Illuminate

Prologue

Imagine a Q who kept the same form for forty years. Imagine a Q who, when faced with questioning from an occasional worried fellow Q crossing his part of the galaxy, shrugged and pushed the friendly asker away and did his best to isolate further. Imagine a Q who shared beds with drunken strangers only to feel worse about himself in the end; who kept the same job he’d already mastered years ago instead of finding the next thing to excel at, solely for the hope of a cute young ensign to come back from the dead as a dashing starship captain and return to fetch that Q who so patiently waited for him.

Time had stopped mattering at some point. The Q were known to never settle down. Now, imagine a Q willingly repeating the same day for forty years. And it sometimes crossed his mind he should move on, but not today; then he pulled on the same work clothes, wore the same stoic expression to work, listened to the same jokes and woes from what could as well have been the same people, poured the same drinks to them and returned home to kill the same leftover time and sleep the same dreamless nights, or sometimes go to a stranger’s home that could as well have been his, go through the same motions with little variation, never able to get his charming Starfleet officer out of his mind and never finding anyone to match him.

Q scoffed. Imagine all that, and imagine himself in those shoes. How could that happen? How had it happened? But who knew; everything could finally change that afternoon when that same Q was once again pulling on his work outfit and making his way to the bar where he worked. The hope was thin and sickly, but it was there, and it was the only thing to latch on to.

“Q, look!”

He could hardly take Amanda’s innocent enthusiasm day after day, but they kept getting the same shifts. The energetic and sweet young Q, for reasons unknown, had wanted to take a human name and form and learn everything from who had become known, perhaps mockingly, as “The Human Q”. But unfortunately, The Human Q had become little more than a shell of an imitation of a person, unfit to teach anyone much more than how to mix a cobalt velvet or how to tell synthale from the real deal by smell.

“They’re about to make a statement about the Borg. You need to watch this, Q. They have a captain whose ship survived the attack. Isn’t that scary?”

Maybe it was. Q’s ability to fear had all but died along with his hope.

“It’s quite fine, you will no doubt recapitulate it later,” Q muttered and added whether I want it or not internally. He fled to the safety of their small office until the end of the broadcast to avoid Amanda and her youthful ability to experience curiosity and wonder.

As always, the night didn’t march on; it didn’t drag, either; it just flowed steadily and took Q through another day. A drunken man—human, not Starfleet, handsome enough but with terrible manners—tried to get Q to come to his place at the end of his shift. Q examined the man. Impatience started creasing the man’s brow. Mean he could deal with, impatient, no.

“Not tonight,” Q said and called for his colleague before the man could protest. “Give him something to sober him up.”

At least the stars on his way back home were pretty on nights like these. Q liked to imagine Johnny was up there in his beautiful starship, the Federation flagship Q had once promised he would command. Q never let himself delve too deep into his fantasies, though. He knew by now he only grew bitter once he thought about someone else behind Johnny’s bar counter, serving him drinks, or someone else frequenting his bed. Of Q being the only one of the two to honor his promise.

Q shut the door and sighed with relief at shutting out the outside world with its noisy HVAC and ugly lights and disappointing one-night stands and over-enthusiastic apprentices. He threw his work clothes on the floor, fed the fish, cleaned himself and didn’t bother grabbing a change of clothes before preparing a simple late dinner and heading to bed for some reading. He fell asleep naked, a magazine crumpling beneath his restless body.

Another day, another shift with Amanda, day after day, week after week. Had the other Q thought it a good idea to have an older Q keep an eye on the child and persuaded the management to give them the exact same shifts? Children were so very rare among the Q. Or maybe this was supposed to be a lesson for Q. Or a punishment. Or just a prank.

And once again, Q found her glued to the screen.

He wanted to reprimand her, but honestly, he’d rather do both their work on his own than deal with her positivity right now. Ever, really.

“They had another Borg incident.”

Too late.

“Hmm?” Q replied absent-mindedly and kept scrubbing the counter.

“See? This is why you should have watched that broadcast last month. They’re holding another one right now, so come on.”

If only to keep Amanda from bothering him for the rest of the shift, Q dragged himself next to her by a small screen.

The wide shot showed a sea of reporters in front of a row of modest podiums. Why did he have to see this aired live again?

“Can’t you just read the news story once it’s out? They do write these things down for a reason,” Q complained.

“You don’t read them, though.”

Q shot her an annoyed look.

“But you do.”

Amanda sighed.

“This is important. I’d like to know as much as possible. And this could affect you, too.”

Q frowned at her, then stared at the screen in silence. The podiums were still empty. Reporters and others in the audience were chattering and moving nervously. Finally, people appeared from the edge of the picture and briskly walked up to the podiums as the camera zoomed in. When the third and last person appeared, Q’s heart stopped.

The one introduced as the captain of the Federation flagship, Jean-Luc Picard, bald and rigid, was none other than his Johnny.

Everything went silent around Q as the captain tugged on his uniform and took his place behind the podium. Someone was talking, but Q couldn’t hear the words. All he saw was Johnny. He watched the entire broadcast silently, save for the small gasp when it was Johnny’s—Captain Picard’s turn to speak. He had never forgotten that voice. How could he?

When the broadcast ended, Amanda started to speak. Q couldn’t have cared less.

“I need to go. Take care of my fish,” Q interrupted. Amanda looked at him with her mouth open.

“…Where? You mean—”

“My fish, Amanda. Remember.”

A stern look that silenced Amanda, and then he was gone. No more the same velvet jumpsuit day after day, no more the same cocktails and the same faces and the same tales and the same sad, lonely nights. The only things Q was taking with him were his human body and the remnants of hope in his soul he had clung to all these years.

***

It wasn’t exactly easy getting aboard the ship, but after four decades’ worth of easy, Q was quite happy to challenge himself for once. In the end, it took him a few months of hard work and planning to find an excuse to be picked up and make his way to a location where he would cross paths with the Enterprise.

And just like that, he was aboard the ship he had dreamed of since that night.

Now, how does one go about wanting to meet the most important person aboard the most important Starfleet vessel?

Turns out, with luck.

Q had kindly been granted a tour of the ship, which he had gladly accepted. It was as if decades of staying put had made Q desensitized to all the familiar colors and places and smells around him. As dull and sterile as the ship was, Q could see color for the first time in ages in those beiges and grays.

His guide was just about to show him the holodeck when Q saw movement in the corner of his eye and instinctively turned to look. And there, just by chance, Q saw him; his young, handsome ensign, now clad in a different uniform, aged and wrinkled and weighed down by years of hard work and responsibilities but so him in every way that mattered to Q. Q stopped, hoping he would turn his way.

He did.

Their eyes met.

Imagine.

Relief, desperation, arousal, anger, hope, blame, love, confusion all fought and mixed into a flurry of chaotic emotion that tried to manifest itself through a hysteric burst of tears Q could barely keep from spilling over. There he was, standing in front of him after 40 Earth years, little hair left and older than in Q’s memory, but just as gorgeous and handsome as all those decades ago, the same sharp yet warm and kind look in his eyes, the same hands that had held Q and the same mouth that had kissed him and smiled at him and told him to fuck him and said his name like it was sacred.

“Johnny,” Q said in a voice that broke into a whisper.

“You’re… Q?”

& on AO3

Being a Starfleet officer, let alone a captain, meant that there were no “normal days”. A life-threatening situation or a revolutionary discovery could lurk around any corner—sometimes the very same one. It was a responsibility and a burden that came with the job, one you simply had to accept.

That being said, Picard was expecting today to be a fairly uneventful one. They were in the heart of Federation space to pick up some supplies and drop off a couple families, and Picard needed to prepare some paperwork before a tedious string of meetings planned for the following days. Not his favorite part of the job by far, but at least it gave him and the rest of the crew a bit more time to lower their guard and relax.

Picard idly listened to Will as they walked down a corridor together. He had some plans for the evening—

Someone was getting a guided tour of the ship. Had they picked up new civilians on their last stop?

Normally, he would have walked right past the man. Hell, he should have walked past the man. He had no reason to concern himself with random passers-by. But instead, Picard had looked him in the eye and stopped, taken a second or two to realize he knew that face, and frozen.

At first, Picard couldn’t place the face. Happened all the time in his line of work—he was by no means bad at remembering people, but the amount of new people he met in an average month was impossible for any mortal mind to catalogue. But there was something about this face that stopped Picard in his tracks. It felt out of place, out of time.

It had been such a long time.

Strange, disorienting nostalgia rushed through him. Like an optical illusion, there was an unexplainable ripple in the reality he perceived.

“Johnny.”

Picard almost heard the cogs turning in Will’s head. He barely got a word out. It was coming back to him, the early morning before the stabbing, when he had quietly picked up his things and left before having to face whatever flattery and empty pledges had been spoken the previous night.

Memories were hazy—it had been such a long time—and he didn’t care to try and resurface any of it right now. He remembered a flashing light, pulsating…

“You’re… Q?”

It took him a couple more seconds to get over the shock of having someone from his youth appear in front of him looking exactly the same as all those years ago.

“What are you doing here?” Picard hissed at the speechless man and earned a shocked look from Will. No wonder. His harsh tone shocked himself, too.

“I—” Q’s mouth was left hanging open.

“Excuse me, I need to be—” Picard started but was interrupted by Q.

“You promised to take me with you.”

Profound embarrassment colored Picard’s face. He calmed himself down. He needed to get out of the situation, and getting angry helped none.

“I was young and foolish. I said a lot of things I shouldn’t have—to a lot of people,” Picard said patiently and tried to gesture for Will to leave with him.

“You never reached out to me. I was expecting—”

“I was busy, I had my assignment, I—I was stabbed!” Despite the exasperation, Picard tried to keep his voice low and hoped in vain Q would follow suit.

“For forty years I thought you were dead!” Q exclaimed.

Picard turned away in panic when he saw the wetness in his eyes. Please don’t let him make a scene.

“You could have at least—” Q began.

“This is not the time nor the place for this. This will look terrible, but,” Picard interrupted and let out a humorless, incredulous and entirely displeased laugh. “I am making an exception for you, Q. Meet me at my quarters tonight at twenty-two hundred hours.”

Q took a deep breath and relaxed somewhat. And shut up, thankfully.

“Don’t get the wrong impression,” Picard warned him.

“I assure you, I am not expecting anything from you anymore, Picard,” Q said dryly and excused himself.

Will stood quietly behind him.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

“An old lover, sir?”

Picard glanced at Will. At least he wasn’t grinning. Picard focused on his breathing to keep civil instead of barking none of your business at him. He had displayed enough lack of decorum for one day already. Maybe it was the fact that the man had shown up unannounced, maybe it was the way he had exposed a part of Picard’s past self to Will; in any case Q had gotten under his skin in a way that was not fit for any Starfleet officer.

“Yes. From the night before I had my… encounter with the Nausicaans in my youth. I… I should have informed him I was alright, but how was I to know… Never mind. Please keep this between the two of us,” Picard said and looked at him. “This isn’t an order, Will. I’m asking as a friend.”

Will merely nodded.

Picard was uncomfortably aware of the time for the rest of the day.

At ten PM, to the minute, Q was at his door.

“Come,” Picard said, eyes glued to the desk in front of him as Q silently entered.

“And you thought I didn’t mean it. I always knew this was your destiny, Johnny,” Q said dryly once seated, examining the quarters.

Picard peeled his eyes away from the safety of the desktop and took a good look at Q. He hadn’t aged a day, but it wasn’t the Q Picard remembered. His memory from that time was hazy, yes, but the way he remembered Q—soft glow in the eyes, face never far from a gentle smile and a sudden blush—there was none of that left in him. This Q had a piercing quality to his gaze, hardness instead of softness, a permanent frown on his face and an edge to his voice.

He had aged, just not outwardly.

“What do you want from me?” Picard said, deliberately keeping himself distant for fear of letting any of that fleeting sympathy seep into his voice, and stood up to turn his back to Q.

“I want you to make good on your promise.”

Unbelievable.

“You want me to… what? Hire you as the bartender?” Picard shook his head. “I already have a barkeep. A damn good one at that. The position is not open.”

The silence went on for uncomfortably long. Q stared at Picard, seemingly calm, ripples of internal struggle only betrayed by the weight of his gaze and the way his lips twitched.

“I’m sorry, Q,” Picard finally yielded. “I shouldn’t have promised anything. I knew I couldn’t keep it.” Something urged him not to leave it at that, but to drive the dagger deeper into Q’s heart, turn the apology into something more final. “And I never intended to keep it, not even for a second, even if I could have. As wrong as it was, I only wanted to sleep with you.”

The relief of confessing what was supposed to be a white lie, a sweet nothing from decades ago, gave Picard some closure he hadn’t known he had needed until now. He glanced at Q. The tense expression hinted that the feeling of peace was far from mutual.

“You told me as much back then. I suppose you were always upfront,” Q admitted. “So,” Picard heard a cautious step as Q approached him, “do you still want it, no strings attached? One night, I’ll be gone in the morning. Just like you were.”

“No!” Picard lost his composure. He didn’t know why Q had that effect on him. “I don’t. I summoned you here to handle this matter in private and nothing else.” That wasn’t enough to deter Q. He stared at Picard with cold, emotionless eyes, but Picard knew there was deep-buried hurt behind them. Hopefully, Q would keep it there instead of forcing it on Picard.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot, if you catch my meaning. It would be even better this time.”

“Get out of here. Never come back. Ask to be dropped off at the next starbase and you’ll save both of us the humiliation of having me personally throw you out.”

Q stood there, anger and disappointment exuding from the cracks of his quickly eroding facade.

“So be it then, Johnny,” Q said quietly and left.

Picard cursed his younger self. This is what you get, he thought, for treating people like objects. Of course there would be an obsessive one lurking there somewhere, waiting patiently to bite back. Really, he was lucky this one only wanted to have sex with him, not put another dagger through his chest.

He sat in silence for a good while before checking the itinerary. How could he keep from bumping into Q until he’d be off the ship? Will already knew the situation, so Picard made a mental note to tell him to refuse Q if he tried to arrange another meeting. Others didn’t need to know—the humiliation outweighed the discomfort of potentially needing to fend off Q again.

What else?

“Guinan,” Picard said as he punched his combadge.

“Yes?”

“This might sound strange, but… If a tall human-looking man comes by and attempts to join the staff, will you tell him no and report back to me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Guinan?”

Silence.

“He makes a mean cocktail, though.”

Picard froze, then cut the call without warning. He buried his head in his hands, running both his palms across his scalp all the way back to his neck, then stood up and stormed to Ten Forward.

“Q!” he seethed and grabbed the arm of the tall man behind the counter.

“Captain Picard! You need but to ask. We don’t tolerate handsy customers here, even if it’s the captain of the ship.” Q was lively, disturbingly so, considering how moody he had been just a moment ago in Picard’s quarters.

“He’s right, by the way. Hands off my staff.”

“Guinan!” Picard had never felt so betrayed in his life. He let go of Q and shot a quick glance around him. If anyone was paying any attention to his outburst, they were at least hiding it well.

“What can I say? If you had called just a minute earlier—but I had already given him the job.”

“Just like that?” Unbelievable.

Guinan shrugged.

“You don’t come across a bartender this good every day. Sounds like he’s been pretty devoted to his job for the past forty or so years.”

“Here, let me make you one of my specials,” Q said smugly and poured something blue followed by something clear into a tall glass. With Guinan observing the scene, Picard had no choice but to accept the drink begrudgingly, then pour the sickeningly sweet liquid down his throat.

“Come here after your shift, and I’ll mix you something from the real deal,” Q said under his breath and winked.

“That’s also a fireable offense,” Guinan said with a glimmer in her eye. “I’m needed elsewhere. Q, don’t let the captain distract you for too long.”

Once they were alone, something soft, something nostalgic flashed in Q’s eyes. He spoke softly.

“Seems like I made you keep your promise after all. In a way.”

“Seems like you did,” Picard said dryly. “Welcome aboard, Q.”

***

“You can’t avoid him forever.”

“Oh, but I can.”

“So you’ll never set foot in Ten Forward again?”

The situation was apparently severe enough for Guinan to pay Picard’s quarters a visit. That, and she had brought not one but two bottles with her.

Picard grunted. “He will give up and leave on his own sooner or later.”

Guinan looked at him with a mix of pity and disbelief.

“He’s a Q who retained the same form for forty years and stayed put until he heard from you, then somehow got himself aboard the Enterprise and demanded a job to be by your side.” Guinan filled her glass. “Maybe he’ll give up in another forty years. I wonder which one of you retires first.” She half-smiled. “This should be interesting.”

Picard declined the offer for a refill.

“I should go to bed.”

Easy for the others to say. Q hadn’t listened to him when Picard had told him to leave. What was he supposed to do other than be cold in an attempt to shatter Q’s hopes?

“Perhaps you should talk to him as you would to anyone else. Get to know him. Maybe he will start seeing you as just a regular person instead of the idealized image he’s built up in his mind.”

Deanna was right, of course, and so was Will parroting the same advice, no matter how unhappy Picard was to admit it. So, after putting it off for a couple more days, Picard was finally sitting at the counter in Ten Forward.

“Finally! My favorite customer is back!” Q enthused when he noticed Picard. “What would you like?” He lowered his voice. “I’m afraid I can’t bring out the actual booze until we’re closed.”

Picard tried to think of Q’s good mood not as the display of his desperate attraction that it was, but as a good place to start molding Q’s one-sided affection into something more equal and, most of all, more platonic.

“Just sparkling water is fine, thank you.”

Q, unable to hide the disappointment, still smiled happily and poured Picard a glass, then disappeared for a moment to bring him a big, fluffy croissant.

“It’s on the house.”

Picard let out a small, genuine laugh.

“You need to learn that everything is on the house around here. How long have you been working here now? Three weeks?”

“And one day, to be precise. And yes, you’re right, but unfortunately old habits die hard,” Q said and for a split second, forgot to maintain his carefree facade.

“I hope Guinan has been a fair boss,” Picard hurried to keep the conversation alive.

“Yes. Yes! She has been so very patient with me. Strict, but patient nonetheless. Well, she did stab me with a fork once. But you see, just yesterday I accidentally made an alcoholic cocktail for one of the patrons. Old habits, hmm? And she just gave me a lecture and made me swear I’ll be more careful in the future!” Q said with a raised eyebrow and lifted his finger. “No fork this time.” Then, he lowered his voice again after checking Guinan wasn’t within hearing distance, “I think she knew as well as I did that poor lieutenant needed something to help him relax a bit.”

Picard wasn’t even trying to hide his chuckle. The realization of how easy he felt around Q whenever he let his guard down hit him and disturbed him, and he had to hide his sudden mood shift back to the sour.

“I’m happy we’re on speaking terms again,” Q said, much too sincerely for Picard to bear.

“Yes,” he said distantly. Q’s face immediately became serious.

“Speaking terms, Captain. You won’t find me waiting by your door with a bouquet of red roses.”

Picard looked down in embarrassment. He could hear the wounded pride in Q’s voice.

“I didn’t mean to imply that,” he muttered back.

“I know you ultimately wish to get rid of me, but must you act as if it’s beneath you to enjoy my company?” It was spoken less like an accusation, more like a plea. Picard looked up. Get rid of Q? Yes, that was his intent, wasn’t it? But what had Q done these past three weeks but exist in peace and be content in knowing his old lover was alive? Picard felt petty and stupid thinking back to his reason for coming here today.

“Would you stay if I let you?” Picard asked.

Q searched his eyes before replying.

“I would.”

“Even if we would never be anything other than friends?”

“Friends would be far more than I would have dared dream less than a year ago.”

It wasn’t supposed to be a promise of things to come, but that’s how Q had taken it, judged by the hopeful tone of his voice. Picard’s thoughtlessness was making things worse.

Worse? How?

He liked Q, he realized. He had liked him back then, and it would have been absurd to insist he didn’t like to sit here with him. Q was behaving himself. Will, Deanna and Guinan were the only ones who knew of their past, and they had not once judged him or made fun of him for it. Why would they?

“Fine. You can stay, then,” Picard said, his voice still as distant as cold as he could manage. The small glimmer in Q’s eye told him it wasn’t quite distant enough.

Maybe he will start seeing you as just a regular person.

In an ideal world, Q would lose his romantic feelings. But, Picard caught himself thinking, in that ideal world, Q would also not lose all of his interest. Maybe in that ideal world Q would work here at Ten Forward.

But that was just ridiculous, wasn’t it.

And so time started to pass normally for Picard again. Q became normal to him. Just another person on his ship with whom he happened to share a past, however brief and messy it was.

***

It was the rush hour at Ten Forward. Picard usually avoided the busiest peaks, but today he had no choice. Picard pushed through the crowd and made his way to the counter.

“Looking for Q?” Guinan was on her way from the other end of the counter, where a loud group of fresh ensigns were laughing and drinking. One of them noticed Picard and started hushing the others.

“I was supposed to meet up with him here an hour ago, but something came up.”

“He had the holodeck booked, said it was okay for you to go in if you still needed him. It’s holodeck four,” Guinan said and passed the ensigns’ order to one of the waiters.

“I don’t,” Picard hurried to say. “I mean, not anymore, but I would like to go and apologize. Thank you.”

Getting out of the crowded bar was a relief. He sounded the chime, and the opening door revealed a dark room in front of him. He took a step in, and the arch disappeared behind him.

It took a moment for Picard to see anything after coming in from the bright corridor. The room was dark, a dusky green light filtering softly through the sheer curtains and scattering faintly around the small, rustic living space. The sound of leaves rustling in the imaginary trees carried through the open window, and a soft wind waltzed the curtains in a pattern seemingly natural, yet carefully arranged to never reveal the scenery behind them.

“My help wasn’t needed, after all?”

The Enterprise had had a run-in with an insular people Picard remembered Q having mentioned. They’d arranged to meet and discuss their culture, but…

“The incident escalated suddenly. I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to inform you. But I wanted to…”

Q’s silhouette was dark against the window.

“…I wanted to keep my promise,” Picard managed. Q seemed to nod.

“Thank you.”

For a moment, Picard just stood there. He knew he was supposed to leave now. “Is this a real place?” Picard asked, instead, against his better judgment.

Q shifted his weight. “I spent… roughly three of your Earth years on a planet like this, living in a room like this. We Q live our lives like that, you see, amassing skills and knowledge by living as a part of one community after another, never really settling down, always moving on after we have mastered a skill. It was, let’s see, five hundred and sixty years ago, give or take.” Q paused. Picard didn’t see his face but could hear the uncertainty. “It was my first trip.”

“What did you learn there?”

“Local traditional glass engraving techniques.” Q scoffed. “I grew bored before they let me touch half the tools. I learned my lesson and always picked something simpler from then on. Perhaps I should have given it a few more years; that craft has now gone extinct. But it’s against our nature to stay put for very long.”

And yet he had done exactly that. For decades.

“Do the Q ever settle for one vocation for a longer time?” How long did they even live? Was Q young? Old? Picard spotted a bed in the corner and sat down. He could see Q a little better now, the profile of his face sharp against the softly billowing curtain. His head fell slightly. The silence was an answer in itself.

“I did think of you,” Picard said quietly, “once.”

Q moved away from the window. Picard felt the mattress press down under the weight of Q settling next to him. Not quite touching, not quite far enough not to be aware of their proximity even if he closed his eyes. He chose to trust Q not to try anything.

“It was—” The words got caught in his throat. He took a breath. “Maybe a year or two after what happened. I was at a low point and lonely, and I suddenly remembered you.”

Picard stopped his mind from trailing back to that time too vividly and risking letting the memory stir up whatever confused arousal it threatened.

The light outside was getting low, the green tint deeper than before. Q said nothing, just listened to Picard and remained unreadable, barely a silhouette in the dark corner of the bed. If only Q would interrupt him, accuse him, say something, anything to give him an excuse to never talk about this again.

“I wondered if you still remembered me, if you still looked the same, or if you had gotten bored with your human form and become something unrecognizable to me.” Picard paused. Previously soothing green light had slowly become oppressive and claustrophobic, a sickly shade that painted everything monotone and weird. “I missed you that night, alone in my bed, unable to sleep. I never considered for a moment that you might wonder what happened to me.”

The bed moved under Q’s shifting weight. Picard’s eyes had adjusted to the dark, but it was still difficult to make out any details, let alone read what little Q’s expression perhaps revealed. Not that he would have dared to look him in the eye.

“I’m sorry.”

Q remained quiet.

Picard didn’t know what should come next. For most others, he figured, it would have been touch: a friendly hug, a handshake, anything. But not for them.

“I really loved you, you know,” Q said finally and startled Picard out of his thoughts. “Maybe you didn’t put it together; maybe you did. After all, you’re smart enough, but too stubborn. Arrogant, too, back then. I would argue even now, although you’re more sneaky about it these days. But truly, I thought I would never meet anyone like you ever again. And I haven’t, and I still don’t think I will.”

“We hardly knew each other.”

Q fell quiet again.

Picard stood up. “I hope we can put it all behind us now.” He tried hard not to think about anything at all.

“I’m sure.”

—

Time passed. Neither would bring any of it up again.

***

There had been talk of Q leaving. The Enterprise would soon leave the planet they currently orbited and head for unexplored space. This would be the first and last time in months they would be anywhere near such a populous planet brimming with things to do, and throughout this third year of his career at Ten Forward, Q had been increasingly eager to share ideas of what he wanted to see and do and learn next with whoever cared to broach the topic. And the louder the whispers, the more widespread the rumors got, the braver the more curious patrons of the bar became in their efforts to woo the mysterious shapeshifting being before it was too late.

Picard tried not to think about how many of them ultimately succeeded in their efforts. It wasn’t any of his business; no, he should have been relieved Q had company and seemed to have completely given up chasing after Picard. He tried to ignore how much it bothered him.

He did not, however, mind acknowledging his regret over Q’s alleged leaving. Guinan hadn’t been wrong; he was very good at mixing a drink—good company, too, however rarely they met these days.

The evening was marching on. If the rumors were true, this would be Q’s last night on his ship. Picard knew that if he wanted to meet Q one last time, he would need to go now, as difficult as it was.

For a moment upon arriving, Picard feared he was already too late, that Q had left his shift early to pack up his things. Ten Forward was fairly empty, and Q was nowhere to be seen. Guinan was sitting at one of the tables, comforting a young, crying science officer, and no one manned the bar.

Picard made his way to the counter anyway; he didn’t want Guinan to notice his weird behaviour and get any silly ideas. No, he would sit here and get a drink, sit for a moment, then leave.

Only since there was no one to serve him, he was now left sitting awkwardly at the empty counter, unable to leave, unwilling to stay. The lesser evil, Picard thought and sighed, than to drag Guinan away from the young, sobbing officer and have her comfort the captain in his sixties instead.

Comfort.

Something was tearing Picard apart from the inside. He had never realized how much he would miss Q’s presence. He scoffed at the memory of himself from three years ago, short-tempered and angry at Q, trying to drive him off the ship. If only he had known. He should have known.

Maybe he should have valued these past years a bit more. Somehow found the time to visit him more often. It wasn’t easy for a captain, but it would have been doable.

“Why didn’t you ring the bell?”

Picard’s chest jolted, and he turned around.

“Q,” he whispered in surprise.

“Are you finally taking me up on my offer? We’re not closed yet, but I’m sure I can sneak you some wine while Guinan is preoccupied.”

Q was as lively as always, a devious smile poorly hiding the sincere joy in his eyes.

Something squeezed the phantom heart Picard had never noticed beating in his chest until now.

Because Q was still as adorable as ever, and Picard wondered why he had ever let himself forget it so completely.

“When is your shift over?”

The words were out before Picard could stop himself and think. Q froze, and all color drained from his face.

“Don’t,” he said and turned away.

Picard reached out to touch his back gently.

“Look at me, Q. Please.”

Hesitantly, he turned and found Picard’s eyes after some apparent internal struggle. They glimmered softly under the dim lights of Ten Forward.

“I have made a terrible mistake. I’ve been such a fool,” Picard said.

Q scoffed and broke eye contact.

“Well, since you’re the one to bring it up, yes. Yes, you have.” He looked back at Picard coyly. “So am I, apparently, letting you do this.”

The beating of his phantom heart was deafening. A young man’s heart.

“Do you think you could fall for me again?”

Q’s face went through a number of expressions before settling on a bittersweet smile.

“I’m not against you trying to persuade me,” he said sweetly.

Ten Forward wasn’t an appropriate place for the captain to kiss someone. It wasn’t appropriate to kiss someone at their place of work in the first place. Was it appropriate for Picard to kiss Q under any circumstances?

“Call Guinan. No, leave her a note. Tell her you had to leave early,” Picard said with some urgency, leaving out the part about it being captain’s orders. That definitely would have been inappropriate.

Q hesitated. Something long-repressed had gotten loose and was moving Picard’s lips, making him say things he considered reckless and juvenile. Now that he had let himself act on his desire, Q’s hesitance only made him want to push harder. He wasn’t about to let Q move on and go his separate way this easily.

“Do you think I’m letting you leave the ship? Even if Guinan fires you?” Picard leaned in and whispered. “You made your case. I want you here. I’m acting on a whim and dazed by you. Take advantage of it. Make me promise you things again, only this time I won’t let you down. You know that.”

Q stared back at him breathlessly.

“Do I? How do I know you’re not lying to me about keeping those promises?”

Picard let his eyes bore into Q’s and speak for him. The moment of truth, no turning back. It was his fault for not realizing sooner, and this was his only shot left. “I will be at my quarters,” he said with all his authority, then turned his back to Q and walked away.

Waiting back in his quarters for Q gave Picard plenty of time to second-guess everything that had just happened. Would Q come? Would he just quietly disappear from his life instead? Would they have another night, only to be separated for another forty years?

No doubt Q had a lot of time to reconsider Picard’s offer, too, with how quiet Ten Forward had been. It had taken Q over forty years to heal the last time. He would be an idiot not to run away. And Picard was a monster to subject him to that again.

The chime.

Picard’s voice was suddenly gone.

“Come,” he managed and rushed to the door.

“Sorry I’m late, but it took me forever to find non-replicated flowers.”

Picard stared at Q in the doorway, holding twenty-something roses in his hand.

“Twenty-four. ‘Always on my mind,’” he said quietly and raised an eyebrow, then offered the bouquet. Picard accepted it. Q was still the only one to bring him flowers.

“Did you steal these?”

“Will you kick me out if I did?”

Picard put his free hand behind Q’s neck and pulled him away from the door frame. The door closed, and the moment it did, Q’s arms were tightly wrapped around Picard’s waist. Q was holding him tight, breathing him in, letting him feel all those years of longing and loneliness.

“I’m here,” Picard stammered, still not sure if Q would be there the next day. He didn’t want to think about it. “Let me get these roses some water.”

Reluctantly, Q loosened his grip and followed Picard to the replicator.

“Let me,” Q said and ordered something using words Picard didn’t recognize. A gorgeous mother-of-pearl vase with a jade ivy pattern materialized. “Doesn’t hold a candle to a real one. I might be the only person left who still knows how to make one.”

Picard placed the vase and the roses on his desk. There was still so much he wanted to ask. Why had he let the time they had slip through his fingers?

He peeled the clothes off Q’s body and let Q do the same for him. They felt, they tasted what had changed and what was still the same.

Q’s body hadn’t aged, but it had changed. Become softer in places, firmer in others. Amazing how Picard still remembered; unreal how every part fit him like a glove. What little didn’t, he felt adjust in real time, respond to Picard’s touch and form like a craftsman was fine-tuning his creation on the fly, only this craftsman was his own creation.

I’ve been thinking about you a lot.

Picard felt a rush of self-conceit when he thought about Q changing his body to fit Picard so perfectly, making it into a work of art only Picard could truly appreciate in the way it was meant to, making every single partner Q had had between Picard’s time at Starbase Earhart second to Picard and plainly letting them see this. Any sliver of jealousy he might have had was gone in an instant. The angle that made Q’s voice soar the highest, the strength of the arms he held Picard with, the length of the legs that he spread for Picard; all were precision-engineered for Picard. He would have felt selfish had he had the capacity to feel anything but ecstasy.

***

“How much longer until you disembark?”

Picard wanted to tell him not to go. It was the small hours of the night, and both of them were tired and spent and blissful and in love.

Q inched closer to Picard. “I think I asked you something similar once. Is it now my turn to disappear into the night, hm?”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.” A kiss on the chin, another one under the ear. “And I really hope you won’t start any fights and get yourself stabbed.”

Q touched the scars on Picard’s chest. Barely visible, even to himself, but no detail went unnoticed by Q.

“I was never planning on leaving anyway. Not now that I finally found you,” he said and brightened up. “I’m done standing behind the counter, but there are plenty of other skills to learn aboard your marvelous ship. Don’t you think I would make a wonderful holoprogram designer? By the way, when are you going to congratulate me for my excellent foresight into your career trajectory?”

Picard ignored the question. “What do the Q do with all the skills they learn? Why do you do this?”

Q smiled playfully.

“No one remembers anymore. Some say we used to share a closer mental connection with each other, that hoarding knowledge and skills is a way to fill that void. My favorite, albeit fringe, theory is that it’s in order to attract a mate. Not that we procreate like that anymore. Do you feel attracted?”

Picard chuckled. “You’re awfully romantic for a Q.”

“What a disrespectful thing to say to a Q!” Q wrinkled his nose, then broke into the most brilliant of smiles.

“’Love at first sight.’”

His smile faded. “Come again?”

“You gave me one red rose. You stole it from someone’s 25 to tell me that, didn’t you?”

Q said nothing, just hid his face in Picard’s neck.

“You’re not only romantic for a Q, you’re romantic even by human standards.”

Q shifted slightly. His thighs were warm against Picard’s own, and Picard wondered how it would be to wake up entangled like this. He slowly rubbed Q’s arm. Q put one leg over Picard. Picard pulled, Q pushed, until Q lay on top of him, warm skin on skin.

***

Q didn’t leave, and the rumors died down. Years rolled by. To the people of the Enterprise, he became a member of the community, a storyteller, a jack of all trades, a well-regarded artisan. To the other Q, he was still “The Human Q”, but it stung no more. On quiet nights, he would coax Picard into joining him for a drink at the empty Ten Forward. On others, they would hold each other and share stories. Q would steal roses for Picard. Picard would go and apologize, but nevertheless accept the roses each time. Q was sure no Q had seen quite as many places as he had at his age. Picard always made sure to make time for shore leaves with Q, invite teachers and masters and craftspeople for Q as well as the rest of the crew and the civilians to learn from, stock Q’s quarters with genuine materials.

Ten years after their reunion, Picard and Q found themselves having some downtime at Starbase Earhart. A lot had changed. A lot had stayed the same. The beacon had been torn down. The bar was still there. Q didn’t want to go.

“Let’s do something else,” he whispered. So they walked around until it was dark. Picard knew none of the places. Q knew every nook and cranny.

“I used to watch the stars on my way back home on clear nights and wonder if you were still alive somewhere up there,” Q said. There was no accusation there, not anymore, but Picard felt the familiar sting of regret.

“I promised myself I would make up for those years you were waiting for me.”

Q considered it.

“And you have. Promise fulfilled.”

They walked in silence again. Not long until they would need to return to the ship. The small settlement was far behind them now, ahead only an odd structure here and there and small dirt roads connecting them.

“I need to come up with a new promise, then.”

Q looked at him curiously.

“And why is that?”

Picard watched the lights of the starbase and the surrounding houses. He wondered what kind of love stories and tragedies and life-changing events were taking place in those buildings as they were speaking.

“So you don’t get any ideas of ever leaving my side.” Picard took Q’s hand. He had a glint in his eye and gave Q a wry smile. “I’m sure you would never make me break a promise.”

Q kissed Picard’s hand. “Let’s hear it, then.”

& on AO3