"There are other methods now?" Q is momentarily interested, then dismisses the idea. "There isn't anyone here who could treat me and I'm not going to go to St Mungos. And I was never treated," Q reminds him. "I died instead. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof."
"Very probably," he agrees, hearing the unspoken word. "I'm open to any other suggestions you might have." Won't take your advice, but I'll listen. "At least this way I'm only risking myself."
Q's face goes instantly white and the room swirls around him. "No," he whispers, digging his nails into his palms. "Please, no," he begs of no one.