Title: Only Human Part IV Author: Alara Rogers Series: TNG Rating: NC-17 Codes: Q/f, AU Part: 4/12+1 Summary: Q and T'Laren are taken captive aboard their own ship by the Ferengi. While Q was gone, T'Laren set about folding and putting away her clothes. She didn't have many-- she tended to rely on the replicators-- but having any at all made her greatly relieved. The replicator had also produced a solvent for cleaning clothes with sonics, and she took Q's and her own outfits from yesterday and the overlarge clothing of Q's she'd been wearing today and cleaned them in the sonic shower. She had to be somewhat grateful that the Ferengi used sonics to wash their clothes, at least; washing clothes with water would have been massively inefficient. Lunch showed up while she was working. It simply came out of the replicator, no need to have guards enter the room. She'd wondered how long it would take them to realize how much safer that was for them. This time it was plomeek soup and garlic bread, a big improvement over salad. However, the same slightly nasty aftertaste was present in this meal as had been in her salad. She wondered if she were coming down with an illness that made most of her food taste off, or if there was a problem with the replicator. Ferengi ate mushrooms; maybe Q's mushrooms had been fresh, and the unpleasant aftertaste was a replicator side effect. She dumped Q's used towels down the disposal chute and was gratified to see new towels appear in the replicator. They were definitely running a Ferengi hotel program; such programs conserved both replicator energies and the cost of maid service by expecting guests to dispose of their own used linens, and generating new ones only when they registered that the old ones had gone down the disposal. Unfortunately, since Q's bedsheets weren't replicated, they couldn't get fresh ones and would have to wash them. Q could do that himself, though. T'Laren was willing to clean up a bit to keep their captivity bearable, but she wasn't going to be Q's maid-- especially not when surrounded by people who probably expected her to do exactly that on the basis of her genitalia. She would, however, clean the blanket Q had provided her with. As she finished that up, and came back out into the suite looking for something else to do, the door opened and three Ferengi came in. One was the fellow she'd almost managed to nerve-pinch by tricking him into thinking she'd do sexual favors for him. She didn't recognize the other two, and wondered how many Ferengi were *on* this ship. Or, presumably, their own ship. The Ferengi ship must be staying with *Ketaya*; there wasn't enough room aboard *Ketaya* for the number of different Ferengi she'd seen. "Your boyfriend asked our grandmother about using the swimming pool," one of them said, a goofy grin on his face. "We saw you like to keep in *shape.* Did you wanna go swimming?" This was transparent. They'd been watching her exercise, and they wanted to see her in a swimsuit. A totally disproportionate surge of anger nearly overwhelmed her, but she forced it down before it reached her face. Anger, at their voyeurism? How illogical. It was understandable to be angry when they molested her or dismissed her opinions, but if they were offering her a chance to exercise, the fact that their ulterior motive was to leer at her in a swimsuit was irrelevant. "Yes, actually, I'd find that very helpful. Are you offering to escort me?" "Oh, yeah," the one she'd almost tricked said, practically drooling. "We can take you swimming." "You need to understand, then, that I am not free to share... favors... with any of you. I am under Q's protection and he has specifically requested that I do no such thing." If there had only been one, or perhaps even two, she might have used a sexual offer to trick them and then overpower them. With three, any such attempt would not succeed, and she had no desire to actually be molested. It rather galled her that she had to invoke Q's name to protect herself, but people who saw women as property would be much more inclined to leave women alone if they thought of them as belonging to other men. "If you are offering to take me swimming, I would certainly expect you to keep me under guard, and... watch me." What she was saying disgusted her far, far more than it should. Where was her control? She'd done worse than this in her life. Inviting Ferengi to watch her while she swam wasn't nearly on a par with sleeping with a Romulan so he would ignore any possible holes in her cover story, let alone what she'd had to do at the end to get away safely. "But I am concerned that if you touched me it would anger Q enough that he would kill himself, and I can't allow that." "No, no," the first one said. "We'll just... watch you, while you swim. So you don't get away. Your man can't object to you getting some exercise, can he?" He idly reached up and ran finger and thumb over the edge of his earlobe. A wave of violent emotion, the desire to break in his face with her fist, rip at his earlobe until it tore off, surged through her. Control. She forced it down again. Maintaining her physical conditioning was extremely important if she was to have a hope of getting herself and Q out of here. Ferengi could fondle their earlobes all they wanted; it didn't touch her. It *wouldn't* touch her. Why was she having a hard time with this? "Then allow me to change." She ruffled through her pile of clothing to get her swimsuit. "You could change right here, we wouldn't mind," the second one she didn't recognize piped up. She gave him a hard look, letting just the tiniest fraction of the rage she felt show in her eyes. "No. I will change in the bathroom. Escort me when I come out." Her swimsuit was reasonably decorous—one piece, streamlined—and under most circumstances it wouldn't enter her mind that it was immodest in any way. In this case, though, she found herself wishing for a full-body covering suitable for swimming. She forced the embarrassment down. *No one can humiliate you without your consent. I need only choose not to feel humiliated, and there is nothing then that they can do to me.* She really did need the exercise. The Ferengi stared at her as she came out. T'Laren was surprised they weren't drooling. *Don't their own women run around nude in their homes? Why is a lightly clad woman so interesting to them?* But then, it was probably precisely because she *wasn't* Ferengi that it mattered to them. She deliberately gave them only the most cursory of glances and then didn't bother to look back, keeping her eyes focused on the path to the swimming pool. Once she was at the pool, she dove in on the deep end and began swimming as hard as she could. The pool was unusually cold today; she was usually better acclimated to human-normal temperatures than this. Perhaps the Ferengi had lowered the temperature, since it was somewhat chillier on Ferenginar than most humans preferred. She made the mistake of glancing up, once, and saw her captors stroking their own earlobes, eyes fixed on her. It didn't matter. It couldn't matter. She pushed herself—how long could she go without having to take a breath? How quickly could she do a lap? How quickly could she do one while holding her breath? She hadn't had time to get out of shape -- she was just as fast, just as strong a swimmer, as she'd been before. Somehow this wasn't challenging her enough. There was too much anger in her, too much emotion to force down, and no matter how hard she focused on her swimming it wasn't hard enough, physical enough, exhausting enough. The anger was still there. It was absurd. T'Laren had actually had *sex* with a target on an intelligence mission, after years of nothing except sharing Soram's *pon farr.* The fact that some annoying little cretins were enjoying themselves watching her swim should mean absolutely nothing. Why couldn't she overcome this anger? It wasn't even fear. If it was fear that they might take things farther than just watching, she could understand why it was so hard to master. But no, she wasn't afraid of that. The thought that they might try to rape her just filled her with righteous fury and a profound desire to do physical violence. No fear at all. Why anger, then? What was wrong with her? After an hour she realized that she simply was not going to be able to swim hard enough to overcome the anger, not while the Ferengi were still watching. She climbed out of the pool and stalked over to them. "Return me to Q's quarters." "You sure? You could swim a little while longer..." "Yes. Return me now." She started for the door, expecting them to follow her. They were supposedly keeping her prisoner, after all. It would be rather bad for them if she managed to get enough of a head start on them that she could run and hide. Though it was a nice fantasy. They followed her back to Q's quarters, leering and giggling to themselves. Once she was inside the quarters, she turned toward the Ferengi. "Thank you for allowing me access to the swimming pool." She then turned around and proceeded to completely ignore them. For a few seconds they hovered in the doorway before they finally got the idea that the show was over, and left. The door shut behind them. Experimentally T'Laren tried the manual door opening. It didn't work, and she hadn't really expected it to. She didn't take a shower. She felt on edge, still angry, still full of restless energy. A long shower with water might help her to overcome the anger but would do nothing for the energy. She was jumping out of her skin. T'Laren changed to her workout clothes and used the center of the room to do first stretching, then aerobic exercises, and then martial arts katas. At first she performed the katas slowly, the way they were supposed to be done, controlled gestures to practice proper form, discipline and self-mastery. It didn't last. The aerobics hadn't taken the edge off. She began doing her katas faster, harder, kicking and striking blows as if she were on a holodeck fighting hologram opponents no one else could see. The thought occurred to her that the Ferengi were probably watching her exercise-- if her swim had excited them so much, she was sure the exercise in skimpy workout clothes wasn't much better. A sudden spike of fury overwhelmed her. Let them watch. Let them learn what she could do, if they approached her too closely. She began envisioning them as opponents, seeing Ferengi in her mind's eye, striking out at them. She aimed for eyes, and lobes, high kicks to the head, low brutal kicks to the genitals. Hard chops to the throat. She didn't know if they could tell that her imaginary opponents were Ferengi rather than more average-sized humanoids, but it didn't matter. If she couldn't control the emotion through meditation or through exhausting herself alone, she would do it through catharsis. It was easily another hour later when she came back to herself. Breathing hard, all muscles protesting and exhausted, she finally felt somewhat more at peace. The anger was still there, would come back if she dwelled on it, but she could lock it away with meditation now. She went into the bathroom and got into the shower, reveling in the feel of water as hot as she could stand it sluicing over her. Her skin sang at the touch of water, reveling in it the way humans apparently reveled in fur. Physical exhaustion and the pleasure of hot water dancing over her body finally let her relax. It felt as if she hadn't been able to do that in days. Which was, logically, ridiculous, as they'd only been kidnapped yesterday. When she was done, and wearing her regular clothes again, she went to the bedroom of the suite to sit on the floor and meditate. It worked this time; she managed to completely blot out the passage of time until Q finally showed up, looking completely strung out and exhausted. He flung himself on the couch, sprawling with one arm over his eyes. "How about you bring me my slippers and the paper?" he said. "I haven't got a paper to bring you. Do you actually have slippers?" "Yes, but it was a joke. Though if you're volunteering... I have had a *really* hard day." He kicked off his boots. "I have a better idea." She came over to sit next to him on the couch. "Either sit up or turn over, and I'll rub your back." "You know, that is actually the best idea I've heard all day?" He sat up and looked at her. "Sometimes life is actually not a complete, unrelieved hell. Who knew?" She slid next to him on the couch and reached up to his neck. His skin was cool, like summer rain on a hot day. T'Laren blinked-- that mental analogy was very odd. Yet it seemed somehow reassuring, relaxing and pleasant, to touch him. And gratifying, how easily he responded to the easing of pain. Q moaned and almost fell backward against the couch, as if collapsing into her touch. "You cannot possibly imagine how desperately I need this." "The muscles behaving as if akin to titanium cable was something of a clue, however." "Oh, I guess so. Mmm. Did you know the Ferengi are even stupider than they look?" "Indeed?" "Yalit has some intelligence-- maybe a spoonful or two of brains in that head-- but she's spent so long channeling it into nothing but the gruesome pursuit of profit that it's ossified to scientific ideas. And *none* of her sons have the slightest capacity for higher thought. It's really disturbing to imagine that these people managed to build a warp drive in the first place. I'm guessing someone sold it to them, actually." "Yes, that's understood to be the case. Are all of these people Yalit's children?" "Not directly, no, but they're all apparently either her sons, her grandsons, and possibly her great-grandsons. Which hardly surprises me. If you're Ferengi and you're taking orders from a woman, I imagine you'd *need* to keep that in the family or it could get scandalous." "She has an impressively large family." "Not shocked. Building up an impressively large family is probably the only reason why a somewhat intelligent being would go live in a place where she's expected to be naked and subservient. Personally I think she'd have been better off becoming wealthy off her inventions *first* and then paying some studly young Ferengi boy to be her breeding partner without ever actually going back to her homeworld, but who knows, maybe the whole subservience thing gives her a little thrill. Oh, yes. Right there. Ooohh." "Did you actually ask her to arrange for me to be allowed to swim? That was very thoughtful of you." He stiffened slightly. "I did... but I thought she said no." He turned his head. "How did you know? Did they...?" "Three of the Ferengi came and offered to escort me to the swimming pool. Given the need I have to keep to an exercise regimen, I accepted." Q stood up abruptly and spun on his heel to look down at her. "Are you *insane?*" T'Laren blinked. "What?" He threw his hands in the air. "Why am I doing all this to protect you if you just stroll off into the woods with any big bad wolf that offers to let you get some exercise? You wouldn't come with me to engineering, you let three Ferengi drag you off to god knows where--" "One needn't invoke the knowledge of a deity. It was a swimming pool." "Yeah, and when they said, 'Hey, little Vulcan girl, want some candy?' you were actually stupid enough to *believe* them?" "As you see, I was left unmolested." "That's luck compensating for near-criminal stupidity!" She stood up as well. If she was going to have an argument with Q it was better to do so on an equal footing. "I didn't think the level of threat they posed was sufficient to justify refusing. Particularly since they *could* have simply walked into this room and stunned me if they were willing to risk you killing yourself in retaliation." "And that's why you should have come with me to engineering! What'd you think, I was asking you to come with me because *I* was scared of the big bad Ferengi?" "I didn't see how it would be preferable to be surrounded by them in close quarters while you needed all your concentration to negotiate with Yalit." "But you thought it was a good idea to go *swimming* with them?" "I did not go swimming *with* them. They remained on the side of the pool." "And I'm sure they had the best of intentions and were perfect gentlemen." "No, of course not. They extended the invitation so they could watch a woman in a swimsuit. I'm well aware of this. However, it would be illogical for me to be overly concerned with voyeurism. They cannot harm me simply by looking at me." "They can damn well harm you by *raping* you, T'Laren. Or giving you that drug you were talking about. You are *such* a Federation citizen!" "What do you mean by that?" "The whole universe doesn't operate by Federation ideals! We haven't got anyone guaranteeing us basic sentient rights here, and no matter how many pretty speeches we deliver about the dignity of sentient life, these *creatures* are perfectly willing to treat us as non-people. You *can't* expect to keep yourself safe if you go waltzing off with them anytime they make you a nice offer!" "Believe me, Q, I am far better acquainted with the dangers that face a woman in this universe than you are." "You sure about that? I've spent millions of years watching sentient beings prey on each other." "And I have had Starfleet training. They do not send us out into a universe where many humanoid species discriminate against or prey on women without teaching us what to be wary of." She decided not to mention that she actually had *been* raped once. At the moment she felt extraordinarily defensive and angry, infuriated that Q would be angry with *her* over this issue. "I realize that for purposes of keeping control of the Ferengi you need to allow them to think you my jealous mate, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't behave as if it were true when we are alone. I am much better experienced than you are at protecting myself." "I'm *not* your jealous mate! I just don't want--" He broke off. "Forget it. I'm going to take a shower." "Q. I can take care of myself." "Whatever." He stalked off into the bathroom. The sonic shower came on, at the range she could hear. On top of everything else the irritation was simply too much. She did not quite stomp over to the bathroom to tell him to retune it--stomping would be very undignified for a Vulcan. Before she could get there, Q stuck his head out of the bathroom. "Hey, I need some help in here." "Help?" "Don't worry, I'm perfectly modest. But I need you for something." "Then you're going to need to retune the sonic shower. I can hear it, and it's quite irritating." "That's what I need help with. I can't *hear* it, exactly, but I can feel it and it's grating. You're probably more experienced with adjusting the controls to get rid of ultrasonics than I am." "Very well." T'Laren was somewhat relieved that he wasn't actively out to irritate her. As she entered the bathroom and the door slid shut behind her, Q stood between her and the shower. "Sorry about the noise, but we need it. I didn't want to tell you this where the Ferengi can hear, so I figure between the sonics and you not having put full sensors in the bathroom, we can have a few minutes of privacy at least." This was not what she'd expected at all. She perked up slightly-- Q was obviously actively thinking about their predicament and how to resolve it, which was actually more than she'd expected of him. "All right. I can hear you-- the noise is an irritant, but it's not loud enough to drown you out." "Yeah, I figured." He closed the cover of the toilet and sat down on it. "Listen, T'Laren. You're only safe when I can see you. If they go for you while I'm *there* I can pretend to kill myself, but what am I going to do if I'm not there? They might call my bluff, and quite aside from the consequences to you I have no way to protect *either* of us if they stop believing I can kill myself." "Given how much financial investment you represent, why would they take the risk simply for a brief pleasure?" "Because they're playing much more hardball than I thought. I thought things might be bad-- that's why I asked you to sleep in my room last night-- but today--" "Wait. You asked me to sleep in your room for *my* protection?" "Well, honestly, T'Laren, did you really think I thought you could chase off the monster under the bed or something? The things I face in the night, you can't do a damn thing about. And if there was something you could do it'd probably be something I'd like less than the nightmares. I actually couldn't stand having you in there. If I got five minutes of sleep last night I'd be shocked. No, it was for you." "Why didn't you say so?" "Right, I'm going to explain in front of the Ferengi listening to the monitors that they could sneak in at night while I'm sleeping and drag you off without me knowing, in case they hadn't figured it out." When had an alien shapechanger replaced Q? She stared at him, feeling a sudden and totally uncharacteristic desire to hug him. It had been one thing when he'd bluffed the Ferengi in the first place... but he'd deliberately allowed her, and the Ferengi watching them, to think he was afraid and wanted her protection so as not to risk her. It was the first genuinely selfless thing she could think of Q doing the whole time she'd known him. Although, she remembered Anderson telling her that Q had risen to match the best humanity had to offer during the fight with the Borg. Certain types of adversity seemed to draw out a much more positive aspect of his personality. "Thank you," she said, temporarily stunned. "I... I am still not sure you needed to take such a step, but I am very grateful that you would do such a thing when you thought I was in danger." "Yeah, well, you're in more danger than I knew last night. And so am I. Yalit told me if I didn't cooperate she'd have me stunned, sedated and put in stasis until I'm sold off. Or in other words she's not afraid of me killing myself anymore. I did my best to convince her that if she sells me off and *then* I kill myself her customers are going to be just a trifle upset with her, but... I think she's serious. I told her I'd teach her how Lhoviri's transwarp works if she would guarantee your safety. But I just don't *know.* They could drag you off and do whatever they want and then tell me that if I stop working for them they'll do it *again.* Giving them transwarp is a bit more open-ended than killing myself." "I... didn't know that. I didn't believe I was in danger today-- I still don't. They were rather more interested in voyeuristic amusements than actually touching me." "Yeah, well, maybe those ones were. What would you have done if they'd brought you to the swimming pool and then half a dozen of their brothers and cousins were waiting there to ambush you? I *know* you're some kind of kung fu master and all but they have *phasers*, and they're obviously not afraid to use them." T'Laren took a deep breath. "If they do not use *farr t'gahn* on me, they may do what they wish to me. I am Vulcan. Rape is not a fate worse than death, and if it would help free us from captivity I would endure. If they do use *farr t'gahn* I would most likely kill them all." "I thought you said it would kill you." "It would. It arouses the *plak tow*, the blood fever. Only a combination of sex and a mind meld would save my life then, and I cannot meld with Ferengi. But before I died I would be consumed with madness-- violence as much as lust. You know... what I am capable of when my emotions are distorted by the *plak tow.*" "Yeah, yeah, you're a badass. How are you going to kill them if they tie you up or something? I mean... I really don't *want* to be coming up with horrible things they could do to you, or me for that matter, but I *have* seen just about every evil sentients can commit on each other. And it really wouldn't much make up for your death to know that you took out a whole bunch of them with you." "And you think this is a serious possibility?" "I don't know. But I've had quite enough people die on me in even this brief mortal lifetime. I don't need having you added to the list. Besides which, your whole schpiel about being such a stalwart Vulcan and rape means nothing to you and blah blah blah is complete baloney. I may not be an expert on getting people to do what I want but I *am* an expert on telling when people are upset and frightened, and you are upset and frightened, Vulcan or no. You would *not* want to put up with being molested, or worse." She thought of how angry she'd been today just to know the Ferengi were deriving sexual pleasure from *watching* her. Unfortunately Q had a point. It was easy to forget sometimes that his complete incompetence at making people like him didn't actually arise from any lack of perception of other people's emotional states. "If you consider this a serious threat, I will not allow them to take me to the swimming pool again. However, if I'm disturbing your sleep I probably should not stay in your room at night." "I am so tired," he said, putting his head in his hands. "As soon as we're done here I'm going to bed and I'm going to pass out." He looked up at her again. "I do think you should sleep in my room, and I don't think it's going to keep me awake. At least not tonight. Whereas wondering if you're still safe might." "I am not going to sleep that soon. For me it's still early." "If you're awake you can at least yell for me. I know my skills at verbal defense aren't exactly Starfleet-issue derring-do, but... they won't listen to you. At all. They just don't *care.* At least I have some proven ability at getting them to leave you alone. Just promise me you'll come to my room before you decide to go to sleep or whatever it is you do." There was a loud banging at the door. "You two, get out of there!" Q went to the door of the bathroom. "Do you mind? We've been trying to fix the damn sonic shower!" The Ferengi standing there with his phaser scowled at him. "You will ask *us* for engineering help, you don't try to fix it yourself." "Oh yes, because you've been so responsive in the past." He pushed his way past the Ferengi. "I've had a long and exhausting day. Is that dinner over there? It better be edible or it's going down your shirt." "You aren't to be in that room together. Especially not with the sonic shower on." "Oh, waah. You can't play voyeur. My heart bleeds for you." "Our orders are to keep an eye on the two of you. You've already tried to escape once." "I keep telling you, the air circulation cut off." T'Laren walked over to the dinner trays. She was actually quite hungry after the exertions of the day. The meal that awaited her was a traditional Vulcan dish, hearty and full of legumes and spice. While Q was trading snark with the Ferengi, she sat down to eat. The Ferengi left, and Q plopped himself down on the couch in front of the dinner tray. "Spaghetti and meatballs. Wonderful. If only I had anything vaguely resembling an appetite." "Eat as much of it as you can," T'Laren advised. "You need to keep your strength up." She looked at him carefully. He looked *much* healthier than he had when she first met him, his gauntness almost entirely filled out back to the build he'd had when he was omnipotent. The exercise and diet regimen had been good for him; his skin looked healthier, in better color and without the dull texture of sickness. His posture was better, his eyes were more alive, brighter and more engaged, than they'd been when she'd met him. "Do I have spaghetti sauce on my chin or something?" "No, why?" "You're staring at me." "I'm merely reflecting how much healthier you look." And how much more attractive. That was totally inappropriate to say, though. Actually it was fairly inappropriate to think as well. She'd been Q's therapist; any sort of romantic relationship with him was thoroughly unethical, even though he had fired her. Why had she allowed her mind to even drift in that direction? "You won't be able to keep it up if you don't eat, though." "I'm *really* tired." "Well, do what you can." She frowned very slightly at her bowl. The spices had masked it at first, but that unpleasant aftertaste was still there. "Q, can I try your dinner?" "Eat the whole thing. Be my guest." He pushed it over to her. "I can't eat the whole thing. It has meatballs." She swirled a small amount of spaghetti and sauce onto her fork, avoiding the meatballs, and tasted it. It was fine. There was no bitter taste to it. Either they were getting their vegetarian menu from a corrupted database, or she was being poisoned. She thought of the inappropriate and severe anger she'd suffered today, and felt very, very cold. T'Laren pushed the plate away. "Q, will you taste my food for me?" He sneered. "I didn't situate myself on top of the Terran food chain to eat like a rabbit." "Just taste it. Please." With obvious bad grace Q took a bite, and spluttered. "That's *disgusting!* How can you eat that?" He immediately downed his entire drink in several large gulps. "Can you describe what's disgusting about it?" "Oh, where shall I start? Perhaps with the fresh taste of grated *aspirin* all over the thing? Or perhaps the mouth-numbing spices akin to having a small nuclear explosion go off on your tongue? Or perhaps the awful texture of beans that might as well be giant chunks of *sand*?" "Grated aspirin. What does grated aspirin taste like?" "Horrible." Q shuddered. "It's a painkiller so simple and so old that it's not restricted in the replicators, at least not if you're not a suicide risk. I used to take it all the time in my first year on Starbase 56. If you actually bite down on the things or powder them, they're the most disgusting, bitter, horrible--" "Bitter. My food is bitter." "Yes! What was your first clue?" She took a deep breath. "This dish should not be bitter. Neither should my salad from this morning have been, nor should my plomeek soup at lunch. I am being poisoned." Q's eyes went wide. "No. No, they-- what with? What are they giving you?" "I don't know. I've had difficulty controlling my emotions today. Vulcans are less able to taste bitter or sweet than humans are; I thought that if I was not simply imagining it or suffering from some sort of illness, you would be able to taste whatever it was more strongly than I could, and it seems that was accurate." "Is it... that stuff? They threatened to use?" "I don't know." She stared at her plate of food. "I have felt this way before, and it was not associated with... what we spoke of. It was associated with my... mental difficulties, before that time arrived." "When you couldn't control your emotions and Starfleet kicked you out?" "Put me on involuntary medical leave, but yes, essentially. I could not control my emotions properly then. Some of the symptoms I have experienced remind me of that time." "Well, then, I had better get an explanation and you had better get a cure or someone is not getting any transwarp." He looked up at the ceiling. "Do you hear me? Whatever the *hell* you're doing to her, you stop it right now, reverse it and fix her, or you get nothing! Do you hear me?" He turned back to T'Laren. "Eat my spaghetti. Maybe that'll dilute it, if you get some food that doesn't have it." "You need your food, Q." "I'll eat the meatballs. I am really not hungry. Especially not now. Do you need water? Maybe if we give you dozens of cups of water we can flush it out of your system." "Actually, that would only make me very fat. Vulcans retain water. Desert evolved, remember?" "Hmm, okay, we won't do that. But eat my spaghetti. And drink some water. Your drink might be poisoned but the water probably isn't." He actually did have a point. She was very hungry, and if she were being poisoned with something that lowered her control of her emotions, she did need to keep her strength up. T'Laren ate Q's spaghetti, pushing the meatballs to the side of the plate, where Q dispiritedly plucked at them with a fork. The door opened, and a very young Ferengi, hardly more than a boy, came in carrying a second dinner tray and a bowl of grapes. "I'm sorry," he said, looking straight at T'Laren and then ducking his head with an expression of obvious embarrassment. "My mother sent me to apologize to the both of you, and give you assurances. It's not going to happen again." "What is it?" T'Laren asked, her own voice sounding shockingly hard and angry to her. "It's dicydrenaline. They were putting it in your food for a joke. I'm really sorry. Here." He put the tray and the bowl down in front of T'Laren. "Here's a replacement for your dinner, and a dessert for an apology. The dose wasn't very high. I can get a hypo with an antidote if you want." "No." She relaxed very slightly. "If it's dicydrenaline, and they cease to put it in the food, I will recover quickly enough." She took a bite of the replacement dinner. "Much better." "Let me taste that. So I can identify that crap they were putting in your food. What's it do?" "It makes Vulcans drunk, effectively. It lowers inhibitions, decreases emotional control. Here." Q took a bite. "Okay. This is still absolutely awful, but there's at least no grated aspirin in it. Did you bring anything else for us to drink, rodent boy?" "I can get you something from the replicator," the boy said eagerly, ignoring Q's insult. "What do you want?" "Tipharean bubble juice. Or root beer, whichever." "I would like very cold water, please," T'Laren said. The Ferengi went to the replicator, placed their orders, and got their drinks. No password control. It was obviously all being done at the level of voice recognition. Interesting. Q gulped half his drink again, while T'Laren sipped hers. Dicydrenaline. There were so many worse possibilities it could have been, and it was so obvious. The Ferengi had probably thought to lower her inhibitions, destroy her emotional control, and then either rape her or blackmail her into sex, when she would not have had the discipline to keep them from seeing her reactions. Q was right. She thought of the giggling, leering men stroking their earlobes as she swam. Sooner or later the terrible word picture Q had painted *would* have come true-- they'd have taken her swimming until her guard was down, or let her exhaust herself swimming first, one day... She shook her head slightly. It wouldn't happen now. She had taken the drug before by hypo-- it really wasn't much like alcohol for humans in that Vulcans had never drunk it for recreational purposes. Before the time of Surak, some had smoked the plant it was found in, but she had read that it was too bitter to eat, and now she knew why. When her food was done, she put a grape in her mouth, and almost gasped. It was incredibly sweet, far more than she expected from a grape, but with a sharp bite to it cutting the sweetness down just to the level where it was pleasant instead of cloying. "These are modified," she said to the Ferengi boy. He beamed. "You like them? They're replicator modified for Vulcan palates." "They are delicious," she admitted. "Gimme one of those," Q said. He popped the grape into his mouth, and almost choked. "T'Laren, these are *fermented!*" "Interesting." She took another grape and worked on analyzing the taste. Q was right. The sugar levels of the grapes was much higher than normal grapes, and the tang was alcohol, cutting the taste. Vulcans weren't terribly susceptible to alcohol; in great quantities it could affect them as it did humans, but there wasn't enough in these grapes to affect her. There was enough to affect Q, though, particularly since he was more used to synthehol than the real stuff. "You're right." "What, trying to get her drunk *again* is your way of apologizing?" Q snarled at the Ferengi. "It's all right, Q. It doesn't affect me as it does humans-- it just changes the taste slightly. These have a much higher sugar content than ordinary grapes; without the alcohol to cut the taste they'd be too sweet to bear, but as it is they are in fact quite good." "I'll take your word for it. I don't really need to get drunk. Although if you save a few I probably could use them the next time I have to spend a day spoonfeeding idiots." She nodded at the Ferengi boy. "Thank you. This was a very pleasant gesture." He grinned, embarrassed, and then ran off, out of their cell. "You do realize, there was nothing altruistic about that apology? Yalit obviously didn't want to risk me quitting my job." "Of course. But there is no reason why I needed to be rude to the boy. *He* seemed sincere. Perhaps they don't develop the misogyny until they're older and farther from the influence of their mothers." She looked at Q. "I wish to apologize. You were most likely right about their intentions regarding the swimming; they'd have waited until the dicydrenaline had taken full effect in another day or two, but eventually that was most likely their intent." "I am distressingly often right about horrible things people like to do to each other," Q said tiredly. He stood up. "I'm going to bed. I can barely see straight, and I haven't had *nearly* enough coffee to stay awake after the day I've had." "That is the best plan, most likely. Get some sleep. I'll be in when I need to rest." Actually she could go into her meditations now if she wanted, but after Q had admitted to her that he hadn't slept at all last night, she would leave him some time to fall asleep before going in. She found one of his books-- he had a number of real books, generally antique classics-- and sat down to try to read it, but she couldn't concentrate. Perhaps after being poisoned with dicydrenaline for a day it hadn't been wise to eat so many fermented grapes. Alcohol didn't normally have any sort of profound effect on her, but she felt unusually unfocused. Her mental restlessness was matched by some slight amount of physical restlessness, counterpointed by the weariness she felt from her exertions today. Perhaps more exercise *would* help. T'Laren returned to the katas, this time without the anger that had driven her earlier today. This time she was aiming for focus, not catharsis. Martial arts was a form of achieving discipline and focus while dispelling physical energy that couldn't be released by ordinary meditation. She tried to put herself into them fully, to let her mind narrow down to nothing more than the sensation of movement and the effort to perform precisely the correct movements. After some time she recognized it wasn't really working. She still couldn't focus, and now she was tired. She sat on the couch, intending to meditate. Her mind drifted. Q had surprised her greatly today. She wished she could take credit for it, but from what Anderson had said about the Borg, and for that matter from what Picard had said when she was on the *Enterprise* collecting information about Q from everyone who knew him in preparation for taking the assignment, she knew she hadn't taught Q selflessness. He'd been capable of it from his first day of being human-- perhaps from when he'd been omnipotent, though she suspected such a powerful being would rarely if ever be called on to sacrifice anything of any real importance to him. Depression made all beings much more selfish and inwardly focused, and usually made them behave badly in social situations; all she'd done was help him overcome that, letting qualities he'd obviously always had come to the forefront. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time. She'd been obsessed with helping him because that was what Lhoviri had demanded of her in order to undo her crime. This was the first time she felt strongly that he was someone who had *deserved* what she had done for him, in any greater sense than the general belief she held as a mental health professional that no one should have to suffer from depression. She had tried to keep him from throwing her out of his life because... well, she hadn't been entirely sure why not, except that she had no real reason for existing if she couldn't continue to try to help him. Now she felt as if he was becoming someone-- or had always been someone, and was just able to show it now-- that she *wanted* to be friends with. Her eyes followed the patternless expanse of the ceiling, drifted over the walls. She was so tired. She'd made Q a promise, but surely she could sit for a few moments before going to his room. Let him have a bit longer to get to sleep. He needed it, and deserved it after what he'd done since they'd been captured. She didn't have to get up just yet. T'Laren heard them before she saw them. The door opened, and she wanted to turn around, but her body was strangely heavy, almost paralyzed. She heard giggling male voices. The Ferengi who'd taken her to swim. She needed to stand up, to tell them to leave the room. It was as if she was in a gravity field of several gee. Everything was too heavy and she couldn't even really see right. Some sort of strange tunnel vision. They came to the couch where she sat, snickering, grasping their lobes and grinning. She tried to open her mouth to call Q, but no voice came out. The first of the leering Ferengi pulled her off the couch and pushed her down flat on the floor. The rug was thick, and she was sinking into it. She was wearing the swimsuit from before, and her limbs were so heavy because she was too tired from swimming, and she couldn't move. One of them was touching her legs, pulling them apart, and the first one was kneeling on her stomach. He undid the straphooks on the swimsuit and pulled it down, exposing her breasts, grasping them and fondling them as the DaiMon had done when they were first taken captive, and she couldn't move. Rage overwhelmed her and broke the paralysis. She lunged forward and grabbed the Ferengi's head, twisting violently. He screamed, and then went silent with a loud cracking sound, and his body went limp. He was dead, and the pleasure that filled her at killing him was almost like sex. All control gone, she came to her feet, knife in her hand, longing to bury it hard in one of her tormentors, cut him open and watch him scream and bleed his life away... &&& With a gasp of horror, T'Laren opened her eyes. There were no Ferengi in the room. She had fallen asleep without being able to properly meditate, and she had dreamed. Had dreamed. Even as her conscious mind reeled in self-disgust she remembered the sheer animal ecstasy of the murder she'd committed in the dream, the bloodlust that had consumed her. Obviously the dicydrenaline hadn't fully worn off. That, and she always had awful nightmares when she dreamed without meditating first. She was breathing hard, skin cold. Not quite shaking. She wouldn't lose that much control. She went into Q's room. She *had* meant to keep her promise to him. And perhaps the rape scenario in the dream had been her brain warning her of her vulnerability, trying to wake her up. She wasn't sure that his plan to have her sleep in his room would actually be needed, or effective for that matter, but she'd made a promise, and as long as he was actually asleep, it couldn't hurt. Q still slept with a dim nightlight. He'd curled up tightly in the blankets. As usual, he looked much more vulnerable, fragile and frightened, in his sleep-- though at least he didn't look as if he were just a few meters from death's door anymore. She sat down on the bed, breathing deeply, looking at him. It was ridiculous. They could still come in here with stunners if they wanted to take her, and with the groveling apology they'd delivered it was apparently unlikely Yalit would allow them to touch her as long as Q cooperated with her. She didn't *actually* need to be in Q's room to be safe. And yet she did feel safer. Illogical, but there it was. The room smelled of human, but to her that was childhood and safety and love with her foster parents. That was probably why she was having this visceral reaction. Possibly any human would have done. He looked so vulnerable, so... she didn't know what, exactly. She felt enormously protective of him, and tender. An urge almost overwhelmed her to reach out and stroke him, to push sweat-matted hair away from his forehead and pet him. She controlled it. It was totally inappropriate and it wouldn't have the reassuring effect she'd have intended; Q had been nearly killed in his sleep too many times to respond well to being touched while he was sleeping. He was so beautiful. She shook her head at the words her thoughts chose. He was healthy, and that made him more attractive. Beauty was not an adjective she should be applying. But it was true. He was beautiful. Despite being terrified, desperate, totally untrained for this kind of situation, and in fairly severe danger himself, he had spent the last two days trying to protect her. And he hadn't even told her. He'd whined about what a horrible day he'd had, but he hadn't mentioned or sought sympathy for Yalit's threat to have him put in stasis if he didn't cooperate until he obviously felt he *had* to tell T'Laren to keep her out of danger. He'd let her think he was frightened for himself because that was what he'd thought he'd needed to do to keep her safe. Tears pricked at her eyes. Vulcans were really, really bad at handling emotional overloads when their usual mechanisms of control weren't working properly. She got off the bed before she did something to completely humiliate herself and Q, such as breaking down crying because he was being so brave, or waking him up with her thoroughly unethical desire to touch him. Earlier she'd used the sonic shower to clean her bedsheets; they were still lying neatly folded on Q's dresser. She took them and laid them down on the floor. It was cold. Lately it was always cold, but it seemed that it was actually getting worse. Sleep didn't come as easily as it should have. She was too tired, too unfocused to meditate, which was deeply unfortunate as she really needed to. That frightened her, after the nightmare she'd had. T'Laren lay on the floor, breathing deeply, drawing in the scent of the bedroom. The Ferengi had never even been in here. She couldn't smell them anymore. No one had really assaulted her. She hadn't really killed anyone. Only a dream. Safety in numbers. Q would help defend her if they did attack, and Yalit apparently was putting a high priority on this transwarp thing. It was as safe as it could be, given their captivity. Eventually she fell asleep.