Bond was drunk, but hardly drowsy. He laid still, listening to the steady breathing of the pair. Thoughts raced through his head. He'd never been good at sharing It was easier to simply walk away. That wasn't an option here. There was nowhere to go. It forced him to face this situation and deal with it. He found, upon reflection, pickled as it was, that he did find Harry agreeable. He was a good man with a good ethic and Bond had no doubt of the man's love of Queen and Country. That was something he could respect, and, honestly, not something he got off Q. Q was a bloody anarchist in some ways. He drifted off thinking of all the ways Harry and he saw eye to eye.

Bond woke up then, hours later, and needed to pee. The pair were still asleep so he slipped out of bed quietly and went to the loo to take care of things. His head ached a bit, his brain a bit dry, he imagined. He grabbed a cup of water and came back to bed, hoping to get a bit more sleep. But when he tried to crawl back in bed the whole mattress squeaked and lurched with his weight, regardless of how quiet he was trying to be.