Hymn of you

12 February 2026

5578 words

Rated E for sexual content

Comment or leave kudos at AO3

“I shouldn’t be doing this to you,” said a soft murmur into Q’s ear.

“Be quiet,” Q said and dug his face deeper into the warm neck. And so the man was, silently holding Q, bodies naked and limp and molten, covered in long-since cooled off and dried sweat. If just once Q wanted to stay there a moment longer… it still didn’t mean a damn thing.

—

The conclusion to Consolation prize and Home from home

Category index

A simple lapse in judgment. A single kiss Q had let slip by didn’t mean a thing.

Neither did the time Q had taken that afternoon to push slick fingers one by one into Picard, taking his time making him relax naturally, nor his palm gently resting on his hip to soothe him. Basic human decency was not a display of kindness, but a requirement, Q reasoned, to keep Picard coming back to Q and offering himself like this. If anything, using Picard was the reason in itself for care and consideration.

Q was still using Picard as a warm body to cope. What difference did it make if Q made it enjoyable for Picard as well, murmuring a soft warning before entering him, starting slow, easing into the thrusts, making sure they reached the climax at the same time. There was no ambiguity between them. They could have each other’s bodies whenever they wanted, and that was the full extent of their relationship.

Over the weeks, sex became routine for them. Daily tea and chitchat became daily blowjobs, quick fucks on the couch or, sometimes, something almost tender.

And if sometimes, when he fucked Picard, tears burned in Q’s eyes as he remembered what he had lost, it had nothing to do with this Picard; and if sometimes this Picard reached his arms around Q and pulled him close to comfort him, well, Q could humor him and accept the misguided friendly gesture just that once.

“I shouldn’t be doing this to you,” said a soft murmur into Q’s ear.

“Be quiet,” Q said and dug his face deeper into the warm neck. And so the man was, silently holding Q, bodies naked and limp and molten, covered in long-since cooled off and dried sweat. If just once Q wanted to stay there a moment longer… it still didn’t mean a damn thing.

***

On some days, it made him almost happy.

“If it isn’t my favorite patient!”

Picard was tense. Happened sometimes, Q thought. Miserable life and all. Nothing new there. And although Q somewhat preferred the more relaxed, hence more eager and daring Picard, it had never been a problem before. There was exactly one thing Picard came here for these days.

“You seem healthy enough,” Q smirked. He hopped on his feet and approached Picard.

“Q.”

Picard took a step towards the center of the room, as if avoiding Q.

“Aren’t you going to drink your tea?”

“Q—”

Definitely more tense than usual. So be it.

“I see you’re not thirsty. Let us begin, then.”

“Q!”

Q snapped and moved them onto his bed, both naked.

“I don’t feel like rushing things today,” Q purred. “I assume you don’t have anywhere else to be after this. Is face-to-face fine with you?”

“No! Stop this, Q!”

Q fell silent and looked at Picard with some hurt and confusion.

“So much for my good mood,” he muttered. “What is it now?”

“I wanted to talk about something,” Picard said and slid away from under Q. “Can I have my clothes back?”

Hesitantly, Q obeyed and returned them to the couch, both wearing their usual attire, Q’s arm on the backrest, body tilted towards Picard.

“Well? I would have rather talked about this after we had finished with the more pressing issue,” Q whined. Picard said nothing, just gave him a small, apologetic smile before pressing their lips together for a chaste kiss.

Well, this definitely wasn’t a good sign, Q thought and resisted the urge to tear his lips away and shove the man down on his back. Picard withdrew soon enough, then spoke softly.

“Someone offered me an opportunity that could lead to a promotion somewhere down the line. But it’s a risky move…” Q expected Picard to tell him he had turned it down, seek reassurance, ask whether it was the right thing to do. And Q would say whatever Picard wanted to hear; whatever would get him out of his clothes. Instead—

“I took the chance, Q.”

Q’s eyes grew wide. He was speechless. A flurry of emotions washed over him, and he couldn’t tell if he was more worried, angry or impressed.

“You did?” Q managed.

Picard’s smile widened, and something nostalgic sparkled in his eyes.

“You must be rubbing off on me,” he said joyfully. “Lately, you’ve been giving me so much confidence…” Gone was the sparkle, regret and hesitation in its place.

“I’m sorry, Q. I wanted to say... I was hurting you—am… hurting you while I myself am getting ahead—”

“No. Be quiet. Get back on the bed,” Q said. There was exactly one place where this discussion was going, and Q wasn’t about to follow Picard there.

“Q…”

“I won’t let you do this,” Q said voicelessly.

“I love you, Q.”

“Then get on my bed and take off your clothes,” Q fumed and stood up, piercing Picard with his burning eyes. “You know you can’t fight me. I can make you do whatever I want. I can make you want whatever I want.”

Picard didn’t look the slightest bit intimidated. The pity in his eyes made Q feel ill.

“But I know you won’t,” Picard said and stood up to reach for Q’s arm. Q yanked himself away from Picard, eyes firmly locked on his.

“You need me,” Q hissed.

“I do. As a friend,” Picard said, pain in his voice. “And I want you, but… I am destroying you.”

“You are incapable of such a thing.”

“Q,” Picard said and put his hand on Q’s arm. Q didn’t have the resolve to pull away this time.

“You cry in my arms every day.”

“It hasn’t been that many times,” Q retorted. Had it?

“We can’t keep doing this. At least not before you have…” Picard searched for words. “You need to get better.”

“Do you have any idea what I am?” Q said darkly. How dared Picard try to reverse the situation! If someone was being harmed, it was Picard, not Q.

“No, I don’t,” Picard said, raising his eyebrows and letting out a frustrated almost-laugh. “How could I? You never told me.” Then, under Q’s glare, his eyes widened and mouth opened slightly in surprise. “Q. How did I not make the connection—”

“Entirely on me, I assure you. You have read about my kind and are plenty smart to make the connection in your pretty head; I just blocked a few inconvenient synapses here and there. Couldn’t have the reliable little lieutenant here report me,” Q said.

“But why—”

“Save the questions,” Q said, and a knife twisted in his heart. “You already rejected me. Now go on and write your report to Riker. I wonder which parts you include,” Q said with all the disdain plain in his voice.

“I won’t,” Picard said, voice raw and quiet.

They looked at each other for a while in silence, trying and failing to read what the other was thinking.

“I can make you stay here forever,” Q’s trembling voice disappeared into a whisper.

“I know,” Picard whispered back, clearly fighting back an emotion but still not the slightest bit fearful of Q. Then, he turned around and left.

***

After that, Picard returned to Q’s door every day only to find it gone, as Q saw his intentions clear as day and wasn’t there to answer. For weeks, Picard visited daily. Q would watch him stand there for a moment that grew shorter each day. Then, he missed a day here and there, and after two months he hardly walked by where his door had once been. In what for Q was a blink of an eye, Picard had given up the hope of ever seeing him again.

Q only returned once, in as much sense as one can return to an illusory room of their own creation. He tried to find solace in touching himself, but he only found deep disgust at himself as he made a mess of the sheets under him. Sex with a human partner he could justify; this, hardly.

He watched Picard, too, safely hidden from mortal eyes. Many times, in fact. A violation of privacy, perhaps, but he couldn’t care less when night after night he watched Picard frantically whisper Q’s name and come in stifled moans. Who would have known Picard was so loud all alone? Q wondered which exact scene played in Picard’s mind whenever he did this, but peeking would have been crossing a line too far even for Q. Sometimes, Picard would reach inside himself with one hand while stroking with the other. Sometimes, he’d do things Q had never done to him. Things he no doubt would have wanted him to do and never asked. Q frequently wondered if appearing at the right moment would prompt Picard to beg for Q to fuck him senseless, but he never gave in to the temptation.

A year passed. Picard was promoted to full lieutenant. He had stopped calling for Q—first while masturbating, then in his sleep. Q had only stopped appearing in his room after another name slipped past Picard’s lips. Q certainly wasn’t there to watch when Picard brought the long-haired, long-legged lady to his quarters. It was that day he knew he couldn’t keep his promise to stay by his side.

He will get married to this woman, Q thought. A widow with two grown-up children. Younger than him, but not by that much. They were a perfect match, if only from a rational standpoint. They provided each other with what they both needed—someone reliable, someone available, someone steady and loving.

“Is that what you want?” Q asked quietly.

“Q,” Picard said in a stifled voice Q couldn’t quite map to a single emotion. Picard turned around to see Q’s tall silhouette in the shadowy corner of his dimly lit crew quarters.

“Congratulations on your promotion, by the way. I knew you had it in you. I always did,” Q said and stepped into the warm light. “You found yourself a woman, I see. How long have you two been together now? Four months?” He saw Picard pick up the veiled accusation in his voice.

“I didn’t realize I was supposed to pine after you for the rest of my life,” Picard said and looked away. “You abandoned me.”

“No, dear, you abandoned me,” Q said softly. Picard shot an angry look at him.

“You were never mine to abandon. All you cared for was your captain, and the moment I denied you my body, you denied me all of you.”

Q searched Picard’s eyes with desperation. If it didn’t mean a damn thing, then why was his already broken heart still breaking?

He stepped closer. Picard let him.

“I miss you,” Q whispered with earnestness.

“Do you miss me, or him?”

It didn’t matter anymore. They were one and the same, but there was no use in telling him that.

“You love me,” Q said. Picard hesitated for a moment.

“Yes.”

“I love you,” Q said, and it was true, and he knew Picard knew it was true. “You don’t love her, not like you do me, and she doesn’t love you like I do.”

“It’s enough,” Picard said and raised his hand to cup Q’s cheek. Q closed his eyes and leaned into the hand. He had a terrible feeling it would be the last time.

“How does an omnipotent entity lose someone?” There was no bitterness in Picard’s question, only compassion. “You never told me what happened.”

“I tried to save him,” Q said. “And I did, in the end. It just took me too long to realize, and now it’s too late for me to be with him.” Q opened his eyes and looked at Picard, desperate to make him understand.

“Did you keep the mark?” Q asked and braced himself for the response.

“I did.” It was barely audible. Q wondered if the burning relief was even harder to take than the disappointment he had expected.

“Can I see it,” Q said quietly.

Picard nodded and let Q slide behind him and push his fingers under the uniform, rest his nose against the back of Picard’s head, letting warm breath slip through his parted lips and land on the patch of exposed skin above the uniform collar. Q felt the shivers running through Picard’s body as he gently held him. Q had never told Picard how deeply he felt his innermost sensations. He lamented how little he had appreciated it himself until now.

“I need you,” Q said as he slowly pulled up Picard’s uniform. “I miss you,” he said as Picard let him pull the garment off. He knelt behind Picard and opened his pants, not-accidentally brushing the side of his hand against Picard’s arousal. He lowered the pants enough to see the burned lines and kissed the scarred skin.

“And still you haven’t looked, have you?” Q asked.

“I haven’t,” Picard said and didn’t protest when Q stood up and gently pulled him onto the bed.

This would be the last time, so Q did everything he had seen Picard want done to him. Everything Q wanted to do to him—for him, above all. He didn’t hold back when they kissed but leaned into the kisses and tasted Picard and melted into him like he should have done from the start. Q held Picard’s body between his hands and ran his palms slowly across the skin. He explored every detail so that he would never forget where a small scar, now invisible to a human eye but very much noticeable to Q, had been healed with their imperfect Federation technology; where a bone poked under the skin and stretched it as Picard moved his hips; where the muscle was firm and where the tiniest amount of softness could be found on the lean body. Those soft spots were like a hidden treasure; so rare that finding them was like a gift to Q. And when Q touched them, a small laugh escaped Picard’s lips, and Q could feel the huff of air against his mouth and let it curl into a smile in response.

Q kissed Picard’s mouth, his bottom lip, the dimple on his chin, the underside of his jaw, his adam’s apple. He charted Picard’s body like a cherished land where he knew he could never return. They didn’t need to talk; they accurately read the meaning in each other’s every smallest touch and gesture. This is what it could have been, Q thought. This is what it should have been. And here it is now, Picard’s body responded and pulled Q away from the regret back into that very here and now.

Once every last piece of clothing was gone, they were quiet and steady against each other for a moment. Holding each other naked like this was new. It used to be something that only came after sex, and it involved Q’s tears and sticky sheets and misery, none of which were present now. Q looked deep into Picard’s eyes, deeper than he had ever dared before. How confident he had grown, Q thought as Picard pushed Q on his back and explored him like Q had just moments earlier.

Q desperately wanted to feel Picard inside of him, but that was the one thing now was too late for, the one thing Picard wouldn’t say yes to, not anymore. So instead, Q sat up and pulled Picard into his lap and caressed his back. He closed his eyes, leaned his face against Picard’s fuzzy chest and let out a loud sigh.

“It tickles,” he said.

“I’m sorry, love,” Picard purred. Q rubbed his face against Picard’s chest.

“I don’t mind it. It’s rather nice, when you think about it.”

Another blissful moment passed. In the beginning, Picard’s unfamiliar, non-mechanic heartbeat had been hard to bear; now Q couldn’t get enough of the sound.

Q’s hand traveled down his back and he looked at Picard for permission.

“Please,” Picard said, and Q carefully pushed a slick finger inside him. Picard rewarded him with a soft moan. Q knew exactly how to touch Picard to keep him making noise—he had touched him enough times before—but he had never bothered with deliberately drawing out those lovely sounds. Q pushed another one in and, oh, it was so soft and Picard held onto him so tightly and both their hearts beat so fast. This time, Q was in no hurry. Before, he had used his powers to speed things up. The only thing he considered now was slowing them down. Picard’s cock was hard and slick against Q’s body, and he had no intention of letting him come yet. Selfish, maybe, but Q wanted Picard to remember this as the best night of his life, and Q was far from being done with him.

“Are you—can I?” Q breathed.

“God, yes, please,” Picard pleaded. Gently, Q replaced his fingers with his cock. Picard’s hips bucked forward, desperately rubbing his cock against Q.

“Sorry. I can’t let you finish just yet,” Q murmured and pushed all the way in and wrapped his arms tightly around Picard. By now there was nothing elegant about their bodies frantically grinding against each other, only pure passion and love manifesting in a most human way.

“Q—please, let me—”

“Say that you love me, say it one more time,” Q panted into Picard’s ear, desperate and at his limit.

“I love you, Q, I love you, oh god!”

They climbed, then came to a halt in sync, breathless and quiet, holding each other tightly. Picard was the first to loosen his grip.

Q eventually let go of him, and they both fell on their backs on the bed and lay there for another good while in silence, just looking at each other for what they both knew would be the last time. Q wondered how it would have been to stay there and watch Picard fall asleep and hold him, be there when he woke up.

It was Picard, again, to end the moment.

“Please don’t take her from me,” he said, and it hurt—the fact he would never be Q’s, and the fact he had to ask—but Q promised.

“I won’t.” He inched closer and held Picard’s face in his hands. “I hate her.”

“I love her.”

“You don’t,” Q said and gave him a regretful smile. “Not like you love me. But she will make you happy and I would not take that from you.”

“Not like I love you,” Picard admitted and kissed the palm of Q’s hand. “You need to go now, love.”

***

Q held Jean-Luc’s memories of another life in his proverbial hands like a precious dress that didn’t fit anyone anymore. He pressed them near to his heart one last time before placing them on a pyre.

***

Picard never married her, although he might as well have. For five years, Q watched from afar as Picard lived happily with the woman he perhaps didn’t love quite like he loved Q, but who gave him the stability he needed. The courage and self-confidence, though, Q knew were his gifts to Picard. He saw Picard advance in his career and grow close with his new stepchildren and step-grandchildren. A perfect role for him, Q thought bitterly. But he didn’t show himself, didn’t find ways to insert himself into their lives, didn’t even eavesdrop. Taking a small peek every now and then was enough to satisfy his curiosity. He saw them celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, promotions, holidays… Celebrate plain, ordinary days, too. It wasn’t a life the old Jean-Luc would have been content with, and while Q saw the man sometimes yearn for something else, in the end even he couldn’t argue with Picard’s words. It very much was enough for him—in this life, anyway.

Then, she died—without warning and much too early, but Picard was not alone, not like when Q had left. He kept in touch with his stepchildren and the friends the two of them shared. His career was finally advancing, despite his age. He would never be a captain, but he was happy and ambitious, and Q wondered if he ever thought of Q anymore.

Exactly one year after her untimely passing, Q was waiting for Picard’s shift to end in his quarters.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said once Picard entered his quarters and noticed Q standing there. Q stepped closer and handed Picard a small, delicate bouquet of white flowers in an ornate crystal vase, and kissed his lips lightly.

“You’re a little late,” Picard smiled and looked at the flowers carefully before placing them on his table. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry for being late, too. But I’m ready now, Jean-Luc,” Q said and let Picard pull him down for another kiss.

“She loved you,” Q said with nothing but kindness in his voice. “She loved you and kept you happy, and I love her for that.” Maybe Picard thought it was easy for him to say now that she was gone; Q himself knew he meant every word.

“You were right the entire time,” Q said.

“You can stay if you’d like.”

“If you’ll have me.”

Q pulled Picard close, and both of them just stood there in silence, embracing each other long enough to lose their sense of time.

That night they talked, just talked, long into the night. Picard told Q about the people who had become his family. He talked about her, and it wasn’t jealousy that hurt Q but the sincere grief that his love had lost something so precious. For the first time, it was Picard who wept in Q’s arms. And when Picard asked Q to tell him about his lost love one day, well, it was a bit complicated, wasn’t it, but Q promised. And it was the hardest thing to say, but he said it nevertheless:

“You should know I have let him go. You’re not a substitute, Jean-Luc. You never were.”

And he held Jean-Luc closer as if it was his very resolve he was pressing against his chest, determined not to let it escape him.

Morning came, and Jean-Luc was sleeping sound in Q’s embrace. He wasn’t exactly watching his dreams; Q simply observed Jean-Luc’s emotions change and sensations sweep over him, marveling at how the body and mind came together in a person.

The alarm clock went off. Q silenced it, but not before Jean-Luc was already awake.

“It’s your day off. Go back to sleep, dear,” Q hushed him.

“As lovely that would be, my shift is starting—”

“No, it isn’t,” Q said, then continued with mock-regret. “I’m afraid there was a slight delay, and your team has been granted some extra time off.”

Jean-Luc looked at Q.

“You did this.”

“And why do you suppose I would do such a thing, Jean-Luc? So that I could keep you here and do this?” Q lightly pinched Jean-Luc’s butt. “Or perhaps this?” He kissed Jean-Luc on all the places he knew tickled Jean-Luc the most. “Definitely not for…” Q’s devilish smile softened into something more earnest as their eyes met.

“Make me real, Jean-Luc. You still have it, don’t you? Please.”

Jean-Luc nodded timidly, then smiled.

“I admit I’m nervous to finally see it after all these years. What if it’s tacky?”

“Are you doubting my taste?”

“Never,” Jean-Luc said and kissed Q’s cheek. “Go on. Show me, then.”

“This will be a tad unconventional, but just roll with it, will you,” Q said and snapped a mirror in front of Jean-Luc—only, a mirror showing Jean-Luc his own back.

“Unconventional, yes,” Jean-Luc said and got on his feet. He stepped closer to the reverse mirror in his nightwear, Q following him. They watched their own backs in the reflection.

“I’ll just…” Q muttered and brushed his fingers against the soft fabric of Jean-Luc’s clothes and the skin underneath.

“Mh,” Jean-Luc groaned softly in response. “Go ahead.”

Q opened the front of the shirt and slowly slid it off, then put his fingers under the waistband of the pants and pulled. He pushed his own fully clad body against Jean-Luc’s naked back.

“It’s a shame to ask, but I need you to move,” Jean-Luc said with a smile.

“Mm, of course,” Q purred and slowly moved out of the way to reveal Jean-Luc’s back.

“Well, do you like it?” Q asked quietly. Jean-Luc’s eyes were fixed on his own back.

“I can’t read it,” he finally said.

Q stroked his naked hip.

“You wouldn’t. It’s written in a language that won’t exist for three more millennia, spoken by a people of a species that hasn’t evolved far enough to have a language yet.”

“What does it say?”

Q ran his finger over the words. The language as a whole was beautiful, but he especially loved the writing system. Simple and elegant, and the symbols were striking. The phrase alone looked like a piece of art.

“It translates roughly to ‘here is one’. A holy phrase of sorts, used in a variety of ceremonies of their culture,” Q said. “Maybe I could—” show, he wanted to say “—tell you more about their culture one day.” A brief silence.

“It’s beautiful,” Jean-Luc finally said. “It really is. Thank you.”

“Thank you for keeping it,” Q murmured and kissed his neck.

“Q.”

“What is it?”

There it was again, that glimmer in Jean-Luc’s eye.

“Could you keep the mirror here for a while longer? I have an idea.”

Q grinned.

“I like the sound of that.”

***

Q had never intended to make his presence aboard the Enterprise known to anyone but Jean-Luc. Little by little, though, Jean-Luc had dragged Q into daylight—Q would have been perfectly happy not meeting the stepfamily, but when Jean-Luc asked so charmingly... Much to Q’s annoyance, he discovered a sentimental side to his human guise, meaning that soon enough he had to admit—begrudgingly—to Jean-Luc that no, maybe family time wasn’t terrible and maybe he could join them again, since it was so important to Jean-Luc.

Jean-Luc teased him with an incredulous smile. Q sighed in resignation.

“Fine, they were nice, although not nearly as fascinating as you are. Mostly, though, I like seeing how happy you are. They bring out something special in you, something I never have.”

Something Captain Picard hardly ever showed.

“You know I value my peace and quiet, Q. An occasional dinner and gathering for major holidays is all I could even handle.”

Jean-Luc took Q’s hand in his, and Q leaned to rest his head on Jean-Luc’s shoulder. They were sitting side-by-side under the glorious night sky of the resort planet where the crew got to spend their shore leave.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” Jean-Luc asked, glancing at the rather extreme angle Q had to make to reach the shoulder.

“If I were a human, perhaps,” Q said, but made himself appear more comfortable for Jean-Luc’s sake. “Have I ever told you about the time I was briefly a human? Dreadful experience.”

“Oh? Hard to imagine you as one of us.”

“Isn’t it? Ridiculous,” Q said dramatically and lifted his head. “And they threw me into the brig! You, of course, would have been much kinder.” Q rambled. “’Q! Are you all right?’ You would have said and hurried to my aid. You would have helped me off the floor and rushed us to the ready room, where you would have replicated something soft to wrap around me, offered me a cup of hot tea—”

“Me? Offer you tea? I have never seen you drink tea,” Jean-Luc interrupted.

“Yes, yes, you would have done it anyway, is my point,” Q said, and Jean-Luc shrugged and smiled. They lay there for a moment longer in silence before Jean-Luc spoke.

“Can you take us somewhere more private?”

Q looked at him with curiosity. Then, he raised his hand and snapped. Gone was the resort and its lights and sounds, replaced by the near pitch-black wilderness and a soft mattress under them to shield them from the hard, cold rock surface underneath. The sky above them was still the same, but Q, unhindered by lack of light, saw the awe in Jean-Luc’s eyes as he saw the night for the first time without the light pollution of the resort.

“It’s magnificent,” he breathed. The atmosphere of the planet had a certain quality that gave the sky its signature prismatic look. It’s what drew in tourists to an otherwise frankly unremarkable class L planet, and while it was beautiful observed from the safety of the resort, in complete darkness, the sky was breathtaking even to the human eye.

What Q found most breathtaking right now was the human next to him.

***

Jean-Luc died among the stars. Out of the blue. They had talked about retirement just the day before, as they regularly did.

“Too early to even think about it,” he had said, and Q had smiled at him, because it was moments like this that made Q realize being headstrong was not a trait born the moment Jean-Luc had been stabbed in another life. It just needed to be teased a bit more to shine through in this life. Q kissed him.

There was nothing to be done, the doctors had concluded. There was only so much damage a soft human heart could take. Perhaps an artificial one would have been able to withstand the shrapnel, but as things stood, it had taken them too long to get him on the operating table to save him.

Surely Q could just—the collective voice of Q drowned his own, and he knew they would not let him. He had already taken both roads.

Not eternity, not even what should have been left for Jean-Luc of an average human lifespan. Seventeen years of happiness was all Q was given. It was nothing, and at the same time it had been everything.

Being in a human form without Jean-Luc near him was torture, Q came to realize, and although the polite hugs and handshakes from Jean-Luc’s stepfamily made it slightly more bearable for the short moment they lasted, enduring the time it took to take care of all the things Jean-Luc would have wanted someone to take care of, the way he wanted them to be taken care of, and sitting through the memorial service itself was beyond difficult. He said his goodbyes to the family, then left.

Q left the service, left the ship; left the entire galaxy. For Jean-Luc’s sake, he had made sure his stepfamily would have a good life, but without Jean-Luc, there was no true connection between him and them. Mortals, other than the one he loved, were ultimately uninteresting to him. Some were rather charming, but never enough to keep him endlessly fascinated like Jean-Luc had.

Without a plan, he drifted further and further away from the Milky Way. At first, he couldn’t stop being aware of the passing of time. Years, decades, centuries; he kept count out of habit. Then, he finally forgot why it mattered and let the millennia roll back and forth freely. But the restlessness and aimlessness never went away, so he kept traveling.

Eventually, Q made his way to the only place left that made any sense. Where this all began. The void where he had given Jean-Luc a choice.

Maybe he wished he hadn’t. He would be together with Jean-Luc for all eternity now if he hadn’t. No, he swiftly discarded any such thoughts. He couldn’t trade away the years they had spent together just like that, or the side of Jean-Luc he had learned to know.

“Q.”

Q didn’t have a heart, so how could it be strangled like this?

“How—” he uttered as he summoned his human form and turned to find Jean-Luc, clad in brilliant white, smiling at Q. “You’re…”

“A trial,” said Q—a different Q in their native form. “Or did you imagine we wouldn’t need to evaluate if you were ready to have a mortal mate ascend?”

“Then that means—” Q was interrupted by Jean-Luc, squeezing his hand and radiating light and warmth and just pure energy next to Q.

“I believe you passed,” he said, smiling unlike Q had quite seen him ever smile before. Realization seeped in.

“You remember,” Q gasped. “You remember everything. Everything.”

“I’m no stranger to containing multiple lifetimes, Q. I’m less linear than you always accused me of,” Jean-Luc replied with a glint in his eye.

“I never thought you were anything short of perfect,” Q countered. He was interrupted by the other Q.

“You have proved worthy of him, Q, so if he’s willing to follow you—”

“Are you? Will you?” Q pleaded. Jean-Luc lifted the hand holding Q’s and kissed it.

“I am, Q. I will.”

A sensation akin to a heart bursting with excitement and joy filled Q’s entire limitless being. Jean-Luc felt it too—Q knew, because his joy was bleeding into Q.

“Well, what are we waiting for, then?” Q aimed his attention at the other Q. “The dear captain and I have things to do and places to be.” The third wheel promptly disappeared with a Q equivalent of an eye roll, and Q turned his full attention back to Jean-Luc.

“So, where do we start?”

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