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“Myc?”
“Hm?” Mycroft glanced up from his laptop. Greg sat at the other end of the sofa, tucked into the corner in his socked feet.
“What’s my codename?”
Mycroft raised his eyebrows, closing his laptop and turning to fully face Greg. “What makes you think you have a codename?”
Greg rolled his eyes. “Are you really writing ‘Gregory David Lestrade’ on every bit of paperwork you’ve got to file about me? With how private you are?”
“What makes you think I file paperwork about you?” Mycroft countered.
Greg laughed. “I had to sign some of it. My name was redacted with those black squares, but there weren’t enough to be covering my full legal name. You’ve got a shorthand for me.”
“Yes,” Mycroft said, eyeing him. “The paperwork simply said ‘Lestrade.’ ”
“No, it didn’t.”
They stared at each other, Greg’s challenging expression meeting Mycroft’s stony gaze.
Mycroft let his facade crack, though, deciding that this was Greg. His Greg. He couldn’t play interrogation with him.
“Ha!” Greg said, grinning broadly. “Gotcha, love. You let me win that, didn’t you?”
Mycroft shrugged. “Fine. You have a codename.”
Greg pumped a triumphant fist in the air. “Knew I was cool enough. What is it?”
Mycroft considered putting up yet more of a playful fight, but decided to let this one slide. “Chimaera,” he answered simply.
“Chimaera? Like the— er, the… Greek? Thing?”
“No,” Mycroft sniffed. “Well, yes. But it references Mount Chimaera, in this case. Of ancient Lycia.”
Greg raised his eyebrows, obviously waiting for Mycroft to go on.
Mycroft hesitated, almost wanting to keep this card close to his chest, but soon relented under Greg’s gaze. “Lycia was a region of Anatolia. Today’s location of Turkey, approximately. Along the Mediterranean Sea.”
“Okay…”
“Mount Chimaera is today thought to be Yanartaş.”
“Still don’t get why that’s got a thing to do with me,” Greg said, grinning. “I’m not Turkish, love. French, maybe.”
“I am aware.”
Greg stared at him a long time, challenging.
Mycroft sighed, reluctantly divulging the last of the story. “Mount Chimaera was said to burn with a neverending flame. The phenomenon is attributed to gas vents today, of course. But it persists. Many small fires burn across the surface nearly constantly.”
“But why…?” Greg frowned at him for a few seconds before the information processed. His face opened, a crooked smile crossing his face. “Oooh. And did you pick this codename?” he asked. “How long ago?”
“Ten years, at least. When you first encountered my brother.” Mycroft’s ears were burning.
“And you were already Antarctica at the time?”
“Yes.”
“So…” Greg laughed a little, the noise dangerously approaching a giggle. “You’re the forever-frozen tundra, or whatever, and I’m the mountain that never stops burning?”
Mycroft nodded, feeling warmth spread across his face.
Greg could barely get the words out around his definite giggles, now. “Did you really name us fire and ice, love?”
He was blushing. Mycroft knew he was blushing. He decided not to dignify that with an answer, knowing it was already on his face.
“Only you,” Greg said fondly amid his fit of giggles. “Only you would… Christ. Alright.” Greg took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. “Cool story,” he said, settling back into the cushions and pulling out his mobile. “Chimaera. I like it. Thanks.”
“You are ever so welcome,” Mycroft said icily.
Greg just grinned at him.
They settled into comfortable silence, Mycroft refocusing on his laptop and Greg scrolling idly on his phone. Ridiculous man. He really was. Perhaps it was a foolishly sentimental name. But Mycroft did quite like it. And it had turned out to be a rather good symbol of their relationship’s eventual success.
“Hey, Mycroft,” Greg said suddenly, glancing up from his phone.
Mycroft hummed questioningly.
“I’m reading the Wikipedia page for ‘chimaera,’ ” Greg began.
“Oh, dear. What now?”
“...And it says the chimaera was ‘of divine stock,’ at least according to Homer,” Greg said, grinning. He waited a moment, hesitating until Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “Does that mean you were callin’ me holy?”
This time, Mycroft threw a pillow at him, fighting back his smile.