Work Text:
Q was sick, James was sure of it. His reactions were slower, his eyes were red from rubbing them, and he frequently stopped working: fingers hovering over the keyboard and staring into space. On their own those symptoms didn’t necessarily translate to cold because they could all also be symptoms of overtiredness. Q was working on some kind of system update and had been pulling sixteen-hour days for almost a week now.
But then at lunchtime Q sneezed, and James knew for sure. He suggested Q go home and get some rest. Q told him in no uncertain terms that he did not get ill, thank you very much, and if Bond had nothing better to do than hang around bothering him then perhaps he should be assigned something to do.
Bond hastened off because Q had carried out that threat exactly once before. It had ended with a minor government catastrophe, a horse trapped in a lift, and James having to sleep on the couch for a week.
He was slacking off in the breakroom when Q came in, stumbling like a zombie and mumbling incoherently.
“You are sick, love,” James said. “Go home.”
Q scowled at him petulantly, looking all of about five years old. He downed half a bottle of cold medicine, which made Eve wince and James roll his eyes, and insisted he would be perfectly fine. James watched him go.
“I feel like I need to take an antibacterial bath just looking at him,” Eve commented.
James nodded.
“We need to get sneaky. Can you book me a meeting room?”
Eve lured Q to Meeting Room Nine with a made-up emergency. Bond slammed the door shut and locked Q in.
“There’s blankets and a flask of tea. Take a nap.”
Q gave him a look and then opened the door with his keycard.
“I’m involved in the security of this building,” Q commented. “Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to get out?”
So Q went back to Q Branch and Bond went back to scheming.
“Someone’s breaking into our flat, we’ve got to home!"
“That’s a lie. I’ve got the place under surveillance.”
“M needs you to sign something. He’s in Camden and he was wondering-“
“I know M is upstairs. He just messaged me.”
“There’s-“
“No.”
At exactly five pm, Q shut down his work and deigned to let Bond drive him home where he promptly fell asleep. James sighed and ran a hand through his boyfriend’s dark curls.
“Idiot,” he murmured softly.
James slept on the sofa that night so he didn’t disturb Q. When he woke it was to the sounds of Q collecting his things to leave. James tried to sit up. He ached. His nose was blocked. Q came over to him looking bright eyed and healthy, the git.
“Maybe you better stay home today,” Q said.
“I hate you,” James tried to say but sneezed instead.
Q just grinned and handed him a bottle of cold medicine.