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They find Q twelve hours later, bloody and doused in water and shivering from the cold, but alive and conscious enough to slump with relief at the first sight of his agents swarming in, fanning out with raised weapons and brutal efficiency.
“Alright there, Q?” James calls over his shoulder, gun still up and steady as he prowls around the bulk of the room, checking each corner and dark space until he’s satisfied they’re alone. Alec and Billie have cleared out, pushing deeper into the bowels of the building in search of surviving targets.
Q hums distractedly. “Never better.”
Satisfied, James holsters his Walther, casts one last look around, and makes his way back over to kneel beside Q. “Enjoying your first kidnapping then?” He asks, turning Q as delicately as he can to asses the damage.
Q huffs and grumbles at the movement, rough and painful despite all of James’ care. He swats, once, at a hand that gets too close to some invisible wound hidden beneath ruined clothes, but doesn’t do much to stop James beyond that.
“Hardly,” Q hisses out once he’s managed to catch his breath. “They’ve a solid nine for execution and intimidation but their originality was dreadful. 10/10 would not recommend.”
James breathes a laugh despite himself. “I’ll be sure to pass your review on to M.”
There’s blood dripping down the entirety of Q’s left arm, still flowing and darkening the sleeve of his shirt, and he sets about patching that first.
“Much appreciated.” Q inhales sharply, flinching away at the first touch of antiseptic. James waits patiently, watching as he attempts to regain his breath until, finally, he nods shakily.
James is nearly finished wrapping the arm — a jagged slice left behind by someone inexperienced yet brutal with a knife — when he looks up. “You’re taking this awfully well,” he says, tying a knot off and making sure the bandage is secure before moving on.
Q lies still now, eyes closed and breathing so evenly James thinks for a moment he’s dropped off entirely.
“I’m the Quartermaster,” he mumbles sometime later, just as James is finishing up the last of the dressing. “Things like this were bound to happen.”
“I don’t think Boothroyd managed to get into quite as much trouble.”
Q smiles dazedly. “No,” he agrees. “Surely not.”
By the time alcohol wipes and tiny pieces of gauze are all that’s left in the small kit, most of Q’s critical injuries are cleaned and covered. There’s not much more for him to do with his limited supplies save for waiting for medevac to arrive, but James strips himself of his gloves and jacket to slip onto Q when he catches him shivering.
“You need a better tracker,” James says conversationally.
“Already taking care of that. Something that can’t be removed and deemed utterly useless the second you’re caught. Something in the blood.”
“Smart.”
“Ooh,” he says gleefully, lifting up enough to peer at James. “That’s good. Smart Blood,” he murmurs, testing out the words. Q grins, dropping his head back down. James slips a hand quickly beneath him to cushion the fall. “I like it.”