Work Text:
Q had a donut in his mouth and a rapidly cooling travel cup of tea in one hand as he fumbled with the keys and opened the door to his flat. He could hear some noise even through the door, which was pretty typical. He had three flatmates, all old friends from uni, and they weren’t exactly quiet.
He removed the donut and spat a reprimand. “We’re going to get a noise complaint if you don’t shut it. I can hear your racket through the bloody door, you—“
The words died in his throat. He dropped the donut and the tea to the floor.
There on the floor was one of his flatmates, Harry. He was dead, his chest a mess of blood as his eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. One of his arms was longer and almost rubbery, meaning that he had been fighting back and using his Gift before he was murdered.
“Oh, God,” Q said, his mind suddenly blank.
The noise that he’d heard through the door stopped, and it occurred to Q that the noise had probably been his other flatmates being murdered. Which meant that the murderer was almost certainly still in the flat.
He knew he should run, he knew it. The door was even still open behind him. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the body on the floor, from the blood he could see further up the hallway. He felt like his mind had been scooped out of his body and was now dead on the floor with his flatmates.
“Boothroyd, is that you?” Said a voice from further into the flat. Trevor, Q’s dazed mind put together. Harry’s boyfriend. He didn’t sound frightened.
Trevor appeared at the end of the hall. He had enhanced senses, if Q recalled correctly, so his eyes glinted in the dim light like a tiger’s. His clothes were dripping with blood, and there was a coated kitchen knife clutched in his hand.
“Oh, hello,” Q said, his mind utterly blank, words falling from his lips before he could even think of them. “I think I’ll just be leaving now, if you don’t mind.”
Trevor laughed in glee. “Always such a mouth on you.” And then he lurched forward.
Now, unlike his now-dead flatmates, Q had no Gift. His family were late bloomers, and Q wasn’t in a rush to get his anyway. However, the body wants to survive more than anything else, and so it is quite common for Gifts to manifest in traumatic situations. So when the psychotic man started running at him with a knife, a few things changed rather quickly for Q.
Namely, he manifested his shapeshifting Gift, transformed into a tiny kitten, and ran away as fast as he possibly could. This worked very well in terms of his immediate survival—Trevor lost sight of Q almost immediately, and quickly realized it was better for him to run for it and try and avoid the police rather than hunt for one kitten in the middle of London. The only problem is that shapeshifters require time and training to maintain their full consciousness in animal form and actually turn back on command. The traumatic nature of his initial transformation only made things worse.
So all that Q knew was this: as far as he knew, he wasn’t a human but a kitten, and he knew for a fact that he was running for his life. He also knew that he had nowhere he could go. No family, no home, nothing. So he just kept running.
This was fine, until his blind panic made him run out into the middle of the street. His leg got stuck in a storm grate, locking him in place on the edge of the street with cars barreling toward him.
Q cowered away and kept yanking to free his leg, mewling pitifully. He knew he was a kitten, but the world seemed unusually big and loud and horrifying. A car came particularly close, splashing him with muck. He mewled louder, shaking.
Suddenly, a motorbike stopped next to him, blocking half the lane from traffic. There were two men on the bike, both blond and buff and terrifying, and they loomed over Q as he continued to desperately try to pull his leg free. Something tore, he could feel it, and he collapsed to his paws with a whimper.
“Hey, there, kitty. Are you stuck?” Asked the first man, his eyes a piercing blue. His voice was low and soothing, but Q still lashed out with a hiss when he reached out to touch him.
“Oi! Watch it, kit, we’re the ones trying to bloody save you,” complained the other. His voice was raspier with a distinct Northern accent.
Q wanted to lash out again, but the pain and terror and exhaustion were starting to catch up with him. He stayed where he was, collapsed on one side, his leg twisted and caught in the grate, panting and mewling.
The first man’s eyes softened even further. His fingers finally touched Q’s fur, and some of the bone-deep animal panic receded. He whimpered, and the man practically cooed. “You’re very frightened, aren’t you? Well, we’re here now, and we’ll take care of you. Now just relax while Alec gets your leg free.”
“Never realized you were so soft for cats, Jamesy,” Alec said. He gently removed Q’s leg from the grate. “We need to get him to the vet. I think it’s broken, or at least damaged from trying to get free.”
James nodded in agreement, still gently petting Q, then cursed. “Of all the days to take the bike. How are we supposed to move him safely?”
“I’ll take the bike back, and you call a cab. That should be safer and let you keep the leg stable.” Alec ran a hand through his messy hair, making it even messier than before.
James grunted in agreement, then carefully maneuvered his hands under Q and picked him up, making sure his hurt leg had support. Q mewled in pain anyway.
In short order Alec had sped away on the bike, and James had successfully flagged down a cabbie, explained the situation, and gotten them headed to the nearest emergency vet clinic. During the cab ride, James continued to pet and comfort Q, assuring him that he was safe and would get help.
He was in too much pain to purr, but his terrified shaking finally stopped. Instead, he let himself drift off to sleep in the kind stranger’s arms.
When he awoke, it was to James gently poking him, talking to him in an increasingly worried voice. He hissed, irritated, and tried to bat at the man’s finger with his paw, but found he was too weak to do much more than twitch it.
James turned away and began talking to a woman, presumably the vet. What followed was a long and uncomfortable visit. At the end of it, Q’s left hind leg was put in a splint so the fracture in it could heal, James was given medicine and a thousand instructions, and then they took another cab ride away from the clinic, presumably to James’s house.
“You know, rescuing a kitten was not on my to-do list today,” James told him softly in the cab, stroking his newly cleaned fur. “But I’m glad I did.”
His fur cleaned, his leg splinted and medicated, with the man who saved his life gently petting him, Q finally relaxed. And as he finally drifted off to sleep, he found that he could find it in himself to purr after all.
***
The kitten was asleep by the time James finally reached his and Alec’s flat. It was a tiny little thing, mostly black with two white socked feet and a splash of white on the chest. By all accounts, it was a normal kitten, but something about it made James wonder if that was truly the case. He could have sworn that it could understand what he was saying, and that was why it had allowed him to touch it. But that was mad. He pushed the thought away.
“Alec, we’re back,” he called softly.
Alec peeked out of the kitchen, raising an eyebrow. “You brought the damn thing with you? I thought you’d leave it at the vet!”
James hesitated. Alec was right—he should have left the kitten at the vet. If the two of them passed their training in a few months, they would be traveling on missions internationally, which was no place for a cat. “It’s just until his leg heals,” James said defensively.
Alec gave him a knowing stare but accepted it with a shrug.
James carefully laid the kitten on the couch. It didn’t twitch, still fast asleep. The splinted leg stuck out awkwardly from the rest of its body, and he felt a strange swell of sympathy rising in his gut. God, maybe Alec was right. He was going soft.
“You’ll be alright now,” he whispered, smoothing the ruffled fur on the kitten’s head. “Although we’ll have to come up with a name for you.” Then he paused. “Christ, I’ll need to get a litter box. And food. I don’t even know how to take care of a healthy cat, let alone an injured one. What was I thinking?”
Alec laughed from behind him. He was holding a glass with what James suspected was straight vodka. Not too much tonight, though. Just enough to take the edge off. “You weren’t. You saw a kitten crying on the street and let your bleeding heart take over.”
James glared at his friend.
“Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m right. And if you think I’m the one that’s going to the bloody pet store to get your kitten a special box to shit in, you’re bloody insane.” Alec took a sip of his drink.
Once again, Alec was right. Damn him. He was going to be impossible to deal with for weeks after this. “Fine. You’ll keep an eye on the thing in case it wakes up?”
“Yes, I’ll watch the bloody cat. Now go, before it really does wake up and you’re too soft to leave.” Alec waved him away dismissively, then plopped into the armchair next to the sofa. Close enough to keep an eye out but not so close as to scare the thing if it woke up, hopefully.
James nodded, feeling like a sentimental fool as he grabbed his jacket and keys—for the car, this time, since he’d need the trunk space—and left the flat.
***
Q was dreaming.
There was the blood everywhere, Harry’s body staring blankly at him from the floor. And there, looming impossibly large from the end of the hall, was Trevor, holding the kitchen knife already covered in blood. He was going to die, going to be murdered just like Harry and his other flatmates, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Q blinked, and suddenly Trevor was right in front of him, bringing the knife down, and this time Q didn’t escape, didn’t use his Gift to escape in both body and mind. Instead, he stood frozen in place as the knife sank into his chest.
He awoke to see an enormous face inches from his own. His mind still blank with terror from the dream, Q lashed out, swiping the man across the face with tiny razor-sharp claws. The man cursed and fell back, his nose and cheek now covered with bleeding scratches.
“Bloody hell, what’d you do that for?” the man snarled.
Q was still fully consumed by his instincts. He squirmed, tried to run, only to realize that one of his hindlegs was splinted in position and too painful to put weight on. He squeaked in surprise, stumbled, and fell what seemed to be a thousand feet before thumping to the floor.
The man groaned. “James is going to kill me.”
James. James? The shock of hitting the floor had made him realize he was no longer dreaming, and his memory of the past few hours was finally starting to return. He was a cat. He was starting to register that he wasn’t normally a cat, but the thought of being a human was still too terrifying to confront, so he shoved that thought away. He was a cat. He had run for his life and then nearly died again after becoming trapped in the storm grate. He had been rescued by James, who had taken him to the vet, and this man—Alec.
Alec, who was now bleeding from where Q had scratched him, cursing in another language (Russian?) under his breath. When he realized that Q was no longer panicking, he scooted forward. “You going to play nice, now?”
Q nodded.
Alec’s eyes widened, and he backed away. “Did—did you just nod?”
Q could feel his brain waking up to his situation now that he was further removed from the series of traumatic events that had gotten him here in the first place. He had accidentally witnessed a triple murder, then escaped only thanks to the sudden manifestation of his Gift. His Gift, which was apparently the ability to shape-shift into a kitten. He suspected that his trauma had caused him to dissociate entirely into his animal instincts, which was how he’d nearly gotten run over. Part of him wanted to stay in the simple mind of his cat self, since it felt much safer, but that wouldn’t do any good. At the very least, it seemed prudent to tell the two men who rescued him that they’d rescued a person rather than a kitten.
So Q nodded again.
Alec sat back on his heels, trying to put the pieces together. “I came over because it sounded like you were having a nightmare. Screaming and shaking, the whole mess. Never heard of a cat having a nightmare.”
Q shook his head.
“You’re a shapeshifter?” Alec clarified.
Q nodded.
“Fuck. Okay. I should probably call James. He left around a half hour ago to get you a bloody litter box.” When he noticed Q wrinkling his nose in disgust, Alec laughed. “Well, you seemed pretty feral earlier. Damn, let me get my phone.”
Alec dragged himself to his feet and into the kitchen, where presumably his phone was. Q took the break to take stock of his body. He vaguely remembered the vet telling James that his leg was fractured, and would take around six weeks to heal. That wasn’t good. Major injuries in the shape-shifted form often resulted in the person being unable to shift until the injury was sufficiently healed.
Alec walked back into the room, clearly in the middle of a conversation with James. “Well, I don’t know if he’ll still need a litter box, James, we haven’t gotten that far. All I know is that your cat is actually a bloody person, and since he’s got a broken leg, he’s going to be trapped as a cat for a while.”
So Alec knew something about shifters, too. Q relaxed slightly. That would make things easier, since he couldn’t exactly have a full conversation like this.
“Fine, I’ll ask. Hey, uh–you.” Q blinked and nodded, showing he was listening. “Do you think you’ll need a litter box? You just look a little small to be using a toilet.”
Damn. He was probably right. Q wilted, defeated, and Alec snorted. “I’d get it just in case,” he said into the phone. “Look, you just pay and come back, alright? I’ll get him something to eat and see if we can figure out a way to communicate better.” With that, Alec hung up and raised an eyebrow. “Shapeshifters still eat human food, right?”
Q had no idea. He tried to shrug.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Alec demanded, brows furrowed in confusion.
Q just stared at him helplessly. This wasn’t a yes or no question. I have no idea what’s going on! He thought furiously. This is the first time I’ve done this and I wish this was all a dream! Instead, he just meowed.
Alec ran a hand across his face as he heaved a sigh. When he saw the blood on his fingers, he grimaced. “Right. Forgot about that. I’ve got some leftover chicken in the fridge that should be safe either way, and then I’m going to clean myself up.”
Q nodded, and Alec took a few steps forward, clearly meaning to pick him up. Fear spiked instantly, and he flinched away from the reaching hands, though he managed to stop himself from clawing at him again.
Alec paused. He seemed to be putting together a few more pieces. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? But you’re still hurt, and I’d like to put you on the kitchen table while you eat. You can barely move by yourself.” He hesitated. “Do I have your permission?”
It was this final question that finally allowed Q’s muscles to unlock. He nodded weakly, and Alec gently scooped him up and carried him into the kitchen. It was a little cluttered but still clean, and the table itself was a scratched old thing that Q liked immediately. Alec set him down and pulled a container of cooked chicken breast out of the fridge, which he began to cut into smaller pieces so it was easier for Q to eat.
“Here,” he finally said, setting down the plate. “Eat however much you like. I’m going to disinfect the battle scars you gave me.”
Q’s ears flattened in embarrassment, but he started to eat anyway. He was starving, he realized. Then again, he had literally transformed and then ran halfway across London. That would work up an appetite for anyone.
By the time he’d finished the plate, Alec was back. He’d put a bandage over the deepest scratch across the top of his cheek, but the rest remained open to the elements, though they were no longer bleeding. “Okay,” he said. “Now, we should figure out a way to speak outside of yes or no questions. Do you think you could type on a computer?”
Q nodded. It would be difficult, and slow, but it was also likely the only real option. It wasn’t like he could hold a pen.
Alec pulled out a laptop and opened a blank document in the word processor. “Okay, so what’s your name?”
Q.
“Just Q?”
Quincy Boothroyd. I prefer Q.
“Alright, Q. Want to explain how you wound up trapped on a London street scared out of your mind?”
Q flinched, the memory flashing through his mind. It was too much for him to type, but he needed to give him something.
Saw something bad. Scared. Transformed for the first time and ran.
“So you had no idea what your Gift was until tonight?”
Q shook his head no.
“Well, that does explain a lot. Now what did you mean by—” Before Alec could finish, the front door opened. James was home. “Hold that thought.”
James walked into the kitchen, holding several large bags. When he spotted Q and the laptop, he nodded. “I see we’ve made some progress. What’s he said so far?”
“Name’s Quincy Boothroyd, but he goes by Q. Apparently, this is the first time he’s ever transformed.”
James winced in sympathy. He had dropped the bags on the ground and joined Alec and Q at the kitchen table. He scanned through what Q had written so far and frowned. “Saw something bad? What does that mean?”
Q cowered, his ears flattening to his head.
“Were you in danger?” James asked a little more gently.
Q nodded.
“Are you still in danger?”
Trevor saw his transformed shape, he realized suddenly. He hadn’t been able to catch him, but he knew what he looked like. If he was still at large, if the police hadn’t arrested him, then he was probably going to be searching for Q. Human, cat, it didn’t matter. He was still probably going to be murdered. Q mewled, a purely instinctive and pathetic sound, and began to shake. Fear was beginning to overwhelm him again, shut down his human mind and leave him to his cat instincts.
James’s eyes widened. “No, hey, I’m sorry. You’re safe here, remember?”
Q shook his head, still shaking, his mouth open and letting out his breath in tiny, desperate pants.
“Listen, Q,” Alec suddenly said, his voice very serious. “James and I are soldiers. We know how to fight and how to defend ourselves. If someone tries to come after you, we will kill them. I promise.”
We will kill them. The words should’ve horrified Q after what he’d seen today, but instead it eased his terror enough to bring him down from the panic attack.
“Alec’s right,” James assured him. “You’re with us now, and you don’t have to leave until you’re healed and we know for a fact that you’ll be safe.”
Q hobbled back over to the keyboard and typed one last message.
Thank you.
***
Over the next week Q settled into life with Alec and James. They did research on shapeshifters, and learned that they could indeed eat human food, but that he would need to continue being treated medically as a cat until he was healed enough to transform. Of course, he had no idea how to do that either, but it was a moot point for least another few weeks.
The two of them were usually gone during the day—some sort of specialized training, apparently, but Q had no idea what it was for—and left Q to his own devices. Usually, he slept. Cats already sleep more than humans, and his injury and medication only made him even more tired.
In the evenings, when James and Alec were home, they watched telly, or a movie that one of them had rented, or even just talked. It was oddly peaceful, and sometimes he could forget that he was injured and trying to avoid being murdered.
It all fell apart when they were watching the evening news together. The anchor, a serious-looking woman in her late thirties, began talking.
“In an update from earlier this week, police have given an update on the brutal murder of three flatmates.” A picture of Q’s flat cordoned off by police appeared, along with pictures of his flatmates that they’d probably gotten off social media somewhere.
“The primary suspect, Trevor Little, remains at large, though recent sightings seem to indicate that he has not left London.” A picture from Trevor’s social media, then a picture from some sort of corner store where the CCTV had spotted him.
“In addition, police are searching for information on the fourth person living at the flat, one Quincy Boothroyd. Evidence has placed him at the scene, but police refuse to explain whether he is considered a witness or believe he was somehow involved with the crime.” And there was a picture of Q, skinny with dark hair and glasses. “Anyone with information on Boothroyd’s whereabouts should call the hotline number on your screen now.”
Q suddenly realized that he was cowered in the corner of the room, shaking as he let out a continuous thin wail. Alec and James were both hovering several feet away, eyes wide but clearly not willing to touch him yet. The TV was off, so the only sound was Q’s frantic keening.
James hesitated, then began to move toward him. When he reached to try and touch Q, Q slashed him deeply with his claws, even snapping as if to bite. James swore and shook his hand, but didn’t retreat. “We’re not going to call the police, Q,” he said. “I know you’re scared, and I’m not mad at you for hurting me. My Gift is healing faster than normal, so you’re not doing much. But you’ve got to let us help you.”
James reached out again. Q scratched him again, but less viciously. He didn’t retreat this time, but began to pet him with his other hand. “I understand why you’re so terrified now,” he murmured softly. “I’d be scared too if I’d seen something like that.”
Q wailed again.
“Christ, Q, I think you make the saddest sounds in the world,” Alec said, now cautiously drawing closer himself. “You can stop crying now, okay?”
It took a while, but eventually Q was calm enough for them to pull out the laptop so he could answer a few clarifying questions.
“You were a witness to what we saw on the news?” James asked
Q nodded.
“Were you home when it happened?”
No, I came home from work and caught him.
“Christ,” Alec muttered. “He knows you?”
Q nodded.
“He saw you transform?”
I transformed on instinct when he attacked me. I know he saw but he couldn’t catch me.
“Do you think he could track you down?”
He will try. He’s not very smart, though.
“Well, that’s something,” James growled.
“Do you want us to hunt him down for you?” Alec asked.
Q stared. He meant it, that much was obvious, and he knew James and Alec were capable of it, but offering was another thing altogether. What if they got caught in the process, and Q was left alone? No flatmates, no strange rescuers, no family, just Q.
James glared at Alec. “We wouldn’t need to kill him. We could just ensure he can’t escape before the police arrive.”
Q shifted back and forth on his paws. I don’t want you to get in trouble. He typed.
“We won’t,” Alec assured him. “We know what we’re doing.”
Q narrowed his eyes, tail flicking in suspicion. Are you spies?
“How—“ Alec said, before James smacked him furiously on the arm.
“Yes,” James said. “We are agents for MI6, and we are receiving specialized training to become part of the highest level of agents in the Service.”
“Bloody hell,” Alec groaned. “M’s gonna kill us.”
James smiled, eyes twinkling dangerously. “Q can keep a secret, can’t you, Q?”
Q nodded. He had a feeling he should be feeling threatened, but he didn’t. James and Alec would never hurt him, and so he would never willingly hurt them either.
James smirked, the darkness in his eyes fading into a familiar fondness. “We’ll find him, Q. We’ll keep you safe.”
***
Two more weeks passed. It had been three weeks since he’d become a cat and nearly gotten himself killed several times in one day. The vet had changed his splint to a smaller one that left him more mobile, to his relief. Q had a feeling that soon he’d be able to transform back into a human, if he could figure out how. If he even wanted to.
He had grown used to life with his two dangerous new flatmates. They had provided care and companionship after he had lost everything. But once Trevor was gone and Q was human again, he’d have to leave. Maybe they’d stay in contact for a while, but odds were they’d drift apart, and then Q would be alone.
The Trevor situation still made Q nervous. The police were still searching for him in London, which meant he was still searching for Q. And even if they found him, he’d probably try and implicate Q as an accomplice to destroy him.
It was all leading to one conclusion, one he’d been avoiding for weeks.
Q limped over to the computer and pawed at the power button, meowing. James, who was in the midst of cooking dinner, walked over to him.
“What is it?”
I need to go to the police.
James bit his lip. “Are you sure? Alec and I are close, and we don’t know if they’ll arrest you.”
If he’s arrested first he will probably say I helped.
“True,” James admitted. “You’re okay with going outside?”
As long as you and Alec are there, yes. Q typed. He was shaking slightly, but he was determined. This was the best choice, he was sure of it.
The next day, Alec and James took him to the police station. James had tucked him into his jacket, leaving Q safe and comfortable.
The station itself was bustling. An officer narrowed his eyes at them as they approached. Q didn’t blame them—they did look incredibly suspicious.
“We’ve got information on the whereabouts of Quincy Boothroyd,” James said in a loud, clear voice.
The noise lessened. After a moment, a detective approached. “Can I help you gents?”
“Yes,” James said, a little more quietly. He motioned to Q. “Mr. Boothroyd is right here. He manifested his Shapeshifting in the shock of witnessing the crime and was injured during the escape. For the past three weeks he has been recovering with me and my flatmate, but yesterday he told us he was ready to come in and give his statement.”
The detective stared at Q. Q just nodded in agreement. “I—can he shift back yet?”
Q shook his head no.
“He’s still too injured,” James said. “It’ll be another week, probably.”
“We need to verify his identity. Can he type?”
Q nodded again.
The detective cleared his throat. “Excellent. Well, come this way and we will find you a computer to give your statement.”
The computer was in a private office, which allowed Q to relax further. James carefully pulled him from his jacket. The splint on his broken leg made the detective’s face soften.
“What is your full name?” The detective asked.
Quincy Boothroyd.
“What is your place of employment?”
I am the head of IT at a technology company. Or was, before this happened.
“What happened the day of the murders?”
I was coming home from work, I had a doughnut and coffee. I opened the door and saw Harry dead. I dropped my stuff and was too scared to move. Trevor heard me and attacked me. I was terrified, but I turned into a cat and ran.
“And this was the first manifestation of your gift?”
Yes. My family were all late bloomers. I went feral and got caught in a storm drain on the road. Alec and James saw me and rescued me. They thought I was a normal cat so they took me to the vet and then took me home.
“Did you know the attacker?”
Trevor Little, he was my flatmate Harry’s boyfriend. I don’t know why he snapped, but he seemed to be enjoying it.
The detective grimaced. He obviously believed Q, which was a relief. It was also clear that they had wanted him as a witness rather than as an accomplice. They’d probably gotten his DNA from the Doughnut and coffee, which was why they knew he was there.
“Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Boothroyd. We’ll wait to get any more detail until after you have turned back into a human. Still, I am very concerned for your safety. Would you accept a protection detail?”
Q shook his head. James cleared his throat. “Detective, Alec and I are both former Navy Special Forces. I assure you, he will be safe with us.”
The detective’s eyes widened. “Well, if you’re sure.”
I’m sure. Q typed. And so, after giving the station their contact information, James tucked him back into his jacket and the three of them went back home.
***
Four days later, Q was home alone for the afternoon. James and Alec were gone on one of their super secret spy training sessions, though they should be back soon.
He was half-dozing, watching some trash show on the telly, when he was startled awake by the sound of something scraping at the door to the flat. It almost sounded like someone breaking in. Did James or Alec lose their keys?
The scraping stopped. Q heard a growl of frustration, followed by a bodily slam against the door. Before Q could do more than jump to his feet, there was a gunshot, and the door burst open, revealing Trevor.
The murderer looked even more unhinged after three and a half weeks of hiding from the cops, with hollow cheeks and dirty clothes. When his eyes locked onto Q, he bared his teeth into a feral grimace.
“There you are, Boothroyd,” he sneered. “You shouldn’t have left this place to go to the cops.”
Trevor raised the gun in his hand and shot at Q. Q jumped instinctively, turning a direct hit into a graze on his side. He was forced to land on his injured leg, which made him yowl with pain. He ignored it and ran as fast as he could under the couch, flattening himself to the floor to avoid another bullet.
“Stop hiding like a fucking coward, Boothroyd!” Trevor spat. “You ran then, so you better not run now.” He reached an arm under the couch to try and drag Q out. Q snarled and scratched him fiercely. Trevor swore and retreated. “You’ll regret that, you little fucker.”
With a grunt, Trevor lifted and overturned the couch, leaving Q exposed once more. Before he could run again, Q was snatched by the tail and lifted off the ground. The pain was intense, and he heard himself shrieking and howling with pain as he bit and dug his claws into his attacker.
With a shout of rage, Trevor threw Q across the room, where he slammed into the wall. Everything went dark for a moment, and then Q blinked. He was still in great pain, but something felt…different. He shifted, then froze.
He was human. He had transformed back into a human, complete with the clothes he’d been wearing before he’d first shifted. Q rolled over, shuddering, and saw Trevor looming over him. “How convenient,” he leered. “I get to see your ugly face one last time.” He raised the gun and leveled it at Q’s face.
Bang.
Q flinched and closed his eyes, but there was no pain. He wasn’t dead. Either Trevor was an abysmal shot, or… Q opened his eyes in time to register the lifeless shock on Trevor’s face as he slumped to the floor, blood pouring from a hole in his head.
“Q!” Said a voice. James. James? “Q!”
Q blinked. James was in front of him, pale with panic, scanning him for injuries. “James?” Q whispered. His voice was hoarse from disuse.
“Q, where are you hurt?” James asked. His voice was calming into something more soothing.
“I don’t—“ Q felt foggy, distant. Everything hurt, but at the same time nothing did. “I think I was shot a little,” he finally said. “And he threw me into the wall. Is he dead?”
James was turning pale again. “Yes, he’s dead. We shouldn’t have left you alone. I’m sorry, Q.” He was carefully patting Q down, searching for where he was shot. He reached Q’s side and he flinched. “Can I lift your shirt?”
Q nodded wearily.
James moved carefully, peeling the blood soaked cardigan and shirt away, revealing the wound. It was a deep graze that carved around his ribs. “That’s not too bad. You should be okay, Q.”
The pain was becoming worse even as Q’s mind drifted further away. “I won’t,” he whispered.
“Won’t what?”
“Won’t be okay. I’m a person again. I won’t be okay.”
“What do you mean by that, Q? Q!” James sounded worried, but Q couldn’t answer. He drifted blissfully into unconsciousness, wondering if he could just never wake up.
***
Q woke to the beeping machines and antiseptic smell of the hospital. A moment later, pain pulsed in his side, his leg, his head—though with the foggy dullness that meant he was on painkillers. He opened his eyes, and winced at the brightness.
Sitting by his bed were James and Alec. James was asleep, his head on Alec’ shoulder as the other man read some magazine. It made the deadly man look almost soft. “Don’t you have better places to be?” Q croaked.
Alec’s head snapped up. “You’re awake!” He elbowed James in the side, who snapped awake with a grunt. “But honestly, Q—where else would we be? We couldn’t bloody well leave you to wake on your own, could we?”
Q flushed. “I–I just thought–”
“You said something similar back in the flat,” James said. “You said that since you were a person again, nothing would be okay.”
Q looked down to avoid James’s piercing blue gaze. “Well, now that I’m human again, I don’t exactly need to stay, do I?”
Silence. Q glanced over, and realized that both men looked stricken at his words. James, especially, looked like Q had just punched him in the gut.
James shifted, his face quickly returning to a calculated neutral. “We…we wouldn’t force you to stay, Q.”
Alec rolled his eyes. “Shut up, mate. Listen, Q. Maybe we should have brought it up sooner, but we’ve both grown attached to you. We don’t want you to leave, not unless you want to.”
James relaxed, apparently relieved that Alec had been able to say his feelings out loud. “Please stay,” he whispered.
Q, to his own shock and horror, burst into tears. In an instant, James was by his side wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “I don’t want to leave,” he said, wiping furiously at his tears. “I—I’ve lost my job, my friends, my home, and you were the only ones who made anything feel alright. The thought of having to give you up too was—”
“You’re stuck with us, I’m afraid,” James chuckled, leaning down and kissing the top of Q’s head. “Honestly, before the bastard found us, we were worried about where you would bloody sleep. But now we have to move anyway, so we can just search for a three bedroom.”
Q laughed lightly. “Glad I could assist. But what about rent? I’ll need to go job hunting.”
Alec cleared his throat. “Well, you’re good at computers, right?”
“Good?” Q scoffed. “I’m frankly insulted. I’m one of the best hackers and computer programmers in the world.”
Both James and Alec visibly brightened. “Excellent,” Alec said. “We were thinking you could apply to work at MI6. Q Branch. Then we’d be able to share more of our lives with you, and you could keep doing what you’re good at.”
Despite the pain still coursing through his body, Q grinned. It seemed that he had gone through hell and come out better on the other side. He wasn’t going to be alone.
“Very well,” he hedged, voice going even more posh than usual. “I suppose I can deign MI6 with my presence if it means being able to keep an eye on you two.”
James and Alec both grinned and laughed.
Weeks later, when Q was home from the hospital and his injuries mostly healed, when they had moved into their new MI6-vetted apartment, when Q had interviewed for a job in Q Branch and been accepted, the three of them were curled up by the telly. Q was in cat form, curled up and purring on James’s lap as the man gently stroked his back.
Somehow, life was good, better than before. It was a brave new world.