"Sounds like fairly sound reasoning to me, but I don't suppose I'm any authority on the matter," he offered. Here he was, sitting in a cell with her, because he couldn't just let the matter drop. That he couldn't just be content that Q was alive and well enough, no- he had to go hunting the guy down. Foolish. Q was going to think he was a bloody idiot, and he had a point. Fuck, he really wanted a cigarette already. It felt strange, having nothing to do with his hands.
He thought over it for a second. A clean kill was the usual objective, but it seemed too painless for the prison guard. He wasn't meant to think like that. He wasn't meant to seek revenge. The rules weren't the same as at home, but it had hit him with a sudden clarity- this had been exactly the kind of thing M continually warned him against. He was a fucking idiot.
"These things never really go to plan," he almost mumbled, feeling like a right twat. "Torture of some kind, as psychotic as I realise it sounds, now," he admitted, with a sigh. "A quick death seems too kind."