks, waiting for him to reply with something.

- I'm not doing it - Q snapped.

∆

- 006, this is ridiculous - James heard through the bathroom door as he was waiting in the other room for Alec and Q to get ready.

It got them a good fifteen minutes, but they had eventually managed to convince Q (or force him) to agree with their plans.

- I'm done with this shit, thank you so much - Q suddenly snapped, bursting out of the bathroom.

James stared at the quartermaster with astonishment as Q rushed in front of him wearing a long, purple dress.

The fabric was silky, polished under the light of the room, and adhered to Q's abdomen without showing how his chest was rather flat.

- This better be functional to the mission, Trevelyan - the quartermaster blurted towards Alec, who was now walking out of the bathroom.

006 chuckled.

- You look gorgeous, sweety - the agent laughed, causing Q to get red in rage.

Meanwhile, James kept scanning the quartermaster, lingering to how the sight felt familiar and painful now that Q was wearing make up and lacked of his glasses.

- Did it have to be bloody purple? - Bond complained, sounding harsher than he had planned.

Q faced him in confusion, running a finger over the fabric of the dress.

- What's the problem with it? - he asked, sincerely curious.

James looked at Alec, waiting for him to understand the mistake in his decision. When 006 understood he gasped in guilt.

- It's not a big deal, you're just identical to one of his old fiancées - Alec explained and James hissed.

The quartermaster nodded in understanding, the blushing of his cheeks melting with the make up.

- But you look great - 007 admitted with a neutral tone.

- I'll better do, otherwise I'm getting myself in ridiculous for nothing - Q replied.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [615]

A journey that took her three weeks at a fast pace, and took Bull and his lot a little over two weeks, is remarkably short in reverse.

The gates of the capital city are familiar and dreadful, clear and present in plain sight in only a week and a half. Bull curses the good weather, and whoever on on his team had the presence of mind to write to the guard stations ahead to have fresh horses and provisions waiting for them so they could keep up a brisk pace.

It’s also supposed to be autumn so he hasn’t the faintest idea why the weather is clear, temperate, and overall calm with only the barest morning fog that doesn’t even come close to obstructing their view enough to give him an excuse for a slower pace.

If Bull were a more suspicious man he would say that the world is conspiring against him. He isn’t though, so he doesn’t say that he just thinks it quietly in a voice that he doesn’t ever let out of his mouth, in a voice he does his best to ignore and silence, in a voice he does not like to ever think of as his own.

He doesn’t speak to her much, he doesn’t even get her name and she doesn’t offer it. He supposes the entire world will know by the end of the upcoming month. She is to be a Queen after all. Consort to a Queen.

And for all that they don’t talk, he can still feel it. A connection.

There are some people you hit off with right away and she’s one of those for him.

It’s not that he thinks she’s attractive, or interesting, or beautiful, or anything. She is interesting, of course. She literally ran from him twice, and the second go around involved jumping out of a window. That’s plenty interesting.

It’s just that —

He can still feel it when their eyes meet. A connection.

And if they had time, if there was time and space and permission —

It could be the night of the ball all over again. Her eyes across a crowded floor. A smile. A curling of fingers and then a flash of colored satin and lace as she disappeared and he followed. It could be the privacy of the gardens, the sound of their feet on gravel paths and the sound of soft bubbling fountains as they exchanged riddles and light hearted conversation and made up stories about couples they accidentally spotted enjoying supposedly private sojourns in the nooks and crannies of mazes and topiary arrangements. It could be laughing quietly as they walked underneath lanterns and listened to the sound of the orchestra playing through large open windows and doors.

It could be the teasing smile in her eyes, but the flicker of uncertainty at her mouth when she told him to ask her to dance.

It could be her hand in his and the exact distance needed to maintain propriety as they entered the start of a waltz. It could be the weight of her full skirts against his legs and the feeling of her hand in his and the pink of her lips when she smiled and the violins started.

And everything that could have happened after that. Her name. Where she lives. What she does. Walks in the gardens. Dinner. Lunch. Tea. Boating, if it pleased her. Riding when the weather was nice and he had a break from his duties. Taking her around to meet his companions. Introducing her to those that would matter. Her introducing him to those who would matter.

It might have been none of those things, it might have been less than half of those things. Bull has no idea because all he had was those scant few hours to think, imagine, contemplate.

It could have been everything.

But now it is nothing. There will be no exchanging of names, there will be no getting to know her better. There will be no more further conversation. There will be no walks or dinners or riding or anything.

He is a soldier, a former spy from an enemy nation that’s risen in ranks in this new nation that he’s chosen because of unbelievably good luck. He has no title, no lands, no wealth. Just a bevy of people who happen to like him and have good connections.

He’s close to Queen Trevelyan, but he’s known her since before she was Queen and he’s overall closer to her Commander.

It could have been everything, anything.

Now it is this. He, her finder and escort. She, his future sovereign.

(And he would see her. Every day. Knowing. Regretting.)

“We’re here, lady,” Bull says needlessly as he moves to help her off of her horse.

She looks pale, he’d say sick from riding but he knows that isn’t the case.

“It looks different in the light,” she replies, voice whispery and thin. Her hand is cold in his. But steady. “Alright. Chin up. It can’t be so bad.”

He half imagines she’s talking to him instead of herself.

She straightens her shoulders, adjusts her clothes, tucks some stray strands of hair away from her face, and proceeds to march up the steps to the palace with a steely determination he knows will serve her well.

Bull follows behind her, not really paying attention to anything but her and focusing on packing away every single iota of regret, resentment, and longing he has because he’s got however long it takes for her to get from here to the throne room to get that shit under control for the rest of his goddamned life.

Because he’s focused on that he doesn’t know why she suddenly comes to a stop, shoulders drawing back even further, as she freezes to the spot.

He follows her gaze and sees two figures, unfamiliar to him, standing at the doors to the palace in full armor. It gleams warm orange-copper in the light, offset against their dark green-gray hoods and capes.

The first one taps the butt of their long halberd against the marble tile twice.

The second steps forward and offers their arm.

“Oh,” she whispers quietly. “Well. I don’t need an escort.”

“With all due respect, your grace,” the figure offering their arm says — male — voice dry and staid, “That was what you said the first time and then you disappeared for almost four months.”

She sighs, shoulders slumping just a little bit before she steps forward and allows the man to guide her arm through his.

“I am not a child,” she says, sounding a bit petulant. She looks over her shoulder at Bull. And it’s like she’s doing exactly what he’s attempting to do right now. Soak it all in. Drink in a life-time’s worth of looking and memory into a minute. “I can make my own choices,” she says, voice firmer, clearer.

“Yes, your grace,” the second figure — female, low, amused, a little rough — says. “Queen Trevelyan is waiting for you, along with Ambassadors Lavellan, Pavus, Montilyet, and Seeker Pentaghast.”

The woman then turns to address Bull. “Thank you for your assistance in this matter. You will be called for at a later time.”

It’s such an obvious dismissal and it’s an understandable one, too. But Bull can’t help but slighted.

And judging from the look on his future Queen’s face, she feels it too.

Bull bows his head. “Understood. Goodbye, my lady. Congratulations, and good luck.”