Work Text:
Blueberry Pancakes
Unfortunately, it wasn’t that often that James woke up in his bed, surrounded by warm blankets with the sunlight streaming in from the only half-lowered blinds and onto his face like some kind of evanescent caress - it wasn’t often that he slept in so late, either: a career in the Navy and his Double-Oh training had shaped him to be… well, not a morning person because he didn’t exactly enjoy waking up at dawn when everything was seemingly wrapped up in humid and ghostly vapours, but it had definitely conditioned him into getting up early even when he had absolutely no reason to do so.
It was a surprise, a rather pleasant one.
It was just a shame that his alien wasn’t there with him, his handsy tentacles nowhere in sight, despite the fact that James knew he wasn’t scheduled to go to work until the early afternoon - unless an emergency had cropped up but in that case, he doubted the house would have been pregnant with the scent of breakfast; he wasn’t sure which kind yet, his nose seemed determined to smell only the scent of freshly brewed coffee but there was something else there. Something warm and buttery but with an acidic sting to it that made him suspect of fruit being involved in whatever on earth Q was cooking.
That was something else that happened quite rarely: not only Q wasn’t a morning person either but when he left to his own devices, he tended to go for something pre-packaged and pre-cooked that required the minimum effort of sticking it in the microwave - the only thing he could be assed to properly prepare in the mornings was tea for himself and coffee for James when he was around to actually partake in the ritual of sharing a breakfast of sorts together.
It was mildly perplexing that the alien hated cooking so much: Q loved human food - he was obsessed with it, in fact; he liked trying new cuisines from around the world and he enjoyed going on hunts for the most niche restaurants he could find in his little explorative missions around London. James had been delightfully dragged from holes-in-the-wall to market carts more times than he could remember and while he had never quite fallen out of London, he didn’t think it was actually possible for him to, but Q’s enthusiastic energy had helped James remember exactly how much he loved the city.
James rolled to the side and glanced at the alarm clock from atop the pillow firmly enclosed in his arms, squinting a little to put the numbers into focus because of the sun shining against the display, blurring the numbers into bright red nothingness that almost hurt to look at.
10:16 AM.
Well that was far later than even he liked to sleep in and why was Q even making breakfast at that time of the morning? They might as well have waited for lunch - or maybe he was making some kind of brunch, though James wasn’t really keen on that option since he scents wafting through the flat didn’t promise the variety one usually enjoyed at brunch. Definitely, there were some savoury scents missing and if there was something they both enjoyed at brunch, it was eggs on toast.
So, a very late breakfast.
It was highly unusual but James could roll with it, once he made sure that the reason why Q was cooking in the first place and so late in the morning at that wasn’t just a way to deal with something stressful that had dawned on him, sometime between when James had passed out around midnight - the exhaustion of the mission and of the tense talk he had had with Q in the bathroom catching up on him - and whatever time the other had gotten up. James really have must been deeply asleep to not notice the moment when the mattress moved when Q had gotten out of bed, first dipping even further when he had sat up and then rising back to its original form when the other had gotten his feet to the ground and pushed up to get himself in an upright stance; again, it was unlike him to sleep so deeply and James turned around once again, this time with a slightly irritated huff as he tried to shake away the nagging voice at the back of his mind that constantly reminded him of the fact he wasn't exactly a young and spry thing anymore, that age was catching up with him - relatively slow but inexorable, his time upon the Earth wearing at his bones like water shaping rocks with its incessant flowing.
He had never made a mystery of the fact that he had troubles accepting the fact that constant training wasn’t enough to keep him frozen in his early thirties, his reflexes sharp and his body honed into a perfectly oiled killing machine in the name of Queen and Country - no, everyone at MI6 knew that he wasn’t ready to retire.
To throw in the towel.
Simply put, James had never thought he would survive so long out in the field, not with a Double-Oh designation weighing down on his shoulders and making him a particularly bright target; he would have attracted trouble even if he had been less inclined to mischief than he actually was, the way calmer and more collected colleagues who had died while on service where a proof of that. So, James hadn’t thought he would live to his fortieth birthday - let alone to his forty-fifth in just a few months: he hadn’t planned for retirement and he had very stubbornly refused to do so even when it became more and more likely that he would actually live to perceive a pension with nothing in front of him but days languidly stretching on and on like waves lazily lapping at the shore. But now he had Q in his life, someone he actually shared his life and his spaces with: his future was going to be a series of moments like the one that was unfolding that morning, James stretched alone in bed while Q got ready to go on about his day, and no matter how useless it made him feel when he contemplated the prospect of his business being only made up of chores and errands, James knew that he owed it to Q to start planning.
However, that wasn’t the day he would do it: his heart and mind weren’t in it, the fear of becoming obsolete still entrenched deep in his marrow like some kind of cancer he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to eradicate.
“Oh, you’re awake”
James quirked up an eyebrow at Q’s adorably surprised expression; like usual, his tentacles were freely hanging around his head, constantly twitching and moving, and he wasn’t wearing much so that the changing hues of his skin would be easily visible and open to interpretation - the display of trust was so heartwarming that it was enough to chase away the gloominess that had momentarily taken possession of him “And you’re cooking”
“Uh” Q felt the neon pink flush spreading in swirls “I wanted to apologise?”
“For what?”
“Last night?”
James sat up as he shook his head "No, darling. You have absolutely nothing to apologise for" he reassured, patting on the mess of tangled blankets so that the alien would come and curl up next to him "Never apologise for anything that worries you"
"But I made you worry"
He took the other's hand and brought it to his mouth to bestow a kiss upon those knuckles, uncaring of the way the tentacles reached for him - greedy little things that needed the physical touch, the tenderness inherent in being simply accepted rather than being swatted away like some kind of annoying fly "A little but I was worried only because I was concerned that something bad had happened - something that I couldn't help with" James explained in a murmur full of fondness and devotion, trying to convey in every way possible that he meant every single word he had said.
Q scuttled closer, leaning against the other's side - warm and solid, he knew that no matter whatever problem he would have to face, James would be able to hold him up; of course that wasn't a good reason to push everything onto the other's shoulders, the fact that James was happy to help and be his rock didn't mean that Q had to lean too heavily onto him "I still am sorry, I hate to see you worried"
"And I hate to see you all twisted up in your own anxieties" James curled a tentacle around his finger, grinning with satisfaction when stars started blinking on the other's skin "Never apologise for the way you feel. Please"
"Okay"
"Promise me?"
Q rolled his eyes - not that he was bothered in the least by the other’s care and protectiveness "Yes, I promise" he leaned in and kissed the agent’s forehead, revelling in the smallest of touches they got to share “I just thought bringing you breakfast in bed would be nice”
“It would be” James leaned back with his arms crossed behind his head, propped up by an unholy amount of pillows that, while it was a byproduct of Q’s rather obsessive attachment to anything even remotely fluffy and soft, he loved more than he was ever going to admit out loud “So, what are you waiting for?”
“Brat”
“Are you complaining?”
Q complained plenty about anything and everything, James’ pesky habit of destroying equipment and getting into the worst situations included but he didn’t think he would ever complain about the man simply being himself - he wouldn’t have loved James otherwise but only a ghost made up by his mind, some kind of fantasy that would never do justice to the man himself, stretched out before him in flesh and bones “Stay there”
“Yessir”
Getting out of the bedroom and back to the kitchen almost physically hurt and Q had to pace himself as he put the breakfast on a tray, as artfully as possible as he remembered that James had eaten breakfast in the classiest, chicest, most elegant restaurants and hotel in the world; in comparison, the dark coffee poured in a cut mug and the rickety tower of slightly overcooked blueberry pancakes didn’t look like much - still, James smiled wide when he saw them, fork digging happily into the batter as if the most delicious meal had been set in front of him.
Q knew he would never love anyone else more.