Title: Disaster Management
Fandom: Guardian
Rating: G
Length: ~1900 words
Notes: Da Qing & Zhao Yunlan, Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan pre-relationship; set during episode 9, before the trip to the mountains. Contains: food, slapstick, Zhao Yunlan being a train wreck. Also for extrapenguin's prompt, Zhao Yunlan, "It is because you are stupid and I am smarter than you." Many thanks to trobadora for help when I got stuck and mergatrude for beta. <3 No warnings apply.
Summary: Zhao Yunlan dealing with the concept of fresh vegetables; Da Qing dealing with Zhao Yunlan.


Da Qing jumped through the window and down onto the bed with such feline stealth that Lao Zhao didn’t even notice.

But then, Lao Zhao was currently standing with an open bottle of beer in one hand and staring into the refrigerator, a look of confused dismay on his face. The only surprising part being that he’d opened the fridge in the first place.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing a hazmat suit?” asked Da Qing.

Lao Zhao shut the fridge door, then opened it again, like he just needed to check. “There are vegetables.”

“Are they growing out of last month’s leftovers?” Da Qing shifted into human form, left his jacket on the floor with his shoes, and padded over in stocking feet to peer past Lao Zhao’s shoulder, bracing himself for the stench.

Lao Zhao was so bad at cleaning that Da Qing had been forced to lower his standards in self-defence. Otherwise, he’d be spending every spare moment washing Lao Zhao’s dishes, picking up his dirty laundry and cleaning the toilet. It was much less effort to accept the chaos and work around it, even if it did get really gross sometimes.

But now the interior of the fridge glowed white and clean; there were no rotting leftovers or slimy wizened things in takeout containers. Now, on the middle shelf, in pride of place, there were fresh carrots, a cabbage, beansprouts, a carton of eggs, and three packets of tofu that looked like they hadn’t even reached their use-by date.

“Huh.” Da Qing looked around the flat, paying attention this time. The dumbbells were stacked against the wall, the bed was made – though the covers were slightly rumpled where Da Qing had landed just now – and Lao Zhao’s clothes were in a neatly folded stack at the foot of the bed. Even the stale mouldy sock smell had gone. It was like someone had made a brand new flat and put it where their old place had been.

Come to think of it, it had been like this when Da Qing brought news of Wang Zheng’s collapse early this morning. “Hey, did you clean up to impress Professor Shen?”

“What? No!” Lao Zhao closed the fridge and leaned back against it while he rubbed his face. “It’s not like I invited him over.” He took a sip of beer and grimaced as he swallowed.

“Exactly how out of it were you last night?”

“Can’t remember.” Lao Zhao squinted at nothing for a moment, then shook himself. “I need to pack for tomorrow.”

They were setting off for the northwest mountains early the next morning. Usually packing involved picking their clothes off the floor, sorting out which were whose, and then sniffing them to see what was still clean enough to wear. They were going to need a different method this time.

“Have you eaten anything? Let’s eat first.” Da Qing shoved him towards the couch. “I want dumplings.”

“Order whatever you want. I’ll just have a lollipop later.” Lao Zhao went to the cupboard by the bathroom and pulled their rucksacks off the top shelf. Stubborn bastard!

Da Qing put his hands on his hips and refused to play along. “Are you trying to make yourself sick again? Shall I go across the hall and tell Professor Shen to come and nurse you back to health? I’m not going to do it.”

Lao Zhao scowled. “Fine. I’ll make ramen.”

“There are vegetables in the fridge. There’s eggs.”

Lao Zhao didn’t dignify that with an answer. He went into the kitchen and stopped dead, looking around at the gleaming surfaces and orderly ranks of kitchen implements as if he’d taken a wrong turn and walked onto the bridge of a spaceship.

Da Qing couldn’t blame him: the idea of cooking without first digging the least dirty saucepan out of the pile and washing it was so foreign, it was disconcerting. How could that not throw off your whole rhythm? There was no way Lao Zhao was responsible for this transformation.

“Wait, did the professor do this?” He sidled up beside Lao Zhao. It was only yesterday morning that Lao Zhao had tried to give Professor Shen his own books as a present and Professor Shen had walked off without a word. Da Qing tried to keep the awe out of his voice. “Was he the one who brought the carrots?”

“I’m ordering dumplings.” Lao Zhao turned on his heel, got out his phone and headed for the couch.

“Hey, the professor didn’t go to the trouble of cleaning up just so you could order takeout.” Da Qing sat on the arm of the couch and lay along its back, letting his feet dangle. He patted Lao Zhao’s arm. “Aww, you don’t want to mess up his hard work. That’s sweet.”

“That level of hygiene is unhealthy. How are you supposed to build up your immune system?” Lao Zhao was still frowning, but he hadn’t unlocked his phone. “And for all we know, Shen Wei’s just cosying up to me so he can snoop around and keep digging into the SID. You know, if he is from Dixing, he’s playing a dangerous game. One slip, and I could tip off the Envoy.”

“Ah, he knows you wouldn’t do that. And he’s not after information…” Da Qing trailed off suggestively.

Lao Zhao leaned his head back and groaned. “After yesterday, why would he want anything else?”

Da Qing rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like Lao Zhao to be this down on himself; his blood sugar must really need a boost. “He cleaned your fridge! You weren’t keeping secret files under those ancient jars of pickles. He must be head over heels to have gone that far.” He flopped down to the cushions and put his head in Lao Zhao’s lap. “Are you going to order dumplings or what?”

“It’s not like that. I’ve given him plenty of opportunities, and he never—” Lao Zhao flicked his fingernail against his beer bottle frustratedly, then took a long swallow. “I blew it the moment he saw this place. He thinks I’m a train wreck. He said I need a babysitter.”

“Well, you are and you do. So what? Did he volunteer for the position?”

Lao Zhao looked away. A slight flush crept down his neck. “He turned it down.”

“You asked him to babysit you?!” Da Qing felt his eyes widen. That was feline levels of shameless, even for Lao Zhao.

“I asked him to cons—”

Whatever Lao Zhao had asked was interrupted by a polite knock on the door. Lao Zhao sat bolt upright, sending Da Qing tumbling off the couch to the floor, where he banged his arm against the leg of the coffee table. “Ow!”

“That’s him,” hissed Lao Zhao.

They both tried to stand up at the same time, in the space between the couch and the coffee table, and Da Qing head-butted Lao Zhao’s hip just as he was turning, so he tripped and they fell back together onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. Lao Zhao’s beer spilled everywhere. “Fuck!”

There was another knock.

“Just a sec!” yelled Lao Zhao, shoving Da Qing aside and making for the door. Da Qing got himself right-way up, scrubbed his hand over the wet patches on his overalls and knelt on the couch to watch.

But Lao Zhao only got halfway to the door before he veered off. He scooped the rucksacks off the bedroom floor and tossed them into the bathroom, and then did the same to Da Qing’s jacket and shoes. Then he disappeared into the bathroom himself, and there was the sound of running water. Finally he came out, having clearly tried to wash the spilled beer out of his t-shirt, and dashed to answer the door.

No one was there. He slumped against the doorjamb, his wet t-shirt sticking to his ribs. “Shit.”

“Food!” said Da Qing, pointing.

There was a tray at Lao Zhao’s feet, bearing an array of steaming dishes and a crisply folded note. Lao Zhao glanced at Shen Wei’s closed apartment door, then down at his translucent wet t-shirt and stained jeans. He sighed heavily, picked up the tray and brought it in.

The second the tray got close, Da Qing’s mouth started watering. It smelt amazing! He raced to the kitchen for a damp cloth, two bowls and two pairs of chopsticks. He didn’t even have to wash the dishes first.

Lao Zhao was on the far end of the couch, holding the note. Da Qing made a cursory job of wiping up the spilled beer so he could sit next to him and read over his shoulder.

Zhao Yunlan, I hope your stomach has fully recovered. Warm regards, Shen Wei.

“I don’t think you blew it.” Da Qing elbowed him, surveying the tray with hungry eyes. There was plenty of food for two, healthy but still fragrantly tempting. Shen Wei really was a commendable neighbour, and if he wanted to be more than that to Lao Zhao, then Dixingren or not, he had Da Qing’s full support. Da Qing would even help Lao Zhao get his act together, if it would smooth their way and result in more meals like this.

But that could wait. For now, Da Qing handed Lao Zhao one set of chopsticks and pounced on the ginger-soy steamed fish with the other. “Mmnnnrgh, this is so good! Try it! No, on second thoughts, don’t. I’m having it all.”

“Hey, he made it for me!” Lao Zhao feinted over and managed to outwit even Da Qing’s cat reflexes to get his chopsticks under Da Qing’s and onto the fish. They struggled for a moment, until Da Qing conceded so that the dish wouldn’t end up on the floor.

“He made it for you because he likes you, which is what I told you. You should always listen to me, because you are stupid, and I’m much smarter than you.”

Lao Zhao narrowed his eyes. “Do you want to share my dinner or not?” he asked around a mouthful of rice.

Da Qing grinned, undaunted. “You know I’m right.”

“Maybe.” Lao Zhao’s mood was visibly improving with every bite, his confidence returning. “If I keep dazzling him with my professional prowess, maybe he’ll forget the other stuff.”

“Lao Zhao, you know that being a domestic disaster is a choice not a destiny, right?” Da Qing bit into an eggroll, groaned in ecstasy and lost his train of thought, then swallowed and found it again. “Years of evidence to the contrary, you don’t have to live in squalor. Even kittens learn how to wash their own faces.”

“There are vegetables in the fridge. He left me ingredients.” Lao Zhao seemed to have got stuck on that point again.

Da Qing stole the last of the fish while Lao Zhao was distracted, and smirked. “You could always ask the professor to teach you what to do with them…”

Lao Zhao brightened and pointed his chopsticks at him. “Hey, that’s not a bad idea. That might even be why he left them there in the first place.” He picked up a piece of chicken and contemplated it with a grin. “When we get back from the northwest mountains, I’ll ask him.”



END