This is an alternate story based on "Only Human" by Alara
Rogers (aleph@netcom.com), although it isn't in her continuity. 
I got sufficiently obsessed by the story "Only Human" that I
wrote an alternate set in this universe.  Alara's permission has
been secured for this.

Also, this story contains sex, so if that sort of thing bothers
you, you might want to skip out now.


PropinQuity by Mercutio (mercutio@europa.com); based on
"Only Human" by Alara Rogers


Harry Roth approached Naomi in the lab.  She was running a
computer program of her own, trying to pull the bugs apart. 
She couldn't concentrate in her room, not with this program as
maladjusted as it was.  It wasn't working and she didn't know
why.  Yet.  Q was safely stashed in their quarters, hopefully not
revamping her wardrobe.  He had some good ideas about what
kind of clothes would look good on her, but his idea of
appropriate fabrics and sizes drove her insane.  Anything itchy
or tight made her want to tear the offending article off her body
and rip it to shreds.  Which could have been his aim, but Q
usually wasn't that sexually focussed.

Roth settled himself on the corner of her desk, one hip over the
edge.

Naomi looked up, automatically saving her work, her expression
annoyed.  "Yes?  Did you have a question?"

He smiled intimately at her, and she stared back levelly, not
budging a millimeter.

"I hear you and Q were found naked together by Security."  He
waggled his eyebrows at her.  "Doing..."

She sighed, and turned away from her screen, folding her hands
in her lap, and grudgingly giving him her full attention.

"Playing parcheesi, Harry?  Or has the rumor grown even more
wild?"

He shook his head slightly.  "I was hoping *you* could tell me. 
I'm coming right to the source here."

Naomi gazed back calmly at him.  "With your reputation for
gossiping about everyone, do you really think it'd be bright idea
for me to tell you, even if I had any desire to talk about it,
which I don't?"

Roth put a melodramatic hand to his chest.  "You wound me! 
I've never kissed and told."

"You haven't kissed me."

"Touche."

"So you'd feel no compunction spreading this around the
starbase."

Roth held up his hands in a shrug of innocence, "If someone
tells *me* and I had nothing to do with the situation, then
obviously it wasn't supposed to be a secret."

Naomi sighed deeply, getting a little irritated.  "So exactly what
incentive do I have to tell you anything?"

"My good looks and general charm?"

Naomi snorted.  "Go tell it to someone who cares."

For a brief second, Harry continued to lean over her, charm
mode fully activated, but after a moment, he gave up, realized it
was futile.  She wasn't susceptible to his charisma.  And he
couldn't go away.  He needed to know too badly.  He was
going insane.  

He had never made an actual play for Q, due to his own
conviction that Q would stomp his heart into little pieces.  But
now it was obvious that if he had, perhaps he could have gotten
somewhere.  Roth had been trying to convince himself over
many sleepless nights that Naomi had put more work into it than
he would ever want to, that her relationship with Q is doomed
and any relationship with Q would be, but he hadn't actually
been able to make himself believe any of it.  

He had to know, had to find out how she'd managed it.  Had to
know if he'd been an idiot to pass up a chance at seducing Q, or
if she'd put in far more work than he'd have been willing to do. 
But how to start?  

"Look, Naomi, I really do need to talk to you.  I... I swear I
won't tell anyone about this conversation."  Harry looked at
her.  She wasn't saying anything, and her expression was
forbidding.  He threw out the first question he could think of,
hoping to get her to say anything at all to him, "You're seeing
Q, right?"

Naomi tilted her head, arching her eyebrows disbelievingly. 
Surely everyone knew that much.

"Okay, so you're sleeping together."  His expression turned
desperate.  The only thing he could do was tell the truth. 
"Naomi, I... I'm going crazy over this.  I can't think, I can't
sleep, I can't eat.  I wanted Q for a very long time, and I
couldn't get him."

Naomi assessed Roth with a sexual eye.  He was quite
attractive.  Taller than she was, although not nearly as tall as Q,
and rangy, with usually intelligent, humor-filled eyes.  Usually. 
At the moment they were flat and sad.

The overactive rumor mill had him down as homosexual, which
was apparently accurate.  Starbase 56's rumor mill was very
efficient, unsurprising considering how closely everyone lived
together here.  It was like a large college campus with no
commuting students, and no secrets, either.

Roth continued.  "And now, you and he are..."

Naomi didn't say anything, just looked at him, and Harry began
to feel embarrassed for ever having come to see her.  What was
he doing?  "You don't even want to talk to me, do you?"

"Not about Q," Naomi said calmly.

He swallowed hard.  "I suppose I should have guessed that. 
You and he are very close, aren't you?"

She looked at him, and he nodded.  "Uh huh.  It's just that
you... how did you do it?  I wanted him and now he's yours
and I can't get over it.  I... I never took the chance, never
wanted him to turn me away, and I knew he would if I did take
the chance.  But you just waltzed right in, and now...  Oh, god,
I'm making a fool out of myself."

He seemed to sink in on himself, although he didn't move. 
Naomi felt sorry for him.  She could reassure him without
betraying Q.  He needed some reassurance that he wasn't a bad
person.  Although it was too late for him with Q, he didn't have
to feel inadequate and avoid relationships entirely.  She could
give him a little comfort, and advice for how to handle his
future relationships.

"Sometimes you have to take chances.  There's an old saying,
'Ask and you shall receive'.  Although it doesn't always work,
I've found that asking people for things is a very effective
tactic, usually more effective than bullying or mind-reading,
which seem to be the usual forms of communication people
use."

His expression brightened.  "Do you really think so?"

Naomi nodded, glad to see that that had helped.  She didn't like
disappointing people or making them feel bad, but she really
wasn't going to talk about Q.  "Yes, I do."

He hopped off her table, and then without warning, ducked
down, grasped her by the shoulders and planted a kiss on her
cheek.  "Thank you!"

And then he was gone.  

Naomi stared after Roth for a long moment.  Was he always
this emotional?  What she'd said was hardly original thought, or
even particularly helpful.  Then she shrugged and went back to
her problem program, forgetting the incident immediately.  

****

Roth went directly to Q's quarters.  He was charged up, full of
energy. If he didn't do this now, he'd never do it.  What Naomi
had said to him had given him the final permission he'd needed,
given him the impetus and the drive to finally just do it.  If he
thought about it, he knew he'd just give up.  

"Come."

Q was lounging on the couch, languidly scanning a computer
catalog.  Naomi had a disturbing tendency to choose clothing
which was unflattering to her figure and coloring.  Actually, her
color choices weren't nearly as bad as her style choices.  Why
she would choose to go around in shapeless caftans when she
had a truly aesthetically pleasing body was beyond him.  But he
could change that.  He looked forward to it.

Q turned his head around, smiling when he saw Roth.  "Harry!"

The smile encouraged and terrified Harry.  Encouragement
because that smile was everything he wanted and needed to see. 
He'd dreamed of that smile, the mocking half-grin, hovering
over him.  He'd also never really seen much of it, which was
what terrified him.  This was a different Q than the one he was
used to.  A new, more desirable Q.

"Come to cheer up the dearly departed?" Q asked mockingly.

Harry took a seat on the couch, pushing Q's feet out of the way. 
"Not unless you're a ghost.  You feel quite solid to me."

"An illusion.  Mere trickery.  I've actually passed on to a new
existence, an entire different plane of life."

Harry raised an eyebrow.  "Can I come and visit?"

Q waved expansively.  "Come, stay as long as you like.  Truly,
Harry, I'm happier than I've been in my human existence.  I'm
a new man."

Harry swallowed hard, his heart in his eyes.  "Yes, I can see
that, Q."  With a desperate attempt to remain off-hand, he
added, "That caftan really does something for you."

Q looked down at the caftan laid casually across his lap that
he'd been using for a comparison of Naomi's likes and dislikes. 
"Oh, this old thing?  Harry, how sweet of you to notice."

"I notice everything about you, Q."

Q grinned mockingly.  "And you didn't even comment on my
hair.  How disappointing to find the object of one's affection so
oblivious."

The object of his affection?  Oh, god.  Harry's heart was
pounding horribly.  "Oblivious?  I merely lacked the words to
adequately describe your appearance.  I could recite poetry if
you like."

"Sonnets?  For me?  How devoted."

"I'd do far more than that for you, Q," Harry said, his tone
forced, trying to keep light what was far from unimportant to
him.

"Promises, promises," Q teased.  "Nothing more than pretty
words."

Harry had never seen Q so light-hearted.  Q mocked and
insulted, but rarely was he this carefree.  Harry knew a moment
of total, bitter venomous jealousy for Naomi, who had
engineered this change, then regretted it.  She was big enough
to give him this chance; he had no right to resent her.

Harry took his courage in his hands.  If he didn't do this now,
he never would.  Naomi's blessing repeated itself in his mind,
giving him the final dollop of strength that he needed to go
through with it.  She knew Q; she wouldn't have given him this
advice if she didn't think it would work.

He didn't know why she'd given him the advice she had. 
Perhaps gossip was wrong.  Maybe she and Q weren't lovers. 
Gossip had been wrong before, many times in relation to him. 
It was the only explanation that made sense, and Harry grasped
onto it desperately, needing it to be true.  

Harry inclined his body towards Q, not quite daring to touch
him.  "They could be more than words, if you liked."

Taken aback, Q looked at Harry.  He enjoyed bantering with
Harry, almost as much as he enjoyed bantering with Naomi. 
But did Harry mean what Q thought he meant?  And if so, how
did he, Q, feel about that?

Harry was attractive, although not in a way which turned him
on as much as Naomi did.  He had no particular prejudice
against males or females; he'd *been* female.  His gender had
always been irrelevant before he became human, when all of a
sudden it became an obsession for everyone.

Harry took the decision out of Q's hands.

Leaning close to the center of all his fears and a good deal of
his hottest sexual fantasies, Harry put his hand on the back of
Q's neck, drawing the other man's face down to his.  

Q let himself be pulled, curiously eager to try this new thing
out.  It had been quite fun with Naomi, and he was ashamed
now of how scared he'd been then.  He knew Harry and liked
him, knew that Harry wasn't trying to get him into bed for a
notch on his belt like Amy Frasier had.  A small part of him
wanted to see if this new trick would work with someone other
than Naomi, to make sure he had a backup plan if she ever did
leave him.

It didn't dawn on Q that this might hurt Naomi.  For the Q,
pleasure, intimacy and reproduction were three completely
unrelated and separate acts.  Jealousy was something reserved
for emotional intimacy, not physical, as if physicality were
important anyway.  Q was more worried about looking like an
idiot due to his own ineptitude and being laughed at than he was
about emotional risk.  The concept of sex involving emotional
risk had simply never occurred to him, anymore than eating
involving emotional risk would have occurred to Naomi.

Harry looked up at Q.  Q didn't seem to know what to do next. 
Giving Q a golden opportunity to reject him, Harry knelt on the
floor next to the couch, his hands going to Q'ss chest.  

"What are you doing?" Q asked.  Harry's touch sent shivers
down his body.

"Guess." Harry said roguishly, tugging Q's shirt free, and
kissing his bare stomach.  

"Guess?  Perhaps you're out of shirts and decided mine were
more stylish and are now trying to steal one." Q said, but
although his voice held a note of mocking sarcasm, his body did
not.  It liked this, and it wanted more.

Harry didn't stop.  He pressed his lips to Q's stomach again. 
Harry slid lower on his body, hands touching his thighs.  His
hips jerked involuntarily, straining to touch him.

Q's restraint slowly eroded, as his own desires were fanned
back into flames by Harry's touch.  Counsellor Troi could
swear by chocolate sundaes all she liked; despite the innately
physical nature of the activity, he found this a far more potent
counteragent to depression.

Harry tugged Q's pants off, dropping tiny kisses on Q's legs as
he went.  

"Shouldn't we go in the bedroom?" Q asked.

Harry shook his head, fingers trailing up the inside of Q's thigh,
causing him to quiver.  "You'd be surprised at the number of
places you can do this.  I've heard... well, I'll tell you some
other time."

Q looked down at Harry, his head bent over at the level of Q's
knees.  While part of him couldn't believe that this was
happening to him, another part wanted it desperately.  While he
might not understand sex or want to understand, there were
instincts buried deep within his body that knew what having
Harry positioned there like that meant, and the muscles in his
thighs clenched, knowing what Harry was about to do.

Harry kissed him again, right where Q wanted it most, and he
groaned, closing his eyes in anticipation of the feeling of
Harry's mouth on him.

Then Harry's mouth was there and he was inside, and it was so
slick, so hot.  Delicious agony poured through him as his entire
being focused on that sensation.  He wanted it, he needed it. 
The feeling mounted as Harry went faster, and he lost all
realization of what he was doing, or where he was.  His hips
rocked in time with his mouth's stroking, trying to thrust deeper
inside that hot, welcoming wetness.

And then the tension reached a snapping point and Q's control
broke along with it and he was exploding into endless ecstasy,
the pleasure seemingly continuing forever.  He felt several small
tremors of feeling, and then he opened his eyes, and realized
what had just happened.

Appalled, he stared at the man on his knees in front of him. 
What had he just done?  That was so disgusting!

Harry looked up at him and smiled.

"You shouldn't have done that... revolting act," Q said.

"Did you like it?"

"Yes.  But it was disgusting."

"So go throw up if you have to."

Q shook his head slightly.  "Maybe later."  

From the tutoring Naomi had given him, Q knew he had to do
something for Harry now.  But he didn't know what.  Certainly,
he couldn't ask.

But before Q could drive himself into a nervous frenzy, Harry
had taken the initiative.

"*Now* we go in the bedroom."

Q felt relieved.  "So you aren't as adventurous as you claimed?"

Harry shook his head.  "Just trying not to scare off my prey." 
He grinned widely, displaying his teeth.

Q shrugged, stood up and walked into the bedroom.  Harry sat
for a moment on the floor, still grinning, admiring the view. 
The things Q's walk did to his ass...  Oh, yes.  This was a
dream come true.  And the best was yet to come.

"Lay down and let me rub your back."

Q looked suspiciously at him.  "Why is this such a integral part
of human sexuality?  Why does every single sexual encounter I
have start this way?"

Harry quirked his eyebrows.  "Irresistible urges on the part of
the human race to get their hands on your naked body?"

Q shrugged.  "I can understand that.  But it still seems silly that
people don't just have sex.  All this dithering around is
bewildering to me."  Of course, it did get him a large number
of backrubs, so perhaps he shouldn't complain too much.

Daring a great deal, Harry put his hand on Q's chest, moving
under Q's shirt.  Q trembled under his hand, and Harry smiled
rakishly.  He knew Q was attracted to him.  Damn, he'd been
right all along.  He pulled Q's shirt off.   

Harry stopped to take in the full view of Q naked, and Q
flinched.  He'd gotten used to Naomi seeing him naked, and
now he'd let Harry see him this way.  He hadn't even thought
about it.

With a strangled cry, Q turned and laid facedown on the bed,
hoping to hide as much of himself as he could.  This wasn't a
good idea.  He'd stop it right now, if he had any idea of how to
do it without admitting to Harry that he was embarrassed.  

But there wasn't a way, and Harry settled onto the bed next to
Q, his hands moving to Q's back.  How many times had he
imagined this scene?  Imagined it and then given it up as
hopeless?  Too many.

Q laid still on the bed, enjoying the massage.  Harry had a
much stronger touch than Naomi did, really digging into the
tension.  Naomi was much better at finessing the pain away, but
Harry could get at it in a way that she could not.  

Harry's hands moved down past Q's back to his buttocks.  Q
didn't flinch.  He felt perfectly safe.  Naomi had done this to
him many times, and he felt quite at ease with hands on any part
of his body, at least, other than his genitals.  The incident with
Amy Frasier had left him leery of backrubs, but Naomi had
shown him that there was nothing to be afraid of.  She had not
taken advantage of him, and he had developed a security about
his own self.

Q felt safe.  Until Harry's hands became caressing rather than
soothing, and his hands delved down between Q's buttocks,
getting at the sensitive region between, and something cool and
wet suddenly slid over him, and into him.

Q jumped, startled by the new sensation, and half twisted to find
out what was going on.  It felt good, but very, very strange.  

A firm hand was planted in the middle of his back, pushing him
down, and Q subsided, letting Harry continue.

And then something hard and much too large was pushing its
way into him through his anus, and Q froze, too shocked to
move.  What was going on?  The good feeling which had been
present ran away and all he could feel was this horrible huge
invader tearing its way into his body.

Harry settled in, delighted by the sensation, and much too
amazed and proud of his own seductive prowess that had caused
Q to actually allow this.  Carefully, with a great regard for his
partner, Harry began to stroke in and out.

Q was in agony.  He was being tortured.  He couldn't do this,
couldn't bear this.  His whole body was tense.  He hated this.  

In a panic of pain, he struggled, trying to get free.  He had to
get away, had to make this stop.  But he couldn't move. 
Harry's weight pinned him firmly to the bed.

With a choked cry, Q bucked furiously, and finally, Harry got
the idea, backing off.

"What?" Harry asked, confused and dazed by his state of
arousal.

Q backed away from him, eyes wild.  "Go away!  You dirty,
filthy minded rapist!"

"Q, what are you talking about?  Didn't you like it?"

"Like it?  Like it?" Q laughed hysterically.  "How could anyone
like being raped?  And like that?  How dare you ask me
something like that?"

Harry retreated in confused pain.  "Q... I wasn't trying to rape
you...  I... I thought you wanted to..."

"Wanted to?  Wanted to have you fuck me in the ass?  How
could anyone possibly want that?"

Harry's face took on an enlightened air, as he began to
understand what was going on.  "Q, that's how, or rather, that's
one of the ways that men usually make love."

Q froze, the disdainful, angry mask still firmly in place, but
behind it, he was slipping into a daze of self-hatred and pain. 
He was making a fool out of himself.  This was something he
was supposed to know about, something everybody knew about. 
And Harry had thought that he had known about it too.  Now
Harry knew how little Q knew.  And he hated Harry, hated
himself, and even hated Naomi as well, for not being there to
prevent this humiliation.

"Just get out," Q said in the iciest tones of rejection he could
muster.

Harry was distraught, but couldn't handle Q being mad at him. 
He dressed quickly and silently, not looking at Q.  When he was
clothed, he looked up at Q, who hadn't moved, still crouched
against the head of the bed, holding a pillow as his lone
defense. 

"I'm sorry, Q.  Truly I am."

Q's glance never wavered.  He didn't speak.  The pure hatred
in his eyes drove Harry from the room.

He went through the door, running into Naomi, who looked
quizzically at him.  "Hello, Harry.  What's up?  Leaving so
soon?"

Harry choked, unable to talk about it, wanting only to escape to
his own quarters where he could cry or bounce off the walls, or
just masturbate and get this horrible need away from himself. 
"Nothing.  Just... I've got to go."

And then he was gone.  Naomi watched him walk hurriedly
down the corridor, and then went inside.

"Q?"  He didn't answer.  Naomi knew he had to be there, since
Harry wouldn't have been inside their quarters if Q weren't
there.  "Q?  Is something wrong?"

He still didn't answer.  Something really was wrong.  She
walked into the bedroom.  Q hadn't moved from his previous
position.  Still frozen in shock, he clutched onto the pillow for
his own life's sake.  Only his eyes were inward looking now,
not seeing her, focussed on his own humiliation and pain.

Naomi stopped, and stared at him.  Why was he naked?  What
had he and Harry been doing?

On second thought, perhaps she hadn't better answer that.  She
had a damned good idea what they'd been doing, and Naomi
found she didn't like the idea at all.  They'd been having sex. 
Why else would Q be naked?  And something had obviously
gone wrong, judging by Q's position and tense posture.  With
that context behind it, she could see that Harry's departure had
been more like a rabbit fleeing a wolf.

Except that, with the rabbit fled, the wolf had taken off his wolf
mask and been revealed as merely a sheep in disguise.  A very
shaken sheep.

Naomi sat down on the bed, sitting next to Q, her own stance
open and accepting.  Immediately, he came to her, burying his
head in her shoulder and clutching her tightly, as if she were his
only anchor to life.  Silently he began to sob, his shoulders
shaking, and his whole body racked with tears.  After a minute,
they changed to hoarse, animal cries of anguish, as the need to
release his fear and pain and anger became too great.

Naomi stroked his back.  Damnit.  She was going to kill Harry. 
What had he done?  Q was absolutely shattered, clinging to her
as helpless and vulnerable as a small child.

She reached for a blanket, and pulled it over Q, covering him
up, hoping the warmth would make him feel more secure. 
When the blanket passed over his buttocks, Q flinched, but
Naomi didn't notice.  She tucked the edge around him, absently
soothing him with her hands.

She held him while he cried, one arm supporting him, the other
stroking his hair, and gently massaging his temples and scalp. 
For the moment, all concern she might have had for her own
feelings, and all rational thought about what had happened
between Harry and Q, was set aside.  Later, when he didn't
need her so strongly, she could think about those things and
what they meant to her own relationship with Q.  She couldn't
kick him while he was down.

When his crying had mostly subsided, Naomi finally spoke. 
"Do you want to talk about it?"

Q shook his head slightly against her chest.  He didn't want to
tell anyone about the whole embarrassing, painful incident, even
her.  He knew he'd get no sympathy from anyone.  No one
cared what happened to him.  The Amy Frasier incident had
proven that.  Of course, a small part of him whispered, you've
already told her a lot just by being stupid and weak enough to
cry.  What's a little more?  

Naomi continued to hold him close and stroke his hair, not
saying a word, trying to give him whatever kind of comfort he
could accept.

Her silent support of him drew more out of him than any words
of hers would have.  She wouldn't talk about this.  She never
talked to anyone about him; he knew that.  And he needed to
tell someone desperately.  "I didn't know, you know.  If I
would have known, I would never have done it."

"Of course, you didn't.  How could you know?"  Know what?
Naomi wondered silently.

He made a soft mewling noise.  "I should have.  Should have
known what was going to happen.  And Harry...  Why do
people always hurt me?"

Naomi's expression turned to exasperation, although Q couldn't
see it.  She continued her soothing caresses.  "It's all right.  I'm
sure Harry is feeling just as badly as you are about this."

"Do you think so?"

"I'm absolutely certain of it."  And judging by the way Harry
had taken off down the hall, quite guilty about whatever he'd
done, as well.

Q shook his head again.  "No.  I don't care.  I hate him.  I
loathe him.  I positively despise him."

Naomi smiled despite herself.  Q was starting to feel a little
better.

Q sat up, not losing contact with her body, raising himself
enough to look into her eyes, to see what she really thought. 
"Do you *know* what he tried to do to me?"

Q's expression was outraged, and Naomi did her best to appear
appropriately concerned.  "What?"

"He..." Q floundered, unable to actually say it.  "He tried to..."

"Have sex with you?" Naomi offered helpfully.

"Yes, I suppose you could call it that, but you don't know what
he did.  It was horrible.  He tried to rape me!"

This time, Naomi truly was concerned.  "Harry did *what*?"

"He held me down, and then he..."

"He..." Naomi said, indicating Q should fill in the blank.

This was embarrassing.  He couldn't do this.  "It's not
important."

Naomi was starting to get an idea of what Harry did do.  Given
Q's hypersensitive reactions to any stimuli, much less pain, she
could guess what might have happened.  "Were you lying on
your stomach when this occurred?"

That didn't seem like too damning an admission.  "Yes."

"So you were engaged in anal sex."

"They have a *name* for that?" Q was alive with disgusted
outrage.

She wasn't going to laugh.  She really wasn't.  He didn't find it
funny.  "Yes, they do.  I understand it's a pretty common
sexual position among men.  I find it hard to imagine you
enjoying it though."

"I didn't.  I hated it."

Despite his almost normal speech, Q was still clinging to her,
body fully in contact with hers.  Given how he avoided initiating
physical contact of any sort, to Naomi, the non-verbal
communication signalled Q's emotional vulnerability.

"Are you still hurt?"

He flexed experimentally.  "Not permanently, I suppose."  His
tone turned sulky.  "I can't go to Sickbay.  They'd make fun of
me."

Privately, Naomi agreed.  They would.  She wouldn't, but she
knew that this would make a very good story if it got out.  

She took his shoulders and lightly guided him into a reclining
position.  He resisted slightly, but then went along with her. 
She laid down next to him, and opened her arms to him.  He
went into them without any hesitation.

He felt so comfortable.  Nothing would happen to him as long
as she was there.  Everything would be all right.  

Harry had hurt him badly.  Not physically, really, although that
was part of it.  Q had been more repelled by the physical end of
it than injured, although it hadn't been enjoyable for him.  But
Harry had managed to pierce that elegant, mocking shell Q wore
for protection.  A wound Q could not forgive or help himself
with.

Naomi held him until he fell asleep, her thoughts seething. 
Now that the need to give Q comfort had passed, her need to
scream at him came back.  How dare he do something like this? 


A sense of ill-use and anger began to creep in.  Why had he
done this?  Did he care nothing about her, that he'd just seek
Harry Roth out and have a good old time with him?  And then
come to her, expecting her to be some sort of comfort magnet? 
What kind of screwed up nonsense was this?

She didn't expect much from Q, given his personality and
disposition, but not sleeping around would be nice.  At least not
without ending their relationship first.

Naomi felt betrayed and angry.  She had a right to expect that
much from him.  And given his attitudes towards sex, and how
hard it had been to get him to accept her as a lover at all, she'd
have thought he'd have no problem remaining relatively faithful.

But no.  She was some sort of teacher for him.  And now that Q
had learned all he wanted from her, he was evidently going to
go out and use his newfound knowledge however he wanted. 
She was a stepping stone, nothing more, and Naomi found that
realization inexpressibly bitter. 

Her heart turned to a burning coal within her, a leaden lump
that raged inside her breast.  She hated him.  Hated him for
doing this to her, for expecting so much and so little from her. 
How dare he do this to her?

There was nothing even to be said between the two of them.  It
was obvious Q wasn't going to repeat the experience with
Harry.  He hadn't enjoyed it, far from it, in fact.  Harry had
been lucky Q hadn't gone to Sickbay.  The two of them would
have been the laughingstock of the starbase.  Q hated Harry at
the moment.  So, practically speaking, she still had Q, and
didn't have to worry about him running off.

Practically speaking.  Which had nothing whatsoever to do with
how immensely angry she was with Q, and hurt that he would
do something like this at all.  And how angry she was with
Roth, the toad.  How could he do something like this?  How
could he hurt Q this way?  What kind of insensitive bastard was
he?  How dare he try to intrude on their relationship?

She wanted to crawl off into a dark corner and lick her wounds,
preferably shortly before dying of them.  She didn't want to be
near Q at all, and have him ask her for comfort and reassurance
which she had no choice but to give.  She couldn't hurt him
while he was down.  As much as she hated him at the moment,
she also loved him, and that meant wanting what was best for
him.  What was best for him definitely did not include severing
his penis and sewing it into his mouth, although it was an idea
that appealed.

Naomi absently stroked Q's hair comfortingly, as if
subconsciously soothing him for the viciously vengeful thought
she'd just had.

Part of her despised him, and part of her, the bewildered part of
her that was crying inside, wanted him to explain to her that this
was all a joke, that nothing had ever happened between him and
Roth, and nothing ever would.

But that was a lie.  He and Roth had been together and it had
happened, and nothing would ever change that now.

Naomi knew that she had to get out of there.  Had to break
something.  Had to make someone else hurt as badly as she did. 
Rock climbing wouldn't do it.  No.  She needed someone else's
pain.  

****

Subconsciously, Naomi was trying to pick a fight so that she'd
get beaten up, and be hauled back to Q, bruised, battered and
bloody, and then he'd feel guilty.  He'd thought she was injured
when she'd come back from rock climbing with a few minor
scrapes.  He'd overreacted then to a bit of dried blood and some
nasty looking bruises.  Hah!  That was nothing.  She'd show
him injured.  She'd come back covered in blood, with a black
eye and broken bones.  Then he'd be sorry.

It was a good plan.  There were some flaws in it, such as how
she was going to keep them from taking her to Sickbay first, but
then having Q be rushed to her bedside, where she lay, wan and
broken, was almost as good.

Naomi savored the grim, vengeful feeling.  Somewhere, buried
deep at the back of her mind, she knew she was being irrational
about this.  But she didn't care.  Q deserved this for what he'd
done to her.  If he even cared anymore.

It was all his fault anyway.  He was the one who couldn't stop
himself from sleeping around.  He was the one who had
callously stomped all over her feelings by seeking out Harry,
and then had expected her to make it all better.  What kind of
self-indulgent, self-centered bastard was he?

Q, the small, still logical part of her whispered.  He was Q, and
he'd always been self-centered.  

Naomi brushed that thought aside.  She had no wish to
understand Q at the moment.  She needed to start a fight.  The
feeling of sinking her fist into someone would be quite
satisfying.  If only someone would oblige her.

But her plan wasn't working.  No matter how hard she tried to
pick a fight, it didn't work.  

Naomi wandered over to a trader, who looked as mean as a
Klingon locked up with a shuttle full of tribbles.

"I said," Naomi said drunkenly, "that your father was must have
been a Klingon, because there's no other way you could have
got so ugly."

The trader stood up.  Even that small action was menacing. 
The man was almost Q's height, and was covered with scars,
testimony to many bar fights and other forms of combat which a
Sickbay had been unavailable for.  "Is that so?" he asked softly,
his quiet voice a warning.

Naomi laughed and looked at the other patrons, all of whom
were watching dumbstruck, with a kind of sick fascination. 
"That's so.  And your mother certainly must have been a
Ferengi.  I mean, just *look* at those ears."

A sick laugh ran through the bar patrons, as the trader seemed
to grow in size, his face red and angry.

"Little lady, you need to watch your mouth, or someone's going
to shut it for you."

Naomi scoffed.  "And you think you're the one to do it?  With
*your* parents?"

The trader's eyes narrowed.  "Lady, I don't care who you are. 
You've just exceeded my limits."

Naomi's smile broadened.  "Is that so?"  She had finally
provoked a fight.  This was it.

"Yes."

Suddenly a voice from behind said belligerently, "Why don't
you pick on somebody your own size, buster?"

The trader looked past Naomi at the stocky man standing there. 
"What did you say?"

The man positioned himself protectively in front of Naomi. 
"You heard me.  Why don't you pick on somebody your own
size?"

The trader looked at him, then looked at Naomi.  "This
posturing bitch is going to get what's coming to her.  And no
man is going to stop me."

The stocky man looked at him, his eyes cold.  "You'll have to
go through me first."

Naomi was not pleased with this outcome at all.  Not that she
thought getting wiped off the floor was going to be pleasant
either.  But at least she'd wanted to do that, for whatever
reasons.  This was different.  She'd somehow managed to get
another person involved in this, and Naomi found that she didn't
like that at all.

The trader shrugged and punched at the stocky man.  Naomi
instinctively ducked backwards, and found herself pulled out of
the way by someone else who she couldn't see.

Naomi fought the restraining arms, futilely punching out, her
wild jabs hitting nothing.

"Let the girl go!" someone said commandingly, and then the
restraining arms were gone.

Naomi crept backwards, out of the melee.  What was going on? 
This wasn't what was supposed to happen at all.  Maybe she
needed another drink.  She was too much of a coward to do this
right.

****

"Look, you've got to get her out of here," the bartender said
desperately.

The security guard shrugged.  "Even if it was my problem,
which it's not, do you really think I want to get beaten up?"

The bartender looked at the petite redhead, and then again at the
large human male standing next to him.  "Beaten up?  What
kind of coward are you?"

The security guard lifted an eyebrow.  "She'd pound me to a
pulp.  And there wouldn't be anything I could do to stop her
unless I wanted every other man in here to bash my face in."

The bartender began to understand.  "But what do I do?  She's
going to destroy my bar if she keeps this up!"

The guard shrugged.  "Get someone to talk to her.  Convince
her to leave."

"That's what you're for!"

The guard shook his head.  "No.  I'd say you'd need a friend of
hers to do it."

"Q?"  The bartender paled.  "Not him.  He's even worse than
she is.  I don't need that kind of trouble from the commodore. 
I'll have to *glue* the tables back together, *after* spending a
week in the brig."

The guard shrugged.  "Take your pick.  I can't see any other
way around it.  Unless you like filling out insurance claims."

The bartender nodded, shaken.  "All right."

****

By the time Q arrived at the bar, Naomi was feeling the effects
of the alcohol, and quite depressed as well.  She no longer
wanted to hurt anybody, just to forget and have it all not have
happened, which was impossible.  All she wanted to do was go
home.

When she saw Q, she went to him, putting her arm through his.

The bartender looked relieved.  Q had no idea what was going
on.  He'd been commed to come down here, and he had,
expecting to find Naomi broken and bleeding, since in his
experience, bars were dangerous places.  But she was apparently
all right, although the bar looked a little worn around the edges,
with some of the tables upset and broken glass littering the
floor.

Q didn't waste time on any long explanations, just turned
around and escorted Naomi out of there.  He'd been asleep
when he was commed, and he really wasn't at his best at the
moment.  What was she doing in a bar anyway?

Naomi went back amiably enough with Q, until he tried to talk
to her.

"So... what were you doing there?"

Naomi looked drunkenly up at him.  She didn't want to talk
about it.  She was ashamed of herself for having had such a
stupid plan in the first place, and still not a little pissed off at
him.  "Do you know 'Barges'?"

"What?"

"You know, the song?"

"And the relevance of this is?"

Naomi ignored that.  "You don't know that?  How sad.  Let me
sing it for you."

"No, please.  Don't."

The security guard following along behind them to make sure
they got safely back to their quarters was desperately glad he
hadn't had to walk Naomi home.  Then he'd have had to
actually be close to that woman.  God, what an awful singing
voice.

****

Once in their quarters, Q cornered a less than happy Naomi and
asked her again about what she'd been doing in the bar.  

"What did you think?  That you just go off and screw whoever
you liked?  Did you think I didn't care?" Naomi threw out at
him.

"What's wrong with you?" Q asked, disdainfully.  "You've
turned into a screaming hag."

Naomi puffed up furiously.  "I'm not perfect, all right.  I have
feelings.  I'm not just some sort of sex doll you can just push
around and dress up.  I get mad and I get jealous."

"I can see that."  

"Good.  It's your fault.  You're the one who just fell in bed
with Harry."

"*My* fault?  It's not like you ever told me *not* to get
involved with other people."

"I didn't think I needed to," Naomi said with exasperation.  

"What are you so upset about?  It was just sex.  It's not like
you were the one who got held down and raped."

"Just sex?  What are you talking about?"  Naomi ignored the bit
about rape.  Q was just exaggerating, trying to get her
sympathy.  Well, it wasn't going to work on her anymore.

He shrugged.  "Sex, reproduction... What does what happened
with Harry have to do with us?"

Naomi stared at Q.  "You must be out of your mind.  Q, sex
and affection are linked.  If you want to have sex with someone,
you either have an emotional relationship with them as well, and
just them, or you're the worst kind of scum there is."

"So I'm scum now?  How was I supposed to know?  It's not
like I can read your mind.  Not anymore."  Ordinarily a thought
like that would have depressed him, but he was in the middle of
an argument and adrenaline was rushing through his body.

"It seemed obvious to me."  How much did he need this spelled
out?

"Well, it wasn't to me!  If you don't want me to do something,
say so."  Q felt that was only fair.  

"Like you'd listen," Naomi said snidely.  "If I told you not to
do something, that'd be the first thing you'd go out and do."

"Well, at least then it'd be my fault!"

Naomi was taken aback.  It really wasn't his fault that he'd
failed to meet some unstated expectation of hers.  Even if she
thought it was blatantly obvious.  "Good point."

"Of course it was."

"So now I have to give you a list of things not to do to keep you
busy for the next year or two?"

"I don't have anything better to do."

"I do," Naomi grumbled.  "Don't have an intimate relationship
with more than one person at a time.  How's that for starters? 
Further bulletins as events warrant."

"Not telling me what you want seems a little unfair.  This is
going to happen again unless you can give me more specific
guidelines."

She was tired and frustrated.  "Don't ever do anything that
would make me unhappy.  How's that?"

"Even if I wanted to do that, how am I supposed to know what
makes you unhappy?"

She sighed.  This relationship was rapidly beginning to look
impossible.  Why had she tried this?  She was a failure. 
"That's the whole idea behind relationships.  You care about the
other person and try to find out what they like and don't like,
and tailor your own behavior appropriately."

"That sounds unnecessarily restrictive."

"Well, that's way it goes.  You don't like it, you don't have to
have relationships."

"Is that a threat?"

"Maybe.  I don't know.  Look, Q, I'm tired, depressed and
quite drunk.  I don't like you very much at the moment and I
don't like myself very much either.  Right now all I want to do
is go to sleep.  If you still want to talk about this, we can talk in
the morning."

Naomi walked away from him towards her room, her steps
heavy.  It was all too much to handle.  She couldn't bear it. 
She wanted to make up with Q, wanted everything to be
magically all right, and even wanted, despite everything, the
chance to throw herself in his arms and have him make it all
better.  Hah!  Fat chance of that ever happening.  He'd
probably give her a disdainful stare and let her fall.  Drat the
man, anyway.  Why did she have to go and fall in love with
him?  Why couldn't she just be like everyone else and despise
him?

Once inside her own room, she pulled off her clothes and
wadded them up into a ball before tossing them in a corner. 
She didn't want to think, didn't want to do anything.  She
stepped into the shower.  Had to get rid of the smell of the bar. 
She hated the smell of alcohol, hated it with a passion.

Feeling somewhat cleaner, but not much better, she pulled on a
nightgown and slipped into bed.  Turning off the lights, Naomi
closed her eyes, and tried not to think.  It was useless.  In the
dark, her thoughts were even more with her, even harder to
escape.

She curled around her pain, huddling in the dark room, quietly
wishing for oblivion to overtake her.

Outside, in the common room, Q was still mulling over what
had just happened.  

Naomi was angry at him for getting involved with Roth.  Q had
no emotional connection to Roth, and didn't think he'd want
one.  What had happened between the two of them had been
intensely humiliating for Q, and he had no desire to repeat the
experience.  But it had been completely separate from what he
felt for Naomi.  Apparently, humans didn't separate these
things.  He knew that, but it was completely different knowing a
thing and experiencing it.

And now his relationship with Naomi was in danger.  Q didn't
like that at all.  Q was reluctant to have a friend, but yearned
for it, and when he was honest with himself he knew he wanted
one.  Somehow, Naomi had sneaked in when he wasn't looking
and taken a firm place in his life.  If he were as uncynical as he
was capable of being, he could admit that she was the closest
thing to a friend he had, that she truly appeared to be someone
who was both intensely loyal to him and capable of tremendous
self-sacrifice in order to give to him.  He was honored, he
admitted wryly.  Honored -- and scared.  Having a friend was a
burden.  He would have to give back to her as much as she'd
given him, and Q didn't know if that was even something he
was capable of anymore, as wounded and weak as he was.

But it might not matter.  Naomi said she didn't like him
anymore.  It could be already too late.  For a brief moment, Q
imagined her gone, remembering what life had been like before
her, what tortures he had gone through only recently when he
thought he'd driven her away for good.  He refused even to
think about what had happened during the transwarp incident.  

Q shuddered uncontrollably, a heavy wave of depression spilling
over him, as he considered a future without Naomi.  To be
alone again, unwanted, despised and hated, laughed at by
everyone...  He couldn't let that happen.  Not as long as he had
any power to prevent it.

****

Quietly, the door opened, and light spilled into Naomi's room.

Naomi noticed nothing, lost in her own griefs and anxieties,
until a weight settled itself on the edge of the bed.

There was only one person it could be, and she had no idea why
he was there.  It was totally out of character for him to reach
out to her.  Heck, it was totally out of character for her to have
problems.  He must be completely confused by her apparent
Jekyll and Hyde act out there.  She'd been so kind and
accepting for so long, by her standards, that cutting loose on
him like that must make her seem like some psychotic bitch. 
Which, frankly, she could be at times.  And she'd been quite
cruel out there.  What was he doing here?

Naomi opened her eyes and looked up at him, feeling almost as
vulnerable as Q nearly always was.  She was depressed and
despite pushing him away earlier, she needed him.

Q sat there, observing her, noting how tightly she was curled in
on herself.  

Without saying anything, he slipped himself under the covers,
putting his arm under her shoulders, and gently pulling her
towards him.

With a sob, she turned into him.  Q accepted her, holding her
close to him and marvelling at the sensation.  He had never seen
Naomi weak.  He was honored by her trust, but moreover
happy.  He didn't like her being unhappy, but knowing she was
weak, knowing she wasn't as perfect as she portrayed herself to
be, made her infinitely precious to him.  He could understand
her now.  She wasn't stronger than him, wasn't lording her own
self-control over him.  She was on his level, and he felt he
could relate to her now.  She was an equal rather than yet
another human who believed he was scum and they infinitely
superior.  Of course, he *was* superior to all of them, but that
had been in a previous lifetime.  

Naomi's breakdown and crying made her seem human.  She
needed him, needed his help and reassurance.  Someone needed
something from him.  It was a unique experience for Q.  No
one turned to him for emotional strength.  Far from it.  He
found it a unnerving experience, but one he liked.

Naomi cuddled close to Q, trying to get as close to him as she
could, needing his warmth.  His body was comfortingly hard
and firm against hers and his embrace soothing.  

With a small choke in her throat, she started crying, the
kindness he offered, the sacrifice he was making in coming to
her too much.  That last kindness undid her, and the tears
started coming.

"I'm so s-sorry," Naomi sobbed brokenly.  "I didn't mean...
didn't... I shouldn't be c-cr-crying."

"Why not?"

"B-be-because I just shouldn't, that's all.  And you hate me
now, anyway."

"I do?"

"Yes.  You... you s-slept with H-harry."

He hadn't exactly, actually.  But what did that have to do with
anything?  "I don't hate you."

"No?" Naomi asked tremulously, looking up at him with tear-
filled eyes.  She could see his chin and the line of his mouth.

"I definitely don't hate you," Q said firmly with a touch of
humor, one long-fingered hand clutching the back of her head,
holding her close to him.

"Okay," Naomi said, her tone wavering.  For some reason that
less than enthusiastic token of affection made her feel better. 
Not all the way better, but a little better.  

Naomi subsided, her head on his chest, tears still falling, but no
more than a choke in her throat for sobbing left.  "Wh-what are
you doing here?"

"Your door isn't locked."

"I know that."  Of course, she hadn't locked it.  She never
locked it.  If she'd have locked it, he'd have thought she had
secrets and was trying to keep him out.  And it wouldn't have
been fair anyway, since he couldn't lock her out.

"So why did you ask?" Q asked, with an amused edge to his
voice.

In the dark, she could say what she would have never said to his
face.  "I thought maybe you came because you cared about me." 
At least in the dark, she couldn't see him sneering at her.

That was something Q would rather die than admit to, even if it
were true.  "I just didn't want you to have the last word, that's
all."

Tears continued leaking from her eyes.  Part of her was
saddened by what he'd just said, even though his statement was
belied by the tender way he held her and the fact that he was
there at all.  Q never came to her.  Ever.  She always had to go
to him.  She didn't know if he was so scared of rejection that he
never reached out, or if it had just never occurred to him.  

For whatever reasons, he was here now, though, and that was
enough.  Him holding her was the benison she needed for her
wounded heart.

"Thank you," Naomi said brokenly, surrendering herself to
sleep.  For the moment, all was well.  He was here, he was
holding her, and that was enough as long as she didn't think
about it too much.  And she wasn't going to.  It was too late,
she was too tired, and she needed this too badly to question it
and possibly cause it to vanish.  It could be the only form of
apology she'd ever get from him over the whole Roth incident. 
Maybe it was enough.  If she were Q, would she have had
enough courage to come in here?  She didn't know.  It was
enough that he had come.

Q held her, listening as Naomi's breathing slowed and she fell
asleep.

He still wasn't completely certain of the full impact of what he
had conceded tonight.  He felt vaguely anxious and frightened
by the possibilities stretching before him, but also an odd sense
of lightness.  It was as if chains had fallen away from his heart,
but that was an absurd idea.  He didn't have a heart.  Other
than in the anatomical sense.  

Q closed his eyes.  He'd just stay there until he was certain
Naomi was asleep.  He couldn't risk waking her up.  But it
wasn't because he loved her.  Not at all.  They were just
friends.

Q's only friend stirred in her sleep, and Q held her closer, her
head tucked under his chin.  Tomorrow he could tweak her over
the nasty things she'd said to him, as well as the way she'd
behaved at the bar.  After she felt better.

-the end-

---

Though much is taken, much abides; and though 
We are not now that strength which in old days 
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are -- 
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

from Ulysses, by Tennyson