And here's the last one that for now. Not sure I got this one quite right either, but I liked the idea. Enjoy!

Lucky

Q pushed the cart clumsily through the door. One wheel caught, and the cart jerked, throwing a stack of silver suitcases to the floor. Q cursed and clambered around them, shoving them back onto the cart. He'd had them stacked in very careful order, but it was all ruined now. He cursed again for good measure.

He locked the doors behind him. The shooting range was off-limits for the rest of the day, owing to the dangerous nature of weapons testing. Q snorted at the thought. All of his weapons were perfectly safe by the time they made it into testing. He really only insisted on testing them himself for quality control.

He picked a suitcase at random. He'd meant to test the guns in order of agent number, but there was no telling now which was which until he got them back to the lab. He scowled. It was irritating, breaking routine. He examined the gun carefully, then the magazine, before clicking it into the gun.

He planted his feet carefully, wrapped both hands around the gun, and eyed the target dubiously. If this worked, the new bullets would explode on impact, and the entire target would disintegrate. Q wasn't the best shot in the world, but his real failing was that his shots got wilder the more pressure he was under. So he took a deep breath…

And the world exploded.

When he woke up, it was to pristine white and clinical blue. He blinked and the fuzzy colors solidified into medical. He groaned, realizing vaguely that he was hurt, and probably on any number of drugs. He blinked a few more times.

"Wha-" he swallowed and tried again. "What happened?" he asked no one in particular. M, whom he hadn't noticed sitting in the corner, came to stand next to the bed.

"Sabotage," M informed him. "We caught him. You were meant to blow yourself sky-high, but apparently you tested the wrong gun."

He said it as a statement, but Q heard the question.

"I normally test them in order." Normally was an awfully big word, with far too many syllables, and he tripped over it before continuing. "But I dropped them. I don't know which one it was."

M nodded.

"Good man. Do continue keeping yourself alive, won't you?"

Later, Q realized that the saboteurs plan was really quite fool-proof. A single gun, matched with a single bullet, and the Quartermaster would be dead. It would go down as an accident, and the saboteur would get off free. Q's quirks were no secret; it would not have been difficult to plan. The odds had all been in the saboteur's favor. All of the statistics said that he should be dead.

For the first time in his life, Q really understood the meaning of the word luck.

Next prompt: 60's. Unless someone has something else they want to read first. Let me know what you think!