"No, I don't," Q says frankly. He gives an apologetic sort of shrug. "I know what you're going through, remember?" he manages a small smile at the emphasis, tapping his forehead. "Does your head ache? Mine still does sometimes."
"Which we will do with the reverence it so richly deserves," Q tells Severus (and the book). He grins sheepishly. "Thomas Carlyle," he explains. "It seemed appropriate." He clears his throat. "So, do we start here," he nods at the book. "Or did you have anything specific you wanted me to work on?"