[Fic] bloody good chicken soup
Fandom: James Bond
Characters: Gareth Mallory, Q
Pairing: Mallory/Q
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Word count: c.760
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.
A/N: For the lovely kiyala, whose enabling ways are always appreciated, no matter what I say.
***
Q sneezes, and very deliberately does not look up from his computer screen when he reaches for the almost empty tissue box. Instead, he just says, "The new graduates don't know how to keep their mouths shut, god forbid they ever get kidnapped and interrogated."
In front of him, M just crosses his arms. "I don't think it's the graduates that we should be worrying about," he says.
"I've got no idea what you're talking about," Q replies, aiming for an airy tone, but only managing congested.
M walks around the desk, checks to make sure that Q isn't actually working on anything important -- he's not -- and shuts the lid of his laptop firmly. "It wasn't the graduates, actually, it was Bond."
Q makes a face. "Of course it was. I think he has a problem, you know."
"I think he has a large variety of problems, but I'm only really interested in yours right now." Q tries feebly to resist when M tugs on his arm, but he gives in quickly and stands up.
"I'm just saying, he has skewed priorities," Q complains, but lets M gently manhandle him into his coat anyway. "For someone with such massive authority issues, he's quick to run to you."
M smiles and starts herding Q out. "He ran to Eve, actually."
"I knew she'd be involved somehow. That woman is sneaky."
"She's very good at her job, I should give her a raise."
Q sulks on the way home, but his constant sniffling and blowing of his nose isn't a particularly good incentive for M to have let him take the tube home at this hour of the night in the state that Q's in.
"You probably shouldn't come in to work tomorrow," M says, heading for Q's kitchen once they're inside. Before Q can protest, he shoots him a look. "I don't want you getting any more ill than you already are. Or spreading an infection around MI6, imagine what would happen if there was a national intelligence emergency and everyone was at home sick."
"What are you doing?" Is all Q says, staring as M rummages through his fridge.
"For someone who doesn't seem to spend a lot of time here, you have a lot of food." M emerges with a handful of vegetables. "I'm making you soup. Go lie down in bed, I'll be in soon."
Q disappears into his bedroom, but comes back dragging a thick blanket with him, perching on a chair with it wrapped around him like a strange cocoon, his bird's nest hair sticking out the top. M sighs a little but smiles anyway, getting the ingredients together and turning the stove on.
"I didn't know you could cook."
M gives him a funny look. "I haven't spent my whole life eating meals out of tins, you know." He pauses. "I was the oldest, so my mother taught me all the tricks - including how to make bloody good chicken soup. When my parents were working, I looked after the little ones."
"Your brothers and sister."
"Yes. I think they'd like to meet you." Then, as Q sniffles loudly, he adds, "Not while you're like this, though."
Maturely, like the adult (no matter what Bond thinks about his age) he is, Q sticks his tongue out at him. Then something occurs to him. "What about Jilly?"
"She's with Colin today," M says casually, still working at preparing the soup. "The kids have been wanting to see her, and Colin says that Jim needs the company too."
Q narrows his eyes at M, suspicious. M's neighbour doesn't randomly mind M's sweet Scotch Collie unless M asks, no matter how much Colin's grandchildren and his dog love her. M tries to keep his face neutral, but he can't help the smile.
"You planned this," Q says accusingly, and M breaks into a grin. Q's indignation would be more convincing and less amusing if he wasn't still wrapped up in his blanket cocoon. "You are sly, I think our Miss Moneypenny has some competition."
"Oh, I don't think any of us could compete with her."
"Quite right. I suppose you think that I'll let you sleep in my bed tonight?"
"Yes, I do." M has three suits in Q's closet and a stash of casual wear in one of his dresser drawers, he knows that Q is just trying to tease.
Q sighs and settles in, pulling his blanket tighter around him. "You're lucky I love you."
"Yes, I am," M agrees, and Q smiles back at him.
Characters: Gareth Mallory, Q
Pairing: Mallory/Q
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Word count: c.760
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.
A/N: For the lovely kiyala, whose enabling ways are always appreciated, no matter what I say.
***
Q sneezes, and very deliberately does not look up from his computer screen when he reaches for the almost empty tissue box. Instead, he just says, "The new graduates don't know how to keep their mouths shut, god forbid they ever get kidnapped and interrogated."
In front of him, M just crosses his arms. "I don't think it's the graduates that we should be worrying about," he says.
"I've got no idea what you're talking about," Q replies, aiming for an airy tone, but only managing congested.
M walks around the desk, checks to make sure that Q isn't actually working on anything important -- he's not -- and shuts the lid of his laptop firmly. "It wasn't the graduates, actually, it was Bond."
Q makes a face. "Of course it was. I think he has a problem, you know."
"I think he has a large variety of problems, but I'm only really interested in yours right now." Q tries feebly to resist when M tugs on his arm, but he gives in quickly and stands up.
"I'm just saying, he has skewed priorities," Q complains, but lets M gently manhandle him into his coat anyway. "For someone with such massive authority issues, he's quick to run to you."
M smiles and starts herding Q out. "He ran to Eve, actually."
"I knew she'd be involved somehow. That woman is sneaky."
"She's very good at her job, I should give her a raise."
Q sulks on the way home, but his constant sniffling and blowing of his nose isn't a particularly good incentive for M to have let him take the tube home at this hour of the night in the state that Q's in.
"You probably shouldn't come in to work tomorrow," M says, heading for Q's kitchen once they're inside. Before Q can protest, he shoots him a look. "I don't want you getting any more ill than you already are. Or spreading an infection around MI6, imagine what would happen if there was a national intelligence emergency and everyone was at home sick."
"What are you doing?" Is all Q says, staring as M rummages through his fridge.
"For someone who doesn't seem to spend a lot of time here, you have a lot of food." M emerges with a handful of vegetables. "I'm making you soup. Go lie down in bed, I'll be in soon."
Q disappears into his bedroom, but comes back dragging a thick blanket with him, perching on a chair with it wrapped around him like a strange cocoon, his bird's nest hair sticking out the top. M sighs a little but smiles anyway, getting the ingredients together and turning the stove on.
"I didn't know you could cook."
M gives him a funny look. "I haven't spent my whole life eating meals out of tins, you know." He pauses. "I was the oldest, so my mother taught me all the tricks - including how to make bloody good chicken soup. When my parents were working, I looked after the little ones."
"Your brothers and sister."
"Yes. I think they'd like to meet you." Then, as Q sniffles loudly, he adds, "Not while you're like this, though."
Maturely, like the adult (no matter what Bond thinks about his age) he is, Q sticks his tongue out at him. Then something occurs to him. "What about Jilly?"
"She's with Colin today," M says casually, still working at preparing the soup. "The kids have been wanting to see her, and Colin says that Jim needs the company too."
Q narrows his eyes at M, suspicious. M's neighbour doesn't randomly mind M's sweet Scotch Collie unless M asks, no matter how much Colin's grandchildren and his dog love her. M tries to keep his face neutral, but he can't help the smile.
"You planned this," Q says accusingly, and M breaks into a grin. Q's indignation would be more convincing and less amusing if he wasn't still wrapped up in his blanket cocoon. "You are sly, I think our Miss Moneypenny has some competition."
"Oh, I don't think any of us could compete with her."
"Quite right. I suppose you think that I'll let you sleep in my bed tonight?"
"Yes, I do." M has three suits in Q's closet and a stash of casual wear in one of his dresser drawers, he knows that Q is just trying to tease.
Q sighs and settles in, pulling his blanket tighter around him. "You're lucky I love you."
"Yes, I am," M agrees, and Q smiles back at him.