On joys of wine and touching a lover

Chapter 1: Touch Link copied

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Humans spent years out of their short lives studying in their silly little schools and climbing up the ladder to get an assignment aboard the prestigious Enterprise. Little did they know there was an easier way.

“From this day on, I’ll be serving as a member of this crew. No need to thank me.”

Jean-Luc stared at Q as if waiting for the punchline.

“That’s all. Aren’t you happy?”

“Haven’t we had this discussion before?” Jean-Luc’s face was tense. How cute.

“Once or twice, but in human terms, that was ages ago,” Q pointed out.

“I don’t want you on my crew,” Jean-Luc blurted and shot a dirty look at the four pips on Q’s collars. “It’s already bad enough that you have seemingly taken permanent residence on my ship.”

“’Permanent residence’ is such a meaningless concept to the Q. You should know that by now,” Q said and gave him a disappointed look.

“Your visits have become a weekly—no, almost daily nuisance,” Jean-Luc said, raising his voice and barely staying calm. “Have you no other places to be?”

“Mon capitaine, what could possibly be more important? Aren’t you glad I have taken your little expedition under my wing, hm?”

Jean-Luc ran his palm over his head and leaned back in his seat in defeat. If Q were a mortal man, the satisfaction in himself—seeing Jean-Luc at his wit’s end, squirming uncomfortably in his seat—would have made his heart flutter.

How adorable this man was, not figuring out why Q kept coming back to him, always beating the challenges Q threw his way but never understanding why Q “tormented” him. Really, who was truly tormenting whom here.

Q wasn’t sure if he’d call his feeling love, as love was something very un-Q-like as a concept, but it had to be something akin to it, at least. Lately, as much as “lately” existed for Q, nothing had really felt meaningful unless it involved Jean-Luc, and Q often found himself drawing parallels between his whims and desires and those of infatuated mortals. Annoying, yes; humiliating, also yes. But since the Continuum didn’t seem to have any interest in dissecting the weird fixation one of theirs was having, Q had concluded that it was only fair to have some fun with his favorite.

“I don’t accept this, but I can’t stop you. Will you at least promise you won’t cause any trouble?” Jean-Luc finally said. Q plastered an exaggerated expression of solemnity over his face and leaned in closer—just a tad too close, on purpose—to his captain. “You know I would never dream of causing you trouble.”

Jean-Luc stood up from his chair and withdrew, tugging at his shirt. Oh, how Q loved to make him flustered. Humans and their wildly disproportionate responses to the slightest of provocation. Q entertained a passing thought of how it would feel to elicit other feelings in Jean-Luc. More… positive feelings. Feelings of lust, perhaps. Of pleasure.

But what did Q know of carnal pleasures? The tactile side of humanity was vile and inconvenient, and he wanted nothing to do with it. He had had enough of it for an eternity. And you couldn’t have the good without the bad, so it was better to have none of it. Touching was beneath Q. He saw no appeal.

Still…

***

Days passed, weeks came and went. Q had to admit to being rather impressed by how little time it took for the rest of the crew to accept him, although he found himself adjusting his rank depending on the situation to avoid being either ordered around or asked for orders. Q only wanted to help when it was interesting to him, and, turns out, a bunch of primitive mortals doing their little backyard excursions wasn’t his idea of fun.

But he tried, he really tried to build his image as a reliable member of the crew.

Q lay in a bed—Jean-Luc’s bed, which the man himself had no idea Q frequented while the captain wasn’t occupying his quarters. Q was committed enough to his play-pretend as a well-behaved crew member to leave any signs of being there, but lately, there was a temptation to leave the sheets ever so slightly crumpled. Maybe leave behind just a hint of his carefully curated body odor on his pillow. Or a single strand of dark hair.

This just made him feel nothing.

An idea struck him, and Q sat up effortlessly in the bed and blinked into the desk chair in the other room, leaving the bed in a pristine condition. For now at least, he thought.

He needed something hot.

A cup of Earl Grey materialized on the desk in front of him, a faint ribbon of steam gently rising from the surface.

Q rolled eyes at himself. Really, was he becoming this predictable? Still, it would do nicely.

He raised his hand and slowly placed his finger on the thin glass surface. The human brain inside his temporary form took its time to gather the cup was, indeed, as hot as Q already knew, but the reflex to pull away was muffled along with any feelings of pain Q had previously discarded as useless for someone above injury and death. His brief time as a mortal had thoroughly convinced him that the human condition of being constantly and extremely aware of your own body and its immediate—but only immediate—surroundings was so unbearable that it made one question why human civilizations of the past even bothered with concepts like Hell.

Yet, here he was, sitting in front of a hot cup of tea, reaching inside his human brain and rewiring the parts responsible for what was possibly the worst side of being a human. Of all the possible senses, why did touch have to be their specialty?

Q paused for a second, stubbornly not acknowledging the obvious draw, the true reason he was unlocking this so-called ability for. The knowledge that with pain came pleasure, and there had to be something to it, seeing the lengths the species would go for such trivial, carnal satisfaction.

Once again, he raised his index finger and experimentally rubbed the pad against his thumb. It wasn’t painful, of course, but Q couldn’t exactly place whether it was uncomfortable or not. It definitely was distracting, but mostly in a neutral way.

He then grabbed the still-steaming cup with his entire palm. Immediately upon his human nervous system picking up the signal, Q winced and shot back in his seat, letting his newly unleashed human reflexes control his body.

“Ouch,” he said instinctively from his previous experience, immediately worried someone had caught him in such a humiliating situation. How very human, he thought about his own reactions and straightened his posture just in time for Jean-Luc to enter the room.

“Q,” he noted. “What are you doing here?”

Previously, Q would have known it more a get out of here, but apparently Q had built up enough rapport with Jean-Luc that it almost sounded like a genuine question.

“Why, as a member of the crew,” Q started and fully ignored the tired look Jean-Luc shot his way when he realized this wasn’t an emergency. “I think it obvious to see the captain to his needs for some winding down after a full day of work. Tea?”

Jean-Luc walked to the replicator straight past the cup Q was offering. Q, in turn, immediately picked up on the chance to turn the rejection in a game, and appeared in front of the replicator in a flash of light just as Jean-Luc was about to make his order.

“Are you always this rude when someone offers a kind gesture?” Q asked, trying to come off as playful.

“Tea, Earl Grey, hot,” Jean-Luc spoke right through Q. A cup materialized behind Q, who stood his ground nevertheless.

“Move.”

“Such brevity. I should at least deserve a ‘please’.”

“No,” Jean-Luc said and maneuvered his arm past Q to reach the cup. The sudden touch; the friction of their uniforms; the change in temperature against Q’s arm was electrifying, unexpected. Q involuntarily jumped away from Jean-Luc and the replicator like a startled animal, horrified and disgusted by his own primitive reaction.

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow at him, and a surprised sneer tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Skittish, are we now.”

Q glared daggers back at him and secretly switched the liquids between the cup in Jean-Luc’s hand and the one on the table.

Jean-Luc sat down to drink, probably expecting Q to leave him alone if he ignored him for long enough. Q had no such intention. He would not leave until—

“Now leave,” Jean-Luc finally said, not even looking his way.

“Of course. Good night,” Q said, hiding none of the displeasure in his voice.

***

Over the following days, Q wanted nothing more than to tear back out all the wiring that made him connect with his sense of touch. Everything was just as terrible as he had remembered from the first time. He could have easily turned the sensation on and off as he pleased, but the reaction he had to Jean-Luc’s touch back in his quarters was so severe and embarrassing that he knew he had to train his body to this constant stimuli and hopefully have more dignity when it would happen again.

After all, it happening again was the entire reason Q was so hell-bent on subjecting himself to this near-debilitating tactile sensation.

And it was indeed getting better, albeit slowly. It hadn’t taken him that long to learn to avoid hurting his body, and he was mostly used to light touches from other bodies. Touching others would have almost felt nice, in fact, if admitting that wouldn’t have hurt his pride. Still, he couldn’t deny feeling fondness when a crewmate gave him a pat on the back, as long as he perceived it ahead of time, which luckily wasn’t a problem for a Q.

At least he had something to think about while still doing his best to be on his best, most achingly dull human behavior. Maybe the constant overload of senses was enough to crowd the feeble human mind and keep it busy enough not to notice how uneventful and unremarkable their lives were. And to think Q had only fully unlocked one so far.

Even Q couldn’t deny that letting the human body perceive senses the way it was supposed to did make those insignificant, mundane events less boring. Surely humankind didn’t need all those pesky senses and their slow, inefficient nervous system anymore. Why use your senses when even the crude tricorder gave much more accurate and quantifiable information? At least Geordi seemed to be on the right track. Maybe they should have a talk at some point.

Maybe it was about the economy of it all. How much easier was it for humanity to satiate their souls drinking wine and touching a lover than to consume the wonders of the universe.

Then again, some of them were clearly more aligned with the latter goal. Nothing made sense.

In any case, Q decided it was time to broaden his palate.

***

Q picked Deanna as the training partner of the day. He wasn’t wild about the display of vulnerability he was about to present, but he reasoned the ship counselor would at least know how to keep things confidential. Besides, out of all mortals on this vessel, she had to be the most equipped to help him understand even the most baffling so-called delicacies mortals enjoyed. After all, eating was disgusting enough in itself, so why freeze your food and call it a treat?

“The worst of both worlds,” Q muttered as two sundaes were brought to their table. “I remind you that this is strictly between you and me.”

“Of course.”

Deanna’s smile morphed into curiosity as Q prodded the serving.

“Don’t be scared. You’ll get used to it,” she offered.

Q glanced up at her.

“Easy for you to say.”

Deanna chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m sensing so much anxiety over a dessert. It’s as if you’re face to face with a wild animal.”

Q rolled his eyes. “A wild animal would be no cause of anxiety for a Q.”

He felt his anxiety rise even further. He hadn’t thought of it before, but apparently embracing his nervous system had made him an open book to Deanna’s kind.

“You’ve been giving off a lot more emotions lately,” Deanna said in response to the worry Q hadn’t voiced. “Does that have something to do with your sudden interest in ice cream?”

He had no reason to open up to her, but he felt strangely compelled to. Then again, this was technically not a counseling session, and Deanna had no reason to be this nice to him. He might as well share.

He sighed.

“I’m acclimating to the feedback of my senses. My human senses, anyway. Hence the ice cream. Being easier to read is likely just a side effect of being more in touch with this human brain.”

“Is that so?” Deanna leaned in. Q wanted to peek inside to see whether it was her professional demeanor or genuine personal interest, but that wouldn’t be very proper human crewmate of him.

“If I intend to live among you, in this form, I consider it only fair that I have some first-hand experience with your various…” Q paused for a second to look for a neutral word. “…conditions.”

Deanna smiled mysteriously and leaned in even closer.

“What is it?” Q asked uncomfortably, fighting back the urge to close her out completely.

“Is that all?” She asked and looked him in the eye. It wasn’t the eye contact that gave her the extra edge—unlike tactile, visual input had limited effect on Q—but Q still wasn’t used to how the aura of body heat made his own body respond. He tried to be inconspicuous as he pushed aside the terror of the possibility Deanna had been tipped off to his true motives. Damn this half-Betazoid, damn his poor choice of company for the lunch.

Thankfully, she dropped the subject. Q had his first meal since his brief spell as a mortal, and while he still didn’t understand why it had to be so damn cold, it didn’t feel too uncomfortable by the time he had finished, nor was the taste terrible.

“I still don’t understand why you’d willingly eat something like this,” Q concluded and let the spoon drop in the empty bowl.

“Don’t you like it?” Deanna asked, surprised.

“I didn’t hate it, but isn’t this unnecessary? It’s not that enjoyable, and it’s hardly good for you,” Q scoffed and pushed the bowl away.

“Didn’t you mention… being in touch with your human senses?”

“Yes,” Q said with reluctance. He didn’t particularly want his reasons probed again. “The parts that give humans the sensations of pain and pleasure. And sense of taste and—” Q hesitated to bring it up for the implications it could have. Deanna wasn’t an idiot. “And touch.”

“Those two?”

For a second, Q shuddered to think Deanna had finally caught on, but she continued.

“Eating is about so much more than just tasting and feeling the food! For many species, what they call ‘taste’ is actually the combination of smell and taste and touch all coming together. Even the sounds and sights,” she explained.

“Oh, please don’t say I need to smell things all the time, too,” Q groaned, eliciting a laugh from Deanna.

“Yes, I’d say it’s an important thing if you want to have the human experience. The human sense of smell isn’t that good compared to many other species, but it’s still central to many things. Even relationships.”

Q had shot her a terrified look before he knew it. Did this woman know more than she led on to believe, or was Q just letting his nervous system reduce him into a jumpy mess?

“Is that so,” he said dryly, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. Deanna didn’t seem to notice. Emphasis on seem, Q thought.

“I need to go now, but it was nice meeting with you like this,” Deanna said mercifully, and Q wondered if she was genuine. There was a definite glimmer in her eye, and Q dreaded the possibility of—

“Let’s do this again once you’ve switched on the rest of your senses,” she smiled and stood up. Q nodded and muttered an affirmative reply, unsure what to make of this catastrophe. How he wanted to erase the entire event from existence, but doing that now would only lower the mental barrier for him down the road.

After all, he really wanted to meet him halfway.

Frustrated, Q instead switched on the rest of his senses and ordered a new sundae.

***

Over the last couple of hours, Q had come to the realization that the constant barrage of smells was on par with the maddening tactile feedback surrounding his chosen body. The emotional and physiological responses he had to every environment he visited were overbearing. And then there was the issue of body odor. Surely there was no need for the human body to emit smells this strong; their sense of smell wasn’t that bad, although Q did acknowledge his body was exceptionally sensitive by human standards. Why, oh why had he ever thought that was a good trait to pick?

On top of that, the bright lights left him nowhere to escape, and the constant noise around him was starting to irritate him, too.

Since Q didn’t have quarters of his own—he had never asked—he withdrew to the only place he knew wouldn’t smell of disgusting foreign bodies and ever-shifting aromas, but would still serve as a training ground for his senses. At least it was quiet.

Jean-Luc wasn’t at his quarters and would not be for a good while, so Q didn’t have to worry about somehow getting him out before appearing onto his bed. On an intellectual level, he had always considered this room a very clean, non-offensive space in every regard. Even in his own quarters, Jean-Luc was a very private person. Dull and repressed, if he was being mean.

Q pulled in a deep breath of the air in Jean-Luc’s room. The scent was quite inoffensive, just as Q had hoped. But it wasn’t only that. The faint scent was soothing, rather lovely in fact.

Q pounced up in a startling realization of how attractive the atmosphere of the previously oh-so-dull space suddenly appeared to him. After the sundae episode, he now had all of the human senses running unfiltered through him; his nervous system, his brain connected to his true self in a way no sane Q would ever volunteer to. A strange electric sensation was running through the entirety of his skin from toes and fingers up to his face and head. His skin prickled and his hair stood up. Shivers, he thought in terror. I have shivers!

The sensible course of action would have been to get out and save himself from further humiliation, but there was no one to witness and his annoying human need was urging him to bury his face in Jean-Luc’s pillow and breathe in that suddenly intoxicating aroma. A disturbing thumping in his chest and ears was making it hard to think straight, and his body was experiencing a flurry of indescribable sensations demanding so much attention he could not separate his true self from the false body, his creation that was suddenly taking over.

The unexpected sound of the door opening had Q snap out of it just in time to disappear from the bedroom, leaving the bed neatly made as if he’d never been there. No hints of body odor, not a single hair left behind. Frankly, he wanted less excitement for once in his immortal life.

He sat outside the Enterprise, still in his human form but with all the sense-nonsense safely tucked away.

He had realized in the worst way possible that he had had no idea how human attraction really, really felt before. How arrogant of him to think that his… love, Q admitted to himself, for Jean-Luc covered everything and more that humans felt. His stupid game had backfired magnificently. Who knew human emotions were this messy? On par with their inconvenient, chaotic biology, really.

He could permanently turn off every inconvenient human urge. He could abandon this form entirely, but now he knew how strongly the body felt, and he could no longer go back to comfortably only feeling whatever muted slivers of emotion radiated gently through his human camouflage into his true mind. He couldn’t turn off the yearning for feeling his heart beating, his blood rushing, the shivers, his every human sense heightening at the presence of his beloved.

Oh, how he hated this.

Chapter 2: Crewman Link copied

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It really shouldn’t have mattered, but for some reason it did.

Unzip, unbutton. Pull off. Toss the thing aside and return to the replicator.

Never in a billion years would Q have imagined himself wrapped up in such drudgery, but here he was, playing dress-up in borrowed quarters, with all the unnecessary steps involved. With transporter and replicator technology in their hands, Q simply could not understand why these mortals would bother with clothing with zippers and clasps and buttons and whatnot. Most clothing in general, really. Had Q known how profoundly tedious this species deliberately made their lives by clinging stubbornly to their useless modesty and impractical apparel, it would have made the top item on the list of charges against humanity he had presented Jean-Luc back in that courtroom.

Alas, this was the game he had challenged himself to, and after suffering this much as a human, he was not willing to let it go to waste. Q reasoned that since these mortals spent almost the entirety of their lives wrapping the majority of their bodies in clothing, it wouldn’t really be the same experience if he just appeared as a clothed human. No, from now on, his only form would be his naked body. Clothes needed to go on top.

Although, Q thought as he was pulling up a freshly replicated jumpsuit, dressing himself the human way was the one part of this experience he would not bother with after today. Putting on and taking off this many outfits was enough for an entire lifetime—human or Q.

Another discarded uniform flew across the room.

In the end, the uniform Q settled for was the same two-piece cut he had been projecting himself until now. He wasn’t thrilled with how the hem moved and needed adjustment now and then, but the jumpsuit had its own issues.

There had been the one exposing a lot more skin, which Q found rather flattering if not the most comfortable to wear. Shame it had gone out of style, apparently. Q would have loved to see the captain show some leg more often.

What no one had to know was that while the uniform Q had picked looked exactly like the Starfleet issue, Q had made some modifications. Nothing current Federation technology couldn’t produce, just a bit of enhanced lining to shield his body from the outside world, so he figured it was fair game. He could have added a bit of extra sheen to the fabric, too, just to make it a bit more fun, but then he couldn’t match Jean-Luc.

***

While his new uniform had been a pleasant surprise—after a while he didn’t think about it that often—other aspects of his experiment were wearing him down. On top of that, running errands for the rest of the crew was not only dull, it kept him from spending time with Jean-Luc.

Despite generally trying his hardest to blend in and not cause mayhem, Q reasoned his foul mood absolutely required him to trigger a few minor emergencies around the ship as a distraction from his grievances, a form of harmless entertainment.

He wasn’t surprised when Jean-Luc eventually caught on and summoned him. Not his intention, but a welcome side effect, when he thought about it.

“Q, is this your doing?” he asked. On the desk sat a display case with what looked like nothing but dust and small pieces of rubble inside. Straight to the point. Not unexpected, but suddenly Q found himself bothered by the brusque manner this otherwise oh-so-courteous man treated him, and only him, out the gates.

“And what is it I am looking at exactly?” Q said indignantly and crossed his arms. The display case was sturdy and technical-looking, but this had nothing to do with Q, and he couldn’t bother examining it any closer.

“One of our guests reported his daughter’s souvenir diorama was coming alive each night. On the third night, the entire scene had disappeared. Now, I’m getting similar reports from the other children belonging to their group. Frankly, Q, that sounds like something you would do for entertainment,” Jean-Luc rumbled in a tone Q absolutely hated. Hated, when it was paired with unfounded accusations, anyway.

“Must have been quite a toy to warrant a case like this,” Q said.

“Don’t change the subject. Was it you, Q?” Jean-Luc said.

“I have been nothing but a respectable member of your crew for these last weeks,” Q snapped. “Ask the others if you wish. Maybe you could start treating me with a little dignity, too. Riker, of all people, thanked me for my assistance the other day! No, I did not do this. Causing terror in full-grown mortals gets boring enough after a while; why would I bother scaring children?” Q quipped, then continued more hesitantly. “Although I did give your people a little bit of excitement these last couple of days. Mind you, the replicator incident wasn’t my doing. Some of your people have the dirtiest minds, you know.”

Jean-Luc sighed.

“You are demanding my respect while confessing to causing trouble on purpose in the same breath. Do you hear yourself?”

“Nothing bad happened, I made sure there would be no consequences. You should be thankful that I keep your underlings up to the task. Think of it as a safety drill.” Q looked away. “I’ve been in a foul mood,” he admitted, vulnerability plain in his voice.

“Spending so much time in human form is unexpectedly taxing. Even for me.” Q chose his words carefully not to reveal too much. He was suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He really didn’t want to get into detail about why he was willingly enduring that burden.

He expected Jean-Luc to chastise him some more, but was only met with an awkward silence.

“Starfleet doesn’t have a protocol for… Q mental health issues,” Jean-Luc finally said. “But I’m sure Counselor Troi will do her absolute best to—”

“Yes, yes, she has been ample help already, believe it or not,” Q said and glanced at the incredulous expression the captain was displaying. “I do talk to her, Jean-Luc. I am trying.”

“Good,” Jean-Luc said stiffly. “Also… I apologize. If I haven’t been very… kind, despite everything.”

Q raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Apology accepted,” he said. It didn’t do all that much to improve his mood, but he felt lighter suddenly.

“I admit I had hoped this current issue would have been another one of your tricks,” Jean-Luc sighed. “I don’t particularly look forward to solving this one. These are not the most… Excuse my rambling. Q, if there is anything you need to feel better, please—”

In a blink of light, Q was sitting on the desk, his legs carefully positioned to deliberately invade Jean-Luc’s personal space without the risk of accidental physical contact. Q wasn’t ready for that, not with Jean-Luc, anyway, not in this state; even the delicate scent and the slight warmth radiating from Jean-Luc proved very distracting. Jean-Luc, on the other hand, didn’t show the slightest sign of discomfort, and Q was the expert in observing the captain.

What a fascinating turn of the tables.

“Join me for a meal, then. I’ve acquired a taste for a treat every now and then,” Q proposed, looking Jean-Luc dead in the eye with a hungry gaze. He wasn’t used to the intensity of the eye contact, but nevertheless refused to back down. Finally, some discomfort in Jean-Luc’s demeanor. Q didn’t fight a sly smile creeping onto his face.

“Ah, I didn’t mean—You should talk to the counselor. And you’ve made plenty of friends, correct?”

Q’s smile turned into a slight frown.

“I want to be your friend,” Q said and leaned in dangerously close, still maintaining eye contact. The warm breath and the scent of a familiar cologne were maddening. Q didn’t notice his lips parting as he wondered how the captain would taste.

Was it Q’s hormone-riddled human mind playing tricks on him, or did Jean-Luc’s body respond to his pulse quickening?

If it did, the feeling certainly hadn’t reached the captain’s consciousness.

“We can be friends, but I think you’ll find the others more appropriate for these kinds of discussions,” Jean-Luc said and smiled politely before moving away from the desk and Q.

“You and your professionalism,” Q muttered. “As a fellow captain, surely you don’t expect me to inconvenience a lower-rank officer with my personal issues, do you,” he said and tapped on his collar.

“Q…,” Jean-Luc sighed. “I want to be civil with you, but right now I have a very unpleasant task at hand, and if you don’t leave—”

“Fine,” Q said, deeply frustrated, then sighed. “I’ll go,” he snarled and disappeared with a dramatic finger snap.

***

Weeks went by, and nothing much changed in Q’s life. His dear captain was too busy to pay any attention to Q, and Q tried to be good and keep his outbursts to a minimum.

What had started out as Q’s purely selfish request to have Deanna help him understand what supposedly made consuming food so enjoyable was evolving into—and Q wasn’t keen to admit it—a mutual friendship. Q was convinced it was strictly related to his little human role play gone too far. Surely abandoning this silly mortal front would mean an end to the weird pleasure Q took in hearing about Deanna’s uneventful life. He wasn’t truly that far gone.

“How about you?” She finally asked.

She knew.

Of course she would.

“I’d rather not talk about me today,” Q muttered and stuck his fork through a piece of fruit on his plate to examine it closer.

For Q knew where this was going.

Damn humans and their appetite for gossip.

“That bad?”

Q glanced at her.

“I know you already know. You’re such close buddies with the good doctor, how could you not?”

Deanna offered him an apologetic smile.

“I heard there was some kind of breakfast incident.”

There it was. The topic Q had hoped wouldn’t come up, but of course that damned Crusher would make a big deal out of such a small thing and tell all her friends about it. Which was, unfortunately, a superset of Q’s friends for now.

“She’s playing games, manipulating and wooing Je… Captain Picard to her own ends,” Q whined. “How can you expect me to sit and do nothing?”

Really, what had she ever done to deserve to be so close to him? Q could conjure up a couple dead spouses if that’s what it took, but no doubt Jean-Luc would find some reason why it wasn’t good enough if Q did it.

“You need to understand she’s very dear to the captain,” Deanna said gently.

“I want to be dear to the captain!” Q blurted out before thinking.

“…oh,” Deanna said in genuine surprise as Q felt his face go numb involuntarily.

“I’m sorry. I misinterpreted your emotions. They are—”

“Yes, yes, they are a veritable mess. I must be impossible to read accurately, but to your credit, I have had to try very hard to keep you out while still doing this human thing,” Q spouted.

“I’m still surprised I can sense anything at all.” She paused as if to say something, but changed her mind at the last second.

“I always regret coming here with you. To be sentimental for a moment, your company is quite lovely, but I detest this human vulnerability for your Betazoid senses,” Q said and pushed the crystallized fruit pieces around the plate.

Deanna looked like she was holding back a laugh. That only made Q feel worse.

“The key is getting to know you. I know you. You’re the one who revealed your own desires just now. It’s part of developing relationships,” Deanna explained, then grinned and added. “Friendships and beyond.”

“Oh, I will have you know that if you intend to tease me about—”

“Then you’ll clear the memories of the entire crew? Turn us into single-cell organisms? Erase the Enterprise from existence?” She laughed. “I don’t think so. You complain every time, but you keep opening up to me.”

Deanna stood up before Q could protest.

“I’m sorry, but I need to go now. I have plans with Beverly. Unless you’d like to join us.”

Q rolled his eyes.

“As the ship counselor, I’m giving you an assignment to do some kind of planned activity with one new friend before our next lunch together.”

“Fine. Data won’t mind—,” Q said grumpily, but Deanna crossed her arms and interrupted.

“A new friend, Q. Not someone you already regularly spend your spare time with,” she said and left. For a second Q wondered if Jean-Luc would count as a new friend since they didn’t really do anything together, but then, he probably wouldn’t voluntarily join Q for any leisurely activity, and somehow Q had a feeling Deanna wouldn’t consider kidnapping the captain as an acceptable attempt at a friendship on her narrow-minded standards.

It certainly took Q by surprise when, just then, Jean-Luc called his combadge.

***

In a flash of light, Q appeared in the seat opposite Jean-Luc’s.

“You called?”

“I did.” Q hardly managed to surprise Jean-Luc by his sudden appearances anymore, much less when he was expected, but that wasn’t to say Jean-Luc seemed exactly pleased whenever Q popped out of thin air. Maybe it was reasonable, Q thought. Maybe he could humor him and use the door next time.

“I never accepted your request to join the crew. However, I can’t deny you’ve been helpful. It’s high time to make things official, wouldn't you agree?”

Q looked at Jean-Luc’s earnest expression, puzzled. He had expected a chewing regarding “the breakfast incident”, but apparently the captain was simply brushing that off.

Instead, Jean-Luc placed something on the table halfway between them.

Q stared blankly at the single black pip in front of him.

“It’s yours. I’m pleased to welcome you formally aboard the Enterprise as a crewman,” Jean-Luc said.

“I think I’d outrank you if I added that,” Q said flatly, the four golden pips already decorating his collar. He might adjust his rank to whatever suited him best at any given moment, but in Jean-Luc’s presence, he always wanted to match him. He was silent for a while before looking back at Jean-Luc. “But I am flattered you consider me worthy of your blessing.”

“Then take it as a token of that,” Jean-Luc replied with a polite yet sincere smile.

Carefully, Q reached to touch the pip with his fingertips. It felt cold to the touch. He realized he hadn’t actually touched one before; he just willed them in and out of existence as he pleased, so why bother fiddling with them. But there was something very pleasant in the smooth surface of the object under his fingers, in the way the metal slowly adjusted to the warmth of his hands. In its weight when he picked it up.

“I will cherish it,” Q said and searched for a reaction in Jean-Luc’s eyes, but in vain. All he got back was another warm but distant smile, as if his cherishment meant nothing much.

“Now, I hope you don’t take this personally,” Q said and pointed at his collar, “but as I said, you cannot exactly promote me.” It earned an amiable eye roll from Jean-Luc.

Q thought for a second, then, with a delighted “ah”, snapped his fingers to add a pocket to his uniform. Carefully, he slid the pip into his new pocket and had the pocket disappear from the eye, gently tapping it with his hand for added emphasis.

“I’ll keep it close to me at all times,” Q chirped. “And who knows if I keep this up and one of these days you will address me as a captain.”

“I’m afraid you’re missing quite a few qualifications to climb very high in the ranks, but I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Jean-Luc said playfully.

“Oh, I could gain those qualifications in a snap of my fingers,” Q said and waved his hand. “Literally.”

“I’m sure you could. Now, I have some business to attend to, and I’m sure you do as well. You’re dismissed.”

Q weighed his options—be an obedient little crewman and let Jean-Luc sour his mood, or sour Jean-Luc’s mood and stay.

“Q?”

“Oh,” Q said in genuine surprise when he snapped back from his thoughts. “Of course,” he said and stood up. A good crewman it was. “But before I go…”

“What is it?” Jean-Luc said patiently. Q wasn’t used to being met with this politeness, not from Jean-Luc, anyway, and annoyingly enough it made Q slightly nervous.

“I know I asked you before, but… I was wondering if you would join me for some recreational time.”

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow.

“Deanna thinks cultivating close friendships with more people would be good for me. Or,” Q paused for a second. “Perhaps she thinks it would be good for her. In any case.”

“Oh,” Jean-Luc said and assumed a more defensive stance in his seat. “I don’t mind being more friendly with you now that you’ve more or less proved your sincerity, but…”

Oh, how Q hated how the human nervous system suddenly shot ice through his veins. He had learned to recognize it for what it was before, but the sensation was absolutely dreadful, nevertheless.

“I would believe what Troi meant was to make entirely new acquaintances. And then there’s… well…”

Q didn’t need to wait for Jean-Luc to find the right words to turn him down politely.

“Quite alright, mon capitaine, I catch your drift,” Q said coolly, not bothering to remind Jean-Luc of his omnipotence, or to promote himself above the captain’s rank there and then, or to remind him that Q was very well aware Jean-Luc was willing to stretch whatever self-imposed rules he was about to cite whenever it suited his wants, since Q clearly wasn’t one of those wants.

Instead, he forced a polite smile onto his lips, thanked Jean-Luc for his time, then disappeared in another flash. Learning to use the door would need to wait for another day.

In fact, Q left the ship entirely. He shed his human form to stretch in all the ways and dimensions he had deprived of himself for so long, numbing the constant ache that he had got used to enough to hardly notice anymore, yet never really ceased to feel. The emotions felt different, too; but without a doubt, they were still there, just translated back into his native tongue.

He needed a break.

Chapter 3: Friends Link copied

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One could say Q was reading too much into it. That Doctor Beverly Crusher was indeed the chief medical officer of the vessel he was boarding, so it wasn’t actually entirely unbelievable that when a little-known alien entity had hesitantly agreed to be examined and studied, it would be her poking at the entity in question.

Q, however, was certain that he wasn’t. That when Jean-Luc hadn’t addressed “the breakfast incident” two days ago, he’d let it slide just to strike when Q was least expecting it. This had to be a punishment, although one could wonder why punish Dr. Crusher despite her being Jean-Luc’s friend and the victim. Q, though, was too preoccupied wallowing in self-pity to take any of it into consideration.

Having spent some time without a form, Q found it tough to readjust to the bright sickbay lights and the harsh sensation of artificial gravity pulling his human buttocks against the rather inadequately cushioned surface of the biobed. The shift was admittedly easier than before, but by no means was he enjoying his medical examination.

Taking off his human guise after such a long time had been exquisite. Like a human would suffer a headache from poor eyesight, Q confining himself to a mortal body without a break had taken a toll on him without him even noticing. He’d spent his entire break enjoying the peace and solitude of roaming the universe, running laps around galaxies as if his feet had been bound and finally freed. He took in the beauty of the vast cosmos, using all his native senses that he’d been repressing in his human form.

Of course, he had been diligent and retroactively rearranged some shifts to cover his absence, a thankless task since no one would ever even know of his thoughtfulness. Now, he hadn’t needed to do any of that; he could have had his little vacation and returned to the same moment in time, but would it really count if no one would have had the chance to miss his presence? To ask whether he had had a good leave?

“Some of these readings make no sense,” Crusher said as she double-checked the results. “Anatomically, your body is no different from an average human, although you are extremely healthy for your apparent age. But some of your organs—”

“Some of them I don’t use all that much,” Q cut her off. “I’ve included everything for authenticity’s sake; let them do their thing to some extent, even. I could very well just appear as a shell, but that would be missing the point.”

“The point… being?”

Q pursed his lips and looked at Crusher. To his luck, she seemed more interested in her tricorder than in Q’s motives.

“Human studies,” Q replied flatly. Good enough for Crusher, seemed like.

“So, you gave yourself a sweet tooth but no digestion,” she said and, noticing Q’s surprised look, added: “Deanna has told me you eat exclusively desserts when you meet her over lunch. Were you a regular patient, I’d be lecturing you over your eating habits, but from what I can tell, that food never reaches your stomach.”

“Naturally. I can deal with human senses, but I’d rather not digest anything. Let alone excrete. Disgusting. And hunger pangs—now there’s something I don’t need back in my life,” Q ranted.

“It’s really none of my business where you draw the line. Although,” Crusher said and put away her tricorder, “as a human, I’d say you’re not getting the full experience this way.”

“I don’t need the full experience. I want the fun experience. If I had to eat to survive, then I’d need to eat all the nasty things as well,” Q said and shuddered at the mental image of the food pyramid.

“You’re awfully picky for someone who thought it would be funny to replace my meal with dog food,” Crusher said offhandedly while working on the test results.

Q felt heat on his cheeks.

“Doctor, what’s this?” he asked and touched his face. “Did you do something to me?”

Crusher glanced up at him and returned to the screen.

“You’re blushing. Maybe you’re ashamed of what you did.”

“That makes you blush? Why do you people always turn red, I cannot comprehend. I thought it only happened when—”

“I don’t know, Q, but you can leave if you have nothing else to say. I’m busy,” she interrupted, cutting short another tirade.

Q sat in silence for a second.

“But I feel bad.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been on my absolute best behavior. For the most part, anyway.”

Crusher crossed her arms, and Q could tell she was growing tired of him.

“Well, it started when I brought up your little dog food prank, didn’t it?”

Q nodded.

“So, maybe you actually feel sorry for doing it, then.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t like you.”

“Why?”

“Because—”

Q couldn’t exactly say because I think it’s unfair how much attention Jean-Luc is giving you and not me. Not because it wasn’t true, but because, well.

“I suppose I could like you,” since Jean-Luc does. “Fine. You can be my friend,” Q said.

Crusher stared at him with her mouth practically hanging open. Oh, did she have to be this difficult?

“It doesn’t work like that. You haven’t even apologized yet,” Crusher said, and Q had the distinct feeling she would use the same tone on a five-year-old misbehaving. This was exactly why Q didn’t want to be friends with her.

Q rolled his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Fine. I’m sorry I replaced your breakfast with dog food. And about that holodeck thing, too.”

“That was you?” Crusher flew up.

“Your holonovel was boring! I take it back. I don’t apologize for that. I made it better.”

They sat in silence, and Crusher resumed working. Not exactly a great start for a friendship, but at least Jean-Luc had better be pleased to hear Q was trying to get along with her. Maybe Jean-Luc would get mad at Crusher if she didn’t want to act cordial.

Assuming Doctor Crusher was done with him, Q stood up and raised his hand, then thought of something just before snapping his fingers. A lapse in judgment perhaps, but maybe still worth the shot.

“Data invited me to enjoy some music with him. To learn to enjoy, more accurately. You’re welcome to join us tonight. If you need more of my brain wave readings,” he said and vanished before Crusher could react. There. That should be enough to satisfy Deanna’s assignment. Were the doctor to show up, of course.

***

To Q’s great surprise, Crusher had indeed shown up later that day. Realizing he hadn’t actually told her when they would meet, Q could only presume she had asked Data for the time. Q could tell this was a reluctant friendship for both of them, but he found it oddly touching she was willing to make an effort, even asking for the missing details—as far as Q could tell, with nothing to gain. It even made him feel fleeting guilt for having his own vested interest in being kind to her.

And indeed, Deanna had accepted this as fulfilling the assignment of meeting with one new friend.

He kept making progress after that and, increasingly often, caught himself enjoying his time. Then, he would remember how little progress he was making with Jean-Luc.

Granted, the situation was out of their hands. In their mortal capacity, anyway. The missing dioramas had bubbled into a much bigger affair than anyone could have expected, and Jean-Luc was spending all his waking hours trying to fix the situation.

It was time to do some research.

***

“Need a hint?”

Q’s sudden appearance startled Jean-Luc, who was dozing off at the desk in his quarters. Right, Q thought. The door. Next time.

“I thought this wasn’t your doing,” Jean-Luc said.

“And that holds true, but I have been conducting some reconnoissance. It might surprise you to hear what I learned,” Q said and sat on the desk, only to realize the thin-edged tabletop didn’t make for the most cushy seating.

“I’m afraid we’re past the point where merely returning the missing dioramas would fix this. I appreciate your offer to help, Q, but right now—”

Q interrupted Jean-Luc’s fatigued droning.

“I do indeed know where the contents of those display cases went and have no intention of divulging that information,” Q said and finally caught Jean-Luc’s full attention.

“What did you say?”

Q flashed a sly smile out of delight and moved next to Jean-Luc into a newly created chair in a blink. It felt good to have the captain finally pay attention to him again.

“Taking some Cthfarian politicians’ families back from Kodiar IV to their own system was supposed to be a straightforward side task. But you see, there was something missing from the manifest.”

“I’m too tired for riddles, so would you please go straight to the point,” Jean-Luc said. His posture was awful. Q wasn’t used to seeing him like this.

Q dropped to the captain’s eye level.

“I will, if you promise you’ll be good and go to bed after I’m finished. Think of it as a bedtime story,” he said. Jean-Luc looked so fragile like this. A strange emotion overwhelmed him, and against his better judgment, Q slid his hand onto Jean-Luc’s shoulder. The thick fabric ran smooth against his palm, and he felt Jean-Luc’s collarbone move under his fingers. Warmth spread through the uniform and reached Q’s skin.

He quickly pulled back and jumped on his feet before Jean-Luc could react. The touch kept burning his fingertips, but Q hid his overwhelm by returning to the topic while pacing around the desk.

“More than just intricate handicraft went into those diorama pieces. What do you know about the Z'qhav?”

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow.

“Not much, I admit. A people inhabiting Kodiar IV—a tiny population compared to the Kotaians controlling most of the planet. They barely had their chance to explore their system before the Kotaian government effectively closed off their aerospace and landlocked them,” he said.

“Then you wouldn’t know much about their biology, either. Technically, the Z'qhav give birth to live offspring, but they’re more akin to larvae at this stage. Their parents collectively leave them in ceremonial caves to undergo a series of transformations. Once the conditions are right, their first metamorphosis begins. At this stage, they assume a humanoid shape, albeit a fraction of the size of a fully grown Z'qhav, and weave a thin, hard casing around themselves, often colorful and patterned one. They’re rather pretty at this stage.” Q looked at Jean-Luc and stopped walking. “Much like tiny figurines.”

The captain was staring at Q, frozen in place.

“Now, the Cthfarians of course know exactly as much as you do about the Z'qhav. They’re no doubt oblivious to the origins of their favorite souvenirs, and frankly, not very predisposed to caring, in any case.”

Jean-Luc nodded along.

“The Kotaian government has painted the Z'qhav as inferior; dangerous, even. Yet, I can’t imagine Cthfarians approving of… of capturing Z'qhav children and selling them as souvenirs, as you’re trying to lead me to believe,” Jean-Luc argued.

“Shooting the messenger, are we? I’m as shocked as you are!” Q exclaimed, then paused for a second and relaxed his voice. “No, that would be a vast overstatement.”

“Why would they do this? The Kotaians. Surely there are more… practical ways of committing genocide,” Jean-Luc said, aghast.

“Why, indeed? Isn’t that your job to figure out?” Q said while idly inspecting a light tea ring staining the transparent desk.

“I can’t use any of this information,” Jean-Luc said, staring into nothingness. “The implications of my simply knowing any of this—and that’s not even touching on the humanitarian and political nightmare we’re facing, if this is indeed true.”

Q hid his self-satisfied smile. The man was tired and overworked, but a good mystery, however horrific, got him perked right up, and who better than Q to provide one.

“Intel is not the only service I offer. I could make this go away,” Q said and gestured poof with his hands.

“I’d rather try to handle this more traditionally if possible,” Jean-Luc said and paused abruptly, as if he was about to slip a thank you for Q’s offer.

“I expected as much. Well, if you change your mind, my offer still stands. This is hardly something significant enough for the Continuum to take issue with my interfering in. Although…” Q had gone back to examining the desk surface, then glanced at Jean-Luc and continued in a deeper voice. “Don’t blame me if someone else takes action first.”

“And who would that be? The one who stole the dioramas?”

“Liberated their prisoners, I believe is more or less what the perpetrator would prefer to say, but yes. I have an idea of who might be behind this rescue mission, but I’m not one to make unsubstantiated claims, so if you would kindly wait for me to make sure before I share that particular tidbit with you.”

Jean-Luc nodded and tried to hide his impatience, but he was fooling no one with those tense shoulders and restless gaze. Not Q, anyway.

“Now, aren’t you forgetting something?” Q asked.

“Hm? Ah, you mean rest. I will, Q, I promise. I will just finish up,” Jean-Luc replied. Immediately, he found himself in his bed, tucked in, with the lights turned low.

“No need to get up, I took care of cleaning you,” Q said, sitting next to him on the soft bed. It was another mistake, but Q was determined not to let his voice betray how much he wanted to dive under those sheets himself. “Not to worry, I didn’t peek,” he said playfully.

“This is hardly appropriate, but more importantly, I really need to—” Jean-Luc began.

“Hush, now,” Q said and snapped his fingers. Jean-Luc immediately fell asleep. Right now, the captain would likely consider this even more inappropriate, but he would thank Q in the morning.

Q sat there for another minute or five just admiring him, basking in the sound of his steady breath, the scent of his bedroom. He slid his hand across the sheets. He already knew how soft they were. He had been here so many times before.

He wondered how much variety in materials Starfleet offered. Whether everyone replicated the same thing, or if this was something Jean-Luc had picked out for himself.

Q could make the sheets softer still. So he did. Only until Jean-Luc would replicate himself a new set, of course. Then again, Q could reprogram the replicator, too. He ran his palm across the cool, impossibly smooth sheet. He wondered what temperature Jean-Luc would most enjoy, were he to adjust it.

Resisting the urge to fall beside him was getting too much, so Q finally stood up and left the bedroom. Before disappearing, he finished Jean-Luc’s reports for him with a single thought.

“Sleep well, mon capitaine,” he said before leaving the room; leaving the ship altogether. It was time to confirm his suspicions about the thief.

Chapter 4: Wine Link copied

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Finding a fellow Q wasn’t all that difficult, especially when the Q in question was still very much a novice. Q didn’t have to spread himself much farther than the Kodiar system to catch the younger Q en route to Kodiar IV. Still unnoticed, he followed her down to the Z’qhav territory, into one of the ceremonial caves.

“I see human habits die hard, Q,” the older one said and revealed himself in his human form. The younger Q almost dropped the tiny figurine-like cocoon from her hand.

“Oh, it’s you. I still sometimes get so absorbed I forget to pay attention to my surroundings,” she said cheerfully and placed the cocoon carefully among its peers. “And Amanda is fine, if you don’t mind.”

“Amanda. Of course,” Q said and wrinkled his nose at her given, now chosen individual, human name, but made no comment. Neither did he comment on the obnoxious bright pink outfit she still chose to wear. “Why the human form, anyway? You’ll get the Federation in big trouble were you to get caught. Which wouldn’t surprise me, given your inattention.”

“The Z’qhav wouldn’t dare come here right now, and any Kotaian poachers will get stuck in a looping maze I set up,” she shrugged and kept placing the cocoons painstakingly slowly, one by one.

Q took a look around the cave. He’d seen the cave before when he was gathering information, but never through human eyes. Q had to admit there was a certain beauty he could appreciate better through the limited senses that came with a human body. There was something special in the way his brain filled in for inaccuracies in his perception. The crude, raw way in which the sensory input linked to the nervous system, and the primitive way hormones drove his mood.

He admired the soft, subtle glimmer of the white cave walls; the bright sunlight let in by cracks and holes in the ceiling hitting the slightly translucent stone walls; the way the light bore into the rock and bled into shadows. Normally, Q hated the blinding sensation of bright lights amid darkness. Here, the contrast elevated the atmosphere; made the ordinary majestic.

“That’s why I wanted to do this as a human,” Amanda agreed and placed the last cocoon. “I don’t share their spirituality, but I can appreciate the ritual.” She stood up and looked at Q. “You’re doing great with your human senses, by the way. Just don’t overdo it.”

“I am already overdoing it considering the upsides. The utter lack of them, to be precise,” Q grunted. Amanda chuckled.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she said.

Q accompanied Amanda, on foot, out of the cave into a field full of flowers basking in the sunlight. The fresh air carried a delicate floral fragrance. It was different from the air Q was used to breathing aboard the Enterprise. He felt the urge to take a deep breath, fill his lungs with the wonderful aroma and the crispness of the air, but restrained himself when he saw Amanda smirking at him.

“Hardly worth it,” Q scoffed.

Amanda got down on her knees to look at the flowers, and Q followed suit. A white iridescent bloom caught his eye.

“Why return the cocoons? Out of the goodness of your heart?” Q looked at Amanda under his brow. “Or perhaps, boredom?”

“Both,” Amanda spoke sincerely and looked at the flower Q was touching. “Pretty, right? Kodiarian pansy. They’re closely related to an Earth plant that somehow spread all the way to this system. Non-native, but not invasive.”

“I see.” Q tore his eyes off the admittedly beautiful flower and stood up.

“Sorry, I know we shouldn’t keep him waiting,” Amanda said and smiled. “I’m surprised you’re so fond of a mortal, though.”

“I am not—oh, what’s the use of trying to hide it from you. Sometimes, I almost forget what you really are,” Q complained.

“Thanks,” Amanda said, and her smile widened.

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“It is to me,” Amanda argued. In a swing of her arms, they were back on the Enterprise, in the ready room, facing the very surprised Captain Picard.

“Amanda Rogers?” Jean-Luc said and looked back and forth between her and Q. “Are you telling me Miss Rogers is behind the disappearances?”

“Hardly surprising when you put one and one together. You had the right idea when you blamed me for this,” Q said absentmindedly. He was already missing the fresh mountain air of Kodiar IV. He got lost in thought as Jean-Luc carried on the discussion with Amanda. He wondered if Jean-Luc would ever agree to let Q take him to that flower field.

“—if you would like to,” Jean-Luc’s voice cut through his daydreams.

“I would love to,” Q said before fully remembering where he was. “Oh, ah…”

Q noticed Amanda was gone.

“Uh, I… Was there something else you needed?” Jean-Luc asked him. Q quickly gathered himself.

“Why, it’s been so long since we spent time together like this,” Q said and forced a smug smile on his lips. He leaned back in his seat and spread his arms across the backrest. Q’s impatience, and perhaps the great outdoors, made him weirdly bolstered.

“You have been overworking yourself lately. Let us sit back and unwind for a moment.” Q snapped his fingers, and a glass of wine appeared in Jean-Luc’s hand. Q took advantage of Jean-Luc’s brief moment of confusion to brace himself, then snapped again, moving Jean-Luc against him on the couch, Q’s arm casually thrown over the backrest behind him, his legs crossed in a way that almost created a cage around the captain.

Q knew that from Jean-Luc’s perspective, this was on par with Q’s normal pushy behavior. But for Q, in his current state, this much touch from anyone, let alone this one, was the equivalent of hot iron on bare skin. But god, he needed something better than a dessert or a mountain trek for his daily sacrifices, and having Jean-Luc pressed against him, no matter how painful, no matter how short-lived the moment, was exactly the reward to keep him going.

“You can afford a moment or two,” Q said and let his eyes smolder with need as he fixed his gaze on Jean-Luc.

Despite the discomfort, the inconvenience of his body doing its thing as a simple machine outside his control, Q cherished the moment and did his best to take in as much as possible. The thick fabric of the uniforms separating them was as much a blessing as it was a curse, as Q was simultaneously frustrated at having such barrier between them and certain he could not handle direct skin-on-skin contact without dire consequences of the cosmic scale. Jean-Luc’s heartbeat was familiar to Q, but for the first time he realized how different it was from any other; from his very own organic heart, currently severely outracing the other.

That was another problem. He was struggling with the muddy in-between of human communication. He was used to all or nothing—the easy understanding between his kin—or being unreadable altogether, as he had been for so many years to these mortals. The way humans relied on inaccurate and falsifiable methods of communication while having a body that betrayed all their most secret desires…

Instinctively, Q grabbed Jean-Luc’s shoulder as the man tried to create distance between them. Just as quickly, Q realized his mistake and let go. Embarrassment crept onto his cheeks. Backing down was not like him, and Jean-Luc’s puzzled face made it clear.

“Old habits,” Q muttered and glared at Jean-Luc under his brow with zero humor in his voice. “My apologies, I forgot to behave myself.”

“Are you…” Jean-Luc searched for words. “Are you alright, Q?”

Q’s heart leaped—not too visibly, he hoped, and cursed his easily flushed cheeks. He didn't reply.

“If you’re worried about me…”

“I am, Jean-Luc, so would you kindly just let me help you.” Q seized the opportunity and brought his fingers to raise Jean-Luc’s hand still holding the untouched wine glass. “We could have a nice little moment between friends, don’t you think? Help you relax a tad.”

“Thank you, Q, but I can take it from here,” Jean-Luc politely declined and abandoned his glass on the side table. “More importantly, as the captain, I am responsible for your well-being. I hear you have worked the maximum allowed shifts. Round the clock, sometimes.”

“And what else do you suppose I would be doing? May I remind you that I need not sleep?” Q would have found Jean-Luc’s concern moving if he hadn’t known better.

“You told me some time ago you were feeling down. Too much work can cause that.”

Q pulled further away from the captain and crossed his arms and legs.

“I assure you, Picard, work is not the problem here. And before you tell me to talk to Deanna, she has actually been very helpful, alas, the root problem—” is you, Jean-Luc? That certainly wasn’t very romantic. “I need to deal with that myself,” Q concluded.

Jean-Luc offered Q his most infuriating, sympathetic smile.

“You’re free for the rest of the day however you wish, aren’t you? Go spend some time with your friends.”

“I am trying to, Picard, but you’re making it extremely difficult,” Q seethed and snapped his fingers to bring the glass back into Jean-Luc’s hand. With a heavy sigh, he returned the glass to the table once again.

“Q, I still have some work I need to finish. And don’t even think about tucking me in and doing it for me,” Jean-Luc warned with a glint in his eye.

“Oh, that. You’re welcome,” Q muttered.

“You shouldn’t have done it. I appreciate the thought, but you overstepped.”

“And you should be used to me overstepping by now,” Q said and stubbornly put the glass back in Jean-Luc’s hand, accidentally making the flash brighter than usual.

“Q!” Jean-Luc stood up. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Q’s entire face became tense with a frown.

“Excuses, excuses,” he said and disappeared in another blinding flash of light.

***

In truth, work was one of the more relaxing things to do aboard the ship. For Q, the tasks were more akin to quaint little puzzles than real work. He didn’t mind long shifts, as long as he could find something to do in relative solitude.

Spending time with Deanna—Beverly, even—was fun. But it was taxing, too. Meeting with less close acquaintances felt meaningless, and without Deanna’s explicit orders, Q didn’t care enough to make new close friends.

Since he couldn’t work without having someone nag about Starfleet regulations about maximum working hours, that left him with two options. He could leave the ship again, spend some time roaming free without a form, but that felt like giving up. He needed to do better as a human, to meet Jean-Luc halfway. The whole way at this rate, more likely. So, that was out of the question, too.

That left him with option number three, spending time with Data.

As human as Data was, he lacked the qualities Q most despised in the species. It was easy being with Data. Not messy, not vague, not draining. Data didn’t mind Q lounging around his quarters while playing the violin for Q. And Q rather liked to listen to his playing. Even before he had had a certain, distant appreciation of art from a technical standpoint. He had always loved a good costume, too. The act, the performance. But being in this state, it felt different. Data’s music, accompanied by the quiet purr of Spot and the quiet hum of the ship, touched him somehow, somewhere he couldn’t describe without taking a detailed look at his own brain chemistry. And he really didn’t feel like ruining the moment with any of that right now.

Data needed a bigger couch, Q thought as he threw his legs over the armrest to lie down but resisted the urge to give Data an unsolicited room makeover.

Q took out the black pip Jean-Luc had given him. Touching it felt calming. Its weight comforted him and reminded him of the fact that, while Jean-Luc didn’t want his company, at least he wanted him on his crew.

The music was patterns and equations in his mind, the couch soft under his body. The small metallic cylinder safe and familiar in his hand.

Experimentally, Q closed his eyes and let sleep come to him.

Chapter 5: Flower Link copied

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Q refused to cheat.

His neck hurt like hell after accidentally sleeping for hours on Data’s short couch.

But he was trying so very hard.

He was trying, and the pain was a minor inconvenience if he could get what he wanted.

Another long shift. An excruciating one; despite his protests, La Forge didn’t let him do this by himself. Q easily could have, but then again, not without relying on his powers. So, Q gave up and let La Forge assign a pair for him. A fumbling ensign. And Q accepted it, if begrudgingly, because he was trying very hard to do things the right way.

Free time. Q had preferred the exterior of the ship whenever he wanted to be alone, but lately, he was worried it was cheating. Not breathing meant not engaging with a number of human things, and if he still wasn’t human enough, then he needed to let that one go for a while. Because, for all his efforts, he still got nothing but excuses from Jean-Luc.

The kind of excuses no one else seemed to get. Not Beverly, not Riker. Not the handsome and entirely age-inappropriate human lady they picked up on a rescue mission. In fact, the said lady was currently spending the evening dining with the dear captain.

“She’s an adult, Q, and she can make those decisions for herself,” Beverly said as she walked past Q to fetch some samples.

“Doesn’t it bother you? I thought humans were a jealous bunch,” Q said and followed Beverly around.

“You have the wrong idea about me and Jean-Luc. I’m happy if he is,” Beverly said. “Besides, I don’t think he has any romantic intentions this time. She might, but I know his type, and she isn’t it.”

Q felt oddly better.

“Can we please change the subject? Or better still, you let me focus on my work for a minute,” Beverly asked.

“She really isn’t, is she,” Q grinned.

“Q, get out of my way! You’re coming to the game night, right? We can talk then.” Beverly sighed. “Maybe about something else than Jean-Luc, for a change.”

“Is Jean-Luc coming?”

“I don’t know, Q!”

And despite being crass with him, despite chasing him out of her sickbay, Beverly never made excuses. No one really did besides Jean-Luc.

So he tried harder still.

“Too bad you didn’t go to the Academy. With your skills, you could really climb the ranks, you know,” La Forge enthused over Q’s latest optimizations.

“I suppose,” Q muttered with disinterest.

“Well, I’m happy to have you around, Q.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it. Hey, how about you join me and Data tonight at the holodeck.”

He was trying hard enough, wasn’t he?

Since becoming friends with Geordi, he rarely had his quiet moments alone with Data anymore. He liked Geordi well enough, but he couldn’t sleep when he was around. For some reason, sleep only came when it was just him and Data and the sound of his violin.

Not that he needed sleep, anyway, so he didn’t care to experiment with other ways.

He discovered he was a good dancer. Not good in the same way he was good at everything, but even when he only relied on his human body. He hadn’t paid such things any attention when he had created his body, so it came as a surprise.

Surely this was good enough.

“Q, can I be frank?”

Q shoved a small piece of chocolate in his mouth.

“Will you not be if I say no?”

Deanna sighed.

“I’m worried about you. You’re more stressed every time we meet.”

Q glared at her.

“Things aren’t exactly advancing the way I imagined,” Q said.

“Is this about the captain?” Deanna asked. Q replied nothing.

“Being a human is terribly stressful, if you haven’t realized,” he complained.

“Well, maybe you should try a bit less to be like a human,” Deanna suggested.

“I need to meet him halfway,” Q said after a pause, fingers knit tightly together, staring at his assortment of treats. “I need to do better as a human.”

“But you’re not a human, you’re Q.”

Q raised his eyes to meet hers and, for the first time in a very long while, reduced his body into a shell, for he didn’t want her to know he could have cried.

***

“If anyone deserves a nice, long shore leave, it’s you, Q. I’ll see your shifts get covered,” Geordi said and patted Q on the back. The sudden contact startled Q, but it wasn’t unpleasant at all.

“Thank you, Geordi. I will make sure to bring you a souvenir,” Q said and was gone in a magnificent flash of light before Geordi could decline.

***

He stretched and engulfed entire galaxies.

He traveled impossible distances at impossible speeds.

He watched civilizations rise and fall in a distant corner of the universe.

He thought about Jean-Luc, he missed him, but he didn’t ache.

***

And so, his shore leave came to an end.

Q was standing in the hallway in front of the captain’s quarters.

“Come,” Jean-Luc’s voice echoed through the closed door. Q stepped in, not remembering to wait for the door to open. At least he had done everything else right.

“Q,” Jean-Luc said, surprised. “You’re using the door,” he said and paused. “Almost.”

“Impressed?” Q said, pleased his efforts didn’t go unnoticed. He let his face reflect the emotion.

Jean-Luc was sitting on his couch wearing loose, plain loungewear while an old Earth song was playing, painting the atmosphere heavy with yearning and lust. Q let his gaze wander freely, not bothering to hide it, taking in the view of Jean-Luc’s deep-cut neckline and exposed chest in the soft, dim light.

“Computer, pause playback,” Jean-Luc said, much to Q’s disappointment. “Was there something on your mind?”

“Ah, yes. There was this thing…” Q played time to gather his thoughts before doing something inappropriate. Put the music back on. I wonder if he liked the softer sheets. Focus. “I am resigning.”

Jean-Luc tensed up and raised his eyebrows.

“You? Now? Lately, I’ve heard only praise for you from the others. I’ve certainly changed my mind about you.”

“Well, not enough,” Q shot back. “It’s not your praise I’m after, Jean-Luc.” He left it there, watching Jean-Luc’s expression closely as he was parsing what Q meant before offering a clarification.

“I want to be your friend.”

Jean-Luc opened his mouth to protest, no doubt claim they were friends, but Q silenced him with a piercing look.

“I’m starting to think we were closer when you openly hated me. At least you didn’t pull back your punches,” Q said, still trapping Jean-Luc with his gaze. Adrenaline burned his body from inside, but it wasn’t a bad pain.

“You have plenty of friends,” Jean-Luc offered, tense and awkward.

“Yes, and I would have all of them forget I ever existed if that meant I could have even a fraction of that with you,” Q barked and turned away to calm himself.

“So, mon capitaine, here’s what we do,” Q said as he vanished one of his four false pips. “I’m no longer a member of your crew.” Another pip vanished. “Just a passenger.” Another one. “If you allow me that much.” The final pip vanished as he finished his sentence.

Q hesitated, then reached for his hidden pocket to pull out the single, genuine black pip. He carefully placed it on the coffee table and looked Jean-Luc in the eye with pain and regret heavy in his gaze.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t meet your expectations,” he lamented. There was sudden sadness in Jean-Luc’s eyes as he no doubt realized Q was serious.

“Keep it. As a memento,” Jean-Luc said quietly.

“So now we’re bending the rules?” Q said humorlessly.

“You’ve falsified your rank this far. This one is no more real than the ones you’ve conjured on your collar yourself,” Jean-Luc said and stood up. He picked up the black pip, walked up to Q and carefully pressed it in his hand. The sudden touch sent electricity through Q’s body and made him gasp. Jean-Luc noticed his reaction and gently pulled off. Q cursed his reflexes.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have,” he said and took a step back. Q glared at him, no doubt further deepening the misunderstanding. He couldn’t help it.

Q raised his hand and, still maintaining eye contact, snapped his fingers loudly. In a flash, his uniform was gone, replaced by a loose wrap shirt in a shade of burgundy that looked almost black in this lighting, and perfectly fitted black pants. Jean-Luc’s pained gaze burned his eyes, but his pride outweighed the discomfort.

“There,” he said, and quietly slid the pip in his pocket. “May I now finally ask you to join me for a meal? A drink at least?”

“I—” Jean-Luc was at a loss for words, but Q could tell not in any good way. His expression was tense, and he turned away from Q, being the first one to break the eye contact.

“It isn’t as simple as you changing outfits, is it? You know as well as I do that none of this has any real weight to it. You could be back in uniform the next day,” Jean-Luc said with a fair bit of defensiveness in his voice.

“You don’t trust me, then? After making friends with your mortal acquaintances, helping you in limited human ways around the ship because you would hardly accept anything grander than that, causing no major havoc for your crew, this is what I get for meeting you halfway? I don’t want to completely abandon what makes me me,” Q fumed.

“I never asked you for any of this!” Jean-Luc argued back, raising his voice slightly. “You came to me, announced you were now my subordinate and act surprised when I’m treating you as one.”

“And now I’m announcing I will stay off your crew as long as you wish me to, for as long as you’re the captain if that’s what it takes,” Q said and walked right up to Jean-Luc. His heart was already racing, so whatever further damage his composure would take from the proximity of his no-longer-captain would be negligible. Still, despite being furious at Jean-Luc, Q suddenly wanted nothing more than to press his lips on his and… Whatever came after that—surely Jean-Luc would know.

Their staring contest was back on, but Q felt he had the upper hand now. He didn’t bother hiding the hunger in his eyes, at this point hoping Jean-Luc would catch on.

“Fine,” Jean-Luc finally half-whispered, as if he couldn’t properly get the words out. “I’ll formally handle your resignment,” he said. “Meanwhile, I expect you to behave yourself.”

“Is that a yes to my invitation?” Q asked.

“…yes. It is,” Jean-Luc said. How could Q dream of properly courting this foolish man who got flustered over a friendly dinner? Q had to admit their history perhaps warranted some nerves, but still.

Still.

Q decided to push his luck.

He inched closer still to Jean-Luc and willed a single white, iridescent pansy into his hand.

Surely Jean-Luc would surmise it as a simple jest if his advances were unwelcome.

“I’ll look forward to it, then,” he said with a failed attempt at carelessness and offered the flower. It was his turn to have his words get caught in his throat. Only someone truly obtuse would not recognize his clumsy flirt as what it really was. Luckily, Jean-Luc had always been comically oblivious to Q’s motives, so why would it be any different now?

Dumbfounded he certainly was. Jean-Luc accepted the flower without a word, searching Q’s eyes.

Voicelessly, Q resumed the music Jean-Luc had been listening to.

“Have a good rest of the evening, mon capitaine—ah, I shouldn’t…”

“It’s fine, Q,” Jean-Luc said and finally a hint of smile flashed on his face. “I doubt anyone will mistake it for you addressing my rank as an officer. And I’m still your captain while you’re a civilian aboard the ship.”

Q let his relief lift his mouth into a wide smile.

“In that case, I’ll see you later, mon capitaine.”

He waited for the door to open before stepping out, gave a shy glance behind him, and disappeared from Jean-Luc’s view.

Q leaned into the wall. He stared at his shirt. He’d aimed for a brighter shade of burgundy, but apparently his mood had affected the outcome. Ridiculous. The shirt flashed. It was now a bright, fiery shade of red.

Still not what he intended, but maybe this was fine, too.

He touched the single black pip in his pocket. He hadn’t thought about it until now, but a space of his own would be nice. He didn’t need one, but the idea of being more concrete a presence to the mortals around him had appeal. And while he had no need or desire to collect possessions to constrain him in space and time—he pulled the pip out of his pocket to look at it—maybe those limited beings’ perception of him was a good enough excuse to have a space to decorate. To be available in. To invite friends to.

He dared not think any further than that.

Chapter 6: Wilt Link copied

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Picard sat in his quarters, eating breakfast without really paying attention to his food and ruminating on the Kodiar IV situation. Amanda Rogers had bought them some much-needed time by staging a believable explanation for the events aboard the Enterprise and returning the dioramas—or rather, visually exact replicas of the originals. Still, that was only the tip of the iceberg, and although neither Kodiar IV nor the Cthfarian homeworld were Federation planets, it was complicated, to say the least.

Q’s sudden resignation had caught him by surprise and added to his growing pile of work. He hadn’t needed to get personally involved past the official paperwork, but he had wanted to make sure himself that Q got to live in standard crew quarters near his friends instead of short-term guest quarters. The possibility of a lonely, depressed Q was not so much a personal problem, but an existential risk to the entire vessel.

Q’s resignation. Q’s quarters. Q’s investigations on Kodiar IV. Q dominated his work. His friends’ lives, too. “Q is really helpful!” “I had lunch with Q the other day.” “Q is starting to fit in.” It was all wonderful news, but did Q have to invade every aspect of his life?

The white flower on his desk showed signs of wilting.

Picard thought back to the lunch and sighed.

He had taken great care in arranging their appointment to cause the least discomfort to either him or Q. Mostly himself, a tiny voice nagged somewhere in the back of his head, the same voice he was well-trained to push aside.

Yet, things had gone terribly wrong from the get-go. In hindsight, Picard couldn’t tell if he should have been more forgiving; after all, Q was a member of a very different species with limited understanding of human culture. On some level, Picard acknowledged he would never hold an outwardly alien-looking individual to the same level of scrutiny as he did Q.

But when Q had appeared in Ten Forward in a luxurious black satin shirt with deep red, flowery embroidery and a neckline deep enough to make Picard blush, and a much too tight pair of pants, he had a distinct feeling Q was fully aware of his audacity and this was another prank. A way to make Picard look bad. No, make him hurt.

He reasoned it was why Q wouldn’t stop staring at him, smiling so charmingly.

“Since we’re both here, why don’t we order?” Q had asked.

“Actually, Q—”

Picard had genuinely thought it a good idea.

It had been then that Beverly had appeared behind Q.

“Sorry for being late, Jean-Luc, I—Oh,” she had said.

“Oh,” Q had said.

Picard had said nothing.

And the two had looked annoyed for the entire meal, but not at each other. By the end of the meal, Q and Beverly weren’t even hiding the fact that they were excluding Picard from the discussion.

When they had finally finished and Q had excused himself, all Picard got from Beverly was a meaningful look. But he couldn’t tell what the meaning was.

***

Geordi was the first to react to the news.

“Q! What do they mean, you quit?”

Q glanced at Geordi, who had appeared at Q’s new quarters’ open door.

“A Q may hardly let themself grow complacent,” Q dismissed.

“But you were just starting to play so well with the team! Never mind that, we need you, Q.”

“Oh, you were doing just fine before I started meddling,” Q said and waved his hand. “And if you really cannot survive without me, I don’t recall there being any rule barring you from consulting a civilian from time to time.”

“If you say so…” Geordi said as Data emerged from the still open door with a potted tree.

“Where did you get that?” Geordi asked.

“The people working at the hydroponics lab heard about Q’s resignation and wanted to gift him this plant as a token of their gratitude,” Data said. “I merely offered to fetch it for Q.”

“Thank you, Data, much appreciated,” Q replied. He placed the tree next to the window and flashed a small smile.

“I didn’t know you worked at the hydroponics lab, too,” Geordi said.

“I didn’t, just helped them a few times with some minor things between shifts,” Q shrugged and had some tea and an assortment of cookies appear on the coffee table. “Please.”

Geordi looked at the tree, vaguely impressed. “Yeah, sure. I’d offer to help you, but you don’t have much to unpack. Or anything at all, actually. Still, congrats on your new place.”

Q’s heart skipped a beat. Such a frivolous thing to fuss over, but it was his place, wasn’t it.

“Still, I thought it would be hard to get used to you being around all the time. Now it’s weird knowing I won’t be seeing you. At least come play cards once in a while,” Geordi said as he sat down and grabbed a cup of tea. Q wrinkled his nose at the idea. He’d rather not spend time with Riker.

“Thank you, but I will pass,” he said bitterly.

“Right, guess poker wouldn’t make much sense to a Q,” Geordi laughed. “Then I’ll just keep tagging along when you hang out with Data.”

Q stopped to look Geordi in the eye.

“Why?”

“You’d prefer not to?”

“No, I just didn’t expect you to do so,” Q said.

“We’re friends, Q. Wouldn’t it be weird if we just stopped seeing each other once we stopped working together?” Geordi shifted his focus to the offerings at the table, but Q kept staring at him.

“I suppose,” he finally muttered and turned away. Inside, he felt a strange warmth expand in his chest.

Q tried to make up things to keep himself busy as Data and Geordi sat on the couch and chatted, absent-mindedly replying to them now and then until they thanked him and left.

“See you around,” Geordi smiled and closed the door.

Q looked around. No way around it, the room was drab and bland and, now that Geordi and Data were gone, quite lonely. Q willed the window to span from wall to wall, then reversed it to avoid another spat with Jean-Luc. Instead, he gave the wall a new coat of paint. Decorate it with stone, perhaps? Red marble looked gorgeous, but much too grandiose for the room. He kept experimenting. Wood paneling. Chinoserie. Tile. He was Q; why not something more unorthodox?

What he ended up with was subtle black wood paneling sparkling softly like a starry sky, giving off a dim light matching the space outside. He considered the flooring. It wasn’t the most showy material, but he liked the feel of the carpet under his feet, so he simply replaced it with a softer one in a dark sea green shade. He kept working on the decor. Brass and black leather; satin and chiffon in shades of deep, dark green.

The room complemented the view outside. Funny how little human eyes could see out there, how little they comprehended any of it, and still Q suddenly understood why it fascinated them so, why the vast nothingness and the tiny twinkling lights made them happy. He stood there and admired it for a moment before he shook off such silly feelings.

His habitat wasn’t the only thing Q had a newfound interest in.

Before his resignation, Q had never worn, really worn, anything outside his uniform after his brief bout as a mortal.

Now, he was developing a taste.

There was so much to a garment. The cut, the feel, the materials—they all fascinated him. Silk was his favorite. It was soft and gentle against his skin, light and airy around his body, but also looked pretty. And it came in a variety of styles and weaves. He was currently wearing a high-collared gunmetal silk brocade robe with a mauve bird of paradise motif and a soft ruby-colored lining.

In fact, he had an entire wardrobe. It made little sense, but it gave him a strange jolt of happiness opening the door and seeing some replicated outfits hanging on the rack. More importantly, it made him feel like he belonged. A part of him was horrified at this yet another blatant display of human sentimentality, crowned by his old Starfleet uniform at the very end of the rack—another recreation of it, anyway. A memento of sorts.

Looking at the beautiful collection of clothes he had chosen for himself, he shuddered at the memory of the coarse, gray outfit the others had forced him to wear at his lowest point years ago. He tried to shake off the memory. It was a different time, and they had their reasons to be wary of him. He’d come so far in his relationships since then. Most of them, anyway.

They even exchanged perfectly polite little greetings with Worf occasionally.

Q’s thoughts wandered to the horrible non-date he had had with Jean-Luc, and his mood soured.

Without thinking, he had appeared in Jean-Luc’s quarters, finding him at the replicator, his back to Q.

“Still toiling on Kodiar IV business, are we? Do your superiors give you treats for working overtime?” Q said and looked at the open documents on the captain’s desk.

“Q,” Jean-Luc said tiredly and returned to his desk with empty hands. “I see you already grew tired of using the door.” Q hadn’t thought of that. There was so much to remember.

“I’m trying things out, seeing what sticks. I do like surprising you,” Q said and stepped right into Jean-Luc’s personal space and glared down into his eyes below.

All he got in response was a sigh, but at least Jean-Luc didn’t seem to mind his proximity. As if the thought of putting some distance between them didn’t even occur to him.

“I’d like to reschedule our date,” Q said.

“Our—date? Q, you asked me to join for a friendly meal, and that’s what we had. Or I was prepared to have, but apparently you and Beverly had other ideas.”

Q observed some color rise on Jean-Luc’s cheeks.

“Then consider this my trying to set things right. A date, Jean-Luc. Right now. You know time isn’t an issue when you’re with me. Any wishes for location?” Q asked.

“Stop this! It’s bad enough knowing you are using your powers to interfere with our mission; at least I want to have no personal part in it.” He was visibly irritated now, and that really didn’t sit well with Q. Who was this man to nag at every little mistake Q made, every little sign of his being non-human he let slip by?

“This is who I am, Jean-Luc. I am making an honest attempt meeting you halfway, but if I have any say in it, I will never be a human or any other mortal again, at least in the only way that seems to mean anything at all to you.” Q brought his hand, ready to snap, to Jean-Luc’s eye level and waited for his silent acknowledgement before replacing the surrounding walls with a pure white void. Jean-Luc didn’t even flinch.

“I know I entered your life as an adversary, an unprecedented force threatening you and your kind, challenging you—but a less patient being would suspect a bias against my kind by now.” Q was fuming.

“Are you calling yourself patient? Really, Q?” Jean-Luc scoffed and stepped past Q.

“When it comes to you, Picard, yes, I am,” Q retorted and swung his body back in front of Jean-Luc. “Time may not mean much to a Q, but the lengths you’ve made me go to, oh, they have taken their toll on me.”

Jean-Luc searched Q’s eyes and seemed confused at what he found there. Q wondered if Jean-Luc saw the pain he knew his eyes betrayed, and he struggled not to vanish into thin air right then and there. Instead, he exhaled deeply and returned them to the captain’s quarters.

“Are you…” Jean-Luc paused to look for words before settling for the banal. “Are you all right?”

Q saw the opening and, before fully appreciating how bad of an idea it was, pressed his body against Jean-Luc’s and it was heaven. With trembling hands, he reached for Jean-Luc’s hips to pull him even closer, and oh, his fragrance, his warmth, his familiarity were intoxicating Q, but before he had even realized, Jean-Luc was already pulling away.

“Q!”

Q could have sworn the pain was enough to split all his insides in half were he a mortal man. It would have impressed him if he weren’t too hurt to think.

The captain’s face was red with anger. Again with the redness.

“Was this your plan the entire time? All this work just to teach me another lesson about—about what? That I shouldn’t be so soft and trusting?”

“Soft and trusting? You are anything but,” Q spoke in a low, icy voice.

“I am happy you agree,” Jean-Luc barked at him. “Now leave me.”

Q couldn’t comprehend why Jean-Luc was so angry with him. His vision blurred, and his cheeks felt wet.

“Oh, what—ew, oh no,” Q stammered and glanced at the clear liquid he had wiped on his hands, then at Jean-Luc, who Q could barely see but who he thought looked confused now. “I need to go,” Q said and disappeared.

“Beverly, help me,” he yelped as he appeared on the biobed, pushing away another patient just about to receive a shot.

“Q!” Beverly said in surprise.

“My eyes aren’t working right and I can’t fix them! I’m becoming blind and losing my powers!” Q cried. The other patient quietly slunk away, leaving Beverly alone with Q. Not that Q paid them any attention.

“Calm down, Q. You’re crying. What happened?”

“Crying? …oh,” Q said and wiped off his tears, and the rate of new ones forming calmed somewhat. His throat felt tight, but this was embarrassing enough as it was, so he ignored it. “Then never mind,” he said and slid off the bed.

“Wait, Q, are you sure you don’t need anything? What happened?”

Q looked at her from under his brow and considered.

“Stubbed my toe,” he said flatly and slumped. “May I go now?”

Beverly didn’t believe it for a second.

“You may.”

Q didn’t bother playing human games and walk to his quarters. More accurately, he didn’t want to be seen by any more people like this. In a blink of an eye, he was in his quarters, lights all too bright for his liking, so he made them all vanish and replaced them with something softer and more comforting.

He was still confused. The pain he felt was physical; it gripped his throat and pounded his chest. He tried letting go of his body to calm down, but the emotion grappled him and kept him a prisoner inside his human form. He was stuck and terrified. Tears filled his eyes again. Q panicked. He should have been able to stop this, but he was utterly powerless to calm down. All he could manage was to conjure a bed below him as he collapsed.

***

Picard put away the wilted white flower from his desk and ordered a cup of tea. Cthfarians could wait till morning.

Someone was at his door. So much for peace and quiet.

“Come.”

Beverly stepped in. Picard relaxed back into his seat, but the respite was short-lived.

“Q just crashed into the sickbay, bawling. Said he’d stubbed his toe, but I have a feeling this has to do with you,” Beverly said.

Q, Q, Q, of course it was Q. Again. He put his cup down.

“I may have been…” Picard paused and studied Beverly’s face. “…unnecessarily harsh on him,” he admitted. Beverly’s stare didn’t soften. “I didn’t realize he was serious about it, but… Beverly, he came on to me.” Picard couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. His pulse quickened as he remembered the tall body against his, but he willed the thought away. He expected Beverly to burst out laughing any moment now. She didn’t.

“Well, yes, Jean-Luc. You’re the only one who hasn’t noticed he’s hopelessly infatuated with you and he’s making it everyone’s problem because, apparently, you’re the one person who refuses to accept it!”

Picard sat in his seat like a child getting lectured.

“I assumed it was a ruse, that he was trying to make me… somehow embarrass myself,” Picard offered quietly in a hopeless defense, not even buying it himself. “I’ve been on my toes ever since he came here, waiting for him to turn against me the moment I gave him a chance. I thought he was fishing for that opening just now.”

“Well he wasn’t, and you don’t know the lengths to which he’s gone to, trying to get through to you. So, you fix this and let him down kindly before he explodes something.”

Picard glared at Beverly as she left the room, then let out a deep sigh as soon as the door closed. Cthfarians could wait till morning, but apparently, Q couldn’t.

Chapter 7: Kisses Link copied

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Another problem with Q’s resignation was him no longer having a combadge, which meant Picard had to go through the humiliation of knocking on his door to apologize. Then again, what would he have even said via comms? “Q, report to the ready room for an apology”?

Of course, Picard had never actually given him a combadge, now that he thought about it, so clearly nothing prevented Q from either creating his own or faking it and simply knowing when he was needed and where.

Picard stood behind Q’s door now and took a deep breath before pressing the panel to sound a chime. He didn’t know what he had expected, but he was surprised when the door soon opened with Q standing behind it in civilian clothing. He was wearing a thin, loose jumpsuit in a dusty pink ombré deepening into a shade of garnet red towards his legs.

“Mon capitaine,” he said, not a hint of sadness in his voice. In fact, he seemed pleased to see Picard. “Do come in.”

Q had certainly wasted no time making the place his. Picard could hardly believe this had ever been one of the standard quarters. He wondered where the ever-shifting green and blue and purple lighting of the room originated from—he could see no lamps anywhere. None of the standard furniture or fixtures either. And in the middle of the dark decor, lit by the mysterious lights and the ocean of stars extending beyond the windows, there was Q, ethereal in his light outfit, as if emerging from the void of space.

“This is… exquisite,” he said, having completely forgotten why he had come. “How did you do this?” A silly question, he realized.

“Oh, this is nothing, just some simple tricks. Something to drink?” Q asked and summoned a cart with a variety of colorful beverages next to Picard and walked to the window, turning his back to Picard. “Not something I used to care about before…” Q turned silent.

Picard picked up a glass and took a few careful steps towards Q. “Before you made accommodations. Adjusted for the rest of the crew.” He stopped. Words came easy in the dreamlike atmosphere. “Adjusted for me.” There was no bitterness in his words, no resentment, no accusations. Just a long overdue acknowledgment.

Q stood still, facing away from Picard, the colorful lights dancing around him.

“I tried so hard not to make a fool of myself that I ended up misunderstanding you. Hurting you,” Picard said softly.

In one swift move, Q had turned around and stepped close enough to loom over Picard, suddenly a wineglass in his hand. Picard glanced at his own drink. He was also holding a glass of wine now. A small smile tugging at his mouth caught him by surprise.

“I’d like to have our date now. Right here. A proper date without third wheels, if that’s quite all right with you,” Q said in a low, sincere voice underlined by that captivating stare Picard found himself helpless against. But behind that facade he found vulnerability; uncertainty Picard hadn’t recognized before.

“I could stay for a drink or two,” he said and let the smile reach his eyes. Q smiled in response and raised his glass and gently touched Picard’s back with his free hand. “After you,” he murmured, eyes glimmering in rhythm with the colored lights and the simulacrum of a starry sky surrounding them, and gestured towards a velvet loveseat Picard could have sworn wasn’t there a minute ago.

He was vaguely aware that things were advancing rather fast when, after they’d emptied their glasses, Picard found himself exchanging desperate kisses with Q, shoving his tongue inside the soft mouth tasting like wine and chocolate and fruit. Q, much sweeter than he could have ever guessed. Very clearly inexperienced Q, very quick to learn Q, very long-deprived Q.

But then, was it really so fast when they had stood still for so many years.

He remembered, in passing, that he was here to apologize to Q, to turn him down gently. Picard wasn’t sure at what point exactly he had admitted to himself he was kidding himself. Was it the moment he had arrived at his door? Was it the moment he’d seen him standing there like he was the bright center of the universe, a god in his realm? He couldn’t even recall who was the one to initiate. He could only remember Q’s gasps at the lightest touch, sounding like it bordered on pain, and the desperation when Picard had tried to pull away.

“You kept me waiting for so long, Jean-Luc,” Q managed between kisses.

“I thought time didn’t matter for you,” Picard said and moved down to line Q’s jaw with kisses.

“It matters when it’s you,” Q breathed. He reached down and caught Picard’s lower lip between his teeth while his fingertips reached under the hem of Picard’s uniform. Little by little, his touch grew more confident, and he explored further up his chest.

“Is there a Starfleet regulation against the captain of the ship fucking on a first date?” Q asked as he pushed Picard down and pinned him under his body.

“Like hell you would care anyway,” Picard replied impatiently, his voice getting breathy. “But you need to get us into a bed, or we’ll both be sore tomorrow.”

“As you command,” Q said, and turned the loveseat into a big bed with dark, soft bedding. Q was still on top of him, now focused on tasting every inch of Picard’s exposed abdomen.

“Perhaps—ah—I should take the lead,” Picard suggested and immediately regretted Q’s gentle lips leaving his body.

“That sounds lovely,” Q said and peeled himself off of Picard and leaned back. The dancing lights came to a halt. A blue light illuminated Q’s face, and Picard saw he was suddenly looking very fragile sitting there on the bed, leaning back in his flowy outfit, face flushed and lips swollen, waiting.

“Have me, then.”

***

Q hadn’t had the foresight to expect this turn of events when he had picked the fine silk jumpsuit to wear that night. The fabric was so thin Q could have practically been naked already, so acutely he felt Jean-Luc’s fingertips on his skin through the cloth. He decided it was a good thing. He didn’t mind his vulnerability being on display, not with Jean-Luc, not when he finally looked at Q closely enough to see it all.

So, when it came time to lose that nominal barrier between him and the world, Q wasn’t that worried about it. There was nothing here but his room; his own space—and Jean-Luc sharing that space with Q.

Jean-Luc said nothing as he kept looking Q in the eye while softly reaching for him and lowering his back on the bed. He then traced Q’s jawbone with his finger, followed down his neck, all the way on his chest, then found the hidden zipper in front of the jumpsuit.

“Is this all right?” He spoke softly.

Q nodded. Oh, he was getting the nerves, suddenly. His breath hitched, and his heart beat so fast he couldn’t tell if it was normal. Not now, please not when he least wanted to miss a single second, any slightest touch.

“Please,” Q slipped. Jean-Luc misread his plea and melted into another passionate kiss while his palms spread warmth through the silk on his shoulders, pushing him deeper down into the mattress. Q could hardly process everything that was happening, but he felt Jean-Luc’s heart contesting his own, and it eased his worries.

Jean-Luc pulled on the zipper and exposed Q’s chest to the cool air of the room. Q gasped as Jean-Luc’s hot breath landed on his skin, prompting Jean-Luc to glance at him for any signs of discomfort. He slid his hands under the silk, up to Q’s shoulders, then gently pulled the garment out of the way and caressed his collarbone.

Q desperately wanted to do something for Jean-Luc, too, but couldn’t think of what. He just lay there, admiring Jean-Luc’s thorough work on his body. He had done this who knew how many times. Q hadn’t even done his homework, and doing it now was no longer an option. The one thing he did know was he wanted Jean-Luc to lose that damned uniform.

“I want you naked. Can I please make you naked?” he blurted out in the absence of better verbiage. It was getting hard to resist vanishing the thing out of the way just like that, but after all the consideration Jean-Luc had demonstrated towards Q tonight, Q supposed Jean-Luc deserved the same from him.

“No!” Jean-Luc said and looked up. “All in time, Q. It’s better this way, I promise.”

Q threw his head back in frustration. It was very good this way, and only one of them had any idea what he was doing, so he didn’t have much in terms of an argument.

“Wait,” Q gasped as the zipper slid under his navel. Jean-Luc looked up into his eyes again.

“If you changed your mind—” he said with nothing but love and patience.

“I have absolutely not,” Q responded with slight frustration. “It’s just, ah, Jean-Luc, before we get any further… What would you expect, or rather, prefer to find down there?”

Jean-Luc was dumbfounded.

“Pardon?”

“I’m talking about your preferred type of genitals for a sexual partner. I realize this is an awkward time to bring this up, but—” Q’s pitch raised involuntarily as he spoke. “I have been experimenting since you last saw me naked.”

“Q,” Jean-Luc said in a calm, low voice that countered all Q’s tenseness and had his nerves melt away in a single syllable. “I appreciate this, but right now your comfort in your own body is what I want the most. I doubt anything you may have picked could shock me.” He flashed a playful smile. “I’ve seen quite a variety.”

“Oh, you’re severely underestimating my imagination,” Q scoffed.

“Try me. You might be underestimating my experience,” Jean-Luc replied in a dark tone, undermining any of Q’s grasps at composure. “Do you still want me to do this?”

“Yes, yes I do,” Q pleaded while breathing heavily, as if worrying his enthusiasm wasn’t enough to convince Jean-Luc. Q gasped as Jean-Luc’s fingertips moved again and exposed more of his skin, and finally a tuft of curly hair and a slit.

“Oh,” Jean-Luc said in surprise, and Q froze in terror. He had been so sure he had got the details right, but what if—“Not a fan of underwear, are you?”

“What is underwear?” Q’s terror faded into puzzlement.

“…Never mind. May I… touch you?” Jean-Luc asked. Q could pick up the slightest tremble in his voice.

“You’re already touching me,” Q whispered back.

Jean-Luc sighed. “Your cunt. Pardon my French.”

“Ah, well, yes. You may,” Q said and felt another wave of heat rush onto his cheeks. “I apologize. This is my first time doing this.”

“I know.”

“What’s that supposed to—aahhhh!”

Jean-Luc had buried his face in the soft curls and slid down until his lips touched Q’s clit.

“What did you do?” Q cried out. Jean-Luc raised his head and looked surprised.

“Nothing yet. Does it feel bad?”

“It feels different,” Q managed. He stared at the ceiling, too embarrassed to look Jean-Luc in the eye.

“Different from…” Jean-Luc asked.

“Other parts.” Q forced himself to meet Jean-Luc’s tender, albeit puzzled gaze.

“Q…” Jean-Luc said and sat up.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Q said as Jean-Luc’s fingertips left his skin.

“Have you not ever… touched yourself? Down there?” Jean-Luc asked.

“Ew, no, why would I have? It’s a repulsive organ! This is exactly why I asked about your preferences,” Q said and frowned in disgust. He sat up. “…should I have?”

“Didn’t you—I told you to pick whatever feels right for you.”

“Oh, they’re all disgusting, all the veins and the holes and… I’m sure yours is lovely. But this one…” Q paused and turned his face away from Jean-Luc in embarrassment. “It’s just the one I’m most used to. The hanging parts are cumbersome; they chafe and poke out and the penis has just the absolute worst timing when it stiffens simply for looking the wrong way or having the wrong thought—…So from that standpoint, I would consider this one the most comfortable one in day-to-day. I admit I haven’t really thought about other aspects.”

Jean-Luc gently touched Q’s cheek; only fingertips at first, then the entire palm of his hand. He gently guided Q to face him again. Reluctantly, Q raised his eyes to meet Jean-Luc’s. There was that look of recognition again, that openness to Q’s vulnerability in Jean-Luc’s eyes. How he had yearned to be welcomed like that.

“Let’s try something else tonight,” Jean-Luc said gently. Q nodded shyly, and Jean-Luc moved to sit behind his back. Q felt Jean-Luc’s breath on his skin, warm and steady along his spine, as he reached around Q to hold his hand.

“Are you ready?” He asked.

“I am,” Q barely whispered.

Slowly, Jean-Luc pushed Q’s hand down between his legs.

“Oh. Oh!”

Q couldn’t quite appreciate the sliminess of it all, but he wondered if Jean-Luc had a point, after all, as he gently led Q’s hand to explore himself.

“It feels good.”

Jean-Luc, still holding his hand, guided Q to finger his clit in small, circular motions.

“Can you manage on your own now?”

“I would think so, but—ha-ah…!”

Jean-Luc had let go of Q’s hand and slowly pushed a finger inside him.

The captain’s pulse was getting faster against Q’s back. If it hadn’t been for the mechanical heart, he probably couldn’t have told their pulses apart. It was a strange sensation.

“Keep going. I’ll help you out.”

“Help me out with what?”

“You’ll see,” Jean-Luc said. Q felt soft kisses trace down his bare neck and spine.

Oh, he thought moments before reaching orgasm. This. Then, he mostly thought of nothing at all, embracing the sensation fully, letting it bleed through the human body into his limitless mind.

“Do you still find it repulsive?” Jean-Luc was still holding him in his strong arms.

“Mm. I do see the point in touching it yourself, I suppose. Makes you wonder why bother involving others at all, though.” Q lowered his voice to a deep half-whisper. “It felt fantastic, Jean-Luc.”

“Does that mean you no longer want to do it with me?”

Q turned around hastily.

“Of course I do!” Q exclaimed. Jean-Luc had a flirtatious glint in his eye. Q wanted to frown, but couldn’t.

“Well, there’s your answer,” Jean-Luc replied and smiled wider.

“Go ahead, then,” Q said and snapped his jumpsuit completely off and shifted his position to face Jean-Luc properly. “Your turn. I already showed you mine. One of them, anyway.”

“Maybe we should start slow,” Jean-Luc said.

“Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean you need to treat me like a fragile human. Don’t you remember what I am?”

“You just masturbated for the first time in your life and got overwhelmed when I was about to eat you out. Are you sure penetration is a good idea?”

Q scoffed. “I didn’t expect it to be so sensitive, that’s all. I’m better prepared now.”

Jean-Luc sighed. Q could tell it was hard for him to say no. But he also knew he wouldn’t say yes, not tonight. For Q’s sake. Oh, did he have to be so difficult?

“How about a compromise?” Jean-Luc finally said and took his uniform top off. “I’ll stay here with you tonight.”

“Of course you will,” Q cut in.

“Yes, of course I will. We can do a lot of things, but I won’t do anything that could overwhelm you, even if you insist,” Jean-Luc paused. “And I will… show you mine, as you put it.”

“It doesn’t sound terrible,” Q admitted and leaned in for a light kiss before flashing a devilish smile and snapping his fingers to rid Jean-Luc of the rest of his clothing.

***

“Go ahead, then. Your turn. I already showed you mine. One of them, anyway.”

How could Picard say no when Q, flushed, wet and aroused, was sitting there with his legs spread wide, looking at him with those passionate eyes he had never learned to fully refuse? Here was his long-time provocateur, offering himself, no doubt oblivious to the full extent of how utterly, maddeningly obscene the display was.

“Maybe we should start slow.”

Were this anyone else, Picard would have simply repressed those urges, wished them good night and suffered the night alone on the couch or quietly sneaked back to his own quarters. The trouble was, this was Q; fully consenting, very much eager, and absolutely capable of stopping the act if it became too much, and Picard wanted him more than he cared to admit. But he also wanted their first time—Q’s first time, period—to go over smoothly and not leave Q overwhelmed or disgusted. Which were both genuine risks in Q’s case.

“It doesn’t sound terrible.”

A kiss, a snap, and his clothes came off.

Q’s unabashed gaze hungrily scanned every inch of Picard’s body, and he suddenly felt very self-conscious. No one had looked at him like that in a long time—and there was Q, the omnipotent being and also the most beautiful man Picard had ever shared a bed with, mesmerized by him.

“Let’s match,” Q said, got up on his knees and exchanged his wet cunt for a half-hard cock like it was just another outfit change for him. It was disorienting, but Picard was much too turned on to be bothered by the sudden change. “Do this one next.”

Oh, the things he wanted to do to this cocky entity ordering him around. He reminded himself that this was all an act.

“Am I right to assume you have never played with this one either?”

Q looked somewhat more timid now.

“No, but it did expand against my wishes a few times before I started using the other one.”

Picard felt his own arousal get more dire as he imagined Q hard and without relief in his uniform. That image alone was enough to make Picard want to wrestle Q back to his crew.

Enough talk.

“Come here,” Picard said and pulled their finally fully naked bodies together.

“Oh—ah,” Q moaned. Picard had forgotten how sensitive Q was. To his surprise, Q instinctively started moving against Picard’s thigh, moaning and whining and—

“Oh, ahh, ohh—Oh!” Q jumped away from Picard, and they both looked down at the puddle of white substance dripping down Picard’s leg.

“What just—What is that?” Q panicked.

Granted, Picard hadn’t expected it to be so quick, but maybe he should have.

How was he supposed to explain this without it becoming awkward?

“It’s, erm. Semen. Cum. That happens when you climax.”

Humiliation and disgust alternated on Q’s face. “That’s vile. The other one didn’t.”

Picard was struggling. To be frank, Q’s reaction was something of a turnoff. But then, there was also Q’s warm cum on his thigh, getting caught in his leg hair, and the memory of Q humping him in a fervor just moments earlier. He could practically feel Q’s length grinding against his thigh, still.

“Maybe I can change your mind,” Picard said and scooped some of the liquid with his fingers before it dried and put it into his mouth, savoring it. Then, he reached for a kiss.

Q backed off slightly. “Is that edible?”

He didn’t hesitate long before giving in and leaning forward to give a quick, experimental kiss to Picard, then returning for more.

“I suppose I could broaden my palate,” Q said, despite not looking completely sold. Picard wondered what he was thinking as his hazy eyes studied Picard’s lips. “Does your… Is that what happens if I…” Q looked at him nervously. “Can I taste yours?”

Picard’s eyes drifted to Q’s lips. Of course he had thought about it before. Of course he had wondered how good it would be to put those lips to work. For the longest time, he thought the image of shutting up Q by shoving his cock balls-deep into Q’s throat was the only positive thing about their crossing ways.

“You could take it in your mouth,” Picard rasped, and a jolt of anticipation jerked his cock up. He hoped this wasn’t crossing the line for Q. He wasn’t entirely sure Q even knew where the line was.

Q looked at him.

“Have you ever done this?” Q asked.

“I—I have, yes.”

“Will you guide me?”

“I will.”

“Will you warn me?”

“I will.”

Q slowly lowered his head and hovered his parted lips, already red and plump from countless kisses, above Picard’s very eager cock.

“Oh—” Q looked at Picard. “What do I do with the…” he wrinkled his nose. “…liquid?”

Another moment of confusion for Picard’s hard-on, but he was coming to a revelation that Q’s casual disgust was, in fact, hot in its own way. He closed his eyes. “Swallow it, spit it, I’m not offended either way.” Just get to work already. This entire tease was getting too much, and Q didn’t even realize what he was doing.

Then, he felt a breath and a light-as-a-feather touch against his wet tip and let out a small groan.

***

Salty. Q wasn’t used to salty. He wasn’t sure if he had liked the taste of his own cum on Jean-Luc’s tongue, although he very much liked every other part of the kiss, and he wasn’t sure if he liked how a cock tasted in his mouth. The one thing he knew he loved for sure was the way the captain moaned as Q’s lips moved up and down his shaft. He tried using his tongue. It gave him access to a whole new variety of tones to play with.

Q quickly learned to play Jean-Luc like an instrument. Oh, the heavenly sounds he could draw from this man. Q had grown an appreciation for music. He had a taste. And nothing he had heard before quite compared to this. Somewhere in the background, he heard his own muffled voice join the choir as strong fingers traveled up his body and buried into his sweaty hair.

“Q, I—ah… I’m getting near—”

Q braced himself as he felt Jean-Luc come closer and closer, grasp desperately at Q’s neck and hair, tug him with some force, then fill his mouth in a beautiful groan.

There was no way for Q to fully anticipate the impact, resulting in some spillage. Q wasn’t sure if he liked the taste of cum, but when he looked up at Jean-Luc and saw his face looking back at him with lust and pleasure, he decided he most definitely did.

“Q, I…” Jean-Luc was at a loss for words. Q swallowed and felt a drop fall off his chin and realized the mess they had made.

“Oh, let me clean this up—”

“Don’t,” Jean-Luc cut in and kissed him. “Not yet.”

“Will you stay for the night?” Q pleaded.

“Of course I will,” Jean-Luc said and smiled. “I already said I would. Although I’m afraid I do need some sleep, too.” He paused to think. “Do you ever sleep? Aside from when…” he seemed to sense it was not a topic to bring up right now. Q appreciated his tact.

“I have, out of curiosity,” Q said. “When Data has played the violin for me. Other than that, I still don’t like it. I don’t need it. I fail to see the point.”

“Would you like to try it tonight? Here, next to me.”

Q thought about it. Why had he liked sleeping when he was with Data?

“And miss watching you sleep?” Q said and rolled his eyes, then smiled at Jean-Luc. “Fine, for you, I will,” he finally said.

That night, Q dreamed as a Q. He felt Jean-Luc near him and pulled him closer, not physically, but into his dream.

Chapter 8: Morning Link copied

& on AO3

Well-rested didn’t begin to describe how thoroughly invigorated Picard felt that morning. Never in his life had he slept this well before; it was as if he’d paid off all the cumulative sleep debt in his entire life so far, and then some. If it had anything to do with Q’s arms tightly wrapped around Picard, his wide chest rising and falling—for Picard’s sake, no doubt—against his own, narrower back, it wouldn’t have surprised him if it was indeed the case.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. What would something like that do to a man long term?

Picard dispelled the thought. He didn’t even know what last night had meant for them; for him, let alone Q. He could decide how to feel about an omnipotent partner after he knew what kind of relationship they would have from now on.

Picard lingered on that thought for a second before rolling around to see Q, already awake and watching Picard intently with adoring eyes that melted away any anxieties weighing Picard’s mind. Ahead lay bridges to cross, but not here, not right now. Come what may, he wanted to remember this moment unsullied by such worries.

“Good morning, mon capitaine. Did you sleep well?” Q purred, voice soft and warm, head propped up against one hand, the other making its way to Picard’s skin, gently running through his chest hair.

Picard let out a small laugh at how natural it all felt, eliciting a wide, approving grin from Q. After all, this wasn’t the first time he had woken up next to Q. This wasn’t just a lover he was waking up next to, but a long-time friend, someone he had been through a lot with. Someone who undeniably knew him better than many despite his attempts to shut him out. Someone Picard dared say he knew, in return. The situation was new to him, but familiar at the same time. Good, all the same.

He stopped himself just short of wondering if he wanted to get used to it.

“I did. Never slept better, in fact,” he replied and gave a small peck on Q’s cheek. Q’s eyes sparkled, his entire being radiating bliss. Picard wasn’t sure if he deserved such utter adoration from Q—then realized he had forgotten why he had come there in the first place.

“I wanted to apologize,” Picard said and watched Q’s expression change. He hated to see the dreamy smile fade. “I’m sorry,” he started and paused to look for the right words. Q kept silent, idly drawing circles on Picard’s skin with his fingertip. “Sorry for doubting you. Not only yesterday, not only when you resigned,” he listed and felt shame and regret bubbling up from deep within him. Q’s eyes were fixated on his chest. “Not only when you joined the crew. Ever since you came to me at your lowest moment, when you first called me your friend.”

Q raised his gaze. “All is forgiven,” he said softly, with an earnest look in his eyes. Then, his face lit up, wiping off the wistful expression. “I believe it’s breakfast time,” he announced with all his usual enthusiasm. He snapped his fingers, and a lavish breakfast buffet with dishes both familiar and unfamiliar to Picard surrounded the bed.

Q’s expression changed again. “I already decided on what I want,” he hummed deviously and let his gaze linger on Picard as he slowly moved to pin his willing prey under him. Electricity ran through Picard’s body as Q stared at him, lips parted, deliberating.

“Where should I start?” Q murmured while devouring him with his eyes. “Ah.” In a flash he was gone, and Picard hardly had time to react before Q was licking his shaft and drawing sharp gasps out of him.

“Q—Oh, god…!”

“You deserve no less than a god,” Q said and took him in his mouth.

Pleasure toppled a sudden pang of guilt over the realization of how pampered he was right now. Q was grabbing and sucking his cock so expertly Picard could only guess how one picked up a skill like that over a single night.

Picard grabbed the back of Q’s head to set the pace. He loved the feel of Q’s hair between his fingers. Only half-aware and blinded by lust, he started pushing harder and harder—he wanted to push through the resistance he met so badly, and Q was taking it so well. He knew Q wouldn’t oppose if he just shoved his cock all the way down his throat.

Picard kept toying with the idea, coming so close to—

He looked down to see Q giving it his all, lips red and covering his cock in saliva, and he suddenly let go of the hair he realized he was by now pulling way too hard with both his hands. Too hard for his own comfort, probably Q’s, too. As he did, Q’s head bounced up.

“Don’t you want this?” Q said, clearly disappointed, if not hurt.

“Damn it, Q, of course I want to,” Picard said and let his head fall back. “I—I got carried away,” he stuttered. “You… carry on.”

Q did, at a slower pace now, exploring Picard’s inner thighs with his hands while sucking him. Blame it on that exceptionally good sleep or Q’s powers, but Picard was close to an orgasm that shouldn’t have been possible this soon without some help.

Picard felt fingers circling his asshole, and that was his breaking point. He cursed as he spilled in Q’s warm mouth, his partner not even flinching this time.

He let the waves of pleasure wash over him before looking down to find Q already looking up at him, cheeks flushed and lips plump.

“Your turn,” Q said and casually wiped off his mouth, as if he had been doing this forever. Obediently, Picard pushed himself up and was about to lean down to return the favor when Q pushed him back.

“Appreciate the sentiment, but I did rather mean breakfast,” Q said, abashed. “Please, let me spoil you.”

“Believe me, you already have,” Picard said and kissed him, then looked at the cornucopia spread around him.

“Better than replicated, I guarantee. You will ask for my home cooking every day from now on.”

“You cooked this?” Picard chuckled.

“Well, no, but the point still stands,” Q shrugged, and a plate appeared in Picard’s hand.

Picard wondered if Q was using his powers to boost the aroma of each dish as he gathered them on his plate, because he soon had a heap of food much more than he would normally eat for breakfast.

“Are you not getting anything?” he asked as he sat down with his enormous portion. Q sat opposite him and leaned on his elbows.

“I already had mine, remember?” He said and winked, then continued when Picard rolled his eyes in response. “Fine, fine, I’ll eat something, if only to make you feel less alone.” A stack of fluffy pancakes drowned in fruit and syrup appeared in front of him, and it reminded Picard of how sweet Q tasted. Of course he would; he ran on sugar.

They ate their breakfast in comfortable silence, although Picard could swear Q spent more time staring at Picard than focusing on his own pancakes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this full in my life,” Picard said when he finally finished his plate.

“I told you it would be better than replicator food, didn’t I,” Q exulted, tilting his head. Picard could tell there was genuine pride behind the smug grin, but he was unsure if it was for the quality of the food, or the fact Picard had accepted his gift. Perhaps both. Maybe he could ask Q about the kinds of things that gave omnipotent beings a sense of accomplishment.

Picard never brought up the fight that had resulted in Q’s tears. He had apologized, and nothing good would come from dwelling on it. He wondered what had caused such a sharp change in moods between Q fleeing from Picard’s quarters, teary-eyed, and Picard sheepishly making his way to Q’s door and being cheerfully welcomed in.

***

Q stood still after the door closed. He wanted to keep Jean-Luc from leaving so soon, wanted to keep him there inside their own little bubble, take care of all his mortal needs and wants and hold him close forever and then some. He thought back to the moment Jean-Luc had turned to him and smiled, laughed, kissed his cheek so lovingly. Jean-Luc, so unreservedly glad to see Q next to him. His heart leapt upon remembering it.

Alas, the captain had his ship and his crew, and Q knew his captain wouldn’t be happy being truly only his. Not yet, anyway. Oh, he wanted to earn it.

He remembered his sense of smell and buried his nose in Jean-Luc’s sheets. How it delighted him to observe how the human body took in the smell, then trigger a whole chain reaction of biological functions. How beautifully different areas of his brain lit up, how the sensations spread throughout his body. He didn’t care if his peers thought him a creep for finding this flesh suit fascinating. At least they were happy at the Continuum that Q was preoccupied with something so harmless and small-scale for once.

He considered preserving the sheets so that they’d never lose that scent, to have access to that calming comfort whenever he needed it.

Last night had been a rollercoaster. Q had returned from sickbay, still crying, only to realize he was stuck in a human form and feeling like he was dying. How long he had been curled up in a bed, he couldn’t tell, but the pain was debilitating. His feelings had been hurt before, both as a human and a Q, but never before had he known how deeply physical it could feel. The second he had gained enough composure to fade out of his physical body, he had left that hurt behind and felt better. Not exactly happy, but normal. Numb. He had spread out of the confinement of the small starship, then snapped right back into his body, feeling calm and fine just in time for Jean-Luc to come to his door.

Something similar had happened again when they had fell asleep together, but this time it wasn’t Q alone. Jean-Luc was there with him, sharing the sensation, and it had sparked hope in Q. If only Jean-Luc realized how wonderful it could be to knowingly embrace it.

His thoughts didn’t obey him. Thinking back to last night brought back all the beautiful sounds and sights. Jean-Luc was no inexperienced lover, but Q liked to think those most adoring looks, most passionate moans and most commanding touches were reserved for Q and Q alone.

He hadn’t modified his body since last night, and his cock was getting hard again. He considered getting rid of the entire thing, but then, why? There was no hurry to be anywhere. Instead, he pulled his pants down and started moving his hand around the shaft slowly.

It wasn’t as nice as moving against Jean-Luc’s leg, but it was good nevertheless.

***

Since Q no longer had his job, he had nothing to do but wait for Jean-Luc to return. Nothing he really wanted to do, anyway. He lay on the bed. He redecorated. He popped outside, but nothing there caught his interest. He ate. He had a chat with Deanna but grew bored and left. He made a miniature model of an imaginary galaxy. He masturbated. He summoned 19th-century Earth musicians to perform for him. He rearranged Jean-Luc’s books and knickknacks. He stretched. He hid an old-fashioned alarm clock inside Worf’s wall. He called forth a flock of beings from another dimension to follow the Enterprise. He made the ship computer respond by singing instead of talking.

The entire day passed without a sign of Jean-Luc missing him.

After another night of keeping himself busy, Q stretched his consciousness and found a beautiful nebula far from here. As a last-ditch effort, he pinned the view across the ceiling of the captain’s quarters. Surely Jean-Luc would think of him when he came back. Time passed. Q was getting desperate. He left a bouquet at Jean-Luc’s door—let the crew gossip about who would send the captain beautiful, deep red roses hand-picked from his native France; maybe it would reach his thick-skulled captain’s ears—then left the ship deeply frustrated. Jean-Luc could call Q to him when he’d finally remember him. He left a thread of his awareness aboard as he had done for years now—Jean-Luc had but to tug and Q would be back without delay.

***

There was no way around it; Picard’s feelings of satisfaction would betray him the minute he was to sit in the seat beside the counselor. And under normal circumstances, there would have been no reason for either of them to get embarrassed about such things—but these weren’t normal circumstances, were they? She was too smart not to come to the right conclusion, and the right conclusion was, frankly, still something Picard hadn’t fully come to terms with himself. He should have talked with Q before he had left. It had all felt natural in the moment, but outside that moment, all his doubts were resurfacing, questions remaining unanswered.

The image of Q’s eyes when he had woken up next to him filled his head involuntarily. The counselor shifted in her seat. Well, now she knew.

Picard pushed through the initial awkwardness, and so did Deanna, with tact.

“Is the investigation on the Cthfarian guest quarters completed?” He asked Will.

“Yes, sir. Nothing out of the ordinary. No signs of lifeforms besides Cthfarians and those currently aboard the Enterprise having been there in the last three months, at least.”

“I see. Thank you, number one.”

Picard masked the wave of relief washing over him. Wanting to keep his personal affairs private was one thing; letting so much as a hint of what he knew slip by could result in a tragedy.

Will leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone.

“Do you have a reason to suspect Amanda was lying about the mass delusion?”

No, he knew she was, and now Picard was lying as well, because what Q had told him about Kotaians stealing Z’qhav offspring wasn’t something he could divulge right now.

“She’s with the Q Continuum now. For all we know, it could be another trick, another way to test humanity,” Picard said.

“Think they sent another Q familiar enough with humans after the last one got tired of arranging his little pop quizzes?”

Picard knew by now most of those “pop quizzes” weren’t official Continuum affairs, but he had little choice but to play to Will’s hypothesis.

“It could be. Stick to the official story, but keep your eyes open. Needless to say, this is a delicate matter,” he replied and gave Will a meaningful look.

In a couple hours, they would beam aboard a team of Kotaian investigators who no doubt would be relieved to find no signs of Z’qhav people ever being aboard the ship. They would leave the Enterprise, and from Federation point of view, only harm done would be the setback with Cthfarian and Kotaian relations they had been trying to foster over the years.

Meanwhile, Picard was the only one aware they were trading and rubbing shoulders with a government committing atrocities.

Picard had planned to take care of other ship business that day, but to his disappointment, the Kotaian investigators had insisted to interrogate him and keep him otherwise occupied for the entire ten-hour investigation. Since Kotaian physiology greatly differed from humans’, Picard had ended up skipping two meals—he was thankful for the big breakfast Q had made him eat.

Things weren’t made any easier by strange creatures appearing out of nowhere and flocking to the Enterprise. Kotaians certainly didn’t appreciate this matter the captain of the ship had to briefly attend to.

“This is an intentional distraction!” They had accused Picard. The accusations had only grown louder when the ship computer started singing at them.

Not now, Q. “This must be a personalization setting someone accidentally made the default. Let me contact engineering,” Picard said and gave his widest diplomatic smile while screeching internally.

When they had finally fixed the computer and shooed away the mysterious lifeforms, which Picard would have loved to have a team study under any other conditions, the Kotaian investigation had concluded.

“But we will be re-running some tests next morning due to all the interfering. We will be staying aboard tonight. Show us to our guest quarters.” By now, the Kotaians were making a point of being impolite, to which Picard responded with a tired, icy smile, and a “this way, please.”

The early morning—Kotaians required little sleep—was even worse than last night. Picard had little sleep and a rushed breakfast to support him through another interrogation and standing and watching the investigation unfold as the Kotaians insulted and accused him. Frankly, Picard found it hard to keep his temper. Having his basic needs neglected because of them and, more importantly, knowing what he did, these people deserved none of the hospitality they were granted, much less a license to rummage his ship in an effort to find and cover up anything exposing their crimes.

None of that disgust ever reached his face.

“I felt a lot of anxiety, almost as if they were afraid of being found out,” Deanna said when Picard could finally afford a short break at the ready room.

“Could be unrelated,” Picard said and thought very hard about something else entirely. He couldn’t let her find out about the Z’qhav.

He hated himself for doing so, but he returned his thoughts to the night he had spent with Q. He thought about what they had done. He thought about what he wanted to do. He imagined his tall body, glistening with sweat, under Picard’s hands, moaning his name as Picard would enter him. It was enough to have his pants feel suddenly just a little tighter, and to have Deanna suddenly turn away from him in embarrassment.

He hated himself for doing this.

“Captain,” she said and looked at him again, her embarrassment only momentary. “I know I shouldn’t say anything, and correct me if I’m wrong. But I’m happy for you two. He has been trying very hard to reach you.” Picard offered her a small smile as she stood up and left in silence.

He banished the image of Q from his head. Not because he didn’t like it—he had to fight the urge to lock the door and beg Q to appear and bend him over the desk. But because he felt like he had used him—successfully—to get out of a difficult situation. So, he buried any thoughts of Q and swore he would only let them resurface once the damn Kotaians were off his ship.

“Miss Rogers,” he called, hoping she was somewhere within hearing distance. Whatever that meant for a Q.

Nothing. He sighed. It was a long shot, wasn’t it?

“Amanda Rogers, if you can hear me—”

“Captain! Did you call? I’m sorry, Q always scolds me about not being very perceptive.”

The pink-clad Q had appeared in front of Picard in a flash.

“Miss Rogers, I—”

“Please, just call me Amanda. I don’t think ‘miss’ really fits anymore,” she interrupted.

“Of course.” Picard paused. He still couldn’t quite get accustomed to seeing this no-longer-young not-really-a-woman-anymore as anything else than a bright-minded human with a brilliant future in Starfleet. “Amanda, I need you to help me protect a secret. Can you do that?”

She nodded.

“I think. The Z’qhav affair?” She waved her arms, and both of them were sitting on the couch. “I might see some other things while I’m in there. Is that okay?”

He didn’t like it, of course, but he trusted her.

“It is. If you are okay with seeing those things.” He hoped she wouldn’t see the worst of things rattling in his head.

Amanda shrugged.

“I’m a Q, remember. I’ve seen magnitudes more than a mortal will in an entire lifetime. I’ll be fine, promise.”

And in an instant, Picard felt something shift in his mind, and a tear fell out of Amanda’s eye.

“Sorry. There’s so much human still left in me,” Amanda said, sounding completely unbothered despite her misty eyes. “Those memories and emotions evoked by them are now shielded from Deanna and any other empaths and telepaths. I think.”

He thanked Amanda and spent the rest of the break just sitting in silence. Just the wrap-up tonight, and the Kotaians would be gone. He had this.

***

It was such a lovely planet that Q felt compelled to explore. The seas, the forests, every place had a wonderful aroma Q could appreciate now that he knew how to. The bright star the planet orbited painted majestic, multi-colored light shafts between the tall and narrow, translucent trees. Humanoids were so tiny, he thought as he looked up at the bright sky from a human viewpoint. A gentle wind made the trees sway, and the sound from the foliage calmed Q in a way he hadn’t experienced before. He wondered what Jean-Luc would say. Q couldn’t wait until he finally accepted going on a trip with him.

***

It was close to midnight when the Kotaian investigators were finally done with their endless tests and increasingly crude insults hurled at Picard. He was on his way to a meeting room for the wrap-up—a formality, the Kotaians had insisted, although Picard had little trust this would not turn into another long-winded interrogation. But at the very least, maybe they would finally be off the Enterprise.

Picard sat at the table. He was early, cutting precious minutes off another brief break at the ready room, but he dreaded giving the Kotaians another reason to postpone their departure. Minutes passed. Nothing. Five past. Ten past. Was there a change in plans he hadn’t been informed of?

Twelve past. The door opened. The Kotaian investigators, followed by other Kotaians Picard didn’t remember seeing, flooded in.

“Captain Picard, you will follow us,” one of the Kotaians said, pointing a weapon at him. However that got past the security, Picard didn’t have time to wonder. Two other Kotaians grabbed his arms and forced him onto his feet.

“What is the meaning of this?” Picard demanded.

“You have claimed, over and over again, that you have not visited the Kotaian homeworld, Kodiar IV,” one investigator began.

“Are you accusing me of lying? On what grounds, exactly?” Picard suppressed the urge to fight off his captors. It would only make matters worse. Still, he needed a way to alert his crew.

“How do you explain the doorway to your quarters being decorated with Kodiar IV wildflowers? Some of those species are extremely rare, only growing in one or two places on the whole planet—I doubt you would even have knowledge of them!”

Potential explanations flashed through his mind. Every possibility involved one constant.

Q, Picard thought. Q, what have you done? He hadn’t the faintest how it worked, but there was no way Q wouldn’t be observing him somehow after pulling off a stunt like this.

“Q,” he beckoned under his breath, barely audibly, frustrated and desperate. Nothing happened.

The Kotaians pulled closer together, Picard along with them.

Picard realized what was about to happen, but before he could even try barking out an order to raise the shields, he was already off the ship.

Chapter 9: Gone Link copied

& on AO3

Upon being captured and forcefully transported aboard their ship, the Kotaian guards had immediately thrown him into the brig. There had been no interrogations, no explanations, nothing.

In a way, Picard was grateful for it. He’d been denied proper sleep and a satisfying meal for long enough that he had no trouble falling asleep the second he lay down. The bed was far from comfortable, but it was big enough for him, and he could dim the lights some. No one seemed to want anything from him, so he managed a fair stretch of undisturbed sleep.

After a decent meal—he had free access to a limited food replicator, thankfully—Picard felt he could think clearly again. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but no doubt enough for his crew to have alerted the rest of Starfleet. All he could do now was to take care of his own needs so that he could act if it came to that.

He looked at the replicator. “Tea, Earl Grey, hot,” he said, but only got a bleep signaling failure in response. Well, that was to be expected. “Tea,” he said indiscriminately. Anything was fine. Another failure. Coffee didn’t work, either.

“Stimulants are blocklisted,” he heard a voice from behind the wall of his cell, to his surprise.

“I see, thank you,” Picard said and ordered an infusion instead. “I didn’t realize I had company.”

“Ha. Yes. Believe the soundproofing has been off for the last, hm, couple hours. Left the universal translator on, too. Deemed us harmless enough, no doubt,” the voice said.

Picard had a hard time putting his finger on the speech patterns and timbre of the disembodied voice. No translation artifacts gave away the origin of this person, and the deep monotone, rhythmic voice wasn’t familiar to Picard, either.

“Jean-Luc Picard,” he offered and paused to think before continuing. “Captain of the USS Enterprise. A Federation ship. May I know who I’m speaking with?”

“I go by yarrow when traveling. Names, hm, intimate in our culture, let’s say.”

Picard had a feeling this stranger wouldn’t divulge their origins, either.

“Have you been here long?”

“Let’s see, yes. Six days now, on this ship. Before this, there was another. Twelve days, I believe. Got lost somewhere along the way, might be missing a few days here and there. My fault for getting caught doing something forbidden. But a Federation officer held captive, that story interests me. What led to this?”

Picard wondered how much he should tell yarrow. They certainly weren’t very straightforward with him.

“I was accused of lying during a Kotaian investigation aboard my ship. Some… objects originating from Kodiar IV were briefly lost.” Yarrow hummed in response.

Everything around Picard fell suddenly eerily silent. It must have been the soundproofing. Now that he had become used to the steady hum of the ship, the complete silence was jarring.

A pair of guards passed Picard’s cell, then returned along with a short figure hidden under several layers of fabric. Assuming this was yarrow, Picard was still no closer to knowing who they were.

There wasn’t much to do with his only company gone. The small toilet nook, the bunk and the replicator were the only furnishings in his sterile, white cell. He could have used a book. Anything.

Well, he’d have to make do with what he was given.

“A drink,” Picard ordered. A brief pause, and the replicator conjured up a glass of traditional Kotaian mead Picard recognized from the research he had done. He recycled the beverage without touching it, then ordered a hot drink. Then a meal. A breakfast. A dessert. Recycling everything after a brief inspection. Would any of this knowledge ever serve him in any way? Who knew, but if this was the only avenue of gathering information, why not take it?

Yarrow still wasn’t back when Picard eventually lay down and drifted off to sleep.

***

Puberty had hit young Jean-Luc earlier than his peers, meaning all of the sudden he was the tallest, most mature-looking boy in his class. This gained him admirers. Girls, mostly, a couple boys, too. Since Jean-Luc had spent barely any time thinking about romance until then, he picked the prettiest girl swooning over him and made many a classmate jealous.

Sitting under a large tree shielding him and his sweetheart from the harsh sunlight, Jean-Luc didn’t notice his old school wasn’t quite as it had been. Nor did he pay attention to their clothing, which wouldn’t be in style for another decade. In his dream, this was how things had always been; the beautiful girl with her perfect lips and thick eyelashes was the love of his life, the future a distant dream.

“Academy is a waste of time,” she said between kisses. “Stay with me.”

“That’s years from now,” Jean-Luc dismissed and kissed her again.

“Oh, so this is just a temporary thing.”

Of course it was a temporary thing; they were thirteen. But simultaneously, it was the most permanent thing Jean-Luc could conceive.

“I’ll write you letters. Pen and paper.”

Their teeth clicked.

“It’s still a waste of time. I can give you everything, and I can give it to you right now.

Jean-Luc paid no attention to the girl switching for another, or his schoolyard morphing into an amalgamation of a dozen teen bedrooms. He was too busy pondering how to convince the tall girl next to him to open the rest of her shirt buttons.

“I don’t need everything, I just need you to—” get rid of that shirt.

“Give up, Jean-Luc. You didn’t make it, what makes you think another year would make a difference?”

“I didn’t come here to talk about my future.” Just another button and he could see her bra.

“If I take my shirt off, will you promise to forget about the Academy?”

“No, but take it off anyway.”

The boy was his age but a full year ahead of him. Johnny didn’t know what to do with boys, but he loved how the broad, bare chest looked pinned under his arms, how the front of his pants swelled, mirroring his own arousal.

“Getting in means nothing. Don’t get cocky.”

“I’ll show you cocky.”

“Give up and I’ll give you everything.”

Johnny pulled down the boy’s pants.

“You think you know so much, boy, but you know nothing,” the woman at least twenty years older than him said and pushed into Johnny. He hadn’t done this before, and she wasn’t gentle, but he wanted her. “I could show you everything, give all there is to give in an instant. Drop out already.”

“I don’t need your everything.”

Everything went black.

“Mon capitaine.”

His quarters. Bed. He was wearing loose loungewear and holding a book with garbled text. For a split second, Picard realized he was in a dream, but the moment of lucidity soon faded away. He smiled.

“Yes, Q.”

Q appeared in the doorway holding two cups. Tea for Picard, strawberry milk for himself.

“Have you made up your mind?” Picard asked as Q climbed next to him, careful not to spill his beverage. He pouted slightly.

“I need more time.”

“I understand. Take your time. I can wait.”

Holodeck. Dixon Hill costume.

“Are you sure, Jean-Luc?”

Q looked handsome in his period clothing. Picard tried to hold back a smile. Q frowned.

“Do I look weird?”

“No, you look perfect. And I’m sure, I really am. I know you’ll like it.”

“But it’s your retreat. Do you really want to share it with me?” Q’s gaze was as intense as ever.

“I want to share everything with you,” Picard whispered and opened the door.

His desk. Uniform.

“You’re working late,” Q said and replicated him some cookies. Picard hesitated.

“My recipe, not as sweet. You’ll like them, trust me, darling.” Q made another trip to the replicator, returning with another plate. “Extra sweet for me.”

Picard chuckled at him.

“Sweet like you.”

Q rolled his eyes.

“Only for you, Jean-Luc. And don’t you dare tell that to the other Q.”

Picard’s smile faded.

“Have you… talked about it yet?”

Q looked at him, his expression growing tense.

“Jean-Luc, I…”

Ten Forward. Civilian clothing.

Picard held up a flute of sparkling wine.

“To the rest of our lives,” he said softly.

Q raised his glass to Picard’s.

“I’m happy, Jean-Luc.”

His bed. Much less clothing.

“God, Q.”

“Not anymore, remember.”

Breakfast table.

“Do you want children?”

Jean-Luc thought about it.

“No.”

Shore leave.

“Let’s get married, Q.”

“Till death do us part?”

***

Picard’s eyes shot open. The room was just as cold and white as it ever was.

It hadn’t occurred to him until now that there was no way of keeping track of time. The guard—if there was one—was out of view, so he couldn’t count shifts. He tried tricking the replicator into telling him the current date and time—printing the current stardate on a piece of food, using it as a measurement—but failed.

“Smart, won’t work though, that’s what I tried, too.”

“Yarrow, you’re back.” Picard said and walked closer to the opposite wall. “How do you keep track of time, then?”

“Doubt it would work for you. Unique to my kind. But I’ll help. Fifty-one hours since you arrived.”

Picard felt oddly relieved, grounded by the knowledge. He sat down and held his head.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You had a bad dream? Or good? You made noises.”

“Did I?” Picard couldn’t remember dreaming.

“Tell about your being captured. Accused, you said, but was it true?”

Picard sighed. He couldn’t ignore the possibility that the Kotaians were trying to manipulate him into talking and tripping up. But Picard had buried the secret so deep even his own crew couldn’t tell there was something going on. He could damn well keep it from this stranger.

“I have never visited Kodiar IV, no. They claim they found some rare local flowers at my door. I never saw the evidence.”

“Framed, hm?”

Was he? Not by the Kotaians, of course. They had captured a Starfleet captain without a warning. This would be the end of their relations with the Federation. He knew it was Q who had left those flowers there. Who else could it have been? The white pansy he had received earlier was common enough not to raise suspicions. He had looked the flower up upon receiving it from Q. He could have replicated one with no problem, and Q would have known that. And Q had known that leaving those other, obscure flowers on his doorstep would mean trouble for him.

“I—” Was there any other explanation? But he trusted Q. Didn’t he? “I’m not sure. But I am innocent.”

Yarrow fell silent.

“What will happen to you?” Picard changed the subject.

“I’m not innocent. We’ll see,” yarrow said, no change in their voice. “Maybe prison on Kodiar IV. Hope to see your ship one day, hm, Enterprise, you said?”

“Yes,” Picard replied, wondering if they’d ever even see each other’s faces.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be out.”

“I don’t,” Picard said and thought about his crew, who he knew would not rest until they had him back. “I’ve got the finest crew in the galaxy.”

Picard heard a monotone hum he interpreted as a laugh.

“Kotaians dislike you, hm?”

“I think it safe to say, yes,” Picard muttered.

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Picard didn’t have the time to ask what they meant. Soundproofing was back on, and this time, it was Picard whom the guards fetched.

“You are to be returned when we rendezvous with your vessel in approximately six hours. We have agreed to move you into the guest quarters until then.” The Kotaian officer addressing him looked unhappy. Picard presumed it meant someone had forced their hand into releasing him. “For the safety of both our operations and yourself, we are authorized to restrict access to other parts of the ship; however, rest assured, we are offering you the finest of our quarters with maximum guest privileges for replicator usage.”

No question about their hand being forced.

“Thank you,” Picard said politely, then, against his better judgment, continued. “What will happen to the person who neighbored my cell?”

The Kotaian furrowed his already permanently creased brow.

“I believe that would be classified,” he replied through his gritted teeth. This Kotaian had a terrible poker face. Perhaps Picard shouldn’t have been pushing his luck, but he was fairly certain he had the upper hand now.

“What are they accused of?”

“Classified! Do you not understand? Everything about that case is classified!”

Yet they hadn’t bothered with leaving the soundproofing on. They trusted yarrow wouldn’t want to reveal anything “classified” to Picard, then.

Picard used his six remaining hours aboard studying as much as he could about Kodiar IV. He knew better than to search for Z’qhav directly, but after being detained over wildflowers, he had a perfect excuse to study the various flora of the planet—including those only found on restricted territories.

When he was finally beamed aboard the Enterprise, he was greeted by the smiling faces of his bridge crew.

“Welcome back, sir.”

He was truly glad to see everyone. But this wasn’t everyone, was this.

“Happy to be back. I want a briefing of everything that has happened—”

“Captain,” Deanna interrupted. “We’ll give you a quick rundown of the events, but then you will go get some rest. We can talk details after that.”

Picard opened his mouth to argue, but closed it and nodded instead. “Of course.”

Chapter 10: Need Link copied

& on AO3

Picard arrived at his quarters for the first time in days. The flowers the Kotaians had accused him of possessing were long gone; his crew had admitted to seeing a bouquet of strange flowers next to his door, but right now, not even an empty vase remained as proof.

Kotaians had overstepped by capturing him. Picard reasoned they had panicked, afraid of having been found out, and grabbed him to buy time before their secret would get out. But the diplomatic relations between the Kotaian government and the Federation had taken a serious hit, and the situation was now at an impasse. Completely out of Picard’s hands.

It was for the better, he tried to convince himself. He knew too much to handle this. When—not if—the opportunity to set things on the right path presented itself, he would do what he had to. But until then…

He hesitated to open the door. Would Q wait for him? Would he apologize? Would he gloat? Would Picard simply never see Q again, or would he come back in a year, having forgotten all about whatever it was they had shared, with a new scheme in mind, a new trick to entertain a bored god-being?

It hadn’t been a trick when Q had saved his life. And it hadn’t been a trick when Q had helped him save humanity. Picard had hoped it hadn’t been a trick when Q had pried Picard’s proverbial heart out of his chest and left it vulnerable.

Please, Q, be there and tell me it wasn’t.

He wasn’t.

In fact, Q wasn’t there, or anywhere on the ship, tomorrow, not the day after, not the week after. A month passed by. Picard kept himself busy with the aftermath of his capture. There was paperwork to be done, supply routes to be replaced. The relations with the Cthfarians were in chaos now that the Kotaians wanted them to cut ties with the Federation.

Q’s quarters, back to their original furnishings, were empty, save for some clothes hanging in the closet, and the lone potted plant Picard found himself stubbornly watering and caring for in Q’s possibly permanent absence. Picard couldn’t recognize the space as the same one where Q had been standing so god-like and beautiful in the middle of a starry sky flooding the room. He knew he’d have to free up the quarters eventually, but he couldn’t, not yet.

—

“I can’t believe Q would just disappear like that.”

“We can talk later, but right now I need you to get those adjustments done as soon as possible.”

—

“Perhaps we should ask Miss Rogers if she could locate Q.”

“Perhaps, if she drops by.”

—

“I won’t ask for details, but I could sense you two growing closer. I don’t think Q would simply vanish for such a long time.”

“He has in the past.”

—

Picard was close to snapping when Worf of all people asked about Q.

—

“What should I do?” Picard near-whispered to Beverly on a break, just the two of them in the ready room. Such instances had become rare lately.

“You never even told me what happened that night I told you to turn him down,” Beverly replied bitterly. Picard knew better than to think of it as jealousy. Betrayal would be more accurate, perhaps.

“I was meaning to tell you after the Kotaians were gone,” he said. “All of you. Then… he was gone, and I didn’t know what to tell.”

“You need to find him, Jean-Luc. I don’t know how to, but you know just as well as I do that something is wrong,” she said, staying patient, but just barely. Picard looked at her and didn’t say a thing. How do you find someone who could be anywhere?

Picard straightened his back and looked away from Beverly.

“Amanda,” he called. Then again.

Nothing happened.

Turned out not every Q followed his every word. How self-centered of him to think that would be the case. And how ungrateful of him to assume Q just happened to know everything going on in Picard’s life and on his ship; that he didn’t pay deliberate attention to Picard.

So they started looking for Q wherever they went. Picard began preparing a rescue mission. A passenger—an ex-crewmember—of his ship was missing. It would be easy to justify their detours to anyone questioning them. If anything, his inaction thus far would be much more damning. He rearranged their itinerary to cover as much space as possible, ordering scans and asking for help from other ships and outposts.

And then, one day, it happened.

Over two months after his disappearance, they had found Q on an uninhabited class M planet.

“He does not appear to be in any distress, sir,” Data had confirmed. Picard closed his eyes for a moment and pushed down the intense wave of relief.

“Thank you, Mister Data.”

What now?

They had no means of communication. Should they just transport him without a warning? Could you even beam a Q? Was it safe? For him or the ship, hell, the universe?

Something grabbed Picard’s insides suddenly and twisted them in a knot. Q was all right. What stopped him from appearing aboard by himself? Surely he knew they were close by.

“Send a shuttle,” Picard commanded and strode towards the ready room door. “Inform me immediately when they arrive back. I want to be there when he returns. If he returns.”

“Captain!” Deanna sprinted after him. “Shouldn’t you be on that shuttle?” She spoke low enough for the others not to hear her. Picard let out a frustrated exhale.

“My place is aboard the ship,” he countered and entered the ready room, only to have Deanna follow him.

“Something is wrong,” she said.

“Nothing is wrong, you heard Data. He’s fine.” The words left him forcefully as his jaw became tense.

Why had he left in the first place?

“For his sake, I think you should be the one to fetch him,” Deanna insisted.

Picard gave her a silencing glare. How would it look to the rest of the crew if the captain left his ship for such a trivial matter? Out of the question. Q could damn well wait a couple hours more at this point.

The point got across, apparently, and Deanna left, but not without flashing an expression of disapproval before disappearing from his view.

Picard’s thoughts wandered back to when Q had first visited him after that second time in the courtroom. Some months had passed, and while Picard had grown to trust Q not to cause him trouble, he had expected there to be some trouble nevertheless, thinking Q was there to aid him; nudge him in the right direction with another Continuum-requested obstacle course, perhaps.

But Q insisted it was nothing of the sort. That he just wanted his company.

“You’re so tense, Jean-Luc. And yet, your obstinate sense of duty prevents you from taking advantage of the months of shore leave you have accumulated. It just so happens I could help you with that.”

“No need.”

Q scoffed.

“Oh, come on, Jean-Luc. Surely you know your species requires play to stay sharp. Now, I could offer you that much-needed time to rest with no need to sacrifice any of your precious time in command of your lovely little ship. What do you say?”

“I still say no,” Picard said nonchalantly. Something told him Q wouldn’t repeat his Robin Hood stunt as long as Picard was polite enough. It seemed to work.

“I suppose I can’t change your mind so easily. Well, I’ll be back some other time. In the meantime, think about it,” Q said and vanished.

And then he had appeared a second time with the same offer, facing another rejection from Picard. After a third try, Q had stopped trying.

A voice snapped Picard back to the present.

“Captain, the shuttle is approaching shuttle bay three.”

“Thank you. I’ll be there.”

He kept his expression neutral but failed to notice the urgency in his stride. He arrived at the shuttle bay just in time to see the shuttle enter.

Staying put as the shuttle door finally opened was hard. Then, followed by the pilot, came out a shadow of a person. He didn’t look injured or sick in any way, but the way Q carried himself was unusual, dragging his feet clumsily, lacking all of his usual control over his movements.

The reality finally caught up with Picard. This wasn’t a prank, or a trick, or a whim. This wasn’t a stunt to get his attention. This was Q, for whatever reason, genuinely needing him, needing them, like he had once years ago.

Maybe he should have listened to Deanna and been on that shuttle. Maybe he should have started looking for Q earlier.

Q trudged up to Picard, eyes filled with pain. He looked at Picard as if he were waiting for something. What, exactly? Of course. An apology.

“We need to get you to sickbay. Do you think you can walk?”

The apology Picard knew he owed was lost somewhere along the way.

Q nodded. His expression hadn’t changed.

“I’ll walk you there.”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Q said, and there was a sharp edge there amid all the hurt. And still, Picard couldn’t apologize.

They walked in silence all the way to the sickbay. Just before opening the door, Picard stopped and gathered the courage he needed.

“I’m sorry, Q.”

Q looked back at him with an empty expression.

“I’ll be at my quarters if you need me later,” he said and opened the door for Q.

***

There was a terrifying void behind Q. He couldn’t see it, or anything else back there, so that’s what it felt like. In fact, the only direction he could see was in front of him, and he knew what it meant.

Q felt stupid for thinking it would all go away—come back, rather—after he’d get rescued. He had also expected Jean-Luc to have missed him, but he had barely talked to Q, not asked about what had happened, let alone comforted him.

He mechanically replied when Beverly asked those questions instead.

“You’re healthy enough, but there’s something I don’t understand. I can tell you haven’t been eating anything this entire time,” Beverly said.

“I don’t need to,” Q said dismissively. They had already gone over this topic previously, but Q didn’t have enough spirit left in him to say anything witty.

“Which is why you are still alive despite not eating anything this entire time you were stranded. But you have lost weight. Nothing dangerous, about five kilos, but I need to know if this is normal or not.”

Q felt faint. “Lost weight,” he gasped. He looked down. “Then it’s worse than I thought.” He turned back to look at Beverly, feeling all color drain from his face. If there was any left to drain. “I will tell you, but I need Jean-Luc here.” Q could tell Beverly recognized the panic that was creeping into his voice despite his efforts. “Please.”

***

The sickbay was empty, except for the three of them. Q sat on the biobed, and the bright overhead light painted deep, dark shadows on his face, exposing creases Picard hadn’t ever paid attention to. He looked sickly somehow, smaller, slouching and heavy, and Picard was growing painfully aware of why he was there, why Q looked so weak, why he hadn’t returned on his own.

“Jean-Luc,” Q said with a shaky voice and looked at him with glistening eyes. Gone was the piercing stare, replaced by something different yet just as potent in reaching straight past Picard’s defenses.

“I’m here,” he fumbled for the right words.

“Will you care for me, Jean-Luc?” Words barely left Q’s lips. When Picard didn’t immediately respond, Beverly cut in.

“Q, you need to tell us exactly what is going on.”

Picard was thankful for her, for he recognized the way Q carried himself at this moment, but had a feeling Q would take him asking for details the wrong way and, worst-case scenario, push Picard away. He had handled none of this correctly so far.

“Well, will you?” Q said.

“I will, Q. Of course I will.” The relief on Q’s face told Picard Q knew he meant it. Whatever it really meant.

“My plan was to only be gone for a day or two until someone would miss me, then return promptly. And then I found a lovely planet I thought we might… Never mind. I took a closer look, wondered if it would be enjoyable for a human, then realized I was stuck. All I could manage with my powers was to keep the body alive.” He stared at the floor now. “Or so I had thought. Appears I was slowly wasting away, after all.”

Beverly had picked up a PADD. “Compared to the data from your last examination, you show some slight aging. I’m talking about a few days, but aging nevertheless.”

“Yes, no need to rub it in. I am aging, albeit slowly as long as I have some powers left, but I am very much mortal until I escape this, this…” There was genuine disgust behind the way Q’s face twisted in that moment as he searched for words to describe his condition, and Picard’s insides tightened at that reaction. He couldn’t tell if it was because of Q’s deep hatred of being in a human body, still, after everything, or because he felt sorry for him. Both, likely.

“Beverly. Let me take it from here,” Picard said and sat next to shaking Q. Cautiously, he touched the back of Q’s hand, balled in a fist, with his fingertips. Q returned the gesture by grabbing Picard’s hand with such need it made Picard ill to his stomach.

Beverly sighed. “Normally, I would be against it. But it might be for the best in this case,” she said and put away her equipment. “And Q, try to get some sleep. And eat something.” She looked at Picard.

“We need to talk once the situation has calmed down.”

Picard nodded and gently helped trembling Q up.

He had planned on taking Q to his own quarters, but changed his mind after remembering the sad, empty room stripped of all its former glory. They would get there eventually, replicate something nice for him and set up the place again, but now was not the time.

“This is the way to your quarters. Are you inviting me over?” Q said, but there was none of the usual whimsy in his tone.

“I am. Unless you’re against it.”

A hint of familiar sparkle flashed in Q’s surprised eyes.

“I take that as a no,” Picard smiled, and Q examined him but said nothing.

They made their way to Picard’s quarters and before Picard could decide how to ask tactfully if Q wanted to share the bed or have Picard take the couch, Q had thrown himself on Picard with reckless abandon, kissing him like the starved man he was—in more ways than one.

“I was so afraid—I missed you—I needed you—I need you now,” he pleaded between kisses and gasps for air and Picard had no willpower to tear away from him but—

“Q, you need to—” he said and tried to will his arms into pushing him away.

“I am the authority on what I need. I need this.” Mistake or not, Q’s passionate eyes were all the convincing Picard needed in that moment, and he let Q push him against the wall and tug and pull on Picard’s uniform until he could get his hands on the naked flesh. He felt an erection push against his hip.

“Take me to bed,” Q urged. “If there is one thing flesh and blood are good for, it is loving you, and I need to know there’s something for me to keep living like this.”

“There’s plenty for you to keep living, be it as a Q or as a human,” Picard said and brought his hand up to caress Q’s cheek. “In any case, I believe you know where my bedroom is.”

They lost their clothes with haste, and lay intertwined, moving against, exploring, tasting, breathing in each other.

“Can I have you inside this time?” Q asked suddenly. “Please, Jean-Luc. I want you.”

It broke Picard’s heart to have Q beg for his love yet again. He was afraid of hurting Q and hurting himself; yet here he was, so hesitant in taking another step, he was hurting Q because of that hesitation.

“Get up. Wait for me here,” he said and cursed being so unprepared in his older days while making the trip to the replicator and back. He wondered how aware Q was of how this worked.

“I know the other one would be easier,” Q said and spread his legs and lifted his hips. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Don’t say that,” Picard said sternly. “I already told you I’m fine with either. Just tell me if it hurts,” he said and leaned over Q for a kiss, then pressed his lubricated finger against his entrance.

“Oh!” Q yelped against his mouth, breathing hot air on Picard’s face. “Please, please.”

Picard took it as a sign of enthusiasm and pushed the finger inside, earning gasps and moans from Q. Q threw his arms around Picard, pulling him closer and digging his fingers into his flesh.

“I have tried to—I have been practicing but—”

“Practicing…?”

“Endurance.”

“Oh.”

Picard remembered the last time, how surprised and disgusted Q had been. Those worries seemed to have dissipated, replaced by other anxieties.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” he said and moved slowly in and out, one finger, then two.

“I do mind, ah, please, at least I want you inside me before it happens,” Q panted. Picard hesitantly took out his fingers and pulled away from Q’s embrace. He would have loved to prolong this. Kiss Q and make him make those lovely noises. Watch his face twist in pleasure and focus solely on his enjoyment.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Picard breathed and pushed his cock against the wet hole. He tried to be careful, but oh, it was suddenly so very hard not to ram into him as hard as he could. It had been a while since he’d done this, and Q’s explosive reactions to the slightest stimulus—Picard had simply never experienced someone like him before.

Picard caressed Q’s soft abdomen, reminding himself how badly he wanted to make this good for Q, and slowly pushed deeper into him. He watched Q’s face as he did so; his hazy eyes, ruffled hair and rosy cheeks. There was a lot there, but no signs of displeasure. Picard moved, then some more. He groaned as he pushed deeper into Q and finally relaxed enough to enjoy it fully. The room was filled with sounds of wetness and Q’s moans. Q was by far the loudest lover Picard had ever known, and he loved it.

“Jean-Luc, oh, Jean-Luc,” Q chanted and pushed his hips against him. Picard leaned closer and picked up the pace. Q was tight around him, his leaking cock rubbing against Picard’s body.

“I can’t—oh!” Q’s words vanished into a gasp as he came, and Picard wondered how Q had managed to hold back for so long. It certainly didn’t make Q any less vocal. If possible, he was even louder as Picard pounded him harder and harder, Q’s semi-soft cock still trapped between their bodies.

“I love you, Jean-Luc, oh, I do.”

The sudden confession took Picard by surprise; not so much the sentiment, but the sincerity. He grunted and pushed deeper, deeper still, drawing more noise, more quivering and jolts, more gasps and broken breaths from Q until he couldn’t take it anymore and came, halting his hips and eliciting another moan from Q’s shivering lips. He shut his eyes and collapsed on Q’s sweaty body and panted, and Q held him. Q’s heartbeat was loud and human, so achingly human.

“Can I stay here?” Q asked after a long silence. “Not for a night, not for another day. As long as I need to,” he said, voice hoarse, and, when Picard said nothing back, continued. “I promise to cause no trouble. I’ll be out of the way. I just can’t stand to be alone.”

“As long as you need to,” Picard affirmed. He wanted to say so much more, but something gripped him and kept him silent.

“What are you afraid of?” He finally managed to ask and lifted his head to look Q in the eye. Q idly fidgeted with the short hair on the back of Picard’s head.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what happened to my powers. One moment I’m painting nebulae on your ceiling and traveling the universe. Next, I’m a fraction of myself, alone and without a voice, in worlds away from you or anyone at all. It was somehow easier to accept losing my powers when it was a punishment. Now, they’re there, but I can barely sustain my form,” he said and looked thoughtful. “That’s not really true, is it. I suppose I need to start using my digestive system now.”

The slight disgusted frown that followed would have registered as overly dramatic if Picard hadn’t known how badly Q had handled mortality the last time.

“Then there’s the issue of… aging. Dying,” Q said, his voice disappearing into a whisper, almost.

“You have a long time to get used to it. And your powers may yet return in full,” Picard offered. It had the opposite effect of what he had hoped for.

“Yes, how absolutely thrilling to outlive you, yet face an eventual death.”

“I hadn’t thought about that.” Picard felt terrible for thinking only in selfish terms. He knew deep down he loved Q, loved him back, Q or not, human or not. He would have him by his side until the day he died. But Q would outlive him, Q or not.

Q opened his mouth at Picard’s sudden somber expression.

“But that’s really neither here nor there,” he said and cupped Picard’s cheek and looked at him. “For now, I’m happy if I can just stay in your quarters. In fact, I want to stay in this bed, with you, as much as possible while I’m here. Could you arrange that for me, mon capitaine?”

There it was. The dark, flirty tone that sent shivers down Picard’s spine. He tried to fight a smile, utterly failing.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

A smug grin spread on Q’s face, and seeing him wear that annoying expression made Picard’s heart soar.

***

Q knew he made for a terrible human. But as long as he could stay in this room, in this bed, holding this man, he would be all right and he would do well, because the only person he needed to please was the love of his life, and whatever horrors ensued from having a mortal body, well, the discomfort was nothing compared to his lover’s touch.

What he couldn’t bear was everything between and after that. So, he tried not to think of it for now. He could plan and wallow and cry when Jean-Luc had other things to do. Of course, Q hoped Jean-Luc would never have other things to do.

“Perhaps I could take a day off,” Jean-Luc had said with some uncertainty after they had showered and returned to the bed with some fruit sandwiches for Q.

Q knew better than to get offended by his hesitation. That the captain was even considering this was unexpected of him.

“You care. I’m touched.” He had wanted to tease Jean-Luc, but it came out sweet and sincere, instead. Feelings so easily affected the presentation in this form. Well, he was touched, after all. Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow.

“Did I leave that uncertain? I don’t invite every lost being we pick up into my bedroom.” He took a sandwich from the tray and held it up for Q. Q responded with an incredulous stare, then gave up and bit a small bite of the sweet sandwich.

“I know you are trying to make me eat real food, but bread and cream and fruit hardly constitute such a thing.”

“You will be eating normal sandwiches within a week,” Jean-Luc said and smiled so charmingly at Q he felt that annoying warmth on his cheeks again. He took another bite and looked away.

“I’ll have my powers back within a week,” he murmured and tried to hide how happy Jean-Luc’s pampering made him.

***

And so, Picard took some time off. Not one day, not two days; a whole week, because Deanna overheard and insisted. They were heading for a small, remote outpost where they would be in orbit for at least 48 hours. “You worked around the clock during the Kotaian incident, and then while searching for Q. You need to relax, not to mention Q still needs your help,” she had said, and Jean-Luc knew arguing would risk her making it an order and prescribing him even longer a leave.

Q, of course, was overjoyed.

“We can stay in your quarters all day and no one will interrupt us,” he said and skipped to the couch. “And when we grow bored, we can visit—” Q’s excitement soured into sadness the second he realized they were not going anywhere.

“It’s my turn to plan for entertainment,” Picard said, and Q’s face relaxed into a small smile.

“Fine, I suppose that’s only fair,” he said.

Picard replicated some sandwiches and handed them to Q.

“Really? Even the fruit sandwiches had better nutritional values,” Q said and crumpled his nose while inspecting the insides of a cucumber sandwich.

“Are you ignoring the egg sandwiches on purpose?” Picard said and sat next to him, placing his arm on the backrest behind Q. He looked at the clothes Q had replicated himself while Picard was handling his request for time off. Sitting so close, he noticed a delicate geometric pattern adorning the burnt orange silk shirt.

“What is it with you and silk,” he murmured and ached to touch him. Q, preoccupied with the sandwiches, didn’t even notice.

“Spongecake with different ratios,” Q muttered and bit into the egg sandwich. “I appreciate your efforts, but I hate the digesting part most, and this hardly helps me with that.”

Picard tried not to smile. He knew this was difficult for Q, he really did, but he couldn’t help finding it endearing. At least he wasn’t being annoying about it.

Not as annoying as he could be, anyway.

A sudden rush of relief came over him. No duties. No worries. Q was here now, eating sandwiches next to him and softly complaining about nothing.

“Q,” he breathed as Q finished his last sandwich. “Get that shirt off.”

Chapter 11: Beginnings Link copied

& on AO3

Jean-Luc, being Jean-Luc, hadn’t disabled the alarm despite having time off. It shouldn’t have come as such a surprise to Q, but when the obnoxious beeping violently tore him out of his peaceful sleep, Q used all his willpower to manifest the damn thing permanently off before the man in his arms would wake up. He would probably have to eat an extra meal to make up for focusing so much of his remaining powers on something other than replacing the basic bodily functions, but the quiet morning was so precious to him it would be worth it.

All things considered, Q was feeling unexpectedly fine. It terrified him, tolerating and maintaining his mortal body with little to no refuge in his powers if his senses overwhelmed him. Then again, he had been withstanding so much already out of stubbornness. Maybe, with enough planning and Jean-Luc’s help, everything would be alright.

Q ran his hand over the soft sheets, softer than they had used to be. Not exactly the same, but a close match to the ones Q had given Jean-Luc that one night. A “thank you” would have been nice, but the shyness you found when you got to know this man personally enough was charming, too.

The softness reminded Q there were things that made this all worthwhile. Things that balanced out the pain. The pain that sometimes accentuated the good, as ridiculous as it was. He thought about the sharp coldness of ice cream; he thought about the bright light in the ceremonial cave on Kodiar IV. He thought about the sweetness, he thought about the fragrant flowers and the fresh mountain air filling his lungs. And, he thought about yesterday.

Q hugged sleeping Jean-Luc softly. He loved how much smaller he was, how he fit in his arms, how his firm and muscular body felt against Q’s own, so endlessly fascinating to touch and feel and explore. Q had always found the captain handsome for a human, but only now could he really, truly understand how fiercely a human nervous system could react to such beauty. Never in a million lifetimes would this headstrong man let love and lust engulf his entire life. But when Q physically wrapped his own body and, right now, his entire essence around Jean-Luc, it felt enough on some level, and that soothed Q.

During breakfast, Q had insisted on getting his few personal belongings from his own quarters. His pip had been with him the entire time he had been stranded and currently sat safely on the nightstand he was borrowing, but his irritably human emotions compelled him to get the uniform hanging in his closet, since it now felt like a significant piece of his journey. He also felt a sense of duty to retrieve the potted plant he had been gifted.

“Although I doubt there is much left of the tree,” Q said regretfully, and abandoned the rest of his half-eaten sandwich. Tomato didn’t feel right in his mouth.

“Actually,” Jean-Luc said and adjusted his sleeves. “Your plant is fine.”

Q’s eyes went wide in surprise.

“Oh?” It took him a second to make sure he wasn’t jumping to conclusions. “Then you… While I was gone?”

Jean-Luc averted his gaze and shifted in his seat.

“It’s a fine tree. Would have been a shame to let it die.”

Oh, the dishonesty of this man!

“How very diligent of you. I suppose everyone at the hydroponics lab was too busy to take it back and water it, so the captain took it upon himself,” Q teased, then leaned closer to Jean-Luc over the table and husked. “Couldn’t possibly have been because you missed me.”

Jean-Luc shot him a look, and Q couldn’t help teasing him some more. “Tell me, did you ever call for me? Late at night, alone in your bed, wishing I were there to share it.”

Jean-Luc had gone still.

“Yes. I did. I missed you, Q, and I couldn’t accept you would… leave me like that after everything,” he said, and guilt gripped Q’s heart for wringing a confession out of Jean-Luc in this manner.

“I’m sorry,” Q muttered.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jean-Luc smiled softly and passed another sandwich for Q to try, and Q didn’t feel like correcting his misunderstanding.

“Thank you for taking care of my things,” Q offered instead, hesitantly accepting the hummus sandwich.

Before leaving, Jean-Luc warned Q that his room had mostly reverted to its original state. It was to be expected, Q thought, since most of what he had going on had been an illusion. Besides, were it up to Q, he would stay in Jean-Luc’s quarters for the the rest of their days. But then, Jean-Luc hadn’t agreed to anything beyond taking care of Q while he was still getting back on his feet. Who knew how quickly he’d grow tired of Q once he returned to work.

Q glanced at the captain. He looked tense as the two walked out of his quarters, subtly scanning the corridor for other people. There was a little sting in Q’s heart.

They ended up recycling most of Q’s clothes, ordering replacements to Jean-Luc’s quarters, leaving them with nothing but the old uniform and the potted tree to carry.

“You can go ahead, I’ll handle this,” Q said, pressed the folded uniform under his arm and lifted the tree. It was heavy, but manageable.

“I’m already here, let me carry something,” Picard said and reached out to take the plant. Q backed away from him.

“It’ll be more subtle if I carry this alone.”

“Subtle?”

Q shifted uncomfortably.

“I understand you don’t want to raise any suspicious, of, of…”

“Ah.”

An awkward silence fell over them.

“Give me that damn tree,” Picard finally said and yanked the tree from the surprised Q. “I can worry about it later. Beverly and Deanna already know, and no doubt the rest will figure out sooner or later, subtle or not.”

Again with the blushing skin.

“Come on,” Jean-Luc said, and Q followed him.

***

Picard couldn’t push away the thought that he was, in his mid-sixties, moving in a boyfriend for the first time in his life. And he wasn’t, really, but it was hard to ignore the optics of it all as he carried Q’s houseplant into his living room and cleared a part of his closet for Q.

“We need to do something about this decor,” Q said, scrutinizing every corner of Picard’s space. That certainly did nothing to help with the image.

“Q,” Picard started, his eyes fixed on the plant he was trying to center in the corner. There was a discussion already past due to be had, but what was he even going to ask?

“Mon capitaine,” Q replied, having appeared behind Picard, much closer than he could have anticipated, placing light kisses on his neck, earning a sharp inhale from the unsuspecting captain. “I wonder how you see us. Two roommates fooling around for the time being? A mundane affair to pass the time until either of us moves on? Dare I wonder, something… more profound?”

An opening came coated in a sultry voice and cheeky flirt, served on a silver platter. Picard had no excuse not to take it.

“Actually, I was wondering how you felt about… us,” Picard said and turned to face Q. He was wearing the same intent expression he’d given Picard so many times ever since they first met. Some things never changed. Others, well…

“I told you how I feel, didn’t I?” Q hesitated for a second and the crease between his brow deepened just barely—even near-powerless, Q was in strict control of his facade, just not strict enough for Picard not to notice the subtle signs. “In case you didn’t quite catch it,” Q said and swallowed, and Picard’s stomach caught butterflies, “allow me to repeat myself. I love you, Jean-Luc. I have for a long time now, and I want nothing more than to be by your side in whichever way you let me.”

The door chime interrupted them before Picard could even think of what to say.

“I should have disarmed that thing, too, while I was at it,” Q muttered. Picard ignored him and invited their guest in.

***

It was not the first day of honeymoon Q had envisioned for him and Jean-Luc, but Q could hardly stay mad at him. Q surprised himself by how glad he was to see Deanna. He was aware she was there to check on him, first and foremost, but he didn’t mind. They had a lot to catch up on.

“Since we’re all in the same room, would you kindly tell me if Jean-Luc truly loves me?”

“Q!” Jean-Luc was uncharacteristically red in the face.

“Well?” Q ignored him.

Deanna laughed.

“Maybe you should ask him. I might be looking at a transfer order if I tattle on the Captain’s private matters.”

Q turned to look at Jean-Luc with the saddest puppy eyes he could manage.

“Do you?”

“You’re impossible.” Jean-Luc was trying so hard to look irritated, but Q knew he wasn’t serious; embarrassed, at worst.

“Oh, come on, Jean-Luc, who are you trying to impress here? Your counselor already knows, and I deserve to know,” Q huffed at him.

Jean-Luc was silent for a moment, then smiled awkwardly.

“I promise I’ll tell you after this.”

Q’s heart leaped, and they were both quiet for a few more seconds.

“After… what exactly?” Q finally asked.

***

“Didn’t I specifically tell you that I wanted to leave your bedroom as little as possible?” Q whined.

“You complain now, but I know you will thank me later.”

The sight of the holodeck door in front of them cast significant doubt over Jean-Luc’s statement in Q’s eyes.

They were wearing simple, white linen clothing, perfect for traveling, and carrying backpacks. Jean-Luc wouldn’t tell him what they were carrying; “it would spoil the surprise,” he had insisted. “Apparently, the story involves costume changes. You should like it.” Q had merely rolled his eyes. As he did right now.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. You humans get excited over the most unimpressive things.”

“Oh? Then my company isn’t enough to get you excited?” Jean-Luc teased, a devilish glint in his eye.

“That is unfair,” Q pouted. “Besides, I was already enjoying your company back in your quarters.” He inched closer and gave Jean-Luc an overtly pronounced once-over.

“Of course, you are free to return whenever you want to, although I won’t be there until I’ve finished this holonovel. I hear it’s rather good.”

Q groaned and let his head fall back in an exaggerated gesture. There was absolutely nothing in a crude holographic simulation to get him excited, but he knew this was Jean-Luc trying his best to take care of Q and make him feel better, so he didn’t have the heart to put up any serious resistance.

“Everything is not about authenticity, Q. There’s an art to crafting experiences and narratives,” Jean-Luc explained as the program loaded. “And then, experiencing that art as an audience member. Not unlike music. It’s an exchange.”

Q examined Jean-Luc’s earnest eyes. The reasoning hadn’t convinced him, but he didn’t want to argue back either. Not when Jean-Luc wanted to share something with him so unreservedly.

“So, you know nothing about this holonovel?” Q asked.

“Not really, no.”

The door opened, and just before they stepped into the privacy of the holodeck, Jean-Luc took Q’s hand in his.

Suddenly, a bustling city vista opened below them, lined by snowy mountains on one side and a beautiful ocean, glimmering in the bright sunlight, on the other. Q realized they were standing on top of a tall marble tower, granting them a complete view over the otherwise low-rise city. Narrow streets and tiny alleyways zigzagged between the countless small houses looking like scattered gemstones with their colorful roofs. Q squinted. Most of the houses had a roof made of something resembling colorful glass or crystal. Marble, stained glass and gilded decorations were everywhere. While not all that impressed with the technical aspects, Q nevertheless caught himself marveling at the sheer joyful harmony of the view. Unaware of his expression of wonder, he heard a chuckle and snapped out of his awe.

“Unimpressed?” Jean-Luc mocked him gently.

“Oh please, you couldn’t fathom how many worlds I’ve crafted during my existence,” Q waved his hand. “I give it to you. It’s decent enough work for one of your kind, I suppose.”

Jean-Luc’s gentle eyes lingered on Q’s, and he couldn’t help melting and returning the gaze, accompanied by a big sigh.

“Fine. It’s… captivating. I don’t know why; there’s nothing remarkable about it. Even with human senses, the illusion only convinces you as long as you don’t know where to look for the telltale signs that give it away immediately.”

“I already said, didn’t I? It’s not always about the authenticity of it all. Look,” Jean-Luc said and pointed down. “What do you see?”

Q looked. “A port. Ships.”

“What else?”

“What do you mean? Am I supposed to list everything there—”

“Not list, Q. It’s a story—a picture book spread setting up a premise for a narrative. The artist carefully put in every detail to convey something,” Jean-Luc smiled. “This is how we humans tell stories and share ideas through art.”

Still sceptical, Q looked back down and started parsing the scene.

“A ship—antiquated from today’s standpoint. Flags. People celebrating and flooding to the port.” Q tentatively glanced at Jean-Luc, who urged him to continue. Q furrowed his brow but humored Jean-Luc. “The ship is about to embark on its maiden voyage. The pride of the city. These people value beauty, and they want to be there to send off their crown jewel, a work of art of a vessel.”

Q fell silent for a moment. “It’s a very human way to perceive things. You poor prisoners of time, always building stories and narratives in your mind.”

Yet, right now he himself was more human than a Q, and there was undeniable comfort in organizing his thoughts into neat little storylines with beginnings, middles and ends.

“And we, my dear, have tickets, so we’d better hurry,” Jean-Luc said and gave a gentle squeeze on Q’s hand.

Q wanted to say something about Jean-Luc and another damn ship—only way this would get more predictable would be getting a horse and carriage, but his hand in Jean-Luc’s somehow made it impossible for Q to make any snide comments.

The walk to the port wasn’t a long one; Q was quite sure the view from the top of the tower didn’t match the actual city they were walking through. The buildings lining the streets were cute, but so small they didn’t make much sense when you thought about it. Of course, according to Jean-Luc, such blatant errors were smart storytelling. Q argued for the horse carriage being more realistic.

“You would miss all the details that way.”

“Saying no to horses? Really?”

“Look,” Jean-Luc said and pointed at a charming little bakery. “They have a signature pastry for the ship.” Q did look. Secretly, he wanted to taste it.

“These shop windows tell a lot about this world,” Jean-Luc continued. “This is a fantasy setting, Q, unfamiliar to the audience. This is how you build a world.”

“No, this is how you build a world,” Q muttered, then spoke more earnestly. “Your species’ creativity and urge to tell stories is admirable, I will give you that. Another side of your natural curiosity, perhaps? Communication of ideas, building upon each others’ thoughts and creations. You humans love to do it, don’t you?”

Jean-Luc flashed him an approving smile.

“We do.”

Q had a feeling that “we” was supposed to include Q as well.

There was indeed a lot to learn about the imaginary world through the windows they passed and the people they overheard. There was magic in this world, but it was a subdued, mundane part of life. Nothing hinted at the existence of grand wizards or spectacular battles.

And then there were the people. “Everyone here strives for beauty. A world authored by a hedonist,” Q noted to Picard as they passed a small shop selling herbs. Fragrant, lavender-like flowers adorned the small stained-glass windows. Bright sunlight reflecting from the windows and filtering through the many colorful glass decorations painted the streets paved with light, shimmering stone in a flurry of colors. Many had covered their walls in small mosaic tiles or hung colorful curtains above their doors. The sound of wind chimes was almost too much for Q, but after a while he started noticing how the patterns rhymed. There was music in the air.

“A perfect fit for you,” Jean-Luc teased.

“I do have an eye for beauty,” Q teased back and grinned.

The ship was a beaut, too. Streamlined, elegantly simple yet beautifully curved, painted in particularly delicious shades of cream and black. The inside was as gorgeous as anything they had witnessed so far; naturally lilac-tinted wood with a glossy varnish was used throughout the interiors, combined with surfaces painted in cream, royal purple and maroon. Intricate, warm-colored sterling silver decorations, colorful stained glass and white marble with pearlescent inclusions decorated every space.

“Well? Is it a mystery? Do the people have some deep, dark secret? Is there a class whose oppression enables this opulence?” Q asked.

“Likely not. I admit this is, ah… a more entertainment-focused program,” Jean-Luc replied as they arrived at their cabin door. They were greeted by a big, luxurious bed buried in satin and soft pillows in the middle of the spacious room, equally eloquent in decor, only in darker, more saturated shades of red and purple and glossy black.

Q, genuinely wordless, stared at the room, then at Jean-Luc.

“Did you book us a—”

“No!” Jean-Luc retorted, entirely red. “I don’t think so,” he continued. “It was recommended to me.”

Q kept staring at him.

“By whom? No, never mind that,” he said and took off his backpack. “You mentioned costume changes, and I don’t intend to tolerate these bland rags for another moment.”