"M, I was curious . . . what am I to do once I'm out of the hospital?" asked Q curiously. "I wouldn't be surprised if you let me go. I would understand."

M had been trying to avoid this question as much as possible. He didn't want to answer it because he wasn't sure how to answer it. If Q regained his memories, and the other personality of his still didn't reappear, then he would want to rehire him or if Q simply never remembered then he'd be fine with it. However, he was also thinking of what everyone else would think.

"You must understand that besides myself, Tanner, and Bond, the rest of MI6 certainly would have . . . differentiating opinions on you."

"Well, I can understand that. 006 died because of me, isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"I'm still so sorry for that . . . for every death I've caused—"

"And I have forgiven you," M interrupted him. "But back to your job, you have a brilliant mind Q, one that MI6 needs. However, we need to give it some time before we make any sure decisions."

"Of course sir, I understand," Q replied. He was polite and kept an impassive face but it was still clear that it wasn't the answer he was looking for.

M nodded, taking his leave at that moment. Bond, who had left a little earlier to give the two some privacy, now came back in, sitting down beside Q's bed. "Something bad happened," Bond commented as he looked at the former quartermaster's face.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Yes it is, you have that look on your face."

"What look?"

"The look that says I'm not satisfied or that's not what I hoped for," replied Bond.

Q frowned at his words, replying, "I do not have a look."

"You do and you're wearing it right now. Now, what happened?"

Sighing, Q muttered, "It's still so weird having you know me so well but anyway, nothing actually bad happened. It's just extremely likely I won't be going back to MI6 after all this is over. I can completely understand where M is coming from though. Really, it's surprising I haven't been thrown in jail by now."

"Well if it's any consolation, I would much rather have you back at MI6 anyway."

Q gave a small smile in response. "Thanks Bond."

Q glanced over at the clock by his hospital bed. It was getting close to ten and the former quartermaster was tired. However, he fought to keep his eyes open. His fingers moved the pages of the book he was currently reading as he tried to concentrate on that.

But that was to relaxing, he was going to fall asleep doing this. Q tried turning on the TV but nothing interested him and he still had to fight to try and keep his eyes from drooping. Now, he tried to do some of the exercise his therapist had taught him.

Those helped a lot. Now, each movement of most of the muscles in his body required extreme concentration so by the time that he looked at the clock again it was now a little past eleven o'clock. However, now he was really tired and it was hell staying awake.

Still, Q had a very good reason for not wanting to go to bed because for some time now he had been plagued with nightmares. Each morning he would wake up, not remembering what the nightmare was about, only that it had occurred and scared him to death.

But in his condition, Q couldn't stop the urge to sleep forever. Eventually, his eyes closed and this time they didn't open again as his breathing became steady and he began to dream.

He dreamt that he was in a dark room. His body felt like it was being injected with hundreds upon hundreds of needles and cuts and bruises seemed to appear out of know where. However, this felt to real. Not like a dream at all.

Suddenly, he felt like somehow his body, his mind was splitting in two. It was painful and screamed in response to it. When he opened his eyes again, another him was there, but colder and madder looking.

And then the carnage began.

Q watched as he saw himself, torture, destroy, murder. He tried to intervene, tried to stop the other him but for whatever reason he somehow couldn't stop him. As each life was torn apart by the other him, Q would see blood spread on his cloths.

He tried to get it off but it wouldn't leave him. It stained not only his cloths but his skin as well. Thick, dark blood everywhere, covering, almost consuming. It was horrible like something out of a horror movie.

And then it only got worse. No! Q tried to scream but no sound came out. Not even a grunt, simply nothing. He watched, feeling like he might throw up as he watched the mirror version of himself torture Bond, disfigure him.

Q tried to help him, run to him, save him but by now he was swimming in a sea of blood. There was nowhere to go, nowhere he could go. Only watching, witnessing all of this happen in front of his eyes.

Then in one last effort he tried to yell out, tried to stop this all!

His screams carried on into the real world.

Doctors and nurses came rushing in, trying to figure out if he had hurt himself, what had upset him so badly but they just couldn't see it. Q in the meantime screamed into his sheets, salty tears falling down his face, staining his cloths and the bedding. When finally his throat was to hoarse to scream, sobs escaped Q's throat.

"What's wrong?" asked one of the doctors urgently. "What happened?"

It took a while until Q could finally form words but when he could, he whispered, "I remember."