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When it came to a mission, Q’s physical presence was very seldom needed. He was happy to control everything safely tucked in his lab – the adrenaline came anyway at the beginning of a pursuit, the fright at every gunshot, the relief when everything calmed down. Not that any of those of emotions showed on his face.
This time was a little different. James had finished his target off, Q imagined him cleaning his knife (God knew where he had misplaced his gun this time) and was about to call it a day.
“I have a situation.” James’s voice had come again, unexpected, into his earpiece. “Can you come down? Nothing dangerous.”
Since the mission was in London’s outskirts, Q was able to be there in less than twenty minutes. The little studio he stepped into was quite a sight. The struggle hadn’t left one piece of furniture in its original state and place. The target, a drug lord, was sprawled in the middle of a pretty large blood splatter against one of the white walls. At the foot of the bed, a young woman lay equally dead and covered in blood.
“She was our informant.” James said, keeping his voice cool and his face straight. “He found out. I was too late.”
Q swallowed with some difficulty, fighting not to close his eyes. He wasn’t used to that much gore, but he couldn’t afford to flail.
“Why did you need me?” He asked blankly.
“I can’t carry everything out, I need your arms.” James said, already packing up stacks of cocaine and other compromising evidence. “Check the next room.”
Q went, and froze on the doorstep. It was a tiny room, painted blue with cartoon clouds and stars, lined with bookshelves containing more soft toys than actual books, with little round carpets spotting the floor, and a crib in the middle. It was a nursery.
“James?” Q called, uncertain what he was supposed to do.
“Take the baby, let’s go.” James threw back his way.
Q approached the crib carefully. Against all odds, the little thing inside was sleeping peacefully. The Quartermaster plucked it from the soft blue blanket, holding it as far from him as possible.
“James.” He said, walking back to him. “I’m not sure...”
“We can’t leave him here.” James asserted. “I’ll be another minute, hold on.”
He resumed packing, but turned back to his young colleague.
“Hold him properly, you need to support his head.”
Q did his best to cradle the thing into his arms. It shifted to settle contentedly.
“Oh God.” He jumped. “It’s moving.”
“Yes, Q.” James commented with a hint of amusement in his voice. “It’s alive.”
“I don’t like it.” Q decided. He really wanted to put it down and go back to the comforting clickety-clack of a keyboard. Instead, he got the noise of a baby starting to cry.
“You upset him.” James said, definitely amused.
“What do I do?” Q started to panic. He held the infant at arms’ length again. “You take it!”
James frowned.
“I am most definitely not touching that baby with my bloody hands. Come on, Q, it’s a baby, not a time bomb.”
“A time bomb I could defuse.” Q noted. “I can’t cut any wires on this. Except the vocal chords...”
He looked at the infant as if he was seriously considering it.
“Q.” James snapped him out of it.
Q sighed, and tried to hold the baby more comfortably, rocking him clumsily to try and make him stop crying.
“Remind me never to leave Q-branch again.”
“Let’s go.” James rolled his eyes. “And find someone human.”