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Q made a grabby hand gesture towards the white and red patterned bowl full of green curry with rice swimming in it, just the way he liked it. James smiled and passed it to Alec who settled on the bed and then set it on the lap desk Siger brought into bed with him.
“I can feed myself, Alec. I promise. Sherlock only broke my dominant arm… five -- no six -- times between the ages of seven and sixteen. So I know how to handle any utensil, including a soldering iron, with my left hand.” And so proving, he took up the orange lily patterned ceramic spoon Alec had brought back from a trip to China long before Q had come into their lives.
James re-appeared with a smile and the pale gold japanese tea set for four from the last mission he was dispatched on. It took Q six months after the three of them had started dating for James to figure out the tea. They both refused to let Alec cook -- or anywhere near the kitchen if fire was involved.
Siger flashed his other lover a grateful smile and then ducked his head to concentrate on his meal, only startling slightly when Alec pressed fingers to his chin and tilts his face towards himself.
“Six times?”
“Pushed out of a tree, slipped while climbing along some rocks on the coast -- water and algae --, knocked down the front steps because Sherlock was more focused on getting a pendulum to swing at the correct tempo than warning me it was there,” He spoons up another bite of curry while he arranges the order of incidents in his mind, “Hmm… Tension on a beanbag launcher was too high, hit me in the lower arm, snapped the radial bone. Slipping off a roof and twisting wrong when Sherlock startled me -- I guess Mycroft technically broke my arm since he grabbed me and I got a greenstick fracture from that… and there was the time Sherlock was learning to drive and took a turn too fast which threw me into the passenger side door at an odd angle which cracked the same radial bone from the beanbag incident.”
James and Alec both stare at him for a few moments. Siger shrugs once and then grimaces. James holds the cup of jasmine tea and allows his lover to take a sip before the man goes back after more curry.
“And how many times did you break his?” Alec growls, green eyes holding an odd light that James knows to be wary of.
“Hmm. Three. Mother allowed us slingshots one summer. That didn’t go over so well. Hit him with a rock just wrong. I was eight. There was the time the three of us were arguing applied physics while sitting on the roof of the shed. I tossed a different text at ‘Lock, he missed the catch and leaned too far over, hit the ground. I actually heard the crack. Could see bone poking through the flesh. I think it took Mycroft five minutes to stop puking. Huh. Never really got over being squeamish about blood.” Q tapped the spoon against his lower lip for a moment and absently licked at the bits of curry and rice that stuck to the ceramic.
“Last time? He was nineteen. We were out on our uncle’s farm. Mother’s brother. Don’t know if it counts or not, but they had a rope swing over a pond. Some how, Sherlock was off in his own head and didn’t see the oak swing flying towards him. Hit him in the arm, managed to be his left arm, not his right. Broke the ulna, with small fragments flying off. Radial was fine. It was most often inattention on our parts that led to broken bones, Alec. We were never deliberately cruel to each other.”
“Why weren’t child welfare called? That many incidents --” Alec started. Q shook his head.
“When your father was a high ranked government official? It was kept pretty hushed up. Besides, we could prove that our parents never laid a hand on us in anger. Mycroft broke his leg once. Horse riding accident. Sherlock has broken his hands more often than either of the others of us. John carries finger splints as a matter of course.”
“That’s why you aren’t writhing in pain about the shoulder.” James murmured, proffering the cup before stealing a quick kiss.
“Mmm.” Siger agreed before frowning down at the still half full bowl of curry.
“Done?”
“No. Just the medication making me a bit sleepy.” Q denied, spooning up another chunk of chicken and rice and lovely spiciness. “So, where is our Ulster shooter?”
“At Six, in a cell. Doctors gave him treatment. When Alec and I left the office, Control was trying to get the bastard transferred to Five.”
Q shook his head, “There is no way Mallory will let him go since I was actually bloody shot. He’s ours until we turn him over. How hard was he to get to the car, James?”
“I dragged him down every flight of stairs by his ankles, trussed up like a christmas goose. And gagged, so he didn’t make much noise. He’ll be able to talk. But he’s got one hell of a lump on the back of his head.” James’ smile was bloodthirsty.
“Five cleaned up the scene with the second shooter. Clean shot, aimed for the chest.” Alec said. Siger only nodded and took a sip of his tea from James.
“You mangled his knee. That was not a clean shot, Alec. Ulster was howling.”
“I heard. Rather inventive cursing streak from the man.” Siger agreed. Alec rolled his eyes and opened his mouth when a spoonful of curry was thrust in his direction. He ate it and then hissed. James passed him a cup of the tea with a fond smile.
“Bloody boffin, that shit is spicy!” Alec muttered, for the spice level was just a few units too high for his preferences, but he’d still eat it, especially if Q offered some.
“No, it is authentic. And my second favourite curry shop. Even if I am eating it multi-culturally.” Q argued with a fond quirk of his lips. He didn’t tend to share his food. Too many years of living with brothers that would have stolen his plate out from under him just to see what they could determine about his mental state by what he was eating.
Alec shook his head. “Japanese tea set, Chinese spoon, English ceramic, and Thai food. Ah, the Empire was grand.”
James and Q snorted right on cue. Ceramic clattered against ceramic and Q finished his tea. James scooped up the bowl, Alec whisked away the lap desk and dimmed the lights. Alec’s fingers gently removed Q’s glasses and set them on the bedside table. James returned with a pain pill and a glass of water. Siger took the pill and drank from the glass. Then both Agents crawled into bed, pinning their boffin between them.
James and Alec got comfortable, Alec pressing soft, butterfly kisses against closed hazel eyes, fingers tracing gently over soft skin. James cradled him possessively to his chest, arm wrapped low over Q’s hips, lips pressing against the back of his neck, careful not to jar his shoulder. Q sighed, content.
Neither of his Agents would ever say they were worried. It wasn’t a macho thing, it was more that if they said they were worried, they would never stop thinking about it. Not acknowledging that Q had almost been killed was their way of coping with the fact. Q understood it, to some extent. It was hard not to have picked up bits of psychology with Sherlock in the same house growing up. He also accepted it and allowed his lovers to confirm for themselves that he was there, alive, and mostly well.
They did this every time something went wrong in fabrication as well. If he came out with so much as a soot smudge, they were cuddling him in bed that evening, or whenever they found out about the incident.
“James?”Siger asked as a thought occurred to him.
“Yes, love?”
“The building our Ulster shooter was using, didn’t it have a lift?”
“Yes, but I prefered to take the stairs. The man’s head made a very lovely thudding sound on each step.”
Siger only huffed. “Of course you did. Go to sleep, Double-oh Seven.”
“Good night, Quartermaster.” was murmured in stereo. Q smiled and allowed his eyes to flutter closed, surrounded by safety.