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The Birthday Boy Is Sick

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“Q?” Bond knocked on the door to Q’s flat in the early morning. The door clicked, and opened automatically, and shut it closed once Bond entered the flat. “Q? Where are you?” He called out.


No response.


Bond went upstairs and barged into Q’s bedroom. “Happy 27th— oh, fuck.” Bond cursed, and gagged softly, dropping the box of cake and some presents for Q upon seeing the barf bucket hanging on the hook next to his bed.

Q winced slightly as he struggled to open his eyes. “Why are you here, Bond?” He mumbled. “It’s your birthday, Q. Don’t you remember?” Bond replied, picking up the boxes on the floor and placing them on Q’s desk. “Oh, um—” Q sat up slowly but the bile in his stomach shot up his throat and made him vomit into his barf bucket.


Bond couldn’t watch. He had an empty stomach on that day.


“I’m sorry, Bond. I had a recurring stomach flu. Thank you for coming today.” Q smiled weakly. “It’s okay,” Bond smiled. “You’re hot.” Bond uttered when he perched on the side of the bed, helping Q get into a comfortable position. “Thanks.” Q blushed. “No Q, I meant, your body temperature is questionably high. I think you’ve got pyrexia. Were you febrile when you had the stomach flu?” Bond queried.


“I don’t know, honestly.” Q was a little taken back. He thought Bond was flirting with him.


“Do you have a thermometer?”


Q nodded. “Under the desk. Inside the first aid kit.”


Bond got out of Q’s huge sized bed and took the thermometer from the first aid kit as told. He then returned back to the bed and sterilised it with a disinfectant wipe.


“Here comes the aeroplane, say Ahhhh..” Bond teased.


“God, Bond. Stop it. I’m not a child.” Q huffed, pushing away the thermometer.


“Okay, okay. Just let me measure your temperature.” Bond smirked. He then placed the thermometer inside Q’s mouth.


After a minute of silence, Bond took out the thermometer from Q’s mouth and smiled.




“It’s just a mild pyrexia. Thank god. But I’ll have to get you some medication.”


“Ugh. I hate medicine.” Q growled.


“It’s just to help you feel better, Q. I’ll be back in the late afternoon. Get some rest.” Bond reassured Q.


Q nodded, watching Bond leave and took a nap shortly after. He woke up a few times to use the washroom, and sometimes to vomit.


When Bond returned in the late afternoon, Q was daydreaming.


“I’m going to make you some soup, and after you finished that, you’re going to take your medication.” Bond said.


“Okay.” Q replied, gutted that he still had to take medication.


An hour passed and Bond came into Q’s room once again. This time, he brought a bowl of soup. “What’s that?” Q asked. “Cold-Busting Ginger Chicken Noodle Soup. It’s great for stomach problems.”

“Looks disgusting,” Q uttered.


“My aunt used to make this when I had an upset stomach. It tastes better than anything.” Bond smiled smugly.


“I don’t believe you, Bond.” Q looked him in the eye, frowning slightly.


“Please, just take one bite. If it really is that bad, I’ll finish it for you.”


“Fine.” Q sighed. “Ahhhh…” Bond teased once again when he lifted the spoon.


“For the last time, Bond, I’m not a goddamn child. I can eat on my own.” Q whined.


“You’re sick. I’m going to feed you till you feel better.” Bond blowed on the spoon, moving it closer to Q’s lips.


Q rolled his eyes and drank the soup from the spoon. He was relieved that the soup was soothing to his upset stomach.

“How’s the taste?” Bond asked, removing the spoon from Q’s mouth and grabbing a fork from the nightstand.


“Meh. If my aunt was alive, I bet she’d make a soup better than your aunt.” Q lied through his teeth.


Bond snickered softly. “Thanks for the compliment, Q. Try the noodles, will you?”


Q nodded as the fork filled with noodles entered his mouth. He chewed softly, and was delighted at the taste. “It’s delicious.” He told the truth this time.


“Thank you.” Bond smiled.


They were silent for a short while before Bond continued feeding Q.


Bond also had a bowl of noodles after feeding Q before he washed the dishes and got a glass of water for Q.


“Here’s a glass of water, Q. I’m going to go through the medication with you. One bottle of Pepto-Bismol, drink one dose of it when needed, most preferably when you get stomach upsets. One packet of Paracetamol, take one capsule thrice a day after meals. And lastly, a bottle of Diphenhydramine—”


“You don’t need to go into detail, Bond. You’re not a doctor. Besides, the pharmacist has kindly indicated the dosage in a sticker pasted on each medication.” Q shrugged.


“Okay,” Bond realised that he was starting to annoy Q. “Take your Paracetamol first.”


Bond took one capsule from a packet and handed it to Q. Q placed it at the tip of his tongue, and swallowed it hesitantly with a few sips of water.

“It’s bitter. I don’t like it at all.” Q stuck out his tongue at the horrific taste.


“I’m sorry, but you have to take it anyway. Drink the Diphenhydramine and the Pepto-Bismol and you’ll be all set for a goodnight’s sleep.” Bond smiled.


Q nodded as he watched Bond poured a dose of Diphenhydramine and Pepto-Bismol into a small measuring spoon, then he drank it, feeling better after having to swallow the a capsule of Paracetamol.


“It tastes like Wintergreen.”


“You like it?”




A little while after Bond helped Q wash up, Q was getting ready for bed.


“I don’t want to sleep just yet, Bond.”


“Well, the drowsiness will kick in soon, so you’re free to do anything you want for a short while, I guess.” Bond replied.


Q smiled. “I guess M’s going to miss his quartermaster and agent, don’t you think?”


“Yeah. I’ve requested for a day off to take care of you.” Bond said. His eyes lit up for a second and got the boxes from Q’s desk. “Before it’s too late, open up your presents.”


“You actually remembered? After these hours of me being a brat when you had to take care of me?” Q was surprised, smirking slightly.


“Of course. You’re my quartermaster, after all.”


Q unwrapped his presents and was ecstatic. “Oh my god. Thank you Bond.” He got a tablet, a new laptop, and some clothes.


“You’re welcome.”


A few minutes later, Q was laying down on his bed, feeling way drowsier than before. Bond was next to him, accompanying Q while talking about the things he did yesterday.


“Hey.. Bond..?”




“I fucking love you.” Q said before drifting off.


“I fucking love you too, quartermaster. Get well soon, so I can fuck you in the arse.”


A slow smile spread across Q’s lips.


“Happy 27th birthday, Quartermaster.” Bond said before the clock strikes midnight.