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Death Becomes Him

Q truly wondered how he ever found himself in these sorts of situations.

He was supposed to be on holiday, for fuck’s sake.

But no, once again, he’s in a precarious situation with water rising, handcuffs, and threats of violence from monologuing villains.

“Yes, yes, you’re a terribly bad man and I rue the day I ran afoul of your terrible wickedness,” Q said calmly. “Was the mask really necessary?”

The man’s shriek of anger echoed off the wet concrete walls.

“I’ll take that for a yes.” Q rolled his eyes under the mask, an elaborately painted death’s figure that seemed a bit too on the mark. “A death’s mask for the person about to die? Just seems a bit cliche is all.”

“You will die at my hand! For I am Death!” 

The predictable evil cackle made Q sigh, deeply.

“Right,” he said. 

…

“We’re on holiday, for fuck’s sake,” James Bond muttered as he tried to break into his husband’s laptop. “There should be no bloody kidnappings while we’re on holiday!”

Mexico City might not be the first place anyone thought about for a holiday, but Q was interested in the museums and culture, Bond was interested in the sun, and the pair of them had cravings for authentic Mexican food. The city was as safe as any other large, populated area, and Q and Bond didn’t worry much about their personal safety, anyway. They were more than a match for almost anything, especially when they were together.

But that was the catch, wasn’t it? They’d split up Friday morning, Q to the National Cemetery and Bond to the markets. They’d planned to meet up again at the end of the day for dinner, but about mid-afternoon, Q broke off the snarky text exchange they’d been engaged in all day. James hadn’t heard a word from him personally since.

He had, however, gotten an unsigned note, hand-delivered on heavy white paper, that told him his husband was to be a sacrifice of some sort.

By your husband’s request, I tell you of his fate. I will sacrifice him at midnight, and leave his body for you to find. I must do this to cement my place as Death, you understand. It is nothing personal.

“This is what he gets for visiting the cemetery instead of going shopping,” Bond muttered under his breath, still trying passwords. If he could get in, he could find Q’s location from the transponder embedded in his skin. James was no slouch at computer security, but his husband’s set up was a work of actual genius. The thing actually started smoking at the fifth log-in attempt, and James backed off hastily. 

“Shite,” he muttered. Plan B it was, then. He picked up his cell phone and called the direct line to R, who picked up with a muttered, “You are on holiday, 007.”

“Tell that to whomever kidnapped Q,” James grumbled back. “And I think I just fried his laptop trying to access it to get at his chip data.”

He heard a huff. “You should have phoned straightaway, 007.” James heard the rattle of keys and a very British hum. “He’s right in the middle of the Normal Metro Station. Given the lack of emergency services reports, I’d wager he’s under it. Shall I send the coordinates to your GPS?”

“Please,” James said, putting the phone on speaker and setting it down so he could check his weapons.

“Done. Do you require assistance? I see that 006 is relatively nearby.”

“Right,” James said. “We’d plans to meet up for a drink, since we’re on holiday, for fuck’s sake.”

“I can send him an alert to meet you?”

“You’re a star, R.”

“Rhyming does not win one prizes, 007.” Another rattle of keys. “I’ve also stopped the self-destruct on Q’s laptop, but I don’t know how much he’ll be able to salvage. You’ll need to explain that one, I’m afraid.”

“Thought it would be more expedient to check for myself,” James admitted. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

“So you’re aware, this call is being recorded,” R said calmly. “I suspect that phrase will be on ringtones all over the office by the end of day.”

James rolled his eyes, picked up his phone, and headed out his hotel room door. He skipped the elevator and headed straight for the stairs, and quietly moved out into the lobby. He spotted Alec coming in the lobby doors just as James strode across the space. 

“Your man in trouble, then?” Alec said, smirking a bit.

“When is he not?” James grumbled as Alec joined him and they went out into the dying heat of an October evening in Mexico City. “He’s safest at HQ in his office. Everywhere else seems to beg for trouble.”

Alec laughed softly. “You’ve jinxed him now, you know. The next incident will be right at HQ. I’d bet money on it.”

James rolled his eyes, but said nothing as they hoofed it. They weren’t all that far from the Normal Metro Station--it was right at the National Cemetery entrance--and traffic was fairly heavy for a Friday evening. People were headed to the cemeteries for the first night of the Dio de Los Muertos celebrations, and that meant they were sort of swept up in a crowd headed that direction. James spotted picnic baskets and flowers dotting the crowd, and pursed his lips. Right. The customary midnight picnic with the family on the other side would be a draw.

“Q is to be sacrificed at midnight,” James said softly. “And his location next to the National Cemetery doesn’t seem to be a coincidence.”

“Snatched on purpose? Or was he convenient?” Alec asked, just as softly.

“Convenient, I think, though I find it hard to believe he’d go down easily,” James replied. “He’s been working on his hand to hand.”

“Drugged, then, or otherwise taken off guard,” Alec observed, glancing left and right as they let the crowd sweep them across the street to the next block. “What was he doing at the cemetery, anyway?”

“He wanted some gravestone rubbings,” James said, eyes scanning the crowd as they approached the Metro station. “He’s researching some family history, I think.”

“He’s a pretty man,” Alec commented. “Obviously attracted attention of the wrong sort.”

“Obviously,” James grunted as he led the way through the Metro, looking for access doors to any other kind of stairs down. “See anything?”

Alec tapped his earpiece. “R, anyway for us to get lower?”

James eyed his friend and mouthed, “You’re on with R?”

Alec rolled his eyes and mouthed, “Priority Q” as R said something in his ear. “We’re right on top of him, practically,” Alec said, looking around. “Ah, there. R says there’s an access door leading down. We’ll have to check each level--he can’t quite get a read on how far down Q is.”

James nodded once and headed to the access door, which was locked. He calmly picked it, and they slipped through the door and down the crumbling concrete stairs.

At each level, James checked the door, glanced inside to see nothing, then kept going down, Alec close behind him. Four levels down, he cracked open the door and heard water dripping. He also heard a faint hum of sound from across the cavernous space, and realized it was his husband‘s voice. He nodded to Alec, and the pair slipped softly through the door.

They stood on a mesh floor of some kind, made of a gunmetal gray material that was rusted in spots. It only partially covered the space, just around the edges, and had no railing. Lighting along the cement walls gave the area a faint glow, but James could not see further than a few feet. 

Alec signed to James; he would go left and see how far the grated floor went. James went right. Both men drew their guns, and they moved silently in opposite directions toward the sound of Q’s posh voice.

“...it’s just that it seems a tad unlikely,” James heard Q say. “By all accounts, Death needs no assistance from humans whatsoever.”

“I will be Death, and you will be the sacrifice I make to become him,” a surprising mellow baritone voice said. It came from a corner opposite James, and it had a manic edge that had James on high alert.

“So you’ve said,” Q drawled. “It’s getting tedious. And what’s so significant about midnight, anyway?”

“Midnight, when the veil between worlds is thinnest,” the other voice said. “I will sacrifice you at the precise moment, so that your essence leaving your body will open the way for me to claim my rightful place.”

“Rather implausible, I think,” Q said. 

“It doesn’t matter what you think.” James really didn’t like how manic that sounded. “It only matters that you die precisely on time.”

James checked his watch, where “9:37” glowed at him. Plenty of time, then, though he didn’t particularly care to wait to rescue his husband. He grinned as Q made further pithy remarks, and the manic-voiced man’s responses grew more and more irritable. 

Slowly, James moved around so that he was nearly right over Q. The lighting was still frustratingly dim, but James could see a pale glow coming from beneath some rising water, and the shadow of what he thought was his husband was sitting in it, masked and handcuffed to a pole of some kind that was anchored somewhere below the water. Several different scenarios involving hypothermia and potential drug- or concussion-related complications to Q’s health spun through his head, even as he listened closely to the increasingly frustrated conversation the pair was having. 

“Enough!” the manic man roared. James still couldn’t see the owner of the voice, but he had hope that Alec, coming from the opposite direction, had a handle on where the man was. “Stop talking and accept your fate. I’ll gag you if I must.”

“But wouldn’t that negate the sacrifice?” Q asked smoothly. “I mean, you’ve got this mask on me for a reason, haven’t you?”

“Nothing says you have to be awake and aware for the sacrifice,” the man snarled. “Keep your mouth shut or I’ll knock you with my club again.”

James winced. Probable concussion then, though he’d be giving Q a bit of grief for letting himself be hit over the head at a cemetery of all places.

“But why Death, anyway?” Q asked. “I’m curious about the significance of becoming Death.”

“If I become Death, I can never die,” the man said. “I want to live forever.”

“But why? Seems a bit boring, really.” Q’s voice was getting hoarse. 

“You understand nothing,” the manic man sneered. “I want --” There was a thunk and a gurgle, and James saw Alec come into the dim circle of light, towing a middle-aged dark-haired man. James lightly jumped down into the water below him, and made his way to Q.

“Alright, there?” James asked, reaching under the freezing cold water to pick the lock on the handcuffs.

“Bit dazed, bit bloody,” Q admitted. “Help me get this mask off?”

Alec propped the unconscious kidnapper up against another pole nearby and stepped up, using gentle fingers to pull the mask up and off of Q’s face. He winced when he saw the bruising at his right temple, blood trickling from a cut there. “Oh, that’s a bad spot for a concussion, Q,” Alec said, just as James got the handcuffs off. 

“Looks like we need Medical,” James said, handing the cuffs to Alec, who wasted no time cuffing the kidnapper. “Emergency Services?”

Alec paused, listening to his ear bud. “R says no. Trained operatives should be here in moments, and they’re going to take custody of this idiot.”

“Q needs Medical,” James repeated.

“They’re sending help along for that, too,” Alec reported. “There’s an MI6 safehouse here with an infimary that they’re sending us to. Much easier to deal with and much more secure, as well.”

“Right,” Q said. “Can I pass out again now?”

James knelt in the water by his husband and pulled his own jacket off, then tucked it around him. “Rather you didn’t, poppet. You likely have a concussion, and I’m not interested in losing you just yet.”

“Got my note, then?” Q gave him a half-smile.

“Got the note you got the maniac to write for you, yes, clever man,” James acknowledged, wrapping his arms around Q in his jacket. “I have a confession to make, though.”

“What did you do, James?” Q asked faintly, his strength clearly leaving him as he allowed himself to bask in his husband’s presence.

“I tried to break into your laptop to get to your location,” James admitted.

Q merely sighed. “When did you stop trying?” 

“When it started smoking,” James said. “I think it was the fifth log-in attempt. R did attempt a remote salvage of it, but he told me he wasn’t sure how much could be saved.”

“Everything is backed up at HQ, so I’m not terribly worried about it,” Q said, tilting his head into his husband’s chest as he listened to the dim sounds of help arriving. Footsteps clanked on the metal grating overhead, following Alec’s route, which apparently led to a rickety stair down to their location. “You really should have just rung up R, though.”

“So I’ve been told,” James said dryly. He nodded to the medical team, who were bringing two stretchers down to their level. “Alec, you confirmed these are the right people?”

“Pass codes and IDs match,” Alec said, helping one of the team boost the kidnapper onto a stretcher, then strap him down. 

James said nothing, but he helped Q get on the other stretcher, where he was covered with a mylar blanket, then strapped in for a bumpy ride up. “Wish there was a lift,” he muttered, as he saw another team come in to start gathering evidence and scrub the site.

“Would likely make this easier,” Q acknowledged. “Talk to me, James, I’m fading.”

“You’ve had a long day,” James said. “I’m not a bit surprised that you’re tired.” He made sure to stay close by as they made their way up the stairs. “No sleep for you yet, though.”

“Just the involuntary nap from the club to the head,” Q muttered. “So embarrassing.”

“How did he get the drop on you, anyway?” James asked.

“Distracted by the gravestone,” Q mumbled. “Interesting date, didn’t belong.”

“Stay awake, Q,” James said, as they emerged in the station and the stretcher was set on wheels to head to the ambulance-shaped black van that would take them to the safehouse. “What was wrong with the date?”

“At least two decades too early,” Q said. “No way he was that old when I met him.”

“A parent?” James asked.

“Perhaps, but it doesn’t really fit.” Q made a valiant effort to keep his eyes open. “It’s like he was a ghost.”

James followed Q into the van, taking a seat at his side while the doors were shut. “Interesting. Want some company for your follow up?”

“Always, James.” Q closed his eyes, only to start when James tapped his cheek. “What?”

“No sleeping,” James said. “I know you’re tired, but you need to be scanned, at the very least, before we let you sleep.”

Q frowned. “Tired.”

“I know, darling,” James soothed, as the van pulled into a garage. “I can let you sleep soon. Tell me about this man.”

“The maniac or the ghost?” Q asked.

“Let’s start with the maniac,” James decided. “What was he about?”

“Some sort of plan involving a midnight sacrifice to become Death and avoid actually dying,” Q said. “He didn’t make much sense, and I assume he’s in need of professional help.”

“Did he say why he chose you?” James stroked a hand down Q’s face as the van doors were opened again, and the team prepared to move Q inside.

“Said I looked like his dead brother, early on,” Q mumbled. “Said he thought it was a sign that I would be the one.”

James helped the team get Q out of the van, anchoring the stretcher in the van before the wheels were engaged again. He walked next to his husband as they headed inside a well-equipped medical bay. A tall, stately woman in scrubs met them, and leaned over Q to take a penlight to his eyes.

“Pupils are responsive, which is lucky,” she said curtly. “How are you feeling, Quartermaster?”

“Terrible,” Q said. “Cold and tired.”

“Right, they mentioned the cold water,” she said, standing back up. “I’m Dr. Jones.” She nodded to a young man in lighter scrubs next to a fully equipped bay. “We’ll need to get his wet things off of him and get him into a warmer. I’ll let Jack help you with that, 007, and I’ll get the CT machine prepped. We’ll get him warm and get a picture of his brain, and we’ll go from there. Are you hurt anywhere else, Quartermaster?”

“Not that I can tell.” Q closed his eyes again.

“Right, no sleeping yet, sir,” Dr. Jones said. She gestured to Jack and to James. “Keep him awake as you get him changed.”

“Yes, doctor,” Jack-the-nurse said, and Q’s stretcher was moved into the bay. “Do you need help undressing him?” Jack asked James. “We know he’s your spouse.”

“I can probably manage,” James said. “Do you want him in a gown?”

“Just here,” Jack said, pulling out a gown and a package of warm slipper socks. “I’ll give you privacy. Yell out if you need me; I’ll be just outside.” He exited the bay and drew the curtain, and James undid the straps on the stretcher.

“I’ll just take my jacket back, then,” he said, working quickly and trying not to jostle Q too much. “And your shirt.”

“At least it’s a button down,” Q muttered. “My head is pounding now.”

“I bet it is,” James said, working Q’s shirt off, then taking off his shoes and socks before starting on his belt and fly. “Not the way I’d hoped to undress you tonight.”

Q chuckled, and groaned. “Nor mine.” He lifted his hips slightly and let James shimmy his pants off him. Quickly, James put Q’s arms through the gown sleeves and tucked it under him, then drew up the warm socks and covered him with the heavy hospital sheet. He stuck his head out the curtain. “He’s ready.”

Jack nodded and came back, putting the side rails on the stretcher back up. “We’re just going next door to the CT machine. You’ll have to stay out here, I’m afraid, but we can find you something warm to put on while you wait.”

James looked down. He’d quite forgotten that he’d gotten soaked getting to Q. “Right, of course. Thanks.”

…

James was given a pair of black fleece pajama pants and a long-sleeved charcoal thermal tee, as well as the same warm slipper-socks they’d already put on his husband’s feet. By the time he’d changed, Q was out of the room where they’d run the CT scan and had been moved off the stretcher onto a standard hospital bed, hooked up to a warmer and monitors. He also, clearly, was sleeping.

“I thought he was supposed to stay awake?” James asked Jack, who was monitoring him. 

“We got a good look at his brain, and the doctor said he was ok to sleep,” Jack said nodding toward Dr. Jones, who was coming over. “She’ll fill you in.” Jack checked his monitors again as Dr. Jones gestured for James to step out into the brightly lit infirmary.

James stepped back out and gave the doctor his full attention as she gave him a basic rundown of Q’s condition. There was no bleeding into his brain, thankfully, but he was a little banged up and did have a mild concussion. Jack would be monitoring and doing hourly wake-up checks during the rest of the night.

“I know you’ll want to stay with him, and that’s fine, but 006 also has an update for you on the kidnapper, if you’d like it,” Dr. Jones said. “He’s waiting in the lounge, which is just down the hall and across from where you changed your clothes.”

“Thank you,” James said. “I’ll go find him.”

Dr. Jones nodded. “We all want to ensure the kidnapping of the Quartermaster is, in fact, just a one-off. I don’t think Q-branch would take it kindly if there was some sort of campaign. I hear, in fact, that the kidnapper’s credit already has been ruined.”

“They’re loyal, that’s for certain,” James said. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Jack will let you in,” Dr. Jones said, and wandered back toward her office, which James now observed was toward the back of the infirmary space.

James himself wandered down the hall to find Alec, who was busy watching a telenovela while drinking coffee. “What do you know, Alec?” James asked, commandeering Alec’s cup to take a sip.

“Rude,” Alec said, but sat back. “It does appear that the kidnapper, one Eduardo Escobar Valdez, was acting alone. He’s with mental health professionals at the moment, but as he literally kidnapped the Quartermaster, the whole incident is under MI6 jurisdiction. Our analysts are digging more deeply to see if they can unearth anything else, but at this time, we believe Q to be safe as he can be.”

“Excellent news,” James said, and leaned back. “Thanks for the help.”

“Eh. You probably didn’t need it, but I didn’t mind knocking the man out for you,” Alec said. “How’s Q?”

“Exhausted. Mild concussion, so they’ll be waking him hourly tonight. A few bumps and bruises, but nothing sleep and time won’t heal,” James said. He finished off Alec’s coffee. “I’ll be heading back to sit with him.”

Alec nodded. “Did you find out how Valdez got the drop on him?”

“Q got distracted trying to figure out why a date on the gravestone he was most interested in was off,” James explained. “I imagine that mystery will take over the rest of our leave. Well, that and recovery.”

“Interesting.” Alec stretched as he stood up. “‘S’pose I’ll head back to my hotel. Give Q my best, will you? I’m only here for another day before they send me back to the home office for some seminar in cybersecurity.”

“Better you than me,” James grumbled. “I blew up Q’s laptop.”

Alec laughed. “Looks like you should get the seat right next to me.”

“Only if I don’t retire first.” James scratched his chin. “Might be that I’m too old for this game.”

“Nah, you’d miss it,” Alec said confidently. “Catch you later, James.”

“Later, Alec,” James replied, waving at him as the other agent left. He looked down at the coffee cup, pitched it, and headed back to sit next to husband.

Jack dimmed the lights as James settled himself in a comfortable recliner within touching distance of Q. “Do you need anything else?” Jack asked. “Because I can monitor him from the charge station in the infirmary and leave you two alone if you’d like.”

“I think I’ll just close my eyes for a bit, myself,” James said. “I’m fine. Thanks, Jack.”

Jack nodded. “I’ll be back in for the concussion check in a little under an hour.” He left, and James looked at his lovely man.

He sighed. Every time James was injured in the field, he’d wake in the infirmary with Q sitting next to him, a laptop on his knees and a headset keeping him in touch with the goings on at HQ. Now, however, the shoe was decidedly on the other foot.

James hated it.

Q was not the person in their pairing who was meant to be injured.

“Stop that,” Q mumbled.

“Aren’t you meant to be sleeping?” James asked quietly.

“Can’t. You’re brooding too loudly.” Q sighed and settled again. “Stop it and let me sleep.”

“Yes, dear,” James said, and took Q’s hand.

They settled into quiet.

Morning found Q cranky, James amused, and Jack exasperated with the pair of them.

“I think I’m going to recommend your release,” Jack snarked. “If you can keep up that level of bickering, sir, I think we’ll be fine letting you and your husband get on with your vacation.”

Q refrained from rolling his eyes. “This is just a bit of loving discussion, Jack. And I am in need of my laptop and a headset. I imagine R is going spare.”

“I know the doc has updated R on your general condition,” Jack said. “I’ll go get her, and then my colleague Carissa will be in to let me take my twelve hours down.”

“Thank you for your care, Jack,” James said. 

“You’re welcome, Commander. Feel better soon, sir.” Jack slipped out, and James looked at Q.

“You know, I forget sometimes that Medical comes under the Quartermaster’s mandate,” James said idly. “They’re treating you very well.”

“I’m just top of the department,” Q said, fingers drumming on the blanket as if he had a keyboard in front of him. “R is in charge while I’m gone, but the Head of Medical reports to both of us, regularly. We need to make certain Medical has everything needed to securely treat our operatives in the field.”

“And, apparently, to treat errant Quartermasters.” James smirked at Q as he watched his husband try again, mostly unsuccessfully, to refrain from rolling his eyes.

Dr. Jones swept in with a smile. “How are you feeling, sir?”

“Ready for my laptop,” Q said promptly.

“Ah, I thought that might be the case, but I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you,” Dr. Jones said. “You’ll be our guest in Mexico City for another ten days, at least, though I’m willing to let you spend most of that time in your luxury hotel, and under the condition that you do not use a computer or any other form of screen longer than ten minutes at a time, once per day.”

“I’m not quite sure I heard that correctly,” Q said. “Ten minutes of screen time a day for ten days? What if there’s an emergency?”

“R can handle most things, including screen work,” Dr. Jones admonished. “And your partner could certainly handle basic searching if you want to continue your genealogical research while you’re here. But if you want a full recovery, you’ll need to take it easy and keep screen time to a minimum. I also need you to tell me if you have any vision problems or pain symptoms persisting past ten days. You’ll not be flying anytime soon, either.”

Q deflated, and James took his hand. 

“They’re not taking chances with your brain, love,” James said. “And I’d rather you didn’t, either.”

“Dirty pool, James.” Q frowned. “I’ll need a new laptop anyway, and a cloud connection so that I can download the records I’ve been working with and show James what to do.”

“Can that all be done in ten minutes or less?” Dr. Jones asked.

“If your secure network is as good as it should be.” Q raised an eyebrow. “And it ought to be.”

Dr. Jones laughed. “Well, then, let’s get you out of here. I’ll let our local logistics officer sort you out with a laptop. Make sure he takes it easy, Commander.”

“I will,” James said. Their clothes, freshly laundered, had been folded and stacked neatly on a table at the end of Q’s bed sometime in the night. “Let’s get dressed, then, shall we?”

The next hour flew as James helped Q dress, the logistics officer came in with a new laptop, and Q connected to the secure network for his promised ten minutes of screen time. He downloaded some files, thanked his minion, and turned to James.

“Did I have my phone on me anywhere? Or was it found?” he asked.

“Ah, no, not that I’m aware of,” James said. “Shall we go find the investigator in charge of the scene?”

“Yes, let’s. I might need to get a new phone from logistics, too, and hope that the pictures I took are in the cloud,” Q said with a frown. “I suppose my sketchbook and charcoal have gone missing, too.”

“If you’re feeling up to it, we could go back to the graveyard together this afternoon and see,” James said. “If not, we’ll just have to pick up another sketch book and charcoal, and I can do your rubbings for you. I imagine your head will be tender for a while yet.”

“Though they have given me the good pain meds,” Q agreed. “We’ll see how I feel. Has Alec gone?”

“Yes, he was due back at HQ for a cyber security seminar. Oh, wait. Let me check something.” James used his own phone to see if he could locate Q’s by the tracker, which Q had installed on both their phones. It lit up. “Your phone is still at the cemetery. Looks to be in the caretaker’s office, actually.” He pinched out and looked. “I’ll just give his office a call, shall I?”

“Please do,” Q said, zipping his new laptop into the thoughtfully provided case.

The caretaker, it seemed, had picked up the phone, sketchbook, and charcoal, and he was happy to hold on to them for James and Q. With that sorted, James led Q out to the private car that was driving them back to the hotel, where James planned to make Q rest. 

“So what was it about that gravestone that distracted you?” James asked while they were in the car. “You said something about the date being wrong.”

“Well, I met that man, who claimed to be a great uncle of mine, when I was small, right here in Mexico City,” Q said. “Part of why I wanted to stop there was to get his birthdate information and see if I could trace more of his family tree. But the dates on that stone aren’t accurate, at all.”

“Are you sure?” James asked, listening while idly watching the crowds on both sides of the streets. 

“Reasonably so. The man himself looked to be middle-aged when I met him, but the date on the stone suggests he died two decades before I would have met him.” Q cleared his throat. “I was caught off guard, and then, of course, I got hit in the head, so I haven’t had a chance to think it through.”

“Could the man you met have been an imposter? Or a cousin?” James asked.

“There’s no one that I’ve been able to find. Just this man.” Q drummed his fingers on his laptop case. “My grandfather’s brother. We were here to meet him on Dio de los Muertos.”

James took his eyes off the crowds and refocused. “Why Dio de los Muertos, specifically?”

Q opened his mouth, then closed it. “I don’t really remember.”

James looked thoughtful. “What if the dates weren’t wrong?”

“How do you mean?” Q asked.

“What if the reason you had to come on Dio de Los Muertos to meet your grandfather’s brother was because he’d been dead two decades?” James asked, slowly. “That’s part of the legend of the holiday, isn’t it? That the dead come back to visit?”

“I don’t believe in ghosts, James,” Q said firmly.

“But you do believe in data, Q,” James responded gently. “And the data suggests the person you met might have been a ghost.”

“There’s no one to ask, anyway,” Q mumbled. “All my family is dead.”

“Well, there is a relative or two of yours in the cemetery, and two more days of celebrations,” James said. “Let’s get you a good rest today, and we can head back down there tonight.”

“You really think it’s a possibility?” Q asked as their car pulled up to the hotel. 

“I think we have nothing to lose by going back.” James opened their door, stepped out, then reached down to steady Q as he got out of the car. “If nothing else, we can remember the dead.”

The moon rose full and high above them as Q and James strolled through the crowded cemetery to the grave of Dr. Wilfred Alejandro Jones-Morales. James carried the sketchbook and charcoal in one arm, having picked it up from the caretaker’s office on their way in, and Q scrolled through the photos on his phone.

“A doctor, eh?” James said. “Your grandfather’s brother?”

“Records show that they were both born here.” Q pulled a blanket out of his rucksack and spread it out on the ground by the grave. “Only my grandfather went back to Britain with his mother when he was small, and Wilfred stayed here with his father.”

“So you’re looking for the Morales side of the family, then?”

Q shrugged. “Looking through records about them is all I really have, isn’t it? I mean, I have you, of course, but otherwise. I’m an orphan. Like so many recruited at MI6.”

“Including me,” James agreed. He seated himself on the blanket and started digging through Q’s rucksack for the snacks they’d brought. “Suppose the good doctor likes chocolate?”

“I do, in fact,” a faintly glowing figure, taking solid shape as he perched himself on top of his stone, said. “Don’t be alarmed.”

Q stared for a moment, then asked, “James, am I actually in a coma from yesterday’s blow to the head?”

“No, darling,” James said, dryly. “There is, in fact, a spirit seated on your great-uncle’s tombstone.”

“That would be me,” the spirit confirmed. “Your great-uncle Wilfred. How have you been, nephew?”

“Ah, well. Injured, actually. Confused, a bit. So I really did meet you, the spirit, when I was little? And not you, the person?” Q looked a bit lost.

“You did, young man,” Wilfred said. “Thought I ought to make that clear before you lost any more sleep, or, indeed, blood, over the matter. That was a nasty club the gent had.”

“Right.” Q cleared his throat and went into the rucksack for chocolate. “An offering for you.” He held it out. Wilfred looked pleased, but didn’t take it.

“I can’t actually eat it, you know, but I do appreciate it,” the ghost said. “Do have a bite for me.”

Q took a bite, and surveyed the grave. “Am I related to anyone else here?” He looked around.

“No, unfortunately,” Wilfred said, looking regretful. “Gets a bit lonely here, but it’s here I come on the holiday. Of course, the rest of the year I’m in their company on the other side.”

“Who do you know?” Q asked, taking another bite of chocolate.

“Well, I have messages to pass, actually,” Wilfred said. “Your parents say they are proud of you, and they think your husband is good for you. Your grandparents say the same. Your brother thinks you should go on vacation more because it’s good for you. And my mother wants you to know that she left a brooch in a safe deposit box in London, at Barclay’s, that she thinks you should have. Someone lost the key years ago, unfortunately, but it should be under her name. I should think, if you could prove her death and your descendancy, you could claim it.”

Q tipped his head down. “I can have a go at looking for it.”

“I think she’d be grateful,” Wilfred admitted. “It’s been bothering her that it’s just been sitting there all this time.”

“Seems like our next mission, then,” James said, raising a bottle of water in a toast.

The trio talked and laughed for a few hours, and as the moon descended, Wilfred stretched, lazily. “Time for me to get back, I think. James, you’ll want to get Q back to the hotel. Trust me, I’m a doctor, and I think his drugs are wearing off.”

“You’d be right, Uncle,” Q said, starting to gather up their things. Around them, other families were doing the same thing. “It’s been lovely to talk with you.”

“And with you,” Wilfred said. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, now.” He gave them a cheeky wink, and disappeared.

James helped Q pack everything back up, then helped him to stand. “Alright, there, love?”

“Bit of a headache,” Q admitted. “Can we taxi back?” 

James pulled out his phone and tapped a few buttons. “I’ll get us a private car.”

They strolled back to the entrance, where the same sleek black car waited. Q turned around and looked at the cemetery.

“I didn’t know what I would find here,” Q said. “I certainly didn’t appreciate the concussion or the kidnapping. But I’m glad I came.”

“Me, too, Q.” James opened the car door. “Me, too.”

Three weeks later, in London:

Q idly turned the gold, phoenix-shaped brooch in his hands. His great-grandmother had exquisite taste. The fact that the brooch was placed atop a stack of bearer bonds in no way diminished its significance, or its sentimental value. But the bearer bonds certainly didn’t hurt matters any. Following his great-uncle’s advice had worked a treat.

His phone rang, and Q set the brooch down to pick it up, giving it a moment.

“Clearly, I was wrong.” “Clearly, I was wrong.” “Clearly, I was wrong.”

“Are you planning to answer that?” James asked, irritably.

“In a minute.”

The End.