Bryce hunched down to put himself at eye level with it as it sat on his desk. He poked at it gingerly with a pen.
"It's broken."
Hillary rolled his eyes heavenwards. "Yes, thank you. I know it's broken. Can you fix it?"
Bryce settled back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other knee. "Why?"
"It isn't much use broken, is it?"
Bryce grinned. "Well, it's pretty, innit?"
"If you can't fix it, just say so; I'll find someone else." Hillary reached over to pick it up off of the desk. Bryce's brow furrowed, and he leaned forward to intercept Hillary's hand midway.
"Wait a mo, man, I didn't say I couldn't fix it. I just need to give it a bit more of a looksee. When I have time."
Hillary pulled his hand back and looked pointedly at the games that were clearly visible on the monitors behind Bryce. "Yes, I can see that you have more important things going on right now."
"You're bloody well right, mate. I might need to fly a choppa' sometime. Training, that is." Bryce waved one slender hand at the flight simulation to his right.
Hillary tapped the sad item on the desk pointedly with his forefinger. "This is more important than your damn flight simulators."
Bryce leaned back in his chair. "Don't get yer pants in a twist. I have a lotta important things goin' on, and I have to prioritize." Hillary snorted and crossed his arms. "That be the way it goes, mate. Mind you..." he leaned forward again and grinned even more broadly, doing a very bad imitation of Hillary's precise accent, "if you want my time sooner, I'm amenable to extra incentive. A bribe, in plaina' terms."
Hillary lifted an eyebrow.
"Scones."
The eyebrow dropped back into place.
"What?"
"The cinnamon ones you make for Lara. Make me some, and I'll fix it."
"I'll make them while you fix it."
Bryce shook his head. "Slavedriver, you are. All right, bargain." They shook hands, and Hillary headed off to the kitchen, whistling.
Bryce's brow furrowed as he poked at the mess of wire again with his pen. Now if he could only figure out what it was...