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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years

Text

Come Alive

A huge thank you to @kiragenta for letting me write a fanfiction based on their incredible art!

Masterlist, Kiragenta's art that inspired this fic (please go check it out and give it some love!), Kiragenta's Tumblr; passerotto means little sparrow: someone who is learning how to fly

This was honestly the most fun and probably one of my favourite pieces to write. And, with their permission, here is one of the two panels that @kiragenta did!

Percy Jackson leans his head against the rough stone wall of the coffee shop and sips the café con leche he had taken to go. The streets of Rome are just starting to wake up and people rush around each other and into various shops. It seems a Friday morning in the city is a hive of energy before the slam of the weekend. Yet something inside him feels uncharacteristically dull. In fact he has felt like this since the beginning of this trip and frankly it is starting to piss him off. Nobody should be able to make him feel like this. And especially not his dick of a father who decides when and where to drop into and out of his life without warning. It was a new low to abandon him in a city he knew nothing about but to his credit he's only a little surprised.

Now he drains the rest of the coffee and chucks the cup in a trashcan nearby, punching the air when it lands inside with a rattle. The cobblestones under him press into the soles of his shoes as he picks a direction and starts down it. He doesn't have a destination so whichever way he goes he'll land up where he needs to be. Or at least that's what's supposed to happen. So far his wanderings have led him to a dried up fountain, a little cottage on the outskirts of town with more vines than wall, and just yesterday a café that admittedly sold delicious gnocchi and unbelievable coffee, but was not a life changing venture as he had hoped.

The flowers spilling onto the sidewalk from the outside of every shop make him want to become a florist, just so he can spend his days amongst them. He stops in front of a box of daffodils and brushes his fingers against their soft petals. Gods he loves flowers. He loves their colours, and how two flowers on the same branch don't even look the same but they're both gorgeous nonetheless. A woman comes out with warm brown eyes and a kind smile.

"You like them?"

"They're beautiful," He nods.

"Then you must have one,"

And before he can protest her hands are already reaching for the bloom and gently breaking the stem. "When people look at my flowers the same way you do," She hands him the daffodil. He puts it behind his ear. "Their souls are made of sunshine."

A tiny kernel of gold unfurls in his chest. "How do you know that?"

Her smile is warmth and sweetness and full of compassion, "Only the people who care about things that do not serve them can have that look."

"Thank you," He touches the flower tucked behind his ear, "For everything."

"Something is going to change to day passerotto," She looks into him then, her molten brown eyes staring into his ocean green ones, "The winds of the sea say so."

Percy would have called her crazy but for some reason he believes her, can feel it to. He just nods trying to wrap his head around the day and the conversation and, and, and...

"Come back for coffee this afternoon. We have the best americanos on this side of the square."

"I will," He promises preparing to head off in his destination-less direction, but something stops him, "Do you—" He swallows, "Can you recommend a place I should visit?"

"Have you seen the Grazia Salvatrice yet?"

He shakes his head, intrigued.

"Walk a ways, past the fountain in the square and over the bridge. There is usually a big crowd there but it should be relatively empty at this time."

"Thank you," He smiles, bright and hopeful for the first time in a while, "And I'll come back at the end of the day."

"Goodbye Perseus." She gives a motherly pat on his cheek before disappearing into her café once more.

It's only when he's past the fountain that he realises he never told her his name. But suddenly he's standing in an archway and there's a group of people excitedly chattering near him and he feels like he's known the world since he was stardust. He feels...alive.

He moves out of the archway and into an open space with little else save for the statue and small orange tree, just starting to ripen. He makes his way around until he can see the statue in all its glory. And gods is it glorious. It's as if someone draped a blanket of stone over a person. It looks so real. He looks real. A strong jaw and a fierce expression. Fists clenched like he's ready to fight, or holding back. And shoulders that look big enough to carry the world. Percy wants to know everything about the statue. Wants to know why it’s there, who it is, why they chose that gorgeous grey stone instead of bronze or brass. He wants to know the story. The group of people who were cooing over the statue moments ago now disperse until only a couple stood there, hands joined and eyes looking hopeful as they stare at the hardened expression.

He sits down on the bench and watches them, not expecting much.

But then one of the ladies drops a flower at the statue’s feet and he finally notices the small pile of brightness collecting there. Curious still, he looks at them and watches with wide eyed fascination as she swipe a thumb over the cool stone of his chest and then gently, ever so gently, place a kiss to his lips. The other girl does the same ritual and then they giggle and kiss each other.

His feet are moving before his brain has time to think and suddenly he's standing in front of them.

"Hi," He waves, "Sorry to interrupt."

"Hello," The girl with dark brown skin and braided hair grins at him, her black eyes sparkling. "How are you?" American, he deduces.

The other girl, tawny skin with white patches across her chest and on her cheeks, looks at him inquisitively but offers nothing but a smile.

"I'm good thanks. I just—" He looks past them at the statue, which was so much closer now. Close enough that he felt the strange warmth it emitted. "I just wanted to ask why you left a flower and kissed the statue?"

"Oh," The American girl laughs brightly, "Apparently if you leave a flower the statue will grant freedom. If you swipe its chest you will be granted love. And if you kiss it you will find home."

"And you can just do all three?"

"According to my girlfriend here," She points to her right.

"It is true." He can here the girl is native Italian. "Many people have found what they are looking for at the Grazia Salvatrice." She nods deftly.

"Okay," He offers them a smile and hopes it doesn't reflect the butterflies racing through his stomach. "Thank you."

"Bye," The American says before lacing her fingers through her girlfriend's and tugging them both away.

The little area is weirdly quite, save for the coo of a few birds and the bustle from the street there is nothing and no-one. He takes a deep breath and turns to the statue. There's something about its eyes he cannot get over. It's the way they burn. No that's not right. They almost...... crackle. It reminds him of electricity, lightning, storms. And the air around the stone is charged, makes the hair on his arms stand up. His eyes graze over the piece and catch on the clenched fist. He wants so badly to unfurl those fingers and interlace his own with them.

He's surprised by his reaction but something is drawing him to this ancient stone that he cannot, will not ignore. Taking another deep breath he steps closer until his hoodie brushes against the greyed chest. He doesn't even care about the dust that marks the blue fabric because suddenly the world disappears and the only thing he can hear is the crashing waves of an ocean and the rolling thunder of a storm. Slowly, carefully, he takes the daffodil from behind his ear and drops it by their feet.

"For freedom." He whispers.

And then a shaky brown hand is reaching up and he swipes a thumb over the stony chest.

"For love."

He looks at the sculpted cheekbones and sharp brows and reaches up to touch the perfectly styled hair. He wishes he could run his hands through it. Instead he let's his hand fall to the statues neck, cradling the back of its head softly.

"For home."

And then Percy Jackson sears his lips to the stone and light bursts from his chest. Rays of sunshine radiate from their bodies, but his eyes are closed and he is lost to the world. The statue moves beneath his fingers and he pulls it to him. He doesn't want this to end.

The stone is soft under his palms and he tugs at the warm skin to get them closer, together. This kiss will last for—

He jumps back with a gasp. The stone moved. The stone is moving. It is soft. And moving.

He collapses to the cobbled ground as he watches the statue come alive. The rays of light spilling from his own chest go unnoticed. Slowly the grey tinge bleeds away to reveal golden skin, and faded black pants, and hair that he is sue is spun from sunlight, and eyes the colour of topaz, of brooks, and oceans, and the sky.

"What the—" He splutters, "Who— How—"

His brain is on fire, underwater, buried alive. This is not real.

"Hello," The voice is gravely, naturally or from disuse he doesn't know.

"You were a—" He gasps, "And now you're a—"

Words. He needs words. What's language? What's the alphabet?

"Where am I?" The statue— no, boy—asks.

Percy cradles his head in his hands and tries to form a coherent thought, any thought.

"I'm sorry," The golden boy mutters, staring at the buildings and streets and everything. "Could you help me? I don't know where I am?"

"Yes," He answers rawly, "Apparently neither do I."

"What's going on?" He can hear the frown in the boy's voice.

"You were a statue, about one minute ago. And now you're... well a human?" He chokes out.

"I was what?" Those eyebrows knit in confusion.

"Yes. See that stand there?" Percy points to the empty block of polished bronze with a small plaque on it. "You were standing there a few moments ago, as stone."

"I don't understand."

"Welcome to the club." He groans, running his fingers through his already messy black hair. "What's your name?"

"Jason." He whispers, staring at the space he once stood in disbelief, "Jason Grace."

"Hello Jason, I'm Percy Jackson. And I just made you come alive."

#Jercy statue AU #Jercy #Jason grace #Percy Jackson #Thank you again to kiragenta for the idea #Your art was so beautiful and inspiration just struck me like a brick #Jason #Grace #Percy #Jackson #Baby fanfic #Baby fanfic series #PJSSG series #PJSSG fanfic #not edited

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psychopersonified · 4 years

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Three Little Words

Post Are we ever going to talk about this? and Where was the wooing? (AO3)

Highly recommended to read the series first to get emotionally invested in their story arc. This short piece will feel a lot more satisfying once you know their backstory. But you can still read this as a stand alone.

Mallory cottons on and worries, Bond tries bubble tea (sorry, I couldn't resist), very important words that haven't been said are said...

Tags: Sharing food, some groping, newly established relationship, humour, fluff with feeling, tiny mention of PTSD, minor hurt/comfort.

-------------

London, Air Street - Hawksmoor

They arrived together, Mallory was sure of it. He knows because he saw them leave their Vauxhall HQ together. What was even more unexpected was that 007 was in the passenger seat of Q’s red Hyundai at the time. Rumours abound about those two; but M had chosen to ignore them up to now for the sake of his own sanity. Sorting fact from fiction would take up all his time. Even Q’s new car was subject to gossip - some preposterous story about it being a gift from 007.

However, now partway through the evening of Agent 008’s retirement party at a seafood and steak restaurant on Air Street - Mallory can’t ignore the rumours any longer.

Moneypenny had organised the event, booking out the entire floor of the glamorous art deco restaurant. Dark wood panelling matched with emerald green upholstery and decorated with gold accents, it oozed perfectly understated style. 150 or so people were invited, all part of the MI6 community with more or less direct involvement in the Double-0 Program. So practically everyone knows everyone, making it a safe and comfortable setting to let loose a little. Which might be why M is noticing behaviours that were not usually on display within the SIS building among general population.

Which brings M back to his observation. The pair is ensconced in one of the semi circle booths with Eve, Jenny, Mark and Dr Chen. Bond is seated on the outer edge, an arm slung casually over the back of the booth with the Quartermaster sitting much close than propriety would deem necessary - practically nestled in the crook of the agent’s arm. They are laughing along and joining in free flowing conversation with the other occupants of their table and generally having a good time.

No one on the table appears to find the unusually close proximity odd. In fact no one in the entire party seems to have given their behaviour a second glance except for Mallory.

As the evening progressed, M sees more and more that worries him. He’d caught them sharing food, eating right off each other’s plates. Bond cutting bits off his steak and setting the pieces aside for Q to pick off. Even offering Q his red wine, chosen specially to pair with the steak, holding it up to his nose for a sniff. Then instead of getting the server to pour a new glass, he just lets Q drink from his, keeping the glass between them throughout the main course.

Then there was the seafood pasta, and the utter ridiculousness of it. Q eats half of it and hands it over, cutlery and all for Bond to finish. The agent obliges without hesitation, and couldn’t be bothered to get a fresh set of cutlery.

At one point the young quartermaster places a hand on 007’s thigh to draw his attention. Bond is immediately attentive, pausing to lean close so Q can whisper something privately. Whatever Q says makes him nod and smile.

M panics internally, perhaps he’s been ignoring the rumours for too long and wonders if it might be too late to do something about it now. Alec making his way round a willing secretarial pool is one thing, but this does not look ‘no strings attached’. However on the plus side, 007 has been a lot more manageable lately.

Sure, he still had problems with authority and argues incessantly about his orders, then goes off improvising his missions and continues to destroy things that he shouldn’t have… BUT he hasn’t gone dark for a while now - regularly checking in with HQ before he decides to execute a high risk strategy. Not for approval mind you, just to let them know where they might recover his body… which is a step up considering his track record. And he hasn’t absconded in a while, always returning to London immediately once the job is done, without MI6 needing to use the threat of arrest as motivation.

If whatever this is between them is the root of the behavioural change in 007, then taking it away is a sure way of inciting rebellion. Considering their combined skillsets, it would be impudent to underestimate them. However, should the relationship sour, it would cause a whole set of other problems. It puts M in quite a bit of a conundrum. How long has this been going on and why hasn’t Psych highlighted this.

—

“How are you with driving?” Q asks as he holds up the coat for Bond after retrieving it from the coat check

“Still good,” the agent answers as he slips his arms into the coat.

“Excellent, because I’m decidedly not.” Q declares, emphasis on the T in the ‘not’. Bond can tell, Q’s a little giggly and handsier than usual. And he’s had to help Q down the stairs from the first floor restaurant.

“Keys?” Bond asks as he turns around to return the favour, helping Q into his jacket and scarf.

“Left poc— *yawn*—ket” Q yawns midway though his answer, using his hands to cover his mouth as Bond dips a hand into his trouser pocket from behind to fish for the car keys.

Once they dispense with the goodbyes to those lingering in the lobby, they head out. Q’s car is parked in an hourly garage a short walk away.

—

Unknown to the pair, their little interaction was overheard by Mallory and Tanner.

M turns to Tanner, levelling him with a serious look, “Those two, I want to know what’s going on. How serious is it?”

“Sir?” Tanner hesitates, then smiles tightly, unsure if the next thing he says will get the pair in trouble, “Fairly serious…”

“Why wasn’t I told?” M huffs annoyed, though more at himself than anyone.

Tanner looks genuinely perplexed, “Sir?… I believe there was a general assumption that you knew? And because you haven’t reprimanded them that you were willing to… look the other way?”

Mallory sighs, “So the rumour about the car is true then?”

“Ah... yes. They’ve also been seen coming and going from HQ together whenever Bond is in London.”

“Ahh… shit.” M sounds resigned.

“What are you going to do sir? You’re not going to stop them are you?” Tanner’s looks like someone just kicked his puppy. He wants to add -that would be beyond cruel-.

“I can’t very well do that anymore can I? Not if it’s that serious. Not if 007 has found his reason to keep himself alive.” Mallory knows first hand what that psychological incentive can do for men and women in their line of work.

“I want to talk to Dr Epstein next week. If I’m going to allow this, I want to know what I’m getting into and how we can make sure this stays to our advantage.”

“Yes sir.”

——————————-

London, Knightsbridge - Saturday

The garishly colourful interior is the first thing that strikes him as they enter. Pastel primary colours splashed everywhere. Next is the crowd; they are both much older than the average customer with Bond likely being 20yrs senior than most everyone including the staff.

The menu is a cheery if confusing list of options. The drinks equally colourful, befitting the kindergarten decor. He lets Q place an order on his behalf, because otherwise he wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“What is this place?” Bond asks when Q is done placing their needlessly complicated order.

“It’s called bubble tea, because of the toppings you can have them add to your drink. I’m told it’s a cultural phenomenon sweeping the student scene.” Q explains.

“How do you even know about this?”

“Marcus introduced us to it. He has the whole of Q-Branch hooked on this. It’s become a Friday night Cyberwar games staple. Bubble tea, fried chicken and curry,” he updates Bond.

“I see Agent Park has been busy giving all of you diabetes.” Bond remarks rather unkindly.

Agent Marcus Park is the new 008, the latest recruit and by that token the youngest in the current lineup of Double-0s. Dripping with cool, savvy with social media current affairs - he’d quickly ingratiated himself with the boffins in Q-Branch who were mostly around the his age.

In the short time since he’s arrived, Marcus has managed to affect the culture and language in Q-Branch. He’s even developed some idiotic ‘special’ handshake that everyone was keen to get in on - officially making him the coolest agent and everyone’s new favourite. So if Agent Park says bubble tea is cool, then officially, it’s cool.

All this annoyed Bond more than he cared to admit because it meant Marcus spent more time in Q-Branch than any of the other agents save himself. Aside from his early faux pas of mistakenly using Q’s mug (which 008 has since learned NOT to because no one in Q-Branch liked that), what Bond particularly disliked was Park taking up -his- sofa in the lounge. He can tolerate 008 swanning about the place, but draws the line at the sofa. Every time he sees the upstart stretched across it, he gets an irrational flare of temper.

Q smiles indulgently at him, aware of the minor quarel between the two agents, “Oh don’t be jealous James. Besides, it’s better than the horrid energy drinks.” Their order comes up then and Q goes to collect it.

When Q gets back, Bond is presented with a monstrously large Roasted Oolong Milk Tea with tapioca pearl toppings, half sugar and one-third ice. The drink comes with a supersized straw whereby he is expected to siphon out the dubiously coloured pearls resting at the bottom of the cup (why they are called toppings when they sink is question for another time). Bond isn’t a particularly picky eater, he can’t be for survival - so he’s open to trying anything. He’s not impressed, still a too sweet and far too milky for his liking, and he could have done without the weirdly chewy pearls that had a tendency to get stuck in his teeth.

“How’s your tea? Feeling hip with the crowd yet?” Q pokes, waiting for his response.

Bond gives his verdict on the tea then the establishment, “…. but these stools are incredibly uncomfortable. And the height of these tables; ridiculous. My hip joints are aching.” Bond grouses. Also the excited high pitched chatter of the other patrons, is starting to give him a headache.

Halfway through, Bond switches drinks - curious about Q’s pale green Honeydew Melon Tea with black herbal jelly, three-quarter sugar and half ice. The drink is interesting, lighter than the tea, but the texture and taste of the soft slightly medicinal jelly takes some getting used to.

Inexplicably, Bond feels his mood start to slip, “What are they nattering on about?” Bond pinches the bridge of his nose and tilts his head in the direction of the largest and noisiest group.

Every so often, one of them would explode with shrill laughter that was closer to a hysterical scream than anything resembling normal mirth. It was grating on his nerves in more was than one. God, when did children get so annoying?

Q shrugs, looking up from an incoming notification on his phone. He’s not really caught up on pop culture himself. What a pair they made - the basement geek and his curmudgeon. Q returns to his phone and the unusual forwarded notification from the Smart Blood implant. One of the agents is experiencing a spike in heart rate not associated with any physical activity ::Agent 007::.

Bond takes sip of his drink, expression still pinched. Another teen suddenly wails like a banshee about to be murdered before peeling off into laughter. Q is about to show him the readout from the app when in a surprise move, Bond reaches out to take Q’s hands in his.

The agent shifts seats to sit alongside Q. He then gathers him close, the entire length of their sides, from shoulder to knee pressed together - before burying his nose in Q’s temple and taking a deep breath. Despite Bond’s penchant for peacocking himself, as a couple they’re not one for flagrant public displays of affection, so the unusual move sends Q’s mind ticking with concern.

There is a slight tremor that runs through Bond, muscles twitching, not quite relaxed as it should - a precursor to fight or flight perhaps. It triggers Q’s memory, something in 007’s psych file as with most of the Double-0s; a mention about higher risk of experiencing PTSD - and it clicks. The screaming teens were enough to send a fright through normal people, how must it feel like for a veteran of violence like Bond.

Q squeezes back in understanding, “Let’s get out of here shall we? These kids are giving me a headache.”

“Excellent suggestion,” Bond agrees without hesitation, pulling Q along as he gets up. They retrieve their shopping and drinks, and head out into the open air.

Once outside, Bond starts to cheer up significantly but nevertheless, he clings to Q with a tight arm around the shoulder. Q reciprocates with an arm around Bond’s waist; letting him know that he’s there and he understands; without coddling the agent or challenging his ego.

Occasionally Bond would slow their pace, the hand clutching Q’s shoulder would shift to stroke the back of his head, pulling Q close to nuzzle his hair - always taking deep slow breaths. They meander around Knightsbridge before Q suggests taking a turn inside The Natural History Museum. By the time their walk takes them there, Bond is for the most part back to normal.

Q had always loved the natural history museum. The large echoey stone galleries, the ornate architecture and of course the prehistoric displays in their modern glass cases. The hushed space provides Bond with some respite to recover as well.

They wander around aimlessly for the first twenty minutes - Q steering them down one gallery after another, providing soothing commentary about one display or another and Bond was happy just to tag along stuck to his side.

But at the first deserted corner they find, Bond unexpectedly jerks him close - sending Q colliding into a wall of muscle. The kiss that follows is deep, emotionally brimming with gratitude and affection. The hand that’s buried in his hair and roaming his back is not salacious but reverential. The kiss lasts an eternity. When they part, they are both breathless - noses and mouths rubbed pink.

Bond steals several more brief kisses after that before looking Q right in the eye. What he says next, floors Q. In a venerated whisper, James declares with every fibre of his being, “I love you.”

It’s the first time either of them has said it. They’ve made it this far into their dizzying convoluted dance, circling one another with playful oblique references to their relationship without ever once saying these words. They’re living together now for christssake!

Q reaches up to cradle Bond’s face in his hands, thumbs stroking the craggy cheeks and worn crows feet around the eyes. “Likewise…,” Q thinks to leave it at that, but it feels like he’d be shortchanging something so significant. So he pulls Bond in for another deep kiss and mumbles against his mouth, ”I love you, I love you, I love you”.

Simple. Uncomplicated. Love.

When they part again, the gallery isn’t deserted anymore. An elderly couple had wandered in and was nearby, viewing the exhibit they were standing adjacent to. Bond bends down to collect their shopping bags. Q smiles apologetically at the couple as he tries to make himself presentable again.

“No worries dear. I remember how it was like on our honeymoon,” the lady tells him with a wink.

Honey-what-now?! That catches Q completely off guard. Did he just miss another milestone? Q nods awkwardly just as Bond tugs on his hand, “Uh… Please excuse us.”

—

Outside again and the street is awash with light as the sun peeks out from behind a bank of clouds. Bond is back to normal, without a trace of his earlier vulnerability. But he does continue to rest an arm on Q’s shoulder.

They decide to walk home. Unhurried, just enjoying each other, not a care in the world, even if it was just for the afternoon. Strolling along the streets, window shopping until dinnertime, before popping into a restaurant close to home.

Bond spies a discarded bubble tea cup as they pass by a street bin and is reminded of Marcus.

“Do me a favour? Could you kick Park out of the lab once in a while?”

That earns him a sarcastic reply, “Oh yes, because I’ve been highly successful at kicking agents out so far. Besides, on what grounds?”

“He’s taking up my sofa,” Bond grumbles petulantly.

“Hardly grounds for expulsion. And it’s not your sofa. If anyone has the right to be upset, it should be me. That was my kip out sofa before the two of you decided to install your arses on it.”

“Ahh… so its -our- sofa then. He has no business being there.” Bond looks for a loophole he can exploit, “Surely sleeping with the Quartermaster has its perks?”

“You’re a right bastard you know that?” Q admonishes. “Besides, you sleeping with the quartermaster is precisely why I can’t kick him out.”

Bond still doesn’t get it so Q has to spell it out for him, “Haven’t you noticed that Marcus is sweet on Jenny? I can’t kick him out or I’ll be accused of double-standards.”

“Huh… Is he now?” Blonde eyebrows climb to the hairline in surprise, “And how does she feel about him?“

“We’re not sure yet. She went out with him a couple of times. But then just this Friday, she threw a half drunk cup of bubble tea in his face. At the moment she thinks he’s a bit of a prick… I can understand exactly how she feels,” Q looks over at Bond pointedly.

James grins unashamed, “M is really going to love this development.”

Q hums in agreement, “Hmm… if she files a complaint against him, I suspect M will put a moratorium on Double-0s dating Q-Branch techs.”

A thoughtful smile spreads across James’s face, “Well then, I suppose we’d better set a good example.”

——FIN——

Notes: If you liked this story, there’s more on the blog or AO3. Please like, reblog, comment etc. Enjoy!

#00Q #00q fanfiction #00q fic #q #quartermaster

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