Where Angels Fear To Tread

Chapter 10

Not such a typical day in the life of a Quartermaster then. Well, it isn't every day you get shot in the torso by MI6's finest, is it.

Q watched the scene from above. Detached, disembodied, leaving behind the searing pain of that gunshot wound bestowed upon him by the blond man, by James. That's right, James.

"I'm not leaving you, Q. Never leaving you," he heard him say, hoisting him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and taking full advantage of the blinding chaos invoked by Q only minutes before.

He left Blofeld lying in a heap, too concerned with getting Q to safety to bother checking his vitals. Q watched James jog effortlessly down the room and exit the main building, driven forward by adrenaline and danger; Watched as he took out two guards and swipe a semi-automatic from the collapsed body of one of them without breaking his stride. Good thing I weigh next to nothing, Q thought to himself.

His confidence, assuredness and utter conviction that he was some kind of bulletproof angel left Q in no doubt that's exactly what he was. As he shoved him into the helicopter, James tore off his shirt and wrapped it around Q to stem the bleeding.

"Stay with me Q. It's not your time. Not your time. I won't let you die."

Hmmm. Ironic words considering you were the one that shot me. Still. Maybe it wasn't his time. He was young. Strong. James believed he could conquer death. He'd at least get points for trying.

Q cracked open his eyes while James, after starting the rotors, jumped out of the cockpit briefly to dispatch a couple of approaching goons. He caught Q's eye and the smile of relief on his face made Q's heart lurch. Though in that moment, he had no idea why.

"You fucking shot me. Are we supposed to be friends? Because I don't think friends go round shooting each other."

"Shut up, Q," James said, no heat in the order as he angled the joystick to push them into the sky and towards safety. "Save your strength."

And Q, obliging fellow that he was, slipped quietly into unconsciousness.

Six Weeks Later

"Good to have you back, Quartermaster."

"It's good to be back, M. I'm gratified you saw your way to reinstate me, fit for duty, despite..."

M raised his hand to silence the man. "The psychologists deemed you fit, Q. Your impairment is localised to a very specific aspect of your memory. It has not impacted on your ability to do your job. That's what matters going forward." He leaned back in his chair, contemplating. "Besides. I'm told it may not be permanent? You could regain that part of your memory at any time?"

"Let's hope so, Sir."

"Indeed."

Q stood then.

"Go home. Back to work tomorrow, Q. Lots to do."

"Thank you. Goodnight, M."

Q woke with a start in the pre-dawn darkness, Charles' furry body stretched long against his back, George sitting up at the bottom of the bed, staring owlishly into the darkness.

Q sat up, a little stiffly, and heard himself saying to the darkness, "is someone there?" He was met with silence.

Foolish, he thought to himself, lying down again. Still a bit jumpy after everything I suppose. As he drifted back to sleep, he didn't hear the soft click of his front door and the lock slide into place.

Not everyone is special enough to receive a visit from a Double-O in the middle of the night.

Next morning, showered, shaved and fed, Q picked up his messenger bag and was about to head to work when he heard a crash from his living room.