From jeanita@cpcug.org Fri Apr 18 17:30:35 1997
From: jeanita@cpcug.org (Jeanita)
Newsgroups: alt.fan.q,alt.startrek.creative,alt.startrek.creative.erotica
Subject: NEW:TNG:R:m/m:1/8:In The Valley of the Shadow
Date: 18 Apr 1997 20:30:35 -0400
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Well, everybody, this is a followup to The Best of All Possible
Worlds. I didn't intend to write it, but I started wondering what
Picard would be like after living with an omnipotent immortal lover
for twenty years, and here you go. This story refers to events that
occurred in BOAPW, so parts of it may not make a lot of sense if
you haven't read it. There's enough purple angst in here to make
even me happy, so take this as a MAJOR SCHMALTZ ALERT.  There's a
little sex, of course. 'Our' Jean-Luc has a wife and children, and
some of them show up; Q's in here, naturally. Let's see, same
naming convention as before. Our Jean-Luc is 'Jean-Luc.' A/U Jean-
Luc is 'Picard,' except Beverly addresses him directly as Jean-Luc. 
Double slashes, like this, '//,' indicate telepathic communication.
I suppose I should round up the usual disclaimers and caveats: 
Some of the characters belong to Paramount as does the Star Trek
Universe, and I'm not making any money off them. Feel free to
circulate this story, but keep headers intact. This contains a few
graphic descriptions of m/m sexual activity, so mom, dad, hide the
children. My sincere thanks to Ruth and Alara for their helpful
comments. That said, enjoy.




It's a strange kind of love affair...
A symphony of sorts
A strange kind of love affair...
A declaration of war...
No I won't be here tomorrow night...
You won't see me smiling
Tomorrow when it's very dark... No crying...

Well I think that is the meaning of love...
And I prefer to kick it
Yes I think that is the meaning of love,
But I'd prefer to kick it.
Kick the habit...

Well I loved you more than life itself,
(Nothing like forever more)
but I'd prefer to kick it
(Something like dying)
Yes I loved you more than life itself
But I'm prepared to kick it

I think that is the meaning of love...

Kick It
Stevie Nicks


                    In the Valley of the Shadow
                          Jeanita Danzik


     The Emperor Wants... It still gratified him to hear those
words, even after twenty years. His personal servants never spoke
to each other except to say those words. To his ministers, those
three words were decrees, and whatever statement followed them was
as immutable as natural law. For every being in this arm of the
galaxy, Jean-Luc Picard, former captain of the ISS Enterprise, was
he-whose-word-is-obeyed, and it suited him perfectly.
     'And now the emperor wants his lover,' he thought. He turned
over in his ocean-sized bed, for all the world like a pea on a
platter. "Q?"
     Q materialized immediately and they lay face to face under the
quilted silken coverlet.
     "The emperor wants to be held." It was a lazy, friendly
command.
     "The emperor is a frightened child," his lover opined with a
complete lack of malice.
     "The emperor knows this. The emperor doesn't care." He waited
as Q settled in and wrapped his arms around him. Picard breathed a
deep sigh of contentment as he nestled comfortably against Q's
side. As the years passed he cared less and less about defending
his image of himself as cold and unneeding, at least with Q. To his
unending surprise, he found that it made their relationship much
easier to handle. The truth was, he didn't feel so very hard and
tough lately, and he knew Q could sense this because the immortal
had been at pains to give him everything he wanted.
     Q could be surprisingly tender and compassionate when he
wasn't feeling challenged, but Picard had learned the hard way that
Q had no compunctions about rubbing his nose in his mortal
fragility. In the early days they'd fought one another for
dominance, and in fits of pique Q fomented more than one palace
rebellion. That hadn't happened for a long time, but it made for an
interesting history. Looking back, Picard thought it made his reign
appear more natural, less an effect of a stormy, years-long affair
with an omnipotent immortal and more the normal rise to power of a
gifted man. Not that it mattered now. Things had been quiet for
almost a decade, and between the two of them there was no
pretending. It was Q's power, his abilities, which had allowed
Picard to reign successfully for the past twenty years, and he made
no secret of his gratitude. They'd made mistakes together and
learned together and his empire was a better place for their
determined efforts, both public and private. He liked where he was,
and what he had become.
     He had one standing demand, however, that he insisted Q obey. 
"When you get bored, go," he'd told Q. "Leave me alive or not, as
you choose, but do not stay." 
     But Q evidently found the arrangement satisfactory because he
was still here. It was his presence that allowed a cranky ninety-
six-year-old emperor to waste the morning in bed, being caressed
and coddled against his lover's skin instead of wearing himself out
fighting chaos and insurrection, like the last emperor had.
     "I don't want to get up today," Picard murmured. He shifted
slightly and laid a kiss on Q's chest.  
     "Then this is where we'll stay," Q agreed. He turned Picard 
over onto his back and began to kiss him in return. Over the years
he'd maintained Picard's health at a perfect peak. He'd destroyed
the effects of Irumodic syndrome, vanquished the arthritis that had
begun to encroach upon his hands and knees, kept his appetite
hearty, anything he could think of to keep Picard's body at it's
optimum state. The reward for this was that Picard was still
incredibly responsive, one of the most ferociously passionate
lovers Q had ever had. He'd taken hundreds of others, naturally,
but somehow this man, moaning beneath his touch, filled Q with an
excitement none of the rest had been able to match. Of course, that
could have been a result of longevity. Q didn't know. He'd never
been in a relationship with any mortal that had lasted this long or
been this intimate. He did know, however, that Picard loved him and
trusted him, and in twenty years, not even an eyeblink by Q
standards, he'd become a happier being than he'd ever thought
possible.  
     'I grew up,' Q thought wryly. Most of his attention was
occupied with driving Picard into an erotic frenzy, but he easily
diverted enough concentration to dwell on one of his favorite
topics. He could actually perceive a difference in his behavior and
outlook as a direct result of sticking out this empire business
with Picard. The two of them had learned how to govern their arm of
the galaxy together, incidentally acquiring all sorts of
interesting qualities like patience, persistence, endurance and
stamina. Eventually they'd learned to apply these qualities to
their relationship and then their lives had become magical. Being
Q, he naturally gave himself a great deal of credit for this, but,
he told himself contentedly, it was credit he deserved. Look how
happy Picard was, and look how tenderly they loved each other. 
     And speaking of which... Q looked up.  
     "You or me?" He asked. It was their shorthand for figuring out
which one would be on top. Picard turned over onto his stomach,
then got up on his hands and knees.  
     "Me it is," Q answered his own question agreeably. He'd been
hoping it would be him, but he'd learned a lot about fairness and
sharing, and he knew he had to at least make the offer.
     "Yes," Picard whispered as Q pushed in. "Q, it's good."
     "Oh, yes," Q agreed. It was the last coherent sound they made
for quite some time. They mated with wild abandon, then collapsed
in a sweaty heap. Q panted against Picard's back for a few moments
then thought them clean and dry again. He listened to Picard's
breathing become normal, and when they were both somewhat quieter,
put his arm around him.
     "You still want to stay in bed?" Q asked.  
     Picard stretched luxuriously. The driving sense of duty that
had gotten him to this point was beginning to lose it's ability to
prod him into action. Lately he enjoyed being held more than he
liked anything else, and that was Q's job. Given a choice between
the fearsome adulation of strangers and a day spent in his lover's
arms, there was no contest.  
     "What's scheduled for today?" He asked reluctantly.
     Q reached out and idly scanned the chamberlains' thoughts. 
"Hm. Slavers, profiteers, revolutions." The usual, he started to
say, but something unique caught his attention. "Oh, my. I think
you'll want to get up for this. Remember Beverly Crusher? She's
trying to get in to see you."
     Beverly. He hadn't thought of her in years. With the ease of
old habit his mind turned to Q who supplied him with the
information he wanted about her. She had five children now. She
still lived on New Hebrides where she occasionally practiced
medicine. She'd told the chamberlain she was an old friend and
wished to pay her respects, the standard lie from someone who
wanted a favor.
     Picard frowned. He almost considered asking Q what she really
wanted but restrained himself. Sometimes Q wouldn't bother to
inquire about things he thought Picard would want to discover for
himself. Well, maybe he really hadn't wanted to sleep all day after
all.
     "How far down is she?" Most people never got past Picard's
long-suffering, second-tier chamberlains. He had 300 of them who
operated as combinations of gatekeeper and social worker, handling
the thousands of personal requests Picard received. They were
almost always busy.
     "She's at the bottom." That meant she'd been lumped in with
people who wanted Picard's endorsement for some poorly-thought-out
scheme. Or else they had a marvelous, perfectly valid reason why
their planet, of all the thousands, should be made exempt from one
of the Emperor's laws.
     Picard took a leisurely swim, ate, then called for his
servants and told them to bring Beverly Crusher to his receiving
chamber at once. He then allowed them to dress him in his usual
simple tunic and pants. It was a calculated effect, because by the
time supplicants arrived in front of his throne, they'd already
been dazzled by the opulence around them. They were expecting the
Almighty himself when they reached his receiving chamber, and the
rather ordinary looking human always surprised them.  
     Picard could see the amazement on their faces, and feel it in
their minds, and it always made him laugh. He watched their
expressions shift as it dawned on them that this was as close as
they would ever come to seeing god, and god could dress however he
chose. Then their posture would shift slightly and they would abase
themselves just a wee bit more sincerely.  
     The woman standing in front of him now, however, was one of
the few people who knew what to expect.
     "Beverly."
     "Highest and Most Exalted One." She used the appropriate form
of address, beginning the elaborate series of bows that was
standard when meeting Emperor Picard.
     "Oh, stop it," Picard snapped in mild annoyance. He didn't
feel like being formal today. He didn't feel like being here at
all, but Beverly had been willing to expend the time and energy to
work her way through the bureaucratic machine that protected him
from the millions of demands on his time, and he wanted her to tell
him why.
     She looked up and gave him a wry smile as she pulled her hood
off her face. Her hair had gone white, and there were many more
lines around her eyes. The changes suited her well; she was as
beautiful in her maturity as she'd been in her youth.  
     "The years have been good to you," he smiled.
     She nodded her acceptance. "And to you, Jean-Luc."
     That broke their slight tension, and he beckoned her forward. 
Picard had to wave his guards down as she approached the dais
because they'd drawn their phasers the second Beverly moved towards
him.  
     "It's all right," he spoke to her startlement. "They're here
to protect me."  In fact they were utterly redundant. No one got in
to see Picard unless Q had thoroughly inspected them first, but
they made this concession to propriety because his ministers would
have been scandalized (and tempted) to see him go unwatched.
     "I've been away too long," she said by way of apology.
     He waved that away too. "Tell me how you've been, Beverly."
     "I've been well, Jean-Luc." She was cautious with him, he
could sense that, and he looked for a way to break through her
reserve.
     "Beverly, I don't suppose you'd let me apologize for the way
I treated you all those years ago." He could plunge right in to the
heart of things because he was The Emperor and could do whatever he
wanted.
     Beverly was obviously surprised, and then her rage flashed
over him like a small explosion. "The past is behind us, Jean-Luc." 
     It was a careful answer, the only appropriate response,
really, and he decided to help her. "I don't blame you for being
angry."  He could have intuited her response even if he hadn't been
able to hear her thoughts clearly; 'You kill my husband and my son
and *now* you apologize,' but behind that burst of fury, a
surprisingly rational voice, smaller, but there; 'He really means
it--he has to. He knows it wouldn't mean anything to me so he has
no reason to do it for effect.' And with that he sensed a sudden
affirming of her decision to come here, and a sense of giddy relief
that this course of action was the correct one.
     Picard stood and took Beverly by the arm, ignoring the way his
guards straightened to attention. Leading her away from the throne
room, he waved his escort away and walked out onto the balcony with
her. "We'll be able to talk here," he said, meaning no one would
overhear their conversation.
     Beverly gave him one of her knowing smiles. "I'm glad you
agreed to talk to me. I would have hated to waste the story I
prepared."  
     "And what was your story?" Picard decided that he enjoyed her
company. She was such a cool-headed schemer, and she was so patient
with her machinations that he'd always harbored a secret admiration
for her.  
     "Well," she smiled at him, that same mischievous smile she
always wore while plotting, "As you know, I'm governor of New
Hebrides."
     He nodded. He hadn't known. New Hebrides was small, out of the
way and unimportant, but he could sense she was telling the truth. 
     "My brother, the former governor, died unexpectedly and
without heirs, and the post is hereditary."
     Picard smiled. One day she would tell him that story to his
great amusement.  
     Shortly after taking office, she told him, she'd bought a
mining operation. It was the excuse she needed to come see him.
     Picard nodded again. One of his idiosyncratic dictates was
that he didn't allow mining without his express permission. And an
old acquaintance from his days as a starship captain would
certainly try to prevail upon that friendship to get him to bend
the rules for her.
     "So when I told them I wanted to go pay my respects to you,
they understood."
     "Of course. Sensible, Beverly, but what is the real reason?"
     She stopped walking and turned to face him. "Jean-Luc as soon
as my brother died, some of his friends began to drop hints about
a project he was working on. I searched his computer and found some
files he kept hidden. I thought you should see them for yourself so
I brought a copy with me, but the bottom line is, they detail a
plan by a group of... entrepreneurs to sponsor a private expedition
to cross into the alternate universe. My brother was working for
the investors."
     Picard wasn't expecting this at all. //Did you know about
this?// he asked Q silently.  
     From his lover he got an impression of explosive rage. 
Someone was going to pay and pay for this.
     //No.// Picard ordered. //Not until we discuss it.//
     He focused his attention on his guest. "You have the copies
here with you?" His voice was remarkably steady, and he could see
and feel Beverly's admiration of his cool response.  
     She handed him a chip. "It's all in here."
     Picard probed her carefully, and could feel Q doing the same,
but although they could sense anxiety, neither one could find any
evidence that her mind had been tampered with, or that she was
withholding any information for her own gain. That was peculiar,
but the best way to find out what she wanted was to ask.
     "What do you get by telling me, Beverly?"
     "My brother promised to let them use New Hebrides as the
launch-point."
     Of course. Wreaking havoc on her small, pretty, out-of-the-way
planet. And Beverly wouldn't want that. He remembered a
conversation they'd had several lifetimes ago, when he was a first
lieutenant on the Stargazer. Beverly had come over to wait for
Jack, and in order to keep her talking Picard had encouraged her to
tell him all about her home planet. It was the first time he'd
heard her speak with anything resembling honest emotion. New
Hebrides meant everything to her, and he'd used that knowledge
against her on more than one occasion.
     He could see she remembered as well, and when she brought it
up to him he gave her points for bravery.
     "You know what that means to me, don't you?" She gave him a
look that had daggers concealed in it. "Remember when you
threatened my home? It was enough to keep me faithful until you got
tired of me and sent me away."
     "I remember." He also recalled the cool way she looked at him
as she agreed to become his consort, and he was struck again with
the thought that, knowing him as she did, this woman could be one
of his worst enemies.
     That long ago day she'd mocked him for the unnecessary
machinations he'd gone through in order to acquire her. When the
guards had delivered her to his quarters he thought she'd be too
stunned by the sudden changes in her life to offer much resistance,
but she surprised him. "You let Admiral Pastorelli think she was
manipulating you into killing Jack for her," she analyzed as he
undressed her. "Then you challenged her publicly, knowing she'd
lose face if she backed down and knowing she couldn't win a duel
against a man in the prime of his life. Now you have me, but the
Admiral's dead and her friends all hate you and are going to try
their best to ruin your career." She leaned forward, rubbing his
nose in his loss.  "Jack loved and trusted you. You killed the best
friend you could ever hope to have because you were too stupid to
plan things carefully." She shook her head in amused derision. "And
the most pathetic part of all is, I would have let you have me in
any event. All you needed do was tell me what you wanted. I would
have done it for Jack's sake."
     He was hitting her before he even realized what he was doing. 
If she was telling the truth, he'd murdered his best friend because
he'd let emotions rule logic. He'd been jealous of a pretty red-
haired doctor, and enraged with Jack because he appeared to love
her more than he loved Picard. So Jack had to die because of his
apparent change of allegiance. Now the woman he'd schemed for and
bled for and hadn't really wanted in the first place was mocking
him because of it. It terrified him that she knew what a fool he'd
been, because if she could see it, maybe everyone could. He beat
her out of fear, and threatened her because of that same fear. 
She'd collapsed into a fetal ball at his feet, protecting her head
and soft spots with her arms and legs, turning her unprotected
spine away from his kicking feet the way all the woman of the
Empire were taught to do. Picard bent down, grabbed her by the hair
with one hand and pulled her hands away from her face with the
other. Her eyes were wary and calculating, not the least bit
afraid. He realized at that moment that he faced danger, and he
felt himself go all cold and rational the way he always did when
threatened.  
     He pulled her to her knees, so she could better see his
earnest intent. "Your planet is safe," he told her softly, "because
you are now my loyal mistress. I'd advise you to remember the
destructive capabilities of the average starship before you think
of trying to change your status."
     Her face drained of color, but she nodded. She understood. 
Picard had smiled then. "Now take the rest of your clothes off," he
told her, "get in bed and wait for me until I come to you."
     "I want my planet safe, Jean-Luc." The harshness in her voice
pulled him back from memories of the past, and he focused on the
woman standing in front of him now. Why had she brought this up? To
remind him of what she'd been willing to endure for the safety of
her home? Of what she was still willing to endure?
     Picard felt a lump grow in his throat. It had nothing to do
with Beverly's story and everything to do with the fact that his
emotions floated very near the surface these days. It was Q's
doing. When Q held Picard and crooned to him that he was safe, and
that he, Q, loved him and would protect him and care for him
always, Picard always felt secure and sheltered. He wanted the feel
of that warmth and closeness right now, to counteract the effect of
Beverly's presence.
     "Come," he told her abruptly. He led her back to the throne
room and told his chamberlain to provide her a place to stay and
anything she wanted for her comfort.
     "And cancel all my other appointments until early afternoon,"
he ordered. "Beverly, we'll speak again soon."
     
*****

     Picard hurried back to his private chambers. As he expected,
Q was in bed, waiting for him. He peeled off his clothes, paying no
attention to where they fell. Q thought them back to their proper
places, so he'd become extraordinarily lazy about putting things
away. Climbing into bed, he threw one arm and one leg across Q's
body, snuggling close again.  
     "We'll let stuffed-dummy take the afternoon shift," he said. 
Stuffed-dummy was just what it sounded like--an image of Picard
that looked and sounded like the original and would fool a
tricorder. It sat on the throne while the real Emperor went
flitting around the Sag arm with Q. It was from stuffed-dummy that
Emperor Picard got his reputation for not needing to eat or go to
the bathroom for hours on end. Picard had owned stuffed-dummy for
years. He'd once been extremely disciplined about using him, but
lately stuffed-dummy made more and more appearances. In an hour or
so, it would walk out of Picard's private chambers and sit on the
throne until early evening. Meanwhile the Emperor was doing what
he'd wanted to do in the first place. He lay in bed, letting the
slow beat of Q's heart soothe him, allowing the warm slide of skin
against skin to assuage his need to be held and touched.
     "So what shall we do about this?" Q finally asked. Among other
things, he'd discovered that, for an immortal, he had no head for
long-range planning. All Q's skill at scheming was in the setting
of elaborate traps and showy pyrotechnics. Picard used to be able
to awe him with subtly-laid plots. Of course, once Q learned the
how and why of it, he was much better than Picard could ever hope
to become, but sometimes his judgement was poor. He couldn't always
tell when a situation called for a direct approach versus a subtle
one.
     "Obviously the first thing is to find out all we can about the
players.  Then we'll see what we can use to sidetrack them."
Through years of governing the Empire, Picard had learned that
distraction was more effective than oppression because it left
intact the illusion of free will. Together, he and Q had
successfully derailed dozens of pointless little rebellions before
they could gain momentum and turn into real threats. "These people
on New Hebrides will be much like any other."
     When Q did not answer, Picard shifted so he could look into
his lover's face. "This annoys you doesn't it?"
     Q nodded. Spread thin, annoyance would do to describe his
current emotional state. He could have happily dismembered Beverly
for any of several reasons, not the least of which was that Picard
had once been in love with her. True, his love had been an ugly,
twisted thing, based more on his desire to prove that he could own
her and not need her than on any real feelings of affection, but it
had existed nonetheless, and Q didn't like the thought that he
might have competition, however remote. He wanted Beverly back on
New Hebrides and firmly out of Picard's mind, and he was sorely
tempted to use the former emperor's methods:  simply kill everyone
involved with this plot and let the chips fall where they would.
Beverly would leave and life would be good again, at least as far
as Q was concerned.
     There was another, more subtle reason for his pique, far more
important than the simple reappearance of an old lover. Q had spent
the last twenty years studying Picard and his universe, but had
only recently allowed his feelings for the man to have any
practical effect. He'd spent a long time comparing his Picard with
another Jean-Luc he was close to, trying to discern why one was so
self-controlled and the other so tortured. It was the difference in
their upbringing, of course, but there was also quite literally
something in the air that made this universe harden into lines of
cruelty and pain. Vulcans, Andorians, Tellarites, most races in
fact, had a mean streak that he couldn't account for, no matter how
much he searched for the cause. Granted, he hadn't searched very
hard, but it existed and it affected his lover, so Q tried to
buffer him against it.
     Picard had taken it upon himself to singlehandedly change his
harsh universe, and Q had come to greatly admire his efforts. It
was obvious that Picard had no idea what he was doing, yet he
struggled on, step by step, teaching himself what it was like to
have scruples, a conscience, ethics. To Q, it was like watching a
colorblind man trying to teach himself the difference between red
and green, but amazingly, he was succeeding. They never discussed
it, but Q was determined to help him, and he strove to create in
microcosm what Picard was doing universally. Towards that end, he
tried to provide the most nurturing environment he could; a
permanent nest where Picard could exist in total comfort and
safety. So Q gave Picard everything he wanted, and he held Picard
in his arms every chance he got, consciously radiating feelings of
belonging and security. As time passed, he was rewarded by the
gradual thawing of ninety-odd years of iced-over emotions. He was
further rewarded--elated actually--as Picard's new-found security
buttressed his search for an ethical framework. It was a slow and
delicate process, and Q wasn't always sure of how to define
success, but Picard was gaining a sense of contentment and serenity
that had never been there before, so Q knew he was on the right
track.  
     Now to his great chagrin, Beverly's presence was undoing all
his careful work. The hardened schemer was reemerging even as they
lay there; Q could feel it. It might simply be an instinctive
reaction to danger, but Q had tried to keep all such dangers at
bay. He'd protected Picard against every possible physical threat,
but her presence triggered memories of fear, and he didn't know how
to fight it except to make her leave. And Q's secret, which he kept
even from himself, was that he cared what happened to these humans. 
As Picard went, so went the Empire, so Q was going to see to it
that his precious little primate remained undisturbed. No matter
what he had to do.

*****

-- 


From jeanita@cpcug.org Sun Apr 20 06:59:21 1997
From: jeanita@cpcug.org (Jeanita)
Newsgroups: alt.fan.q,alt.startrek.creative
Subject: NEW:TNG:R:m/m:2/8: In The Valley Of The Shadow
Date: 20 Apr 1997 09:59:21 -0400
Organization: Capital PC User Group, Inc., Rockville, Maryland, USA
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See part 1 for disclaimers

*****

     Following their usual routine, they eventually got up and
wandered over to New Hebrides to take a look around. Picard had
learned the hard way that he was his own most reliable informant.
So while stuffed-dummy held court, he and Q rendered themselves
invisible and poked around Beverly's planet on an inspection tour. 
New Hebrides was not very impressive, but it was quiet and well-
run, and Picard was pleased to see that she'd taken advantage of
his colonization program. Rather than simply killing beggars and
other sentient flotsam like the former emperor had permitted,
Picard had instituted a program of exporting them to colony planets
where they performed manual labor in tiny collectives. Working
together, building houses, voting on where to put sewer lines and
schools, these fledgling communities were on their way to becoming
countries though they didn't know it yet. New Hebrides, of course,
was far more advanced than that, but it was still fairly
nondescript.  
     "What could she possibly see in the place?" He asked Q.
     "Beats me." Q was even more unimpressed. It was a pit as far
as he was concerned; underpopulated woodlands with the occasional
cluster of villages, more sheep than people, no commerce except for
a modest export market in wool and leather goods, flung out by
itself without neighbors or traffic. "Perfect place to hide a hole
between dimensions, wouldn't you say?"
     "There is that," Picard agreed. Arm in arm they strolled over
to Beverly's mansion and began to root through her things. "Five
kids!" Q exclaimed, staring at all the pictures. "How you humans do
go on."
     Picard ignored him. He could have just as easily read these
files in his office back home, but doing it here somehow helped
give him a clearer perspective. He imagined Beverly sitting in this
chair, reading these same reports; imagined her pausing as he was
doing, considering her options. "Did she immediately come to me?"
He interrupted Q's perusal of the family portrait gallery.
     "Nope." Q focused. "She only came to you after the ringleader
offered to betray the others and divorce his first wife in exchange
for her hand in marriage."
     That was interesting. "He would have divorced his first wife
that easily?"
     "In less time than it takes to say the words," Q affirmed. "He
intended to keep her as a concubine, but he would have given her
status and privileges to Beverly."
     Picard nodded. "Tell me about him."
     "Jevon Pirist. Sixty-three. Arms merchant. Rich family." Q
glanced at Picard to see if he was ready, then began to pour data
into his head. Pictures formed in Picard's mind of a dark, handsome
man in the prime of his life, shrewd, patient, practical and
ambitious. At his prompting Q showed him Pirist's wives, his
mistress and his business partners, gathering their impressions of
him. Picard had a hunch that there was crucial information here,
and he went back and forth over the details of Pirist's life while
Q waited with patient fascination to see what would come of it.
Eventually, however, the entity began to fret. He liked
straightforward solutions. Kill Jevon Pirist and the problem was
solved. It went without saying that they would stay as long as
Picard wanted to, but there were other considerations. 
     "Should I send stuffed-dummy to take your place at the ball
tonight?" He finally asked.
     Picard sighed and stood. He was making no headway with this. 
Perhaps a turn around the dance floor would provide a good
distraction. "Ready when you are," he said.
     Q took a last look around, his eyes straying back to Beverly's
wall full of family pictures. His eyes lit and he snapped his
fingers. "Okay, now I'm ready."
     "What did you do back there?" Picard was standing in front of
his mirror, wavering indecisively between four different outfits. 
Q was patiently changing his dancing costumes for him, occasionally
improvising bizarrely with huge clown shoes, kilts, wide-brimmed,
flower-covered hats, feather boas...
     "I'm not going to tell you." Q gave him a look of wicked
satisfaction, but when Picard did not rise to the bait he sighed
and changed the subject. "Do you think you'll be able to make a
decision before the night is over?"
     Picard was taking his time because he did not really enjoy
dancing. To his great irritation there was an ongoing fight for his
hand in marriage, and he was ostensibly looking over potential
marriage partners at these balls of his. Every parent with an
eligible daughter tried to wangle a chance to parade their child in
front of him, and the occasional small war had been waged over the
invitations. He had no intention of marrying anyone but Q and said
so when asked, ignoring the entity's muttered "That'll be the day."
     Still, skepticism over his marriageability never stopped Q
from making an appearance. Sometimes he came in his usual form,
playing the role of a foppish minor escort as he watched Picard
from a distance. More usually he came in his alternate form as
Picard's strikingly beautiful mistress, and being Q, was scathingly
vicious towards anyone who made a too-obvious play towards the man
he considered his. Picard's ministers had delicately suggested that
spouse-hunting was not a task best accomplished in the presence of
one's concubine, but when Picard merely shrugged and asserted that
he would do what he liked, no one dared object further. There had
been a running plot against Q's life for almost two decades but no
one could ever find the wench to kill her. It made for a pointless
evening if one were truly bent on catching the Emperor's eye, but
the daughter of a highborn family was assured of a good meal and a
chance to show off her pulchritude and her parents' wealth. Plenty
of other matches had been made in the Emperor's ballroom. In fact
the daughters of the very first women he'd rejected were beginning
to show up, so no one had cause to complain.
     Tonight, wearing his woman's body, Q sat with one hand resting
possessively against Picard's thigh. He watched the dancers and
waited for Picard to stop brooding, but finally he nudged him
impatiently. "What is the point of being intimidatingly beautiful
if I can't get you to dance with me?" He demanded. 
     "Sorry, Q." Picard stood and offered Q his hand. They moved
through the steps in silence until Picard sighed deeply. "The
question is," he picked up the topic as if they'd been discussing
it all evening, "what would turn a cautious investor like Pirist
into a person willing to throw away such large sums of money on a
venture like this one?"
     "Oh, just let me kill him and be done with it," Q complained. 
He smiled sweetly at a young thing who'd overheard his comment and
was staring at him in shock. Q erased her memory and the girl
smiled back at him, confused, but flattered to be noticed.
      "Look." Picard thought his observations at Q. Over the past
three years Pirist had changed. The shift was almost unnoticeable,
but it was all Picard had to go on. It was actually only visible in
the responses of the people around him and consisted of a series of
mild surprises, first his wife, then his business partners and
friends, wondering at behavior that was atypical, though in and of
itself not particularly noteworthy. Taken as a pattern, however, it
was quite distinct. "They all occur about the same time. Why is
that?"
     "Hm." Q had long since gotten used to the fact that Picard was
more intuitive than he was. He simply couldn't see any pattern he
didn't know to look for. Now that Picard pointed it out, however,
Q could definitely perceive the alterations in Pirist's behavior
and he was able to pull everything together very quickly. This was
a very subtle transformation, and it looked suspiciously like the
work of an outside agent. He would have suspected a Q, but he was
sure to have felt it if someone from the Continuum crossed over
into this reality. But who else had the ability to do this and
leave no trace? 
     "I'm not sure I like the feel of this, Mio."
     Picard smiled. Q's nicknames for him were all variants of the
word 'mine,' and whenever he used one Picard felt a concurrent
surge of immortal possessiveness. It was almost enough to distract
him from the seriousness in his lover's voice. "Is it really
dangerous enough to bother *you*?" He asked disbelievingly.
     "Of course not!" Q's female voice was almost shrill. Heads
turned, but Picard glared and the rumormongers returned
conspicuously to the task of dancing.
     Despite Q's denial, Picard could see he was worried. After
living with him for almost twenty years, he could sense Q's moods
even when Q tried to hide them. He also knew, however, that
pressing Q to admit his feelings would only bring more outraged
denial and a spate of petty complaints and criticisms. So instead
of asking Q what was bothering him, he let himself yawn. As he
expected, that got an immediate response.
     "You should go to sleep," Q asserted. He'd long since
appointed himself Picard's caretaker-in-chief and as such had the
right to order Picard around when he thought it was warranted.
     "I'm hungry," Picard protested, but then he relented slightly. 
"But you're right. What say we let the dancers have the place to
themselves?"
     To his ministers' resigned frustration, Picard left the dance
early with his tall, elegant mistress on his arm. As the doors shut
behind them, Picard and Q exchanged a grin. The music changed to a
livelier, more modern tune the moment they walked out.
     Picard liked to eat on the balcony outside his private rooms,
so that was where they headed. Q gave him prime rib and roast new
potatoes for dinner, a century-old burgundy, chilled asparagus with
red pepper dressing and a slice of bourbon-walnut pie. Picard ate
and watched the sun set. Q sat next to him and tried to pretend he
wasn't fretting. The sun disappeared, the stars rose and the air
became chill, but still they sat and said nothing. Picard could be
orders of magnitude more patient that Q was, but he'd been too long
in the habit of getting whatever he wanted from Q as soon as he
asked for it.  
     "I could catch a cold and die and you wouldn't even notice,"
he finally complained.  
     Q looked at him sharply. It was a point of pride with him that
his human was always perfectly healthy. He knew Picard was simply
trying to get his attention, but Q scanned him anyway, daring
anything to be out of order.  
     "You're fine," Q answered shortly.
     "I know. I want you to tell me what's wrong."
     Q sighed. He slid over and kissed Picard on the corner of his
mouth, by the side of his nose and above his right eyebrow.  
     "I think I should look into this. By myself."
     Picard held Q's gaze steadily. "Take everything away," he
said, though he knew that would only earn him a scowl. Over the
years Q had given him various Q abilities. He could travel through
time, and hop across dimensions, and make himself invisible. He
could read minds much more effectively than before, and he could
send thoughts as well as receive them, but as he'd told Q once, he
didn't want the abilities without the immortal who'd given them to
him. This was at a point where their relationship was deteriorating
badly. Q, though ready to call it quits, hadn't quite been able to
bring himself to leave Picard defenseless. He announced his
intention to let Picard keep the gifts he'd been given, and
Picard's declaration had been a bald ploy to get Q to stay. In
offering them back he was as much as confessing that he was afraid
for Q.
     Nothing could have disheartened Q more. He didn't want Picard
to be afraid of anything, but he understood why his lover might
feel that way. For twenty years Picard had rested secure in the
knowledge that Q could vanquish the Empire's enemies with a
thought. This thing with Pirist could turn out to be nothing, but
the mere fact that Q felt he needed to investigate alone had to be
disconcerting to say the least. In a way it pleased him that Picard
was afraid for him, but he hated to see Picard try to steel himself
against the possibility that Q might be harmed.
     "Nothing will happen to me, mon coeur." Q moved even closer
and put his arm around Picard's shoulders. "My family will know if
I need help."  
     That was a gross misdirection. They'd know all right, and
they'd certainly come to investigate, but as to what they'd do
about it, well, who could say? Q had stamped his protections all
over Picard but he didn't know if they would still work once he
ceased to exist. His friends in the Continuum would be able to
discern his intentions and might protect Picard for his sake. Of
course if his enemies got here first they might help Q survive just
to be able to tell him how gruesomely his human had died. And
without exception they'd laugh at him for becoming so enamored of
a mortal. Q didn't want to think about it.  
     "I want you to make love to me," he said. He thought them into
Picard's bedroom, hoping to distract himself the easiest way he
knew.
     Picard looked like he had more to say, but he was silent as Q
pushed his evening jacket off his shoulders. Picard smiled, and Q
smiled back. The fact that Q hadn't simply thought them both naked
meant that this interlude would be long and slow.  
     Q walked around behind Picard. "What is it, My Own, that makes
me want you so much?" He picked up Picard's hand and kissed his
fingertips. "Why do I need to feel every part of you?"
     Picard's breathing deepened, and he tilted his head so Q could
more readily get at his neck. Q smiled to himself. A gentle bite
right over the jugular would weaken Picard's knees, so he teasingly
avoided that spot for now except to lay a kiss against his lover's
clavicle. He removed Picard's jacket and shirt and kissed his
shoulder, then raised his arm and bit at the tender inner flesh.
Picard slipped out of his dancing shoes, and Q undid his pants and
pushed them off, hands lingering over his butt and thighs.    
     When Picard sighed, Q turned him and lifted him easily,
bringing his nipple into proximity with Q's mouth. Q could never
confine himself to mere human abilities when they made love.
Sharpening all his senses, he could scent the distinct aroma of
asparagus oozing out of his lover's pores, and the sweet smell of
the bourbon from the pie. He could hear the swish of blood pressing
hard against the chambers of Picard's heart, and the increasing
thunder of it's movement through his arteries and veins. He could
sense the electrons dancing ever more frantically over receptor
sites, and he could smell the delicate wash of pheromones in
Picard's sweat as his body prepared itself for sexual release. It
made him so excited that he had to fight for control lest he
accidentally hurt the one he loved most. Holding Picard carefully,
he carried him to the bed, gently laid him down, then prolonged
their anticipation by letting Picard watch while he undressed. He
saw Picard shiver as he climbed on top of him. Q loved to cover
him, to hold him down from toes to forehead, and send their energy
pulsing back and forth between them until they were both writhing
in ecstasy. 
     Q drew a shuddering breath. "You don't even have to do
anything and you make me want you," he complained gently. "I simply
look at you and I'm lost." He paused and looked down at Picard. 
"How did this happen? How did *I* fall in love?"
     Picard smiled up at him. "You recognized perfection when you
saw it, that's how." He pressed his erection against Q's, making
them both moan.  
     Q rolled them over and opened his legs. "Well that's certainly
true. Do you want to have me, Oh Perfection?"
     "Perhaps." Picard lowered his head and kissed him deeply. 
"Perhaps I just want to stay like this all night." But his actions
gave the lie to his words. He braced himself with one arm and
reached down between their legs. "Lubricant," he demanded, and
suddenly his penis was coated with it. Teasing Q's erection on his
way past it, he eased his hand between Q's buttocks, then guided
himself into the puckered opening of Q's body. As he pushed
forward, he leaned over and took Q's mouth, breaching both
entrances at once.
     'I'm melting,' Q thought. 'There is no more Q.' He increased
the oxygen in Picard's body so they wouldn't have to break the kiss
for a long time, and he let himself float away on the exquisite
sensations. They rolled and tumbled on Picard's big bed. Sometimes
Picard rode him, and sometimes Q lay Picard flat on his back and
drove himself down onto him, moaning and crying out his pleasure.
That was how he came, stroking himself, grinding down hard against
his lover's pelvic bone. He'd been trying to make Picard climax,
but the fury of movement caught him instead, and he screamed out
and would have collapsed if not for Picard's strong hands
supporting him.  
     "Shhhh. There's my love," Picard crooned. He pulled Q down
against him and wrapped his arms around the broad shoulders. 
"There's my Q. Be still." He'd learned that the words as such
didn't matter as long as his tone was soft and quiet. The loss of
control frightened Q and he often needed comforting after sex.  
     "I'm fine," Q whispered back, but he buried himself more
deeply in the circle of Picard's arms. After a moment he nudged
Picard's erection with his thigh. "What about you?"
     "Whenever you're ready for me." Picard responded. He did not
loosen his grip, indeed would not let go until he knew Q felt
recovered.
     When Q finally nodded, Picard helped him to his hands and
knees and moved around behind him.  
     Q trembled slightly as Picard made a place for himself inside
his body. That lost feeling overcame him once more, but Picard's
hands were tight on his hips, so he could stand it because he knew
he wasn't alone. He reached out for Picard's thoughts, but the love
and tenderness he needed were eclipsed by mindless desire. Picard
was working on his own climax, heedless of anything but the driving
need for completion. Bent over, ass in the air, ridden to within an
inch of his existence, Q waited for his lover's passion to spend
itself. It took a great deal of patience, but when they were
finished and lay in each other's arms, he was rewarded by the
expression in Picard's eyes; open, fearless, trusting, the way Q
loved to see him, and by his words. "You are everything to me. I
don't ever want this to end."
     "Then it won't. I promise." 
     Within minutes Picard's breathing had evened out. Q listened, 
envying Picard the ability to fall into unconsciousness so easily. 
When he was sure Picard was deeply asleep, Q left their bed,
shimmering into invisibility. He hovered around the room for a few
moments, adoring Picard from various angles. 'I'll be back soon,'
he promised his sleeping lover.
     He thought himself over to the vicinity of Pirist's planet and
began his investigation. All beings left traces in their wake, like
vapor trails. The tracks he was looking for were three years cold,
but that didn't matter. Q moved back in time and there they were,
clear as day. Q felt perplexed. Each member of the Continuum had a
distinct feel; Q could recognize various individuals like he could
identify flavors of ice cream; some familiar, some not, but all
within the realm of his experience. This wasn't anyone Q
recognized, but that didn't matter. Q couldn't hide from one
another very well, so Q skipped across to the universe where his
people lived and began to look around.

*****

-- 


From jeanita@cpcug.org Sun Apr 20 07:01:17 1997
From: jeanita@cpcug.org (Jeanita)
Newsgroups: alt.fan.q,alt.startrek.creative
Subject: NEW:TNG:R:m/m:3/8: In The Valley Of The Shadow
Date: 20 Apr 1997 10:01:17 -0400
Organization: Capital PC User Group, Inc., Rockville, Maryland, USA
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Message-ID: <5jd7jd$4c3@cpcug.org>
NNTP-Posting-Host: cpcug.org
Path: atheria.europa.com!netnews1.nwnet.net!netnews.nwnet.net!news.nodak.edu!news.ou.edu!leto.ou.edu!hammer.uoregon.edu!arclight.uoregon.edu!feed1.news.erols.com!howland.erols.net!news2.digex.net!digex.net!not-for-mail
Xref: atheria.europa.com alt.fan.q:5660 alt.startrek.creative:44679


See part 1 for disclaimers.

*****

     Awake, Picard's mind probably would have been too occupied to
immediately notice Q's absence. Deeply asleep however, there was
nothing to distract him from the abrupt disorientation that hit him
the moment Q crossed over to the other universe. Picard sat up,
rubbing his eyes and wondering what was going on. Q was not
sleeping next to him, which wasn't unusual, but usually he was
somewhere in the local galaxy and Picard could always sense him.
     Now, however, he was gone, and Picard felt a moment's
frustration. In the two decades they'd been together, he'd had
looked for ways to describe the thoroughness of Q's place in his
life, but to no avail. The closest he'd been able to describe it
was that Q was in his skin. It was not quite a physical sensation
and not quite a scent and not quite a tangible telepathic
impression, but something that was all three. Picard could still
feel him, but it was like the memory of a presence; a distant echo
of the real thing. Rolling his eyes at his lover's stupid
impulsiveness, Picard sent out a mental directive: 'Come home.'
When there was no answer he eased out from beneath the warm covers
and padded across the room to his closet. He knew what Q was up to.
He'd gone to find whoever had instigated Pirist.
     Grimly amused, Picard decided to follow him and do some
investigating of his own. He rarely used the abilities Q had given
him--he never needed to, really, but he knew without question that
they worked. Annoyed by the disruption Pirist was causing in his
life, he determined to put a stop to it. 
     Picard thought about it. Pirist and his little gang planned to
find the same universe from which he'd pulled Jean-Luc's ship lo
those many years ago. Well, he would see to it that they had a
surprise waiting for them, if they even got there in the first
place. He dressed himself and took a deep breath. Q had taught him,
step by step, how to jump universes. First decide that the stress
of traveling through dimensions wasn't going to shred you into
atoms, then select a location, then simply *be* there. Picard chose
the same time and place on earth and found himself standing on a
deserted mountain road under a starfilled sky. He'd forgotten that
there was no imperial palace in this reality. This place was still
a nameless patch of land in West Virginia, Earth. And the person
he'd come looking for, Jean-Luc, was nowhere to be found. Picard
sighed. Of course Jean-Luc wouldn't be here. He focused again,
remembering at the last minute to render himself invisible in case
Jean-Luc was in a circumstance that required discretion, then
decided that he wanted to be where Jean-Luc was.  
     Picard found himself in a small, cozy study, he had no idea
where, in what looked to be a private dwelling. Immediately in
front of him, sitting at a desk, a familiar figure was hunched over
a padd, reading.  
     The figure spoke. "I can tell you're behind me, Q."
     The tone of voice was so casual that Picard was amazed. How
could an absence of twenty years be met with so little reaction? 
He himself was thrilled to see Jean-Luc again. He was about to say
'Well, Jean-Luc you've certainly turned into the cool one,' but
Jean-Luc spoke again.  
     "You might as well show yourself. Even the children know when
you're here." 
     Picard was trying to make sense of the words when Jean-Luc
rose from his chair and came towards him, smiling. Unerringly his
arms went to Q's waist, or, what would have been Q's waist if it
had actually been Q.   
     When the body he touched did not have the expected dimensions,
Jean-Luc gasped and jumped backwards. He no longer looked so
amused. In fact he looked downright forbidding.
     Picard shimmered into visibility and the two men stared at
each other. He watched as amazement, love, and delight played
across Jean-Luc's features, but he was too shocked by what he'd
discovered to respond.
     "Picard!" Jean-Luc exclaimed. He reached out and grabbed him
by the shoulders.
     "Q? Q comes here?" Picard finally stammered.
     Jean-Luc nodded, still too pleased to notice the horror
dawning on Picard's features. "We have a relationship of sorts," he
said, casually destroying Picard's world with a sentence,
"painstakingly worked out over the years."
     "We do too," Picard whispered. "Or at least, I thought we
did."
     Jean-Luc finally noticed that something was awry. He hesitated
a moment then followed his instinct and put his arms around Picard.
After all, they'd been lovers once. That gave him the right to hold
him, even after all this time.  
     Picard allowed himself to be led to a chair and seated. 
Jean-Luc put a drink in his hand and he automatically lifted it to
his mouth and took a swallow, but the taste did not register. He
heard Jean-Luc speaking, asking questions, but it was impossible to
make sense of the words. Eventually he was able to focus on the
fact that Jean-Luc was gently patting his arm.
     "Please talk to me," Jean-Luc pleaded.
     "I don't suppose there's anything to say, is there? I thought
I had a lover all to myself. I didn't know I was sharing him, but
it doesn't really matter, does it?"
     But Jean-Luc was having none of it. He'd seen Picard's skin go
grey and ashy, held him up when the man would have stumbled and
fallen, and he'd divined the rest of the story. He and Q were good
friends and casual lovers, but Picard and Q obviously had a much
closer relationship. And apparently it meant a great deal more to
Picard than it did to Q. Jean-Luc felt awful, and he was infuriated
with Q for causing Picard this pain.
     "I don't know why he would do such a thing," he said. "He must
have had a reason."
     "Yes." Picard's voice was dull and vacant. "Doubtless." He
straightened up, painstakingly pulling himself together, forbidding
any sympathy. "But tell me how you've been all these years, 
Jean-Luc. You say you have children now?"
     Jean-Luc swallowed. "Five," he answered reluctantly. He didn't
want to talk about himself when Picard was in such dire misery, but
he understood the need to isolate one's pain until such time as it
could be dealt with. He talked a bit about his children, their
names, ages, interests, knowing Picard was dying inside but
powerless to do anything about it. "Would you like to meet my
wife?" He finally asked for lack of anything better to say.
     "No," Picard answered bluntly. "I'd better be getting back. 
It's... good to see you doing so well, mon amour."
     "Picard," Jean-Luc whispered. He gripped Picard's arm as if he
would keep him here by main force, but Picard disappeared and Jean-
Luc clutched at the empty air.
     Picard lied. He didn't go home right away. He rendered himself
invisible and looked around Jean-Luc's home. It was the only house
on a tiny planetoid and it hummed with quiet tranquility. There
were seven people in it, six of them sleeping, and one sitting in
his study with his head in his hands.  
     'Still so soft,' Picard thought fondly. He didn't know whether
he wanted to run back and comfort him or berate him for his part in
Q's betrayal. It was obvious that his relationship with Q was
deeply intimate. 'Like ours,' he thought, and felt something akin
to nausea. And then he remembered that he had neglected to tell
Jean-Luc the reason for his visit. He reappeared in Jean-Luc's
study. "There's a plan afoot to cross over into this universe and
begin raiding it for resources. That's what I came to tell you."
     Jean-Luc looked up. "Picard," he pleaded, "please don't leave
when you're this upset. Stay with me. Your universe can get along
without you for a few hours, surely."
     Picard shook his head. He needed to say his piece and leave as
quickly as possible. "The launch point is New Hebrides, so that's
probably where they'll first appear if we don't stop them in time.
Q thinks..." his words caught in his throat and he had to start
over. "Q thinks it may be the work of another Q."
     Jean-Luc took in all this information, but it was more
important that he get through to Picard. "Please forgive me. If I'd
known, I would have never allowed our relationship to continue."
     Picard ignored him. "This time I truly must be going," he
said.  
     He disappeared, knowing full well that he'd left Jean-Luc in
a state of mourning almost as deep as his own, but there was
nothing he could do to help either of them.

*****

     Q came home happy. He was almost one hundred percent certain
that no one else in the Continuum was playing in this universe. 
Oh, there were elders who could fool him, but he knew them well
enough to know they wouldn't bother to play a guessing game with
him. They certainly wouldn't waste their time fooling around with
Jevon Pirist. Q had been more than a little concerned that he would
have to go up against some pretty big guns. Not that he would have
hesitated, but he would have had to plan more carefully in order to
keep Picard safe, which, after all, was the most important thing. 
     He popped back into Picard's bedroom, casually scanned Picard,
and immediately sensed something wrong. He hadn't known it was
possible to become so frightened in so short a time, and in the
milliseconds it took him to reincarnate, he racked his brain for
the cause of Picard's misery. Picard was standing in front of his
mirror, naked, staring at his reflection. Q simply swept him into
his arms and held him tight.
     "What is it?" He demanded.
     Picard did not raise his arms to return Q's embrace, nor did
he answer him, so Q did something he tried never to do. He raided
Picard's mind, finding a lava-swell of rage and self-loathing as
well as the reason for it. Betrayal, the one thing that Picard
couldn't endure had been delivered to him from the being he trusted
most, and Picard hated himself for being weak enough to fall for
it. He had not answered because he couldn't really speak. The fact
of Q's affair with Jean-Luc had shocked him so badly that he had
trouble forming the right words.
     Q had no idea what to say. He'd never expected this to happen;
had been sure, in fact, that his existence was settled and perfect
for the rest of Picard's natural life and that he would have no
worries. The quick and dirty answer was to erase Picard's memory of
the whole thing, and he did so instantly, watching the tension ease
out of Picard's features. Picard leaned into Q and smiled at their
reflection. "You were gone," he chided gently. "Where were you?" 
     This was even more awful, this lie between them. He returned
Picard's memories, including the knowledge that his mind had been
changed and changed back. Picard would be very annoyed with him,
but he deserved it, and perhaps the outrage would snap Picard out
of his shock.
     "I was just telling myself how much I trusted you." Picard
made a little face of anguish and anger, but otherwise did nothing. 
     Q hoped Picard would become enraged enough to fight with him. 
Picard had learned very early on to use his concentrated fury and
hatred as a weapon against Q. It burned Q like a laser, and when
the entity discovered he could be hurt this way he turned it back
on Picard at once with disastrous results. The reflected power of
Picard's rage had been enough to knock the human across the room. 
He'd nearly died.  
     So Q decided to fight the way Picard was used to fighting--he
resorted to physical violence. After all, he reasoned, he should
have no problem learning to hit with his fists, and nothing Picard
could do would truly hurt him.
     In fact, Q learned how to fight very easily, but there was a
big drawback: he hated the way it made him feel. Fighting was a
loathsome, grubby activity and in a physical body, with his
emotions engaged, he was subject to human reactions. Tears,
adrenaline, hysteria; Picard had a lifetime of learning to control
those responses. Q could simulate such behavior, but to truly be
prey to it shook his belief in himself like few things could. He
was an immortal, so what was he doing rolling around on the floor,
dignity failed, wild-haired and teary-eyed? But because he hated
the idea that Picard should win, he stuck with it long enough to
become thoroughly disgusted with himself. Now he wished Picard
would strike out at him again, and ease some of his rage and sorrow
in physical expressions of anger. Or at least scream at him--blast
him with an explosion of hatred like the old days.  
     Picard did neither. "I thought you loved *me*," was all he
said. He turned away and lay down on his bed. 
     Q followed him, wishing he could die and be reborn. It was not
the sadness in Picard's mind as much as the plaintive confusion and
hurt that made Q so angry with himself. Long used to offering
comfort, Q manifested a blanket to cover him with, then, greatly
daring, slipped beneath it. Picard did not resist when Q put his
arms around him, so they lay silently through the night, one numb
with grief and shock, the other desperately wishing for a way to
defend the indefensible.
     Their morning routine proceeded in silence. Picard bathed and
swam in his warm tub then sat down to breakfast. Long used to
indulging the idiosyncratic dictates of Picard's finicky appetite,
Q made an array of foods available to him--rice, fish and sweet-
rice vinegar; oatmeal, scones, bacon and strawberry jelly; tea and
croissants; blueberries--things he liked, just the way he liked
them. Q wondered what he could do or say, but Picard ate and did
not speak. Finally, unable to keep quiet any longer, Q tried to
bring up the business with Pirist.
     "I found out that it wasn't any of the other Q," he began.  
     Picard held up a single finger, and Q lapsed into silence. He
could feel Picard struggling with his feelings and all he could do
was hope against hope that there would be something to salvage when
Picard finally deigned to speak with him.

*****  

     Picard knew Q was watching him, desperate for him to say
something, and he could remember a time when he would have been
delighted to have the upper hand in one of their altercations. 
Now, however, he felt nothing of that wicked, triumphant glee. He
was still too busy trying to fathom the breadth of this revelation. 
Q had Jean-Luc. Q loved Jean-Luc. Jean-Luc loved him back. He could
hear the warmth in Jean-Luc's voice when he spoke to the invisible
presence in his study. There was closeness there, and tenderness,
despite his obvious exasperation at Q's antics. Picard had
experienced that exact combination of emotions with Q--understood
intimately what it was like to put up with Q's more playful moods.
He'd thought he was the only one alive who knew what it was to be
teased by this particular immortal. 
     Oddly enough, he could understand why Q betrayed him. He, too,
had loved Jean-Luc once and had occasionally given into the impulse
to tease him. He remembered that Q had always wanted Jean-Luc; in
fact he'd been after Jean-Luc when he'd met Picard.  
     'So all this time I was filler material until Jean-Luc had a
spare moment to fit Q into his busy life,' Picard thought. Jean-Luc
had apparently been quite active these past 20 years. Raising a
family took a good deal of time and effort, and knowing Jean-Luc,
he'd want to do it perfectly.
     Picard thought about his pitiful efforts to follow Jean-Luc's
example. He thought of his fumbling attempts to teach himself
ethical behavior, fairness, compassion, justice--he'd been proud of
himself but now he felt like cringing. It had all been utterly
pointless because Q had a better version he could go to when he
tired of Picard's vulgar amorality. 'But that's not fair,' he
protested silently. 'I'm not amoral, I simply did what I had to.' 
     Picard thought about the thousand and one ways Q made him feel
special. He'd known himself to be cherished and set apart, loved by
a god who quite literally moved heaven and earth to be with him.
And all of it had been a lie, and all of it was worthless. Picard
felt utterly demoralized, humiliated, and deeply shamed. 
     But that was not so terrible, he decided. He really didn't
have to feel any of this at all if he didn't want to. He'd once
been good at suppressing his feelings, and he supposed he could
become proficient at it again. The thought made him shudder. It
wasn't until this moment that he realized how changed he was from
the person he'd once been. 
     'And what good did those feelings do me,' he wondered, 'except
set me up to be deceived?' He turned to Q who was following him
silently around his suite.
     For a moment Picard was tempted to hit him. Knew, in fact,
that Q would allow this affront to his dignity if it made him feel
better. But he did not want to feel better. He wanted the sharp
edge of pain to stay pressed against his heart. 'It will remind me
not to trust,' he thought. The very idea cut at him. Betrayal was
such an unruly, unwieldy beast, and so clever to attack him where
he was most vulnerable. He'd lost his love, he'd lost his faith; he
had very little left. But that was the price of living, he
supposed.
     "Get out." He told Q.
     Q vanished.
     'That's it, then,' he thought. 'There's nothing left to do, is
there?' Picard called his servant to take him outside the palace
walls. An anti-royalist marksman, waiting patiently for years in a
crowsnest by the plaza, shot him in the head.
     Q revived him.
     "Next time let me go," he told Q.
     The next day he woke up in his bed, his last memory having
been of climbing over the palace balcony and tumbling off as one of
the servants ran away and hid for his life. The swiftness of the
fall sucked the air out of his lungs, and he'd begun to black out
thinking, 'at least this time it won't hurt.' It hadn't hurt, but
he'd been revived again against his express wishes.
     "I won't let you kill yourself." Q spoke matter-of-factly. 
He'd caught Picard and propped him back up, pumped air into his
lungs, laid him in bed and erased his servant's memory.
     "You have nothing to do with my life anymore, Q." Q was
sitting very near him, and his natural impulse was to slide over
and make room for him in bed, but he couldn't. It made him feel
hollow when he thought about the way they'd once been. "Gods alone
know why you wouldn't just erase my memory and let it stay erased,"
he taunted.  
     "Because I respect you too much," Q answered quietly, willing
Picard to understand that this was true.
     "Yes," Picard agreed bitterly, "whores should always be
treated with respect. It makes them feel better about being whores.
I do kindly thank you."  
     "You know that's not true." Q was being very unobtrusive; no
theatrics, no indulging his usual flair for melodrama. Obviously
this meant a lot to him. Picard didn't care. Q should have thought
of this when he was over in the other universe fucking Jean-Luc.  
He turned his face away until Q finally, reluctantly, left the room
again.

*****

     Q was willing to keep on reviving Picard for all eternity, but
he knew there had to be a better way to handle this. He needed good
advice, and he knew exactly where to get it. That evening he
casually showed up for supper at Jean-Luc's house. He was part of
the family, so he could come and go as he pleased. It thrilled him
to have an actual human home where he was always accepted as
himself, not that he ever admitted it.  
     The only problem with having a place to call home, however,
was that your loved ones could dress you down if they felt you
needed it, and you had no choice but to stand there and take it. Q
wondered what Jean-Luc would say to him, but he didn't wonder long.
When he opened the door to the dining room everyone looked up.
Around the table faces brightened, then, as one, they grew
extremely still. The entire family peeked down the table to see
what Jean-Luc's reaction would be. Sitting next to her husband,
Marie took note of his glacial expression and graciously stood up.
     "Children, let's let papa talk to Q." From her serene
countenance one would have thought it was common practice for her
to abandon the supper table at a moment's notice. She picked up the
soup tureen and one by one the children followed suit, taking
platters and serving bowls into the kitchen with them, shooting
wide-eyed, warning glances in Q's direction.
     "She's very tactful, isn't she?" This was a blatant attempt to
curry favor. Jean-Luc had a great deal of admiration for his wife,
and flattering Marie was usually a good way to soften him. 
     "Well I admit, Q," Jean-Luc started softly, almost pleasantly,
"you certainly had me fooled. I never imagined myself in the role
of your back street inamorata, but you've managed to surprise me
yet again. Of course, it was rather disconcerting to learn that I
was only your occasional entertainment while your more legitimate
lover claimed the bulk of your attention, but I certainly commend
you on your tidy arrangements."
     Uh-oh, Q thought.  "It wasn't like that," he protested.  
     Picard was standing now, getting more stentorian by the
moment. "I've welcomed you into my home, permitted you the run of
my entire planet, cared about you, and in return you've treated me
like the obtuse piece of flotsam you apparently always thought I
was. Worst of all, you made me participate in the betrayal of
someone whose welfare concerns me deeply. I don't suppose you'd
mind telling me why."
     "Jean-Luc..."
     "How could you hurt him like that?" Jean-Luc was yelling now. 
"Do you know how awful I felt trying to explain to him that I
hadn't deliberately stolen what was possibly his only happiness?
That I wasn't a heartless, selfish, unconscionably greedy monster
who would sport with you behind his back with no concern for his
feelings?"
     Q was utterly lost. His one lover was suicidal because Q had
broken his heart by cheating on him. His other lover was angry with
him because he'd hurt the first one. Obviously he'd done something
very wrong, but they were judging him by human standards from which
he'd always exempted himself, and he had no defense. Both men knew
he'd had dozens of lovers in the years since he'd become their
paramour, but in loving two Jean-Luc Picards he'd somehow crossed
a line. He'd been hoping Jean-Luc would explain it to him, but
Jean-Luc was far too angry to speak rationally. Q was willing to
concede that he was totally at fault, obviously, but he didn't see
exactly what his crime was, at least that was what he protested to
Jean-Luc.
     "Then why did you fail to tell either of us for twenty years? 
Why did you let him find out in the first place if you intended for
our relationship to be your dirty little secret?" Jean-Luc crossed
his arms and stared down the table with a sour expression. "You
know, Q, I blame myself. Stupid of me to ever imagine we could have
anything like an equal relationship. It's not that I necessarily
mind being your whore, but I would have preferred not to
participate in your deception."
     "Jean-Luc," Q tried to protest.  
     "This conversation is at an end," Jean-Luc declared. And he
turned his face away, just like Picard had done.
     'Boy, Jean-Luc is really angry with me,' Q thought. He hung
around the asteroid until Jean-Luc's oldest daughter Leila called
him. 
     "What did you do?" She demanded. As soon as she could get out
she'd taken a flitter across the terminator and was lying on her
back in a grassy meadow.
     "Nothing, brat."
     "Papa says the same thing, but I saw part of the tapes and I
saw that man appear. That man who looks like papa. When he was
telling maman how angry you made him I went upstairs and looked,
but papa caught me and chased me away."  
     In what had to be one of the grossest breaches of privacy
extant, the Federation historical society installed recorders in
the public areas of Ambassador Picard's house. It was very like
Jean-Luc to think his random interactions with his family would be
of instructive value to others, and he chose to think of it as
archival zeal rather than mere historic voyeurism. Q had argued
against it, pointing out that all his children moved their lives
outdoors when the cameras came in, but Jean-Luc was big on self-
sacrifice, and he wouldn't change his position. Still, it allowed
Q to have individual relationships with them, something he'd never
thought to want, so he couldn't complain too much.
     "You are entirely too resourceful for your own good." They
crossed the meadow to the bungalow she'd built for herself--the one
Jean-Luc and Marie were not allowed to set foot in. "I think I'll
reduce your intelligence by a tenth."
     She swatted at him, and he disappeared and reappeared behind
her. "*He* was your lover too," she guessed. "But you never told
either one about the other and now they're both mad at you."
     Q stopped playing tag with her and sat down glumly. "That man
is an emperor in another reality. I've lived with him for twenty
years. And somehow I missed the fact that I should have told him
what I was doing."
     "You were stupid," Leila judged.
     Q might have blasted anyone else for calling him a name, but
since he'd taught Leila her blunt ways, he could hardly blame her
for using them on him. "I was stupid," he sighed. "And now I keep
wondering if I should have erased his memory and let it stay
erased. I still could, but..."
     "But you're afraid to because then you'd feel worse than ever,
because you hate the very idea of lying."
     "You're too much like your mother," he said, knowing that
would make her bristle. Leila thought her mother had no life beyond
raising children and making Jean-Luc happy. Q knew better, but from
Leila's point of view, it looked like a colossal waste of talent,
and she was determined to be more like her father instead. Not that
she was going to waste time in Starfleet. She was going straight
into the diplomatic corps. She was the least diplomatic person in
her family, and he'd told her so, but she insisted.   
     "How am I like maman?" She demanded. Whatever it was, she
would change it toute suite.  
     "You see too much," Q answered lazily. "And unlike her, you
say too much."  He liked teasing Leila, but she knew he liked it so
she ignored him.
     "You're immortal," she stated.
     Q didn't answer. He was in the habit of simply not responding
when the answer was obvious.
     "You were around even before the earth was formed."  The
formation of the earth being one of her measures for long ago.
     When Q still didn't answer she poked him. "Yes?"
     "Yes," he grunted, "so what?"
     "Papa made you promise to take care of us."
     That was another non-answerable question since everyone knew
that story though no one was supposed to know it. In a moment of
extreme vulnerability, Jean-Luc had handed Q his firstborn and
demanded that Q protect his line throughout eternity. Q had agreed,
partially out of curiosity and partially because of the very issue
Leila was leading up to.
     "When we die you'll be lonely without us."
     "Yes," Q finally admitted aloud. For more than twenty years
he'd ignored that fact, but thanks to a pushy teenager it now
stared him in the face.
     But Leila wasn't finished. "Especially when papa and the
Emperor die?"
     Q didn't bother to answer this one either. He could hear the
pride in her voice for having correctly analyzed the situation
without anyone's help. Q might have cried. He'd never faced the
fact of his impending aloneness. Certainly he'd never expected
Leila to calmly hand him this objective appraisal of his situation. 
He wished he could ask her for comfort, but that was impossible. 
She could read emotions, but she was still too young to understand
the gravity of losing someone dear to you.  
     On the other hand, if he could be patient he might get an
answer soon, even though Jean-Luc was angry at the moment. If the
Picard family followed its usual dynamic, Leila would go to Edouard
with her conclusions, he would go to Marie, and Marie would go to
Jean-Luc. With a pang of regret he realized that this pattern was
in the process of disintegrating. For years Edouard had run
interference between Leila and Marie. Now Edouard was going away to
study planetary management. Leila, Q's favorite, was already
fifteen. She would be the next to leave. The little family he'd
hovered over was disassembling itself as part of its natural
evolution. Q was half sad and half excited. On the one hand, he'd
never had a line to take care of before, and although he was
embarrassed to admit it, he was filled with anticipation. The more
he'd thought about it, the more Jean-Luc's generosity pleased him;
certainly Picard would never be the childrearing type. On the other
hand, Q was part of this family because Marie and Jean-Luc casually
included him in all their activities. He had his place at the
table, his room, his christmas stocking... What would he do when
they were gone? It made him feel hollow just to think about it.
Having a line to care for was not the same as having a home where
everyone knew you and welcomed your presence--well, *usually*
welcomed your presence.
     He took solace from Leila's company until Marie called her
into the house. Q did not go in with her, unwilling to admit that
even though his bed waited for him, he would have to sleep in it by
himself. He and Jean-Luc were always extremely discreet, to the
point where physical intimacy usually took a back seat to
friendship. Q had learned not to mind. He'd consoled himself with
the fact that he would always have Picard, but to go into the house
now and climb the stairs to his lonely room would be admitting that
he had no place else to go.
     Besides, Jean-Luc did not need him like Picard did. He was
necessary to Picard's wellbeing, and that was the way he wanted it.
He couldn't make himself stop wondering what Picard would like for
dinner. He couldn't stop asking himself what they were going to do
about Jevon Pirist, even though there was no 'they' any longer. He
couldn't decide what to do next. Who was supposed to feed Picard if
not him? Who was supposed to hold him at night and make love to him
in the mornings? Those were his jobs, and now that he'd been
banished from Picard's company he felt empty and bereft of purpose.
     Lost, confused and angry, he felt like breaking something,
though he knew better than to try any such thing on Jean-Luc's
asteroid. When he'd first met Picard he relieved tension by doing
just that, destroying things and hurting people until he'd worked
out his frustration. Now he no longer enjoyed indulging such
randomly destructive behavior, but he still needed an outlet for
his feelings, and he needed something to occupy his time. He needed
a job. 
     Fortunately, inspiration struck. There was still the question
of who had instigated Pirist. Picard hadn't told him *not* to keep
up his investigation. And besides, Q wrapped himself in a cloak of
self-righteousness, this was probably beyond the purview of mere
mortals. He *had* to do this because no one else was capable of it.

*****
-- 


From jeanita@cpcug.org Fri Apr 18 17:37:41 1997
From: jeanita@cpcug.org (Jeanita)
Newsgroups: alt.fan.q,alt.startrek.creative,alt.startrek.creative.erotica
Subject: NEW:TNG:R:m/m:4/8: In The Valley Of The Shadow
Date: 18 Apr 1997 20:37:41 -0400
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See part 1 for disclaimers.

*****

     Picard dragged himself out of bed and prepared to face his
first day alone. He wondered that he didn't feel overwhelmed by the
tasks confronting him, but his empire was an orderly one, and he
had good reason to be proud of it. He'd used the old Roman model to
give it shape and form, but over time he'd modified it quite a bit,
partitioning his territories into smaller, more manageable
divisions. He'd also learned to give his regional directors broad
general guidelines rather than specific rules and regulations,
because he'd discovered that they had a marked tendency to follow
the letter of the law while ignoring it's intent. Of necessity, his
government was very loosely run because that was the only way he
could run it at all. He ruled his ministers who ruled their
governors who ruled their worlds, and the whole thing ran very
efficiently. When he'd taken over, his government had been a
bloated bureaucracy, stale, sluggish and weighed down by graft.
Specific reforms didn't work; they only allowed his governors to
steal more and blame him. And everyone resented his highhanded
orders that they should operate more efficiently. Looking at his
new administration from the top down, he saw waste and excess that
hadn't annoyed him as a mere starship captain but which rankled him
no end now that the resources were 'his'. He responded with more
laws, and he made everyone nervous and fearful. In turn they
responded with treachery, undermining his efforts, then flat out
revolting against him.  
     Well he didn't blame them. He would have done the same. 
Picard sighed heavily as his stomach rumbled. He wondered why he
couldn't smell food, then he remembered. He called one of his
servants and told them to bring his breakfast.
     But when he walked out onto his balcony, nothing was as he
would have wished it. He wanted tiny brook trout, fried whole and
served with dalna, a corn-like vegetable from Zimbabwe, and fig
preserves and fresh strawberries and mint tea. He'd forgotten that
his servant couldn't take vague memories of aromas and flavors and
come up with a meal he would enjoy.
     Morosely he picked at what was in front of him, distracted by
the servant hovering attentively behind him. For twenty years he'd
awakened to Q's presence, but now that he'd kicked him out he would
have to adjust to living alone. Pity, he told himself, admiring his
ability to maintain his emotional distance. Things had been perfect
for so long he'd thought it would last forever. 
     Picard smiled at the memories. Admittedly it had been horrible
at first. They were two stubborn, prideful individuals, neither one
used to accommodating another's needs. Q was necessarily proud of
his superiority, and he was determined to teach Picard that even
emperors had to bow to the might of a member of the continuum. For
his part, Picard was determined to learn nothing of the sort, and
their fights had been spectacular. Picard expertly played Q's
pride, demanding that Q either grant him Q powers or cease to use
his own.  
     "Are you really that frightened?" Picard had sneered. "Can't
you do anything without running to hide behind your abilities? You
know," he mocked, "if we were both Q I would have you in tears by
now."
     Much later, Q conceded that Picard was right. Q could nurse a
grudge with the best of them, but Picard was capable of such
breathtakingly virulent hatred that Q had very little defense
against it when it was aimed his way. Picard actually succeeded in
reducing Q to tears of rage and frustration, something he regretted
later, though at the time he insisted it was necessary. Q had to
learn to respect him, and more importantly, to respect the fact
that they were equal partners in all their endeavors.
     "I have an empire to run," he'd told Q. "I know you gave it to
me, but it's my toy now and you have to let me play with it."
     But when they'd learned to play together it had been sublime.
They'd been like one being in two different bodies, and sometimes
even their physical separateness proved illusory. Sometimes he and
Q functioned like god making love to God; Picard had never known
such a complete sense of connectedness. The experiences were so
overwhelmingly powerful that they'd both backed away, unable to
endure the intensity. It was still there for them, waiting like a
promise, and they agreed that they would be ready for it one day,
but for now they were too busy running an empire.
     That was all finished now, of course, with his discovery of
Q's infidelity. If only it hadn't been Jean-Luc, he sighed to
himself. He and Q had often tried other sexual partners, sometimes
together, more usually alone. It hadn't been a big deal. In fact,
after a tryst they generally rushed right home to tell the other
about their little adventure and laugh or commiserate as the
occasion warranted. This time, however, there would be no laughing.
Of all the people Q could have chosen to play with, there was only
one dalliance that could make Picard afraid and angry. And Q had
not only entered into that relationship, he'd stayed in it for the
past twenty years. Now Picard doubted everything he'd ever
believed. Q could stop time. What if he'd spent months, or years,
with Jean-Luc while appearing to spend all his time with Picard?
What if, god forbid, he loved Jean-Luc best?
     'Stop thinking about it,' Picard told himself severely. He had
to make plans for the rest of his life now that Q was no longer a
part of it. Even if he ignored the fact that he was already lonely,
there was another consideration. He'd gotten used to governing with
Q at his side. He would have to find another partner (an unlikely
prospect at best) or take on the burden of ruling solo. In twenty
years he had developed almost no other close relationships; Q had
been all he'd wanted or needed, and truth to tell, it was dangerous
for an emperor to make friends. His safest option was to reign
alone. The weight of that decision settled on him like a coat made
of rocks. It had been a long time since he'd run anything by
himself, and when he thought back to his life of constant fear and
suspicion, he didn't know if he could bear it.
     'You'll just have to bear it,' he scolded himself, 'you have
no choice.'

*****

     Beverly Crusher was enjoying her stay at the palace compound.
Apart from the receiving room, private quarters and administrative
offices, there were museums, parks, shops and hotels right on the
grounds. She found plenty of things with which to entertain herself
while she waited for the emperor to summon her again. Picard (or
someone) had given her a chit with an apparently limitless credit
balance because her hotel room had been upgraded from an economy
room to a luxurious suite yet her personal credit balance had
lowered only fractionally. She was grateful to be able to indulge
herself without worrying about credits. Her suite--in fact, the
whole complex--dazzled her with it's opulence, but it also made her
feel a bit conspicuous. Among such sophistication and elegance she
felt woefully out of place, like a country cousin. Not that she
really minded. The people around her were some of the most powerful
people in the galaxy, and Beverly didn't really want to be one of
them. For twenty years her life had been all about settling
disputes between shepherds and farmers and she liked it that way.
She did, however, make a few concessions where fashion was
concerned. By the time Picard's chamberlain sent her a summons,
she'd abandoned all her bright plaids in favor of the dark, wrapped
silks currently in vogue. Waiting outside his throne room, she
noticed that she blended in perfectly with all the other ladies.
She was feeling rather pleased with herself until she walked into
the room and saw Picard again.
     At first Beverly wondered if she could possibly be reading him
all wrong. Three days ago, seeing him for the first time in twenty
years, he'd reminded her of her youngest son, Owen, truly the
happiest child she'd ever met. Now he looked like the Picard she'd
known years ago, and she couldn't believe she could have been so
mistaken.
     'But he apologized,' she told herself, 'and I could swear he
meant it.'
     She glanced nervously at the other people who were waiting
their turn to be heard and was flabbergasted when they seemed to
see nothing amiss. How could they not see that something was
dreadfully awry? She herself wanted to scream in terror and run
away. For a wild instant she wondered if his drastically altered
demeanor had anything to do with her. But that was too farfetched.
She hadn't done anything wrong. Suddenly she was fearful again. He
probably dealt with people crossing into the alternate universe all
the time. Her request for assistance might be the most trivial
thing he'd heard all year. This might end up with her complete
humiliation, which would be perfectly fine as long as he let her go
home again.
     Beverly watched the line grow shorter. She tried to discern
from the people who left his presence what kind of mood he was in.
She saw some slight frowns, but it was not the fashion at court to
be obvious with one's emotional state, most people wore stoic masks
regardless of circumstance. When it was her turn she was so nervous
she could hardly speak.
     She performed the ritual abasement, but when she rose again he
was staring at her with speculation on his features. Then he
beckoned. 
     "Come with me, Beverly. I... have something to show you."
     'No,' she thought, 'no, oh no, oh gods no. Please don't make
me do this.'  
     As if he could feel her resistance, he gave her the same hard,
cold look he used to give her on the Enterprise and Beverly felt
herself go all sick and frozen inside. She didn't look up at any of
the faces she imagined were smirking at her predicament as she
followed, obedient and silent, back to his private rooms. His
guards scowled at her, just like the ones on the Enterprise used to
do, and if she'd had a phaser she might have shot herself right
then and there.
     Back in his private apartments Picard seated himself and
looked at her, and she knew with dread that before she left this
place she would end up underneath him in his bed, or kneeling on
the floor. With trembling fingers she started to undo the clasps of
her overgown.
     "Are you hot?" Picard asked. "I can have the heat turned
down."
     Oh gods, this was worse than she thought. He wanted to play
games with her. And she was trapped. She would have preferred him
to simply abuse her and have done with it, but she had no choice
but to go along, playing the role of his little diversion. He was
staring at her with a slightly questioning look on his face, and
she wondered how she was supposed to answer.
     "What do you want me to do?" She asked.
     His expression became somewhat wary. "I'm having trouble
sleeping," he replied. "I thought you could give me something."
     The answer was so unexpected that Beverly did not actually
hear it at first. Then when his words finally registered, she felt
such relief that for a moment she couldn't speak. As her body's
reaction caught up with her, she could feel the sweat breaking out
on her forehead and under her arms. She wondered that she didn't
reek. Surely the copious amounts of perspiration flowing down her
torso would strain any hygienic preparation.
     Picard narrowed his eyes and for a moment she could feel him
bearing down on her mind. "Beverly." He finally said, "I don't want
that from you. I need a doctor, and I don't want anyone to know.
Fortunately I realized that you could help me."
     Beverly thought, 'I don't want to become involved in your life
again, Jean-Luc.' He must have heard that too because for a moment
he wore an expression of absolute misery. She didn't feel much pity
for him. In fact, what little compassion she could muster was laced
with amused revenge, but she had enough sense to tell him some of
what he obviously wanted to hear.  
     "Don't worry, Jean-Luc. I don't mind helping you." 'Just this
once,' she appended silently. "Let me go back and find a medical
tricorder."
     He gave her another wounded look, but then his face shuttered. 
     "Bring what you need. I'll wait."
     One of his guards escorted her, just like old times. She
hadn't brought any medical equipment with her, and eventually the
guard replicated a standard medikit for her though he wouldn't let
her hold it until she was actually back with Picard.
     She took out the tricorder and scanned him carefully. "You
haven't been eating."
     "I haven't been hungry."
     That triggered uneasy memories. "Jean-Luc," she said. "Tell me
what happened right before you became emperor."
     "I was a starship captain, Beverly. Which you knew."
     She sighed. "It's been twenty years, but if I remember
correctly, these readings indicate a stress pattern similar to what
you experienced back then." 'When you kept me in your rooms like a
caged animal and made me clean up after your nasty little games of
torture.'
     "I don't do that anymore."    
     "You really are reading my mind," she stated wonderingly. "I
didn't know if I was imagining that or going crazy, but you've been
reading my mind since before I left the Enterprise, haven't you?"
     "Tell a soul and I'll kill your sons." 
     Beverly shrugged, even as part of her marveled that she was
not more frightened. She supposed it was because she'd spent such
a long time as his hostage that she was used to it. "There's no
need to threaten, Jean-Luc."
     He smiled wryly. "I suppose there isn't."
     Beverly sighed again. "What's wrong?"
     "Nothing," he answered shortly. Which meant something was very
wrong, indeed.
     "Well, you could use a muscle relaxant, and if you want, I'll
come back tonight and give you a sleeping aid." Beverly knew that
her ability to speak calmly came from shock and resignation. She
was all too familiar with the blessed numbness that allowed her to
function like a normal person instead of going out of her mind.
Here she was, diagnosing the emperor--the Emperor!--who just
happened to be the same tyrant who'd kept her in a state of slavery
until he tired of her, and had just threatened her sons.  
     'If it were up to me I'd load my hypo with poison and dump the
whole thing into your neck.' The thought came unbidden even as she
remembered that he might be listening.
     Apparently he did overhear her because he laughed. "If I
thought it would work I might let you."
     Beverly let that pass with another shrug. The fact of his
telepathy was just another in a series of grotesqueries that would
be hers to ponder at a later date. Why an emperor would want to let
himself be killed was beyond her, but then, when had she ever
really understood this man? She wanted to get away from him so
badly that she could barely stop herself from edging towards the
door.
     He noticed, of course, and seemed to slump a bit in his chair. 
"I'll see you tonight, Beverly, around one o'clock?"
     "Of course, Jean-Luc." Normally she was asleep at that time,
but he was the emperor, so she would come when he told her to.
     That night, and for several nights after, she came to him and
doctored his sleeplessness. His few hangers-on watched her
speculatively, and some of them began to go out of their way to
smile and make polite conversation with her. She wanted to scream
at them that they should leave her alone, that she was not going to
get involved in court politics. Just like last time, she was being
dragged in against her will and it frightened her. She was no match
for these players, and she'd never been a match for Jean-Luc. Her
revulsion for her situation grew exponentially. She said nothing
but he knew anyway.
     "It bothers you to come here, doesn't it?"
     "Would you please stop reading my mind?" She knew she should
have been more cautious with him, but unlike her days on the
Enterprise, her fear did not keep her quiet.
     He shut his eyes and smiled.  "Very well."
     "That's funny?"
     "Yes. I said that to someone once. Sitting in this very chair,
if I recall correctly."
     "Mm."  Beverly tried to bring the subject back around to the
state of his health. "Jean-Luc you're still not eating. I can tell
just by looking that you've gotten thinner over the past few days."
She hesitated a moment before asking, "Are you having nightmares?"
     "What does that have to do with eating, Beverly?"
     She suppressed a surge of exasperation, towards herself as
well as him. 'Stop caring what happens to him,' she scolded
herself, but was easier said than done. How bizarre that she could
hate him yet feel concern for him at the same time. It was another
complexity she would put aside for later.
     "It would help me treat you if I knew what was going on,
Jean-Luc."
     "I don't want to be treated."
     Beverly wasn't going to play games with him. "Jean-Luc, the
only reason I came here was because you were the only one I knew
who could help me save my planet."
     "Your planet will be saved, Beverly." His voice was beginning
to slur from the sleeping aid she'd given him, but he sounded so
confident that she believed him.
     'Gods alone knows why,' she scolded herself glumly. She turned
her back on him, walked to his door and knocked. Seconds later the
guards came and escorted her back to her room.
     
*****

     Q had become so used to thinking like a human that it took him
several moments to understand why the words he needed weren't
coming to him more readily. 
     'Of course they aren't coming, idiot,' he lectured himself,
'there are no human words for what's happening to you.'  
     In fact, there were no words at all. Among themselves, Q did
not think or communicate in words and it was impossible to use
speech to describe a process that precluded it. The closest thing
they had to verbal interaction could best be described as an
intermixing of feeling and intent, shared or hidden depending on
the circumstances. Eventually it occurred to him that his
frustration was pointless. He was so used to sharing his thoughts
with Picard that he automatically translated them into Standard. 
Now that Picard had banished Q from his presence, there was no need
to bother. 
     Q could have sent the essence of his thoughts directly to
Picard's mind. He'd been at pains to teach Picard to communicate
telepathically, and even though Picard's human renderings of 
Q-speech were without nuance or subtlety--the Q equivalent of ?Ou
est la toilette?'--his understanding of it was actually quite vast.
     Q let his essence out in a thin string, then pulled it back to
a more cohesive state, the Continuum equivalent of a sigh. If he
and Picard had still been talking to each other Q would have been
at pains to hide his anxiety. The tracks he found led nowhere, and
that frightened him more than he cared to admit. Whatever left them
was powerful enough to will itself incapable of being found. For
one of the few times in his very long existence, Q did not know
what to expect. He remembered Picard, sitting on his balcony and
demanding that Q take his powers away. 
     'You may get your wish regardless of what I want,' he thought
grimly.  
     Only another Q should have been able to hide from him so
thoroughly. These tracks dropped into this space-time dimension,
then pulled out again. Obviously whatever it was, was being very
careful now, but unless it was always careful, there would be
tracks somewhere else, and they might lead to a trail, and the
trail might lead to a lair. Q braced himself for anything and 
decided he wanted to be where there were more tracks. He abruptly
found himself at a junction between dimensions. In this
interstitial plane he was partly corporeal and partly etheric, and
he had to quickly pull himself into his non-corporeal state before
someone took advantage of his physical vulnerabilities. 
     'Pathetic,' he thought to himself. 'Is this where it lives? No
wonder I couldn't find it.'
     He'd never spent much time in the in-between planes, but the
thing he was tracking obviously did. He could feel it's pattern
much more strongly here. This was where it felt comfortable because
there were tracks all over. Q's confidence soared. Gratified to be
able to vent his aggression Continuum-style, he looked forward to
a battle with an enemy that was like himself. He launched himself
towards the place where the pattern was strongest and found himself
face to face with an entity he was somewhat familiar with. This
being was a Douwd, or at least a proto-Douwd, no question about it.
     In Q's universe, Q and Douwd were on friendly terms, but Q
couldn't imagine being friends with the thing who stood before him. 
It was its own energy vortex. He could feel it pulling at him, but
even though he did not think it could harm him, Q coalesced his
energy more closely toward his core. This thing appeared to feed on
energy, and Q had no intention of letting it get stronger.  
     In the empty dimension they took each other's measure, then
the Douwd finally spoke.
     "I didn't think you would recognize me." It didn't seem the
least bit frightened.
     "You're not like the Douwd in my universe," Q affirmed.
The Douwd smiled a cheshire-cat grin and sent out an investigative
tendril that bounced off Q like an echo-locator, sounding out his
shape and dimension. 
     'Of course,' Q thought. Continuum sensors were like lasers,
but in order to deal with it's own kind, an energy-absorbing
creature like this one would need a radar instead of a probe in
order to keep from eating it's companions.  
     The Douwd gave him a sardonic welcome. Q felt matter rearrange
itself slightly, and suddenly Picard was there in front of him; Q
knew him too well to think it was merely a projection. Giant
fingers came down out of nowhere, pinching Picard's head between
them until it was thoroughly crushed, then a hand scooped up the
bloody mess that had been his lover and carried it beyond Q's
reach. The carnage was intended to knock Q off stride and it
succeeded. It wasn't the idea that Picard was dead that froze him
as much as the fact that the Douwd apparently had the ability to
absorb his lover's existence so thoroughly that Q couldn't find a
single trace of him. When he couldn't think Picard back into
existence, Q panicked, and in those few nanoseconds of fright the
Douwd attacked. Q tried to brace himself. Most energy creatures had
martial art techniques which they practiced with varying degrees of
finesse. Continuum fighting methods were fast and rapier subtle,
variants of a young Q's maneuvers when it cannibalized it's weaker
siblings. This Douwd, however, had no such graces. Instead of using
an attack pattern Q recognized, it simply threw up on him, ejecting
a big pile of its energy pattern right into Q's essence. Q was not
expecting this at all and he reacted with revulsion, backing away
and instinctively trying to clean himself off. The energy befouled
him as if he'd been heaved upon by a drunkard, but it wasn't until
he felt the ebbing of his stamina in a manner humans would
translate as pain that he realized he was seriously hurt. He
automatically stopped the drainage then stood back to assess the
damage. The Douwd's energy had an effect like acid on flesh,
corroding him at the boundaries of his being and marring him with
a distinct scarring pattern. And like all burn scars, this hardened
into an inflexible mass, essentially freezing that part of his
energy pattern into place so that he couldn't move it without
hurting himself.  
     Q was surprised to find that he could be hurt by someone who
wasn't a member of the Continuum, but he still wasn't particularly
worried. The straightforward nature of the attack told him that the
creature wasn't very sophisticated. If it had other weapons in its
arsenal they would likely be no more complex than the vomit. On the
other hand, Q grimaced as he tried to flex himself, they might not
need to be. 
     Well, this was simply not going to do. Q sat back and thought
about his options.
     The Douwd, in throwing up that energy mass, had inadvertently
given him a great deal of information. He finally knew where it
lived, where it's whelps were hidden and what it's vulnerabilities
were. Q was frankly enraged enough to hunt it down and kill it, but
Jean-Luc and Picard had been drilling him on patience and planning
for twenty years, so he didn't act on his anger right away. He
thought about his objectives, asked himself what was the minimum
force necessary, then he acted. Swooping down on the Douwd lair
like an avenging comet, he grabbed two adolescents and made off a
safe distance with them. It was a carefully calculated move. The
continuum might have dismissed the death of one or two of it's
infants, but the time and energy invested in adolescents made them
more valuable. He didn't know whether the Douwd thought the same
way, but protecting their young was a universal constant with every
species he'd ever encountered, including his own. The Douwd
teenagers kept still and quiet for their lives' sake as Q waited
for a Douwd to come and ask him for his terms.
     As expected, the negotiations didn't take long. A Douwd
approached, stopping when Q menaced one of the youngsters. It sent
an image of the children back among their families, and with it, a
telepathic demand, //give back.//
     Q sent it's words back to it with an image of Picard. He
waited some more, then another Douwd approached, the one who had
taken his lover. Q could sense that the second Douwd was not there
willingly, but he didn't care. His lover's body was unceremoniously
dumped into the atmosphere of the planet where he'd arbitrarily
chosen to make his stand. Q could sense the tailings of Picard's
individual essence--mere echoes of the man who'd been attached to
the dead flesh, but it was enough. Later he would carefully study
the Douwd's ability to obliterate all traces of his lover, but
first things first. He thought the children back to their families,
then moved back in time and watched stoically as the giant fingers
came towards his lover's head. This time, however, he snatched
Picard out of the way. The dead body disappeared and Picard stood
next to him blinking in confusion. Q was so happy that he didn't
think twice about lifting Picard in his arms and whisking them back
to the palace. Picard struggled to be set free.
     "Get away from me! I never want to see you again!"
     It was so like him that Q smiled, relieved beyond measure that
his lover was alive and snarling again.
     "Why don't you lie down? You don't know it, but you've had
quite a day."
     To Picard it felt like mockery. If this was Q's attempt to get
back into his good graces, he wasn't having any of it. He had no
idea of what he'd just been through, but he'd been around Q long
enough to recognize the feel of a blank spot in his memory.
"Whatever you did, undo it."
     "I won't."
     "Then get out!" Picard was enraged at the intrusion. The pain
that he'd managed to wrestle down came roaring back, fresh and full
of vigor. He threw a bolt of anger at Q who rocked with the impact
but stayed standing. Picard threw several more until Q was forced
to retreat. Unfortunately, Picard had been neglecting his meals of
late, and in his weakened state the bolts he threw had a far worse
effect on him than they ever could have had on Q. Bare seconds
after Q disappeared Picard collapsed to the floor. His servants
found him the next day when they showed up to dress him.

*****
-- 


From jeanita@cpcug.org Fri Apr 18 17:48:03 1997
From: jeanita@cpcug.org (Jeanita)
Newsgroups: alt.fan.q,alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.startrek.creative
Subject: NEW:TNG:R:m/m:5/8: In The Valley Of The Shadow
Date: 18 Apr 1997 20:48:03 -0400
Organization: Capital PC User Group, Inc., Rockville, Maryland, USA
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See part 1 for disclaimers.

*****

     All of Picard's servants loved him very much. It was a
redundancy Q had built into Picard's safeguards in case something
should happen when Q wasn't there to protect him. So when they
found him on the floor the following morning, they were more
distressed and panic-stricken than might have normally been
expected. He didn't have a regular doctor but one of the guards
remembered bringing a medikit to one of the emperor's guests. They
beamed into her hotel room and demanded she accompany them right
away.
     Beverly, sipping tea and staring out the window, suddenly
found herself confronted by a hysterical guard who alternately
threatened and pleaded with her to come take care of the Emperor.
She accompanied him, half-dressed and face unpainted, expecting to
find Picard dead or near death. What she found instead was that
he'd overexerted himself with some strenuous activity without
bothering to prepare for it. His blood sugar levels were
ridiculously low.
     She had the guards put him to bed, surprised at how reverently
they handled him. 'Of course,' she reminded herself. 'I keep
forgetting he's the emperor.'
     She ordered a glass of juice then gave him a mild stimulant.
     "Drink this," she ordered when he opened his eyes. She propped
him up in bed and held the glass to his lips.
     He drank it down obediently then looked around him in mild
surprise. "What happened?" 
     "Your servants found you. They thought you were dead."
     Picard looked away, glowering.
     Beverly sighed in exasperation like she did when the children
taxed her patience. "I rebuilt Deanna's ear once when you tore it
off. She only lost two percent of her hearing. I became pretty good
at cleaning up after you. So what am I cleaning up this time?
Another broken love affair?"
     "Yes." He finally admitted.
     "God help us all."
     Picard scoffed. "I was never that bad."
     Instead of answering she reached out and pulled at his ear,
gently at first, then with increasing strength. Right at the point
where the pain was making him grunt, she stopped.
     "You tore her ear off her head," Beverly reiterated. "You were
worse than 'that bad,' you were insane."
     "I suppose I was," Picard agreed. He remembered the incident
as if someone else had done it. 'How could I have been so savage?'
he asked himself. He felt ashamed, but he also gloated a bit. If he
regretted his behavior, that meant he was different now, right? The
Captain of the Enterprise never regretted anything. Sometimes--
rarely--he and Q discussed his feelings from that time. Q was worse
than he was at sorting out emotions, and would ignore them given
half a chance.  
     'I hate him and I won't think about him anymore,' he decided
quickly, forestalling another long tour of their combined memories.
He knew he was lying to himself, but if he started thinking about
Q he would start to grieve again. "She turned out alright, you
know. Deanna did."
     Beverly shook her head.  "I didn't know, but I always
wondered."
     Picard had checked up on Deanna several times. Her first few
years on the Delta colony had been difficult for everyone involved. 
She spent a lot of time hiding in corners, her telepathic senses
extended in a state of hyperalertness. In a short time the healers
learned to stand far away and call out that they were approaching
unless they wanted to be subjected to a heavy dose of fear and
panic. As time passed, however, her life was restored to her in a
series of small triumphs. She finally let someone she recognized
approach her without fear. She smiled at a joke. She allowed a
therapist to touch the surface of her mind. They gave her small
animals to care for, then, when they thought she could handle it,
a little telepath girl orphaned in a war. Deanna cared for the girl
and began to carve out a life for herself and her taken-in
daughter. She would never be what she'd been before, and she was
still pathologically fearful of him, though it usually didn't
bother her because he was far away. In an act of compassion, Q had
told her that Picard would never be able to find her, and Deanna
clung to that promise like a lifeline.
     The last time he'd checked, the silent, shellshocked girl was
learning to play like a normal child. Her weird mom was learning to
let her out of sight without panicking. The trust and affection
between them was growing. Picard realized that the best thing he
could do for her was to continue to leave her alone. He told
Beverly as much.
     "I imagine," she said. "I used to wonder if any of us would
ever truly live down those years." Then she looked at him
fearfully.
     "Don't worry, I'm not reading your mind."
     "Thank you," she was genuinely grateful.
     "I'm not the person I was." He wanted her to believe that so
she wouldn't be so frightened.
     She didn't answer him. He seemed different sometimes, but she
frankly didn't trust him. "Tell me what happened," she suggested.
     "I didn't like that person. I realized I hadn't for a very
long time. So I changed. Tried to change," he amended. "I'm not
always as I'd like to be."
     Beverly smiled wistfully. "Me either. I realized something
about myself, Jean-Luc. I kept obsessively falling in love and
having babies. I would be happy with their fathers until the boys
were three years old then I would suddenly become afraid. Then I'd
leave and do it all over again. But my boys are very patient with
me. Sully, my oldest, told me he didn't mind a new baby brother
every few years if it was what I needed." She shrugged. "Eventually
I had to face the fact that I was trying to recapture the time I
had with Jack, the happiness I had until..."
     "Until I killed him and took you for myself." He looked
rueful. "I never faced the cruelty of such an act, or the fear that
drove me to it."
     "It wasn't until many years later that I figured out how
frightened you were."
     "Terrified," Picard affirmed, "of everything and everybody."
     Beverly nodded. She felt close to tears. "What made you want
to be different?" 
     "I have... I had... a lover who made me very happy."
     Now the tears spilled. "Who is she?"
     "*He*," Picard corrected, "*his* name is Q."
     "Tell him to come back and save us," she whispered. "You know
why I didn't stir from New Hebrides until I had to? I've been
hiding from you."
     "I loved Jack. That's why I was so jealous when you took him
from me. That's why I killed him."
     "That's why?" Part of her marveled that she was having this
conversation with this man. It could very well be a trap to put her
off her guard, though she couldn't imagine why. If he thought she
was a threat he could kill her easily enough. If he simply had new
games to play she was doomed in any event. And Jack, even after all
this time, still roared up between them and demanded his due. On
his behalf she wanted to rage at the man in front of her, strike at
him, hurt him, though it wouldn't change anything. Jack would still
be dead. She changed the subject. "Are you hungry?"
     "They don't have what I want." He sounded sulky.
     "Of course they have what you want," she soothed. She looked
around the room and found the replicator. "Just name it and I'll
get it for you."
     Picard ran through an inventory. He wasn't hungry for apples
or bacon or coffee or doughnuts or eggs... Q had always known... he
could take Picard's vague cravings and turn them into appetizing
choices that somehow always satisfied him. He wasn't used to having
to ask for things, so he picked something arbitrary. "Peaches."
     Beverly sighed. Replicators did not do fresh fruits and
vegetables very well. Nothing beat the tree-ripened original for
taste and texture which he knew. As she fetched it she had to tell
herself that he was not testing her or looking for a way to blame
her for his unhappiness. He was simply behaving like the spoiled,
pampered emperor he'd become. Well, she would bring him his fruit
and then she was leaving. Changed or not, different or not, she
could too easily fall back into the habit of desperately needing to
please him, and she didn't want that. He could get fresh fruit for
himself if he really wanted it that badly.

*****     

     Q was beside himself.  He respected Picard far too much to
disobey his order to stay away, but he was not above looking for
loopholes. 'I don't want to see you anymore,' Picard said, but that
didn't mean that Q couldn't see Picard. He watched stoically as
Picard lay in their bed, dry-eyed, unable to stay asleep, holding
vigil against emotion. He knew that Picard was punishing both of
them with his grief, but Q felt he deserved to be punished so he
forced himself to watch, wishing vainly that self-flagellation
would ease the pain of seeing his lover's pain.  
     "I'm sorry I hurt you." He reappeared once, begging
forgiveness.
     And Picard had gently patted his cheek. "That's enough. Isn't
that pathetic? And that's why I hate you, Q. Because you made that
enough for me. Now get out."
     Q pulled far enough away that Picard couldn't sense him and
watched Picard send for Beverly and a sleeping potion. Q was
beginning to wish he had killed Beverly when he had the chance.
Picard was getting attached to her, and now Q didn't have the heart
to take her away from him. If he'd still been in Picard's good
graces, he would be lying in bed with him this very second, holding
him and telling him all about how cleverly he'd outwitted the
Douwd. He would be basking in admiration, listening as Picard made
much of his wounds and raged at the Douwd, insisting that Q kill it
and all it's progeny. Instead, he was skulking around his own home, 
feeling lonely and out of sorts. He wondered if Jean-Luc was still
angry with him. Finally he decided to find Leila. She would tell
him what her father's mood was.
     But when he got to Jean-Luc's asteroid he hesitated. Leila was
sitting with her mother and the two were having a rare moment of
amity which he didn't want to intrude upon. Hovering invisibly in
a corner, he was just deciding to go away and leave them alone when
Leila called his name.
     "Here," he caroled, and materialized in the kitchen with them.
He reached out and put the thought into Marie's lover's mind that
she had to speak to Marie that very second. Moments later the comm
chimed and Marie answered it. Then she excused herself, rushed into
her study and shut the door. Now Q had Leila all to himself, but
she was shaking her finger at him knowingly. 
     Years later, Leila would tell a biographer that her parents'
stormy relationships with their lovers paradoxically allowed them
to have a very loving and stable relationship with one another.
Nonetheless, growing up in a household where her mother and father
were madly, passionately in love with other people had its weird
moments. When maman came out of her study she would either be
singing or crying, and the wait was nervewracking.
     "You did that," she accused Q.
     He was unrepentant. "I need your help."
     "What?" Her tone was surly. *She* was the family expert when
it came to yanking Marie's chain, and she hated for anyone to
encroach on her territory.
     "He still won't see me."
     Leila sighed in annoyance. She had never even had a boyfriend. 
She was out of her league and she knew it, and Q knew it. "Bring
him here. Papa will talk to him."
     Q stared at her.
     "Well, how am I supposed to know what to tell you?!!" she
burst out irritatedly. "I don't have these types of relationships!"
     "No," he sounded a bit stunned. "You solved it. That's
perfect. That's exactly how it happened the first time." He beamed
at her. "Clever little girl. Where do you want to go?"
     Leila bounced in her chair and clapped her hands. "Let me
think. Someplace good."
     "Quickly. Your father's coming."   
     Her father had absolutely forbidden her to take gifts from Q. 
It would weaken her, he said, to learn to rely on him. Leila 
obeyed him most of the time, and Q was very careful about what he
actually gave her, so they mostly managed to stay in Jean-Luc's
good graces. Trips through time, however, were Leila's weakness,
and Q knew it, but this suggestion deserved the most meaningful
reward he could find for her. 
     Bring Picard here. Then Q could go back to his universe and
deal with the Douwd without worrying about the emperor's safety.
Meanwhile, Jean-Luc would talk Picard out of his funk, just like
last time. Brilliant.
     Now they heard Jean-Luc's footsteps on the stairs. Q held a
finger to his lips and looked up with a bit of trepidation.
     "Plotting again?" Jean-Luc greeted them. He bent over and
kissed his daughter's forehead then did the same to Q.
     "Am I forgiven?" Q asked.
     "We need to talk," Jean-Luc cautioned, "but I'm not angry
anymore."
     "Well, that's something."
     Jean-Luc was still shaking his head in fond exasperation when
Marie came out of her study. She wore the distracted smile that
said she and Edouarda were getting along today.
     "Darling," she kissed Jean-Luc's cheek in passing and he
smiled happily, his eyes following her around the room as she
fetched two more cups.
     Watching the byplay, Q almost changed his mind about what he'd
just decided to do. This family had it's own intrinsic order which
he understood very well, having watched it evolve. Sitting around
the kitchen table, participating in the tea-drinking ritual with
them, he could feel their comfort and connectedness. He valued it,
and he liked being a part of it. With Leila and Marie getting along
for once, the whole place felt peaceful. Disturbing this
equilibrium was not something he undertook lightly. And he was
about to introduce a cookoo's egg into the nest, something that
would take up more than it's share of time and energy. But it was
Picard, and therefore worth it. He suddenly felt nervous, and his
cup banged loudly against the table when he set it down.
     "Jean-Luc, we need to talk alone." 
     Jean-Luc and Marie exchanged glances, and Jean-Luc did not
quite sigh. "Very well, Q."
     Some minutes later, having poured out selective bits of the
whole story, Q sat in Jean-Luc's study waiting for a decision.
Jean-Luc had to say yes. That was all there was to it. 
     "He tried to kill himself." Jean-Luc repeated. He still could
not believe what he'd heard. "And you did nothing."
     "Twice. I revived him." Q answered defensively. He didn't have
to explain how hard it was to watch over someone who wanted nothing
to do with you. "I think he may do it again, that's why I need you
to help me."
     "Q, you are the stupidest, most inconsiderate excuse for an
omnipotent immortal I've ever seen. You broke him, but I'm supposed
to fix him, is that it?"
     "Only you can. You have to. He won't let me near him."
     Jean-Luc sighed, beaten. Q was right, of course. He would have
to go. He wasn't going to leave Picard in pain, especially when he
bore part of the blame for it, however inadvertent. "You will have
to fight with him for a few more days. We're taking Edouard to
college soon, and I don't want anything to interfere."
     "Agreed," Q answered a bit too quickly.  
     Jean-Luc looked at him shrewdly but said nothing. They went to
talk to Marie. 
     "I'm going to have to leave after we get back from taking
Edouard to school." Jean-Luc told her. "I may be away for several
days."
     She always took everything in stride. "Where will you go?"
     "I'm going into another dimension to take care of...
something." 
     Her expression didn't change in the slightest, but her eyes
flicked over to Q then back to Jean-Luc whose features softened as
he looked at her. Q hated the fact that Jean-Luc and Marie had such
complete understanding of one another when it came to dealing with
him. Marie didn't allow her disdain to show on her face, but Q
could almost hear her thinking, 'What a disruptive lout you are,
Q.'
     'Just you wait,' he thought grimly. He took some comfort from
the fact that Jean-Luc hadn't told her what they had in mind. He
would present her with a fait accompli and let her deal with it
from there. 
     'You're a manipulative bastard,' he thought fondly. 'No wonder
you're such a good negotiator. And you're coming to my rescue yet
again. No wonder I love you so.'
     Jean-Luc had agreed to help him on the condition that Q stay
away the whole time Picard was there. 'I can't handle two of you,'
he'd told Q. Q had readily acquiesced. If he thought it would help
Picard, Q would have agreed to any condition Jean-Luc laid down.

*****

     Along with the threat from whoever was instigating Jevon
Pirist there were many other things Picard had to deal with. One of
his most disastrous laws was a decree that there was to be no more
genetic manipulation of sentient subjects except to correct
defects. The black market soared and the factories had gone so far
underground that even with Q's help it had been very difficult to
get rid of them. Now he had reason to suspect they were on the rise
again. One of his spies reported that on Aries there had been a
dramatic increase in the numbers of multiple births over the past
few years but no corresponding increase in demand for child care
goods and services. He suspected black marketeers of piggybacking
embryos onto already pregnant mothers for a fee. That meant the
midwives guilds were in collusion with them. Normally he would have
ferreted out the collaborators and helped them find some other
industry (a much better response than his former solution of simply
killing them and putting lots of nice people out of work). Without
Q's help, however, it was more difficult by several orders of
magnitude. Picard's telepathic abilities didn't stretch over long
distances. He could teleport by himself, of course, but it drained
him. He struggled on gamely, but he tired quickly now and was so
easily distracted by his own sadness that his work suffered. He
should have been able to figure out a solution, but somehow the
answers eluded him.
     Picard decided that it was normal to need a period of
adjustment when a relationship ended, so even though he felt like
half his head had been torn from his shoulders he told himself not
to worry overmuch. He forced himself out of bed in the mornings,
picked at whatever was set in front of him, allowed himself to be
dressed. His clothes flapped on his body, but he ignored his
servants' oblique suggestion that he have them adjusted. He was
hanging on to his routine by main force of will, and it was simply
too much trouble to vary it. Without Q there to hold him and touch
him his body went numb, but he decided not to notice it. He sat on
his throne but hours would pass while he stared into space,
ignoring everyone who came before him. Since he was the emperor, no
one dared shout at him to pay attention.

*****

     Beverly was beginning to be more and more frightened for her
sovereign. In her opinion, he'd never had a particularly firm grip
on his sanity, and now it seemed his grief had completely separated
him from his senses. His late-night stories, for instance,
attributed all sorts of fantastical powers to his former lover. Q
took Jean-Luc swimming in the rainpools on planets in far distant
parts of the galaxy. He could make it snow whenever he wanted. He
could kill or heal from a distance. He could hear people talking
thousands of lightyears away. To Beverly he sounded like an
imaginary friend, but it was no wonder the Emperor made up stories
to comfort himself. He was fading, but he would not allow her to
really help him. She could do nothing for him but keep vigil during
his long slide into the quiet dark. 
     She was confused. She had feelings for him, but she no longer
knew what they were. She hated him as her husband's murderer yet
part of her forgave, or at least understood. She loathed him for
killing her child, yet part of her grieved for the child in him who
must have been so early poisoned by hatred. She feared for the
empire, surprising herself with the strength of her loyalty. She
hadn't realized how much he embodied the things she believed in--
power, order, stability--and she loved him with the blind faith of
a subject for her lord. The emperor was dying, and she was too
wearied by the complex tangle of her emotions to offer him anything
other than a doctor's remote concern for a patient.
     So she did what she could, sitting with him at night,
listening to his odd ramblings or chatting about inconsequentials
as she waited for his sedatives to take effect.
     "What's behind that door?" She asked because long silences
were painful for her, and they'd already discussed the weather.
     Picard glanced in the direction of her pointing finger and
started in surprise. He'd never seen that door before. No wait.
He'd somehow known it was there but hadn't ever bothered to enter
it. He'd forgotten how easy it was to get used to things appearing
and disappearing at Q's whim. 
     "He used to keep different rooms for me," he murmured. "I had
a rain-room and an azalea room and a horse trail room... open the
door and there was a rainy afternoon in Le Barre, or a winding path
through a park. He was the most wonderful person, Beverly. I'm glad
I kicked him out, but sometimes I wish I had him back."
     His words were beginning to garble, so they waited until the
next day to explore the room, discovering with amazement that it
was an exact reproduction of Beverly's office on New Hebrides, with
one unique difference. Instead of a single wall decorated with
family pictures, all four walls were covere