Dancing in Circles (00Q)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Q didn't even raise his eyes from the monitor he was looking at when he heard the heavy noise of a package landing on his desk "Good morning to you too"
Mathilde kicked the other chair free from under the desk and sprawled on it, flicking her blond fringe out of her face "Dad told me to give you that"
"Last time I checked, your father is perfectly aware of what's my address of residence"
"He's also perfectly aware that you won't open any packages anymore since you almost got killed by that bomb letter a couple of years ago"
Fair.
Q sighed and grabbed the package before leaning back in his chair "Where is he now - diving around the Maldives?" if there was something Bond had never lost the pleasure of doing, it was travelling and he had plenty of money set aside from a life given to Queen and Country that he could satisfy his wanderlust without worrying about his financial situation.
"Skyiing in Switzerland"
"Tame"
"You really don't want to see what kind of slopes he's hurtling down of"
"Is he visiting your mother?" the words were out of his mouth before Q could even think of restraining himself from asking; Bond's intentions definitely weren't his business and if the man wanted to visit his ex-wife - to talk about their daughter or whatever - that was between the two of them. Still, he could admit at least to himself that he was immensely glad of sharing Mathilde's confidence, hanging from her lips and busying himself with opening the package as he waited for her answer.
Mathilde shrugged "Fuck if I know" she sighed, ignoring the scolding glance the other man sent her way "I'm glad that they still talk but you know, sometimes I just wish they didn't - they got divorced for a reason and that reason is that they can actually bear each other's presence for a limited amount of time"
"I'm sure that's reductive"
"True but still-" Mathilde leaned over, elbows firmly planted on Q's desk to see what her father had sent him "Is is postcards again? You know, you should tell him to send you something less lame" it was a cheap jab and after a couple of years of trying to get a reaction out of Q, she knew that in no way the other man would tell her the reason behind her father's compulsive postcards gathering - she just knew that her father painstakingly chose them and that their sight never failed to make Q smile one of those small and private smiles that made her itch to know what exactly was going on.
(Continues on ao3)