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


Q woke slowly the next morning, his mind fuzzy and half-aware. 
His body felt achy, but good.  In fact, he felt a curious sense of
well being all over, even mentally.

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, the comforting weight of a body nestling
against him.  He was finally home.  That was it.  He was finally
home, and everything was all right.

There was something about that thought that disturbed him, but Q
couldn't quite place it.  Something about this that seemed all too
familiar, all too worrisome.

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.

*Judith*.  He'd woken like this to find Judith in his bed.  Q
panicked momentarily.  Where was he?  He was too scared to
open his eyes and find out, but as soon as he realized he was
scared to do it, he had to do it, couldn't allow himself to be that
much of a coward.

He opened his eyes, and saw the woman held close to him in the
curve of his arms.  Her red hair was a tousled mess, and she fit
neatly against him.

*Naomi*.  Q felt a tremendous sense of relief as he identified
her.  Of course he was on the starbase.  Where else would he be?
The events of his night with Judith replayed starkly in his head,
tawdry and damning.  He'd had sex with her, 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.

Q shuddered and buried his face in Naomi's hair, glad that she
was asleep.  If she were awake, he could never do this, wouldn't
dare take this kind of comfort from her.  It was bad enough that
he could, that he wanted to, but it would be impossible if she
were aware of his frailty.

He was horrified by himself, by the depravity of what he'd done,
what he'd *wanted* to do.  He'd seduced a stranger for no better
reason than that she was there, then allowed this unknown
quantity to see him at his most vulnerable.  And worse, broken
down and cried in front of her, like a baby.  Of course, he had
made up for it by restoring a proper sense of distance between
them in the morning, but it was no good.  The damage had been
done, and Q was aware that he, at least, would never be the same
again.

Why did sex have to matter so much?  Why did it seem that all
of his problems came down to dealing with these vile physical
functions that humans delighted in experiencing?

It didn't matter, and in any case, it was all Naomi's fault.  If she
hadn't addicted him to sex, if she hadn't gotten pregnant, if she
hadn't refused to abort the child, if she hadn't driven him off the
base, none of these things would ever have happened.

The worst part was that he couldn't properly chastise Naomi for
her shortcomings.  If he did, he'd have to admit what had
happened, and Q didn't want to do that.  Not only would it be
mortifying to tell her that his visit to the Daystrom Institute had
been less than a complete success, but then she would
undoubtably find reasons to chastise him for his failings.  And,
for once, she'd have justification.  Q scowled, staring at nothing,
as he remembered the promise Naomi had extracted from him
after the incident with Harry.  He had said he wouldn't sleep with
anyone else without at least talking to her first.  At the time, it
had seemed an easy thing to say, since he didn't want to engage
in *any* of those revolting physical acts with anyone after that,
and had only reluctantly accepted Naomi at all as a known
quantity who wouldn't hurt him.  Because Harry *had* hurt him,
terrified him even, and Q would have avoided him forever if
Naomi hadn't misguidedly thrown the two of them back together
again.

Nothing would induce him to tell Naomi about what had
happened with Judith.  Nothing.  If he did, all that she'd do
would be to harp on his failings as a human, something Q had no
desire to review.  He made a miserable human, and he knew it. 
Avoiding criticism seemed like a wise decision.  There was no
reason at all to involve Naomi in this; it was over and she could
never find out about it.

He wanted to close his eyes and settle back against her, to fall
asleep as though nothing was wrong.  It really was very early
morning and there was still time for him to sleep.  But he
couldn't.  The thoughts trapped inside him, the memories that
were haunting him were too strong and he couldn't sleep,
couldn't lie still.  He needed to crush asteroids into little bits, to
utterly destroy whatever had upset him.  However, since those
were no longer options, and he was at the mercy of the fates or
the Q Continuum, depending on whether anyone out there was
even paying any attention to him anymore, Q's only choice was
to get up and pace.

Without stopping to think anymore about it, Q sat up, only then
realizing that he was naked.  That disgusted him even more.  Had
he been so overwhelmed by the joys of passion at being reunited
with Naomi that he couldn't even spare the energy to get dressed
afterwards?  Puh-lease.  What a thought.

He pulled off one of the blankets from the bed, dislodging it
carefully although Naomi wasn't a light sleeper by any means,
and wrapped it around himself, knotting it at the hip, and then
stalked off to the bathroom.  He could have done without the
blanket; Naomi knew him well enough if she were to wake up
unexpectedly, having her see him naked was a small enough
concession, but he couldn't stand to look at himself.  He'd get
dressed and then pace.  If the universe were kind, when he was
finished, none of this would ever happened.  Naomi wouldn't be
pregnant, and he would never have even met Judith.  But he
didn't have luck like that.

****

When Naomi woke up, Q had been gone for a while.  The bed
was empty and the space next to her cold; it was though he'd
never come home at all, except that she didn't sleep in his room
when he was gone.  It was far too lonely to do that.  So there
was no question in her mind that it hadn't been a dream the night
before, that he had come back, and they had made up, and it was
almost like nothing had happened at all.  Except for the warm
feeling in the back of her mind, like nothing could go too wrong
with the day now.

Her clothes were scattered on the floor, and Naomi pulled them
on before making her way out.  She wasn't self-conscious about
being naked, but Q was, and there was no reason to upset him if
she did happen to run into him.

Q was seated at the table, eating.  Naomi stopped dead at the
sight of that.  Q?  Deliberately eating?

She walked over, curious despite her current revulsion with food. 
She didn't feel like throwing up at the mere smell of it, but her
stomach hurt and her throat was closed.  Eating anything at all
*would* make her want to throw up, but even then she didn't
always, and then she was just horribly miserable until whatever it
was she had eaten had finally digested.  So it seemed better to
just hold off until lunch.  Despite what Li had said on the subject.

Naomi stopped a few feet from the table, close enough for
conversation.  The table had a centerpiece now, a seemingly
delicate floral arrangement that was actually a collection of sharp
metal, cunningly welded together.  It would have made a difficult
thing to commit suicide with, since there wasn't much of a way to
get hold of it, and it would have been awkward even to shift its
position.  However, Naomi supposed Q could have thrown
himself on it if he was so inclined.  Which only proved the error
in Anderson's thinking when she'd taken it away from Q.  The
sculpture wasn't dangerous; Q would never have killed himself in
such an undignified manner.  Besides which, it would very
obviously hurt a great deal.  Not a Q weapon of choice.  On the
other hand, if he'd been desperate... Naomi didn't want to think
about it.  The idea of Q seriously wanting to die again made her
angry and sick inside all at once, and nausea was nothing she
wanted to play with at the moment, even if she hadn't cared about
Q, which she did.

"Is that food?"

Q looked up at her.  "What an impressive deduction.  Would you
like to try Flora and Fauna for 200?"

Naomi ignored that, looking at the remains of toast, sausage, eggs
and orange juice.  A very normal breakfast.  "You're actually
eating on purpose?  And it's not chocolate or linguini?"

Q visibly ruffled over at that.  In truth, he was doing this because
he knew it would upset her.  He'd remembered that she couldn't
stand food in the morning anymore, and with perverse humor,
had decided to order breakfast.  To his surprise, he'd actually
been hungry enough to finish most of it.  However, that didn't
mean Naomi had the right to belittle his eating habits.  "At
breakfast?  Where did you learn your nutritional guidelines?"

Naomi was taken aback for a second, but then grinned at him. 
"Obviously from you.  Although if you want to talk bad
nutritional habits, one of my favorite breakfast foods is cold
pizza.  However, I don't get it very often because it's difficult to
convince the replicator to deliberately make spoiled food."

"Spoiled food?" Q was aghast.  That had to be a joke.  On the
other hand, this was Naomi.  She'd eat anything.

Naomi shrugged.  "My wild college days."  They had been far
from wild, but in comparison with her upbringing, they had
seemed quite wild.  After all, she had moved in with Dharvi,
something which would have shocked and horrified her mother if
she'd known about it.

Without stopping to argue further, Naomi went into her own
room to get dressed and use the bathroom.  She didn't need to be
made fun of by Q for her lack of good grooming, although some
incorrigible imp inside her kept urging her to tweak him by
wearing the loose, multi-colored caftans that he especially
loathed.  She didn't always; she liked him to approve of her,
liked him to want her, but she couldn't help trying to irritate him. 
And the best part was, she had the perfect excuse now, since she
was pregnant and the perfectly fitted things he had gotten for her,
which she admitted were beautiful even if she didn't like wearing
them, didn't fit anymore now that her body was expanding.  The
cleavage was an especially poor fit.  Naomi had tried one on a
few weeks back and nearly died in a fit of giggles.  Not only did
it not want to go over her waist, but the neckline... it was
undescribable.

She slipped into a dress with a restrained pattern of green
embroidered with gold, as a kind of compromise.  When she
went back out, Q had the breakfast mess cleaned up, and Naomi
felt disappointed.  She'd done the wrong thing then, convinced
him not to eat breakfast with her hasty teasing.

"So did you bring me anything?" Naomi asked, as a way of
opening the conversation.

Q was on the couch, trying not to look as though he were waiting
for Naomi, which of course he was.  Who else was there to
torment this early in the morning?  "Bring you something?  What
are you blathering about now?"

She stood in front of the couch, hands folded, looking demure. 
"You didn't?"  She stuck her lower lip out, pouting.  "You never
bring me *anything*."

Q cocked his head.  He was being teased; he could tell that.  But
he didn't particularly want to be teased by Naomi.  There was too
much between them that needed to be resolved, too much she had
done and was responsible for.  His problems were her fault, even
if he couldn't broach them directly.

"Did you ever consider there might be a reason for that?" Q
asked snidely.

"No," Naomi said, eyes bright.  "But I thought I'd ask you
before I go rummage through your luggage."

"Rummage all you like.  You won't find anything," Q said. 
"They lost it."

"They *lost* your luggage?" Naomi asked with disbelief. 
"Nobody loses luggage anymore."

Q looked at Naomi as if she were an incredibly slow student,
which indeed she frequently was.  "Has it occurred to you that
the reason they don't lose luggage is that no one uses it?"

Naomi shook her head, and Q continued.  "I'm convinced that it
was diverted by the staff of the Institute for division as souvenirs. 
A pity really."

Naomi sat down, fascinated.  "Why is it a pity?"

"Considering the dismal level of fashion sense in evidence there,
they'd be better off using my wardrobe to improve their own."

Naomi laughed.  "A good point."  She looked at him, expression
concerned.  "But what are you doing for clothes?"

Q picked at his sleeve, with an expression of distaste.  "I still
have what I didn't take with me, meager and dismal as it is."

To Naomi's eyes, what he was wearing was just as splendiferous
as everything else he owned, but then what he was wearing right
now was more formal than anything she owned, and he was just
wearing this to lounge around his quarters.  "Well, that's a good
thing."

****

Despite only having been back for less than a day, Q went in to
talk to some of the people waiting to see him.  Since he'd left to
visit the Daystrom Institute without much notice, there had been
some ruffled feathers.  And, consequently, although he hadn't
announced when he'd be back, there were still people waiting to
see him.  Why, Q had no idea.  He didn't want to see them; why
they'd want to see him under the circumstances was a mystery to
him.  Undoubtably they had nothing better to do with their
pathetic lives.

He stayed a short while, just long enough to recollect exactly
what he hated about being put on display like this, and what the
difference was between the atmosphere here and at the Institute. 
He didn't owe them any more time than that; he was just back
from a working vacation, after all.

Q shrugged as he left the room, Naomi and Sanaharrar swept
along in his wake, hardly bothered by the sight of the people still
waiting to speak to him and foist their silly ideas off on him.  He
had gotten a different view of these people while at the Institute. 
Previously he had seen them as overblown windbags, too
accustomed to their rank and privileges to recognize the necessity
to kowtow to him, and accept the need to bend to his schedule. 
Now he just despised them.

He had at one time considered rooting through the queue of
people waiting to see him and selected out only those he wished
to see, but it would have taken far too much time and trouble on
his part.  To let them come while being free to insult and ignore
them was considerably easier.

And he was in a really bad mood today.  He still couldn't resolve
his feelings about Naomi.  She was clearly to blame for what had
happened to him, and he wanted to take that out on her, but he
also didn't want to lose her, which was what would inevitably
happen if he did reveal what had happened.  Relationships were
so *hard*.  He would almost rather not have any at all, but that
had been unbearable, and he didn't want to return to that bleak
time.  Data had been right once again about humanity, Q thought
wryly.  He should have taken better notes while his professor was
still around.  He was in serious danger of flunking this exam.

Naomi looked up at Q.  "You didn't have to be quite so hard on
him.  He *was* trying, you know."

Irritably, Q glanced down.  "He was a moron."

"Well, everyone's a moron compared to you, so that's nothing
new.  If you aren't used to living with mentally backward people
by now, you'll never be."

Q scowled at her.  She was entirely too cheerful.  Apparently
Naomi had, as was regrettably normal for her, taken their merely
physical activities of the night before and generalized that into an
acceptance of her other failings.  "I'm more afraid of becoming
*like* you."

"I don't think that would ever happen," Naomi said seriously,
walking alongside him.  "You hold your integrity far too highly. 
And I haven't seen any diminishment in your mental powers since
I've known you.  You've gotten sharper, if anything."

"A false impression.  The only sharpening being done is to my
temper," Q said, feeling complimented and upset all at the same
time.  Naomi had a gift for that.  "My greater gifts are going
unused and unappreciated."

"Of course, they are," Naomi said brightly.  "Just look at the
class of people you're dealing with.  Scientists.  People who lock
themselves up in buildings all their lives.  Going to classes for
years and years, and then immuring themselves in little rooms to
dream big dreams about the universe.  Where's the fun in that? 
The adventure?  There isn't any."

Q was becoming intrigued despite himself.  "And what do you
suggest?"

Naomi shrugged.  "I don't know.  What else interests you?"  She
looked up at him again, trying to catch his gaze.  "There's
adventure and excitement to be had if you want that kind of thing. 
And certainly you could be out exploring the universe rather than
just waiting for it to be brought to you."

"In case it had escaped you, I don't have my powers," Q said in
a sarcastic voice.

"You could always hijack a starship," Naomi said, eyes
twinkling.  "I bet that'd make Commodore Anderson real happy. 
Or maybe just become a wandering gypsy and live off what you
rake in at chess tournaments."

Q looked haughtily down at her.  "I doubt I could afford to feed
you, given your appetite."

"Ooh, that hurts," Naomi said, clutching her side dramatically. 
"I've been wounded, cut to the quick."

She looked up to see his reaction, but Q was giving his best
impression of being above the kind of nonsense she was
exhibiting.  Naomi sighed and went back to behaving like the
thirty-year-old programmer that she was.  "Seriously, Q, people
change jobs all the time.  I've been here for almost the same
amount of time as you have, and three or four years is a long
time to stay at one job, in one place.  Especially when you
haven't gotten a promotion."

"This isn't a job," Q said repressively, trying to ignore the way
she was bouncing around and making him think lewd thoughts. 
What she was saying was far more interesting, a line of thinking
that had never quite occurred to him.  He had gotten stuck on
staying here, feeling like he could never leave, which was more
due to the danger of assassination than anything else.  But he
could leave if he wanted.  Of course, there was nowhere he
wanted to go.  When you'd had the run of the entire universe and
been able to literally do anything you wanted, it was hard to work
up enthusiasm at the prospect of getting to shift his prison to a
different portion of the limited amount of space explored by the
Federation.

"I know, I know.  'It's not a job.  It's an adventure.'  Except it
doesn't seem to be very much fun for you anymore," Naomi said
earnestly.  "So why don't you change?"

Before Q could reply, Azoth approached them.  "Could I have a
word with you, Q?  Alone?"

Q looked at Naomi and then at Sanaharrar.  He was perfectly
well protected by Sanaharrar, who wouldn't leave him no matter
how alone Azoth wanted him.  And, despite Azoth's incompetent
handling of the Dilkidrone incident, Q couldn't quite lump him in
with the rest of Security.  Q wouldn't have gone off alone with
one of them under any circumstances, not as long as he had some
other choice.  But he had Sanaharrar, and Azoth hadn't even been
at Starbase 56 at the time of the attack against Q by members of
Security.

"Certainly."

Naomi nodded.  "I'll see you later then."

As she walked back to their quarters alone, she caught a fragment
of conversation, barely overheard.  She ignored them at first; she
didn't know them after all, but then she heard Q's name and she
couldn't help but listen.

"He came back!" the voice was incredulous.  "Maybe he isn't a
complete bastard, after all."

"So what?  Isn't it interesting that the least degree of human
behavior from Q is treated as though it were the action of a saint,
while anybody else acting that way would be a heartless
monster?"

The other person shrugged.  "He's Q.  What did you expect?" 
He didn't look back, or he would have seen Naomi, stopped in
her tracks by what she'd overheard.

Naomi felt sick at first, then glad as she realized Azoth had saved
Q from overhearing that.  Q already had his head stuffed full of
enough conflicting ideas.  He didn't need to bear the brunt of this
kind of malicious talk.

****

Azoth sat Q down in his office, Sanaharrar taking a place at Q's
side, relaxed as always.

"My congratulations."

"Pardon?" Q asked.  He wasn't in the mood for this.  He didn't
know what it was, but he knew he didn't want to deal with it.  Of
course, the alternative was returning to his quarters with Naomi,
which was another problem he didn't want to deal with.

"On your upcoming fatherhood, of course," Azoth said, almost
breaking into a smile.

Q looked at him suspiciously.  "You're not going to get all
sentimental on me, are you?"

"Sentimental?  I wanted to discuss the additional security
precautions you should take."

"Me?  I'm not having a child.  I don't need any additional
security."  Just the idea of it made him irritable.  "You should be
talking to Naomi.  She's the pregnant one."

"I've spoken to her.  She says any decisions are up to you."

Q felt flattered and upset all at once.  She was pushing this off on
him, and he hated that, since it was none of his responsibility. 
But, on the other hand, she had refrained from making any
commitments which would disturb his lifestyle, and for that he
was grateful.  "I don't want to make any changes."

Azoth stared levelly at him.  "You'll be even more vulnerable
with a child than you are right now.  You've already seen what
can happen when someone strikes at Naomi.  How do you think
she or you would feel if someone struck at this child?"

"At the moment?  Relieved."

Azoth blinked once, then cleared his throat.  "That can change. 
I'm told they get to be more presentable after they stop crying
and start talking.  I wouldn't know, myself.  And you have to
think about Naomi.  She'll be attached to it, won't she?"

"Regrettably," Q muttered, lips tight.

"Which puts all of you at greater risk.  No offense to Sanaharrar,
but you'll need to take more precautions.  Will you listen?"

Q nodded reluctantly.

****

Q arrived back at their quarters later, and Naomi left him alone,
the two of them keeping a distance between them, respecting each
other's privacy, which was an absolute essential under close
quarters.

Q retreated into his own room, not coming out until well after
dinner.  The chat with Azoth had only further convinced him of
the reality of what was happening to Naomi.  Q could almost
pretend it wasn't happening, pretend that Naomi was simply
gaining weight rather than harboring a parasite inside her body,
but every time he thought he'd gotten the subject under control,
something new brought it back up again.

And he didn't need to be thinking about her pregnancy on top of
all the other things he was currently upset about.  He tried to
immerse himself in work, but it was no good; neither was
showering or changing clothes, although a vehement protest about
his missing luggage did make him feel better for a short while.

When Q did emerge from his room, Naomi could see that he was
clearly depressed.  There were no mistaking the signs.  He held
himself stiffly aloof despite his depression, and she could *see*
how much the effort was causing him.  His normal depressed
reaction was to slump, to stop caring what people thought, but he
was as pulled back as always, holding himself away from her as
though she carried the plague and he was afraid she'd infect him.

It was true enough.  Q was afraid of Naomi, afraid that she might
find out what his secret was, but that was a small concern.  He
was more afraid of repeating his errors, of continuing to be the
weak person he knew he was.  And even that wasn't it.  He knew
he couldn't avoid Naomi, knew he needed her to keep himself
from indulging in the worst excesses of his personality, and so he
didn't drive her away, but that didn't make him happy about the
need, didn't reconcile him to the memories of what he had done
when deprived of her.

He wanted nothing more than to crawl into a deep dark hole and
pull the lid in over himself, to be absolutely solitary and alone
where no one could ever get to him, and where he could never
have to need anyone.

But the best he could do was to isolate himself in his quarters, to
restrict his contacts to Naomi who was, if annoyingly human, at
least not after him to talk about his feelings or other such
nonsense.  She was placidly ignoring him, sitting on the couch in
the common room, working on whatever interminable project of
hers was more important than him for the moment.  Not that it
mattered.  He didn't want her attention, didn't need her to dance
attendance on him.  There was nothing he wanted less than an
entourage, or a fool to play demented antics for the amusement of
the exiled king.

Q straightened up, groaning ever so slightly at the pressure in his
back as he did so.  It got worse when he stood straight; it would
feel better if he remained slumped, but he stood straight
nonetheless.  It was important to project the proper image of
unassailability.  Naomi was entirely too sensitive to his moods
and attitudes.  She would pick up on the slightest hint of
weakness and then offer to help him.  Not that he wanted any
help.  There was no way he could be helped, nothing that would
do him any good.  He didn't want her prying through his
experiences, judging him for the mistakes he'd made and coming
up with the same sum everyone else had added him up for and
then thrown away.  Naomi would see him as worthless as
everyone else already did if she knew the truth about what he'd
done.  And in any case, he didn't need to tell her about it.  It
wasn't important, and he didn't care.  And he didn't know what
to do.

A black wave of depression swelled over him, threatening to pull
him under.  Naomi would leave him if she knew the truth, and
she'd know soon enough.  There was no hope Om could keep her
mouth shut about something as seminal in her experience as
sleeping with a former god.  The details were no doubt already
across the Daystrom Institute, and about to be broadcast even
farther.  Q cringed mentally, thinking about what Om might say. 
That she'd slept with him was only somewhat damning.  A
feather in her cap, and only somewhat revealing of his own
regrettably human needs.  He could even pass that off as being
some sort of prank on his part.  But that wouldn't be what she
told.  Not when she had far more juicy details to reveal such as
his inadequacy in bed, his clumsiness and lack of experience. 
Om would revel in revealing that.

The depression was stronger, and Q wanted to sag under the
weight of it, but he was still in view, and he couldn't let Naomi
see it, no matter what.  What Om would say was exactly why he
had avoided Amy Frasier, why he had said "No" and then called
Security when she wouldn't take no for an answer.  Amy was an
experience-hungry viper and she would have been merciless in
exposing all of Q's many flaws.  He shuddered inwardly at the
thought of being naked with her.  He had been, and she had seen
all of him, every flaw and imperfection.  And at that, he'd been
in better shape then, before so many of the scars had been left on
his body, before the suicide attempts and assassins.  Judith had
seen it all, and Q had no doubt of what she would think. 
Physical perfection, the image you presented, these were
paramount in human sex.  Naomi might claim that he was
good-looking, but even as he treasured the compliment, Q
discarded it as untrue.  She was deluded by her hormones into
accepting him as a partner, and while that was lucky for him, it
had no bearing on how anyone else would see him.  Om would
certainly have seen him as he really was.  Q was surprised now
in the depths of his bleak maunderings that she had been able to
conceal her disgust long enough to get through the encounter.

However, there was something far worse even than his shoddy
appearance that Om had seen, and Q cringed mentally just to
think of it.  He had *cried* in front of her.

The storm front broke, and Q stood there, locked in despair and
self-hatred, unable to free himself from that vast loathing.  How
could he do something like that?  How could he ever live that
down or explain that away?  If one word of it got out, and he was
sure it would since no one could hold on to a piece of gossip that
juicy, he would be a laughingstock, a joke for everyone to take
their amusement out on.

*Not that he wasn't already.*

The starkness of that thought was too much for him, and he
couldn't bear to be there anymore, couldn't hold his formal face
together.  He didn't want to be by himself, didn't want to be at
the mercy of these emotions, but if he stayed in that room with
Naomi any longer, he would break down altogether.  Q was
having difficulty remembering why that would be bad; he'd done
it before.  But he knew he couldn't, knew she shouldn't see this.

With a strangled moan, he turned on his heel, stalking out of the
room.

Naomi had looked up at the first noise he'd made, quick
sympathy flashing across her face.  She wanted to help him,
*needed* to, but she didn't know how or what to do for him.  He
didn't want help.  It was obvious in every line of his body, and
he had rebuffed her once already.

But she couldn't ignore it, couldn't let him get away with being
miserable.  She'd waited for him to speak, waited for him to say
anything at all, even an attack against her, but he hadn't said
anything.  Which was a clear signal for help, given that this was
the only contact he'd made with her all evening.

She sat there, staring at the screen, not able to make any sense
out of it.  With automatic habits, she shut down the program. 
There was no point in it.  She didn't have a clue what was wrong
with it, and that disturbed her because normally she was more
adept with things than people.  If she couldn't figure out a simple
password protection problem, how was she supposed to figure out
what was bothering Q?

Naomi stood up and smoothed out her skirt.  She didn't have
much choice, did she?

She followed Q into his room, not asking for permission.  He
didn't look at her, didn't protest at the intrusion, and that worried
her far more than a simple demand to get out would have.

He was lying flat on the bed, fully clothed, too tense to relax and
too depressed about his lack of image to allow himself to curl up
in his usual fetal ball.  His only concession to being in bed rather
than being up and about were his boots, kicked off at the side of
the bed.  Q's arms were folded across his chest, and he was
staring at nothing at all.

He didn't appear to notice Naomi's entrance, but he was intensely
conscious of her.  He wanted her there, felt relieved that she was
there and was going to do something about how awful he felt, but
at the same time, he didn't want to let even Naomi know how
miserable he was, how depressed.  He needed to present a better
image to her than everyone else.  He couldn't show her how vile
and despicable he really was.  He couldn't risk her not loving
him.  Which was a very sick thought, since he loathed love and
everything the misnamed, misbegotten emotion was associated
with.

While Q was wrestling with himself, Naomi had come over to
him, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him.

He didn't look over at her, and Naomi wasn't quite sure what to
do.  She felt instinctively that talking to him would be wrong.  Q
argued and fretted and whined about everything almost
automatically.  He wasn't complaining now, even though she was
giving him ample motivation.  The only conclusion she could
draw was that Q really didn't want to talk.

She leaned over him, her hands going to his forehead, smoothing
out the lines there, then stroking down and out to his temples. 
She repeated the motion, gently soothing the tension inside him.

Q closed his eyes, not even considering telling her to stop.  He'd
almost forgotten what that felt like, what having her touch him
like that did to him.  Any touch at all was a miracle, a wonder. 
His self-chosen isolation was complete, and even at the Daystrom
Institute, with swarms of worshipping peons flocking around him,
no one other than Om had dared to touch him, and she had only
done it in order to lure him into vile demonstrations of sexuality. 
Nothing like this.  There had been nothing like this soft caress,
which was neither sexual nor disinterested.  Nothing which spoke
of caring and comfort.

As her hands moved down, working at his eyebrows, then across
the line of his cheekbones, and down to the corded muscles
supporting his neck, Q felt her nestle against his side, settling in
so she could reach him more easily.  That was all at once a
torture and exactly what he wanted.

Her hands slipped around to the back of his neck, working their
way under his head and cleverly seeking out each point of
soreness.

Q groaned, unable to stop himself.  It had been so long, and his
muscles were so tight that the feeling of them gradually relaxing
under her touch was painful and pleasurable all at the same time. 
Painful while her fingers lingered on the spot, then pleasurable as
she moved on and he realized how much better he felt.  He was
still tense, but the difference was immeasurable.

She started with the tense knots of pain at the base of his skull,
then as they eased, went down the line of his neck to his
shoulders.

As she moved down, Q felt tears come to his eyes as the tension
in his body lowered and the strain holding him together in a
semblance of control slowly crumbled.  He couldn't stand it,
didn't know if he wanted to stop it.  But he couldn't let himself
be that vulnerable.

He could hardly stand it now, and all she'd touched was his head. 
What if she kept going?  The thought was seductive and
frightening all at once.  He wanted more of this; he couldn't bear
to let her stop, but he didn't know how he could retain any
control of himself if he let her continue.

Before he could panic, her hands were at his shoulders.  "Turn
over."

It was almost a command, but Q didn't care.  Gratefully, he
rolled over, suppressing a moan of pain as he did so.  When
turned over, he could hide his face in the pillows, and she'd
never see a sign of weakness.  He could have everything he
wanted and there would be no reason why he would need to
refuse.

The brief thought occurred to him of whether he should even
want this, of whether it was wise to want her to touch him, to put
her hands on him, to reduce him to a state of complete relaxation. 
She could easily take advantage of him in his current depressed
mental condition.

But then her hands were on his back, not on his skin, but over his
clothes and it wasn't as good as it would have been then, but it
was ecstasy itself after a month without any relief, after a month
of living in constant stress and pain.

She started at the small of his back, where the pain was the
worst.  It was always the worst there, and then travelled up.  It
wasn't bad enough to keep him from standing or walking
altogether, but even if it had been, Q would have done his best to
keep himself out of the hands of Sickbay.  There was no reason
to suppose that any medical staff at the Daystrom Institute would
have been any more sympathetic to him than the sadistic doctors
he had thus far encountered.  And knowing what Naomi could do
to him, getting himself mangled by them was a poor trade.  Even
if he had been willing to admit to that kind of weakness in front
of people who so clearly admired him, which he wasn't and
hadn't been.

Naomi pressed inward with the heels of her hands, working to
break up the seemingly solid mass of muscle around his spine. 
Muscles weren't supposed to be that solid, that unyielding.

The feeling was undescribable, pleasure itself, and Q gave
himself over to it, letting her do whatever she wanted to him, no
longer caring that tears were dripping into the pillow, no longer
caring that he was moaning in rhythm with the movement of her
hands.

She moved up his spine, fingers kneading alongside it, walking
up to the base of his neck, then back again, sending prickles of
sensation through Q.  It wasn't nearly enough, and he tensed,
suddenly afraid she might stop there, might leave him like this,
half-aching; but powerless to stop her if that was what she wanted
to do.

But her hands didn't leave him, sweeping over him in reassuring
arcs, soothing rather than therapeutic.

And then she dug into the muscles of his lower back, using her
fingers this time, thumbs working at the now individual points of
pain.

Q stiffened; this wasn't pleasurable at all.  This *hurt*.  But then
one of the knots loosened, and the agony of it lashed up his spine
to the base of his neck.  He would have protested then, but in its
wake was a slowly spreading weakness, a warmth moving
through his lower back, and he wanted that more than anything.

"Yes," he said in a low moan, hardly conscious of saying
anything at all.

Naomi didn't let up, her deft, strong hands massaging the
stiffness away, the pleasurable relaxation spreading through his
body only counterpointing the stiffness and the pain still
remaining elsewhere.  But it felt so good he couldn't complain,
couldn't even think about resisting.

Naomi paused for a moment, kneeling over him and shaking out
her hands.  "Want to tell me what you're upset about?"

She'd stopped!  Q felt a dull sense of defeat.  That was only to be
expected.  Why should she do any more for him?  She didn't
really care about him despite all her fine words.  The depression
which had temporarily lifted settled over him again, although not
as heavily.  He felt better, even if he didn't want to; couldn't
help feeling a kind of relief in his body.  He tried to turn over to
throw her out, but she wouldn't let him, firm hands pressing him
back into the bed.

And then her hands were on his shoulders, and she was finding
the precise spot at the base of his right shoulder blade that always
ached, and was entirely unreachable except by somebody else.

Q panted out through the intense sparkle of aching, relaxing
pressure, "If I were upset, I'd hardly tell a vulture like yourself."

"A bird of prey?" Naomi asked, not stopping her soothing caress. 
"How flattering."

She *sounded* flattered, too, which just couldn't be.  "A carrion
eater."

"You don't look dead to me," Naomi said, probing at the edges
of his shoulder blades.  "You *feel* alive to me."

He moaned, then felt ashamed of himself for enjoying this so
much.  "An unfortunate necessity."

She moved from his shoulders to his spine again, letting him
relax before the renewed attack.  The light but persistent pressure
felt good, but not nearly as good as the things that hurt more at
first.  As she settled back to his shoulders, digging into the solid
triangle of muscle between them beneath his neck, Naomi asked,
"If it's so unfortunate, why are you even alive?"

Q was outraged by that, the rush of anger burning through his
morose preoccupation.  "What kind of heartless question is that?"

"Me?  Heartless?"  Naomi asked with a faked attitude of
Innocence Offended.  "I could never be heartless.  Cruel,
arrogant, mischievous, and definitely selfish and egotistical.  But
not *heartless*.  You wound me."

He was being humored, and Q didn't like that at all.  She didn't
care about how he felt, about his crushing despair and remorse
for his disgusting actions with Om, or even how she was at fault
for having caused all of this.  Q conveniently ignored the fact that
Naomi didn't know about these things because he'd never told
her.  That was beside the point.  If she really did care, she'd
have found out about it, and would be making him feel better. 
Since she was concentrating on teasing him, obviously she didn't
care.

With vengeful ruthlessness, Q struck out at her.  "Your
inconsideration is precisely the reason I ended up like this.  I'd be
perfectly fine if you had never come near me and ruined my
life."

"And how did I ruin your life?" Naomi asked, her tone absolutely
sincere.  Her hands brushed the back of his neck, touching bare
skin at his collar line, and Q shivered involuntarily, hardly aware
of having done so, but very aware of her.

The invitation to tell her exactly where she'd gone wrong was
almost irresistible.  But he pulled at the traces nonetheless.  "Do I
have to spell it out for you?  Are you that stupid, woman?"

"Apparently," Naomi answered, unperturbed by the insult.

Q found it hard to think as she skimmed over his neck, hands
moving up into his hair, digging into his scalp.  The feeling was
one of immense relief as her fingers raked through his hair.  But
it didn't matter.  The easing of pressure in his head, the
relaxation slowly spreading through his body could hardly
compete with the sinking feeling of wrongness he had, the
sensation that there was something desperately amiss with his
universe, something askew inside himself, something evil and
depraved which would explode out at precisely the wrong moment
to take over his life once again.  And he knew precisely who to
blame for that.  Naomi.

Having a focus for his nebulous feelings of wrongness gave him a
certain sense of hope, and he latched onto it tenaciously. 
"Everything wrong in my life is due to you.  If you had left well
enough alone and not meddled where you weren't wanted, I'd be
perfectly content in my sheltered little existence.  I would never
have been forced to humiliate or demean myself.  My entire
addiction to physical pleasure is all your fault."

"Thank you," Naomi said placidly, drawing her hands back
through his hair and down to his neck again in a low slow
motion.

Q moaned, then snapped, "And don't think you can manipulate
me with this kind of trivial pleasure, because you can't.  I don't
need this, and I don't need you."

"Of course you don't," Naomi murmured soothingly, before
flattening her hands out, then stroking down his back in large
circles, before her hands came to rest on his buttocks.

He stiffened, and she could imagine the look of shock on his
face, even if she couldn't see it.  "How vile."

Naomi didn't say anything, just dug her fingers into the tense
muscles, ignoring the sexual connotations of what she was doing. 
She didn't consider it to be especially forward; they did after all
sleep together on a regular basis, and he *was* clothed.  How
much more respectable could you get?  On the other hand, if she
wanted to fulfill his worst fears about sex, she certainly could. 
She shifted position to get a better angle, but didn't do anything
suggestive, despite the impish grin on her face.

Q relaxed a little as he realized she wasn't doing anything like
Harry had.  Her hands weren't slipping between his thighs, or
doing anything else he could object to, and it did feel surprisingly
good.  His legs were already aching in anticipation of the same
treatment, and Q mentally shook himself for being so attached to
Naomi and what she could do for him.  But he didn't try to move
away from her, or do anything after his first instinctual flinch. 
"Are you so lacking in sense to not even try to defend yourself?"

"I was just waiting for a full list of the charges, Your Honor,"
Naomi said.  "Is this where I get to make my excuse for being
guilty, or do I get to crossexamine the witness first?"

"Go ahead," Q said grandly.  "The charges are unquestionable;
you can't argue with the truth."

Naomi took that as meaning she could ask him leading questions
now.  Certainly Q would fall into the category of a hostile
witness.  She shifted position again, moving to kneel between his
legs.  He didn't protest, didn't balk at all, which was unsurprising
to Naomi.  She thought Q would probably cheerfully allow
someone to murder him right now in his current relaxed state,
much less merely take shameless physical advantage of him.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but
the truth, so help you God?"

"Would I lie?"

"Of course," Naomi said, hands on his hips.  "Without even
thinking twice about it."

Q considered protesting that, but any protestation would
inevitably bind him to tell the truth, which wasn't something he
wanted.  While Q generally avoided outright lying due to the lack
of sport involved, that didn't mean he wanted to be considered
honest either.  Where was the fun in that?  "I'm hurt that you
think that of me."

"Uh huh."  Naomi inched back to give herself more room.  "So
tell me what's really bothering you."

Her hands dug into the tight muscles of his left leg, and Q
moaned with pleasure.  "That feels... good."  He gave into the
feeling, not holding himself against it, and that felt even better. 
With the lessening of tension came the ability to talk about what
had caused it.  He desperately wanted to tell her, but couldn't
remember at the moment why it was that he thought he couldn't
tell Naomi what was wrong.

She switched to the other leg and he moaned again, feeling
pleasurably weak.  "I didn't do it, someone did it to me, and in
any case, it's your fault for having forced me to go."

"No one forced you to go to the Daystrom Institute," Naomi said,
not letting up on him, hands still reassuringly working their way
down his body.

"You were pregnant," Q said sulkily.  "What else was I supposed
to do?  Buy cigars and hand them out in the bar?"

"Better than pelting people with peanuts," Naomi said.  "But that
aside, what else?  Forcing you to go somewhere where people
wanted to see you was hardly being mean to you.  It could even
be construed as a good thing to have done."

She was twisting things around again, Q thought sulkily.  Trying
to make it seem like what she'd done was acceptable, even
desirable.  He would have gotten up and stalked out then, but his
bones had turned to water and he couldn't move even if he'd
wanted to, which he really didn't.

"What did they do to you at the Institute?" Naomi asked
conversationally, finding an especially painful knot at the back of
his knee and pressing hard on it.

Q groaned in pain.  "You don't know how much that hurts."

She stroked the back of his leg reassuringly.  "I'm sorry.  I'll be
more careful.  Now, what did they do to you?  Did it have
anything to do with the humiliating and demeaning accusations
you were talking about earlier?"

Q tensed up.  She knew.  The thought sent a jolt of fear through
him, quickly followed by a feeling of relief.  If she knew and
wasn't judging him, then admitting to it wouldn't be that much
harder.  But he couldn't.  He just couldn't.  Even if he wanted
to, he couldn't.  "No!  Nothing at all!  What a ridiculous idea!"

Naomi made an affirming sound in her throat, and Q felt sick
inside.  She didn't believe him.  And why should she?  The truth
was far more sordid than that.

"It has something to do with sex, doesn't it?" Naomi guessed,
switching to his other knee, and finding the same intense knots of
pain there.

"The mechanics of human physical reproduction are vile,
revolting and nauseating."

That was a yes.  "Did you want to have sex while you were
there?"

"No!"

Naomi cocked her head, wishing she could see his face.  This
was very confusing.  If she'd had the sense to choose a normal
man to fall in love with, she wouldn't have to resort to near
psychic type deductions in order to figure out what was going on
in his head.  On the other hand, there probably would be nothing
going on in his head.  "*Did* you have sex while you were
there?"

Q almost started crying again.  He didn't want to answer that,
*had* to answer it.  "It was your fault."

Another yes.  "Probably," she said, working her way down to his
calves.  He was carrying a lot of tension in his body.  How much
of it was due to worrying over this?  Naomi wondered about that
detachedly, even as she thought about what Q had just revealed. 
He certainly seemed to feel guilty enough about whatever had
happened.  If he wanted to rub it in her face, he would have
simply told her about it, probably as the first thing he said to her
when he got back.  But he hadn't.  He'd made her drag it out of
him, one agonizing word at a time.  Q felt bad about this, even
though he was outwardly blaming it on her.  Not that he had any
justification for what he'd done.  He'd slept with someone else.

Her hands dug too deeply into his calf and Q yelped with pain. 
She backed off then, trying to regain control.  "How is it my
fault?"

The details of his night with Om swum across his mind, and Q
found himself snapping at Naomi, even more bitter than before,
"If you hadn't gotten pregnant, everything would be fine."

"Are you saying that it's okay for you to go out and sleep with
other people because I got pregnant?"

"Why not?  It certainly seems to be all right for you to go out
and find other men to get pregnant by."

Naomi stilled, her hands flat against his leg.  "You may have a
point there."

"Of course I do.  What you did was irresponsible, immoral and
wrong.  What I did was merely nauseating."

"Artificial insemination is immoral?" Naomi asked.  She really
needed to look at his face, to see what he was thinking.  She
prodded his leg, and he reluctantly rolled over to face her.

She immediately noticed his over bright eyes and reddened
cheeks, but tactfully ignored them.  "Maybe it was irresponsible,
my getting pregnant without consulting you.  And maybe even
wrong, although I don't think so.  But I can't see anything
immoral about it."

"Having children is immoral," Q pronounced without a trace of
sarcasm or humor.

Naomi sat back, taking his foot in her lap and starting to work on
it, almost needing something to fidget with in order to think.  She
started with his heel, thumb digging at the dense mass, then
sweeping upwards through his sensitive arch to the ball of his
foot.

Q winced, but didn't draw away.  It was tender, and it hurt when
she did that, but he knew she'd make it feel better if he let her.

"Immoral?" Naomi said, returning to his arch and rubbing it in
slow, deep circular motions.  "I wasn't aware of that.  People
have kids all the time.  It's usually considered to be a good thing,
even an admirable thing to do.  Contributing to the human race
and all that."

"Well, it's something *I* never want to do."

"You haven't," Naomi retorted.  "I have, remember?  You had
nothing to do with it.  You can disclaim any responsibility and
throw the whole burden on me."

Q looked at her, face petulant.  That wouldn't work, and she
knew it.  As long as she refused to get rid of the baby, he was
stuck with her and whatever she chose to do to him.  Unless he
got rid of her.  And he knew that was something he just couldn't
do.  He could replace her.  His experience with Om had shown
him how easy it was to repeat the trivial trick of sex, and both
Harry and Kai were, in their own ways, acceptable bantering
partners.  But it wouldn't be easy.  And if he could keep her, he
would.  He was fond of her.  Much like he was fond of his
various artifacts and sculptures.  There were rarer and more
beautiful things to be had, but these were *his*, and that made
them valuable.  All the more so now that he could keep them,
and Anderson was restrained from ever taking them away again.

Naomi switched to his other foot, finding the same sore spots
there.  He wasn't taking nearly enough care of his feet, and
Naomi found herself wondering if that had something to do with
his footwear.  The boots lying next to the bed were elegant
enough, but how comfortable were they?  She'd have to find out.

Q stared at her, mouth set in peevish lines.  "I don't know why I
put up with you."

"Well, it can't be for my cooking," Naomi said lightly, unable to
resist making the wisecrack.  She kneaded the ball of his foot,
then worked around to the front, pulling on it with long, slow
motions using her fingers.

Q moaned.  That felt delicious.  "Don't think you can use this to
manipulate me."

"I wouldn't dare.  So who did you sleep with?  And why are you
so upset about it?"

"I didn't say I was upset," Q replied defensively.

"But you are."

That was unanswerable and Q didn't even try.  He felt
pleasurably relaxed in every muscle of his body.  For the first
time in over a month, nothing hurt and he was almost drifting in
the absence of that tension.  Only the nagging feelings of guilt
and anger kept him from it, the half-revealed truths and the still
concealed lies leaving him in a state of mental chaos at odds with
his physical well-being.

Naomi shifted position, coming up to sit beside him again, hands
going to his forehead.  "On second thought, don't tell me.  It'll
only hurt my feelings.  I don't need to know and I don't want to
know how you found someone more attractive than me and had a
great time together."

The words were spoken lightly, but Q had mouthed enough
unconvincing half-truths to be able to hear the bitterness under
what she was saying.  He had the best excuse in the world now to
simply close his eyes and not say anything.  Naomi had as much
as told him that she didn't care what he'd done while he was
away.  He was forgiven.  And he'd be the worst sort of fool if he
spilled the details to her now.  Her hands came down to his
eyebrows now, gently running along the underside, smoothing out
the tiny points of tension formed there by the countless
expressions he put on and off like masks.  He could simply close
his eyes and say nothing at all, and it would be all right.

But he couldn't do that.  Couldn't take the cowardly retreat like
that, even if he didn't still feel some small desire to punish her
for what she'd caused to happen to him.  Some imp of perversity
forced Q forward.  "You addicted me to sex.  What else could I
do?"

Naomi looked at him, bemused.  "Addicted you?  You can't get
addicted to sex."

Q was outraged by her lack of understanding of his plight.  "You
did it to me!  I was perfectly happy away from you, being
worshipped and admired by everyone, and all I could think about
was the disgusting physical desires you put in me.  It wasn't that
way before."

"So?  That doesn't justify anything.  Other people live through it. 
There's lots of people who don't have sex for a while.  Including
me.  Or did you think I was sleeping around while you were
gone?"

The thought of Naomi wanting someone other than him sent a
surge of frustrated jealousy through Q.  Immediately, he hid it. 
"No.  Who'd want you, as swollen and unappealing as you are at
the moment?"

"I don't know.  Obviously no one in this room."

"Exactly."

Naomi glared at him, then resumed her steady stroking of his
face.  She smoldered inside, too hurt by the attack on her own
attractiveness to see any other side of the argument.  He had gone
out and found someone else to sleep with and he didn't even like
the way she looked anymore.  She could understand that, since
she wasn't particularly happy about what was happening to her
body at the moment.  But Q didn't push her away, just let her
keep on working on him, which made no sense at all.  If he were
really repulsed by her, why didn't he just get rid of her?  Why
did he keep coming back, keep putting up with her?  Maybe he
was just using her for whatever he could get out of her.  Or
maybe he just didn't know how to get away.

Q moaned, stretching unconsciously under her touch to bring
more of his face under his hand.

On the other hand, that didn't seem very likely, Naomi thought. 
She didn't know what was going on in his head.  Hardly a new
experience.  She wanted to scream at him, to vent her injured
feelings all over him, but that would do no good at all.  Q would
retreat further into whatever emotional turmoil he had come home
with.  And that he had come home upset was no revelation.  At
first, she had thought he was still upset with her, but the way he
eagerly accepted her back into his bed, the way he clung to her
like he needed her more than anything else in the universe...
these weren't things you just made up out of nothing.  If he were
upset, it wasn't at her.  It was at whatever had happened to him. 
At sex.

Naomi tried to look at it from Q's point of view, trying
desperately to be rational here.  Wryly, she admitted to herself
that she was probably just looking for any reason to not throw
him out.  She didn't want to believe that he was the kind of
person who went around having casual sex with anything that
offered, or worse, liked these other people more than her.  She
didn't want to believe that at all.

Even if it were true.

But, from Q's point of view, sex was grimly repulsive, something
to be whined about and avoided, even as he needed it and
couldn't live without it.  He responded to her whenever she
initiated physical contact between them, responded with a need
that both flattered and frightened her.  No one should need that
much.  She didn't know why he needed that much, unless it was
because he was always denying it, repressing all sexual desire
until something set him off, usually her.

Which only made it that more likely that someone else had gone
after him rather than Q having sought out a replacement for her. 
That was a far more palatable alternative, and Naomi embraced it
whole-heartedly.  She could very well understand how someone
might find Q attractive.

If he had wanted it badly enough, and someone had offered,
could she really expect him to turn it down?  Naomi's fingertips
brushed down Q's cheek to his jawline, tracing twin lines from
the center of his chin to just under his ears.  Probably not.

"So do you want me to leave so you can move your new lover
in?" Naomi asked, tone artificially bright.

Q had closed his eyes against the drowsy relaxation being induced
in him.  She hadn't seemed to be as upset as he thought she might
be, and he had momentarily given in to the sleepy feelings.  But
his eyes snapped open at that remark.

"Leave?  You're finally going to do it?" Q asked, tone sardonic,
but desperately trying to find his feet in this conversation.  She
wanted to leave him?

Naomi shrugged, hands dropping to his chest.  "That's what you
want, isn't it?  And I have to admit, you seem perfectly justified. 
I get pregnant with a child you don't want.  I've betrayed you
and am no longer to be trusted.  So you're trading me in on a
less fertile model.  Makes perfect sense."  Her voice was clear
and without waver, and Naomi was proud of that.  She didn't
*quite* mean what she was saying, but then, in a way, she almost
did, and that was frightening.

Q didn't want to be in a one down position for an argument like
this, even if he was physically relaxed and content at the moment. 
He grumbled to himself, sitting up.  How dare she start an
argument at a time like this?  Why couldn't she do it in the
morning, when he felt achy and in pain?  Why did she have to
force him to move when he felt good?

Sitting up, he was taller than her again, and felt much more in
control.  She wasn't touching him, and that helped as well.  He
drew his dignity around him.  "Jumping to conclusions again? 
How like you."

"So you're saying you apologize for your abrupt action in
screwing around on the side and that you love me even though
I'm beginning to look like I'd swallowed one of your sculptures,
and that you're looking forward to having a screaming child
running around our quarters?"

"You should do sarcasm more often.  You might learn how it's
done," Q said in a reproving tone.

Naomi stared levelly back at him.  "Which is it?  You've told me
you went off and found someone better than me.  Pick an
explanation, any explanation."

"You don't trust me?  Of course you don't, but you do play the
role of wounded wife with such dramatic flair."

"What do you want me to trust you with?" Naomi asked,
beginning to feel dangerously on edge.  "I assure you, it may be
normal for other people to have affairs, but I don't like the idea
at all."

Q looked bored.  "Jealousy and possessiveness.  How very
*human* of you, Naomi."  His tone made it clear that "human"
was the lowest insult he knew.

Naomi glared at him.  She wanted to leave, to tell Q that she was
removing her offensive self from his presence.  And she was very
close to doing it.  But it wouldn't do her a damn bit of good.  Q
would never apologize to her, wouldn't consider seeking her out
to beg forgiveness.  He might care, might miss her, but he'd
never say it.  She would never have been able to bully her way
into his life if that weren't the truth.  He was unable to form
relationships because there was no one who would put up with
what he handed out.  No one believed her; Anderson had as much
called her insane at the time, assigning Naomi to counselling
sessions with Medellin.  But it was true; Q had been unable to
throw her out.  And he wasn't throwing her out now, even if she
were on the verge of walking out.  He was pushing her away,
putting a distance between them, but he wasn't throwing her out. 
There was a difference there, and Naomi knew it.

But she couldn't just let this go, couldn't pretend it was nothing,
that there wasn't a klick-wide rift between them.  On the other
hand, demanding an apology wasn't a good idea.  Q would tear
her to shreds for that.

Naomi jumped off the bed.  "Fine.  I'm jealous and possessive. 
And if I can't have what I want, then I'm going to bed."

She turned around, feeling slightly relieved and upset at him all at
once.  She couldn't stay here and sleep with him.  Not the way
she felt at the moment.  She'd probably dump him on the floor in
the middle of the night.

"Naomi?" Q called in a silky voice.

She stopped.  "What?"

"Aren't you going to apologize to me?"

She spun on her heel, and stared at him.  Disbelief was the first
thought in her mind.  How could he?  But this was Q.  Naomi
looked at him, really looked at him.  He was propped up against
the head of the bed, the expression on his face as cold and set as
she'd ever seen it, the mocking twist to his lips only making his
face colder and more cynical.  But there was something about the
way he was holding himself...

Naomi shook herself.  She was feeling sorry for him.  She
couldn't believe this.  After everything, she was actually feeling
sorry for him.  Love must be stupid, as well as blind.

Reluctantly, she crossed the room back to him.  What was an
apology really?  There were some things she felt upset about in
this whole mess, some things she had done she wasn't proud of. 
Apologizing for them might even make her feel better.  If she
didn't apologize, Q wouldn't behave any better towards her.  The
only thing she had to lose was her pride.  And she'd lost that a
long time ago.

"I'm sorry," Naomi said in an almost sulky tone of voice,
standing next to the bed.  "I was wrong to get pregnant without
asking you, entirely evil for chasing you off to the Daystrom
Institute when I knew you didn't want to go.  My perversity at
forcing you to have sex is only surpassed at my audacity in
making you like it.  It was absolutely unforgivable for me to
allow you to be seduced by someone else, and I have no idea
*what* I was thinking to let that happen.  My actions are utterly
and completely without defense, and I humbly apologize for the
hurt and the anguish I've caused you."

Anyone else would never have taken that as an apology.  Q was
not anyone.  "I suppose that will have to do.  If that's the best
you can come up with."

Against her will, Naomi was forced to a small smile.  "You
expected maybe a marching band and someone serenading you on
a violin?"

Q flipped a lazy hand in her direction.  Naomi was getting
ridiculous again.  Once of her many flaws.  "If that was the best
you could come with, yes."

"So am I forgiven, O great and noble Q?"

He looked down his nose at her.  "You'll only do it again.  I
shouldn't forgive you.  But I suppose I must make allowances for
the limited nature of humankind."  He sighed melodramatically. 
"You're forgiven.  This time."

"How generous of you," Naomi said sarcastically.  "Do you want
me to kiss your hand now and thank you for your generosity?"

"You'd only slobber on me."

"So wash your hands afterwards."  Naomi stared at him for
another moment, then turned on her heel and left the room.  She
padded across the common room to her own bedroom, trying not
to stomp.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Naomi felt deflated, the
adrenaline of fighting with him draining away.  Once inside her
own room, she stood there still, feeling empty.  She had been
angry with Q, but she wasn't anymore.  She didn't feel anything
at all at the moment.  Just tired and hollow, drained of all feeling
and motivation.

She had lost track of how long she had been standing there, no
more than minutes surely, when the door opened behind her, and
without any announcement, Q stalked into the room.  "You
walked out on me!" he accused.

Somehow, even though she was supposedly angry with him, the
room seemed to light up with him in it.  "Looks like it," Naomi
agreed.  "Want to make something of it?"

Q stared at her, balked by that simple reply.  He hated exposing
himself with a direct question, but if an accusation hadn't
worked... "Why?"

Naomi shrugged, smiling bleakly at him.  "You don't want me. 
What else was I supposed to do?"  She sat down on her bed,
feeling too worn out to stand.  Their earlier confrontation had
taken a lot out of her.  "You made it pretty clear that you don't
want me, and at the moment, I'm not sure what I want."

"But I forgave you!"

"And that makes everything all right?"  Naomi tilted her head,
looking bemusedly up at him.  "How about me forgiving you?"

Q looked down at her with a nonplussed expression.  It was clear
to Naomi that he'd never thought of apologizing to her.  "But it
was *your* fault.  You even admitted it."

Naomi sighed, and drew her knees up to her chest.  "Fine. 
Whatever.  Just... go, all right?  I don't feel like grovelling and
being humble any more tonight."

She looked away from him, not wanting to see him go.  It hurt
too much.  She didn't want him right now, couldn't handle one
more minute of be made to feel guilty for his transgressions.  But
she still needed him, and that was what made it hurt so much.

She didn't want him!  She was trying to get rid of him!  Q felt
hurt at first, then panicked.  What was wrong with her?  He had
to do something to keep her from feeling like this.  He had to fix
this. He couldn't let her go.  A mocking voice in his head was
laughing at him, reminding him of how many times he'd looked
for a good excuse to get rid of Naomi, but Q didn't listen to it.

"You call that being humble?" Q swept himself into a seat next to
her on the bed, taking up most of the available space.

Naomi looked over at him, afraid to hope.  He was being
sarcastic, but trying to get closer, and of the two she believed the
action more.  "What did you want?  Me flat down on my face
abasing myself before my lord and master?"

She edged closer to him, wishing that there was a way to make
this what she wanted it to be and not what it was.  She needed
him, needed his reassurance that everything was all right, and that
he did care for her, that he really hadn't meant to hurt her
feelings, that she still was attractive to him.  However, the
comment about her being swollen and unappealing had stung. 
There was no chance at all that Q would offer the comfort that
she wanted, that she needed.

Q shifted position to let her get closer to him.  "That would have
been preferable.  You *are* addressing a superior being, after all. 
Back in my Continuum days, for that kind of impertinence, you
might have been blasted or smited or something."

Naomi slipped a little closer, almost touching him.  "And of
course, beings of your superiority never have to apologize."

Q watched her with hooded eyes.  Naomi was there, and close to
him, and he felt a small sense of relief.  He didn't want her to
go, but he couldn't say that, and he didn't know any way of
convincing her to stay.  He stretched out a hand to her, opening
his body even further.  "If you're never wrong, you never have
to apologize."

Naomi looked at his hand, then up at him, and Q felt a brief
moment of terror.  What if she rejected him?  What if she made
some cutting comment right now and left him there?  What kind
of fool was he?

Naomi intended to do none of those things.  Emotion swelled
over in her heart as she looked at him, knowing that he was
reaching out to her.  Even if she had been deathly angry with
him, she couldn't have rebuffed something like that.  It just
meant too much that he was initiating contact, that he wanted her.

Naomi laid her head against Q's chest, and was rewarded with
arms coming around her, holding her close, and a hand stroking
her hair.  She wanted to cry at that feeling, but didn't dare.  Q
would never forgive her for spoiling his fine impression of
control.  But he was holding her, and he had come here to her,
and everything was all right.  "So does that mean if you never
apologize, you're never wrong?"

His tone was indulgent.  "Something like that."  Having her
nestled there against him made Q feel more secure, less like she
was going to disappear from his life at any moment.  But she
could.  When she had walked out of his room, he had been
shocked into an awareness of exactly how upset Naomi was with
him.  Q had known she had reason to be angry with him; but
he'd thought she'd forgiven him as easily as she had forgiven
every other transgression on his part.  Apparently not.  But she
was here now, and everything was all right.  Would it be such a
major concession, now that he had won, to salve the feelings of
the loser?

Still cradling Naomi close to him, Q said, "You really are a very
annoying woman.  I doubt I could ever find anyone else as
annoying as you."

Naomi craned her head to look up at him.  "Is that a
compliment?"

Q shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether he was just making
things worse.  He wanted to apologize, wanted to put things
right, but he couldn't, wouldn't say that he had been wrong.  Not
when so much of this was her fault.  "Om was boring, and so
were the rest of the overblown imbeciles I was forced to talk to." 
 He hesitated for a moment, still hating himself for doing this at
all, but aware of her in his arms and not wanting to lose that. 
"How could you possibly be so stupid as to think I *enjoyed*
engaging in gross acts of physical degradation with Om?  I
suppose you'll do even if you must insist on growing bloated."

"Most people enjoy sex," Naomi said mildly.  "And I'm going to
get bigger, you know."

"Spare me."

"Sorry.  No can do."

Q sighed heavily and dramatically.  "I'll overlook it this time, but
really, you *must* stop testing my patience."

"That'd be boring."


-the end-