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.

All chapters of PropinQuity are available by FTP at
ftp.europa.com, in the directory /outgoing/mercutio/PropinQuity/. 
The index is also available by FTP at ftp.europa.com, as
/outgoing/mercutio/IndexToPropinQuity.txt.  They can also be
downloaded through the WWW.  The WWW address is: 
http://www.europa.com/~mercutio/PropinQuity.html.


PropinQuity by Mercutio; based on "Only Human" by Alara
Rogers


Q stalked out, infuriated.  Naomi had done the unthinkable and
screamed at him to leave her alone.  

He didn't know what her problem was.  One day, teasing her
during sex was just fine and she pretended to like him for it; the
next, she was yelling at him and shoving him off the bed.

He didn't pretend to know what was going on here, but whatever
it was, it scared and angered him.

He was halfway down the corridor to the turbolift when he
realized he didn't have a clue where he was going.  Naomi was in
their quarters; he couldn't bear to be anywhere around her at the
moment.  But there was nowhere else for him to go.  And he
couldn't be seen in public at the moment.  Not only did he feel
on edge and extremely fragile right now, but he'd been thrown
out with no chance to select an appropriate outfit.  All he had was
this drab piece of cloth which was the most flamboyant design the
replicator had to offer.  It was not something Q would have
chosen to wear, but it was preferable to stalking out in the nude,
which was just about the only other option he'd had.

Q's mind flitted to Harry.  Harry was the closest thing to a friend
Q had, outside of Naomi.  Would Harry take him in?

Even as the dice were being thrown and coming up as
"Probably", Q realized that that was not an option.  Even Harry
wanted something from him sexually.  And Q obviously did not
understand human sexuality, didn't want to be around any of
them with their strange ideas and rituals.

He stepped into the turbolift, unconscious of Sanaharrar pacing
protectively alongside him.  Once inside, shaded from all prying
eyes, Q leaned against the wall, shaking.  His public persona was
so ingrained into him that it was nearly impossible for him to
show any sign of weakness while he was on display.  But once
out of the view of prying eyes, his mask cracked slightly, and a
wave of despair swept over him.  *Naomi* had rejected him.  

A half-sob broke loose from his throat, and Q stifled it
immediately.  He was partially concealed here, but this still an
entirely too vulnerable place to allow himself any emotional
release.

But there was nowhere he could go.  Nowhere at all.  Naomi had
driven him out of his refuge, and while he briefly considered
going back and throwing *her* out, Q knew he couldn't bear to
face her, didn't want to see her ever again.  There was nowhere
else.  He had no friends, and the holodeck was completely out of
the question.  He was lost and had no hopes of ever being found. 
Another sob broke out of his chest.

A furred head insinuated itself under his hand, and Q looked
down to see Sanaharrar, who he'd completely forgotten about.

"What are *you* doing here?  Go away," Q said reflexively.

Sanaharrar purred or growled; it was impossible to say.  "You
need me."

"I don't need anyone.  Go away."

Sanaharrar stared unblinkingly back at him, huge yellow eyes
reflecting nothing.

Q turned his head away from her.  He couldn't force her to go,
much as he wanted to.  He didn't want anyone to witness his
humiliation.  On the other hand, Sanaharrar was telepathic.  She
was undoubtably aware of every feeling he was having, every
pathetic thought.  He was too distraught to shield, and even if he
wanted to make the effort, it was too late anyway.  She was
already aware of his contemptible weakness.

Under more normal circumstance, Q might have raged at
Sanaharrar to go away, but at the moment, he didn't care.  It just
didn't seem to matter.  One more indignity in an ocean of hurts.

The turbolift stopped and two more people got on.  Diana and
Counsellor Medellin.

Q pulled himself up to his full height, gathering his dignity
around him, but it was too late.  Medellin had already seen his
slumped posture, the look of defeat in his eyes.

"Q, is something wrong?"

For a brief, horrifying instant, Q actually considered throwing
himself on Medellin's good nature and telling her everything.

But then Diana broke into the conversation, her voice high and
whiny.  "Something's wrong?  Did you and Naomi have a fight?"

Q stared icily down at the two women.  "A moment of dizziness,
nothing more.  While I appreciate the overwhelming concern for
my health, it's too early to celebrate my impending death.  I feel
fine."

And then, mercifully, the doors opened again, and Q was able to
make an escape.

Medellin watched him leave, the doors closing behind him.  Q
could hear Diana's last comment before the doors shut.

"How rude!"

Q shook his head slightly.  That had been a narrow escape.  But
now what did he do?  Where could he go?

Sanaharrar brushed up against him again.

"What?" Q asked irritably.  "Can't you even stay on your own
side of the corridor?"

Sanaharrar regarded him placidly.  "My quarrters arre two doors
down."

Q stared at her, not quite realizing what she was suggesting. 
"Oh, joy.  Now the non-humans are trying to seduce me."

Sanaharrar stared at him, unblinking, waiting for him to draw the
correct conclusion.

What was the annoying beast up to?  She had to know what he
was thinking, had to know this was no time to force herself upon
him.  He needed a place to hide, not...

Q looked down at Sanaharrar, who seemed almost to be smirking
now, in that uniquely feline way.  He wanted to say no, wanted
to turn down any offer of help, but it was true -- she did already
know the worst of this.  And she was the least talkative being
he'd ever met.  Hortas were more chatty than this one.

He did need a place to hide, to keep himself from prying eyes. 
And while he despised the telepathic invasion of privacy that had
already taken place, it had indeed already happened, and he might
as well accept it and move on.

Q nodded grandly, still performing for his unseen audience.  "If
you must.  I can't stop you."

Sanaharrar paced along, leading him inside.

As soon as he entered the room, Q's facade eroded.  His posture
slumped, and his face deanimated, like a puppet sinking to the
floor.

Q ignored Sanaharrar completely.  He could order her to leave,
but even if he had considered it ridiculous to get her to leave her
own quarters, which he didn't, he knew that she'd simply curl up
outside, and still eavesdrop on the whole thing.  There was no
point in protesting.  All he could do was overlook it.

He sank down onto one of the overstuffed pillows Sanaharrar
apparently used in place of furniture, curling up on himself in a
welter of self-pity.

Naomi had driven him out.  She hated him, had said so most
vehemently.  The only person he could truly call his friend, the
only person he trusted, had thrown him out and said she never
wanted to see him again.

Tears started leaking from his eyes, and Q curled up more
tightly, wanting to shut the whole world out.  Unhappiness ran
through him, chasing out the lingering remnants of sexual
frustration and replacing them with a bottomless despair.

The Continuum had thrown him out as well.  His own family had
gotten rid of him, never wanted to see him again.  Why should a
friend be any different?  How could Naomi love him more than
his own family did?

He was worthless, useless and entirely pitiable, and Q couldn't
think of one good reason why he should continue living.

His indisputable ineptitude at sex didn't make things any easier
for him.  Naomi had obviously been pretending to like what he
was doing all along out of some misplaced sense of charity. 
Finally, her real feelings had come out, and the revelation was
that he was just as bad as he had always feared.  And being
rejected hurt even worse than he had imagined it would.

He certainly wasn't going to make *that* mistake again.  Some
trivial whim of his body was not worth this kind of result.

His hands curled up into balls, and he felt himself crying.  He
sobbed whole-heartedly now, uncaring of the impression he was
making.  All that mattered was that he hurt and there was nothing
he could do about it, nothing he could ever do about it.  He was
helpless, as helpless as he had never been before becoming
human, as helpless as he had always been since.

Love was a pathetic emotion and Q would never feel such a
thing, but the lack of it was shattering.  Relationships were so
hard.  Everything about being human was so hard.  Their lives
looked so petty and small from above, hardly worth paying
attention to, but from this perspective, being human was the
hardest thing he'd ever done or tried to do.  Q imagined that
going into the Heart of the Storm and coming out sane again
would be easier than this.  It would almost have to be.  Nothing
could be worse than this.

Q didn't know how humans did it, how they survived this
constant buffeting, this continual reaching out and inevitable
rejection.  The stark bleakness of his life hit him full force then,
as he thought of how Naomi had rejected him, and Q doubled
over, racking sobs shaking him.  He *really* couldn't do this. 
Not for another ten or twenty years, not for another day.

A large, furred shape insinuated itself under his cheek, and Q
accepted the comfort without even thinking, too involved in his
own grief to even question the intrusion.

Q buried his face in Sanaharrar's ruff, crying helplessly and
hopelessly into her fur as she purred comfortingly to him.

After a long time, Q regained awareness of his surroundings,
gradually becoming aware that he had one arm wrapped around a
rather large, dangerous attack cat, and that he was clinging to this
predator like a small child holding onto its mommy.

Q pulled away from Sanaharrar as soon as he realized what he
was doing.  A small part of him felt lonely then, but Q ignored
that weakness.

He was pathetic.  Mooning over some mortal female.  Naomi was
hardly worth all this melodrama.

Sanaharrar curled around Q, head coming to rest in his lap, a
heavy welcome weight.  He could feel her purring against his
back.

Absently, Q stroked her head, taking a subconscious reassurance
from that touch, not quite realizing what he was doing.  He didn't
know what to do next.  He couldn't go back to his quarters.  He
didn't want to face Naomi.  Not now.  Perhaps not ever.

But he had to do something.  He couldn't just hide.  That would
be entirely inappropriate.  It didn't fit his self-image, cowering in
the darkness because some female had rejected him over some
pointless physical activity.  That just wasn't his style.

He had to do something.  Something which would definitely and
beyond a doubt point out the error of her ways to Naomi.  Some
fitting revenge.

A truly inspired idea began to dawn in Q's head.  He had just the
plan.

He disentangled himself from Sanaharrar and went into the
bathroom.  His face was a mess, his eyes swollen and red.  There
was a slightly shocked, vulnerable look around his eyes, a
weakness Q couldn't stand.  Anyone could see at a glance that
he'd been crying.  That wouldn't do at all.

Q started making a mental list of what he'd need to prepare
himself before he could go out into public again and put his plan
into action.

****

Naomi paced the length of the room again.  It had been over five
hours since Q stalked out.  It was now late in the shift, early into
the next one.  Wee hours of the morning by her standards.  And
he hadn't come back.

She'd put off looking for him, reasoning that he deserved his
privacy, and that he couldn't get into too much trouble on the
starbase.  And surely Sanaharrar was with him.  She'd keep him
from doing anything desperate.  Once Naomi started off a search
for Q, she wouldn't be able to keep it quiet, and Q would loathe
her for that.

She didn't need him any more angry with her than he already
was.

Naomi conceded that Q deserved to be mad at her.  She'd been
furious at him, but as soon as the frustrated desire drained out of
her body, all she'd been left with was a feeling that she'd just
done something very very wrong.

Q had been teasing her, that was all.  She'd made it quite clear
before that she liked sexual teasing, that it excited her.  Which
was true enough.  And he'd picked up on that.  It was a major
stride on his part to actually pay attention to something she liked
and try to do it again.  

But this time it had backfired in a major way.  Q had tried to
tease her, but had taken it way too far, beyond an unspecified
point, and when he finally finished teasing and moved onto the
main course, her body couldn't respond.  All she'd felt was pain.

And a frustrated sense of desire that was like the worst anger
she'd ever known.  Naomi had yelled at him, almost bodily
thrown him out of the bed, and Q had left, stalked off in a huff,
as a matter of fact.

And he deserved to be angry.  There was no question about that. 
As much as it had been his fault that she felt that way, he was
hardly the experienced one.  How was he supposed to know when
she'd had too much?  Tricorder readings?  

And yelling at him was over the top.  She hadn't been able to
help herself, but she did know better than that, did know that was
precisely the wrong approach to take with Q.

Now that she was rational again, she wanted to apologize to him,
would apologize.  If he ever came home.

Naomi tapped her foot.  This was too much.  She was going to
do something about it.

"Computer, location of Q?"

"That information is classified."

Naomi's brow furrowed.  That was a first.  She'd never heard
that message before.  On the other hand, she'd never tried to
actually find Q that way before.  It made sense in a certain sort
of way.  After all, if an assassin could track Q down simply by
asking the computer, it did make things a whole lot easier than
there was any need for.  

Now what?  Naomi supposed she could call Security and ask, but
that was an action hardly guaranteed to endear her with Q, who
wouldn't appreciate Security poking into his life.

Giving her the information was hardly a risk to Q, but for her to
request access now was to tell the world that she *needed* that
information.  Naomi wouldn't do that; it just wasn't an option,
even though it was the easier path to take.

She *could* wait until he came back on his own.  After all, he
*did* live there.  Eventually he had to come back.  At least,
that's what she hoped.

Of course, there could be another way at the information. 
"Computer, location of Sanaharrar."

"Sanaharrar is in Lieutenant Roth's quarters."

Naomi smiled grimly.  There was a hole in *that* program wide
enough to pilot a starship through.  But since it was to her
benefit, she wasn't going to complain too much, although she
should probably make a note of it for future reference.  That had
been much too easy.  Security needed to know about that.

Q was with Harry then.  A brief flash of jealousy stirred over
her, but Naomi banished that immediately.  Harry knew she'd kill
him if he tried anything.  And Q was probably safer there than
anywhere else.

She checked the time.  It was very late, or very early, depending
on how you looked at it.  If Q were following his usual routines,
he'd be long since asleep.  The idea of him sleeping with Harry
didn't make her particularly happy, but it was the most logical
conclusion, even if Harry really should know better.  There was
no reason to barge in and wake Q up.  He'd only be irritated
further by that.  This could wait until morning.

She stood up and stretched.  The problem was, she wasn't in the
least bit tired.  She was too obsessed and anxious to be tired.

But there wasn't anything else she could do, and it *was* late. 
Naomi padded into her room, and changed for bed, and then
stood there, looking at the bed in the dim light.  She didn't want
to be *here*.  She looked up, towards Q's room.  She couldn't
remember when he hadn't been here.

She swallowed hard, and laid down, pulling her pillow to her and
clutching it tightly.  

She had to think of other things if she were ever going to get to
sleep.  Fun things, irrelevant things, things that had nothing to do
with her life.

But nothing was coming to her.  All she could think about was Q. 
Why he was where he was right now.  What had happened
between them this evening.  If he hated her.  For some reason,
the most disastrous scenarios kept coming to her head, with Q
putting the worst possible spin on events in each one of them.

She rolled over, trying to get comfortable, but it was impossible. 
The thoughts followed her wherever she went, and tangled in the
sheets, making every position untenable.

After an endless time of half-formed anxieties floating through
her mind, mixing with the beginning of dream images, Naomi
finally fell asleep.

Her nightmares were far worse than her anxieties had been.

She was in bed with Q again, only this time it was her tormenting
him; Naomi a helpless observer in her own head, as she
mercilessly drove Q past the point of control, and he begged,
looking up at her with sad, broken eyes.

And then the scene changed, and Harry was there, looking at her
reproachfully, and Naomi felt ashamed for what she'd done.  And
Q was huddling into Harry's arms, sobbing like a small child. 
And Naomi felt even lower and more despicable than before.

Naomi moaned in her sleep, dreams chasing her even as she
attempted to flee, but it was no use.  They followed her wherever
she tried to run.

She kept half-waking up, then falling back to sleep, until finally
Naomi simply gave up.  She gathered herself up grimly,
adrenaline driving her more than anything else.  She still needed
to sleep; she'd only had at the most, five hours.  But there was
no way she could stay in bed any longer.

The exhaustion was horrible; nausea clogging her throat, and an
inviting blackness hovering just out of sight.  Her eyes were
gritty and she was having trouble keeping her balance.  But she
felt wired, on the edge, and she knew there was no way she could
go back to sleep until she resolved this.  One way or the other.

Naomi got dressed, then made her way out, down the hall.  She
knew exactly where she was going.  Part of her said she should
let this rest, that Q was going to be in no mood to talk to her, not
after the night he'd have.  But it was technically early morning
now.  If he were sticking to his usual sleeping routine, he'd have
been awake for half an hour by now.  Naomi doublechecked the
time, not quite believing it.  Even earlier than she thought.

Harry answered the door.  "Come."

Naomi walked through.  Harry and Q were sitting at the table,
eating a very intimate little breakfast for two.

Her fists clenched at her sides.  This was all very innocent. 
There was no reason for her to feel jealous because Q preferred
Harry's company over her own, no reason to be upset at all.

Q leaned over to Harry, saying something she couldn't hear.  His
posture was very casual and relaxed.  He laid a hand on Harry's
arm, and Naomi tensed inside at the intimacy of that gesture. 
Nothing was going on.  She was overreacting.

"Naomi," Q acknowledged.

Naomi looked at Harry.  "This is private."

Q looked over at Harry.  "No, it's not."

Harry looked between the two of them.  It was obvious to him
that there was some sort of problem here.  When Q had showed
up on his doorstep, Harry hadn't really thought about it.  When
God drops manna from heaven, questioning the source would be
rather rude.  And Q's manner had been at all times flirtatious and
polished.  Not at all like what Harry would have expected to see
from someone having relationship problems.  Certainly not like
what *he* behaved like when he had problems.  On the other
hand, Naomi's attitude now clearly suggested otherwise.

He and Q had stayed up late, discussing the vagaries of life, with
a particular emphasis on the many peculiarities of Starfleet
officers.  Harry had gotten rather drunk; he didn't remember
going to bed.  But he'd woken up alone, on the couch, so he
must have passed out at some point.  Either that or Q had
deliberately gotten him drunk in order to steal the bed.  Which
was entirely possible.

Harry got up.  "I... I have to... wash my hair.  Yes, that's it,
wash my hair."

Q looked at him affectionately.  "You already did that, Harry. 
Or don't you remember?"

Harry was puzzled by Q's intimate tone, but he knew he needed
to get out of here.  Getting in between Naomi and Q was not
something he wanted to do under any circumstances.  "Umm... I
didn't do a good job the first time.  I'm going to..." he
stammered, then gave up making any explanation at all, broke
off, and fled.

Naomi waited until Harry had left the room to speak.  "I wanted
to apologize for what happened earlier."

"How touching.  The rejected lover, begging for forgiveness," Q
said, sarcasm lacing his voice.

"I haven't been able to sleep.  I had to find you and say I was
sorry for what I did," Naomi said, looking straight at him, trying
to convince Q of her sincerity.  "I didn't mean to hurt you; I...
lost control."

Q ignored the last part of that.  He didn't want to talk about what
had happened, or think about it either.  It was too painful a topic
for him.  So he fell back on his favorite standby -- Naomi's
appearance.  "I can tell.  You look positively haggard."

Naomi raised an eyebrow.  "Thank you," she said dryly.

"Ghoulish even.  You really should consider wearing makeup
occasionally.  Bags under the eyes are not generally considered to
be attractive."  Q was beginning to enjoy himself.

Naomi sagged a little further.  She was too tired for repartee. 
She'd found Q, and he was unreceptive to her.  She didn't know
what else to do.  She'd apologized, and apparently that wasn't
good enough.  She didn't know what would be, and she couldn't
think well enough to figure out a new strategy to take with him. 
He could run circles around her at the moment, and she knew it. 
"I truly am sorry."

"I've never seen anyone who looked sorrier."

Naomi sighed, then swayed forward, too exhausted to hold
herself straight.  "Listen, don't... don't do anything drastic, will
you?"

Her voice was plaintive, and very serious.  Q couldn't help but
be touched by her question, even as he was insulted that she'd
think she mattered so much to him that he'd actually kill himself
just because they had a little tiff.  "I promise not to shave my
head and dye my skin purple."

Naomi smiled weakly.  "That too."  She looked at him, studying
the casual way he sat there, as if this meant nothing at all to him. 
Maybe it didn't.  She couldn't know.   

Leaning forward, Naomi kissed Q lightly on the forehead before
he could stop her.  "I'll see you later then.  Good night."

"Night?"

"Morning.  Whatever."  Naomi turned, and unsteadily walked out
of the door, leaving Q behind her in Harry's quarters.  She was
making too big a fuss over this.  Q didn't know anything about
human relationships.  He probably thought fighting and breaking
up and then making up and starting all over again was normal. 
Plus, he actually *liked* conflict.  She was just being a ninny. 
On the other hand, he could decide that relationships were just
too much trouble, and give up on them altogether.  That was
equally likely.  Naomi sighed, head sagging slightly.

What else could she do?  Besides the slightly melodramatic idea
of passing out in Harry's quarters, there really wasn't anything
else she *could* do.  

Naomi made her way to the lab.  Might as well get some work
done.  She *was* awake, after all.

****

"Do I want to know what that was all about?" Harry asked,
emerging from the bathroom, his hair wet.

Q studied him carefully.  "Your hair looked better before.  The
wet style... it does nothing for you."

"With the water on, I couldn't hear anything you were saying,"
Harry said wryly.  "It seemed like the smart thing to do."

Q regarded him carefully.  Harry was showing entirely too much
insight into that little interchange with Naomi.  He stretched out
an arm casually to the table, picking up a croissant.  "Smart? 
Are you becoming *cautious*, Harry?"

Harry surveyed the elegant scarecrow sitting at his table and
shook his head.  Sometimes it was hard to remember that Q was
human.  He *looked* human enough, a thin but still attractive
man, his features drawn fine with stress and exhaustion.  But
everything in his manner gave the lie to that impression.  If Harry
didn't know better, he'd say there was nothing going on between
Q and Naomi, that Q didn't care for Naomi at all.

Unfortunately, he knew better than that.  Unfortunately because
he would have liked to have Q for himself.  Wistfully, Harry
looked Q over.  There were so many good reasons to want Q. 
On the other hand, Harry wouldn't appreciate being treated the
way Q was treating Naomi right now.  Nope, he wouldn't like
that at all.

"Better cautious than burned," Harry said, lightly, sitting back
down at the table to finish his breakfast.  He'd enjoy Q while he
had him and not wish for things which he shouldn't have.

"Better burned than boring."

Harry picked up his toast.  "Better alive and boring than dead and
used-to-be interesting."

Q raised an eyebrow, feeling challenged.  He set the croissant,
which was only a prop anyway, down.  "Such a limited way of
looking at the state."

Harry took a bite of the toast, then waggled it knowingly at Q. 
"You only say that when you run out of real insults.  You're
admitting I'm right."

"I can hardly admit to something that's never happened," Q said
with a smirk.

Harry grinned back.  "Oh, you say that *now*," he said
flirtatiously.  "That's not what you were saying last night."

A beep sounded, and Harry looked up, his face quickly turning
regretful.  "Time for me to go.  Duty calls and all of that."

"How tedious," Q said.  

"Well, you have to go sometime, too," Harry said.  "Work,
work, work.  Something we all have to do."

Q raised an eyebrow.  "Something *you* have to do, perhaps."

"Well, we're not all valuable Federation resources," Harry said
with a smile.  "I've got to go now."

Which meant he had to as well.  Q knew he could probably get
Harry to let him stay, but that would mean virtually admitting
outright that he was avoiding Naomi.  And Q couldn't do that.

Q stood up, elegant as always, no crumbs on him to brush away. 
Of course, he hadn't actually eaten anything, but that was beside
the point.  "Since you have a regrettable preference for being
alive and boring, I'll seek my amusement elsewhere."

Harry stood up as well, walking Q to the door.  Q turned at the
doorway, and looked down, almost affectionately, at the smaller
man.  "Good bye, Harry."

Harry couldn't help but be affected by Q's presence, so close to
him, all that intelligence and sarcasm rolled up in one person. 
"Next time, you bring the wine, all right?"

"Why should I, when you're the one who gets disgustingly
drunk?"  On that parting note, Q strolled out, leaving Harry
watching behind, looking thoughtful.

Sanaharrar uncurled herself from her position by the door,
stretching out elaborately.  She'd had a nice nap.  She brushed by
Harry, who gave her plenty of room.

After only a few steps, Q realized he had no idea where he was
going.  He couldn't go back to his quarters and face Naomi.  On
the other hand, he could hardly go into the lab and face everyone
who would undoubtably be gossiping about him and where he'd
spent his evening.

The thought galled Q.  There was nothing he hated worse than to
his his life dissected for the pleasure of these lowly creatures. 
They had nothing better to do than to obsess over every detail of
his existence, hounding and harassing him until he had even less
life than when he started.

There was no solution to it, except to avoid people altogether. 
Which he did with a fair degree of success most of the time.

But now what was he supposed to do?

A thought struck him.  Why was he assuming that Naomi was in
their quarters?  With a quick look around to assure that he was
unobserved, Q checked quickly.  "Computer, location of Dr.
Allen."

"Dr. Allen is in the main programming area."

Q smiled with satisfaction.  So it was safe to go home.  He
wouldn't have to confront his nemesis.  A brief stab of
disappointment ran through him, but Q dismissed it immediately. 
He didn't want to see her.  He'd already seen her once already
this morning, and she'd looked a fright.  All she'd had to say was
some meaningless drivel about how sorry she was for what had
happened.

As much as the thought of her begging for his forgiveness
appealed to him, there was no reason for it.  Nothing had
happened.  He'd merely finally seen the truth of how disgusting
the reproductive act was, and taken appropriate action.  He no
longer needed Naomi for that, and if she persisted in being
obsessed by sex, then he would simply have to turn to someone
who was not, such as Harry.  Naomi was entertaining enough at
times to not completely bore him, but she was hardly worth the
trouble he was going through to keep her happy.

Q disregarded all of the facts about what had happened the
evening before.  He couldn't face the thought of his own sexual
inadequacy or of how Naomi had torn a hole in his soul when
she'd thrown him out with the words, "I hate you".  These were
things he couldn't afford to think about, although deep down,
under the rationalizations, he knew them to be true.  But the
truths were too hurtful, too painful, to think on.

Arriving back at his quarters, Q immediately went to his
wardrobe.  Many people, most of them the unimaginative minions
from Starfleet, took their clothes directly from the replicator, and
discarded them immediately after wearing them.  Q couldn't
afford to do that.  Not if he wanted to wear something with any
style.  The replicator was simply not programmed with a wide
variety of styles and patterns, although he'd repeatedly argued the
issue with a number of people.  Finally, Q had given up and
resorted to having clothes made for him, storing them so that he'd
always have something decent to wear, unlike the current drab
rag he had on.

Standing there, amidst all of his brightly colored costumes, Q
almost felt secure.  Here, in his own room, with all of his masks
and protections around him, he was as safe and at home as he
could be.  He sighed deeply, then chose a deep red tunic from the
splendiferous array.  

Color was good.  Color was always good.

****

Naomi trudged back to her quarters, unhappy and exhausted.  It
had been a very long day.  Not only was Farish still hanging
around, making everyone's lives a nuisance, but she'd been too
dragged out to concentrate on her job, and Jinn had picked up on
that immediately, teasing her mercilessly the entire day.

When you added that to Q's disappearance, Naomi just really
didn't want to be here.  She wanted to be dead, or preferably
unconscious for a really long period of time.  Say a week or so.

She rounded the corner, and found Sanaharrar sitting outside the
door.  A shock of wild hope ran through her.  Sanaharrar's
presence could mean only one thing:  Q was back!

Naomi walked through the door, searching for signs of Q's
presence.  She spotted him almost immediately, sprawled casually
on the couch, one booted foot crossed elegantly over the other.

She swallowed a lump, and walked slowly over to him, sinking to
the ground in front of the couch, just looking at him, too many
thoughts chasing their way through her head for her to say
anything at all.

Naomi sighed unhappily, choking on her own thoughts.  He was
back, and he was more formidable than ever, trapped behind that
glassy wall of indifference.  She wanted him to forgive her, to
take her own guilt away even as she wanted to scream at him for
putting her through this.

But as tired as she was, her mind was tangling over all the
possibilities, and Q would find her entirely too easy to reduce to
tears.

Q looked back at her.  Naomi was in even poorer condition than
when he'd seen her this morning.  What was wrong with her? 
Had she no sense at all?  Going around looking like that was an
open invitation to anyone who saw her to drawn their own
conclusions about her emotional state, not to mention how badly
it reflected on him.  Q was about to say something tremendously
cutting, which she richly deserved, when Naomi did something
which startled him to silence.

With another slight sigh, Naomi dropped her head onto the
couch, resting it against his leg, unable to think of anything else
to do.

A hand dropped to her head, stroking her hair.  Naomi's heart
ached at that simple action, tears prickling at her hot eyes.  Yes,
this was right.  Everything was all right now.  He had forgiven
her.

With a sudden rush, all of the tension that had been holding her
together ran out of her body, leaving her feeling heavy-limbed
and weak.  She'd closed her eyes when she'd laid her head down
on the couch, and now there was a dizzying blackness swimming
behind her eyes.  Without any reluctance at all, Naomi
surrendered to that seductive dark.  Everything was all right.  Q
was here, back where he belonged.  She could let go now. 
Everything was fine.

Q waited for Naomi to properly acknowledge his benevolent
gesture.

When she didn't say anything, Q began to get annoyed.  Who did
she think she was anyway?  He'd made an enormous concession
here.  He deserved some recognition for that, a good deal, as a
matter of fact.  He wouldn't have made this kind of sacrifice for
anyone else.

Q stopped stroking Naomi's hair, about to chide her for her lack
of appreciation when he realized with horror that the ungrateful
woman had fallen asleep.

Now what was he supposed to do?

Q stared at Naomi with exasperation.  She was slumped next to
the couch, head resting on it, not quite touching his thigh.  Her
red hair was tousled, and Q smoothed it out with his fingers.

What an annoying woman.  He was of half a mind to just get up
and leave her there.  His hand didn't leave her head, instead
running gently over her silky hair.  She was trusting him to take
care of her, and even as Q was irritated by that, it also made him
absurdly happy.

No one trusted him for anything.  Q ignored the fact that there
was probably a very good reason for that lack of trust.  He was
honored by Naomi's faith in him.

Q considered the problem set before him: how to get Naomi
arranged comfortably without waking her up or doing himself an
injury.

A difficult puzzler, certainly, but he was the most superior
intellect ever incarnated into human form.  He should have no
problems devising a solution to this rather elementary problem. 
Right.

****

Naomi awoke from a very pleasant dream slowly, and with no
real desire to open her eyes.  In her dream, Q had been bending
over, kneeling down next to her.  He'd kissed her softly, then
tucked a blanket around her with careful hands.  Naomi hugged
the dream to herself like a hoarded sweet.  It was only a dream,
not real, but it was the kind of thing that kept the heart alive.

She opened her eyes reluctantly, to find herself lying on the floor,
apparently in front of the large window in the common room of
her and Q's quarters.

Naomi sat up, looking around in confusion, and the blanket that
had been tucked around her fell to the floor.  What was going
on?

Vaguely, she remembered coming in after work yesterday,
finding Q on the couch here, and... doing something...  After
that, it was all vague and fuzzy, memories covered over by
dreams.  Had she fallen asleep right there?  Naomi looked down
at the pillow which had been thoughtfully placed under her head. 
Apparently, she had.  And Q had made her comfortable and let
her sleep there.

Even as her mind was leaping to the next conclusion, Q strolled
out of his room and looked down at her with a patronizing
expression on his face.  "Oh, there you are.  Awake at last.  I
would have thought your stomach would wake you up *hours*
ago.  I can hardly believe you've gone an entire twelve hours
without eating.  This must be a record."

Naomi stared up at him for a minute, looking sleepy and
confused.  "A record?  Twelve hours?"

"Is there an echo in here?" Q asked caustically.  "You've been
asleep for a positively obscene amount of time."

Naomi gathered her wits about her.  Q was in rare form this
morning, and two steps ahead of her, if not two light years. 
"You said something about food?"

"Against my better judgment, yes."

Naomi drew her knees up to her chest, eyes beginning to sparkle. 
"That's what I thought.  I definitely heard food mentioned.  I
need to get something to eat."

Q eyed her with disgust.  "Dressed like that?"

Naomi looked down at herself.  She'd slept in these clothes, but
they were presentable enough.  Jinn had shown up to work
yesterday in something similarly wrinkled.  "What's wrong with
what I'm wearing?"

Q turned his nose up.  "Not only do you lack taste, but you
obviously have no concern for personal hygiene either."

Naomi grinned and stuck her tongue out at him.

Q was taken off guard by that.  She was *supposed* to get
offended and turn on him.

Naomi stood up and sashayed off to her room to shower and
change.  She'd won that one in her opinion.  He hadn't been able
to come up with an effective comeback anyway.  And if she got
out of the room quickly enough, she'd forestall him from being
able to make one at all.

When she came back out, Q was waiting for her.  The makings
of her impromptu bed on the floor in front of the couch had
disappeared, as if Q were doing his best to give her no chance to
comment on the incident.

Naomi ignored it and started ordering food from the replicator. 
She was starved.  She hadn't eaten anything yesterday except for
a snack Jinn had forced on her.  Not out of any concern for her
health, but rather out of the apparent belief that programmers
were fueled by the repeated intake of sugar and caffeine.  Not
that he was wrong, you understand, she just hadn't felt like eating
anything yesterday.

Q watched in horror as the plates piled up.  "You're not actually
going to *eat* all that, are you?"

Naomi turned around, looking from him to the growing spread of
food.  "That was the general idea, yes."  She grinned suddenly,
sitting down.  "Of course, if you wanted something to eat, I
could order extra."

Was she *teasing* him?  Who was she to try to tease *him*? 
Unable to escape without looking like he was fleeing, Q took a
seat across from her.

Naomi speared a few sausages, places two pieces of buttered
wheat toast on her plate and started eating.

Slightly disgruntled, Q glared at her.  She was supposed to hand
*him* a plate.  He didn't want anything to eat, but that didn't
matter.  She hadn't behaved in the way he expected her to, and
he was disappointed.

Naomi finished off that small starter, and started to refill her
plate.  She'd been too hungry to be polite.  She'd come very
close to snacking on the food as it came out of the replicator,
which probably would have horrified Q.

She took more sausage links, as well as some hashbrowns this
time, and was looking speculatively at the strawberries when she
caught Q's gaze on her.  "What?"

Trapped, Q took the first retort that occurred to him, "Merely
nauseated by your overeating."

Naomi speared a sausage link, chewed, and swallowed, all before
responding.  Witty repartee was no reason to miss a good meal. 
"You think this is something?  You should see me when I'm
hungry."

"Please, spare me."

Naomi grinned slightly, and cut off a piece of hashbrown.  "Has
to happen sometime."

Q scowled at her, slumping back a little in his chair.  

Naomi watched him out of the corner of her eye.  There was
something wrong with this picture, although she couldn't quite
figure out what.  She *was* starting to feel rude though, eating
all by herself, with him watching her like that.  Naomi took
another plate, and jumbled a croissant and more sausage on it,
along with a bowl of strawberries in cream, and set it down in
front of Q.

He looked at the plate, visible disgust written across his face. 
"What other perversions of yours are you trying to indoctrinate
me in now?"

"Not the fun ones, unfortunately."

Q looked at Naomi sharply, but by then she wasn't paying any
attention to him, instead obsessed by the issue of precisely how
much brown sugar needed to go on top of her strawberries to
bring out the flavor, without making everything taste like the
sugar.  

Without thinking about it much, and more to give himself
something to do than anything else, Q took his fork, and started
eating.

****

With the issue of Q resolved, and things back to normal between
them, Naomi was free to plan a surprise birthday party for him. 
More or less free.  He kept lurking around, not quite hovering
over her, but very, very close to it.  Naomi didn't quite know
what to make of his behavior.  She and Q were usually together,
but generally they maintained some separation just to give each
other a measure of privacy.  Or rather, Naomi did it to give Q
privacy.  She suspected he just didn't like being around anyone
that much.  

But not today.  Today, he kept brushing by, or sitting just out of
arm's reach, or just pacing right in her line of view.  She
couldn't figure out why he was doing it, and if she hadn't been
involved in a far more absorbing task, it would have driven her
crazy.

As it was, making lists and placing orders was taking up most of
her attention.  The only trick was keeping Q from figuring out
what she was doing.  So far she was succeeding.  She hoped.  If
he found out, that would ruin the good start they'd made today at
renewing their relationship, as well as the party itself.  Naomi
studied the data on her padd again, and tapped it, changing the
display.  As much as a pair of elephants appealed to her as
entertainment, fitting them into the holodeck would probably be
difficult.

She shifted in her seat, glancing at Q out of the corner of her
eye, slightly amused.  If she didn't know better, she'd say he was
doing this deliberately.  But that was impossible.

Q made another circuit of the room, beginning to get a little
angry with Naomi.  Was she never going to be done with
whatever trivial piece of nonsense she was wasting her time on? 
It was time and past time for him to take to his bed, and she was
keeping him from his planned rejection of her.  He couldn't force
the encounter; it had to occur as a result of an advance from her. 
Only then would his rejection hold the proper weight.

Naomi didn't know, of course, that he was going to turn her
revolting seduction attempt down.  She *should* know, but as
dense as she was, there was no question that she had failed to
grasp it.

Which would only make his actual rejection of her all the more
satisfying.  If she would ever finish what she was doing and
seduce him like she was supposed to.

Naomi entered one final set of specifications, smiling a little to
herself as she did so.  This was going to be quite a bash. 
Finished, she stood up and stretched, looking over at Q. 
"Planning to make a late night of it?"

Q hadn't been expecting that.  He didn't know quite what to say. 
He could hardly admit he'd been waiting around for her.  That
would be an extremely humiliating thing to say.  "No, I always
stay up extremely late and ruin my health."

"Of course you do," Naomi said cheerfully, walking over to him. 
"And I only try to get you into bed out of a concern for your
health and a perfectly natural desire to make sure you get more
rest."

Q wanted to say something sarcastic there, but it would have
broken the air he was striving for, one of lordly disdain, and so
he didn't.  Instead, he waited for Naomi to make a fatal,
betraying move.

Naomi knew that Q seemed to be in a bad mood for some reason,
but she had no idea why.  Yes, they'd fought only the day before,
but he'd forgiven her, and so life went on.  Right?

She stopped in front of him, a saucy grin on her face.  "You do
look drawn.  Let me take your pulse."  Naomi reached for Q's
hand, about to make a flirtatious gesture, when Q flicked his
wrist, pulling her hand out of his grasp with contemptuous ease.

"Spare me your endless maunderings on the subject."

Naomi drew back, hurt, more by his tone and the look on his
face than anything else.  If it had been a ploy or a joke, she could
have taken it, but the thin line of his lips and the hard angles of
his bespoke a more serious concern.  "What are you talking
about?"

Q started down at her, his lip curling slightly.  "Your need to
express yourself sexually disgusts me.  If you continue to persist
in this wanton manner, you will be discarded."

"What?" Naomi asked, more than a little shocked.

"Pay attention," Q said mockingly.  "I'll put this into terms even
*you* can understand.  You have been entertaining, and as long
as you continue to be entertaining, you serve a purpose, however
small.  But I will not tolerate your continued attempts to pursue
the nauseating act of human reproduction."

"Nauseating?  You didn't seem to find it so nauseating before. 
This is about what happened the night before last, isn't it?"

Q flipped his sleeves down over his gloved hands scornfully.  "A
mere trifle which brought me to realize the innate pointlessness of
the activity."

"And so you're giving up just like that?" Naomi asked, not quite
ready to believe this was really happening.  It had to be some sort
of elaborate joke.

"Giving up implies that this was something I wanted to do, which
it was most emphatically not."  Q sneered down at Naomi, "To
quote one of your human sayings, 'Get a life'."

And with that, he stalked off to his own room, the door closing
behind him.

Naomi stared after Q, unsure how to respond, or even whether to
respond.  She'd thought he'd forgiven her.  He'd accepted her
when she came back to him, had even been extremely considerate
in the way he'd put her to bed.  And Q had behaved in a more or
less normal fashion all day, bantering and insulting her in his
usual way.  This was coming out of the blue.

For lack of anything else to do, Naomi retreated to her own
room.  This was Q's decision, and she had to respect it.  At least
until she could devise an effective tactic to deal with it.

****

Q heard the door close behind him, and let himself relax slightly. 
A small part of him felt sad, and a little lonely that Naomi was
being locked out of his life.  But overall, he was relieved, a great
pressure taken off of him.  She was staying in his life, but he
didn't have to expose himself to that crushing humiliation again. 
The best of both worlds, really.  So why did he feel so unhappy
about it?

****

That evening, not long after Q fell asleep, exhaustion working at
him more than any other one factor to produce that state, he
dreamed.  

It was a time a little further into the future, although not by
much.  He still hadn't let Naomi back in, but she hadn't left him
yet, and Q felt curiously reassured by that.  In his dream, he
knew she loved him, could *feel* it in a way that never happened
to him in his waking state.  And in the dream, he didn't mind
that knowledge, even cherished it.  She was his, and would
always be there, and nothing could be too wrong with his life as
long as she was around.

And then she went off one afternoon to do some rock climbing.

Anderson found him in his quarters, composing a rebuttal to some
scientist's remarkably accurate guess about the universe actually
being a colossal joke by someone with a bad sense of humor. 
The man was right, but if Q allowed this theory to continue, it
would spoil the punch line which, although he couldn't *quite*
bring it to mind at the moment, he knew as well as he knew his
own self.

Her expression was somber.  "Q, there's been an accident."

"You mean they've finally given you a promotion?  My
congratulations."

Anderson didn't flinch.  "It's Naomi.  She's dead."

For a moment, Q couldn't take it in.  Anderson's words seemed
to echo off the walls though, repeating themselves endlessly in his
head.  He didn't believe it, couldn't believe it.  "Show me."

Anderson wordlessly conducted him to Sickbay, then stood by the
bed where Naomi lay, all life gone from her body, white and
broken.

"It was a holodeck accident.  She was apparently running a
rockclimbing simulation.  She was on a ledge, setting her rope
for a rappel, when she lost her balance and fell.  The holodeck's
safety interlocks failed to operate properly.  She died of massive
internal injuries before Li could save her."

Anderson's words barely registered on Q.  He stood next to
Naomi, taking her cold, lifeless hand in his.  All the love had
bleached out of his life, like the color from her skin, and Q was
utterly, utterly alone.

There was no one he could blame.  It had been an accident, a
stupid, pointless accident, not an assassination attempt.  

A vast hole of grief opened up before him, and Q could not avoid
falling in it.  But he did not cry, could not cry.  There was no
one to comfort him, and would never be anyone to comfort him
ever again.  He'd been frightened of so many things, and been so
weak and in need of comfort, and Naomi had given it to him
unstintingly.  Now all those things seemed paltry indeed next to
this one thing.  He'd been terrified of everything, but without
Naomi, there was no need to be terrified of anything; nothing
could eclipse this moment.  No fear could scare him more than
the one thing he'd never thought to be afraid of.  He'd taken
Naomi's continued presence in his life for granted, counting in a
few tiffs and arguments, never considering how death might
render her forever out of his grasp, leaving her always in
possession of the last word.

The world, life itself, had been removed of all that gave it
meaning, all that made it a terror to survive in.  He'd tried to
commit suicide before, thinking his life empty and worthless.  Q
almost laughed then at the naivete of his former self, but he had
no emotion left to laugh with.  He hadn't known what empty was
until he looked at Naomi's dead body and saw only a shell, a
broken husk, where life had been.

Time flipped quickly forward in a series of ink montages with the
lines dripping and running, the scenes tilting crazily, until Q was
standing beside Naomi's coffin, a black shining monument of
good taste to a woman who had none and now would never have
the opportunity to learn any.  

All around him stood the various crew members, scientists and
curious gawkers that made up the population of Starbase 56.  

But they were kept back at a safe remove, Q only vaguely
conscious of familiar faces in the crowd, Harry Roth, Medellin,
Farish.  Only Anderson stood close to Q, her back towards him,
addressing the assembled crowd, speaking a few last words for
Naomi, summing up in dry phrases someone who had been
anything but dull.

All of them were watching him, but Q didn't care.  He had the
largest, most concerned, sympathetic audience he had ever had,
and he didn't care one whit about them, or about performing for
them.  He was dressed from head to toe in stark, unrelieved
black, no hint of color or even design to soften that bleak
impression or to lend him dignity.  He didn't care about that.

With a certain fatalistic vision, Q saw the rest of his days
stretching out in front of him.  No comfort, no peace, only an
emptiness so profound that nothing could ever fill it.  At another
time, he might have considered killing himself, might have
considered sacrificing himself to that void along with her.  It was
an acceptable alternative.  Q knew that death was not a final
ending, but it was an ending to this consciousness, this set of pain
and trials.

And yet, he couldn't give himself over to that hopelessness. 
There was no joy left in life, but there was no fear either.  What
was there left to be afraid of?  What had he ever been afraid of?

Q firmed his stance, holding his place as the ceremony finished,
then walking out solemnly, head high, but eyes blank and
unseeing.  He could die of boredom, but he would ever after be
unable to die of terror or misery.  There was nothing left to be
miserable about.  He'd live out his days as a mortal, get his
powers back, or not, and then die, or not.  The choices were so
simple, the answers so easy when he had nothing riding on them
and no interest in the consequences.

Q passed through the door, vaguely conscious of an itch on his
shoulder.  He couldn't do anything about it, not here, not now,
but even in his grief, he couldn't help but be aware that it itched
*horribly*.  He had to scratch it, had to do something, but he
couldn't seem to do anything about it.  He was stuck, and there
was no way he could reach it and...

With a start, Q woke up.  His shoulder *did* itch, but he wasn't
walking away from a funeral anymore.  He was in his own
quarters, in his own bed, alone.  Instead of being the middle of
the day, it was late into the night, only a dim light illuminating
the room.  He was alone there, as he would always be alone. 
Except... except here and now, Naomi was... alive?

Without stopping to think about it, Q pushed back the covers and
got out of bed.  He had to go see for himself, had to make sure
that she was there, and wasn't gone.  

Q entered Naomi's room quietly, not wanting to wake her, and
stood by the bed.  She was lying there, half-curled around her
pillow, and Q could see her breathing.  She looked exactly the
same as she always had, not made vulnerable by sleep, but simply
Naomi.

With a rush, relief ran over him, leaving him shaking and unable
to stand.  It had only been a dream.  She was alive.  Naomi was
alive.

Q sat on the edge of the bed, needing that stability to keep
himself from falling over.  Exhaustion wasn't helping his balance,
or lack thereof.  

He felt a sob clogging his throat as he watched her sleep.  With a
tentative hand, Q reached out to Naomi, needing to touch her. 
His hand brushed lightly against her tangled red hair, then down
to her cheek, touching that warm, living skin with something akin
to reverence.

Naomi was startled into wakefulness by someone tickling her
cheek.  She muttered incoherently, then opened her eyes to figure
out what was going on here.  Was she dreaming?  Q was sitting
on the bed, bending over her, and he was... crying?

Without a word, or even a request for explanation, Naomi
accepted this apparition, reaching up to Q, and tugging him
down.  Q went along with her without any resistance, lying next
to her and burying his head in her shoulder.  His arms went
around her, holding her tightly to him, and if Naomi hadn't been
awake already, she would have been awake then.

She said nothing, simply accepted his need, one hand coming up
to cradle the back of his head, as she shut her eyes and let herself
drift back into sleep, chin tucked against his head.  She didn't
know what was going on, and she was too tired to figure it out. 
Q needed her, and she could give him that.  The day was a time
for talking, not the middle of the night.

The next morning, when Naomi woke up, Q was gone.  Nothing
remained behind to betray his presence.  It could all have been a
very strange, wish-fulfillment dream, but Naomi knew better. 
That had been real; that had happened.  Q *had* come to her in
the middle of the night, and *had* slept with her.

Naomi got ready for the day, changed, and came out into the
common room, where Q was sitting in front of the window,
Sanaharrar curled up at his feet.

"Contemplating something?" Naomi asked by way of announcing
her presence.

Q didn't look around.  "Nothing I could ever explain to someone
of your limited mental powers."

"Of course not."  Naomi walked around the end of the couch to
where she could see Q.  He didn't look up at her, so she had the
luxury of staring at him.  His face was remote, not cold, but
focussed someplace distant.  He was wearing one, or rather
several, of his formal outfits, long dark trousers, a dark shirt, a
lighter tunic, and then a deep blue robe over it all.  Obviously, he
was going someplace.

She had been considering broaching the subject of his middle of
the night visit, but given his demeanor, Naomi didn't think that
was a good idea.  He didn't seem approachable at the moment
and, whatever the reason that had brought her to him, Naomi
didn't want to remind Q of it if it had been something bad.  He
didn't need to be reminded of negative things.

On the other hand, that didn't mean that she had to ignore him
altogether.

Without saying a word, Naomi sat down on the couch, curling
herself up against Q's side, head resting against his arm, hands
going up to his chest.

Q didn't look down at her, simply shifted his posture, turning
towards her and letting her slide more closely against him, not
quite accepting her but not rejecting her either.

For a brief moment, Q seemed to welcome her comfort, head
almost sagging to touch hers, body softening in its harsh lines to
allow her comforting.

But then he stiffened again, not quite physically pushing her
away, but removing himself from her as effectively as if he had
done so.

Naomi pulled back from him to give him room, looking up at Q
as he stood, her eyes wide and expression sad.

"I... need to go," Q said, words clipped.  "I have an appointment
with dear Nian."

"Yes, of course," Naomi said gracefully, trying not to let her
unhappiness show.

Q looked down at her for a moment, seeming as though he was
about to add something to that, but then he turned and left the
room, Sanaharrar rising to follow at his heels.

Naomi took a pillow and hugged it to her.  She didn't understand
Q, didn't know what was going on.  He needed her, she could
tell that plainly; his midnight visit could signify nothing else. 
And a moment ago, on the couch, he'd accepted her, if only for a
brief instant.  But only for a second.  And then he'd pushed her
away again.

It was as if he needed her, but didn't want to need her.  Naomi
didn't know what, if anything, to do about that, although she was
sure his declaration of his total and complete revulsion to sex the
night before had something to do with it.  She stared at the fringe
on her pillow, and her expression was troubled.

****

That night, Naomi was almost asleep when a weight settled itself
on the edge of her bed and then tentatively laid down next to her. 
Naomi opened her eyes and glanced at Q, who was very carefully
not looking at her.  Without a word, she went into his arms,
settling against him with a small sigh.

His arms went around her, holding her close, almost desperately,
as though he needed this more than he needed to breathe.

Naomi laid there for a moment, listening to his heartbeat,
knowing that Q was never going to explain himself.  Hesitantly,
her voice soft, she spoke.  "You don't have to be afraid of me.  I
know you don't want to make love with me.  I... I'm not going
to do anything like that.  You're safe with me.  I mean it."

Q didn't lessen his hold.  Her words terrified him.  She was
verbalizing things that he didn't want to have made real in that
way.  He wanted to run, but the tantalizing, seductive possibility
that she was holding out to him held him in place.  What if what
she was saying were true?  What if he could have this but not
have to suffer the agonies and humiliation of sex?

"You're lying, you can't possibly mean that, and even if you did,
I wouldn't want to have anything to do with it," Q said, hand
brushing her shoulderblade gently.

"I'm not lying, I mean it, and why not?  Are you afraid of me?"

"Any sane person would be."

"Oh, so you're claiming to be sane now," Naomi said lightly, not
offering to move away from him.

"Not in any way you ridiculous humans could recognize as
sanity," Q said.

"Of course not.  We're all completely bonkers." Naomi replied. 
"Now go to sleep.  It's late."  She closed her eyes and nestled
herself more comfortably in the curve of his arm, feeling happy
that he was even there, the solidness of his chest under her cheek
giving her a sense of security.

Q looked down at her, easily able to make her out in the dim
light of the room.  He didn't know quite what to think.  And he
didn't want to examine his motives too deeply, aware that he
could easily find a number of reasons why he should be doing
anything but this.  Yet, it felt right.  And it wasn't humiliating or
distressing in the least.  He was fully clothed, and he hadn't had
to do one disgusting thing.  There was something to be said for
that.

He closed his eyes, and let himself relax, feeling at home again
as he had not for a while now.  Last night, in desperation, he had
reached out to Naomi and realized that this was something he
needed, and that he was a fool for shutting her out, for shutting
out the one thing that gave his life color.  This had turned out
even better than he had expected.  He *could* have Naomi and
not have to participate in that horrible, disgusting, perverted,
revolting act.

If he wanted to.

A stray thought whispered treacherously through his mind, and Q
caught it and stuffed it back where it had come from.  He didn't
have erotic desires.  No one could possibly want to do that, to be
yelled at and beaten on and humiliated in that way.

Uh huh.  Yeah, right.

With a final mental effort, Q cleared his thoughts, concentrating
on nothing at all until he finally fell asleep.

****

The situation continued like that over the course of the next week,
at a complete stalemate, neither party moving forward or
backward, deadlocked in a battle of wills that neither wanted to
fight.  Having just a little of what they both needed and wanted
was almost worse than having none at all.  Their furtive nighttime
behavior was matched with a complete daytime separation, with
Q as the unyielding enforcer.  It made no sense to Naomi. 
Despite her promise to him, she didn't see why he was avoiding
touching her or avoiding speaking to her as much as possible so
diligently during the day.  What kind of threat did he think she
was?  It was almost enough to drive her off into some sort of
separate activity to get away from him and what he was doing to
the both of him, except that he very obviously needed her and
couldn't stand having her out of his sight for more than a few
minutes at a time.  Naomi accepted it, but something *had* to be
done about it.

Naomi had decided that the best approach would be to go ahead
and throw the party, which was planned for that night.  A
dramatic gesture like that might well convince Q of her sincerity. 
Anyone else would just toss it off as a gesture, but Q liked that
kind of thing, understood them as a form of communication. 
Maybe that, combined with a well-timed proposal, would reach
him.  

The lack of sex was not what was bothering her.  She could do
without sex; had done without it, in fact, for a long period of
time before Q had appeared on her personal horizon.  But Q's
behavior bothered Naomi.  Something was eating its way out of
him, something bitter and acidic, and she could almost watch him
deteriorating in front of her.  This couldn't all be over sex. 
Could it?

Naomi watched as Q walked back into the room, seemingly even
more gaunt and haggard than usual.  Even as her heart went out
to him, and she wanted to go to him and put her arms around him
and comfort him, Naomi knew she needed to prick a hole in that
vast self-absorption.  He'd never forgive her if she took him to
the party looking like that.

Q saw Naomi perched on the arm of the couch, and his mind
noted that down automatically, part of him relieved that she was
still there, part of him upset by it.  He shuddered as he recalled
one of his dreams from the night before, yet another erotic
fantasy.  Q shut it away as quickly as he could, stomping the
memory down.  He didn't want to think about sex.  He had no
interest in that petty pastime of mortals with nothing else better to
do.

"Are you going out looking like *that*?" Naomi asked.

Q looked down at his clothing.  Serviceable, although the peacock
blue silk tunic really wasn't something he would have wanted
anyone but Naomi to see him in.  "Since I'm not going out, the
argument is irrelevant."

"You're not?" Naomi asked, seemingly puzzled, then a light
dawning on her face.  "Of course, why would you want to?  I'll
just go by myself.  I even have an outfit all picked out."

"With your abominable taste, I'm sure you'll be a laughingstock
wherever you choose to go," Q retorted quickly, hurt that she'd
go somewhere without him.  Anywhere would be a diversion
from staring at these walls, and at her, and thinking those
thoughts...

Naomi hopped off the couch.  "You're perfectly right.  But I
suppose I'll have to wear it, in lieu of my ever acquiring fashion
sense."

Q followed her into her room, unconscious of the connotation of
entering her bedroom, and unwilling to let her that far away from
him, even if he'd considered the implications.  He had more
important things to think about at the moment.  Like Naomi's
complete and utter lack of taste.

Stepping over to the bed, Naomi picked up the dress laid there
and held it up to herself.  "What do you think?"

"Give it a merciful death," Q said.

Naomi looked down at the shapeless blue and orange striped
garment, which she had specifically picked with the purpose of
annoying Q into helping her.  "But I like it!"

"Then why don't you put some sugar on it and eat it?"

Naomi grinned at him.  "Too many calories."

"Pity."  

"Think you could find something better?"

Q scoffed and turned away, and began rummaging through
Naomi's own wardrobe, which consisted mainly of fashion
monstrosities, and things he'd gotten for her, which were as out
of place as Rodins amid Ferengi "artwork".

Naomi took a seat on the bed, watching Q's progress with an
amused grin.  After a minute, he came up with the one outfit she
never wanted to be seen in again, especially not here.

"Oh, no," Naomi, said, backing away from him, as far as the bed
would allow.  "I'm *not* going to wear *that*."

Q looked at the tunic to the page's costume which he held in his
hands.  She hadn't seen it since they'd gotten back from their
vacation to Dharvi's.  "It's the perfect choice."

"You don't even know what this is for."

Q draped the tunic over his arm, and turned around to pull out
the rest of the outfit.  "It hardly matters.  This is a far better
choice than anything you would have worn."

There was sacrifice, and then there was sacrifice.  Was this
something she was willing to do to make him happy?  Naomi
looked at the costume, and back at Q, who was turned around
and couldn't see her.  Apparently so.  

Q fished the rest of the outfit out, and laid it all down next to
Naomi.  She picked unhappily at the tunic with its low top and
even shorter hem.  "If I have to wear this in public, to a party,
everyone will see me, and I'll never live it down."

"You're going to a party?" Q was outraged.  She was going to go
off and do one of his favorite things, and he hadn't been invited,
hadn't even *heard* about it.

"Yes."  Naomi looked up at Q, trying to hold onto her
unhappiness, as an alternative to breaking out into a giveaway
grin.  "I... I don't know if I can do it though.  Unless..."

"Unless what?  They have food?" Q asked sarcastically.

Naomi bit her lip to restrain a laugh, then shook her head sadly. 
"Unless you wanted to come with me.  But I know you wouldn't
want to do anything with me."

She made a very pitiful picture sitting there amid the spill of
brightly colored clothes.  There was a certain validity to her
statement.  When he was with her, he started having *thoughts*,
horrible, vile erotic thoughts about her, and about things she had
done.  He hated Naomi for causing him to think things like that,
and couldn't stand the pressure of being around her, wanting her,
not wanting to want her and being desperately afraid of losing his
self-control.  But he couldn't let her too far away from him, or he
started having even more horrible visions of her lying broken and
lifeless in Sickbay.  The pull between the two was driving him
crazy.

However, Q really did want to get out of here.  And at a party,
he could circulate, talk to other people, even get his mind off of
her, while still having Naomi within close reach.  It was the
perfect excuse, and he wasn't going to turn it down.

Grandly, Q said, "I suppose I could lower myself to that level
and deign to put in an appearance."

"Really?" Naomi asked in a plaintive voice.

Q narrowed his eyebrows.  Was she going to cry?  "You don't
believe me?"

Naomi swallowed her amusement.  It had worked, and now she
had to get him ready in time, without giving anything away.  "I
believe you.  It's just that the party's in an hour, and I didn't
think you could be ready in time."

Q sniffed.  "Your opinion of me is undeserved and irrelevant. 
I'll be ready before you are, and presenting a considerably more
elegant appearance."

"Probably true," Naomi agreed.  She stood up, that action placing
her within a few inches of him.  

Q looked down at Naomi, so close to him he was able to smell
roses.  Running was out of the question; Q would never even
think of such a thing as running away from a confrontation.  But
he couldn't stand the way she stood there, within his reach, but
not within his grasp, tempting him with things he shouldn't,
couldn't, didn't want to have.  

Naomi had expected Q to step back, to give her room.  Instead,
he just stood there, looking down at her with his intense dark
eyes, trapping her like a fly in amber.  Knowing it was the wrong
thing to do, and completely unable to stop herself from doing it,
Naomi reached out to him, placing her hands flat against his
chest.

Q stiffened under her touch, the simple action sending a wave of
sensation throughout him.  He couldn't bear it, couldn't bear to
let her know how affected he was by such a little thing.

"You really should consider taking a shower.  You smell
repulsive," Q said.

Naomi dropped her hands, shocked.

Confident that his secret had been preserved, and his reputation
maintained, Q strode out.

Naomi watched him go, the door closing behind him.  What an
evil minded wretch!  How dare he?  That was just blatantly
untrue and cruel besides.  How could he, why *would* he say
something like that?

Immediately, the answer occurred to her, and Naomi smiled
foolishly.  He was trying to defend himself against her.  And why
would he need to defend himself against her?  The only thing she
had done was stand close to him and touch him.  The only thing,
and apparently a threatening thing.  And why would it be
threatening?  If he hated it, he could just back away.  But no, he
had to cut her ego into little shreds and serve it up to her as a
midday snack.  Which meant she had really gotten to him.  And
if she were really getting to him, maybe she had a chance.

Naomi picked up the tunic and scowled at it.  She still didn't
know if this was worth wearing *this* outfit again.  This was the
one Q had picked out for her when they were pulling one over on
the customs official at the space station on the way to visit
Dharvi.  She hated it, hated everything about it.  It was short,
skimpy, the cloak she had to wear over it caught on everything,
and the clasp of the cloak looked like some sort of slave collar. 
Naomi dropped the tunic to the bed, then looked up and glared at
the door.  Q wasn't interested in sex?  Hah!  

Nonetheless, this was what he'd picked out, and she really didn't
have much choice about it.  It *was* suitable for a party, and she
couldn't be late for this event.  She had to be right on time, in
fact, which was going to be a challenge, given Q's predilection
for being late to everything.  Too early, and they'd run right into
the other guests.  Too late, and they'd not only keep everyone
waiting, but possibly run into stragglers who might give the
whole thing away.  No, this had to be executed with the precision
of a military maneuver if she hoped to get away with it.

Naomi got ready quickly, still grumbling as she pulled on the
hose and fastened the cloak.  "Disgusted by sex?  I don't *think*
so."

She walked out into the common room, where Q was indeed, not
ready or waiting.  She stuck her head inside his door.  "Aren't
you ready *yet*?"

Q was dressed, seated in front of the mirror.  "Fine, you go on
ahead without me.  I understand looking like a day-old corpse is
in fashion these days."

Naomi took that as an invitation to come in, and stepped inside,
walking over to stand behind him.  She looked at her reflection in
the mirror.  "At least you can see my actual face."

"You're assuming anyone would want to see your face."

Naomi stuck her tongue out at his reflection.  "Not funny."

Q studied himself carefully.  No hint of any vulnerability
remained on his face.  He looked formidable, intimidating and
unassailable.  Perfect.  "Sit down."

Naomi backed away.  "Oh, no, you don't.  I look just fine the
way I am."

Q stood up, towering over her.  "You can humiliate yourself with
your unattractive pallor, but if you want to go with me to this
party, you have to meet higher standards."

Naomi arched an eyebrow at that.  If *she* wanted to go with
*him*?  He was supposedly the tagalong here.  But she did want
him to go, so...  Naomi sank down onto the seat, settling her
hands into her lap.  "I'm only doing this under protest, you
know.  I'm already dolled up like some bizarre sex toy.  The
makeup is only going to make it worse."

Q looked quizzically at her, thin lips arching in a sneer.  "Sex
toy?  Really, Naomi.  You must get out more."

"Or get *in* more," Naomi retorted smoothly.

Q ignored her, bending over her to brush something on her face. 
Naomi tried not to sneeze.  "Wouldn't this be easier if you were
sitting down and I was standing up?"

Q brushed a fingertip across her lips to signal her to keep quiet.  

Naomi stared at him, transfixed by that gesture.

"Good, stay like that," Q said, completely oblivious to anything
except how the cosmetics looked on Naomi's face.  She kept
quiet and let him work, and Q finished in a few minutes, due to
the ease of long practice.  "Much better."

Naomi looked at the mirror, and sighed deeply.  "How do you do
it?  I never look like that unless you're involved."

Q preened, flattered.  "Artistry."

She looked at her reflection, for once not cute at all, but elegant,
even sophisticated.  She'd never be beautiful, but if anyone could
accomplish it, she was sure that the person was Q.  "You won't
get any disagreement from me."  Naomi stood up, shaking out
her cloak.  "Shall we go?"

He nodded, pulling on his gloves.  Naomi took his arm when he
was ready, and Q accepted it.

****

Naomi brought them to a halt outside of the holodeck, nervous. 
This was the part she was worried about.  Jinn had assured her
that he would carry his part out flawlessly.  He was supposed to
be monitoring their arrival via the computer, and then announce it
so that everyone would be ready to yell out the traditional
"Surprise!".  It was a very simple task, but Naomi didn't quite
trust Jinn.  He could be a lot of fun, but reliable he was not.

The door opened, and they walked in.

Naomi barely had time to register an impression of the room,
decorated exactly as she had imagined it, and large numbers of
people occupying it, before suddenly all of them were yelling in
unison, "Surprise!"

She felt Q recoil, and held more tightly onto his arm.  He
glanced down at her, his expression unreadable.

The group burst out into a rendition of 'Happy Birthday', led by
Jinn, who was in high spirits, a condition Naomi found
suspicious.  He didn't especially like Q, and was doing this only
because she'd promised to exact revenge on him if he didn't. 
And Jinn was never truly happy unless he'd just made someone's
life miserable.  Normally, Naomi didn't mind joining in on the
fun, but this was Q's birthday party, and if Jinn had done
anything, *anything* to disrupt it, he would regret until the day
she finally let him die.

The song finished and people swarmed around them, snippets of
conversation coming through as everyone tried to talk at once.

"Lovely party, Naomi.  What a wonderful idea."

"I can't believe we didn't think of celebrating the Borg defeat
earlier."

"Happy birthday, Q."

Naomi smiled up at Q, who seemed perfectly in control of
himself.  Anyone else might have been dazed by all the attention,
but he was in his element, graciously receiving any and all
compliments like a king being paid court to.

Jinn tugged urgently on her arm, and Naomi let herself be pulled
away from Q.  "You have to see this, Naomi."

"What did you do?"

He was grinning like a maniac.  "Only what he deserved.  I got
him good this time."

There was only one "he" that Jinn currently wanted to exact
revenge upon, so he had to be talking about Farish.  "Jinn..."
Naomi said threateningly, "Now is not a good time to be doing
these things."

"It's the perfect time.  C'mon."  He towed her across the room.

"Couldn't you just give up?"

"Give up?" Jinn asked indignantly, stopping to look at her. 
"Who do you think I am?"

"A juvenile man with too much time on his hands."

"You better watch it," Jinn said, a slight edge to his voice.  "I
learned all sorts of new tricks when I was planning this.  You
could be next."

"I'm so scared," Naomi said sarcastically.

Jinn looked at her and grinned, then darted off into the crowd,
Naomi following.

He stopped dead and pointed.  "Look."

Naomi looked where he was pointing.  "What am I supposed to
be seeing?"  The only thing in that direction was a large,
hologram aquarium, full of fish.  And then she saw him.  "Oh,
dear Lord."

Jinn smiled triumphantly.

"What do you do to the poor man?"

"Poor man?" Jinn asked, scowling.  Then because he couldn't
help but be delighted by his own cleverness, he explained, "I
convinced him, with some outside assistance, that this was a
costume party."

Naomi shook her head, still unable to believe it, as she watched
Farish lumber across the room, dressed as a giant white rabbit,
complete down to the pocket watch he was carrying.  Everywhere
he went, people were laughing at him, although most were doing
it semi-politely behind his back, rather than to his face.  Either
way, Farish was very bewildered and out of his league.  "You're
scum, Jinn.  Complete scum."

"Thank you, thank you very much."

Thoughtfully, Naomi looked at Jinn.  He'd humiliated Farish
completely here, and she didn't like that.  She didn't like Farish
either, but this was just plain cruel.  Jinn needed to be brought
down a peg.  "I told you that Farish thought your pranks were
my doing, that I was using them to flirt with him, right?"

"Yeah, so?" Jinn asked impatiently.  "He's a jerk.  I already
knew that."

"Well, it occurs to me that anyone else other than you would
have given up playing these pranks on Farish a long time ago. 
After all, he didn't seem to really notice them, so anyone else
would have just written the whole thing off."

"So?" Jinn asked again, sensing some kind of conclusion he
wasn't going to like.

"So I think Farish was right.  Only he had the wrong person. 
*You've* been flirting with him."  Naomi smiled sweetly at Jinn,
waiting for the explosion.

"Naomi..." Jinn said threateningly.

"In fact, since you seem to be too shy to tell him that it was
really you, I think *I'll* tell him."

Jinn growled and made a grab at her, but Naomi squealed and
danced out of range, not noticing the pointed glance Q directed
her way at the sound.

"I'll leave you two lovebirds alone," Naomi said tauntingly, then
quickly darted away, laughing.

****

For his part, Q was terrified.  He didn't know what was going on
and he wouldn't have minded getting Naomi alone and tearing her
into tiny bits either.  While he had nothing against parties,
especially parties at which he was the guest of honor, as he
apparently was here, Q didn't like surprises.  At least not
surprises he hadn't thought of.

But he would have sooner died than show he was scared, and
there was a certain element of flattery in everything that was
happening.  Naomi had apparently planned this whatever it was to
coincide with the anniversary of the Borg's defeat.  Anniversary
was a human concept Q found incomprehensible.  Their lives
were so short already.  Why break them down even further and
*celebrate* the fact that they'd moved another year into decay? 
It made no sense.  While Q didn't mind being lauded as a hero
for his small role in the Borg incident, he found it infinitely
depressing to know that the incident was now three years in his
past; his chief glory as a human, his one clear triumph, far
behind him.

But a birthday?  Other people had birthdays.  *Humans* had
birthdays.  Q did *not* have a birthday.

Or at least he hadn't until now.

Naomi stepped up, face flushed, and smiling.  "So how are you
enjoying your party?"

Q glared down at her, wanting to take her apart, but not wanting
to do anything in public which might ruin his image.  Right now,
people liked him, and he wanted to keep it that way.  "Even if I
had a birthday, which I don't, this wouldn't be the right day."

"So?  You have a birthday now, and this is a better date than
anything else.  Come see the cake."

And then Naomi was dragging him off, and Q had no option but
to go with her or look like a fool.  

She stopped in front of the table, people around them giving way
to let them through.  As Q stepped up, Naomi watched him, face
expectant, barely conscious of the other people at the party, some
of whom were also paying attention to this.  

There were actually two cakes.  One was fairly large, and more
decorative than anything else.  That one was in the shape of a
Borg ship, and looked entirely inedible.  The other was a
traditional birthday cake, with five candles on it: the standard
four, and an odd-shaped one, a sideways eight, and in pink icing,
"Happy Birthday, Q".  The Borg defeat was three years ago, but
Q was actually four years old, and so, the four candles.

Q looked at it.  "How cute."

"Isn't it?" Naomi asked, oblivious to sarcasm.  "Four candles all
by themselves didn't seem quite appropriate, but four candles plus
infinity seemed just about right."

She looked around.  "Who has the matches?"

"Matches?" Q asked.

Naomi nodded.  "We're going to light the candles, and then
you're going to make a wish and blow them out."

"You've got to be kidding."

"No," Naomi said, as she was passed a book of matches, quickly
replicated by some thoughtful soul.  She struck one, then leaned
over and carefully lit each of the candles in turn.

Q looked at the cake in revulsion.  Did she really expect him to
eat something that had melted wax dripping on it?

Everyone who could crowd around the table to watch this was
there.  Jinn was sulking over behind Harry, and even Anderson
was there, looking faintly amused.

"Now make a wish," Naomi said.

Q glared at her, aware that there was nothing he could do but
acquiesce.  He leaned over and blew out the candles, and
everyone cheered, which made Q feel a little bit better about
having given in.

"Aren't you going to cut it?" someone from behind them asked.

Naomi nodded.  "Of course!"  She looked around.  "Now all we
need is a knife."

Li cleared his throat, and Naomi and Q looked up at him.  He
was standing across from them.  "Allow me."

He picked up the long bladed knife, which was on the other side
of the table, half-hidden behind the bulk of the Borg ship, and
presented it to Q, blade across the palm of his hand.

Q glanced at Li, and then back at the knife.  "This is a novel
experience."

"I didn't think I'd ever be handing you a dangerous weapon,
either," Li said dryly, a faint smile on his face.  "But I don't
think it poses a medical risk."

Q accepted it, then looked down at the cake.

"Go ahead, cut a piece," Naomi said.  

"What am I, a waiter?" Q asked.

"No, you just have to cut the first piece.  It's sort of traditional."

With a sulky sigh, Q cut the first piece.  "Now am I done?"

"Sure, go run along and play," Naomi said, her eyes twinkling.

Q glared at her one final time, then stalked off to find Harry,
who could give him some sympathy, or at least a convenient
target.

Naomi watched Q go.  Now was probably not a good time to tell
him about the presents.

A large white rabbit stepped up to her.  "A wonderful costume
you have on, Naomi."

Naomi nodded, turning towards him, determined to be polite to
Farish for his own sake.  What Jinn had done to him here was
just unacceptable.  Annoying him was one thing, using his own
social ineptness to humiliate him was quite another.  "Thank you. 
I don't particularly like it, myself."

Farish snorted, which sounded quite absurd coming from a giant
bunny.  "It's a damn sight better than what the rest of these
people wore.  Really," he said, gesturing at the partygoers.  "Do
they call these costumes?"

Naomi tried not to laugh.  "Yes, well, I suppose they just didn't
have much chance to find something appropriate."

Naomi also noticed something else she hadn't at first.  Instead of
mocking Farish for his outlandish costume, people were avoiding
him altogether in a collective, unvoiced agreement to stay away,
much like a herd of cattle would, by mob consciousness, change
course around something which frightened them.  Farish was, at
the moment, a walking social catastrophe.  Naomi shrugged
mentally.  It was better than them making fun of him to his face.

****

"Happy birthday, Q," Harry said as Q moved into range.

Q's expression got even grimmer.  "What kind of perverted
human custom celebrates how much closer you've gotten to
dying?"

Harry laughed.  "I don't know, but you have a point.  You look
positively haggard for a four-year-old."

Q scowled at him, as Harry inadvertently made himself into the
new target for Q's wrath.

However, mentally nimble as always, Harry changed the subject
to the running joke of the party.  "Did you hear?  They were
going to play Pin the Tail on the Donkey, but Pelz had already
left."

"I heard that," Anderson said sternly, coming up from behind
Harry, and using her best commodore voice.

Harry turned a little pale.  He was always willing to be
disrespectful, and his position with Starfleet was more a matter of
convenience than necessity.  He could easily be a civilian like
Naomi and still work in the same field.  Just without the nonsense
-- and the rewards.  "Sorry, sir."

Anderson's face creased into something which might have been a
smile, except that the commodore rarely ever smiled.  "A good
joke though."  Leaving Harry spinning, she turned to Q. 
"Congratulations.  I didn't think you'd make it through four
years."

"Your joy is overwhelming," Q said sarcastically, although he
could appreciate the honesty of the commodore's words.  Dear
Eleanor wasn't hiding behind the pretense of a birthday party to
say meaningless phrases like "Happy birthday".  She was exactly
as blunt as she'd always been, and consequently, he knew that
she meant what she said.  It still wasn't an open avowal of how
much she appreciated having him here and the benefits to her
own career, not to mention Federation science, but it was a vast
improvement over insincere catch phrases.

Anderson studied him levelly, too practiced in the ways of Q, and
admirals for that matter, to be insulted.  "Naomi's been good for
you.  Keep her around and you might live another four."

Q drew himself up to his full height, about to deliver a crushing
retort, when Anderson *winked* at him, and sauntered off.  He
couldn't very well call after her without looking like an idiot, so
Q settled for disdainfully ignoring her comment.

Harry looked over at Q, expression slightly stunned.  "I've never
seen her do that."

"Insult me?  She does it rather frequently, if not rather well."

"No -- smile," Harry said, still watching the commodore, who
made her way to the door, her social duties for the evening
fulfilled.  "She was in a *good* mood."

"Probably demoted some lieutenants this morning," Q said off-
handedly.

Harry grinned up at him.  "She hasn't demoted me."

"Yet."

"You're such a beacon of hope and brightness to my little world,"
Harry said, smiling.  "Whatever would I do without you?"

Q shrugged slightly.  "Something tedious, I'm sure."

Harry looked past Q, back at the table where the cakes were
residing, doing a doubletake at the sight of a gigantic white rabbit
apparently attending the party.  "Is that Farish Naomi is talking
to?"

Q looked around sharply.  He despised Farish.  The man was no
competition, of course, in any field.  Farish was simply too dull
for that, despite his overrated accomplishments in the field of
bioneural network programming, which Q knew nothing about but
had read up on recently.  However, Q couldn't help but feel an
enmity towards Farish, because the man continued to insist on
playing with Q's favorite toy.

"Jealous, Harry?  I didn't think Farish was your type," Q
drawled, trying to conceal his interest in what was going on
between Farish and Naomi.

"That wasn't what I meant," Harry said.  "I just wasn't sure if
that *was* Farish.  I can't believe he came dressed in a rabbit
suit.  What was he thinking?"

That was a wonderful straight line, and Q was about to respond
appropriately, when Harry continued talking, oblivious.  "Was he
standing there, about to get ready for the party, thinking, 'I
know!  I'll put on a rabbit suit, and go pick up chicks.  That's it. 
Girls love bunny rabbits.'?  I mean, *really*, Q.  Q?"  Harry
looked up, but Q was no longer standing there.

Q strode across the room to Naomi, who was wishing she'd never
tried to be kind to Farish.  The man did nothing but *talk*.  He
didn't even stop to listen, just talked and talked and talked. 
There was nothing she hated worse than someone who wouldn't
let her monopolize the conversation, Naomi thought with a grin. 
It was one of the worst parts about parties, besides the endless
social pressure to be witty and gay and dance and be popular. 
She just wasn't good at those things, especially not on command.

Naomi wanted to escape, but there was no polite way to get away
from Farish.  She'd tried all the obvious methods, including
signalling Jinn for help.  But Jinn wasn't speaking to her, and
Farish was ignoring all of her polite ploys while expounding
endlessly, not about work, which she could have been interested
in, but about his upbringing and past relationships.  Which left
something to be said for the rude ways of escaping; however,
she'd rather foolishly made the decision to be nice to him tonight.

While Naomi was deciding whether to push Farish into the Borg
cake, and create a major sensation: "Giant mutant bunny kills
Borg ship: news at eleven", Q walked up from behind her, where
she couldn't see him.

"But I don't think it was *my* fault that Maureen left me,
although no one is ever completely clear of fault in a relationship,
of course.  She was very emotionally demanding, always wanting
something from me.  I loved her, and I did my best, despite what
was going on.  We had our problems, everyone does, but that's
hardly criminal, is it?" Farish said, apparently asking a question,
but really only pausing for breath.

"In some cultures, stupidity is criminal," Q said.  "Unfortunately,
this isn't one of them."

Naomi looked up with relief.  She'd been saved!  Without even
thinking about it, she turned away from Farish, grabbing onto Q's
arm like a lifeline.

"Excuse me.  I believe *I* was talking to the young lady," the
bunny rabbit said indignantly.

Naomi looked up at Q desperately, silently begging him to get her
out of this.

Q considered Farish carefully.  He *could* deflate the man's ego. 
It would take an effort, as Farish had an enormous ego, but it
could be done.  Q had no doubt of his own ability to demolish
anyone's composure.  However, it would be only a temporary
pleasure, and would not relieve the more serious problem of
Farish's continued attentions to Naomi which kept cropping up
over and over again, no matter how Q dealt with Farish.  A more
direct approach was clearly indicated.

"Dr. Farish," Q said pleasantly, a tone which would have warned
anyone else instantly that Q was about to do something truly
horrific, "what exactly do you think the relationship is between
Naomi and myself?"

"Don't quite understand what you're getting at," Farish blustered.

Q put it into simpler terms for him.  "What do you want with
Naomi, and why do you think you can get away with it?"

Farish was bewildered.  "She's a very attractive woman.  Why
shouldn't I pursue a relationship with her?"

Naomi turned her head into Q's shoulder, groaning silently.

Q allowed Naomi's familiarity, ignoring it in favor of the larger
issue.  Farish.  And how to deal with him once and for all.  Q
was feeling on edge about the subject of Naomi anyway.  His
nightmares and the current unsettled state of affairs between them
made him less than secure about the subject.  And having
someone like Farish encroaching and making everything even
more shaky caused Q to be even uneasier.  Something had to be
done.

With a complete consciousness of his audience, and without one
ounce of romance in his soul, Q bent over Naomi, holding her
close and kissing her.

Naomi melted against him, no thought of resistance entering her
head.  There were a lot of things she'd say no to, but this wasn't
one of them.  It felt very good, very right.

Farish retreated in confusion.  "I... I didn't understand.  I..." he
stammered, and then fled to safety.

Dimly aware of Farish's actions behind her, but more concerned
about Q and his reputation, Naomi pulled away from Q first,
letting go of him, and dropping down.  She looked up at him with
a bemused expression on her face, wondering why Q had kissed
her.  "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"In comparison to what?" Q asked snidely, hands still on her
arms, absently stroking them.  People were watching them.  It
was understandable that they, with their little meaningless lives,
would find him interesting, since he was so much more intriguing
than their bland, boring selves; however, he was thinking about
other things.  Like what it felt like to hold Naomi, to have her
close to him and to kiss her.  It had been days since he'd done
this, and although it was, naturally, repulsive, Q found his body
responding to it.  Having Naomi's soft, slight body pressed
against his own had caused traitorous reactions all through him
and Q damned himself for the depth of his own needs.  He still
wanted her; part of him still liked this, and to his horror, Q
couldn't say whether he minded.

Naomi felt inexpressibly happy at the moment.  Despite Q's tone
and his outwardly hurtful words, he'd just kissed her in public,
and was still standing there, touching her.  If he were mad at her,
he wouldn't be touching her.  All in all, it was a moment to be
treasured.

However, changing the subject before he realized what he had
done and then ran away from her to protect himself would
probably be a good idea.  "In comparison to opening birthday
presents and pretending to be grateful to people you don't even
like for things you don't need or want."

Q looked down at her suspiciously.  "Does this sound like
something I'd want to do?"

"Of course not," Naomi said cheerfully.  "But what does that
have to do with it?"

Q allowed her to tow him over to the table with the presents on
it, and be handed a brightly colored box.  Reluctantly, he found
himself wanting to know what was inside.  Someone wanted to
give *him* something?  What a novel experience.  Usually it was
the other way around, with Q begging people for things, and
finding it completely impossible get anyone to give him anything. 
He shook the box, and something slid from side to side.

Naomi looked at him affectionately.  "Go on, open it."

Q shot an irritated look at her.  "I'm not *ready* to open it."

A small knot of people began to slowly form around them. 
Taking their cue from Naomi, the general feeling was one of
amusement for someone who'd never had a birthday and didn't
know what to do with birthday presents.  Without her, Q's
attitude might have been perceived as ungracious and even rude,
and was still being seen that way by some of the less charitable
guests, such as Diana and Parkinson from Security.  However,
Naomi's enthusiasm was contagious, and even Q couldn't help
but respond to it.

Q pulled the wrapping paper off of the box, then opened the box
to reveal a small, extremely ugly, statuette.  Naomi made a face
at it, but Q seemed entranced.

"Who's it from?" someone asked.

Naomi hunted in the wrapping paper, coming up with a tag.  She
read it, then looked up.  "Harry, I'm going to get you for this."

Harry laughed.  "Promises, promises."

Naomi shook her head and turned to Q, who was still studying
what had to be the most grotesque piece of statuary she'd ever
seen.  "You like that?"

Q glanced over at her with a condescending smirk.  "You
obviously know nothing about art."

"Art I know.  That isn't art."

Q shook his head and set the statue down.  "No taste at all.  I'm
surprised you don't simply decorate your walls with
fingerpainting and be done with it."

"They wouldn't let me use fingerpaints on the walls," Naomi
said, dead-pan.  She picked up the next present.  "Say 'Thank
you' to Harry for making our decor even gloomier and we'll
move on."

"Ignore her, Harry," Q said grandly, a little irked that Naomi
thought he didn't know how to behave.  "She still thinks cave
paintings are an artform."

Harry grinned back at him, amused at seeing Q being successfully
teased.  He didn't know how Naomi did it, but he envied her. 
"I've got a lot more where that came from."

Naomi handed the next present to Q, plucking the card off first
this time, and then glared at Harry.  "You have a birthday, too,
Harry.  I'd be careful if I were you."

Q unwrapped the next present, and then stood stiffly, a slow flush
suffusing his face.  It was a book, an actual physical book.  He
read them on occasion; it was as good a gift as any.  However,
the title was intensely embarrassing to him.  It was obvious who
had given this to him.  The book could nothing other than another
one of Nian's misguided attempts to improve his sex life.  Why,
he had no idea.  Unless she had designs on him, and was trying
to bring him up to some kind of personal standard.  Q recoiled in
disgust from that thought.  How else to explain Medellin's
constant obsession with the subject of sex?

Naomi started to read the card out loud, then stopped herself as
she realized that it was more in the nature of a personal note,
rather than just a tag.  "This one's from Counsellor Medellin."

She looked over at Q.  "What did she give you?"

Q froze into the iciest of carved statues, turning his own
embarrassment inwards to present a unassailable front.  He
couldn't let anyone know what Nian's idea of a present was, and
he most especially couldn't let anyone know that he was
embarrassed by it.

Naomi caught the change in stance, and immediately went into
full worry mode.  Q was quite capable of being cruel to anyone
who gave him a gift he didn't like, and she didn't want that to
happen.  It was the chanciest part of this whole production.

She took a look at the item he was holding.  "It's a book on..."
Naomi turned red.  She wasn't exactly embarrassed by sex, but
on the other hand, neither was it a topic she felt comfortable
discussing with twenty people gathered around.  "I think that
Harry is having a little fun with us all."  Naomi took the book
away from Q.  "Very funny, Harry."

Roth looked confused, as well he might, since Naomi had made
up the accusation on the spot.

Naomi set the book face down on the floor by her feet, kicking
the loose wrapping paper over it for good measure.  She handed
Q another present, then looked around for Medellin.  Naomi
didn't see her anywhere, which was probably a good thing, since
Security would probably frown on her killing the counsellor.

Q accepted the gift-wrapped item from Naomi, a little angry with
her for having taken the initiative away from him, but also a little
relieved that she'd handled a potentially humiliating situation so
neatly.  

He took the card off first this time, and read it.  This one was
from Eleanor, and should be relatively safe, since dear Elly
lacked something in the area of imagination.  

Q handed the card to Naomi, who announced it.  "Commodore
Anderson?  She's already left.  Too bad."

All of the rest of the gifts proceeded smoothly.  No one else had
quite the sense of humor or gift for inappropriate timing as
Medellin.  Naomi was rather surprised by how many people had
taken the time to actually pick something out for Q.  It was one
thing for them to come to a party; any excuse for a party would
do on a place as rigidly set in its ways as the starbase.  However,
it was quite another for anyone to go to this kind of trouble, and
she was rather pleased.  

Q had even responded appropriately to the gifts, saying his thank
yous with the poise and ease of a polished diplomat.  While Q
could occasionally display perfect manners, it was also touch-and-
go on whether he would.  Apparently, he realized the importance
of this and was, for once, behaving himself, Naomi thought with
relief.

Actually, that wasn't it at all.  Q *was* pleased with all the
things people had gotten him.  In another time, he might have
regarded as rightful tribute.  However, he'd been beaten down
often enough to recognize that these gifts were something out of
the ordinary, to be touched by the effort people had gone through
for him.  Only months before, he'd been convinced that they all
wanted to kill him, that Security was deliberately plotting his
death, and had tried to commit suicide as a result.  And here they
were, giving him *presents*.  Q couldn't help noticing a
difference.  Only an idiot would fail to notice the difference.

But that still didn't mean that he was incapable of being
ungrateful.  He was always capable of ingratitude.  And he hadn't
even liked some of the things people had gotten him.  But
Naomi's earlier implication that he would forget to thank Harry
had stung, all the more so since Harry's gift had been exactly
what Q would have picked out for himself, if he'd allowed
himself to show any interest in interior decoration since Anderson
had so rudely stripped his quarters of most of the bric-a-brac he'd
painstakingly collected.  He'd never let the place look like a
slum, but all the fun had gone out of it.

But even if Naomi's misguided attempt at manipulating him
hadn't stung, Q would still have behaved himself.  He had an
audience, and what was more, an *adoring* audience, one which
was actually giving him things.  He was hardly likely to spoil that
with a childish display of temper.

However, the party was over now, the people trickling out, and
he felt a little more deflated with each departure.

Naomi took care of the next to last present, handing it over to the
unfortunate ensign who was helping them.  The poor boy owed a
favor to Jinn, and was probably going to be paying it off for the
rest of his life.

"Just take them back, and we'll meet you there."

The ensign nodded and scurried off.

Naomi picked up the last present, Medellin's book, and held it
close to her body, still embarrassed even though she'd done her
best to rewrap it.

"Ready?"

Q stood up, flipping his cloak around.  "Of course."

They walked back in silence, Sanaharrar pacing behind them. 
Naomi let the ensign in, and watched while he carefully piled up
the various presents Q had acquired tonight.  

Q did nothing of the sort, retiring immediately to his own room
without saying a word to her.

Naomi stood halfway between, trapped by the responsibility of
making sure the ensign took proper care of things.  She watched
helplessly as the door closed behind Q.  This wasn't how she
wanted the evening to end.

And yet, it could be for the best.  She felt uncomfortable in these
clothes, hot and sticky after having been entirely too fully dressed
for the occasion, with her woolen hose and long cloak; and
slightly frazzled besides.  Naomi didn't like parties, didn't like
dealing with large groups of people all at once.  The constant
talking, the socializing, having to smile when you wanted to
scream -- all of those things irritated her.  She didn't know how
Q got through it so smoothly.

Finally, the ensign finished, leaving for good.  Naomi sighed
deeply, took one last look at Q's door, then retreated to her own
room, to strip herself of the horrid, heavy clothes and take a
shower.

****

Q let the door close behind him, shutting him off from the world,
or what was left of it.  The party had been tremendously
energizing, and he'd almost felt like his old self again, the center
of all attention.  But now it was over, and he was alone, and he
felt curiously deflated, like the spotlight had been removed, and
all that remained was a wizened old man playing dress-up in
someone else's clothes.

Tired, he retreated to the bathroom to remove his pitiful facade. 
This time, he didn't bother looking in the mirror to view his
handiwork.  Q knew what he'd see there.  A tired, gaunt specter
with wrinkles and a dissatisfied twist to his mouth.  Q didn't want
to see that version of himself, didn't want to think of other people
being able to see that person.

But it was true nonetheless.  All of this was a carefully
maintained facade, with nothing underneath.  

Finished, he changed into a different outfit, something more
casual, somewhere in between pajamas and a light shirt over
trousers, and went to lie down on the bed, infinitely depressed. 
He was tired and unhappy, and moreover, he'd been human for
four solid years now.  And with even more to come if Q2's
mocking comments on the subject could be trusted.

The door opened, and Naomi stepped in.  "Can I come in?"

Immediately, the gloom seemed a little less oppressive.  He didn't
want her here, given her rabid sexual proclivities, but still, it was
better than being alone with his thoughts.  "Can I stop you?"

"Yes," Naomi said, not moving any closer.  "Just tell me to
leave, and I'll go."

"Still harping on that dead horse?" Q said, flipping his hand at
her disdainfully.

Naomi smiled slightly.  "Still not willing to give me a simple
no?"

He glared at her.  "You're a very annoying woman."

"Thank you."  Naomi didn't move, just waited by the door,
holding a small square object in her hands.

"What are you doing here?" Q asked ungraciously.

"I wanted to give you your birthday present in private."

"A present?" Q sat up, looking at her, then realized he was acting
much too interested.  Immediately, he put a sardonic look on his
face, but it was too late to fool Naomi.

She stepped over.  "I take it I can stay."

"It depends on the present," Q said loftily.

Naomi grinned, and handed it to him.  

Q opened the small, flat box and looked inside.  Nestled into the
dark red velvet was a heavy silver piece of jewelry.  He lifted it
out, and held it up.  The metal was intricately worked with a
design that intrigued the eye without ever being too busy or
complicated.  How amazing.  Was Naomi actually acquiring
taste?

Naomi took a deep breath, seeing that Q wasn't going to say
anything one way or the other about her present, then smiled at
him.  "Happy birthday."  She turned to leave.

With a small shock, Q realized that the infuriating woman was
actually going to leave.  What did she think she was doing?  He
wasn't done with her yet.  "Is that it?"

Naomi stopped and turned towards him, hands on her hips.  "You
wanted something more?"  She advanced on him, face fixed in a
mock-stern expression.  "I give you a birthday party, even get
you a gift and all you can say is 'Is that it?'.  What more do you
want from me?"

"You could have jumped out of the cake."

Naomi stopped just shy of the bed, a stunned look on her face. 
"What?"

Q lounged indolently, confident now that he not only had her
attention, but was onto a subject that offered both no chance of
personal risk and endless opportunities for him to harass Naomi. 
"What kind of two-bit party is it when no one jumps out of the
cake?"

Naomi stared at him, bemused.  "You're upset by the lack of
scantily clad women?"

Maybe this wasn't such a good subject after all.  "Only by the
entertainment."

Naomi cocked her head.  "There wasn't any entertainment."

"Exactly my point," Q said, shifting slightly to find a more
comfortable position.  He'd held himself very tensely upright at
the party, in part to maintain his image and in part as an
unconscious defense against other people.  But now, in a more
relaxed pose, his back hurt horribly.  And he couldn't, wouldn't
ask Naomi for help.  She'd only take advantage of him, even if
he was going to ask, which he never would.  "There should have
been entertainment."

Naomi didn't quite know what to do.  She wanted to stay and
banter with Q, but he had made it very clear that he didn't want
anything to do with her sexually, which meant that she probably
shouldn't do anything which might be interpreted as an advance. 
On the other hand, he seemed to want to talk to her, and she
really didn't want to leave.

Without asking for permission, Naomi hopped up on the bed,
taking a seat at the foot and looking down the length of it at him. 
"Well, I thought about elephants, but I didn't think we could fit
them in the holodeck."

"Elephants?" Q said, apparently oblivious to her movements. 
"How juvenile."

Naomi relaxed a fraction as he made no attempt to get rid of her. 
"Juvenile?  What would you have wanted?  Intellectual
discussions on the nature of light particles and the cosmology of
Newton?"

Q sneered.  "Where did you learn your physics?  Kindergarten?"

"Probably," Naomi said cheerfully.  "I'm more of a how person,
rather than a why.  I want to know how to do something, or how
it works, not why it does what it does."

"How appalling ignorant."

Q shifted again, his back getting stiff in that position as well, this
time uncomfortably aware of Naomi sitting there on the end of
the bed.  She was so close.  And it couldn't, wouldn't be wrong
to just have her hands on his back.  Could it?

Naomi watched Q pull himself into yet another carefully planned
pose of casual relaxation.  She wondered how far his avowed
dislike of physical contact went.  He'd specifically only said he
didn't want to have sex with her, but he kept pulling away from
her, keeping the barriers high between them, only to come back
to her like he had been with his visits to her in the middle of the
night.  Naomi didn't want to scare Q away, but her heart ached
for him, so fragile, trying so hard to be invulnerable.  Not that he
would have thanked her for pitying him.  But it was hard not to.

She should just keep quiet, and let him make the first move.  But
if she did that, they'd be playing this charade for the next twenty
years.  

Naomi looked levelly at Q, making no threatening moves. 
"Would you like me to rub your back?"

Q became somewhat indignant at her suggestion.  "Me?  Need
something from you?  I don't think so."

Naomi's expression became very serious.  "I didn't think so." 
She hopped off the bed, and came around to him.

"What are you doing?" Q asked suspiciously.

His posture had shifted defensively, and Naomi could almost see
the stiffness in the way he was moving now.  She put her hands
on his shoulders, an awkward position from where she was,
standing next to the bed, but then she could hardly straddle his
lap and do this.  Q would have kittens.  

"You're very tense," she said, hands kneading his tight muscles.

"Get away from me," Q said weakly, holding still for that
horrible, glorious touch that was the first sign of relief he'd had
in days.

Naomi didn't stop what she was doing.  Her hands moved over to
his neck, probing at the tense spot between the junction of his
shoulder blades, just below the base of his neck.

That felt wonderful, and Q felt horrible, torn between relaxing
into her hands and letting her do anything she wanted to him as
long as it was more of this, and the demands of his mind and will
which were screaming at him to get her out of there.  Naomi was
danger, evil incarnate, and the only thing she wanted to do was
have sex with him.  He couldn't, he wouldn't.

Naomi pushed lightly at Q's shoulder to get him to lie down. 
Without a sound, he turned on his side, then laid face down on
the bed.

Naomi got on the bed, and knelt next to him, hands going to his
neck, starting back where she'd began, soothing him and rubbing
the tension out of his body.

Q was in agony.  He wanted this, needed this, but this was the
one thing he shouldn't have.  He laid there, unable to resist her,
not even when her hands tugged at his shirt, pulling it up, and
skimmed underneath to touch his bare skin.  Her hands on his
back were entirely impersonal, seeking out the tension and
tightness, and trying to relieve it, but Q didn't, couldn't just react
to them that way.  His body was insisting on replaying every
sensual memory of his encounters with Naomi, the images
flashing through his mind, even as he felt phantom hands and lips
on other, more vulnerable, parts of his body.  

Silently Q began to cry into the pillow, unable to stand the war
going on inside himself any longer.  He didn't want this, couldn't
stand this, was totally repulsed by the idea of sex, especially with
Naomi, who had so viciously attacked him during their last
encounter for no reason at all.  But at the same time, he couldn't
push her away, needed this on a level so deep he couldn't argue
with it no matter how much he wanted to.

And so he cried, helpless tears spilling onto his cheeks as the
tormenting, soothing touch continued.  A small part of him felt
proud that he hadn't made a sound, hadn't alerted Naomi to his
weakness, even as another part of him was angry with her for not
noticing that something was wrong.  Obviously, she didn't care
for him nearly as much as she pretended she did.

Naomi felt Q gradually relaxing under her hands.  She'd pulled
his shirt up to better get at his back, and had been pleasantly
surprised when Q hadn't attacked her for being a sex maniac. 
Maybe there was hope after all.

She finished with his back, and moved up to his neck again,
starting with the base of his skull, then moving into his hairline,
fingers moving in raking sweeps over his scalp.  His face was
pillowed on his arms, but she could reach part of it, and she did,
hands running blindly down to his forehead, and then coming
around to trace a line down his wet cheeks.

Wet?  Naomi stopped cold.  Was he crying?

Anxiously, she pulled at his shoulder, and a reluctant Q turned
over.  In the merciless light of the room, nothing was hidden.  Q
was not someone who could cry gracefully.  Even the very little
he had done left his eyes red and his skin blotchy.

Naomi felt sick inside.  Was her touch that bad for him?  Was
she just tormenting him?  She held there, about to cry herself,
feeling like the worst sort of monster.

They held there like that for a long moment, a silent tableau of
need, want, and frustration.

"I'm so sorry," Naomi said, still kneeling there, hands on her
knees.  "I never meant to make you unhappy," she said as her
voice broke and shattered into a million trembling pieces.

With a shock, Q realized that Naomi was crying.  What was the
silly woman crying for?  Didn't she realize that he was the one
who needed comfort?  Grumpily, Q said, "And I suppose you're
going to want *me* to get *you* a handkerchief."

Naomi sniffled once in surprise, then smiled through a haze of
incipient tears.  "Yes, that *would* be rather selfish of me,
wouldn't it?"

"Very," Q said dryly.

She slipped into a sitting position, feeling shaky and a little
fragile.  She wanted to comfort him, wanted to *be* comforted,
but she didn't know that it was a wise or even a nice thing to do. 
He'd cried just because she'd given him a simple massage.  He
hated her, despised her very touch.  She shouldn't even *be*
here, Naomi thought with a sudden despair, hating herself for her
cruelty and stupidity.

"Stop that!" Q said, alarmed, as Naomi began to cry again.  He
felt helpless and awkward.

"I... can't... help it," Naomi said, choking.  She couldn't stop. 
There was no way she could stop.  But if he didn't want her here,
then she *could* leave.  She didn't need to inflict her presence on
Q.

Q felt helpless in the face of Naomi's misery.  He knew what it
was like to be unhappy.  He knew what it was like to *wallow*
in unhappiness as a matter of fact.  Seeing her cry tore at him. 
And she was his friend, or the closest thing he had to one.  

Naomi felt a hand on her leg, and looked up, startled.  Q sat up
and put an arm around her.  Without saying a word, Naomi
accepted this gift and held him tightly, sobbing into his chest.

"I'm sorry," Naomi said through her tears.  "This is all my fault. 
I did this.  I was horrible to you and now you hate me and I c...
can't stand it."

Q held her, patting her back clumsily.  "Hate is such a strong
word for it."

Naomi pulled back slightly to look him in the face.  "Oh?  And
w-what would you call it?"

Q was uncomfortably aware that whatever he said, she was bound
to start crying again.  And she was very close to him, too close. 
He groaned and closed his arms around her, pulling her back
against him.  "Are all human relationships this complicated?"

"Some are worse."

"I should have been a flea.  I knew I should have been a flea."

"Yeah, at least fleas are encouraged to be parasites," Naomi said,
giggling.  Anyone else would have been deathly insulted, but Q
didn't push her away, didn't lessen his grasp in the slightest, just
kept stroking her hair.

"Their sex lives are quite boring," Q said off-handedly.  "Nothing
you'd be interested in."

"I happen to think you'd make a very attractive anything, even a
flea."  Naomi giggled again, imagining Q complaining about the
color of his carapace.

Compliments were much more difficult to deal with than insults. 
Q understood insults.  However, she wasn't crying anymore.  He
could let go of her now, get away.  

Q didn't stop his stroking of Naomi's hair.  His head bent low
over hers, almost touching her hair.  It felt so good to have her in
his arms.  He would have died rather than admit it, but some
parts of this relationship business were almost *enjoyable*.

Naomi was starting to feel self-conscious.  She didn't want to
impose on him, and his reference to fleas had neatly bundled up
all of her tears and tossed them away on a laugh.

She pulled back away from him no more than a few inches, and
looked at him.  Both of them wore vulnerable expressions,
Naomi's now much the worse, eyes bright green from the tears.  

Q looked at her, conflicted feelings boiling over.  What was he
*doing*?  He was claiming sex was inherently repulsive, which it
certainly was, as every human activity was, up to and including
the extremely repellent process of showering.  He couldn't
understand Naomi's fetish for dumping actual water on herself,
and still hadn't quite forgiven her for doing it to him when he'd
had the flu.  Aberrant woman.  However, human reproduction
was no more nauseating than anything else he had to do.  Just
more... optional.  Except for the way his body was even now taut
with need, the way his mind filled with images when she was
around, or even when she wasn't.

If she'd reached out to him then, he wouldn't have turned her
down.  He couldn't have turned her down.  But she would never
offer.  For all her faults, Naomi was one of those bleeding-heart
humans who actually believed in archaic concepts like self-
sacrifice, forgiveness and honor.  She'd given him her *word*,
and so, of course, she felt bound to keep it.

Which was very inconvenient for him.  He couldn't very well tell
her that he'd changed his mind.  *That* would go over badly. 
He could just see it.  'Oh, by the way, I've decided that sex isn't
so bad, and I'd like to give it another try, so would you please
fuck me now?'  No, that wouldn't work at all.

There had to be another way.  Something less humiliating.

With a conscious feeling of how ridiculous he must seem, and of
how much rejection and scorn he was opening himself to, Q
dropped his hand from Naomi's shoulder, running it down her
arm, then across her stomach and then into the opening of her
robe, brushing her bare skin.

Naomi felt his hand, warm against her skin, and looked up at
him, a wild hope dawning in her face.  "Please?"

"Please what?" Q asked sardonically, his tone covering up a
wealth of insecurity.  His hand moved up her torso, just
skimming the underside of one bare breast.

"Please don't stop," Naomi said, her hands going to his
shoulders, touching him as if she couldn't believe this were really
happening.

"The last time you said that, you threw me out of the bed.  Why
should I believe you now?" Q said, hand staying chastely on her
stomach.

Naomi could have cried.  "I was an idiot, okay?  I didn't know
how much teasing I could take, and it went too far and I
overreacted.  I was stupid, scum, a complete waste of life."

"And on your bad days?" Q asked.

Naomi made a face at him, then her expression turned wistful. 
"Would you mind terribly if I seduced you?"

His heart raced, and he tried hard to be casual.  "Do I have a
choice?"

"I think that was a choice," Naomi said, even as her hands ran
down his chest and under his loosened shirt.  "Complain now, or
forever hold your peace."

"About what?" Q asked as her hands hit his bare skin, then pulled
upward, freeing him from his shirt.

"Whatever you want," Naomi said, willing to agree to anything. 
"Whine all you like.  I've got all night."  She shrugged out of her
robe, letting it spill around her waist to tangle her up later.

He drew her closer, afraid of what might happen, but not able to
stop this.  It felt right, thanks to his treacherous human
hormones.

Naomi pushed him gently down on the bed, sprawling over him,
an intent look on her face.  "You know, you really shouldn't let
women hold you down like this."

"Calling Security hasn't seemed to work as an effective
deterrent," Q said, throat dry.  She was there, and he wanted her
there and that fact scared him most of all.

Naomi grinned, remembering what he'd told her about the
abortive seduction attempt Amy Frasier had made on him.  "I
suppose you'll just have to put up with it then."

She kissed his chest, then slid down his body slowly, biting his
nipple gently before moving onto the other one.

Q groaned, hands moving down, grazing her smooth shoulders,
running down her sides to settle just under the fabric of the robe
where it clung to her body around her hips.

She kissed him again by way of a reward, then wriggled down
next to him, and grinned impishly.  "Guess what comes next?"

"Something not involving higher intellectual functions I assume?"

Naomi grinned even wider, sliding her robe the rest of the way
off, then starting in on his trousers.  "I suppose it depends on
how you look at it.  I put a great deal of thought into this."

"Frightening," Q said, suddenly unable to breathe as her hands
touched first his hips, then all the way down his legs, leaving him
naked and exposed in their wake.

"Very," Naomi said, leaning over him, and gently running a hand
from his hip to his knee, almost tickling him.

That was even worse, and Q tried not to jump at the feeling of
her hand so close to him, to the part of him that wanted her the
most.  He couldn't stand this any longer, couldn't stand the slow
torture that he knew she would inflict on him if he let her.  

Q sat up, leaving an empty space on the bed and looking
significantly at Naomi.  She shivered all over at the impact of that
heated glance, and laid down, letting him take over.

Without another word, Q positioned himself over her, and then,
finally, it was happening.  He was here, everything was all right,
and it felt so *good*.

Naomi pulled at his shoulders, and he came down to her, hooking
his hands under her shoulders, as she kissed him.

That was perfect, that was right.  How could he ever have
forgotten?  This was what he'd been wanting.  It was no more
dangerous than chocolate sundaes, and the headaches he got when
he ate them too fast.  A fine shiver ran over his body, already
feeling the slick hot pleasure of being inside Naomi and
anticipating the even greater pleasure to come.  This was so
*good*.

Naomi encouraged him as best she could, unable to be anything
but happy at that moment, glad to finally have him here again. 
Sex wasn't that big a thing until it was off limits, and then it was
the only thing.  Strange how that worked.

The feeling was simply too great.  Q couldn't contain it for more
than a few brief instants before it burst over him, great shudders
running through him, the feeling all the more intense for being
denied.

When it was over, he came to lie next to her, holding her as if he
never wanted to let her go, mind and body gradually settling back
to normal, cooling off.  And as he did, Q began to get a little
apprehensive about what Naomi might want or might demand
from him.

Before he could begin to fret, Naomi kissed his chest and nestled
in more securely against his shoulder.  "Good night, Q."

"Good night?  But you haven't..." Q broke off as he realized how
much he was about to admit with his injudicious question.  His
tired mind was unable to immediately supply a more fitting end to
the sentence and Naomi caught him at it.

"No.  I don't want to complicate things so soon."

"Trying to spare me?  How patronizing."

Naomi shrugged slightly in the circle of his arms.  "One step at a
time, okay?  Let's just say I prefer our relationship over some
fleeting sexual gratification."

"I can't believe you said that."

"Me either.  Keep it quiet, okay?  You'll ruin my reputation."

Q held onto her, wishing he understood what was going on, that
he felt less unsure, more in control of things.  "And that would
be a bad thing?"

Naomi laughed slightly.  "I guess that depends on what people
are saying about me, now doesn't it?"  She stretched her free arm
across his chest, hugging him.  "Good night, Q.  I love you."

"Good night, Naomi."  Q held her close, not closing his eyes,
just looking up at the ceiling.  What had he done?  He felt
satiated, happy, and scared all at the same time.  Q didn't let go
of Naomi.  Whatever he was doing, he wasn't going to stop.  He
felt happier with Naomi than without, and for now, that would
have to do.  Besides, that silver thing she'd given him for his
birthday was almost a worthy adornment for him.  He couldn't
get rid of her, not when she was just developing a sense of taste.

On that comforting thought, Q closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

-the end-