Q smiles gently again, gently turning Robert's hand over to look at the extent of the damage. "I don't think they're broken, just dislocated. But we'll wait for a doctor to get here before we do anything about it," he says quietly, still stroking his fingers through Robert's hair. "Shh, sh, hey, don't apologise. You've nothing to apologise for. Things happen, don't they?" It's not Robert's fault, after all. At least Q doesn't blame him.
As he's only in his nightshirt he doesn't have anything on hand to bandage or at least attempt to apply some pressure. "I'm going to have to get all dramatic commando on you, I'm afraid," Q says, using a little piece of glass on hand to cut the threads of one of his sleeves, to rip the material from the body of the shirt and produce a make-shift bandage.
"It's going to be okay. I told you last time, didn't I? It's going to be okay. Don't worry."