TUNDRA ✧ Quartermaster, Spectre.

three.

"You must not call me Geoffrey."

She arched an eyebrow at him, and took a seat in a nearby chair. "Pray tell, by what other name would I address you as?"

"Q."

"That's just one letter."

"I am far more used to it than my own name. Furthermore, due to my occupation, everything I am is classified information."

Athena gave him a knowing smile. "I suppose, then, that I shouldn't proceed to ask just what it is that you do?"

"Precisely, Ms. Oberfeld. I commend your quickness to catch on."

Q laid there, on her desk, still as the water from the lake below before a certain time of day. The He seemed troubled by something.

"Something wrong?"

Rather than give her a verbal answer, he demonstrated his issue by pulling a pained expression and trying to sit up, most likely so that he could swallow the pill without the danger of choking on it. "Why didn't you say you needed help?"

"I don't. I solve my own problems, thank you."

Barely, she thought, her lip twitching upwards- the beginnings of an annoyed expression, and said annoyed expression permeated her thoughts and drove her to mutter, "Ingrate."

So, she sat back and watched him struggle. What else could she do? He'd asked for it. Q, on the other hand, was in tremendous pain. His chest hurt, his muscles hurt—the very act of breathing was a chore. But it was his shoulder that agonized him the most. Although he had stopped bleeding from the bullet wound he'd sustained in his shoulder, his nose still dripped with blood. He was intensely frustrated that he had been brought to a place where no one had anything to offer him other than Advil and alcohol. Surely, he thought, they had bandaids, but they were useless. Bandaids don't fix bullet holes.

"I suppose that since we're stuck here together until that boy gets back, we should perhaps get to know each other," Q said, cringing at the fact that he would be forced to socialize with a woman who seemed to despise the very essence of men. Athena hardly skipped a beat with her response.

"Alright," she replied coolly, her eyes glinting with some hidden intent, "and as the host, I insist that you go first."

Q flinched, silently fuming as he observed her arrogant smirk and irritatingly relaxed body language. And yet, all he said was, "How blessed I am to have such a gracious host."

"Yes," Athena piped, "Go on."

He visibly deflated; Q was sure that if he stroked her ego then he would be able to avoid talking about himself for that much longer- but he was sorely mistaken. This woman seemed to always be three steps ahead of everyone else, including him. "Well, I grew up in Liverpool."

Athena leaned forwards, arching an eyebrow. "And? Thousands of other people could say the same thing. Continue."

He was growing more and more irritated with each passing moment. Why was he allowing this stranger to pressure him into doing things he didn't want to do? Oh, right- because she was his only hope for survival. "My mother died when I was young. I don't remember her. My father paid someone else to raise me while he spent the remainder of my mother's will on alcohol and cigarettes."

He saw her eyes go wide for a moment- she hadn't been expecting that- but her surprise wore off quickly, and she reassumed her cold and unfeeling exterior. "I'm intrigued. Proceed."

"I have nothing left to tell you."

"Is that so?" Athena gave him a shark-like grin. She was trying to intimidate him, and was succeeding. "Well, then. I suppose now it's my turn- but I'll only tell you about the things you specifically ask about."

Q's green eyes narrowed. "I noticed you only keep men around you. Why is that?"

He'd struck a nerve- judging by her sudden change in attitude, it was a subject that she preferred not to discuss. "Can't a woman exercise the power she's given in the workplace?"

Athena, not wanting to hear his response, rose to her feet and went over to him, recalling that he was injured- he hadn't complained at all since he'd gotten there, which concerned her. At first glance she could tell that he had been shot. "But before you answer that, where were you hit?"

"My right shoulder," he replied, "now, what was it that you were saying?"

Athena swiftly ignored his question and asked, "Is that all?" If he hadn't known any better, Q would have mistaken her 'thinking' face for one of disappointment.

"I should think so," he responded. After thinking about his next move for a second, his lips twitched upwards and then he said cheekily, "but perhaps that's the lack of Advil talking?"

"So you're not sure, then."

"You could check."

Athena grew very suspicious of Q at that point. "Alright."

With that, she stood and walked over to her desk where he lay. Q expected her to be timid and gentle, but what she really was surprised him: her white hands grasped his jacket and practically tore it open. Those same hands proceeded to undo the buttons of his vest as well as those of the shirt he wore beneath the vest. She pulled the jacket, vest, and shirt off to one side, just enough to be able to see his shoulder. Sure enough, there were two red bullet holes near his underarm, the surrounding skin peppered with crusted blood. She considered the possibility of Q having a bleeding disorder, which might have caused him to bleed more from his shoulder than most people would under the same circumstances.

"It doesn't look too bad," Athena concluded, shrugging. This was, of course, before Q tried to angle his arm in such a way that would allow him to assess the damage with his own eyes, and the wounds began to bleed again. The clotted blood was apparently only present in a thin, delicate layer, and it appeared as though he did have a bleeding disorder. The probability of that being so was high. Very high.

"...And you're bleeding again. Perfect."