Naked Warfare

It was well past five before Q finally finished the stupid bloody budget proposal. It technically wasn't due until the end of the month, but most of the accounting department were as pedantic as they were obstinate and they had this entire thing about the reports being submitted on the twentieth of each quarter.

Which meant that Q was five days overdue.

And despite the fact the last five days were adrenaline-filled chaotic rushes of revealing the fake-backstory prank to the double-0s, dealing with the fallout from that, losing the chair to Eve, giving Alec the go-ahead to blow shit up, realising that Alec had accidentally blown himself up in the process, trying to decode the unknown hormone drug, risking his life on the off-chance the full-on raging alpha would recognise him, saving his agent's life and losing an entire day's work as he was suddenly delegated to teddy bear, and then dealing with an obnoxious dynamicist prat followed shortly by one of the most furious alpha's that Q had ever seen and that really was saying a lot… something told him that the accounts department wouldn't care about any of that.

Groaning, he ran a hand over his face before leaning back in his chair.

He could really do with a double-0 hug right about now.

Glancing over to the right, he watched as Alec continued to sleep on the battered old couch, his left arm thrown over his eyes and his right still held protectively close to his chest.

Q had sent Doctor Arkov a quick email only a few hours before, letting him know where his wayward patient had disappeared to after signing himself out, and much to the omega's chagrin - and slight embarrassment - the doctor had replied with yeah, I thought as much, keep an eye on him, would you?

Apparently, he was just the designated double-0 wrangler now.

Turning back to the screen in front of him, he quickly glanced through the report before hitting print. It was only adding insult to injury really, the fact that the accounting department refused to let the Head of Technology email them the budget report. Instead, they demanded a print copy, single-sided, double spaced.

Who the hell printed things anymore?!

Reluctantly dragging himself to his feet, Q trudged over to the printer in the corner of the room, purposefully placed behind a large green - fake - plant.

He didn't like looking at the outdated travesty any more than he had to.

Gathering the pre-stapled report, he gave Alec another quick look. He really did want a double-0 hug right now, and as much as he was loath to admit it, it was starting to drift into the 'need' category rather than the 'want'. The last few days had been absolute hell, and despite him being the antithesis of the majority of omega's in this world, there were still some parts of his own biology that he just couldn't ignore.

Namely, the odd sort of restlessness that came from going too long without physical contact with an alpha. It was a weird kind of buzz, like an itch just beneath his skin, an itch that he knows won't go away until he finds an alpha, an itch that's going to get progressively worse and worse until he wants to bang his head against the wall until he passes out just to escape the inevitable drop that follows.

Q used to have a pretty fucking great no-contact tolerance.

But the double-0s, as usual, had completely and utterly destroyed it.

Either way, he knew of only one agent that was still in the building, and it felt far too selfish to wake the injured man up just to ask him for a hug or a pat on the head. The other double-0s were still AWOL, something which he should probably do something about once he's handed in this stupid printed budget.

Sighing, Q gripped the pages in his hands tight enough to rumble them, before turning towards his office door, and heading out.

He was exhausted, jittery, and in no mood to deal with these stupid bloody knotheads. They had been an absolute pain to deal with back when he was still posing as a beta, so Merlin only knew how badly they'd treat him now. The whispered words he could deal with, the not-so-subtle suggestions were something he could ignore, and even the catcalling and whistling got more boring than offensive after a while. But the touching? And the grabbing? And the so-called playful teasing?

Q had broken more than a few fingers since becoming Quartermaster, but those had belonged to solitary alphas and a few betas in empty corridors during the middle of the day. This was the first time he'd have to deal with an entire department of dynamicist idiots, and he wasn't quite sure what would happen next.

He knew, theoretically, that they wouldn't do anything, couldn't do anything, because of all the cameras and eyewitnesses, but there was still this trembling sort of dread sitting in the pit of his stomach at the thought of walking into a room of alpha's late at night and being the only omega present.

Then again, maybe the late hour was a good thing, because the majority of the prats would have already gone home for the day.

And besides, he was the Quartermaster of MI-bloody-6 now, so surely the alphas and betas in accounts would treat him with a little bit of respect, right?

Wrong.

"... This is the budget proposal?"

"Yes" Q said through gritted teeth for what felt like the millionth time.

"... For TSS?"

"Yes".

"And you're… what, just delivering it to us?"

"Well, obviously!"

The beta, Gregson, according to his nametag, held up both hands in defence but his infuriating smirk made it clear that he was mocking the omega rather than teasing him.

"You're a few days late, love. The quarterly reports were due last week".

"The quarterly reports are due at the end of every quarter!" Q replied sharply, "As it is still February and not yet March, they are perfectly on time!"

"Yeah, well, our quarter ends on the twentieth but it's currently the twenty-sixth. Do you see the problem?"

"Do you see that written anywhere in the code of conduct manual?"

Gregson smirked and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. "Oh, you're a feisty one, aren't you? You're wasted at TSS".

"Oh really?" Q asked sardonically, "And where would I be better suited then?"

The man's smirk widened into a leer as he made no attempt to hide the fact he was glancing him up and down, his eyes dark and lewd.

"I can think of a few places".

And, you know what, Q had been expecting that. He really had. He had one hundred percent expected that sort of the answer before he'd even asked the question. But once, just once, he'd have liked to have been proven wrong.

"I've given you my budget report, it's in on time, and everything you need is there" he said flatly, "So either file it, or don't, but either way? It won't be me that you'll be dealing with next. It'll be M".

That wiped the smirk right off his face, and Q felt a wave of satisfaction as he spun on his heel and strode from the office, ignoring the whistles and jeers that followed him through the department halls.

The worst was over now, he'd handed in the stupid printed report and it was up to the stupid pratish beta to file it. And if he didn't, then the Quartermaster sure as hell was going to make good on his threat of getting M involved.

Turning the corner, he came to an abrupt stop as he saw three accountants waiting for the elevator. Even at this distance, he could tell that all three were alphas, and Q already knew that there was no way in hell that he'd cope with being in such a tiny confined space as the lift was with the trio. Glancing around, he caught sight of a fire exit sign above a dusty old-fashioned door, and he immediately made a beeline for it.

As soon as he saw the concrete stairs, however, he felt his breath catch.

Q was more annoyed that he hadn't expected this to happen than he was at the fact he was two steps away from a mental breakdown.

The last time he'd handed in a budget proposal to the accounts department and took the stairs back to TSS, after all, seventy percent of his branch had been murdered and half of MI6 was blown up.

But it was either the stairs, or an elevator full of alphas, so Q forced himself to walk on.

Only three flights until he was back on home turf, and three flights was really only six half flights, which only had twelve steps each, so really there was only seventy-two individual stairs between him and safety, and he'd already covered seven of those steps just from working that out so now it was down to sixty-four… sixty-three… sixty-two… sixty-one… sixty… and now he'd down an entire half-flight, only five and a bit to go and then he'd be in Q branch, he'd be at home, he'd be with-

"Well, well, well, look who we have here".

The absolute absurdity of someone actually using that sentence in real life made Q momentarily forget that he was meant to panic. Once it did click, however, that there was a very pissed off alpha standing in front of him and he was a lone omega in the middle of the most disused part of MI6 while no one knew where he was, however-

"I've been waiting for you to show up" Mortner growled.

Q swallowed thickly, forced himself not to panic, and took a single step back.

"Ah, ah, ah, none of that now!" the man said chidingly, "After all, where are you even going to go? Back down to the accounts department? We all know what they think about your… type".

"The same things that you think, I'd imagine" he replied, forcibly calm even as his brain went haywire.

Mortner was here, Mortner was here in front of him and had clearly been waiting which meant that he knew Q would be handing in his report today which meant that he knew someone in accounting who had given him a tip-off which meant that someone in accounting wasn't just all talk and instead genuinely wanted Q to hurt.

The nurse took a step forwards, and then another, and another, until the omega was backed against the wall.

The cold concrete brought painful memories to mind, the sound of shattering glass and creaking beams echoing in his ears, and for a moment, for one split second of a moment, he could have sworn that he smelled smoke.

"I lost my job today" Mortner snarled, stepping even closer until their faces were mere inches apart.

"Congratulations. I'm sure it was well-deserved".

"Shut up!" he yelled, slamming his left hand against the wall just a hair's breadth away from Q's throat.

He decided not to focus too much on that, and instead zoned in on how the man's right arm was currently in a sling. Someone from medical had eventually gotten around to relocating his shoulder, then, although he imagined that it must have taken them a while if what Doctor Arkov had said was true.

"You little bitch!" Mortner continued, his eyes ablaze and his scent almost overwhelmingly bitter, "You cost me my job! All because I spoke the truth-"

"The truth?" he exclaimed before he could think better of it, "Do you genuinely believe that I'm sleeping with 006? With any of the double-0s, for that matter?!"

"Of course you are! That's all your kind is good for! How the fuck else did you get to be Quartermaster if you weren't whoring yourself out for it!"

He was actually insane.

"So which was it, huh? Did M approach you first? Or were you a good little omega who fell to his knees as soon as Mallory got the position?"

Q slowly moved his hand towards his right trouser pocket where he kept a small and compact, but lethally powerful, taser. This entire alteration was going to go one of only two ways, and he would very much prefer it to go the way where he survived.

"You must be a seriously good fuck to have kept the job this long" Mortner continued, spit flying from his mouth in rage, "Maybe if you're good, I'll take you for a test drive".

He slipped his hand into his pocket and smirked.

"I'd rather die".

His pocket was empty.

"That can be arranged, bitch" Mortner snarled, before suddenly, there was a hand wrapped around his throat and his head was slammed back against the cold concrete wall.

Q choked, fingers clawing desperately at the alpha's arm because his pocket was empty his pocket was fucking empty why the hell was his pocket empty where the fuck was his-

Oh.

Oh no.

His mind flashed back to what felt like a lifetime ago as he had emptied his pockets in Q branch, taking out his keys and phone and taser and anything that a double-0 could have used as a weapon before R? you got the comm and what are you doing? and something either unbelievably stupid or incredibly genius as he headed down to the holding cell to help Alec, not returning until hours later when he went straight to his office, bypassing the desk that held all of his personal items and bypassing it again as he made his way to the accounts department to hand in the stupid fucking printed report without his keys and without his phone and without his taser.

Something unbelievably stupid indeed.

"I'm going to enjoy this" Mortner grunted, pressing him even further against the wall as black dots started to dance in front of Q's eyes. "You've been strutting around all high and mighty for far too long, bitch. It's about time that someone showed you your place".

Okay, think. Think think think. He just had to- Q must- He needed to- to- Why can't people just think?!

No keys. No phone. No taser. No means of contacting the outside world and no weapons he could use to defend himself with- His vision started darkening at the edges and the only thing he could hear were his own desperate gasps for air that just wasn't coming-

No! Think!

Mortner's grip tightened even more, strong fingers constricting around his throat, slowly but surely crushing him - carotid artery, jugular vein, laryngopharynx, larynx, trachea, carotid sinus reflex - to death. Cerebral ischemia would be first, the restriction of oxygen-rich blood to the brain eventually resulting in damage to brain tissue, followed by asphyxia as he suffocates, and then bradycardia; a slow heart rate, or hypotension; a low blood pressure, or both.

Estimated time to unconsciousness: Seven seconds.

Q dug his nails into the alpha's hands, but that just made the man squeeze even tighter. So instead, he went limp, forcing Mortner to take the brunt of his weight which, granted, wasn't much, but it was still more than he was expecting.

The nurse stumbled forwards, pushing Q down rather than back, and he quickly aimed a strong kick to where it would hurt the bastard the most. Mortner howled in pain, automatically loosening his grip, and despite his burning eyes and throat and skin, Q forced himself to keep going, to assess his opponent's weaknesses - face, groin, shoulder - and use them to his advantage.

His brother had given a very interesting lecture once about the multitude of evolutionary flaws that the human body had, but most specifically, the flaws of the shoulder - mobile ball joint in a shallow socket, ergo, endless possibilities for damage - and Q was adamant to make that knowledge count.

Mortner's shoulder would still be stiff and very sore for the next few days, thanks to Alec, so if Q was lucky, then maybe, just maybe…

Using the last of his strength, he reached forwards and gave the sling a single harsh yank. Mortner cried out, letting go of the omega's throat as the pain brought him to his knees and Q gasped as he suddenly fell to the floor, hard, hands coming up to claw at his throat. His fight or flight instinct was in overdrive, even more so with the stifling, overwhelming, choking scent of a seriously pissed off alpha, but he also knew that if he didn't get out of here now, then he would very likely be killed.

Scrambling to his knees, and then to his feet, he stumbled over the alpha's prone body, accidentally - but not very apologetically - kicking him in his injured shoulder as he did so. There was a sickening pop, and Mortner bit off a half snarl, half scream, clutching his right arm to his chest as he fell to the floor and stayed there.

It was only when Q saw the tears streaming down the man's face that he realised his own cheeks were wet too.

But now he had no time to think, the time for thinking was over, now was the time for running and fleeing and barricading himself in his nice warm safe office with his gun and high security electromagnetically locked doors.

As he raced up the stairs, Q swore to himself that the very next time he saw Duncan, he was going to beg the man for self-defence lessons. It had been years since he'd done jiu-jitsu, and despite that being enough to ward off everyday attackers, when it came to the enemies - and employees - of MI6, it clearly just wouldn't cut it.

But first, he had to make it back to his office and then arm himself and barricade the room and hopefully find a bottle of whiskey somewhere.

Only five flights of stairs to go. Forty-eight steps… forty-seven… forty-six…

Bursting into TSS, he was beyond grateful that only the skeleton crew remained because he knew he must look incredibly disorientated right now and the last thing he needed were rumours of mental instability to start flying around.

He walked as quickly as possible through the branch without running, barely registering Halim calling out his name. He was shaken and uneasy and bloody terrified and he just- he needed someplace warm and quiet and small and safe and-

Q slammed his office door shut behind him and then rushed over to his desk to hit the emergency button beneath it. The hiss of the electromagnetic locks clicking into place immediately soothed his racing heart, but he knew that it wasn't enough, it wouldn't be enough, it was never enough-

Pressing the button that turned missile-proof windows opaque, he yanked open the top drawer of his desk and took out the loaded gun inside. He knew that he'd never fatally shoot anyone, not unless it really was the only option other than death, but it made him feel a hundred times better just to feel the weight of it in his hands as he held onto the gun tightly and braced himself to use it just in case-

"Well, that's never a good sign".

Startled, Q jumped, spun around, and pulled the trigger.