Work Text:
Q a fairytale of London.
It was Christmas eve in M16, and Q was sick. Not sick enough to go to medical or even sick enough that Moneypenny would make M send him home. Just sick, and stuffy, his head hurt, his nose was running, he thought he might just lose a lung to the coughing. All he wanted to do was to curl up in his bed and have James bring him soup. Alas this was not to be, he still had some coding he had to finish, and James was away, in Toronto of all places. An important assignment, but without much danger, and not a large change of James accidently blowing up the CN Tower. So Happy Christmas.
Q woke up to Moneypenny touching his hair. “Go home Q. It’s Christmas you need to sleep where you won’t have circuitry stuck to you head. I’ll call your car.”
Q climbed into the car, that seemed to him to be as big as a bar. He thought back to that first cold christmas with Bond. They had held hands as they ran from the bunker that Q had rigged to explode. It sure hadn’t stayed cold for long, that was one big fire ball, Q smiled to himself as he fell asleep in the car, dreaming of James.
When he arrived at his flat, the driver had to half carry him to the door, Q barely managed from there. He had to try three times to get the voice activated lock to open, his cough keeping the AI from understanding him. When he finally got in the cats moved around his legs so he almost fell over. He dragged himself into the kitchen and fed the cats. Not even having the energy to make himself a cup of tea he moved into the living room, he opened his diary and started to write, mostly feverish gibberish about James bloody Bond, and how he couldn’t be arsed to be here for christmas when Q needed him for tea and cuddles. He fell asleep drooling into the journal, with the bells ringing out for Christmas Day.
Hours later he was jarred out of sleep with a hand running through his hair. He reached for the stun gun he kept under his pillow, but of course that wasn’t under the pillows of the couch. Luckily for the agent who had brought tea. “James, how, what, you’re not supposed to be here. What about the mission.?”
“Q, luv, it’s a fluff mission, I could do it with my eyes closed. It is gathering intelligence from an accountant, a Canadian accountant, for that matter.”
“A Canadian mob accountant, to be fair.” Q mumbled.
“Yes Q, a very scary Canadian mob accountant, who was under the impression, I was an equally scary British accountant. I told him I had to go home for a family emergency, he’s expecting me back after the new year. Which is when his mob contact will be visiting, so really there is nothing I’m missing there.” James made Q sit up and drink his tea. They sat in the shimmering glow of the fairy lights Q had put up to cheer himself up. The gifts wrapped under the tree, the ones Q had hidden away from James, bloody spies and their ninja finding gift skills. Mixed together with gifts James must have brought with him. Q sighed and fell back asleep with his agent next to him, with thoughts of fairy tales coming true, and dreams built around the spy who loved him. But then Q was sick and his brain was still foggy, later he would wake up feeling better and give James a stern talking to about abandoning a mission, but that would be later, after Q gave James his gift. After all it was Christmas , James deserved his pen, abandoned mission or not.