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


"Are you sure you don't want to accept our invitation?" the
Caitan asked, obviously disappointed by Q's lack of enthusiasm at
becoming an honored guest of the Daystrom Incident.

However, since Q thought of it more as becoming a science
experiment for them, his attitude was scarcely surprising.  "Your
offer is *so* compelling," Q said with a sarcasm that was entirely
lost on his listener, "but I'm afraid my schedule's far too busy at
the current time."

The Caitan's ears drooped slightly.  "It will be a disappointment
to us all."  Without ceremony, she terminated the call.  "Dr'aneth
out."

Q turned to Naomi, who was curled up in a blanket on the couch,
ostensibly trying to work on a programming problem Jinn had
forwarded to her attention, but actually considering whether
having a mug of cocoa would make her feel ill or not.  She was
terribly cold, and Q simply didn't care one way or another about
the temperature as long as he was comfortable.  Which was fine,
Naomi supposed, since if the room was the temperature she
preferred, he'd have to be in nothing but a pair of swimming
briefs to feel comfortable.  That picture brought a brief smile to
her face.

"Can you believe the nerve of those people?" Q asked, stalking
over into her line of sight so that she'd be able to best appreciate
his outrage.

"You mean, the nerve of the Daystrom Institute in wanting the
top expert in the field to come dispense wisdom to them?" Naomi
asked innocently.  She considered that for a second.  "You're
right.  Absolutely unforgivable."

Q scowled at her.  Naomi had a knack for twisting things around
until it seemed like he was in the wrong.  Which wasn't true, of
course, but it annoyed him nonetheless, especially since she
always pretended to agree with him at the same time.  How was
he supposed to effectively tear someone apart when they were
agreeing with him?  That just made it look like he had been
wrong all along, which of course, he wasn't.

Q changed the subject.  "I can't believe I'm saying this, but
what's wrong with you?  You haven't eaten breakfast in at least a
month."

"Well, I make up for it with eating more later in the afternoon,"
Naomi said, feeling anxiety creeping over her.  She had to tell
him eventually, in the next month if not sooner, and she wasn't
going to get a much better opportunity than this.

Q sniffed disapprovingly.  "You've been putting on weight too."

"You noticed," Naomi said, a mock expression of joy in her tone. 
"Can it be you're actually looking at me while I'm naked?"

"How could I miss it?" Q growled.  "You seem to positively
delight in those repulsive shows of flesh."

"Repulsive, hmm?  That's a new word for it."  Naomi looked
significantly at Q, but the sexual reference went over his head. 
She should tell him.  She had to tell him.  "Do you really want to
know what's wrong with me?"

"Something *is* wrong?" Q asked, beginning to panic.  He
hadn't meant that he actually thought there was something wrong. 
He'd been picking on her behavior out of habit, not to find that
she was ill.  There couldn't be anything wrong with Naomi.  Of
course, she was human, and their bodies deteriorated so fast.  She
was literally falling apart in front of him, although at a rate too
slow for him to actually see.  A brief vision of her dying floating
in front of him, and Q rejected it immediately.  He didn't want to
think about it.

"You could say that.  I'm three months pregnant," Naomi said,
holding her chin steady.

"You're what?" Q asked, taken off guard by a pronouncement
both better and worse than he had been imagining.  "You can't
be."

"Why can't I be?" Naomi asked curiously.

"You just can't."

"Uh huh," Naomi said, nodding solemnly.  "That's what you said
about the bathtub."

Q glared at her.  "It never happened, you couldn't have made it
happen, and I don't know what you were doing in there."

Naomi smirked at him.  "Seducing you, of course."

Q felt himself starting to flush and covered it up by glowering at
her.  What an impossible woman.  "You are *not* pregnant.  I
don't want you to be, and you can't be."

"I am."  Naomi stared up at him, not backing down an inch.

Q drew himself up to his full height.  "Who's the father?  Some
stray you picked up down at the bar?" Q sneered, trying to cloak
his own wounded feelings behind a mask of disdain.  He couldn't
have children; there was no doubt about that.  Therefore, Naomi
had been doing what she explicitly forbid him from doing,
namely sleeping with other people.  It wasn't supposed to bother
him; he wasn't supposed to care that much about anyone, or care
about their irrelevant physical habits.  But Q found that he did,
that it hurt enormously to think of Naomi going someplace else
other than him to satisfy her needs, that he wasn't good enough
for her, and that the whole world knew it.  And three months
pregnant?  Another, more evil possibility occurred to him.  It
couldn't be true; Naomi had denied sleeping with him, but she
certainly seemed willing to hide other things from him, given
how she'd been keeping her pregnancy a secret.  "Or is this
Pelz's child?  Do we have a new in-law to welcome to our happy
little family?"

Naomi winced at his bitter tone.  "No.  It's your child."

"Pregnant with *my* child?  That's impossible."

Naomi shrugged, sure of herself on this ground.  "Technically
your child.  Genetically yours, very definitely, down to the
micron."

Q's eyes narrowed.  "What do you mean, genetically mine?  My
cells don't undergo meiosis.  There's no way you could get living
sperm out of that."

Naomi shrugged again.  "I didn't.  I did talk to Li about it, to
make sure of it, and found myself up against a brick wall. 
You're definitely sterile.  However, there was another way."

"*What* other way?"

"Remember Jason Hartfeil?  The man of no particular distinction
who you borrowed your body from?"

Q's expression turned horrified, as he began to realize she was
serious about this.

"I tracked him down.  It turns out he wasn't nearly as obscure as
you made him out to be, or lacking in distinction.  He was a
fairly important researcher and scientist on Earth during his
time."

It was Q's turn to shrug.  "Insignificant in the grand scheme of
the universe."

"Not knowing the grand scheme of the universe, I'll have to take
your word for it.  Anyway, Hartfeil was approached to contribute
to a sperm bank reserved for Nobel prize winners and other
luminaries.  He accepted."

Q stared at her.  She really was serious.  "But you couldn't
have... he's been dead for a hundred years."

"And his sperm was frozen the whole time.  Because of various
factors, such as possible research uses for genetically advantaged
sperm, it wasn't discarded.  I contacted the bank, and with a little
persuasion," *a lot of persuasion, actually* "they agreed to send
what they had here.  Li checked it out for me, found it to be
genetically identical to yourself, meaning that the sperm bank
didn't stiff me, and then proceeded to harangue me on how I was
taking stupid chances."  Naomi smiled dangerously. 
"Apparently, he didn't believe my plan would work, given the
age and condition of the sperm.  But it did, and I did, and I'm
now pregnant.  As far as Li can tell, everything's proceeding
normally and the fetus is healthy, having suffered no damage
from one of its contributing factors being in cold storage for a
century or more."

Q could only stare at her, stunned.  There was no doubting her
story.  He believed her entirely, although he'd still go check it all
out twice over, just to be absolutely sure.  He was going to be a
father.  Despite the best machinations of the Q Continuum to
keep this from occurring, he was going to have a child.

He had to throw up.

After Q returned from the bathroom, white-faced, and shaken, he
turned on Naomi.  "Don't I get a say in this?  Did you ever ask
me whether I wanted a child?"

It was a good question.  "I didn't want to worry you or get your
hopes up when there was a very high chance that it would fail. 
Even Li was certain it wouldn't work."

"Li.  Who cares what Li thinks?  The man's a moron.  Isn't what
I think at all important here?  I don't *want* a child."

It was Naomi's turn for the blood to drain from her face.  "Fine. 
Be that way.  *I'm* having a child.  And that's that."

"You can't make me get involved in this."

"Does that mean you're throwing me out?  Because if you don't,
you're involved whether you like it or not."

"Fine.  I'm throwing you out."

"Fine.  I'm not going."

"Then what was the point of asking me if I was throwing you
out?"

"I don't know!" Naomi shouted, getting up from the couch to be
able to face him down more effectively, not that it could ever be
effective, given her lack of height.  "Why don't you want a
child?"

"I hate children!"

"No, you don't!  You liked Dharvi's kids just fine.  Once you got
used to them anyway."

"Those weren't children," Q said defensively.  "Those were
midgets dressed up as children.  And I didn't have to *live* with
them."

Naomi raised her eyebrows.  "Uh huh.  Right."

Q was nearly in a panic by now.  This wasn't a situation he'd
anticipated.  Once he'd discovered his sterility, he'd never
considered the matter again.  He couldn't father children, and that
was that.  His own family, the Q Continuum, had made especially
sure that he couldn't.  If he hadn't been sterile, he probably
would have taken specific action to make himself that way.  He
didn't want children, and that should have been the end of the
matter.

Apparently, all of them should have considered the human
reproductive drive more carefully.  Q respected its power more
now than he had before he became human.  It had been capable
of entirely subverting his will, and forcing him into bed with
Naomi.  Why not a little thing like coercing a woman into
crossing the quadrant, reviving the sperm of a man long dead and
being artificially impregnated?

"Why would you want to *do* something like this?" Q asked.

"Because I wanted your child," Naomi said.  "I would have
settled for adoption, or some other method, but I wanted your
child if at all possible, and it turned out to be quite possible."

"But *why*?" Q asked, his tone more than a little desperate. 
"Why would you want a thing like that?"

Naomi tilted her head.  "Why would I want a child, or why
would I want *your* child?"

"Exactly."

Naomi took that to mean both.  "Call it a need for chaos in my
life.  Or maybe I just couldn't stand seeing Dharvi so happy and
complacent that I had to try to compete.  I wanted a child.  I
would have consulted with you if I had known that the method in
question was a sure thing, but like I said, I didn't want to get
your hopes up."

"Get my *hopes* up?  Haven't you been listening to me, woman? 
I don't want a child."

Naomi shrugged again, feeling more than a little hurt.  "Too late. 
I'm pregnant.  I guess you'll have to settle for shoving me out of
your life, because you certainly can't reverse the process and
make me un-pregnant."

"Certainly you can.  Just march right down to Li's office and
have him undo it."  Q saw nothing wrong with abortion.  Where
he came from, it was routine practice to remove or kill adolescent
Q who were not suitable for whatever reason.  The human race
would be vastly improved if they followed that practice as well.

Naomi glared at him, crossing her hands protectively over her
stomach.  "I *don't* think so."

Q sulked.  "Why me?  Why did you have to pick on me to
exercise these antiquated reproductive drives of yours?"

"You're more fun to pick on than anyone else?" Naomi proffered
as a guess.

He didn't say anything, and Naomi took pity on him.  "Seriously,
if you really want to *hear* seriously, which I doubt, I love you
and I wanted to give you something, a permanent link to
humanity."

"That's the last thing I'd ever want," Q growled.  "What I could
really use is a way out, back to what I had."

"Fine.  Forget seriously.  I did it all to annoy you."

"That's what I thought."

With a flip of his sleeves, Q abandoned the conversation entirely
and stalked out, and Naomi let him go, feeling troubled.  As soon
as he walked away from her, the adrenaline that had kept her
from cracking during their argument drained away and she felt
unhappy and full of doubts.

He'd actually had the nerve to suggest an abortion.  How could
he?  He'd been joking, of course.  It couldn't have been anything
more than that.

But still, why would he even bring up such an appalling
suggestion unless he truly couldn't stand the idea of her having a
child?

Naomi didn't know, and that scared her.  She folded her arms,
expression setting into stubborn lines that Q would have done
very well to beware of.  It didn't matter.  She had done this, and
she was going to do this, and nothing he said was going to stop
her.  And despite all his protestations, Naomi couldn't help but
feel that Q was just a little too upset.  A little too angered by the
idea, as though this were something he really wanted, but knew
he couldn't have.  Naomi recalled that day at Dharvi's, when
Helen had sent her upstairs, and she'd walked into their bedroom
to find Q sprawled out asleep, with a child under each arm.  He
hadn't seemed to mind children too much then.

And yet, Q was upset, and Naomi couldn't help being worried
about that.  Had she really done the wrong thing?  Had she
misread Q?

In any case, it didn't matter.  She was pregnant, and she was
going to have a baby, and she'd just have to make the best of it. 
And so would Q.  Assuming he ever came back.

****

Q was furious, and desperately in need of someone to
commiserate with.  Someone who would understand his feeling,
understand why what Naomi had done was so wrong.

Without even thinking about it further, he headed down to
Harry's quarters.  Somehow, Harry had become his friend,
without any conscious choice on Q's part.  Yet another burden
around his neck, another someone to watch out for and have
meddle in his life.

Another someone he could trust to keep his secrets when he
needed to talk.

Certainly Q knew he couldn't talk to Medellin.  She'd have a
field day on this one.  Not only would she be overjoyed to have a
rift between him and Naomi to exploit, but dear Nian would
undoubtably be delighted to explore his feelings about doubt about
his impending fatherhood.

Fatherhood.  What a concept.  Not that it was true, of course. 
He wasn't the baby's father.  He couldn't be anyone's father. 
And that was much more of a relief than a disappointment,
despite what Naomi evidently thought.  Despite her patent
machinations to get a child which would be as much like him as
could possibly happen, *he* was still not involved, still not the
child's father.  That thought made him feel a little better,
although much angrier.  What did she think she was doing, trying
to copy him this way?  Was this some idiotic human female
thing?  Naomi was deluded if she thought he would feel any sort
of obligation to this child.  Why, it was no more his than it was
Farish's!  Somehow, that thought didn't help much.

Thinking about Naomi didn't help either.  She had a parasite
living in her body, and she seemed to be happy about that.  He'd
noticed her gaining weight, and commented about it, but she'd
passed that off with a nod, with what he thought at the time was a
silent acknowledgement of his superior wit and acumen.  Her
body was going to deform as this other creature took shape
inside.  For Q, who took any intrusion on his self as a major
insult, that particular invasion seemed especially obscene.  And
worse than that, *animal*.  It was bad enough to be human and
have to do human things, like eating and showering and all the
other various physical indignities visited upon him.  But to be
brought face to face with the specter of pregnancy took Q aback. 
Naomi pregnant was a message to the world screaming, "I have
no other use than to fulfill my biological imperatives!".  He, of
course, was above such things, not being human, despite a small
physical technicality.

The entire notion of pregnancy, of children, of being linked
closer to this mortal existence was intensely unpleasant.

He didn't want the responsibility, didn't want anything to do with
this.  He was terrified, angry, upset, all of it.

In that mood, he ran into Harry, coming out of his quarters. 
"Q!" Harry said.  "Coming to see me?" he asked flirtatiously.

"Don't flatter yourself," Q said acidly, in no mood to trade
banter.

Harry raised an eyebrow.  "I'm on my way down to the lounge. 
Care to buy a lonely lieutenant a drink?"

"So you can get really drunk and have to be carried home?"

"As long as you do the carrying, I'll be in heaven," Harry said,
not quite understanding Q's mood.  But then he never did. 
Which why he was grateful Naomi had that job.  "C'mon."

Once in the lounge, Harry selected drinks and led them to a table. 
Q was uncharacteristically passive, not seeming to notice his
surroundings at all.

Harry took a seat, and Q settled into one across from him, even
as preoccupied as he obviously was, still taking the effort to do so
gracefully.  Sanaharrar took up residence on the floor at Q's feet,
an imposing presence that had people taking a second or third
glance at their table.

"What's bothering you?" Harry asked, taking a sip of his drink. 
"Something's obviously wrong."

Torn between the need to appear invulnerable and an even greater
need to talk to someone about the calamity even now sending him
into a state of complete panic, Q chose the easy way out, since
there was no way anyone as dull as Harry could ever guess what
was actually wrong.

"Naomi's pregnant."  The words seemed to echo in the room
and, even as they were out of his mouth, Q couldn't believe he'd
said them, couldn't believe he'd stated the problem so baldly.  It
was as if everyone in the room could hear what he'd just said, as
if everyone was suddenly going to start jeering at him for his
foolishness.

"Congratulations," Harry said, then puzzled by Q's lack of
response to that.  "Right?"

Q shook his head, trying to clear it.  All he could think about was
how hormonally deluded Naomi was, and how she had no right to
do something like this to him.  Her promises didn't mean a whole
lot, now did they?

Harry took that as a no.  "So what are you going to do?" Harry
asked, deeply grateful that this particular issue had never come up
for him, and in all likelihood, never would.  If he did have
children, it would definitely be a matter of conscious choice.

"Do?" Q asked blankly.

"Yes, do," Harry said, slightly amused.  "It sounds to me like
Naomi's definitely going to have the child.  What are you going
to do?  When's the baby due?"

"What *can* I do?  The idiotic woman has taken the choice out
of my hands!  She's three months pregnant!"

"So you're just going to slip into blissful fatherhood and burp and
diaper with the best of them?" Harry asked, unable to picture
such a thing.

Q looked suspiciously at Harry.  "What are you blathering about,
Roth?"

"Oh, nothing.  Just trying to inform you of the grim realities of
parenthood.  Like midnight feedings and crying and being
vomited on."  Harry was being to enjoy himself.

"And you're suddenly an expert?" Q asked snidely, putting Harry
down, while simultaneously beginning to feel a little real fear.

Harry shrugged.  "No.  But then again, I don't have to be.  I'm
not going to be a father."

"And neither am I.  This is Naomi's child.  She can take care of
it."

"Oh, I'm sure *that* will work out well," Harry said
sarcastically.

Harry wasn't helping him at all.  Q only felt more anxious, more
uneasy about all of this.  Vomiting?  Burping?  How disgusting. 
He couldn't possibly be expected to deal with things like that. 
But what else could he do?

"I suppose you have a better idea?" Q asked, not expecting an
answer.

Harry shrugged.  "You could always run like hell and hope
Naomi doesn't catch up with you."

A light dawned on Q's face, and Harry caught it, looking alarmed
and holding up his hands.  "I didn't say anything.  You didn't
hear that from me.  That was supposed to be a joke."

"But it's a beautiful idea, Harry."  It was, too.  Although getting
away permanently was out of the question.  At least at first.  But
he needed some time away, some time to think.  And time for
Naomi to realize that she didn't control him, that he was his own
person.  He was entirely too much under her thumb, especially if
she thought she could get away with something like this.  Getting
pregnant without even so much as a by-your-leave!  Who did she
think she was?

"You're going to get me killed," Harry said, groaning.  "Naomi's
going to find out who told you that, and then I'm going to die a
slow agonizing death.  And that's if she's in a good mood."

Q dismissed Harry's concerns with a flick of his fingers.  "I don't
know what you're talking about."

"Of course not.  She *likes* you."  Harry drew a finger around
his collar and shuddered, somewhat for comic effect, and
somewhat not.  After an ill-considered, abortive attempt to seduce
Q, which had ended badly for all concerned, Naomi had come
after him like an avenging angel.  Harry had no desire to repeat
the experience.  "How about this?  If you go anywhere, take me
with you."

"And what kind of vacation would that be?" Q asked.  "How can
I get away from it all with you tagging along after me?"

Harry shook his head.  "This isn't a bright idea, Q.  I know I'm
not exactly the person to be giving you advice about women, but
running out on a woman right after she tells you she's pregnant is
considered bad form."

"Well, it wasn't my idea," Q said sulkily.

"It wasn't?" Harry asked.  "Then how did..."

"I don't want to talk about it."

Harry stared at Q.  "Do you mean to tell me that Naomi just ran
out and got herself pregnant with some other man's child?  And
then expected you to *like* the idea?"

"Precisely."

Harry sat back in his chair.  "I think I understand better now." 
He let out a deep breath.  "I would never have believed it of
Naomi, though."

Q scowled at him.  "Et tu, Harry?"

Harry shook his head.  "I just honestly thought Naomi cared for
you.  I wouldn't believe she was the kind of person to do
something like that.  Not when it would have almost had to be
deliberate.  Who do you think the father is?"

"I know who the father is," Q said grimly, confirming Harry's
suspicions with that tone, while himself mulling over what Harry
had just said.  *Thought Naomi cared for you*.  Naomi was
trying to cloak this all in a guise of doing it because it was
something she thought Q wanted, a deluded belief, but at least
one done for his own benefit.  However, Harry's picture of it was
different, and Q latched onto that view.  If Naomi *had* cared
for him, she would have respected his opinion, would have given
him a choice.  She hadn't, which cemented Q's conviction that he
needed to get away from here.

Harry nodded grimly, able to count the time back in his head as
well as anyone.  Naomi had been closely linked to Admiral Pelz
when he had been here months back.  There was no one else it
could be.  And Q would have every reason to be bitter if that
were the truth.  Yet another good motive not to get involved with
women.  "Where were you thinking of going?"

"The Daystrom Institute," Q answered absently.  "They groveled
the best."

"Naturally," Harry said.  "Say, I have an idea.  Why don't we
both get really drunk and let someone else carry us back to our
quarters?"

Q looked at Harry, cocking an eyebrow at him.  "And vomiting
is supposed to make me feel better?"

"You're supposed to stop before that point."

"Which is?"

"Whenever you feel like throwing up.  Of course, we *are*
talking about synthenol here.  If you feel like throwing up, just
stop being drunk," Harry said, grinning.  "So is it a date?"

Q looked at Harry, feeling tired and world-weary beyond
measure.  He'd been betrayed by Naomi, he had no place to go
other than home, and if he did, he'd have to face problems he
had no intention of dealing with.  "Just this once.  And only if
you promise not to sing."

"Done!" 

****

"...I'm truly sorry about this, Dr. Allen, but we didn't know
what else to do but to call you, even though it *is* late."

Naomi tried to stifle a grin.  It wouldn't do to make Parkinson
think that she was laughing at him, which she was.  "I
understand.  I'll be right down."

Naomi got dressed, and started down to the lounge, curious as to
what she was going to find there.  Parkinson had been rather
vague about the nature of the disturbance.  All he'd said was that
it concerned Q and could she please come fix it.

It couldn't be anything seriously wrong, or Li would have been
on the screen and Q would have been in Sickbay, not the lounge.

Naomi made her way down to the lounge, surprised by the
number of people waiting in the halls outside, all trying to get a
glimpse of what was happening inside.  *Oh, this is going to be
good*, Naomi thought to herself.

She elbowed her way through the crowd, none of whom wanted
to give place to anyone else.  Some of them let her by when they
saw who it was, but most people weren't paying that much
attention to her.  Naomi was grateful for being small; nothing
else would have gotten her through that crowd of hulking
Starfleet types.

At the door was a Security detachment, but not Parkinson.  He
was apparently inside.  Naomi recognized Veloz as part of the
team that had guarded them during the Dilkinen incident.  "Can't
you do something about this?" Naomi asked, gesturing to the
crowd.  "This is really unacceptable."

Veloz nodded.  "Yes, ma'am."

Naomi walked past the guard and through the door.  There were
still people inside, but not nearly as many, and several of them
were Security.  She automatically started looking for Q, and
found him and Harry, sitting on the floor, playing some sort of
game and drinking, with Sanaharrar standing guard over them
like an avenging Fury, not letting Security get anywhere near
them.

Parkinson came over to her as soon as he spotted her.  "Dr.
Allen.  Please, you've got to do something about this."

"Why?  Doesn't look like they're doing anything wrong to me."

"They're sitting on the *floor*," Parkinson said in exasperated
tones.

Naomi looked at Harry and Q again.  "Yes, that would appear to
be what they're doing."

"And they've been throwing things at the other patrons!"

"Really?" Naomi asked.  "How awful of them.  And this was
judged to be a security risk to the starbase?"

Parkinson glowered at her.  "We were called by him."  He
pointed to the manager of the lounge.  "People have been
complaining.  He tried talking to them first, and that damned cat
almost took his hand off.  Then the ruckus really started.  We
were going to brig them for causing a disturbance, but that
damned cat won't let us anywhere near them!"  He sounded
frustrated.

Naomi rather thought this might have ruined his entire week for
him.  "Good for her."

Parkinson's face clouded over.  "You've got to get them out of
here."

Naomi nodded.  "If I must."  She looked directly at Parkinson. 
"However, I want this place cleared.  Everybody here is just
watching this, and that's completely unacceptable."

"I can't do that."

"Sure you can," Naomi said.  "If you don't, I could always go
back to bed, and then you can stun Sanaharrar to get at Q and
Harry.  Of course, that would leave you with a long explanation
of why you had to do that when there was a less disruptive
alternative."

Apparently the idea of stunning Sanaharrar had not occurred to
Parkinson, because he visibly brightened when Naomi mentioned
it.  "You could."

Naomi could have hit herself for that remark.  "Just do it, all
right?  I can get them out of here without any fuss if you play
nice."

Parkinson thought about it, then nodded.  "Q had better not try
this again or..."

"Like other people haven't gotten drunk and started misbehaving
in a bar before?  At least Harry and Q don't appear to have
broken anything or hurt anyone," Naomi said sarcastically.  "Go
do your job, okay?"

Without waiting for a response, Naomi walked over to Q and
Harry.  Sanaharrar was standing between them and the guards, a
motionless statue, her eyes watching everyone, the tip of her tail
twitching.

"I don't suppose this was your idea?" Naomi asked Sanaharrar,
not expecting an answer from the laconic bodyguard.

Sanaharrar looked impassively back at her, enigmatic eyes giving
away none of her thoughts.  But she didn't protest Naomi's
presence, letting her pass as she had not allowed any of the
guards to do.

Naomi knelt down next to Q and Harry, who were giving every
evidence of being plastered.  Q was as elegantly poised as
always, the only dead giveaway to his state being that he was
reclining on the floor, something he would never do under
ordinary circumstances.  "Hello, gentlemen."

"Naomi!" Harry said expansively.  "Come to join the fun?"

"Not really, Harry," Naomi said.  "Besides, I have a tendency to
start singing when I get drunk."

Q lurched upright at that, his expression alarmed.  "No singing!"

Naomi was fascinated by their current state of drunkenness. 
She'd never seen Q drunk, never seen him really drink for that
matter.  In this day and age, where synthenol allowed you to go
from drunk to sober in instants, it was rare to see someone drunk
who didn't want to be.  Apparently, Q and Harry wanted to be. 
Either that or they weren't drinking synthenol.

"It's time to go home, gentleman."

"Awww," Harry said.  "But we were just having fun, Mom."

"Well, you both have to get up in the morning.  It's a school
night, you know," Naomi said, falling into the role naturally.

Harry grumbled but stood up, swaying.  "I don't *want* to go to
school."

"With your grades, why would you?" Q asked, seeing his partner
in crime departing, and standing up as well.  His balance was all
off and as he started to list to one side, Naomi jumped up and put
his arm around her shoulders, supporting him.  Q accepted that as
his just due, leaning a little more heavily on her.  He never got
drunk, never had gotten drunk, because he feared the loss of
control.  Tonight, there had seemed to be worse things to fear,
such as what abomination Naomi might give birth to in six
months.  However, he had obviously been all wrong about this
drunkenness business.  He hadn't lost control at all.  He was
quite proud of himself for how well he had behaved and how on
top of everything he felt right now. 

"Don't know," Harry said.  He addressed Naomi.  "I won't have
to wear the dunce cap again, will I?"

"Maybe," Naomi said firmly, steering Q toward the door, and
praying Harry would follow.  "What's two plus two?"

"One," both Q and Harry said simultaneously.

"What is this, some kind of bad physics joke?" Naomi asked.

Q turned around to look at Harry, nearly bowling Naomi over,
then both of them turned to look at Naomi. 

"No."

"Yes."

Naomi groaned.  "Let's just get you two back where you
belong."  She didn't consider asking them to get sober.  If they
hadn't already, then for whatever perverse reason, they didn't
want to.  Naomi couldn't understand it herself, but she wasn't
about to try to talk them out of it.

Mercifully, the hall had been cleared.  Sanaharrar led the
procession, the only stately member of the group.  Naomi
followed with Q, doing her best to keep him upright, an almost
impossible task under the circumstances, especially when he
seemed determined to turn around at every opportunity in order to
talk to Harry, who was bringing up the rear with some semblance
of drunken poise.

They encountered a few people on the way, all of whom just had
to stop and stare.  Naomi tried to ignore the unwanted observers,
but it was impossible.  Q was going to be very upset about this in
the morning, when he realized what he'd done, and how many
people had seen him do it.

Harry followed them all the way back to their quarters,
wandering inside like a lost puppy.  After settling Q, who seemed
more tired than drunk at that point, in bed for the night, Naomi
gave Harry a blanket and let him sleep on the couch.  It would be
far too much trouble to try to explain to him in his condition why
he should go back to his own quarters, and she didn't feel up to
taking him there.

When she got back to the bedroom, Q was asleep or pretending to
be.  Naomi was willing to let him.  She'd been woken out of a
sound sleep by Parkinson; she could go back to bed just as easily. 
The morning would be soon enough to sort this out.

****

Harry was long gone by the time Naomi got up in the morning. 
Q didn't get up.  He was lying in bed, wishing he were dead.

Naomi had gotten ready for the day, and come back in, looking
for him.  Unsympathetically, she sat on the bed, causing it to
move slightly.

Q groaned.  "Must you do that?"

"Must I do what?"

"Come and annoy me in my hour of need.  I'm *dying*."

"No, you're not," Naomi said, beginning to be amused by the
situation, although not particularly by his pain.  "You're
hungover.  A common occurrence after being as drunk as you
and Harry were."

"Then I shall never drink again."  The pronouncement was
delivered vehemently, causing Q to groan again.  "I'm going to
die.  Why haven't you called Li to come and gloat over my
deathbed?"

Naomi shrugged slightly.  "I can.  But I didn't think you'd
appreciate it very much if he laughed at you for getting hungover
on synthenol.  *Nobody* does that anymore.  You have to
deliberately *try* to get hungover with synthenol."

Q closed his eyes, moaning piteously.  Naomi got up, and he felt
abandoned.  How dare she leave when he needed her?  Not that
she could do anything for him, but she was someone for him to
blame for the way he felt, and he needed that right now.

A few minutes later, the bed dipped again.  Q opened his eyes. 
"Back to torment me further?"

"Of course," Naomi said calmly.  "How could I resist?  You're
utterly helpless right now.  Completely at my mercy."  She set
something down on the stand next to him, and then started pulling
him up, very slowly.

Q felt a rush of nausea run over him.  "Please don't do that.  I
feel positively ill."

Naomi was heartless, shoving a pillow behind him to keep him
sitting up slightly.  "You'll be sicker if you don't."

"I can't *get* sicker."

Naomi picked up the glass from the table.  "Here, drink this."

At the moment, he would have done anything anyone suggested if
there was the slightest hope it would stop him from feeling like
this.  Even if it would kill him.  Perhaps especially if it would
kill him.  Q accepted her assistance with the glass and drank it. 
"What was that?" he asked, as she set the empty glass down.

"Old home remedy," Naomi said seriously, although that wasn't
actually true, since she'd made it using the replicator.  It was the
best she could do for Q though, without getting Sickbay involved
and thus humiliating him worse than he had already done all on
his own last night.

"For what?  Warts?"

"Do you have some?" Naomi asked, amused.  "I could always get
another glass, and we can spread it on your body.  Which
reminds me.  We haven't had sex yet today."  She smirked at Q,
daring him to get her back for that blatant threat.

He didn't disappoint her.  "You only want to get me well in order
to molest me.  How typical."

"Isn't it though?" Naomi asked, grinning.  She didn't care one
way or the other about sex at the moment, but it did matter to her
that Q felt well.  "That's me, boring and predictable.  It's a
wonder you even keep me around."

Q glared at her, expression set and mulish.  She was attempting
humor again, and it didn't suit her.  The horrible part was that he
was actually beginning to feel better.  All an illusion, of course. 
Whatever she had given him could scarcely have taken effect yet.

Naomi reached out and took his hand almost absentmindedly,
stroking the back of it with her fingers.

Q wanted to pull away, wanted instinctively to keep from feeling
a sense of connection to her.  But he couldn't help needing her,
couldn't help feeling as if her touching him was the only thing
holding him here at all.  It was the sense of illness making him
think these things, Q decided.  He didn't really need her, didn't
really care about her.  His fingers curled around her wrist,
holding onto her as she was holding onto him.

In the moment of acceptance, Q remembered what had happened
the night before.  Feeling ill and angry had blocked it out for a
while, but he couldn't escape the vivid, despicable memories
now.

Groaning again, he sank back into the pillows, closing his eyes
against the onslaught, but the memories were all in his head, and
he couldn't avoid them.

He had made a fool of himself in front of the entire starbase.  He
really did need to get out of here now, Naomi or no Naomi.

****

The gossip ran through the starbase like wildfire.  There was
nothing faster than a rumor, particularly when it was about Q,
and was as juicy as this one.

Naomi was pregnant, reliable witnesses who'd been in the lounge
the night before said.  They'd heard Q announce it themselves,
right before his drunken debauchery on the floor of the lounge
with Harry, which someone's labmate had heard of personally
from a contact in Security.  A friend of a medtech confirmed that
Naomi had indeed been seen in Sickbay regarding her pregnancy. 
And yet another person claimed they'd seen Q arranging to take a
trip, a *long* trip.

All of these already juicy bits of gossip added up to a number of
even more vitriolic rumors, created by people theorizing as to the
reasons behind Q and Naomi's actions.

By the time Naomi and Q were ready to attend the get together
that evening, there wasn't a person on the starbase with a single
shred of curiosity who didn't know all about Naomi's pregnancy,
and have their own explanation for Q's desire to get away, as
well as their own opinion of both.

Naomi and Q were enjoying an uneasy peace.  Q had managed to
solace his wounded feelings with the promise of being able to get
out of this situation shortly.  He could still tolerate Naomi's
company, and even liked talking to her.  He just couldn't look at
her without feeling uneasy.  There were a number of good
reasons why he didn't like the idea of children, not the least of
which was the issue of how the Continuum would regard this.  It
wasn't his child, they had prevented him from having children,
and that was as strong a sign as there was that they didn't want
him having any.  If he had indeed had one while in human form
and stripped of his powers, it would not have been a Q.  It would
have been entirely ordinary, carrying the genetic legacy of Jason
Hartfeil.  Which the Continuum didn't want.  Which was exactly
what Naomi had done and exactly what genes her child had.  Q
didn't like that at all.  This wasn't his fault!  He didn't have
anything to do with it, and if they blamed him for it, he was
going to be very, very upset, to put it mildly.

Naomi had taken the incident with Harry as being an attempt at
coming to grips with reality.  A not very good attempt, but an
attempt nonetheless.  Certainly Q seemed to be in a far better
mood than she would have predicted, given what had happened
the night before.  Not only had she told him about the pregnancy,
but being drunk and disorderly in front of a large number of
people was something that should have shocked Q to the marrow
of his bones.  His relative composure was both gratifying and
frightening to Naomi.  She was glad he felt well, but was waiting
for the other shoe to drop.

****

The moment they entered the room, Naomi knew something was
wrong.  She wasn't sure how she knew.  There was nothing
unusual about people turning to stare at them; Q liked presenting
a dramatic appearance, and would engage in outrageous behavior
if necessary in order to get attention.  And he had made a fool of
himself the night before in a very spectacular way.  Certainly
people were going to stare.

But there was something different about this.  Something which
seemed ominous to Naomi, although she had trouble pinpointing
why.  She held onto Q's arm, trying to figure it out.  The stares
were all wrong, even given the degree of attention Q had
attracted to himself last night in the lounge with Harry.

It didn't hit until Q pulled away to talk to some of the people
from the physics department.  And then it was so obvious she
didn't know how she had missed it.  People were staring at
*her*, not Q.  With a brief glance down, Naomi checked over
her appearance.  Pale pink dress, cut reasonably loosely, with a
decent amount of cleavage for once, since she'd picked this
ensemble out rather than Q.  She was wearing shoes, and they
appeared to match each other as well as the dress.  What was
going on?

A sudden suspicion occurred to her, and Naomi felt sick.  But
what else could this staring be a result of?  Somehow, and she
didn't know, people must have found out.  Eventually everyone
had to know about her pregnancy; it would be impossible to hide
it for much longer.  But now?  Tonight?  This would be the worst
case of bad timing she'd ever encountered.  Q needed some time
to adjust to the idea before he had to deal with everyone else
knowing.  *She* needed some time to adjust to the idea.  Before
she'd embarked on this grand adventure with Q, her life had been
unremarkable.  No one had cared what she did, her exploits were
discussed in her own department among the few people she
socialized with.  Now it seemed that everyone knew everything
she did, that her every fault and foible was of intense interest to
them.  After the misunderstanding where Naomi had ended up in
Sickbay with a bruised jaw, she had heard about her tendency
towards co-dependence from everyone.  She hated this sort of
detailed scrutiny, and had grown to appreciate Q's desire for
privacy when he was out of the limelight.  

Of course, Naomi would have liked privacy at all times. 
Especially now.

Farish and Jinn were bearing down upon her simultaneously. 
Their friendship was probably the worst thing she had ever had a
hand in developing.  Her off-handed suggestion to Jinn that
Farish might be interested in him had ended up developing into
something more.  Not the kind of relationship she had been
taunting Jinn with, but a kind of devious partnership in pranks
and skulduggery that left everyone scurrying out of their way.

"Hello," Naomi said reluctantly.

Farish was smiling openly.  "My congratulations, Naomi.  I
apologize for having so misunderstood your relationship with Q."

Naomi stared at him, then looked at Jinn for assistance.

Jinn had an evil grin on his face, which was hardly unusual for
him.  "I never would have thought of you as the maternal type,
Naomi."

"I'm not," Naomi said automatically.

Farish guffawed.  "That's very funny.  She's not."  He laughed
again.

Naomi looked at Jinn as if to say, "And you like this bozo?"

Jinn shrugged and grinned at her.

Naomi sighed.  "Yes, I'm pregnant, but don't make a big fuss out
of it.  Women get pregnant all the time."  She looked
significantly at Jinn.  "You *do* have a son, you know.  Your
girlfriend must have been pregnant at *some* point in time."

"That is the rumor," Jinn said, unfazed.

Naomi grinned slightly.  "You thought the stork left him,
maybe?"

"Actually, I was betting on the Easter Bunny."

Both of them swiveled to look at Farish, who was oblivious to the
remark.

"I don't think that's really his style," Naomi said.

"You may have a point."

He sauntered off with Farish, no doubt to torment some poor fool
who had made the mistake of being alive and breathing at the
same time Jinn and Farish were in the room.

Naomi felt a little relieved about the pregnancy issue.  Maybe
people did know, but obviously it wasn't going to be any big
deal.  Jinn was being his usual self about it, and if anyone was
going to torment her, it would certainly be him.

A delicate, female voice broke into her thoughts.  "Naomi,
*dear*."

The silky, insulting tone was immistakable, although Naomi had
never actually directly spoken with Amy.  Certainly she wouldn't
have done so since finding out what had happened between Amy
and Q.  The urge to humiliate her, to drag her down and pull out
her hair, one strand at a time, would have been too strong.

Naomi turned to meet her enemy.  "Amy," she acknowledged.  

The taller woman stopped and looked at her.  Amy despised
Naomi particularly because of everything she was and looked
like.  They were very much alike, and that was a point of
contention, but being together only pointed out the differences. 
Where Amy was small, Naomi was tiny.  Amy had red hair, with
rich golden highlights; Naomi had the very rare true red, with no
highlights other than its own dark sheen.  Amy had flash and a
certain sort of gaudy flair; Naomi, when she wasn't looking like
something from a rag bag, had style.  And worse, Naomi not
only had Q, she had obviously succeeded with him.  A status
point in her favor, not that Naomi was the kind of person who
slept with men for variety or points.  Which only made Amy
despise her more.

"So what is it?  Boy, girl or mutant?"

Naomi paled for a moment, then stood her ground.  She wouldn't
lose face to Amy.  "A baby, I believe."

"How charming, and Q's the father?"

Her tone was oozing with false interest.  Naomi didn't buy it for
a moment.  "Father?  What an outdated concept."

"So you don't know who the father is?" Amy's face was lit with
an wicked amusement, and Naomi felt an urge to wipe it off. 
Permanently.  "My condolences."

"What a nasty-minded question," Naomi said.  "Excuse me."

She turned away and started to leave, needing to get out of there
before she did something she would never be able to explain to
Security.

"He's leaving you, you know."

Naomi stopped at that.  She couldn't ignore it, couldn't help
turning around to face her accuser.  "I'm sorry, I have no idea
what you're talking about."

"Oh, yes," Amy continued with a malicious grin on her face,
"He's definitely leaving.  Going to the Daystrom Institute. 
Didn't he tell you?"  Her voice invited Naomi to try to deny it.

Naomi went pale, but wasn't going to give Amy or anyone else
the satisfaction.  "Even if it were true, it wouldn't be any of your
business.  I see you can't even hold onto someone long enough
for them to run away."

Amy flushed red with anger, and was about to reply, when
Naomi turned and stalked away, not about to give Amy the
satisfaction.

Still fuming from her confrontation with Amy, Naomi was in no
mood to hear anything else about her pregnancy or Q's possible
reactions.  She couldn't believe people were talking about it that
much, and she didn't want to believe that what Amy said might
be the truth.  The Daystrom Institute *had* wanted to have Q
visit, what establishment of its nature wouldn't?  But he had
turned them down.  At least, he'd turned down the offer that she
knew about.  Which didn't mean anything.

At that moment, precisely the wrong moment, Diana Ashe walked
up to Naomi, placing one hand on Naomi's arm.  "Oh, my dear,
I am *so* sorry for you."

Naomi stiffened.  She didn't like being touched by relative
strangers at the best of times, and right now it was an unbearable
intrusion on her privacy.  "You are?  How nice for you."

Diana disregarded that as meaningless, completely overlooking
the icy tones behind the words.  "I tried to tell you about him. 
You know, you can do *so* much better.  There are lots of men
who would treat you well, even with the baby."

Naomi couldn't help herself.  While part of her, the small
rational part that wasn't taking up much of her brain at the
moment, was saying that Diana meant well despite her
uncontrolled mouth, the rest of her was angry, very angry.

"You don't know me," Naomi hissed, her jaw clenched.  "You
don't know anything about me, or about Q, and still you're
passing judgment on us."

Diana stiffened, her smooth social face wrinkling over with
affront.  "What?  Are you accusing me of something?"

"I'm accusing you of being a low-minded gossip with nothing
better to do than to pry into other people's personal affairs.  I'm
accusing you of being thoughtless, cruel, and stupid.  Of course,
you can't do anything about the stupid part, but that doesn't make
it any better, now does it?" Naomi was flushed with anger, riding
a wave of frustration that had grown greater with every comment
and question directed at her tonight.

"Who do you think you are?" Diana asked, shocked.

Naomi shook her head, feeling a sick sense of power.  "No.  The
question is, who do you think *you* are, insinuating these awful
things about *my* life?  You have no right to do that, no right at
all."

Diana opened her mouth to say something else, and Naomi held
up a hand.  "I don't want to hear it.  I don't want to hear
anything you have to say.  Goodbye, Diana."

Naomi turned and walked away, the anger draining out of her
quickly, being replaced with a sinking sensation of having done
something very, very wrong.  There was no reason to yell at
Diana.  Her questions had been no more intrusive than anyone
else's, and a good deal kinder than Amy's insinuations.  Just the
thought of Amy sent a surge of rage through Naomi.  How dare
she say things like that?

The problem was, what if she were right?  What if Q really were
leaving, if he had agreed to visit the Daystrom Institute after all? 
It was plausible, it was more than plausible.

Finding her way through the crowd, ignoring all attempts by
other people to start a conversation with her, Naomi kept going
until she reached Q.

He was embroiled in a deep discussion with some of the rather
wild types that Harry liked to hang out with.  Wild for scientists,
that was.

Q didn't acknowledge Naomi's arrival by his side, although the
side conversations immediately fell silent, surreptitious glances
being directed towards her waist.  Naomi could already see the
snoopy questions starting inside their heads.  She couldn't take it,
couldn't handle the pressure anymore.  Q was leaving her, and
everyone knew it but her.  How dare he do this to her?  How
could he?

"...which makes it obvious that the universe is really a form of
poetry, and bad poetry at that, since it only placed second in the
contest," Q said, waiting for a reaction.

There was none.  Everyone was looking at Naomi.  Q scowled as
he followed the direction of their gaze.  "What do *you* want?"

"I'm tired," Naomi said, balked by the presence of so many
people hanging on their every word, waiting to see some public
confirmation of the tiff between them.  "I'd like to go home
now."

One of the people in the loose circle surrounding them nodded. 
"In your condition..."  His voice trailed off as he realized that
was an injudicious statement.  Naomi had not yet publicly
acknowledged the pregnancy; it was only a rumor, albeit a fairly
certain one.  And there was no visible sign yet, not given the
loose clothing she was fond of wearing.

He turned red as Naomi looked steadily at him, then back at Q,
who was peeved at being interrupted.  There was no way he'd be
able to get the conversation back on track now.  Trust Naomi to
bring up some irrelevant subject like her pregnancy and ruin all
his fun.

"Oh, all right," Q said with bad grace.  "If you must."

"I must."  Naomi waited for him to hold out his arm for her, and
she took it, relieved to be getting out of there at last.  She held
up the pretense of being polite until they got back to their
quarters and safely inside closed doors.  There wasn't much point
in the pretense, since everyone apparently knew everything there
was to know, and some she didn't even know, about her
pregnancy and what was going to happen next.  But there was
also no point in giving anyone the satisfaction of being proved
right in their suspicion.

However, once the door closed, Naomi turned on Q.

"You're leaving?" Naomi asked in a quiet voice.

Q didn't catch the implied threat behind her subdued manner. 
"Merely taking the Institute up on their standing invitation."

"And what about me?"

Q flicked a casual hand at her.  "Oh, you.  Always so selfish,
always thinking of yourself.  How petty.  Can't you even be
happy for me?"

"You're getting married?" Naomi asked dryly.  "I hadn't heard
that either, but given how I didn't hear about your upcoming
vacation plans, I suppose that's in character."

Q looked contemptuously at her for even suggesting such a
ridiculous idea as marriage.  "Pregnant women whine a lot, I
see."

"Only when the men we love try to leave us," Naomi said, trying
to stay in control here.  It would be entirely too easy to blow up
and yell at him, but that would hardly have a desirable effect on
Q.

"Go ahead, cloak your biological drives in sweet sounding words. 
I know all the tricks," Q said, attention firmly on Naomi.  He
wanted to leave, needed to leave, but at the same time, didn't
want to go.  There really was no reason for him to need to
permanently leave.  Naomi had simply decided to have a baby, an
unfortunate, but perfectly explicable urge on the part of a human
woman her age.  He bore no responsibility in the matter, and she
couldn't make him.  But he still felt panicked, still needed to get
away, to establish some distance.  Naomi was becoming entirely
too smug in her ability to manipulate him and do whatever she
wanted.  Not only had she gone right ahead and gotten pregnant
without even telling him about it, she'd also pushed him out of
bed and yelled at him!  Q felt the outrage at that again.  Some
time without him would do her attitude a world of good.

"Tricks?" Naomi asked, outraged.  "You think I'm just making
all of this up for some perverse amusement of my own?"

"In short, yes."

Naomi scowled at him.  "Fine.  Leave.  Have a nice day."  She
turned and walked out on him, leaving him in the middle of the
common room.  She couldn't stand being with him one more
moment.  Not after everything that had already passed this
evening.  She wasn't sure who she was angry with, or why.  She
knew could have insisted on going with him.  At the very least,
she could have stowed away, even if coercion hadn't worked. 
But Q didn't want her with him, and she wasn't going to force
herself on him.  Let him go off.  Let him try to live without her. 
Maybe he could do it, but at the moment, Naomi was so upset
with him, that she was convinced he'd fall to pieces the moment
he was out of sight.  *Posturing peacock.*

Naomi changed out of her dressy clothes, then took a shower to
avoid comment from Q on her lack of hygiene.  If he had his
way, she'd have to take one about every five minutes.  Or at least
three or four times a day.  Which wouldn't be so bad if the time
were spent in more *interesting* ways.  A thought to horrify Q to
his marrow.

Putting on a light robe, Naomi stood next to her solitary bed and
stared at it.  She didn't want to make nice with Q right now.  She
didn't want to have to pretend that everything was all right and
that she was infinitely forgiving of his little faults and foibles,
like deciding to desert her without so much as a word.  She
wasn't forgiving at all.  Not like that anyway.  On the other
hand, if he really was leaving tomorrow, then this would be the
last night she'd spend with him in a long while.  *Maybe
forever*, a small voice whispered.  Naomi shook her head.  That
was nonsense.  Q would be back.  An unexpected pregnancy
wasn't that big of a deal.  Was it?

But he was leaving entirely too soon, and she needed him almost
as much as he needed her, although she'd never admit it.  Q
wouldn't believe that even if she said it, would accuse her of
trying to manipulate him or being in love with him.  Which she
was, but being in love with someone didn't preclude wanting to
strangle them, particularly if the love object in question was Q.

She padded silently out of her room and through the common
area to Q's room.  He was lying on the bed, in a different outfit,
but fully dressed nonetheless, flipping listlessly through an
antique book.

He looked up as she came in.  "What are you doing here?  Get
out."

Naomi shook her head, and continued over to the bed.  "No."

Q was all at once upset by that and relieved.  Upset that she
wasn't listening to him and was yet again doing things he didn't
want her to do, and relieved that she wasn't going to leave him
and didn't want to leave him.  "Are you deaf?"

"Apparently."  Naomi pulled back the covers, then sat down on
the bed facing him, legs crossed, and looked at him.  "You
wanna make something of it?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Naomi's mouth lifted at the corners.  "Do you ever?"

There was no answer he could make to that, and none needed. 
Naomi burrowed into his arms without waiting for any kind of
invitation, and didn't say another word.

She didn't make any advances on him, and Q said nothing.  He
continued looking at the book, but the words made no sense to
him.  She was there, and although he wanted to be angry about
that, he wasn't.  Setting the book down carefully, Q repositioned
Naomi slightly in order to tug a blanket over them.  She didn't
move or stir, just cuddled closer to him, which gave Q an entirely
alien feeling of protectiveness.  She wanted him, *trusted* him. 
How bizarre.

Naomi didn't move, and Q assumed she was going to sleep like
that, unmindful of any strain she might be putting on his arms. 
How very like her.  So inconsiderate.

Q closed his eyes in preparation for sleep, not letting go of
Naomi, curiously reassured by the feel of her in his arms.

****

The next morning, it was if that brief moment of accord had
never happened.  Q was up early, making the arrangements to
leave as soon as possible.

Naomi climbed out of bed, bleary-eyed.  "Do you *have* to be
so cheerful in the morning?"

"A good night's sleep does *wonders* for your personality," Q
said, inspecting his wardrobe, which he had draped over the bed,
unmindful of Naomi's presence in it.  So many things to take, so
little luggage.

Naomi declined to answer that, instead grumbling slightly as she
went off to her own room to get ready for the day.  She hated
mornings even more than usual of late.  She wasn't hungry,
didn't want to eat.  She just wanted to crawl back in bed and stay
there.  For the next six months, preferably.  It might be worth
sending Q off, just so she could get to sleep in.

When she came back, feeling much the same, but at least tidy, Q
still hadn't made up his mind.

Naomi curled up in a chair, watching him.  One of the nice
things about getting his things back from Anderson was the
preponderance of furniture.  At one time, she would have been
sitting on the floor.  As it was, the floor was almost the only
place Q didn't have covered with clothing and accessories.  She
didn't quite understand it, since she would have gone off with no
more than the clothes on her back, trusting to replicators to
supply anything else she needed.  However, this *was* Q.  "Why
don't you just take all of it?"

Q glanced over at her.  "Oh, how insightful.  I would never have
thought of that on my own."

His tone was sarcastic, but Naomi ignored that.  "Exactly."

"You'd probably help Starfleet burn these if I don't take them
with me," Q said in a whining grumble.

"Only what I didn't want to use as drapes."

"Drapes?  Your taste is even lower than I thought."

"Is that possible?" Naomi asked mockingly.

"No."  Q looked over at her.  "You could make yourself useful."

"And do what?  You already said you didn't want me burning
these."  Naomi waved at the clothes.

Q frowned at her, then dismissed the thought.  "Since you don't
apparently have anything better to do but laze around in that
chair, you could make yourself useful by canceling my remaining
appointments with Medellin."

Naomi nodded.  "Why are you still seeing her at all?  *I* got out
of it."

"Pity.  You're the one who needed it."

Naomi scowled at him.  "Very funny.  Anything else?  Dry
cleaning to pick up?  Change of address cards to fill out?  Put the
cat out?"

"If you'd be a dear, yes," Q said, hardly even looking at her.

There was nothing she could do to change his mind, and Naomi
wasn't even about to try.  She didn't want him to leave, but then
she'd hate it more if he left permanently, and that was what
coercing him was likely to cause.  This was a temporary
separation.  For now, at least.

"When are you leaving?"

"This evening," Q said curtly, pretending to be interested in the
burning issue of whether a green tunic was worth taking with
him.  His stomach was beginning to churn.  Assuming he wasn't
hungry, a revolting possibility, he was anxious about Naomi
causing problems.  He didn't want to confront her.  He wasn't
running scared, but getting into an intense discussion about his
motives and *feelings* would be unpleasant to say the least.

But Naomi said nothing, neither helping nor hindering him, just
watching him, underfoot each step of the way as he prepared to
go.  Q disliked that.  He wouldn't miss her at all.

Not one bit.

****

Q arrived at the Daystrom Institute, prepared to make mincemeat
out of the first person he saw.  He was *not* in a good mood. 
Not only had the trip there been less than congenial, but there
was still the problem of Naomi and her precipitous actions.  Of
the two, the trip was irritating him the most at the moment.  The
trick Naomi had shown him of imitating a VIP did not work
nearly as well without any flunkies to scurry around at his
bidding.  Only Sanaharrar had commanded any respect, and even
as Q had enjoyed her deliberately yawning in front of an
obnoxious official, he had been peeved that it was even
necessary.  Didn't they *know* they were supposed to treat him
with some respect?

Then there was the issue of having to travel at all, getting from
place to place at a lumbering rate of speed roughly comparable in
length to watching the universe slowly collapse, only not nearly
as interesting.  One of the little things he really missed about his
powers was the ability to just *be* somewhere; to put it
egotistically, move the universe around himself until he was
where he wanted to be.  Which wasn't quite true, but there
weren't concepts for it in the human mindset.  Omnipresent came
the closest, and even that was a pallid description of the actual
experience.

So it was a sense of relief that Q met his official welcomer from
the Institute.  Finally someone to take all of his frustration out
on.

The person who came out to greet him was dressed much like
Naomi would have been dressed in a similar situation, in the
unspoken, agreed upon uniform which fell somewhere between
business professional, college professor and escapee from a bad
tourist brochure.

"Q, I'm so glad to meet you at last.  I've heard so much about
your work, and we're all thrilled to have you here," the
dark-haired woman said, stopping in front of him, hands clasped
in front of her.  She frowned slightly at him, then realized what
she'd forgotten.  "I'm Dr. Judith Owen-Martinez.  Call me Judith
or Marty.  Everyone else does."

She smiled at him again, and Q felt absurdly flattered by the
warmth of her welcome, everything he'd been wanting to say
melting away in the face of that approval.  "Dr. Owen-Martinez. 
Specializing in some obscure branch of physics."

She beamed at him, pleased by the recognition from someone so
stellar.  "Nothing of any account.  My own work is merely
speculative, compared to what you must have done, and the
knowledge you have easily available to you."

Q visibly preened.  "The small legacy left to me."

She shook her head.  "Much more than that."  The doctor looked
them over, Q and Sanaharrar both, not disturbed by the presence
of Q's bodyguard one whit.  Even if they hadn't been warned in
advance, there were far stranger beings working in the field of
physics, and far more dangerous ones.  "Would you like a tour? 
There's a lot of people who'd really like to meet you.  But if
you'd rather rest from your trip, everyone would understand."

The second thought obviously disappointed her, but Q was more
swayed by the idea of an adoring audience.  Praise came so
rarely to him; his talents were largely taken for granted on the
starbase.  He was their performing seal, an oddity, a sideshow
freak to be stared at.  And, admittedly, there wasn't much that
could be done with his experience.  He could validate existing
theories of the universe, but he had trouble explaining even the
basic, simplified concepts behind the true workings of the cosmos
to the dullards they sent him.  His knowledge of human
technology was greater than it had been, but he had no more idea
how to construct a working transwarp drive than he had on how
to bake a batch of chocolate cookies from scratch.  Pelz would
have been vastly surprised to learn that.  Oh, Q knew the
principles, but he couldn't have actually done the engineering, or
even been terribly helpful with it.  Not that Pelz would have
believed him.  The man was an ignorant jackass.

Q looked down at his guide, and made grand, sweeping gesture
towards the rest of the building.  "I put myself completely in your
hands."

Owen-Martinez took Q on a tour of the Institute, showing him the
various laboratories and places of interests.

However, what Q was more impressed by were the people. 
Everywhere they went, people seemed to materialize out of
nowhere, wanting to see him, to speak to him, to admire him for
his knowledge and superior intellect.  Q was immensely flattered
by the attention.  This had been a good idea, one he should have
pursued a long time ago.  Finally he was getting the recognition
and praise he deserved.  He didn't need Naomi, didn't need
anybody.  He'd found his proper home, and he was happy.

Owen-Martinez introduced Q to a man, about Harry's age, tall
and slender with tousled brown hair and friendly hazel eyes. 
"This is Dr. Kai Weybright."

Weybright smiled at Q, but didn't offer to shake his hand.  The
gesture was not universal, and was even offensive to some
people.  And unlike other, more oblivious scientific types,
Weybright had some sense of other people's personal privacies. 
"It's an honor to meet you at last."

Q looked down at him.  "Doctor, doctor, doctor.  I'm beginning
to feel naked without this title in front of my name."

Weybright continued to grin.  "Yes, doctors are as common on
the ground here as rocks.  Can't go anywhere without tripping
over one.  Even the research assistants have doctorates.  You
could probably get any number of them, if you wanted to waste
your time proving you know things you've known all your life." 
His tone and posture invited Q to share in the joke.

"Didn't you know?" Q asked archly, beginning to enjoy himself. 
"This is part of my internship.  I'm working towards a degree in
the humanities."

"Well, there go your chances of ever getting employment,"
Weybright said.  "Around here, we use liberal arts grads for
receptionists."

Q's eyes glinted as he sensed a real challenge here.  This could
be a much more interesting sojourn than he had hoped for.

An elderly Vulcan scientist came out of his office, and was about
to walk by, when Owen-Martinez stopped him.  "Dr. Sumor, I'd
like to introduce you to..."

Before she could finish, the Vulcan had held up a hand, stopping
her.  "I know this gentleman."  He turned to give Q his full
attention.  "You look just like your grandfather."

"I do?" Q asked, momentarily at a loss, since he didn't,
technically speaking, *have* parents or grandparents for that
matter.  "Dear old grandpapa.  Where is he now?"

"Dead," the Vulcan said, with almost a hint of a smile that would
have been outright cackling in anyone else.  "And you're carrying
on the family tradition, Dr. Hartfeil."

The name caught Q on the quick.  Only a Vulcan would
remember something like that.  Or care.  He was in no way
related to Hartfeil.  *Although he would be*, Q thought savagely,
before suppressing the thought.  He had no obligation to any child
of Naomi's.

Owen-Martinez looked between the two of them.  "I'm afraid you
must be mistaken, Dr. Sumor."

"Mistaken?"  The Vulcan drew himself up to his full height,
raising an eyebrow at her.  "I worked with Jason Hartfeil.  The
resemblance is fascinating."  He looked back at Q.  "What
happened to your grandfather's research, Dr. Hartfeil?  He had
developed some interesting theories about chaos theory and a
physical phenomenon he had discovered which he believed was
the center of chaos itself, but he never published them."

Q went very stiff then.  He hadn't realized that anyone other than
Hartfeil had known about Hartfeil's research.  Or that someone
remained alive who knew the theories and could pursue them. 
The danger there was incalculable.  Because what Hartfeil had
been working on, had deduced the presence of and come
dangerously close to exposing, was the Heart of the Storm.

Hartfeil had first come to Q's attention then, over a hundred
years ago now.  If Hartfeil had not been engaging in such unwise
research, Q would never have noticed someone as insignificant as
a mortal physicist.  In his omnipotent state, physicists ranked
alongside dung beetles.  Frequently, they still did.

Q had basically squashed Hartfeil's research, killed his career and
forced him to seek an early retirement raising sugar beets. 
However, faced with a choice of going face first through the
Heart of the Storm, Hartfeil had made the decision on his own. 
Naturally, Hartfeil would not have survived the experience, but in
either case, Q's goal would have been accomplished, although he
would have had to go to more trouble in the second instance,
because then he himself would have had to go to all the bother of
destroying Hartfeil's research, while the way it had worked out,
Hartfeil had done it on his own, convinced of the necessity of
protecting humanity from its own stupidity.  Naturally, Q could
also have changed the timeline so that Hartfeil had never existed,
but that wouldn't have been nearly as much fun.  As it was, he
owed his present form to his interaction with that little man with
the interesting ideas.

However, it looked like there was still a danger.  It briefly
occurred to Q that he was wasting his time trying to protect these
people against themselves when that wasn't even his job anymore. 
Cynically, he considered that and then dismissed it.  The stodgy
sort of Q who really ran the Continuum would think of this as no
more than his duty, in whatever form he resided in, whatever
degree of excommunication he currently existed in.

"How much do you know about that research?" Q asked casually.

The Vulcan considered the question for a moment, eyebrows
coming together.  Even for someone with his mental capabilities,
memories that ancient could be difficult to retrieve.  "I could go
into great detail on the basic principles behind chaos theory;
however, you would be no doubt familiar with the concepts."

Q nodded.  He was familiar with everything about it, more
familiar than anyone would ever care to be.  The Heart of the
Storm was frightening, even to the Q.

As the conversation grew more abstract, even Owen-Martinez and
Weybright got lost.  Both were eminent physicists, respected in
their fields, but what Sumor was speaking of was a proposition
entirely outside of their experience.  Worse, the conversation was
made even more difficult to follow because, although it was clear
that both Q and Sumor knew exactly what they were talking
about, they skipped over large sections of explanation, picking at
pieces of theories and then moving on to a different subject
before either Owen-Martinez or Weybright could catch up.

"Of course," Q said nodding, then with a studied show of
unconcern, "It's a dead end, naturally."

The Vulcan nodded slightly.  "My own research is in another
area.  However, I found your grandfather's work fascinating."

Q didn't correct him on the subject of his relationship to Hartfeil. 
There was no point to it, and although it would give him a minor
satisfaction to be proved right, it was be overshadowed by the
greater satisfaction he felt at knowing that the other two were
staring at him like gaping fish, mouths opening and closing, but
no sounds coming out.

"Perhaps we will have an opportunity to discuss this further,"
Sumor said.  The Vulcan left, and Q watched him go, calculating
possibilities in his head.  Sumor knew much about the Heart of
the Storm, almost as much as Hartfeil had in theory, although
obviously Hartfeil had not shared all of his theories with Sumor. 
Some of the Vulcan's ideas were wrong, and it was also clear that
Sumor had not made the mental jump from the theory to
extrapolating the possibility of a real phenomenon which fit the
theories.  The chances were high that he never would.  In any
case, how would Q get a message back to the Continuum?  They
didn't care about him, weren't going to intervene in his life no
matter what happened, as was graphically proven by the Dilkinun
incident.  In fact, Q2 was more than likely to refuse to come back
under any circumstances for the next ten years just to keep from
being taunted by Q for being unable to stay away that long.  Of
course, Q *would* taunt him; there was no question of that.  So
it was just as well that there was no cause for concern.

"It looks like you are a doctor after all, Doctor," Weybright said,
amused.  "Or is that a secret disguise, Doctor?"

Q glared at him for making a stupid joke and interrupting his
thoughts.  "Kai the Weybright."

Weybright understood the pun immediately, having heard it at
least once a week his entire life.  "Hey, it gets me respect from
the Klingon physicists."

"Klingon physicist is a contradiction in terms," Q said dryly.

Owen-Martinez's comm badge chirped and she answered it
discreetly, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb anyone else. 
However, the message she received required her immediate
attention, and she had no choice.

"Kai, can you take over for me?" she asked, looking a little
flustered.  "They've got the editor of PATT on line wanting to
talk to me, and I absolutely have to take the call."

"Of course," Kai said cheerily.  "Go ahead.  Good luck!"

"Thank you," she said, smoothing her hair down before hurrying
out the door.

Kai turned back to Q.  "Judith is modest about it, but she's one
of the best.  Of course, we all are, or we wouldn't be *here*." 
He swept a hand around, indicating the Institute.  "The finest
minds anywhere, and all that."

"The finest mortal minds, perhaps," Q said, never one to let
someone else have the last word.

Kai grinned up at him.  Q was everything he was reputed to be
and more.  Much more.  Kai was attracted to the intelligent type,
particular the kind of intellectual who was also able to carry on a
conversation about something other than his particular specialty. 
And Q could certainly do that.  He wondered if Q felt the same
way about intellect as an aphrodisiac.  Well, he'd never get a
better chance to find out.  And Q *did* seem to like him, at least
a little, which was promising.

Gathering his courage in his hands, Kai stood up.  "I'd like to
show you something."

Q lowered his head in a gesture of regal acquiescence.  "What
did you have in mind?"

Kai pointed him to something which Q had at first taken for a
sculpture.  "One of the Institute's oddities.  No one's ever been
able to make anything of it.  The local legend is that once upon a
time, we were supposed to be studying it, but it's been here for
so long now that it's more a decoration than anything else."

Q bent over it, studying the intricate little object.  It seemed to be
some sort of illustration of perpetual motion, which wasn't
possible, except under certain conditions...  "I think I
recognize..."

He'd half-turned around, when he first realized how close Kai
had gotten to him.  Q wanted to run, but there was nowhere to
go.  He was trapped between Kai and the table.  They were alone
in the room now, and he was vulnerable.  Frozen in place, unable
to make any sort of physical protest, he waited in suspenseful
agony for whatever torture Kai would choose to inflict upon him,
readying a truly cutting retort in retaliation for this impropriety.

Kai knew he'd never have a better moment.  Standing very close
to Q, not quite touching him, he said very seriously, "I don't
suppose you'd have any interest in an aging physicist with an
inordinate interest in hamsters, would you?"

As proposals went, it was extremely mild, almost laughable.  But
Q took fright.  It hadn't occurred to him that Kai might have that
sort of interest in him.  Did everyone have sexual designs on
him?  The thought was threatening and gratifying all at once. 
Apparently, his appearance was more attractive than he had
thought.  And he felt a pull from Kai, something like he felt with
Harry, although nowhere near as strong as he felt for Naomi.

He wanted to break away, wanted to run away, to call for
Security, but he could do none of those.  They'd just make him
look ridiculous.  But he couldn't say anything, couldn't do
anything.  Q swallowed hard, not knowing what to do, not
knowing what he *wanted* to do.

Judith came back in, taking in the tense positioning of Q and Kai
at a glance.  "Oh, am I interrupting something?"

"No," Q said, not looking away from Kai, as if the other man
were a deadly snake he had to watch very carefully to make sure
it didn't bite him.  "Feel free to barge right in."

Kai stepped away from Q, being very casual about the whole
thing, Q thought viciously.  How very plebeian of him.

Q flicked out his arms, letting his sleeves settle down around his
wrists.  With graceful movements, he stepped away from the
table, as if he hadn't just been almost paralyzed by fear, as if he
weren't still terrified of what Kai might say or do.

"I believe you were giving me a tour, Doctor," Q said to Owen-
Martinez.

"Yes, of course," she said, looking between them.  "If you're
sure..."

Q looked impatiently at her.  "Do I need to repeat myself?"

"No, no," Owen-Martinez said.  "This way."

Q followed her out without a backwards glance.

****

To Naomi's vast surprise, Amy Frasier was hardly the only one
to offer her thinly veiled sympathy.  Naomi had known, of
course, could hardly avoid knowing, how low of an opinion Q
had been held in when she had first made the decision to
approach him.  It had been one of the chief factors behind her
decision.  He needed someone, wouldn't be able to survive for
long without someone to stand between him and the outside
world.  While Naomi had dismissed the rumor of Security's
attempt on Q's life as an isolated incident, brought on by a few
troublemakers who didn't belong in Starfleet at all, she knew that
they had been only acting out on the same impulse that many
others had voiced.  After Ohmura's death while protecting Q,
there had been a considerable amount of feeling that Q wasn't
worth the trouble.  Ohmura had died because Q had pissed off yet
another race and then had no idea how to protect himself in an
attack.  This particular group had been angered by Q killing 45
people for no other stated reason than that he was in a bad mood
that day.  Naomi thought that was funny, couldn't even imagine it
being the truth.  The callousness required of someone for that to
be the truth was beyond her capability to envision.  Especially
when the someone was Q.  She just didn't see him that way. 
Naomi had wanted to show others the truth of her version of Q,
little realizing until now that they merely thought she was
deluded.

Dangerously deluded, more like.  The door chimed again, and
wearily, Naomi said, "Come in."

She really should set up a table in the lounge and let people come
there, or just hold some sort of base-wide conference, Naomi
thought, sighing heavily.  Of course, she still wouldn't talk
directly about Q, still wouldn't answer any of the things people
most wanted to know about, so it probably wouldn't work.  But
anything had to be better than this constant parade of people
through her quarters.

There were so many that even Azoth had taken note of it.  The
Security Chief had stationed a guard outside her quarters, Veloz
being the guard of the moment.  With Sanaharrar out with Q,
Naomi had no protection of her own.  And up until she had allied
herself with Q, she had needed none.  Actually, that all by itself
would have been enough of a reason to back Q.  No one needed
that kind of isolation, and Naomi had always had a soft spot for
an underdog.

Veloz was a competent enough guard, one Naomi remembered
from the Dilkinen incident.  Everything would be all right. 
Besides, who was she at risk from?  She knew everyone who
wanted to talk to her.  There wasn't one stranger in the bunch. 
Of course, the people she didn't know by name were still sending
her mail, but either way, she was perfectly safe.

Medellin entered, looking a little flustered by the reception she
had received from Veloz, who was treating each visitor as though
they might be armed and dangerous psychopaths.  At the
moment, Naomi would have preferred an armed and dangerous
psychopath.

"Counsellor," Naomi said easily, acknowledging Medellin's
presence.  "And what do I owe this honor to?"

"I just thought you might like to talk."

Naomi didn't move from her comfortable position on the couch. 
Normally, that would leave Medellin with nowhere to sit, since
the room hadn't been decorated with the comfort of visitors in
mind.  However, with the influx of uninvited guests, even Naomi
had been forced to bow to pressure, and the couch had been
moved to sit sideways to the door, facing an antique loveseat,
recently recovered from storage.  It was a beautiful piece, and
Naomi couldn't understand why Anderson had seized it, other
than pure meanness.  And, although she'd rather be looking out
the window, it did make sense to position the furniture this way,
especially given how much of it there was now.  Their quarters
had gone from a spartan Zen sort of look to a cluttered den of
artifacts and oddities more suited to a dissolute Turkish pasha
from some fairy tale.

Medellin didn't wait for an invitation, but settled herself in the
loveseat across from Naomi.  She folded her hands and looked
expectantly at Naomi.

Inwardly, Naomi groaned.  She didn't change position, though. 
She was comfortable with her feet tucked up under her and a
pillow under the small of her back.  She wasn't going to face
Medellin like a guilty child being questioned by its parent.

"Believe me, counsellor, at this point, there is nothing I'd like to
do less than talk."

That was delivered with such force that Medellin couldn't help
but believe it.  "And why is that?"

Naomi favored Medellin with a look reserved for the terminally
stupid.  "Technically speaking, I'm supposed to be working right
now.  I'd *like* to be working right now.  However," her voice
was laced with irony, "since I seem to be swarmed with
well-wishers, I really don't have any choice but to spend my day
receiving calls."

Medellin tilted her head, trying to decide what to say.  This
wasn't the problem she'd come to discuss; however, it seemed to
be bothering Dr. Allen, which made it important.  "Have you
considered letting people know you don't want to talk to them?"

Naomi made a scoffing sound at that suggestion.  "You'd be on
my doorstep ten minutes later.  Everyone would tell you how
screwed up I was and how I'd retreated into complete emotional
isolation.  And then I'd get counselled on my fear of intimacy. 
No, thank you."

The words were humorous, but the tone behind them was bitter,
and Medellin reacted to that.  "Is there some reason you don't
want to talk to me about what's happening?"

"What's happening?  I'm pregnant.  There.  Now you know, and
you can be on your way."  Naomi made a shooing motion with
her hands, but Medellin didn't budge.

"There's far more to this than that," Medellin said, carefully
keeping her expression calm.  She'd had a lot of practice at
maintaining a bland face.  At times, Q had severely overtaxed her
ability to impose control on herself, but the end result was that
she usually could put a bland face on in any other situation.

"No, there's not," Naomi said, shaking her head, her lips set in a
grim line.

Medellin would have preferred for Dr. Allen to tell her on her
own what was bothering her, but that didn't seem likely under the
circumstances.  "How do you feel about Q's departure?"

"Q?  Q who?" Naomi asked innocently.

Medellin felt her composure slipping.  "Naomi, you must have
some feelings about Q leaving you like this immediately after
your pregnancy was announced."

"And here I thought this visit to the Daystrom Institute had been
planned for weeks," Naomi said mildly.  "How stupid of me not
to realize the truth."

Medellin mentally threw up her hands.  "Don't you believe you
have a right to be treated better than this?"

"Better than what?" Naomi asked.  "You mean if you had a
spouse, you'd keep him chained to your side and never let him go
anywhere on his own?"

Medellin decided to try a more direct approach.  "Naomi, I
understand your need to cover up for Q.  It's perfectly
understandable under the circumstances that you'd feel loyalty
towards him, but you have to let that go.  You have to see the
situation as it really is, not as you want it to be.  Q could never
come back, and then where would you be?"

"Pregnant," Naomi quipped.

"Exactly," Medellin said, triumphant at finally having elicited a
response she wanted.  "You'd be pregnant, and abandoned by the
man you love, someone who you should have every right to
expect support from.  Don't you understand that you should be
getting that support?  That you *deserve* that support?  Can't
you see this as what it is?"

"As what is?" Naomi said.  "Use nouns."

Medellin drew in a deep breath.  "Q is trying to get away from
you because he doesn't want to deal with your pregnancy.  Fear
of the changes pregnancy brings to a relationship is a very
common fear, among both men and women.  Obviously, Q
doesn't want a child, and he doesn't want the kind of changes this
would bring to your relationship.  If he had, he would have
stayed and faced this with you.  But he didn't, and you have to
understand what that says about your relationship.  By leaving, Q
signified that he wanted you to be exactly what you started out as,
a toy to do whatever he needed or wanted.  And now that you've
changed, he doesn't want you anymore."

Naomi stared back stonily, not about to dignify that with a
response.  Medellin obviously knew nothing about Q.

Medellin waited for a moment, then continued.  "You don't need
a relationship like that.  You may not even *have* that
relationship if he doesn't come back.  And you can't wait for him
to do so.  Q is a profoundly selfish being, egotistical to a fault. 
A child changes a lot of things, including how much time you
would spend with each other.  I suspect he's profoundly jealous
of the baby."

Naomi shook her head, and Medellin looked at her.  "No?  You
don't think so?"

Naomi looked at her, then realized she'd subconsciously negated
Medellin's last statement.  "You don't understand Q and you
don't understand me."

"Then help me understand," Medellin said.  "I want to help you,
Naomi.  I'm on your side."

Naomi smiled toothily.  "Of course you are.  Unfortunately, this
isn't a game."

Medellin sighed.  "No.  It's not.  Naomi..."

Naomi was tired of this talking in circles.  "Is that all?  Because
if it isn't, I think this is quite enough for now."

Dr. Allen was obviously uncooperative at the current time.  At
least she'd said what she had come here to say.  With someone as
difficult as Dr. Allen, the best Medellin could do was introduce
the concepts and hope she'd think about them, hope she would
consider the consequences of her actions.  Medellin sighed
deeply, standing up, then had second thoughts about going,
pausing in front of the couch and looking hesitantly at Naomi. 
"You know, it was a mistake for you to terminate our counselling
sessions.  You really do need to talk about these things. 
Relationships are difficult for anyone to handle, and the one
you've put yourself in is going to be especially difficult,
considering the recent additional stresses."

Naomi held her gaze level.  "They weren't doing either of us any
good, and you know it."  When Q had renegotiated his contract
with Starfleet, one of the things he had made very sure of was
that Naomi could not be taken from him again as Anderson had
done once before in attempting to coerce him into working on
transwarp.  That had failed; however, the threat remained,
unspoken but very real.  Naomi had continued to labor under the
burden of regular counselling sessions mandated by Commodore
Anderson, under the grounds that anyone wanting to spend time
with Q must have a mental problem.  These sessions had never
gone well; Naomi refused to say anything about Q and disliked
Medellin in any case, feeling that the counsellor had done less
than she could to help Q in the past.  However, Naomi had
continued to attend them, to the frustration of everyone
concerned, in order to meet her original bargain with Anderson. 
It would have been very inconvenient for Q to lose Naomi due to
a missed counselling appointment.  Having those sessions
permanently canceled due to Q's new contract was very satisfying
to Naomi.

Medellin nodded, resigned.  She couldn't help someone who
didn't want to be helped, and Dr. Allen certainly seemed to fall
into that category.  "If you ever need me..."

"I'll be shocked."  Naomi smiled at Medellin, none of it reaching
her eyes.  "Thank you for stopping by and cheering me up."

The sarcasm in her voice was evident, and Medellin wanted to do
something, say something to alleviate that, but there was nothing
to be said.  "Goodbye."

Naomi watched her go, then pulled one of the pillows from where
it lay near her feet, and hugged it to her, waiting in silence. 
There was a brief period there, a space of minutes where time
hung motionless and she could almost feel the tightly wound
spring inside her relaxing, dangerously so, bringing her close to
the point of tears.  But then the quiet was interrupted again by the
inevitable sound of the door chime.

Naomi set the pillow down and composed herself.  "Come in."

****

"He's here," Norman said to Jellico.

Jellico grimaced.  "Great.  First he poisons the atmosphere at
Starbase 56, and now he's coming here to make our lives
miserable as well."

Norman looked quizzically at him.  "You don't share the general
feeling of hero worship."

"Hah.  You've got to be kidding.  Worship that pompous bag of
wind?"

Norman grinned.  "Really?"

Jellico leaned back.  "Oh, yeah.  Unlike the rest of these sheep, I
went out to 56.  I know what he's really like.  They're fooling
themselves if they think Q's going to say or do anything
worthwhile here."

"What do you mean?" Norman said, leaning forward, visibly
interested.

Jellico leaned back, confident of his audience.  "He's an attention
hog.  And he doesn't even really know anything about his
subject.  He knows less about physics than that intern down in
Test."

Norman snorted.  "I don't think so."

"No, no, I'm right.  I've talked to him in person.  There's no
mistaking it.  He doesn't know enough about physics to fill a data
chip, much less be teaching us about it."

"Then what's he doing here?"

"He's got a great line of bull," Jellico said with disgusted
admiration.  "He doesn't know shit about modern physics or how
anything really works, but he *says* it's because everything we
do is too far *below* what he knows for him to be able to relate
to it.  Like trying to teach a baby about mathematical and
relational operators."

Norman shrugged.  "Makes sense to me."

"Exactly!" Jellico said.  "It makes sense when he puts it that way. 
But it's all wrong.  That's not the situation at all.  Say he's an
adult and we're all toddlers.  He's saying he can't understand
anything we say, or what *we* do.  Granted that we may not be
able to understand him, but he can't understand us, and that
makes no sense."  He looked triumphantly at Norman.  "He's a
con man."

Norman shook his head.  "Nice theory, but I don't buy it.  Q's
acknowledged as one of the premier lights of physics.  Sure, he
doesn't publish anything, and maybe he doesn't know much about
how we do things, but his insights..."

"Insights?  Name one."

Norman spread his hands.  "You know what I mean."

Jellico nodded grimly.  "I do know what you mean.  He doesn't
have any.  But that's not the worst part of it."

"The worst part?"

"The attitude.  You'll see what I mean."

Norman shook his head.  "No, tell me now.  You can't just make
a whole bunch of vague accusations about someone.  Tell me."

It only took that small prodding to get Jellico to continue.  "You
know that there's a waiting list to get to see the Great Man."

"Yeah, I'm about 1,768 on it."

Jellico nodded.  "I was higher up, so I got to see him.  The first
thing is that the list doesn't mean a damn thing.  You get there
and you're all hyped about this, but you still don't get to see him. 
He's got better things to do than to talk to some people who've
spent their whole lives working on this.  We're stupid, ignorant
grunts to him, hardly worth any of his time or attention."

Norman was listening in rapt fascination now to this alternate
view of his hero.

Jellico continued, using his hands for emphasis.  "Everything
you've heard about him, seen about him is a lie.  He looks like
hell.  The rumor running around 56 is that he's been suicidal
several times, and I believe it.  He's a sorry bastard.  The holos
don't give you any idea of how worn and crappy he looks.  Thin,
hung over... like you on one of your days off."

"Hey!"

"Only dead," Jellico continued.  "But he's still an asshole.  After
hanging around for a week doing nothing, they finally let me see
him, and he insulted me, insulted everything I'd done, and called
me a moron.  And *that* was his idea of constructive criticism. 
He didn't have a single useful thing to say about anything I'd
done."

Jellico's frustration with Q was almost palpable.  "This asshole is
supposed to be the foremost Federation resource in physics, and
all he does is insult people and call that work."

"So why are they bringing him here?"

"How would I know?  Stupidity?"

Norman shrugged.  "Maybe.  But I never thought the Director
was stupid.  She's got to know what he's like.  She would never
have invited him here if she knew that there was something that
wrong with him.  Maybe he's changed."

"People like that don't change," Jellico growled.

****

"I have a what?"

"Recorded message, sir."

Q was momentarily intrigued.  Then his face hardened.  "Who
sent it?"

The communications technician examined it.  "Dr. Naomi Allen."

"Throw it away.  I don't want it."

The man looked up at him, bemused.  "But you haven't even read
it, sir."

"I'm too tired to read today."

****

The loneliness and the pressure were unbearable.  Naomi sat on
the couch in the common room of her and Q's quarters, feet
tucked up under her, looking out the window at the unmoved
stars.  She was looking at them directly, sitting sideways on the
couch, braced against the arm.  Moving the furniture had some
benefits after all.  It helped her feel better, given the problems
she was having right now.  Her lower back ached almost
constantly, a low level pain that Li had said was nothing to worry
about and was just her muscles trying to compensate for the
sudden shift in her balance and posture.  Naomi was beginning to
feel closer to Q; Li had no sympathy for other people's pain.  So
she was propped up against the arm of the couch, pillow at the
small of her back, as comfortable as she could get under the
circumstances.

The nagging ache combined with her already depressed mode to
make her feel even worse.  Everyone had their own agenda with
her these days; there was no one who didn't have an opinion on
what she should do, or should have done, or worse, about Q and
exactly what his actions meant.  Naomi clutched the embroidered
pillow she was holding closer, feeling like all of her emotions
were trapped inside her, like an evil genie, pounding against the
glass wall of her pride which kept her from saying anything at
all, admitting to any weakness.  It wasn't that she feared people
seeing her as weak.  She could care less what other people
thought of her.  She was who she was, and the opinion of
strangers couldn't affect that.  What she was concerned about was
Q's reputation.  He was very affected by what people thought of
him.  His whole life centered around other people's reactions. 
He couldn't help it; his ego had been too drastically shattered for
him to find validation from inside, which was where it should
properly come from.  No, Naomi thought, it was essential that
she preserve Q's dignity, and at least the fiction that he wasn't a
bastard, even if she herself had some doubts at the moment.

But there was no one she could talk to about her doubts, no one
to tell her how much of what she felt was real and how much was
just a byproduct of her confused emotions.  Anyone she chose
would instantly see doubts as a sign that Q was exactly what
rumor was portraying him as.  She didn't trust Harry; despite his
recent good behavior, the man was the biggest gossip on the
starbase, and might well be persuaded to retell certain rumors
with a new slant gleaned from conversations with her.  And
Medellin was certainly out of the question.  The counsellor had
been waiting for an opportunity like this since the very beginning
to crack Naomi open and examine what weaknesses had led her to
want to be abused by Q.  Her recent visit to Naomi had only
underlined that.  Medellin had made her belief that Naomi was
not in her right mind to love someone like Q very clear, and
Naomi had no intention of trusting her with any confidences.

There were other people who were almost friends, who she might
have talked to under other circumstances, but right now, there
wasn't a single person she could trust to keep her secrets. 
Everyone was entirely too caught up in the scandal of it, too
willing to believe the worst.

She'd sent a message to Q, but he hadn't replied.  That only
made the gulf of loneliness inside her open up more.  Q had
rejected her, was still in the process of rejecting her, and she had
ruined everything they had with one obsessive impulse.  To have
his child.  Of course, it wasn't actually his, but it was close as
the technology would allow, more than close enough to suit
Naomi.

And she didn't think she'd read Q wrong.  He'd told her how
much he disliked children, but he disliked everything, including
sex.  But the wistful tone in his voice when he had told her
during their stay at Dharvi's that the Continuum had rendered
him sterile was unmistakable.  There was a desire there, however
buried.  Perhaps she should have consulted him first.  But Q
would have said no automatically, without even thinking about it. 
She had done the right thing, she knew it.

Now the trick would be convincing Q of it, when he wasn't even
on the same starbase, wasn't speaking to her, and might not even
be coming back.

A wave of utter depression washed over her.  She was doomed. 
Once again, she had screwed up a relationship beyond hope of
mending.

She wished she could talk to someone about this, but once again
she ran up against the problem of there being no one.  It was too
bad she couldn't talk to the computer.  It wasn't very satisfying to
do so, since most of the time it just said irrelevant things about
how those particular phrases weren't commands, but at least it
understood her.

The corners of her mouth turned up in a slight smile.  Yes, her
computer *had* always understood her better than any of the
people around her.  Hardly surprising.  She spent more time with
the computer.

The obvious broke over her, and Naomi sat up, dropping the
pillow to the floor, excitement temporarily washing away her
depression.  Of course!  Talking to the computer!  She could
make up someone to talk to in the holodeck!  They wouldn't be
real, couldn't go around gossiping about what she'd told them,
but they'd seem real enough to make her feel better, assuming
she did her programming right.

Immediately, she knew who she wanted to try to recreate.  It'd be
difficult.  A real person was always more difficult; it was too
easy for them to be cardboard cut-outs of the real thing, or
shadows of your own desires.  Of course, in this case, she'd have
to be especially careful, since the person was entirely too abrasive
in real life for Naomi to handle in her current mood.  And taking
away part of someone's personality and expecting them to be
anything like themselves was foolish in the extreme.  On the
other hand, no one had ever accused her of having common
sense.

****

Q was going through all the tortures of the damned.  Being at the
Daystrom Institute was all at once everything he'd wanted in the
way of rightful homage and not anything that he wanted.  Right
now, he was watching Judith work, ostensibly working on his
lecture for tomorrow, but actually stewing over the conundrum
before him.

There were people around him all the time, close but not really
*there*.  Despite his disavowal of sex as disgusting, which it was
and always had been despite the admittably pleasurable aspects to
it, Q needed human contact, needed it desperately.  And just
talking to the people around him wasn't giving him nearly
enough, even though they seemed to sincerely appreciate his
talents and cede him the spotlight that was rightfully his.  It was
like being locked up inside a candy store and being allergic to
sweets.  Everything he most desired was right there with him,
and he couldn't have it.

It was killing him.  Q had a need for intimacy, had always had a
need for it.  In the Continuum, back in his omnipotent days
which seemed forever removed, intimacy was a foregone
conclusion.  All Q were known at a very basic level, and that
very intimacy was the one thing they most feared because it was
the only real danger of their kind.  Insults, pain, abuse -- none of
these could touch the Q.  But intimacy, coming too close to
another Q, this would obliterate the Q more surely than the
human concept of death.  To know a Q entirely, to accept them,
was to become them, subsume oneself in another personality and
lose both identities in a new entity.  Q shuddered.  It was the
ultimate obscenity, the complete loss of personality and selfhood. 
And humans, who could never know the full depth of their
myriad perversities, enshrined this experience as the ultimate goal
of all their romantic strivings.

The truly horrific part was that, as a human now, Q could almost
understand this need.  His own deep knowledge of being accepted
had been stripped away from him.  All he had left were the
meager strands of acceptance held out to him by Naomi.  Without
her... Q didn't want to think about what things had been like
before Naomi had forced her way into his life.

Q took one last look at Judith, sitting ever so innocently in her
chair, working on whatever interminable project she considered to
be so important to waste her life on, but not important enough to
show him.

With a dramatic flourish that Q was entirely too conscious was
being wasted on the oblivious Judith, Q swept off to his room
where at least he could sulk without being observed.

****

Naomi stood in the middle of the empty holodeck and took a deep
breath.  She still wasn't sure if this were a good idea.  But she
didn't have any better ones.  "Computer, run program Allen M
Six."

Without any transition, she was suddenly out of that dark gloom,
lit only by the yellow lines running through every surface, and
transported to another time and place, bathed in sunlight and
feeling the breeze blow through her hair.

The resemblance was eerie, Naomi thought, looking around her. 
She'd never been tempted to recreate this scene before;
psychodrama held no allure for her.  To Naomi, the holodeck
was simply a means to access entertainment unavailable when you
were locked inside a floating tin can in space.  She understood
that some people used it to fulfill their dearest wishes, and Jinn
had a thousand stories about people who'd used it for even more
than that.  She wasn't interested.  Knowing how the wizardry was
performed took too much of the wonder out of it.

Up until now, at least.  The realism of this was stunning.  She
knew these trees, knew the carefully tended gardens, *knew* this
house on a visceral level.  Naomi had done the work to make it
happen, of course, but it wasn't the same as being in it, of
*seeing* it, belonging to it.  It had been ten years at least since
she'd been back here, since this had been her home.

With a fatalistic air, Naomi walked up to the door, and rang the
bell.  The door opened a few seconds later.

"Hello, Mother."

****

Medellin looked up at the chirping warble of the door.  "Come."

The commodore walked in.  This was not overly unusual,
Medellin and Anderson were good friends.  However, Anderson
rarely came to see her during work hours or with such a somber
expression on her face.

"Is something wrong, Lea?" Medellin asked, concerned.

"You could say that, Nian."  Anderson took a seat, her attempt at
keeping professional posture while on the soft couch only making
her back hurt worse.

Medellin came from around the desk to sit next to Anderson. 
"What's the matter?"

"It's Q," Anderson said flatly.

Medellin nodded.  Although she didn't know what the problem
was, having Q involved in a problem was scarcely out of the
ordinary.  "I thought he was at the Daystrom Institute.  Has he
done something there?"

Anderson shook her head.  "No.  I haven't heard more than the
periodic Security reports."  She looked over at Medellin, her
expression suddenly unguarded.  "Can I trust you with something,
Nian?"

"Of course, Lea.  You know I'd never do anything to hurt you."

Anderson nodded, a small feeling of relief going over her. 
"You've heard the rumors, haven't you?"

"Who hasn't?" Medellin asked with a small smile.  "You mean
about Dr. Allen's pregnancy, of course?"

"Yes."

"They've been getting wilder.  The last one I've heard is that the
baby is Admiral Pelz's child."

Anderson smiled, a small grim smile which did not reach her
eyes.

Medellin saw it, and turned white.  "It's not *true*, is it?"

"No, it's not," Anderson said.  "But the truth isn't much better. 
I'm afraid that Dr. Allen has done something here that Q may
never forgive her for.  And that would be disastrous."

"Of course.  It would greatly affect their relationship..." Medellin
broke off.  Anderson was shaking her head.  "Not that?  Then
what?"

"You're right that it will affect them, but the damage is already
done.  I'm worried that he may not be coming back, or that if he
does, we can no longer rely on Dr. Allen to keep control over
him.  Q is well within his rights to leave her for this.  I don't like
it, but I have to agree that, under the circumstances, it's a
reasonable course of action for him.  It is not his child; Li has
confirmed to me that the parent is actually a sperm donor selected
by Dr. Allen.  Q therefore has no responsibility in the matter,
and evidently, no desire to be a parent.  Removing himself to the
Daystrom Institute may have been Q's first step in disassociating
himself from Dr. Allen and this starbase altogether.  In either
case, he is unlikely to reconcile with Dr. Allen, which would
mean a return to the kind of behavior he was exhibiting before
she entered the picture.  And you remember what Q was like
then."

Medellin nodded.  How could she forget?  A suicidal patient who
was obviously crying out for help, and who refused all help
offered to him.  She had done her best with Q; however, although
he had many problems, she had been unable to get at the root of
any of them.  And his personal attacks on her had only grown
more vicious the longer he was acquainted with her.

"What are you going to do about it?"

Anderson shrugged slightly.  "There's nothing I can do.  How do
you make someone unpregnant?  Or convince someone who's
fundamentally unsuited to be a father, who should never be a
parent, that it might be a good thing to try?"

Medellin nodded, acknowledging her remark.  She'd already
talked to Dr. Allen, there was no hope there.  And Lea's points
were valid ones.  There wasn't much that could be done, or even
that should be done.  "Would you like something to drink?"

****

Naomi was seated on the company couch, in the company parlor. 
The very air seemed still and hushed, overlaid with a scent only
years of polishing and dusting by hand could convey.  With only
a little effort, Naomi could recall the days when she had been the
one doing the cleaning.  Her mother was very, very old-fashioned
in some ways, making Dharvi with his rustic farmhouse seem
positively modern.

Without conscious thought, Naomi found herself sitting up
primly, and folding her hands in her lap.  She felt uncomfortable
here, in this shut up, seldom used room.  Technically, she was
family; she didn't belong in this room.  But her mother held very
rigid ideas about the behavior of family members, and Naomi no
longer belonged to that elect set, had not since she left home to
pursue her studies rather than a man.

Her mother sailed in, settling a tea tray on a table.  Naomi's
heart was in her throat watching her.  Her mother was taller than
herself, something which had never failed to irk Dorcas, as she
couldn't understand why her daughter was unable to make the
effort needed to grow.  Her own red hair was almost completely
shot through with grey now, but her bearing was still military
straight and her manner no nonsense.

She poured two cups of tea, put sugar and lemon in one, lemon
in the other, and handed the lemon only cup to Naomi.

Naomi looked at it, and her mother caught the slightly dismayed
glance.  "You don't need sugar.  You're putting on weight."

That wasn't something she'd programmed, Naomi thought in
bemusement.  How did she know she'd put on weight?  She'd
have to look through the program later.  For now though, her
mother had taken a seat and was waiting for an answer.

"I'm pregnant, Mother."

"Then you shouldn't be having tea either," Dorcas said glacially,
making Naomi feel like a guilty child, even though there was no
condemnation in the actual words spoken.  They could even have
been friendly advice, if not for the tone.  "Set that cup down."

Naomi obeyed without a sound, and waited while her mother
replaced it with a cup of milk.  This time, Naomi schooled her
expression to keep from showing her disgust.  Milk?  She took
the cup, sipping at it.  And warm milk at that?  How old did her
mother think she was?

The brief flash of irritation was replaced by amusement.  Naomi
had deliberately altered the program, using her mother and her
memories of her mother as the pattern, but softening them, taking
out the worst parts.  If she thought this was bad now, when she
had fixed it to be easy, then she had a surprise ahead of her.  The
real interview with her mother, when it came, *if* it came,
would be much more difficult than this.

"Of course, you wouldn't be married yet," Dorcas said
disapprovingly, stirring her tea, waiting for it to cool slightly.

"Me?  Not only am I not married, but the only person I'm
currently seeing has fled for parts unknown."

Her mother nodded once, a little grim nod of acknowledgement,
and immediately Naomi felt like she'd been wadded up and
dismissed as hopeless.  Dorcas took a single sip of her tea, then
set it down.

"So you're coming home."

It wasn't quite a question.  Naomi shook her head.  "No, I'm not. 
I like what I'm doing with my life, and I'm going to keep doing
it."

"With a child?" Her mother's expression was one of polite
horror.  "You can't possibly devote the time to a child while
doing... whatever it is that you do."

Naomi clenched her hands into fists in her lap.  "I'm a
programmer, mother.  I boss computer systems around."

"And while you're doing this... work," Dorcas said, pronouncing
the word "work" with a slight purse of her lips, "your child will
be where?"

Naomi shrugged slightly.  "I hadn't thought that far ahead yet. 
With someone else, I suppose."

"And you... work... how much?"

"When Q was here, not that much," Naomi said, her expression
wistful.  "But he's gone, and I've been putting in a full shift and
more some days."

"So your child will be spending most of the time with someone
else, being raised with someone else.  What's the point of having
a child if you immediately give it away to someone else to take
care of, like a toy you're tired of playing with?"  Her mother's
expression was triumphant.

The color left Naomi's face, as she struggled to stay in control of
her feelings.  There was no one worse to display emotions to, not
even Q.  Q reacted badly to a display of negative emotions,
taking them as being directed at him, and crafting his response
accordingly.  However, her mother took in any response, no
matter how small, and used that to build a weapon against the
other person.  In the area of emotional manipulation, her mother
was a grandmaster.

Then it hit Naomi that she was treating this simulation as though
it were real; with her belief in it, giving it the power to wound
her.  This wasn't actually happening, and remembering that
would probably be a good idea.

That thought allowed Naomi to regain control of herself.  "It's a
little late for afterthoughts, don't you think?  I'm pregnant, and
it's going to happen, and I'm going to live my life that way."

"It's not your life anymore," Dorcas said very simply, letting the
words carry their own weight.

Naomi stared levelly at her mother, unable to think of a response
to that.  Her mother was absolutely right, and there was nothing
she could say, although Naomi would have liked to do something
about that self-satisfied curl to her lips.  This conversation was
not going at all the way she'd imagined it, not following the
patterns she'd thought it would take.  Naomi wasn't sure whether
that was a good thing.  She'd expected to have her relationship
with Q dissected, expected her mother to condemn Q's behavior
in walking out, to criticize her for having chosen him in the first
place.  That was what everyone else was doing.  Q's actions were
the only thing anyone could talk about, and her reactions to them
the only thing anyone wanted to ask her.  But her mother didn't
care about that.  She'd immediately dismissed it as being
irrelevant, and moved onto the larger issues of Naomi's plans and
her fitness to be a parent.  It was a whole different way of
looking at the subject, and although Naomi didn't particularly like
the view of herself her mother was suggesting, the different
perspective was refreshing.

"I suppose it isn't," Naomi said, drinking the rest of the milk to
cover the silence, then setting the cup aside.  Her mother would
have insisted she finish it in any case; best to do it soon and not
prolong the awful taste.

Her mother nodded, watching Naomi with an unreadable
expression.  "And what are you going to name the child?"

Naomi looked up at her, startled.  "Name?"  She hadn't even
considered the issue.  With Q so detached over it, and her own
concerns elsewhere, she hadn't given a thought to coming up with
suitable names.

"One of the family names would be suitable," her mother said,
picking up her tea again, and taking a very small sip of it.

Naomi lifted an eyebrow.  "I think I'll stay away from the
Biblical motif."  Before her mother could retaliate with some
piercing comment, Naomi went on.  "Given the parentage, I think
something from mythology might be more appropriate.  Gods and
goddesses and all that."

"Given the parentage?" Dorcas asked, lips tight.  "You were
consorting with a..."

Naomi didn't want to hear the rest of that.  Her mother had very
strong religious feelings.  "A former god, yes."

Dorcas sniffed, visibly affronted.  "Your manners have grown
worse over the years.  Really, Naomi.  *Lying*?"

Naomi tilted her head.  "You don't believe me?"  She didn't wait
for a response.  "Of course, technically, he isn't the father, so I
suppose it's a stretch on my part to say that he is, but it was as
close as I could come..." her voice trailed off wistfully.  Naomi
didn't look at her mother, but instead stared at one of the pictures
on the wall, a landscape, of course.  While it was true that she
had thought Q would like to have a child, she wanted one too,
and more -- wanted his.  She didn't completely understand why. 
It was possessive beyond belief to insist that your children have
the same genes as your lover.  If she wanted children, there were
many easier routes to pursue.  But it did matter to her, on a very
deep level, that this be Q's.  He would undoubtably dismiss the
urge as a wish to keep a souvenir of him, like a tourist buying
bad pottery to remind them of a vacation.  The frightening part
about the analogy was that there was some truth in it.  Naomi
didn't want to think about it.

Her mother sipped her tea, clearly having decided to avoid such a
volatile topic of conversation.  Naomi both admired the trick and
wished she could imitate it, while at the same time hating her
mother for using it.  How was she supposed to discuss something
with someone who wouldn't even speak about certain subjects?

"Are you going to get married?" Dorcas asked.

Naomi shook her head, then looked down at her hands.  "Q left,
mother.  I... even if he hadn't, I don't think marriage would have
been appropriate."

That was more than she'd said to anyone else on the subject, and
Naomi continued staring at her hands, hoping that would soften
the inevitable blow.  She was angry at Q herself, but she couldn't
stand anyone else attacking him.  It hurt her when people said
mean things about him.  However, the whole point of coming
here was to expose those tangled feelings to someone.  Someone
who wouldn't remember that Naomi had ever voiced her doubts.

Her mother lifted her chin slightly.  "Really, Naomi.  How were
you brought up?  You don't use a baby to try to trap a man into
marrying you."

Naomi flushed.  "That wasn't the idea, mother."

Dorcas stared back at her unflinching, and it was Naomi who
broke first.  "I never wanted to marry him.  I don't want to
marry *anyone*."

"You intend to deny your child a father."

Delivered in a flat tone, it was neither a statement or a question,
but it was both and an accusation as well, and Naomi knew it. 
Spitefully, knowing it was the wrong thing to say, but not being
able to help herself, Naomi retorted, "And where is Father
nowadays?"

The hologram went white, putting a hand to its throat.  "Don't
mention that man."

Naomi opened her mouth, about to attack her ruthlessly on the
subject of her own father, who had been driven out of the house
before Naomi had been old enough to go to school.  She barely
remembered him, hardly even remembered why he had gone, but
she *knew* that her mother had done it, had driven him out.  No
doubt for some small offense against the Word of God.  The
bitterness was roiling up inside her, but Naomi tamped it down
ruthlessly.  There was no point in savaging a hologram.  Her own
wounded feelings would not be salved by verbally lacerating a
construction of her own imagination who didn't even know what
really happened back then.  Only her mother knew, and she
would never speak about it, no matter how far pushed.  Yelling at
a hologram wouldn't make her feel better, only worse.  She'd
come here to talk about Q, to discuss how she felt about the
pregnancy and his desertion of her, not to dig through her
childhood memories.

She closed her mouth, then nodded once.  "I... I'm sorry,
mother."

Dorcas nodded triumphantly, but switched subjects.  "I know a
very nice agricultural specialist who just graduated from the
university.  You should meet him."

Naomi tilted her head.  "Do you see me as the housewife type?"

Her mother cleared her throat in a very characteristic gesture, one
that meant Naomi had once again been remiss in speaking
sarcasm when she should have been serious.  Naomi felt guilty,
then silly for feeling guilty about a hologram's opinion of her. 
Dorcas continued.  "A stable family life is important for
children."

Stable?  Her mother was implying that she'd had a *stable*
family life?  Rigid, unbending, imprisoning -- these were the
adjectives Naomi would have chosen to describe her childhood. 
"I'll take care of my child."

"Good."  It was only a single word, and a positive one at that,
but the tilt to her mother's head, the tightening of her lips, all
spoke eloquently of her disbelief in Naomi's ability to do such a
thing.

Naomi clenched her hands.  This was going nowhere.  She stood
up.  "Computer, end program."

The parlor disappeared, to be replaced by blackness, lit with the
reassuring yellow glow of the checkerboard pattern of the
holodeck.

"Very rude of me," Naomi said, shaking her head, and smiling
slightly.  "Tsk-tsk."

She left the holodeck, feeling curiously buoyed up, despite her
mother's apparent verbal victory.  And people wondered why it
was she had no trouble putting up with Q!  He was easy in
comparison.  He at least had some incentive for giving in
occasionally, *and* as an additional bonus, he'd never diapered
her as a baby.  Her mother constantly had that look about her, as
though Naomi was still a little kid, needing to be watched after
and taken care of.

Of course, both Q and her mother seemed to think she was some
kind of dress-up doll, which irked Naomi no end.  She really was
capable of getting up and assembling an outfit all by herself.  It
might not be as stylish as something Q would pick out, but then
nothing was.  She didn't have the time or inclination for that. 
And nothing she wore would ever be conservative or feminine
enough to please her mother. 

Naomi had seen the way her mother looked at her outfit.  Naomi
glanced down at her loose-fitting royal blue silk caftan and
shrugged.  It was a dress, more or less.  Shouldn't that be
enough?

The truly sad part was that Naomi had the sneaking suspicion that
her mother and Q would probably find her wardrobe as their sole
point of commonality.  She could just see herself now, standing
on a stool in the front room, while her mother pinned up a hem
and Q sprawled lazily on the couch making snide comments about
Naomi's propensity for dressing like someone's charwoman.

Naomi shuddered at the thought.  It was all too vivid, even
though there were a number of problems with the image, things
that couldn't happen in real life.  No one would ever put a foot
up on one of her mother's couches.  Not and survive the
experience, anyway.

And Naomi never wanted to go home.  She swallowed hard, the
thought of it making her want to cry.  Or perhaps just break
things.  Her mother hated her, didn't want her back.  Unlike the
hologram who'd had to take her in, due to programming,
Naomi's own mother would have simply sat inside her parlor,
sitting rigid and unbending, listening to the doorbell ring,
pretending not to even notice it ring, until Naomi finally gave up
and went away.

There was no love lost there, and Naomi didn't care.  She had no
desire to go back, no desire to mend the breach, to once again
play the dutiful daughter in a production that never ended, fitting
into the restrictive constraints of the role her mother had sketched
for her, the only role her mother would accept her in.  Naomi
knew from experience that her mother would simply refuse to see
anything Naomi did that fell outside of her mother's scripted plan
for Naomi's life.  If forced to see... Naomi had tried that once
and only once.  She had known what the result would be before
she tried.  Her mother made it perfectly clear in little ways, by a
tone, by a change in posture, exactly how she felt about Naomi's
nonconformances.  But as long as Naomi was willing to put up at
least the pretense of being what her mother wanted her to be, her
mother was willing to accept that.

But that hadn't been enough for Naomi.  She was more than
someone's daughter, someone's wife, someone's mother.  At that
age, she couldn't see herself in the role of nurturer at all; what
she wanted was the relatively dry world of programming, of
numbers and things, where intellect was all important and
emotion largely irrelevant.  Which made her current choice of life
ironic.  Not only was she about to be a mother, in itself a
stunning development, but she had also deliberately chosen to put
herself into a nurturing role with Q, behaving as his lover, but
also more than that, much more than that.  Apparently, childhood
conditioning was not to be escaped from so easily.

But when she was younger, she truly had wanted nothing of the
sort.  And with her talents and abilities, she had readily found
support for her ambitions.  And more than support, a validation
of her worthiness in her own right, and for her intellect rather
than her ability to get a good shine on a table.

Naomi knew then what she was going to do with the rest of her
life.  No objection would have mattered.  But it was still very
important to her that her mother understand.  Naomi had told her
mother her plans, her dreams, her hopes.

And been excommunicated, removed from the communion of the
family, from the self-defined benevolent presence of its ruler. 
Although it had shattered her, driven her even more deeply into
Dharvi's arms, the event had also crystallized her own
determination to walk her own path.

A path which had apparently led right back to where she'd
started.  Naomi grinned wryly.  What would Q have had to say
about that?  Something cutting, no doubt, with an acerbic
comment on her lack of insight into her own motivations.

However, despite all of that, she felt good about the simulated
encounter with her mother.  Naomi's doubts, the things she'd
gone in wanting to talk about, had been completely overlooked. 
Too minor to even bother discussing, even though there was
apparently nothing else that anyone on the starbase wanted to talk
about.  Her desertion by Q, the manner of getting pregnant, who
the father was... all of these were dismissed as unimportant by
her mother, who had immediately zeroed in on the significant
holes in Naomi's thinking, namely what Naomi was going to do
with a baby, and why she'd wanted this in the first place.  There
was no doubt in Naomi's mind that her real mother would have
singled out the same things, if she'd been willing to talk to her
prodigal daughter at all.

Those were the real problems, and she knew she should have
been thinking about them all along instead of letting herself get
sidetracked by all the silly gossip.

****

Q lay in his lonely bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling
frustrated.  Emotionally frustrated, mentally frustrated, but most
of all, physically frustrated.  He'd been here for two weeks now,
two long, event-packed weeks with as much fawning and attention
as he could handle, and all he could think about was the one
person in the world who annoyed him most.  Naomi.  Not only
did she have to go off and do something as base and silly as get
herself pregnant, but she was haunting his waking thoughts as
well as his dreams.  He couldn't not think about her, couldn't not
want her.

And after two weeks of this kind of torture, Q was ready to cry. 
Especially when he still had another two weeks to go on this
"vacation".  He couldn't go back any earlier.  Not only would the
gossip not have died down yet about his little misadventure with
Harry, but that would be virtually admitting he wanted to go
back, that he couldn't stay away from Naomi, despite what she'd
done.

On the other hand, it was true.  He did need her.  Needed her in
sick, depraved disgusting ways.  And he couldn't take it
anymore, couldn't take the sensation of being stretched out over a
hot fire and left there until he roasted.  He'd had this same kind
of feeling before he met Naomi, this same horrible tearing urge,
but he hadn't known what to do about it then other than the really
disgusting alternatives humans favored.

Medellin had repeatedly tried to approach him on the subject of
intercourse and masturbation, and he had simply walked out on
her until she finally gave up.  The incident with Amy Frasier had
shocked him into an intimate awareness of exactly what he was
expected to do about his need, and he had come very close to
giving in, despite Amy's other proclivities.  That had shamed him
beyond belief in retrospect.  Due to his body's physical needs, he
had almost allowed someone he wouldn't even want to talk to on
a regular basis to seduce him, and then brag about it later to her
friends, of how the oh so arrogant Q was really an incompetent
fraud.

Q cringed slightly at the memory.  He had vowed not to let
himself be put so at the mercy of his desires again, not to let
himself be fooled and used by those physical pangs into doing
something which would have deeply offended his sense of self if
he weren't aroused.  The whole concept of arousal offended Q. 
To be provoked by physical stimuli into a state where nothing
mattered but assuaging that craving; it was obscene.

There were things he just wouldn't discuss, no matter how much
they were tearing him apart.  And the need hadn't been as bad
then.  The pressure in his groin was unbearable, more so since he
knew exactly what would have relieved it, what Naomi would
have done to him, how she would have gotten them both naked,
and then slid down next to him, silky hair brushing his skin
and...

Q tore his mind away from the dangerously seductive thoughts,
aware of a renewed pulsing in his body.  It was as if he had been
dosed with an aphrodisiac.  He had to have Naomi, couldn't have
her, and it was tearing him apart.

With a strangled moan, he turned into his pillow, hugging it to
him.  Face buried into the pillow, he could finally let loose the
racking tension that filled him, crying shamelessly, sobbing out
his anger, frustration and need into that welcoming embrace... he
was doing it again.  His mind was playing tricks on him,
changing the pillow into a pair of breasts.  Q pulled away, face
streaked with tears, feeling utterly lost and vulnerable.

There was nothing he could do.  Nothing would release the sick
tension coiling in his body, relieve the pressing thoughts that
continually crowded his mind and made it impossible for him to
think clearly.

A thought flashed through his head then, a sudden, impossible
image of something he'd tried once, failed at, and made a heroic
effort to avoid doing ever again, bombarding himself with images
of how ridiculous he looked, how repulsive it was to even think
of doing something like that, how much anyone from the
Continuum would laugh, how scornful he himself would have
been, and would be once he was no longer in a state of need. 
The failure had been the worst part of it.  He had hated what he
was doing, been sure he was going to break something, known it
was entirely against his personal convictions, and yet he had done
it anyway.  And when it hadn't worked, for reasons he didn't
know and didn't understand, the frustrated desire had backlashed
through his body, leaving him knotted in pain and furious
frustration.  That, combined with his lack of desire to engage in
anything sexual for a long while after the incident with Amy
Frasier, and his frequently miserable physical condition, had kept
him barely in control.  He hadn't repeated that furtive, abortive
attempt at self-gratification; he hadn't been able to.  

But he was healthy now, not recuperating from a suicide attempt,
not bruised or battered, not even underweight or undernourished. 
During his deep depressions, he had been unable to muster
interest in anything.  His bodily needs had been pressed to the
side.  Q had almost entirely stopped eating, doing so only when
the pangs of hunger became intensely painful.  Which was less
when he was so depressed.  That had been what had led Li to add
nutritional supplements to his food in the first place; Q had
lowered his food intake to such a level that he would have
contracted any number of ailments due to the deficiencies in his
diet.  And, for that time, the sexual demands of his body had
been low enough to ignore as well.  However, that wasn't the
case anymore, although Q thought he could probably work up a
sizeable depression if this wasn't taken care of, and soon.

But it was unlikely to happen.  Not anymore.  He had lowered
his barriers on the subject of sexuality enough to let Naomi in, to
let her show him exactly what all these confused desires being
stirred up inside him were for.  His body knew what it wanted
now, and it was determined to get it from him, whatever the cost
to his sanity or his pride.

But the act he was contemplating was so *animal*.  He couldn't,
*wouldn't* do anything like that.  That was revolting.  That was
repulsive.  That was...

*Yes*.  Without conscious volition, his hand had found his way
down his body, and was touching the part of him that hurt most. 
With a guilty rush of shame, Q realized it felt good.  Just not
*enough*.  Without stopping to consider what he was doing,
because if he stopped to think about it, he'd go insane, trying to
convince himself he didn't need this when it was the only thing
he could think about, Q peeled off his pajama bottoms, kicking
them to the end of the bed.

His partial nudity left him feeling vulnerable, and he certainly
didn't want to *watch* his own humiliation of himself.  Q
grabbed a blanket and pulled it up to his chest, feeling somewhat
reassured by its comforting warmth and solidity.

Then, before he could stop and convince himself that there was
some better way out when he knew there was none, his hand
found its way down to that infinitely aching, forever treacherous
part of him.  And again, it felt good, necessary, right.

The tension grew as he gave into the urge, and let his body take
over.  It knew what to do, even if he didn't want to.  Q tried not
to think about what he was doing, but it was impossible.  Sexual
thoughts and the physicality of it all swirled together in his mind,
producing a confusing, erotic mishmash of images until finally,
there was nowhere to go, nothing to do but give in to the
sensations pounding at him.

With a hoarse groan, Q felt the release wash over him, and it was
everything he needed, everything he didn't want.

His hand felt sticky, and he realized what he'd done.  "How
disgusting."

With the last of his strength, Q made it into the shower, and got
himself cleaned off, trying not to think of anything at all while
doing it, and mostly succeeding.

Coming back into the bedroom, he looked at the bed with weary
dislike.  He was too tired to remake it, but he couldn't sleep on it
now, not like it was, given what he had just done there.  With
cursory motions, Q stripped the blankets back, then collapsed into
the bed, weak and shaking, the tension draining away, leaving
him feeling dirty and ashamed of himself for what he'd done, but
less frustrated than he had been since arriving here.

Q curled up around the pillow again, this time not caring what his
mind was trying to suggest it was, letting it play its tricks on him,
wishing that the pillow really were Naomi, so he could harangue
her for putting him in this situation.

On that pleasant thought, Q fell asleep.

****

In the morning, Q pretended that nothing had happened, that his
world hadn't been shaken in the middle of the night.  Outwardly,
it was a successful pretense.  He was, if anything, more relaxed
and amiable than he had been over the past few days.  The
relentless and entirely subconscious searching of each face to see
if it might be Naomi had stopped.  And he was almost gracious to
his assorted band of sycophants and yes-men, all of whom would
have done anything to keep him happy.

However, inside, there was a gnawing feeling of unease. 
Physically, he might be better off, but he couldn't help but react
emotionally to what he'd lowered himself to last night.  The
depravity of it was overwhelming, the way his needs had
subverted his will untenable.  Everything he had to do as a human
was revolting; the entire concept of consuming perishables in
order to excrete them a few hours later was insane.  However,
most of these were required.  He couldn't survive without them. 
But sex was optional.  Or should be.  He couldn't seem to help
himself, no matter how hard he tried.  And there were no other
alternatives.  He'd find himself like that again, debauching
himself each time the pressure got too great, until he returned to
the starbase and Naomi.

The only relief he had in any of his dire thoughts was that at least
he didn't like it.  *That* would be unbearable.

And yet, as it was, he was inextricably bound to Naomi for
fulfillment of his sexual needs.  Without her, he was a furtive
thing, groping in the dark like some fetid beast.  But dependency
was Q's greatest fear.  To *need* someone, to be unable to
survive without them... not only was that perilously close to the
human perversity of love, but it also controverted every principle
of Q's existence.  To be Q meant pulling away, meant
establishing independence.  To do anything else was to be
subsumed into the greater whole of the Continuum.  And Q was
not one to allow himself to be so dominated.  He was
independence itself, relying on no one, needing no one...

Until now.  Until he had fallen into the greatest corruption of his
own self that he could possibly imagine.

He needed and, more specifically, he needed Naomi.  Which was
completely unacceptable.  However, he couldn't see himself
repeating his disgusting act of the night before simply to avoid
needing her.  The only other alternative was to find other
partners, to dance between them like some sort of sexual
predator, because he still couldn't allow himself to be dependent
on any of them, and then consequently risk constant rejection and
scorn.

That didn't sound like fun either.  The mental picture he formed
of his self doing that was not a good one.  Nothing sounded
good.

Unless he wanted to get used to yet another variety of sexual
perversion, in the form of self-abuse, he was stuck depending on
Naomi.  And actually, given his limited options, that didn't sound
too bad.  And if his dependence grew too strong, he truly *had*
learned something important amid the humiliation of the night
before, an actual alternative to intercourse.  Not a good one, but
it meant he wasn't completely reliant on Naomi, and that was
indeed a desirable thing.

With a mental shrug, Q shoved his problems back where they'd
come from.  He'd had a lot of practice at that over the years. 
And these were petty concerns compared with the fear of being
assaulted at any minute by anyone or everyone, by shapeshifters
in the guise of familiar faces, by Security guards without
consciences, by swarms of killer bees.  Worrying about his sex
life seemed not only small, but terribly human all at once, and
therefore, entirely beneath him.

****

Naomi sent off her last message, then sat back, wishing that there
was some way to get a more comfortable chair.  Starfleet issue
chairs did *not* take into account that the person in them might
be pregnant and immensely uncomfortable in the standard style. 
Of course, since Li implied that the discomfort she was
experiencing was all in her head, and that she really didn't have a
reason to be this much in pain until much later in her pregnancy,
she wasn't getting much sympathy from anyone.  Which was just
fine with Naomi.  She'd just make them pay by being utterly
impossible to get along with.

Of course, no one seemed to notice any difference.  Naomi
gritted her teeth.  What made it all worse is that she was
perfectly comfortable back in her own quarters.  But she didn't
have much of an excuse to be there without Q here.  If he were
here, she could say she needed to be with him, and work from
there in perfect comfort on the couch with her feet up and her
back padded with one of the tapestried, overstuffed pillows...
Naomi sighed.  An entrancing vision, and unfortunately one she
couldn't indulge in for another couple of hours.   With Q gone,
the work was being piled on her, with the excuse that she was
just making up what she'd missed.

And it was fair, in its own way.  Although she'd done her best to
keep up even when she was spending the majority of her time
trailing Q around to various confrontations with scientists of
lesser skill and ability, she couldn't really compare her output to
what she was doing now.

A shadow brushed through her line of vision and Naomi looked
up, irritated.  She got far more done then when she hadn't had all
these dratted interruptions.

"Yes?" Naomi asked, in an impatient voice.

Jinn was undissuaded.  "We were wondering something."

"What?"

"What kind of human sacrifice is it going to take to keep you
from killing someone?" Jinn grinned widely as he asked the
question.  There was a nervous titter of laughter from behind
him, as the room debated whether to laugh and risk dying, or just
pretend they hadn't heard the joke.

Naomi glowered at him.  "Were you offering to be the sacrifice?"

He backed up a step.  "No."

"Good.  Because I wouldn't have wanted you anyway."  Naomi
considered him for a moment.  She could tell by the way he was
acting that Jinn actually wasn't offended by her bad mood; his
own bad moods, when they struck, were much worse than her
own.  He'd called their entire department a bunch of fat cows
once, which had gotten him a nice lecture from Medellin on being
sensitive to other people's feelings.  It hadn't sunk in, naturally. 
"I prefer pillows and graham crackers with cinnamon on them as
a sacrifice.  If you wish to placate the anger of the gods, you will
fetch these at once."

Jinn made a face at her, "That's it?  You mean I could have
gotten you that two weeks ago, and we'd have had peace this
entire time?"

That time there was a laugh from the room at large, which Naomi
ignored.  "No, no, no, you misunderstand.  Those are *today's*
demands."

"Still a low price for peace."  Jinn went off to carry out her
orders, and Naomi felt strangely at ease.  Bickering with Jinn was
as close as she had come of late to feeling at all normal.  *It must
be all that pressure to talk about my feelings,* Naomi thought
ruefully.  She hated talking about her feelings.  If she felt
something, she felt it.  If she didn't, she didn't.  What else was
there?

Jinn returned with the pillow and the graham crackers, and
Naomi thanked him graciously, with the air of a queen receiving
tribute.  "Very nice.  I'm sure you'll do fine."

He swept her a low bow.  "My pleasure."

Naomi turned around to keep everyone from seeing her grin. 
What a silly person he was.

****

Q stood there sulkily.  "I don't *want* to give another lecture."

Owen-Martinez looked at him, her expression hurt.  "You don't? 
But we'd all love to hear anything you want to talk about.  No
one's been rude to you, have they?"

"That's not the point," Q said, brushing her comments aside like
an annoying insect.  He hated what he was doing.  He hated
being the source and fount of all wisdom.  These people were
venerating him as a god, and he couldn't stand it.  Oh, it had
been fun at first.  It had been fun for a while, actually.  But he
was getting extremely bored with the role of all-powerful mentor. 
And the worst part of it was that they wouldn't let him criticize
any of their ideas.  They were very polite about it, even
fawningly apologetic, but they wouldn't let him rip them to
shreds for him amusement.

"Then what is?" Owen-Martinez asked, a look of concern on her
face.

"I don't want to talk anymore, Om," Q said petulantly.  "Surely
you have some existing research of your own I could look at.  I
could help you, you know."

As annoying as everyone else around her, Owen-Martinez didn't
even seem to notice the nickname he'd made up for her.  "Oh,
no, I couldn't let you do that.  My work is far too mediocre for
you to be wasting your time and talents on.  I wouldn't dream of
ever subjecting you to that kind of boring work.  You should be
working on your own ideas, not spending your valuable time on
correcting my mistakes."

There she was, doing it again.  Q felt flattered and insulted all at
once.  There was no way to refute her either without outright
saying that he wasn't nearly as learned as she thought him to be. 
Although, it was worth a try.  After three solid weeks of having
his feet kissed, he couldn't take it anymore.  Even Q's enormous
ego was overloaded with a surfeit of praise.

"I'd be delighted to look at your work," Q said, with only the
slightest tinge of irony in his voice.  "My own experience, while
far beyond anything you could possibly imagine, did not equip me
to understand the technological crutches you mortals use to
circumvent your limited understanding of the universe.  I might
even find it interesting."

Owen-Martinez blushed.  "Oh, no, no.  You couldn't do that. 
You're far too kind, but really, I wasn't fishing for an offer."

Q scowled at her, but she didn't seem to notice, going right on
over him.  "You're entirely too humble about your
accomplishments," Owen-Martinez said.  "I was very interested
in your theory of..."

And she was off again.  Q tuned her out.  There was no need to
listen.  When she paused for breath, he'd tell her that the
universe was actually a dream someone was having and that the
trick was to be that person.  That should hold her for a while.

He really didn't want to be here.  He couldn't stand it anymore. 
As demeaning as his normal work at Starbase 56 was, having to
listen to other people's ridiculous theories of how the universe
worked, poking holes in their theories was far more entertaining
than having the constant pressure of being brilliant on demand. 
The image of perfection was far too difficult to hold all the time. 
Q wanted to be his usual self, but he couldn't.  Not when he was
getting such fawning adulation.

It was a horrible quandary, and Q wanted out.

Kai Weybright came in, interrupting Om's effusive praise. 
"Ready for your lecture, Doctor?  I can't wait to hear this."

Q turned to him, grateful to have someone around who wasn't
entirely a moron.  "Any wisdom I dispense will undoubtably fall
on deaf ears."

Kai grinned at him.  "That's why we're recording it.  For
posterity."

Against his will, Q felt a surge of attraction for the sandy-haired
man.  Kai's taste in clothing was execrable, but then, so was
everyone's.  The whole of Starfleet and the scientific
establishment could just as well be wearing animal skins, like
their distant ancestors, for all that their clothing choices reflected
any style.  But there was more than simply clothing to
attractiveness, and Q couldn't help but notice, and immediately
repress his reactions to, Kai's understated good looks and
marginal sense of humor.

Tearing his mind away from that seductive, forbidden line of
thought, Q seized on the upcoming lecture like a lifeline.  He
didn't want to give it, but didn't have much of a choice in the
matter.  As much as he liked the attention he was going to get for
it, there was little point to addressing a flock of sheep who would
eagerly endorse any idea he threw out, no matter how bizarre. 
No matter how bizarre.  With a shock of evil excitement, Q
realized what he needed to do, what he couldn't *not* do, now
that he'd thought of it.  The temptation was just too
overwhelming.

"Shall we go?"

****

Q looked over the mass of scientists crowded together in the
small room.  This was a lesser discussion, one for just a certain
segment of the population here.  There were, however, visitors in
the audience, people who had come to the Daystrom Institute just
to hear Q speak, a concept which he had found flattering at first,
and now just found boring.

Kai was sitting in the first row with an intent look on his face,
Om next to him.  

Q ignored them.  "And, in conclusion, the best way to think of
the universe is as a story, a fable as it were.  The mechanisms of
the story are irrelevant to the reader, who is only interested in
what tale is being told, who has suspended his disbelief in order
to participate in it.  However, the reality is that it is a story, and
that the story had a writer, who is not participant to the mythos. 
While the reader sees only the possibilities outlined to him, and
views these as the truth and the only path for the story, the writer
has infinite power and infinite possibilities available to him.  The
creator of the story sees the paths that the story might take, and
shapes those that he wishes to include.  To the writer, the story is
flexible, with many things which could have happened, but the
reader never notices.  The trick is to become the writer of the
story, rather than just a participant in it.  Thank you."

Q stepped down to overwhelming applause.  He had expected
nothing else, despite the outright babbling which he had been
doing.  How could anyone take that nonsense seriously?

"That was brilliant.  Simply brilliant.  Your use of the rose
garden metaphor in the middle of your speech was enlightening."

Q nodded, not saying anything.  *Idiot*.

Another one accosted him, ignoring the prior claim of the first
physicist.  "Where ever did you get that idea?  I must say, I've
never heard such a elegantly stated form of Clarke's Law
before."

Q had no idea what the man was babbling about.  "Thank you. 
I'm sure Clarke would have seen it my way, if he'd had millions
of years of additional experience at managing the universe."

The sarcasm was lost on the man, and Q sighed inwardedly, too
conscious of his audience to openly reveal his contempt for them. 
Even as he couldn't stand their senseless adulation, he needed the
praise, didn't want to go back to the condemnation he had
experienced only too fully at the starbase.

Kai stepped over, not interrupting, but breaking into the circle
around Q, and immediately Q felt a surge of relief.  He pushed it
aside as soon as he realized it.  There was no reason to look
forward to Kai's presence.  Undoubtably, Kai's views on Q's
lecture were just as stupid as everyone else's.  On the other hand,
he might be able to get Q out of there quickly instead of leaving
him there for the usual hour or so of inane pleasantries and praise
which had gotten tiresome after the second week of it.

"Dr. Weybright," Q said.  "There you are.  I wanted to talk to
you about that Atrascan artifact you have in your work area."

Kai looked puzzled, but didn't protest.  Reluctantly, the others
gave way to Kai, allowing him and Q to leave together, taking
their prize away.

Once outside, Q almost visibly relaxed, some of the strain going
away, and a more natural light of contemptuous amusement
coming to his eyes.

Kai looked up at him.  "What was all that about?  Atrascan
artifact?  And how does the-universe-as-story relate to anything? 
Heinlein invented eschatological pantheistic multiple-ego solipsism
back on 20th century Earth.  And he was a fiction writer."

"One of the true gods, then," Q said, secretly pleased that Kai at
least was not as dull as his colleagues.

Kai shook his head, grinning wryly.  "I get the feeling I'll never
get a straight answer out of you, Doctor."

****

Naomi faced the screen, bracing her shoulders.  She felt
tremendously silly talking to no one and recording this to no one,
but Q wasn't taking her calls, and she had no other recourse but
to leave a message.  She'd done that before, too, and hadn't
gotten a response, but at least if she sent this off, she didn't have
to listen to someone telling her that Q was refusing to talk to her. 
She could pretend that he had heard her, that he was just not
talking back.

And it might even be true.  There was no way to know.  And she
did miss him.

She started talking, the words spilling out of her unwillingly, her
mind and mouth seemingly disconnected.

After a long time, she didn't know how long, Naomi ran out of
things to say, and she knew she had to say goodbye.  She didn't
*want* to say goodbye, but she didn't have any choice. 
Eventually she had to end it, even though this was as close as she
had gotten to feeling truly alive since Q had left.  She almost felt
as though there were a connection between them while she was
talking, even though that was a silly thought, since she knew he
wasn't going to listen to this.

Still, there was the hope that he might, and that was enough to let
her do this, to give her something to hold on to, to believe in.

"Goodbye."

****

Owen-Martinez walked Q to his door.  "We'll be sorry to see you
leave us," she said, looking up at him, her eyes dark and serious. 
"You've been an inspiration to us all."

Q felt on the edge of breaking down.  Less than a week left to go
before he could return to the starbase and Naomi, less than a
week before his life could go back to normal.  And yet every
contact with people was rubbing raw on the edges of his defenses. 
He couldn't keep the mask up for much longer, and yet he had
to.  He couldn't appear less than perfect in front of a group of
people who worshipped him the way these people did.  He had to
be worthy of that, or at least, not ruin the image they had
constructed of him.  To be lionized in this way was the closest he
could get, the closest he had gotten to the praise and affirmation
he needed to heal his damaged self-esteem, and yet he couldn't
stand it, kept feeling as if it were only confirming how unlike that
he really was.  And the need was building up inside him again,
the endless desire that threatened to rule him.  He was constantly
having thoughts, horrible, erotic thoughts in which people here
played a part.  Kai Weybright took up a good portion of them, as
Q's mind played tricks on him, forcing him to see the possibilities
of what might have happened if he had taken Kai up on his offer,
if Q hadn't been too terrified by the possibility of pain.  He could
imagine, had no choice but to imagine Kai's presence in his bed,
smooth hands running over his naked skin, down his back, and
then around his hips to cup... With an enormous effort, Q pulled
himself away from that seductive vision.  He wanted to cry.  He
needed to cry, to do something else, and even though he didn't
want to have to humiliate himself in that way again, it was better
than the options, better than letting what had happened with
Harry happen all over again, and this time with someone who
might not give a damn about Q's reputation.  Or even worse, an
evil little impulse whispered into his mind, this time he might
find himself enjoying it.

Before Q could defend himself, too torn in his own internal
struggle to notice what she was doing, Owen-Martinez had
stepped slightly forward, placing her hand on his arm, almost but
not quite making a move on him.  "I'll be sorry to see you go as
well."

That was all she said.  She didn't make an offer as Naomi would
have, didn't push, and Q knew she wouldn't.  Om wasn't like
that.  She was graceful, easily flustered, but not forward.  But the
pressure on his skin, the closeness of her was all too much for
him, too much input into his overwhelmed senses.

"Too... bad," Q choked out through a suddenly closed throat. 
His body was screaming at him that she wanted him, that he
wanted her, even though the thought had barely crossed his mind
before this moment.  However, now that it had, he could
appreciate her physical attributes.  She was an attractive woman,
in every sense, and her intelligence and hero worship of him only
increased her appeal to him.

Owen-Martinez looked at him wistfully, his very stiffness telling
her everything she needed to know.  He didn't want her touching
him, couldn't even bear her being close to him.  "I've been a
fool," she said softly, more to herself than to him.  "I'm sorry, it
won't happen again.  You...  I'm sorry, that's all."

She started to pull back her hand, about to disappear, when Q
covered it with his own, not letting her leave, holding her as fast
with that simple touch than if he'd pulled out a phaser and
stunned her.  Q's mask slipped a bit then, as he fought a losing
battle with himself to keep control over what he wanted and what
he didn't want.  But they were the same, and he had no way to
defend himself against both.

Judith looked up at Q, not quite wanting to go, wanting to see
some confirmation in his eyes that he really meant this, that she
wasn't just misinterpreting a friendly gesture.  What she saw in
that dark gaze was a pained desire, something she hadn't wanted
to see, something far more than she did want to see.  For a
moment, she almost panicked.  It was one thing to fall for a
visiting professor or other luminary, to have a crush on them and
get a chance to act on that crush; it was quite another to get
personally involved in something deeper which could hurt her.

Before she could protest or change her mind, and before he could
think better of this, Q drew her hand closer to him, settling it
against his chest.  "Would you like to come in for a drink, my
dear Om?" Q asked, his voice low and seductive.

Judith nodded once, and he bowed gracefully, allowing her to
enter first.  Q waited until she had gone through, and then
followed, ignoring Sanaharrar, who sat by the door, motionless as
a statue, making no sign of approval or disapproval, simply
watching.

Once inside, Judith stood still, waiting as Q fetched them both a
drink.  He held onto his like a prop, and watched her as she took
a taste of her drink.

His steady gaze was making her tremble inside, and she didn't
know how she felt about this.  It was too intense, the silence
between them too weighty.  For all that she'd been guiding him
around for the past three weeks, she didn't know Q, had no idea
what he might want or might do next.

For his part, Q was terrified, heart pounding, every part of him
screaming to get out of there, throw her out at once.  Every part
but one.  The sick surging in his groin was more urgent now,
propelling him forward over an unseen drop, telling him that this
would work if he just gave in and let it happen.

Everything about her was intensifying the feeling.  Her soft hair,
the way she was holding the glass, the tentative expression on her
face, her obvious adoration of him.  And then there were the
other things, the line of her neck, curving down into a smooth
expanse of skin above her breasts, which were hidden by the soft,
clingy blouse she was wearing.

Without consciously thinking about it, Q set his glass down and
moved forward, his posture immediately shifting to that of
seducer.  He understood the role, had played it many times in the
past, never meaning it, never wanting to mean it.  How could he
want to use this revolting physicality of these humans against
them?  How could he ever have wanted to carry out these implied
threats against the victim in question?  For a brief moment,
Picard's image flashed across his mind, and Q quickly shut that
line of thought away.

"Tell me what you want, Om."

His voice was darkly compelling, and he was entirely too near to
her.  Judith felt her knees turning to water.  She wanted to reach
out to him for balance, but didn't dare.  She didn't know how
much of what she thought was happening was her own desires
being written on top of the real events.  She could still be wrong,
so wrong about this, and she didn't take chances like this very
often.  She was too old and too alone to be taking chances. 
"You."

The single word stood out starkly in the tense silence between
them.  Q felt it like a lash of fire down his spine, a sudden
intensification of the prickling force gathering in his body.  His
hands ached with a need to touch her, to feel her skin.  Without
realizing he was doing it, he reached out, trailing a lazy finger
down the curve of her cheek.

The very casualness of his caress sent shivers through Judith. 
While part of her was insulted by the way he was examining her,
as though she was far beneath him and too lowly to be of any real
interest to him, the rest of her was anticipating this, wanting what
she'd only vaguely fantasized about when she first heard she
would be the one to guide him around.

She leaned her cheek into his touch, willing him to continue.  A
strand of glossy black hair fell across his hand, and without
further prompting, Q brought his hand up, burrowing back into
that dark, silky mass, drawing her to him.

Judith fumbled with one hand for a flat surface to set her glass
down on, then leaned up, not much, only a little, and tilted her
face to him, lips parted invitingly.

With a groan, Q surrendered the last bit of sanity he still
possessed, bending forward to meet her.  As his lips touched
hers, the thundering wave of desire he'd been trying to avoid
crashed over him, taking away all conscious thought, all doubt
and recrimination.  All Q could feel was the pulsating need
pounding through his body, the pleasure he was getting from just
being close to her, and the tension singing in his head, and for
the moment, that was enough.

The kiss turned passionate then, Judith pressing herself against Q,
and his arms coming up to hold her, eager to feel something,
someone against him.  Q had taken the complete isolation of
non-touching for granted, had gotten used to it until Naomi had
come in and burst the invisible bubble between him and everyone
else.  Q hadn't realized how much he had hungered for touch
until then, how much of him was vulnerable to the pleasure of
another person voluntarily sharing themself with him.  And in the
last three weeks, he had relearned that isolation, that bitterness,
because even here, that wall maintained its solidity.  Until now. 
Until he was again touching and being touched.  It wasn't the
same as telepathic intimacy, wasn't even the same as the
emotional intimacy he'd found with Naomi, but it would do.

Judith sighed softly and moved closer, if there was such a thing
when she was already plastered as tightly against him as she
could get.

Her hands were flat against his chest, but now they began
exploring, one toying with the closure of his shirt.

Q desperately wanted that, wanted to feel her hands on his skin,
to be touched.  He didn't dare return the gesture, although he
wanted to, wanted to feel her under his hands.

And then she was pulling his shirt open, and with a slight shock
of horror, Q realized what he was wearing underneath that.  He
couldn't go out less than formally dressed among these people, of
course.  The opinion they held of him was simply too high, and
he had to live up to it, to surpass it.  Under his outer layer of
clothes, he was wearing padding to make himself seem stronger
and larger than he really was.  And he couldn't bear to let Om
see that.

Before he could think better of it, he captured her hands in his,
stopping her.  "No."

"No?" Judith asked, confused.  His rejection recoiled through her
and almost immediately, she began to feel stupid.  What was she
doing here?  Why was she making a fool out of herself this way? 
She was trying to seduce someone who was far out of her reach,
and he didn't want her, and now all she wanted to do was get out
of there.

She tried to back away from him, but couldn't with him holding
onto her.  "I... I'm sorry."

"For what?" Q asked waspishly, not letting go.  Why was she
saying that?  "You've thought better of your actions?  Do you
usually make a habit out of turning men on and then running
away?"

Judith hesitated, unsure of what he was asking.  The words were
clear enough, but they didn't make any sense to her.  "Are you
saying you don't want me to go?"  He *was* still holding onto
her hands, after all.

Q hesitated, unsure what to say, if anything.  He wanted her,
wanted this desperately, and even now, the feeling of her hands
in his, the contact with her was all at once exactly what he
needed, and not enough.  The aching was growing stronger, and
he was too hot, suddenly smoldering in these clothes.  He had to
get out of them.  "I... need to change."

Judith looked bemused.  "All right."

As Q fled into the bathroom, Judith sat down on the edge of the
bed.  She took off her jacket, folded it, and then reached over to
lay it over the back of a nearby chair.  Kicking off her shoes, she
waited as patiently as she could under the circumstances, nervous
excitement beginning to run through her.  She was really here. 
This was really happening.

Q came out, minutes later, having performed the fastest change
he could.  Instead of his formal gear, he was wearing a royal blue
tunic over soft dark trousers.

Judith's eyes lit up when she saw him, and Q found himself
immensely gratified by that.  He'd been having second thoughts
in the bathroom, wondering whether this was the right thing to be
doing.  But once back with her, with her eyes on him, Q found
himself instantly reminded of why he was doing this.

With an inaudible, immediately suppressed groan, Q came over to
Judith, where she was sitting on the bed.  She was only wearing a
flimsy white blouse now over her skirt, instead of the more
formal uniform-like outfit she'd had on.  It clung to her skin, and
Q found his eyes irresistibly drawn to the way her breasts moved
as she breathed.  The observation caused an answering,
embarrassing response in himself, and then the brief moment of
rational thought he had gained in the bathroom was gone, and his
mind was once more not his own, as the only thing that mattered
became her and what he needed to do with her.

Judith moved back on the bed, leaving room for him, and Q came
to her, sprawling his long body next to hers, hardly caring what
impression he was making.

She found herself looking up at him where he was leaning over
her, seeking reassurance and finding it in the intensity of his
gaze.  He wanted her; there could be no question of that. 
Reaching up to him, she slid her hands over the thin material of
his silk shirt and was rewarded with a low groan.

The fabric wasn't very thick, and the sensation was the same as if
she had been touching him directly, perhaps even more so,
because the silk itself was caressing him as her warm hands ran
over his chest, exploring.

He couldn't let her do this, couldn't have his control, or what
was left of it, slowly shredded away.  He needed too greatly for
that.  He was almost scared to touch her.  The fine trembling in
his hands was more than simple desire, it was a fear that when he
touched her, he wouldn't be able to stop, that he couldn't stop
himself from hurting her.  Dimly, Q remembered having left
bruises on Naomi's hips from having wanted too much, and he
felt over the edge now, like he wouldn't be able to retain any
control once he had touched her.

But then she was raising herself up to him, lips coming up to his,
and he was responding, lowering his head to hers, meeting her
with desperate passion, the hunger in him too great to hold back
when there was a feast spread out here before him.

His free hand went to her side, and without thinking about it, slid
up under her blouse, touching the smooth skin underneath.  Q
pulled back slightly from the kiss, groaning hoarsely, cheek
pressed against the side of Judith's face.  Yes.  That was it.  His
fingers tightened involuntarily.  He needed this, couldn't bear it if
she left now.

Her heart was pounding wildly and she couldn't help it.  She'd
never quite had anyone who wanted her this much.  The pressure
of his hand on hers, the way he had looked at her... all of it was
exciting, and flattering to her desirability as a woman.  She pulled
away from him slightly, sitting up.

Q fell back, looking up her, beginning to panic.  She was leaving
him!  He couldn't let her do that, didn't know what he would do
if she did.  He reached out, clutching her leg.

Judith didn't understand the gesture, took it as a sign that he
wanted some sort of physical connection between them, that he
couldn't be without her at the moment, and was touched by the
degree of his need.  This was far more than a casual encounter
for him as well, and that gave her the confidence she needed to
go ahead and take a little initiative.  Drawing in a deep breath,
she pulled her light blouse, a camisole really, over her head,
leaving herself half-naked.  She was surprised at how natural it
felt.  She should be very embarrassed right now.  She didn't
think of herself as being particularly attractive, and being naked
with someone for the first time was always a chancy experience
at best.  But something in the way he was looking at her, keeping
an almost reverent silence, gave her the encouragement she
needed to continue.  Judith unfastened her skirt, wriggling to slip
it down off her body, then removed the rest of her clothing, and
waited.

Q swallowed hard.  She was beautiful, and very attractive to him. 
On the other hand, it was obvious she was waiting for something.
Q nearly panicked as he realized what she was waiting for.  He
so rarely took the lead in sex; the risks were just too great and
the need to do so not present.  Normally, that is.  Now she was
kneeling there, waiting for him to do something, waiting for him
to get naked himself.

He closed his eyes, lying back on the bed, unable to watch
himself as he fumbled with his buttons and fastenings, and kicked
his trousers to the end of the bed.  This was horrible, this was
terrible... Q opened his eyes and saw her watching him,
acceptance and desire plainly evident in her gaze.  This was
perfect.

She came down to him then, half-lying on him, soft breasts
pressed up against his chest, the feeling of skin against skin so
agonizingly right that he wanted to cry.  But instead he kissed
her, letting that sliding, destroying caress of mouths and tongues
be enough for the moment.

And for a moment, it was.  But there was more, there had to be
more.

Q knew what he had to do, somewhere back in his conscious,
reasoning mind.  But he was only barely cognizant of that part of
him, only vaguely sensing that he needed to do something for her
first, needed to take care of what she wanted, and then he would
be able to take what he needed without compunction.  There was
some reason he was scared of this, something that had gone
wrong once, but with the hot need rushing through him, he
couldn't remember, didn't want to remember.

Clumsily, he reached for her, hands sweeping over her skin, over
her back first, then stroking her from her neck, down over the
small over her back and to her hip, wanting this more than
anything.

Judith shivered with pleasure and moved away from him slightly,
lying back against the bed to give him greater access to her body.

He levered himself up on one elbow, leaning over her, expression
intent.  This was very familiar, and he knew he should be
worried about something, but he couldn't remember what, and
didn't want to remember.

He reached out to her, drawing a line down her body from her
throat to her hip, hand barely brushing her breast.

She shivered and moved her legs apart.  "Please?"

For a moment, he was taken aback.  He wanted to touch her,
wanted to feel her, to tease her.  He needed to.  But more than
anything he needed to be inside her, needed her warmth and
that... without further argument, his hand drifted down and inside
her, long fingers probing gently at first, then finding the right
place and stroking her with knowledgeable ease.

Judith gave herself over to that touch, letting him set the rhythm,
entirely submissive to it.  It was different, was always different
when someone else did it, when someone else *would* do it. 
Giving into someone else's caress was always more satisfying
than doing it herself, although she didn't know why.  And
couldn't care why at the moment.  All that mattered was the
sensations Q was causing inside her, the building tension, the
spasmodic clenching and unclenching of her muscles as she got
closer to the satisfaction of that need.  

The speed changed then, first slow then faster and she gasped in
time with that, her very breathing locked in time with what was
happening in her body.  She was close, so very close.

Delicious prickles started all over her body as she felt it coming,
the intensity building past all bearing, except that she would bear
it because she wanted to, couldn't not bear it.  It rushed over her,
past her, and then she was lost in the aftershocks.

She shuddered in the grips of that overwhelming feeling, clinging
to him, unable to make any noise at all through her choked
throat.  It was too much, and exactly right all at the same time. 
She closed her legs, and Q took his hand away.

"That was... wonderful," she said, eyes vague and voice broken. 
"But... you haven't..."

She was talking too much, and Q wasn't listening.  He *needed*,
there was no other word for it, no other way to describe it but as
an intense pain spreading out through his groin, an ache that went
on forever, except that he was sure somehow, without knowing
quite how he was sure, that he could relieve it if he had her.  He
had done his part, and it would be all right now.  He didn't know
how he knew that, but he did.

Without saying a word, Q knelt next to her.  She moved her legs
apart for him without being asked, her whole body beckoning him
down to her.  Her gaze was without judgment, although Q could
hardly have cared at that moment.  Only outright mockery could
have forced him to stop right then.  There was nothing there
besides the two of him and his need.

He moved between her legs, and then he was inside her, and over
her and it was so *good* and he could hardly think of anything at
all, not even how she felt under him, pressed against him, all
naked softness and warmth.  The wet heat in which he was
sheathed was all that mattered, and how tightly it gripped him and
how he only had to move and the delicious, horrible tension built
up higher within him.  It was exactly what he had been waiting
for, hadn't been able to wait for, and he didn't know how he had
survived without it.  He felt like he'd been whipped to this point,
forced here and now that he was, nothing could make him stop.

The heat of it, the pure pressure and pleasure of it was immense. 
He couldn't stand this, didn't have a choice but to stand it.

He had very little control left over himself at all, only enough to
keep from crushing his partner, to hold himself up as he thrust
himself over and over into her, trying desperately to hold onto
that exhilarating, terrifying, agonizing sensation that would drive,
was driving him over the edge into a black pit of sensation.

All he could feel was the tearing need inside himself.  Q was only
barely cognizant of where he was, couldn't care how much he
was hurting himself, how sweat was pouring off his body, or
even who was with him.  None of that mattered.  What mattered
was satisfying the demon driving him, finding surcease for the
pain.  Only it wasn't pain, it was pleasure so long denied that it
hurt him, was knotted up inside him and demanding he give into
it, as he was, and couldn't help doing, moving inside that
wonderful tight hot wetness, hoping the need would break and
allow him release, that it would never stop and he could go on
feeling like this forever.

And then he was there, great shudders racking his body as he
came, the pleasure rolling over him in waves, all the more intense
for having been denied so long.

He held himself there for a long moment, hips moving slightly,
searchingly, not wanting to stop, not wanting to leave this.  But
as the need left him, it was replaced by nothing but exhaustion,
and a physical pleasure that left him weak and sagging.  The
emotional strain of holding himself under control, the *need* for
that kind of control was gone, and he was left vulnerable and
empty, like a puppet with its strings cut.

And in that moment, defenseless, drained of all the need and
desire that had driven him to this point, tears came to his eyes,
and Q cried, collapsing in helpless sobs into the arms of the
woman with him.

She held him close, stroking his head, and Q didn't draw away,
couldn't draw away.  All he could do was move slightly to the
side, so he was no longer directly on top of her.  But he couldn't
let go of her if he tried.  He couldn't help crying, couldn't help
breaking under the relief of all the tension that had held him
together for so long.  He'd thought that masturbating himself, as
disgusting as it was, had worked as a temporary measure, but
now he found that wasn't true, that he needed sex itself on a very
deep level and his release from that burden was greater than it
ever had been due his long denial of it.  Q couldn't tell whether
he was crying because the tension had been relieved, or because
he was overwrought by the struggle to contain it.  And, frankly,
he couldn't care.  It was a relief to be able to cry at all and be
comforted for it.  He needed it too much.

The long strain had taken its toll on him, and he felt broken and
in pieces.  His physical needs had driven him to a point that he
didn't even want to think about, and all he could do was shudder
in the helplessness brought about by the breaking of that dam of
control which had been holding back emotions and desires he'd
tried to suppress, couldn't suppress.

Q never looked up, never shifted position.  Gradually, his sobs
subsided, and he fell asleep like that, not willing to let go of the
softness and the warmth that had finally filled the cold loneliness
he had endured for so long.

****

Q woke slowly the next morning, his mind fuzzy and half-aware. 
His body felt achy with the first real exercise it had had in weeks,
but good.  In fact, he felt a curious sense of well being all over.

He tried to pinpoint why, but even as Q started sifting through
the memories of the previous night, which were heavily
interspersed with dreams, the softness he was holding onto shifted
position and Q sighed deeply, breathing in the scent of another
person close to him.  He was finally home.  That was it.  He was
finally home, and everything was all right.

The cinnamony scent was a nice change, Q thought drowsily.  He
opened his eyes, and saw the woman nestled in the curve of his
arms.  Her long black hair tangled around her, and her bare legs
reached down nearly as far as his own.

The data moved slowly to his sleep-fogged brain, further
confused by a burgeoning desire for this naked woman sleeping
there.

And then he remembered.

The events of the previous night replayed starkly in his head,
made tawdry by the light of day.  He'd had sex with this woman,
engaged in gross physical acts for no better reason than because
he'd wanted to.  And then, *then* he had broken down and cried
in front of her.

Without stopping to think anymore about it, too revulsed by
himself and panicked by his actions to think any more about it, Q
pulled off one of the blankets from the bed and wrapped it around
himself, knotting it at the hip, and then stalked off to the
bathroom, where he could barricade himself in until he could
come to grips with this.  Hopefully, until she woke up and left,
but he didn't have luck like that.

The door secured behind him, Q leaned against the counter,
looking at himself at the mirror.  His face was drawn tight with
emotion, but otherwise, unchanged.  There was no dunce cap on
his head, no large blinking sign to say what mistakes he'd made.

"Idiot!  Fool!"  The bitter words did nothing to make him feel
better.

Guilt overwhelmed him.  What had he *done*?  He'd gratified a
base physical desire, and why?  *Because you are so lacking in
self-control that you can't keep from fucking any available
partner,* Q answered himself viciously.  He hated himself, hated
the loss of self-control, the descent into human desires, the
inevitable downward spiral he was even now embarked on.  He'd
thought he'd reached the bottom after his second suicide attempt,
after he'd melodramatically tried to kill himself because everyone
was out to get him, as evidenced by Security's late night attack
on him.  Killing himself because everyone else wanted to kill him
was hysterically stupid, even if part of his motivation had been to
see whether they'd let him get away with it.  What if they had? 
He'd have been dead and by his own hand.  He'd have done them
a favor.  Much better to stick around and make their lives a
living hell.  Of course, at that time, his life had been impossible,
his every move scrutinized by cold-eyed goons who made it clear
with each shift in their posture exactly what they intended to do
to him when they got another chance.  His suicide attempt had
been less a plea for attention than the only option he could see for
himself at the time, the only thing that he could do.  But Q was
in no mood to be charitable.

He'd ruined his life all by himself this time, with no assistance
from anyone.  Naomi would hate him now.  She had strong
feelings about this kind of thing; had warned him not to do it
after the incident with Harry.  She would reject him if she knew
what he had done.  And he wouldn't be able to hide it.  Even if
he didn't generally despise dishonesty and view lying as a crutch
for people too weak to handle the truth, there was the issue of
whose fault this was.  Naomi was clearly to blame for putting
him in this situation.  She *knew* him; she was supposed to be
the sexually adept person in this relationship.  How dare she
banish him off like this for four *weeks*?  How did she expect
him to survive?  Was she *punishing* him?  The whole notion
outraged Q.  This was her fault, not his, and he didn't deserve to
be tortured for her shortsightedness in getting pregnant when she
should have done him the courtesy of consulting him first.  He
would have said no, of course, but that only proved his point.  If
she had asked, it could have been handled very quickly and he'd
still be back where he belonged, and he would never have ended
up in bed with Om.

In bed with Om.  Grim despair washed through him, taking the
place of the sick guilt he felt.  With one brief impulse, one brief
stupid *human* impulse, he had undone everything achieved
through will and intellect.

And now the evidence was out there sleeping in his bed.  For a
moment, terror struck.  What if she told everyone about this? 
What if she was like Amy Frasier, a headhunter for new
experiences, especially new male experiences?  Could he trust
Om at all?  The answer to that remained to be seen.  He didn't
have much choice.  He'd already screwed himself over.

And what an appropriate metaphor that was.  Q sat down, not
knowing what to do, not having a clue what he could do.  He had
*cried* in front of Om.  *On* Om, his merciless memory
inserted.

That horrified Q.  How much lower could he sink?  Om was sure
to betray him now.  He was awful in bed, his lacks in the area
more than confirmed by how Naomi had thrown him out of their
bed a few months ago.  Naomi pretended everything was all right
now, but Q knew differently.  She was trying to make him *feel*
better, a concept which completely disgusted Q.  Not only did
that make him seem like someone at the mercy of his feelings,
which was a completely unacceptable self-portrait, but it also
was, once again, Naomi giving charity to the gimp.  He couldn't
stand that, didn't have any choice but to stand it.  The
alternatives were too horrible.

And in her own way, Naomi was all right.  She provided a
minimal level of stimulation in the way of intellectual prowess. 
She certainly wasn't boring, not in the way this constant worship
of him by everyone he met at the Daystrom Institute was getting
to be.  Q didn't know what was wrong with him.  He should be
enjoying this extravagant praise and worship, but he wasn't.  It
was exactly what he'd wanted from Anderson and from her
trained lapdogs and bullyboys, but now that he had it, Q hated it. 
Being worshipped was perilously close to the deeply flawed
human concept of love, that sugarcoated coverup people put over
the things they wanted, blinding themselves to the truth
underneath, using this word to justify their need for something. 
And, in any case, Q suspected that their worship was based on
nothing more than lies and trumpery.  They believed in the
persona he had created for himself, not the truth.  If they knew
him even as well as the people back on the starbase, they
wouldn't worship him.  They'd hate him, just like everyone else. 
This was all a pretense based on lies, and eventually it would fall
apart, and he would have nothing once again.

Q stared blankly back at himself, the lines of his face haggard
and drawn, mind inevitably returning to the issue of what he had
done.  He'd betrayed himself last night.  He'd done something he
had no wish to do, with someone who had no motive not to
degrade and harass him, and he'd given her ample ammunition to
do it with.  If she told people about him crying, then his
reputation truly would be shot.  Q would rather be caught dead
than caught weak, and the idea of the entire Institute knowing
about his lapse of control was distressing in the extreme.  The
almighty Q, crying like a little child.  A sob escaped his throat
then, as Q pictured what people would say about him, what they
would think.  He couldn't bear that, couldn't even bear Om
thinking of him that way.  That she would, Q had no question. 
Her image of him was too high, too perfect.  There was no
possibility of him ever living up to that image, although he had
been pretending well; and last night he had shattered it entirely. 
She would see him differently now, and Q couldn't stand that.  

His image was everything, and he would move ruthlessly to
suppress any deviations from it, any perceptions on the part of
others which would ruin that image.  Some people had seen a
little more, but they were all at a comfortable distance from him,
all except Naomi.  Harry knew more, had gotten further under
the mask when he had attempted to seduce Q.  And, after a brief
lapse of control, Q had retaliated with vicious force, pushing
Harry away, back inside the safe barriers their relationship had
maintained previously.  There were other lapses of control, with
other people.  Q had begged for his life repeatedly, much to his
inner disgrace.  But it wasn't the same as this; the sexual
humiliation, the humiliation of losing control and crying, were
both much different than the conscious choice to play a game in
order to get what he wanted, in that case, his life.  Naomi was
the only one who had seen him actually lose control, the only
person who had done that and who Q had not gotten rid of
immediately thereafter.  It had not been for lack of trying,
however.  Q had thrown her out on at least one occasion, and had
attempted to do so many times more than that, but it hadn't done
any good.  The foolish woman refused to leave no matter how
cruelly he insulted her.  And somewhere, deep down, Q was glad
that she hadn't left, was reassured that he couldn't drive Naomi
away.  If his worst behavior couldn't force her to leave, then she
was either extremely stupid or truly did care for him.  As Om did
not and could not.

Om had seen him lose control, and for that, Q had to retaliate. 
He had to get rid of her before she could hurt him, had to rebuild
his barriers now, while he still could.

Q stood up, and drew his dignity around him.  He'd clean up and
get dressed.  This deserved the most distinguished appearance he
could give himself.  He couldn't let any of the haunted, weak
man who looked back at him now in the mirror remain.

****

When Q swept out of the bathroom, fully dressed, the picture of
elegance, Judith was still in his bed.  He felt a brief surge of
fear.  It would have been much easier if she were just already
gone.  She was awake, but not dressed, looking up at him as he
came in.

"Are you *still* here?" Q asked snidely.

"Excuse me?" Judith said, bewildered.

Q paused in front of the bed, arranging his sleeves carefully. 
"Your moment in the sun is over.  It's time for you to return to
your rather limited sexless world and tell everyone how excited
you were about your little foray into godhood."  He tried to keep
his words light for better effect, but bitterness crept in
nonetheless.  The incident with Amy had rankled deeply; Q
understood only too well now how someone might desire him
only for his novelty value.  There certainly were no other
possibilities.  Despite Naomi's encouragement of him, which was
no doubt prompted from her misguided concern for his feelings,
Q knew he was no good, could be no good at this quintessential
human activity.

"I don't understand," Judith said.  "You seemed to want me. 
You... it was very good."

Q ignored the comment about it being good, an obvious lie.  "I
don't want you, and I don't need you forcing yourself on me."

"But you kept reaching out for me," Judith said, hurt.  "I tried to
get up, but you held onto me.  You *wanted* me there."

"I don't want you now," Q said coldly.  "How much clearer do I
have to make it for you, *Doctor*?"

The emphasis on her title rather using her name stung as he
meant it to.  "You really are a bastard, aren't you?"

The insult only reinforced Q's opinion of her.  She really did hate
him, just like everyone else.  She had obviously only been
pretending before, trying to lure him into some exposure of
himself.  Either that, or she had been so disgusted by his lack of
finesse the night before, and his unattractiveness, that she was
now turned against him.  In either case, Q now had more than
enough motivation to get rid of her.

"Do you remember when I said I'd heard of your work?" Q
asked, examining his sleeves again, trying to appear casual and
unaffected by her remark.

"Yes," Judith said cautiously.

"I had heard of your work.  How could I help hearing of
something that bad?"

Judith turned pale.  "You don't mean that."

"But of course I do, my dear woman.  Why else would I have
been offering to look at it?  I *tried* to help you, but you
refused.  I suppose this means you're doomed to remain in
unenlightened idiocy forever."

Her face went mask-like, too shocked to say anything at all.  She
wanted to break down, but she couldn't, not in front of this
supremely polished monster parading in front of her.  She
couldn't give him the satisfaction.

Judith got of bed, ignoring her nudity.  She picked up her clothes
and dumped them on the bed, hands shaking.  She grabbed the
camisole, then looked pointedly at Q.  "If you'll excuse me?"

"But of course," Q said, triumphant and gracious in victory.  He
left her alone in the room.  With trembling fingers, Judith got
dressed.  She'd never felt so destroyed in all her life.  She had
*worshipped* him, and he had pulled her apart with a few choice
words.  She didn't understand it, and she didn't understand him. 
All she wanted was to leave, to get out of there and go someplace
where she could fall apart in decent privacy.

Once outside, she moved past Sanaharrar without a glance. 
Judith shoved her hands deeper in her jacket pockets as she
stalked down the hall, unable to keep from making that physical
expression of her frustration.  How dare he treat her like that? 
Judith was livid, and depressed all at the same time.  Q had said
a number of things about her which were horrible and true all at
the same time.  They had to be true.  Q was the preeminent
authority on physics alive.  No one knew more about the subject
than he did.  Even Sumor had condescended to talk to him, which
was a high mark of esteem.  Dr. Sumor was eminently polite
with everyone, as was characteristic for Vulcans, but the
briefness of his replies left no doubt as to his lack of interest in
most people's research.  But Q had captivated and even surpassed
him.  Her own work was paltry in comparison, although she had
never realized what a *fool* she was making out of herself by
pretending to be a physicist.

Her hands clenched more tightly together as she struggled not to
scream or break down crying right here in the hall.  And then
she'd made such a tremendous laughingstock out of herself by
falling for him.  She didn't know what Q must think of her for
that.  She quickened her steps, not wanting to think about the
events of the preceding night, but not being able to help it.  She
could still feel his hands on her body, ghostly afterimages
impressed into her skin.  She shivered, remembering the
experience.  It wasn't the best, but it had been pretty damn good. 
More because of the man involved than the actual sex.  And then,
afterwards, he had cried.  She didn't know what she had done to
cause that, if she had done anything to cause it.  Judith also
didn't know how to reconcile the man who had sobbed in her
arms with the cold, forbidding figure who had just summed up
her faults in a few terse words, and then thrown her out, when
she hadn't even gotten dressed yet.

She couldn't resolve the two pictures, and it burned at her,
convincing her more than anything else ever could that Q was
indeed serious about her flaws.  If he hadn't shown some
vulnerability, then she could believe that he truly was a bastard,
just using her for sex and then hurting her in the worst way
possible.  But he had shown her a different side of himself, and
she knew he wasn't that kind of bastard.

Which brought her right back face to face with her own
inadequacies.  She really wasn't the best physicist on the block. 
There were many others far beyond her.  She couldn't even
compare herself with someone like Dr. Sumor, who had been
active in the field longer than she had been alive.  She was only
kidding herself if she thought she had any valuable contributions
to make.  No wonder Q had never wanted to look at her work. 
He had been trying to spare her feelings.

In that mood of vast depression and enormous self-pity, she ran
across a good friend of hers, Deborah Greene.

"Good morning," Deborah said cheerily.  "Where were you last
night?  You missed the weekly round-up."

Judith stopped dead on seeing Deborah, and drew in her breath
sharply at that question.  "I'm sorry... I ran into other things." 
The incident with Q was too raw, too painful to talk about, even
with Deborah, who she could tell just about anything.

"Is something wrong?"

Judith managed a half-smile.  "Not exactly."  She looked at
Deborah.  "Do you think I'm good at what I do?"

"Good?" Deborah was puzzled.  "What are you talking about? 
You're one of the best!  Didn't Dr'aneth tap you to lead Q
around?  Didn't you just get published for the second time this
month?"

Judith shrugged, not willing to accept those as proofs.  "I'm
contemplating a career change.  Maybe to something like sales."

"Well, you'd be good at it.  Want to get some breakfast?"

"Sounds good."  Judith felt curiously reassured by the other
woman's company.  Deborah's sheer calmness and stability made
her feel a little less shaky and out-of-control.  And she didn't
really want to be alone with her thoughts right now.

She followed Deborah down the hall to the cafeteria, and took a
seat when Deborah pointed one out to her.  Confused by her
wounded feelings, Judith didn't notice what kind of conversation
Deborah had sat them down in the middle of until it was too late.

"...he's changed, I tell you," a slim, dark-haired man was saying
to a larger, bullish one two places down from her.

"Q will never changed.  He was a bastard and he'll always be a
bastard."

The mention of Q's name caught Judith's attention immediately. 
Without giving a sign of her interest in the subject, because she
certainly didn't want to get drawn into a discussion of his merits
or lack thereof right not, she listened to what they were saying. 
She knew the men involved.  They were part of a clique of
physicists from the third floor.  Not everyone here was a
physicist, but she knew all of these men on sight.  They were the
worst sort, being practical rather than theoretical in application. 
It wasn't worst in that they weren't *bad* people; they just had a
different outlook and attitude than her own section which made
them hard for her to relate to some times.  They just *whined* so
much.

However, at the moment, they were discussing a subject of
intense fascination to Judith; one she couldn't have stopped
herself from listening to if she'd tried.  

"I'm going to get some breakfast," Deborah said.  "What do you
want?"

"Whatever you're having," Judith said vaguely, not paying much
attention.  She and Deborah had very similar tastes, and it didn't
much matter to Judith right now what she ate in any case.  When
Deborah left off to collect their breakfast, there was nothing to
stop Judith from discreetly eavesdropping on the conversation.

"He *has* changed," Norman said.  "I didn't know him before,
but he's not the person you were describing."

"Look," Jellico said, "it's an act.  Just a bloody act.  And if you
realize that, you won't be nearly so surprised when he turns
around and stabs you in the back.  I bet he's already pulling this
asshole crap on people; you just haven't heard about it because no
one wants to say anything bad about the almighty Q."

Judith found herself nodding unconsciously, and stopped it before
anyone noticed her.  She didn't want to talk about it, didn't want
to expose herself to their picking apart.

Loalan settled down into a chair, placing his plate down.  "We
talking about Q?"

"Yeah," Norman said. "Jelly says that Q's a bastard and will
always be a bastard."

Loalan appeared undisturbed by that remark, heresy as it was
against the generally held opinion of the Institute that Q could do
no wrong.  "And I imagine that Q didn't like Jelly's work?"

Norman grinned slightly.  "No."

Loalan spread his hands.  "There you go.  Jelly wouldn't like
anyone who didn't think of his work as cutting edge, even though
he hasn't done anything truly *original* in years."

Jellico slowly turned red, not from embarrassment, but from
anger.  "Look, Lollipop..."

"I'm in trouble now," Loalan says.  "He only calls me that when
he wants to embarrass and humiliate me."  Loalan did not appear
to be upset by that possibility.

Jellico was really smoldering now.  "Q is a fake, Lolly, and if
you can't admit that..."

"I don't admit that," Loalan said.  "Unlike you, I was not
humiliated by him when I went to visit."

"You went to visit Q?" Norman asked.  "When was this?"

Loalan looked over at him.  "Must have been while you were on
*sabbatical*."

Norman flushed slightly.  "It *was* a sabbatical."

"Not to hear you tell about it," Loalan said tauntingly.  "How
many lovely ladies were there again?  Six?  Seven?"

"Shut up, Lolly," Norman said.  "Get on with your story."

"Where was I?" Loalan said, recollecting himself.  "Oh, yes.  I
went to see Q myself.  And while he wasn't an easy person to get
along with, and certainly showed no signs of kowtowing to me,
as Jelly obviously expected, he did speak to me with reasonable
courtesy.  We discussed a number of subjects, and I was
impressed with his depth of knowledge."

Jellico made a scoffing noise and set his coffee down.  "I don't
believe that."

"It's perfectly true."

"It *can't* be true," Jellico said with emphasis.  "He was
*nothing* like that when I went out there."

Loalan lifted a eyebrow.  "That was what, two years ago?"

"So?"

Loalan smiled wickedly, entirely ignoring the food set before
him.  "So you never met Naomi."

"Who's Naomi?"

That was exactly what Judith was thinking.  With a sinking
feeling in the pit of her stomach, she *knew* who Naomi was,
and she immediately felt much worse than she had before. 
Deborah sat down then with their trays, but Judith indicated with
a slight hand motion that she didn't want to talk right at the
moment.

Loalan looked at Jellico.  "Naomi Allen is a programmer -- and
Q's companion."

His tone left no doubt of his meaning.  Jellico laughed coarsely. 
"So you mean that he's a better person now that he's getting
some on a regular basis?"

Loalan tilted his head.  "I wouldn't have put it that way, but..."

"But I'm right, aren't I?"

Loalan shrugged.  "Wouldn't you like it if the Institute hired
someone with no other duties but to keep you happy?"

"What's she like?" Norman asked, clearly fascinated by the idea.

"Short, very short," Loalan said, turning back to him.  "But just
the right size if you know what I mean.  A redhead, a very
*sexy* redhead.  She goes everywhere with Q, even though she
clearly doesn't know anything about physics.  They list her as a
senior programmer, and from what I could find out, she is, but
that isn't what she *does*."

"Of course not," Jellico said, leering.  "You already told us what
she really does."

Loalan shook his head, slightly annoyed.  "Other than the
obvious, Jelly.  She was at every meeting I had with him.  And
she kept each session going.  She was acting like some sort of
super-assistant to him."

Jellico had picked up a piece of toast and stuffed into his mouth
while Loalan was talking.  Without caring that he hadn't quite
finished chewing yet, he asked, "So?  What's your point?  Get to
the good stuff."

Loalan looked down his nose at him.  "You know, Jelly, if you
ever thought about sex in any other way but the crudest of
fashions, you might actually get laid once in a while."

Norman laughed, and Jellico turned purple.  "*Loalan.*"  The
word was a threat, but Loalan ignored it, going on with his tale.

"I tried to talk to her alone, but I couldn't get close to her.  I
mean, a woman like *that*... I was fascinated by her.  I wanted
to talk to her, to see if she was as intelligent as she seemed."  He
hunched over the table, getting closer to them, emphasizing his
words.  "Every time I did, every time I got near her, Q would
cut in.  Sometimes it was subtle, but the message was clear to
me.  As far as he was concerned, she was his, and he didn't want
anyone else near her."

Norman whistled.  "Bad luck, Lolly."

"I know," Loalan said with a grin.  "But I met a nice biologist
who was willing to alleviate the loneliness of a fellow scientist far
from home."

Norman shook his head.  "I don't know how you do it."

"Get back to the point, Loalan," Jellico hissed.  "If you had
one."

"I did," Loalan said, unruffled.  "Although anyone with any
sense would be rude to Jelly, Q has obviously acquired some sort
of buffer between himself and the universe that he didn't have
when Jelly came to town.  Naomi was shielding him from the
worst of the nonsense and smoothing over any conflicts that
occurred, and there were some doozies.  You could almost see
him about to cut someone to pieces, and then she'd step in and do
it for him, and it was still vicious, but far more acceptable
coming from her than it would have been from him.  But none of
it was nearly as bad as Jelly was describing."

Judith nodded in silent agreement.  Having someone on your side
could do that to you.  Despite everything, she felt a reluctant
sense of sympathy with Q.

Jellico went on, "So?  It doesn't mean anything.  Q still doesn't
know crap about physics."

The trio went into a spirited discussion of exactly what physics
was, and whether theoretical information was more important
than research which could be directly applied to the real world,
with Loalan squaring off against the other two.

Judith tuned them out, having heard this particular argument
several times before and from different people, turning instead to
her own place and looking unhappily down at her plate.  Deborah
had been extremely kind in fetching her something to eat, but
Judith couldn't bring herself to care about the food.  She wasn't
hungry.

"What's wrong?" Deborah asked in a low voice.  "Sleep badly?"

"You could say that," Judith said.  "A really pleasant dream that
turned into a nightmare."

Deborah nodded, dipping a spoon into her yogurt.  "That happens
to me all the time."

Judith dropped her eyes.  Deborah was a friend, but not a good
friend, and although she desperately wanted to tell someone about
this, she didn't know how much she could trust Deborah with. 
What had happened the night before had been deeply humiliating
for her, and she didn't really want people knowing how stupid
she had been, how stupid she felt now.  In any case, she couldn't
say anything *here*.  Her folly would be over the Institute before
she left the room.

Deborah seemed to sense her reticence and her need for privacy,
and left her alone, chatting with a tablemate on her other side.

Judith appreciated that consideration.  She needed some time to
think, to process the information she'd been given.  What was
going on here?  What was she supposed to think?  She didn't
know and it was making her stomach hurt.

Or maybe that was just hunger.  Without much interest, she
picked up a spoon and started eating her plain yogurt.  Usually
she would have made sure to get some blueberries to drop in it,
plain yogurt being anything but appetizing, but this morning she
couldn't bring herself to care about the lack of flavor.  It didn't
matter what she ate.

So Q was a bastard?  Judith didn't know whether to believe that. 
Jellico was a cad, and she wouldn't take his word on the color of
the sky, much less on someone's character.  What Loalan had
said was much more disturbing.  Who was Naomi?  And if she
really were Q's companion in every sense of the word, why had
Q slept with *her*?  Maybe Naomi was no longer in the picture;
maybe Q didn't have anyone right now.  It was a thought, but
Judith didn't believe it.  His behavior made a lot more sense if
she assumed he was sleeping around on someone else and feeling
guilty about it.  But she still didn't like it.  Or how she felt about
herself, knowing that.  It made her into the Other Woman, the
poacher on an already established relationship.  She hadn't known
about Naomi last night, but that didn't make her feel any better.

Judith stirred her yogurt unhappily.  "Deborah, what would you
think of a man who had one lover and then went off and picked
up someone else?"

Deborah considered the question without asking what relevance it
had to Judith's life.  It was one of the things that Judith liked
about her.  Deborah never asked embarrassing personal questions. 
Of course, she also didn't seem to care much what Judith did
with her life, which could be annoying as well, and was why
Deborah wasn't a *close* friend.

"I suppose it would depend on why he did it," Deborah said
finally, still working on her yogurt.  Deborah liked to eat very
slowly and deliberately.  "If it was a revenge type of thing, then
he'd be scum.  If it was just because he wanted to, and because
he was away from his wife, then that's just normal guy behavior. 
It's not a nice thing for a guy to do, but you can't really expect
anything better out of men."

"And what if he did it, and then threw the woman out the next
morning, with a whole bunch of insults?" Judith tried not to
sound like this was what had just happened to her, although it
was.

"Then he's scum, of course.  But what man isn't?" Deborah said,
then stuck her spoon in her mouth.

"I can see why you never remarried," Judith said, trying to
sidetrack the conversation into something less threatening.  She
had too much to think about.  Was Q really a bastard?  Or scum,
as Deborah so charmingly put it?  Probably.  He had someone
else back home, and here he was sleeping with her, taking her
feelings and playing with them recklessly, with no consideration
for her whatsoever.  And yet, that wasn't what she really cared
about.  His comments about her lack of scholarship and ability
had hurt her more.  He was an authority on physics, and he had
ruthlessly decimated her.  Maybe he hadn't meant it, maybe he'd
just been trying to get rid of her, an unwanted annoyance. 
Except that didn't explain why Q wanted her in the first place or
why he had to be so cruel about it.  For someone just using her
for sex, he was terribly involved, and that didn't add up either. 
Maybe Jellico was right, and Q really didn't know anything about
physics.  Perhaps Q was just a big fraud who they all believed in
because he knew how to tell them what they wanted to hear.  But
Judith couldn't believe that either.  It sounded true enough, but
even though he was far more advanced than she was, she'd
received a lot of inspiration from him, as well as some ideas for
new avenues for her own work.  Even without him looking at
what she'd done, she'd picked up a number of hints from what
he'd said.  And then there was just everything about him.  He
exuded an aura of knowing everything that there was to know
about the universe.  Listening to one of his lectures was
frustrating and enlightening all at once, as his words evoked
concepts in her mind, and brief glimpses of concepts she wasn't
yet ready to learn.  But if she accepted him as being an authority
in her field, then she had to accept his opinion of her abilities as
well.  And she didn't like that at all.  The last fifteen years of her
life had been rendered meaningless in less than ten minutes. 
Judith couldn't quite cope with that.  It was easier to believe
Jellico's point of view than to abandon her life so easily.

The attempt at sidetracking the conversation into general
man-bashing was successful.  One of Deborah's favorite topics
was why men weren't worth marrying once they hit their forties,
particularly men in the sciences, who spent too much time behind
a desk.

With an effort, Judith was able to make herself get interested in
that conversation, and to stop thinking the horrible thoughts
circling endlessly in her brain.  She didn't know what to do, but
obsessing over it wasn't doing anyone any good.

****

For obvious reasons, Dr. Owen-Martinez was not there to see
him off when he left the Institute.  Q was rather relieved by that
and indignant about it all at the same time.  How dare she not
come?  Didn't she care enough to say goodbye?  Obviously not. 
She should have been there, playing the rejected lover to the hilt. 
Of course, he would have had to ignore her and leave her there,
but that was the whole point.  However, she apparently didn't
care at all about him, despite their brief encounter, which only
validated Q's belief that he had been right to reject her the way
he had.

However, Kai Weybright had showed up to escort him to the
going away party instead.  "It was nice meeting you, Dr.
Hartfeil.  I hope you'll stop by again."  He grinned at Q.

"I doubt it," Q said acidly, then tempered it.  He was still feeling
raw after his abortive encounter with Om, but that didn't mean he
wanted everyone to know.  "My grandfather's fame has
overshadowed me.  I prefer to go back home where they
appreciate me for myself."

"You don't feel appreciated?" Kai asked with a lifted eyebrow.

Q didn't feel like flirting at the moment, particularly not with this
man.  It was too close to the truth, too close to what he really
wanted and needed, and therefore, no longer amusing.  "You
only love what I can do for you."

"And you want to be loved for yourself?" Kai asked, eyes bright,
stopping in the corridor.

Kai was suddenly too close to bear, and Q backed away a step
before realizing he was doing it and stopped himself in order to
retain what little was left of his tattered dignity after the incident
with Om.  "Love?  Who was talking about love?"

The other man looked wistfully up at him, but didn't press his
advantage.  He'd tried once with Q, and failed.  A no was a no,
even when the prey in question continued to flirt like mad.  "You
were, I believe."

Q looked down his nose at him.  "Never.  You were the one who
stopped in the middle of the hall to discuss your perverse
desires."

"Actually, I stopped because we're where we were going."  Kai
pointed to the door behind Q and off to the side.  "We're a little
early, so I thought I'd say goodbye now, and not get lost in the
crush of your many admirers."

Embarrassment moved over Q, but he refused to let it show,
instead lashing out at the cause of his discomfort.  "You have
remarkable taste.  I would certainly have never noticed you with
other people around.  Goodbye, then."  He turned and stalked
into the room, not waiting to hear Kai's response.

****

Q looked at the press of people swarming into the dining hall to
bid him goodbye, searching each face coming in.  When he
realized he was looking for Om's face, he felt ill.  He had no
desire to ever see her again, and yet he was mooning after her
like a lovestruck pup.  He didn't want to see her; he couldn't
stand being here, knowing he was looking for her and knowing
she wouldn't be there.  He'd already taken his departure from Kai
in the hall; there was no one else he wanted to see, other than the
flunkey who would be taking him to his shuttle.

"Get me out of here," he said to Sanaharrar in a low undertone.

Without a word, Sanaharrar uncoiled herself, stretching out to her
full impressive length, then pushed her head under Q's hand until
he had placed his hand on her neck.  That she was tall enough for
him to do this even when she was standing on four paws was
impressive enough for most people.  Sanaharrar was no small
kitty cat, although she did her best to reinforce this impression
when around humans.  Ordinarily, she had no wish or need to
call attention to herself.  But now was a different matter.

The crowded room parted magically before them, and Q felt
tremendously relieved to be leaving.

Normally, he enjoyed crowds, enjoyed showing off and being the
center of attention, even if it was negative attention.  But he
couldn't stand them right now, couldn't stand the way he felt, the
*need* for other people that kept betraying him, or the hero
worship which was wearing thin for him.  As antithetical a
thought as it was, he wanted to be alone.

****

Naomi walked down the hall to her quarters, feeling a small sense
of letdown.  She wasn't quite as tired as she had been, but she
was still four months pregnant, and therefore entitled to blame
any lapse of good manners on hormonal mood swings.  Most of
her department was avoiding her at the moment; Naomi was not a
nice person to be around when she was in a bad mood, although
of course, the people she wished would avoid her hadn't picked
up on the hint.  But it wasn't being pregnant that was putting her
in a such a state, although it made a handy excuse; it was not
having Q back yet that was setting her on edge.  He still hadn't
tried to communicate with her, which made no sense to Naomi at
all, unless he was completely washing his hands of her and never
wanted to hear from her again.  Which was entirely possible.

She stuck her hands in her pockets and kept walking.  She just
wanted to get home, lie down, and take a nap.  Hopefully, when
she was asleep she wouldn't be nearly so frustrated and confused. 
Maybe then this sense of being out of balance would stop.

She rounded a bend in the corridor, and nearly stopped dead at
the figure outside the door.  *Sanaharrar.*  It was Sanaharrar.  Q
was back.

Without conscious instruction, her steps hurried.  She stopped in
front of Sanaharrar, looking down at her, not saying anything at
all, just feeling an overwhelming sense of urgency and
anticipation.

Sanaharrar stared back at her for a moment, then turned her head
and began grooming herself, pointedly ignoring Naomi.

Naomi grinned, feeling better than she had in weeks.  Sanaharrar
had just said very plainly with a look and a gesture that she was
glad to see Naomi again, and to not waste her time talking to her,
when Naomi could be talking to Q.

Taking a breath, Naomi stepped inside, immediately looking for
Q.  He wasn't anywhere in sight.  Quivering with suppressed
tension and anxiety, Naomi went into his bedroom, stopping just
inside the door as she saw him sitting at a console, flipping
through some material with a bored look on his face.

"Q," Naomi said, unable to think of anything more profound.

He looked up, and Naomi couldn't read his expression.  The lines
of his face were lean and set, but there was no accusation in his
eyes, as she would have anticipated.

Q didn't know what he had expected, but it wasn't this.  Not
Naomi just simply being there as she had always been there, as if
nothing had happened between them, as if she hadn't run off and
gotten pregnant, as if he hadn't been away for a month, as if
everything were still all right.  Which it wasn't, and couldn't be. 
But he found himself wanting to see her anyway, not able to
resist the way she smiled when she saw him, as though finding
him here meant more than anything else to her, which it probably
did, given the pitiably limited nature of her universe, and his
relative splendor in comparison to anyone else she was acquainted
with.

She walked closer, and he stood up as she approached, giving
himself the height advantage.  "Q... You... I really *missed*
you."

And then she was close enough, and there was no reason not to,
and she couldn't stop herself if she tried.  Naomi stepped up to Q
with a sigh, resting her head against his chest, and clutching him
tightly.  He was real.  Not that she'd thought otherwise, being
too practical to dream up full-scale hallucinations like this, but
there was a world of difference between her memories of him,
and feeling him against her, solid and warm and *real*.

Q's arms came around her then, until he was holding her almost
as fiercely as she was holding him.  The sensation of having her
there with him again was incredible, perfect, right.  His head
sagged until his lips were brushing her hair.  She was there, and
for the moment, all arguments about her pregnancy, his own
betrayal at having discovered his sexual needs, the guilt and the
anger he felt, all of that was irrelevant for the moment.  What
mattered was the feeling of relief moving through him, the depth
of it taking him off-guard.

Naomi hugged him a little more tightly, then moved back a
fraction, enough to look up at him, but not enough to justify
letting go.  She didn't want to ever let go of him again.  Having
him run away was too heartbreaking, and the emotion she was
feeling now too raw to handle.  She backed away from it, not
wanting to terrify Q when she just now had him back, cloaking
her emotions behind other words.  "Took the long way back, I
see."

Q looked down at her, his expression a little quizzical.  "And
you've put on a little weight.  Snacking on the Hohos while I was
gone?"

Naomi looked down at her just-beginning-to-bulge stomach. 
"This?  I'm putting on fat so I can hibernate for the winter. 
Didn't I tell you about that?"

"You mean you're going to sleep more than you already do?"

"No," Naomi said, eyes beginning to twinkle.  "I'm just going to
stay in bed for five months."

Q's expression turned to one of horror, even as his eyes remained
unguarded.  "Five months?  What kind of hormonal storm are
you suffering from?"

"A possibly fatal and definitely contagious one," Naomi said,
hand moving caressingly over his chest, sending a tremor through
Q that she could feel.

"I still don't like this pregnant thing," Q said warningly.  "You
were way out of line, and I'm really upset with you."

"Of course you are," Naomi said soothingly.  "And after a bout
of completely meaningless sexual gymnastics, you can yell at me
to your heart's content."

"Completely meaningless?"

Naomi cocked her head.  "Of course.  Although I could quote
Shakespeare to you during an intimate moment if you like."

"Please, spare me."

"Not likely."  Naomi dragged Q backwards toward the bed,
getting no resistance from him whatsoever.  "'Take no prisoners'. 
That's my motto."

"I thought it was, 'Let no chocolate go uneaten'."

"That, too."  Naomi sat down on the bed, and gestured for Q to
do the same.  For a moment, her expression was serious.  "It's
good to have you back.  I love you."

Q paused.  "If you're going to go all mushy on me..."

"Never that," Naomi said, face solemn.  "I'd have to do penance
for it the rest of my life."  A grin spread across her face, and she
smirked at him, "Of course, there are those who would say I'm
already doing penance."

He scowled at her.  "Would you believe this is *my* penance?"

"Lucky you."  Naomi pulled her feet up under her, then knelt,
hands going to the front of her blouse.  "You wouldn't want to
help me with this then?"  He hesitated, and she added, "Consider
it part of your sentence."

"It's a harsh, cruel world," Q said, even as he was kneeling next
to her, coming down on the bed to be closer to Naomi.  There
was so much unresolved yet, and he needed to sort it out, but he
couldn't stop himself from taking what she was offering, and he
didn't really want to.

"Isn't it though?"


-the end-