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“Gareth, are you…?” The words hang between and Q knows M doesn’t hear him.
He’s standing there, looking down into the abyss that took Denbigh. He’s still in this trance.
Q comes over, wary, and touches his shoulder gently.
Sensing no resistance, he leads the man away from the edge, where its safer, embracing him and slowly cradling his fingers through his hair.
It takes a while before he shakes himself out of the stupor, suddenly going limp as the tension goes away, melting into the hug, nuzzling Q’s neck.
Q holds him and kisses his forehead.
“It’s alright, honey.”