Forgive me friends, for I have sinned. I have written a Q story. Since
I've already written a turbolift story, an amnesia story, an a/u story,
and a pon farr story (though mine was years before Voyager, about two
people fleetingly referred to herein), I believe I have now fulfilled
all the major genres of fanfic and can retire in peace, if these
characters just leave me alone. Paramount Television is an oxymoron, but
they own the Q Continuum and all therein. Still, I prefer to believe
it's Q himself who is pulling our strings. High sap levels: diabetic
shock warnings apply. Beth Nielsen Chapman wrote "Say It To Me Now,"
which is not quoted in this story.

A Q FROM THE MASTER
by YCD

"You're an idiot, Chuckles."

At first, I think the words are part of my dreams. I recognize the voice
instantly: Q, the infamous one, the intergalactic hazard and all-around
pest. But I've dreamed of him before, though he's hardly spared me more
than a glance in real life. It's always a nightmare, it's always Kathryn
he wants, and that's always what bothers me even if the fate of the
entire universe is at stake. So I don't worry right away, not quite
believing that the self-declared god would bother with me. It's not
until his next sentence that I snap awake:

"You're going to end up just like Jean-Luc."

There's nothing funny for me about being compared with Picard. My
subconscious mind wouldn't come up with that analogy no matter how mad I
got at myself. Picard, the man who forged the DMZ treaty and made it
stick, the captain who ultimately made it necessary for me to leave
Starfleet...whatever else might happen to me, I am not going to end up
like Jean-Luc Picard. I open my eyes and stare straight into Q's
oversized nose.

"Oooh, don't like that, do you?" he demands.

"Q, what are you doing here?"

The omnipotent one plunks down on the side of my bed, tipping my body
towards his. I jerk away, as far to the other side of the mattress as
possible without falling off. He rolls his eyes. "Actually, I didn't
want to see you at all," he admits. "I tried to visit Kathy, but she
was...busy."

"Good," I reply, though it's not really good. Kathryn spends far too
much time working lately; she doesn't even hang out in her Da Vinci
simulation on the holodeck anymore. She needs distraction. Q, however,
is not what I had in mind.

He reads my grimace. "I didn't mean busy THAT way," he explains with an
elaborate gesture towards my desk. "I meant she's busy as in I'm sure
she wouldn't appreciate being interrupted while she was lying around
doing what she was doing a couple of minutes ago, in your miserable
mortal timeframe." For a moment I can't think what he's talking about,
then it hits me. I'm mortified and furious for her at the same time, and
much too turned on, I don't want to let Q see that no matter what. Last
time he appeared on the ship, he barged in on her in the bath, but
apparently even Q have their limits. He lowers his brows at me. "I was
going to offer to help her out, but she said YOUR name. Imagine! She
could have had a Q, but she prefers an overweight human with a silly
mark on his head. So I thought I'd pay you a visit, instead."

"Q, why can't you leave her alone?" I groan. "She has a hard enough time
without you..."

"But that's why I'm here, my dear Chuckes." Q thankfully gets up and
starts pacing my quarters, which allows me to pull my blanket up over my
lap. "You see, I'm very grateful to Kathy. Wounded as I was by her
rejection, and charming as she is, I really would have become very bored
raising children with her for all eternity. I needed another Q. And my
son..." For a moment the alien's face melts, and he looks entirely
human. Then the smirk snaps back onto his face. "I wanted to do
something nice for her," he continues. "Puppies, a bigger ship, a trip
home..." I sit up straight but he waggles a finger at me. "Too obvious,
all of them. She'd know it was from me and refuse to accept it. Stubborn
woman! I was going to have a quiet look around, stay invisible and
figure out what she needs, but imagine my chagrin when I discovered that
she needs...well. Since I've already determined that you're insanely
jealous of me, I thought I'd just come ask you."

I stare at the know-it-all in disbelief. "Q, not that this is any of
your business, but what exactly do you expect me to do, barge into her
quarters like you did and force myself on her? She knows where to find
me."

Q lets out an exasperated laugh. "If you wait for her to come to you,
Nature Boy, you're going to end up very lonely and very frustrated."

"I'm already very lonely and very frustrated."

"Not as lonely and frustrated as she is. She hasn't had all those little
dalliances you seem to have indulged in..."

"Well, she might as well have!" I'm beyond annoyed now; my private life
is my private business, even from Kathryn. "Q, you said yourself that I
was jealous. She knows how I feel. She has chosen not to concern
herself..."

"Have you told her?"

"What?"

"Have. You. Told. Her?" The smug, superior look again. "I don't mean
some silly story about warriors and their tribes. A little self-
indulgent of you, if I do say so myself. I mean, have you told her how
you feel?"

"Not in so many words, no," I confess.

"Not in so many words. You humans!" Q throws his hands in the air and
his head back. "It's three words! Three! How hard can they be to say?"

"When's the last time you said them, Q?" I've got him there, I can tell;
he drops his arms abruptly as he turns to face me.

"Do you know what Kathryn said when I asked her to have my child?"

I am fairly certain that I don't want to know what she said, what he
asked, or anything else about those events. But I hear myself say,
"What?"

"She said, 'I don't love you.' I don't love you. As if that makes a
difference! That's what I said to her! I asked her what love had to do
with anything! And she said, 'Everything. It's the basis of a family.'
She's such a traditionalist. She's worse than you with your ancient
legends!" Abruptly, he sobers. "You're perfect for each other. Perfect.
I never met two people more perfect for each other, except maybe the
captain and first officer of the first Enterprise...well. I don't think
it's enough for you to tell her she's shown you the true meaning of
peace, Chuckles. There's only one word that's going to convince her. And
you know how stubborn she is."

That I do, I think, and see from the expression on his face that he's
read my thoughts. I start to get angry until I realize what it must have
cost him to admit what he's just told me: that he couldn't make a mere
mortal love him. Oh, I suppose he could have forced her to, if it came
to that. But again, I realize Q have their limits...at least, this Q
does. I feel the beginnings of a grudging respect.

Of course, that doesn't last long. "I still can't figure out why you,"
he says, in a voice dripping disgust. "But I realized when I brought
Riker on your ship for the hearing on my late, lamented colleague that
she was attracted to him. Him! William T. Riker, that pompous, self-
important second-rater who expects the women of the universe to fall at
his feet! Honestly, I would have given her credit for better taste. I
should have brought his clone instead." I can't help but laugh--though I
privately share the parts of Q's opinion of Riker which concern women,
Kathryn told me about the crush she had on him at the Academy when I
told her I knew Tom in the Maquis, so none of this comes as a surprise.

Mister Omnipotence narrows his eyes at me. "I can't see what you saw in
that Borg woman, either," he sneers pointedly. "At least I gave up
Kathryn for a Q. You've been willing to trade her for any long-haired
alien who flounces in your direction."

I start to tell him that's not true, then stop myself. There's no point
in arguing with a man who knows everything I've done, and will do. I
don't even want to argue with myself on that point. I'd rather atone and
get past it.

"Q?"

"Yesssss?"

"Why did you say I was going to end up just like Jean-Luc?"

Once more he rolls his eyes, crosses his arms, and paces. "Because he,
like you, is too silly to admit what he wants even when it's standing
right in front of him." One finger points at me, and I can't help
flinching a little, as if I expect poison darts to shoot out. "You're
going to be alone and crotchety at his age too, if you don't do
something soon. Now get your pants on and go..."

Q turns and makes a sudden face. "She's asleep," he announces.

"Kathryn?"

"Who else would I be talking about?" He stares at me as if I'm the
stupidest creature he's ever encountered, and I feel my cheeks flushing
in spite of myself. "Well, no point in waking her now. This conversation
will have to wait until morning."

"But..."

"Sleep well, Chuckes," Q says cheerfully, and snaps his fingers in my
face. I don't remember falling asleep. I don't remember being asleep.
The only think I do remember, much later, is that at least he never
asked me to thank him.

* * * *

The door to my quarters opens without a warning chime. Though I sleep
better on Voyager than I have anywhere else - my instincts as a guide
and tracker have been lulled into security by the familiar rhythms of
the starship, and the knowledge that the shrill of a communicator will
alert me to any emergency - I hear someone come in, and know at once who
it is. The force and pattern of her footfalls are like no one else's,
even now as she walks gingerly around my furniture in the dark. I think
perhaps that it is part of the odd dream I am having, but the steps keep
coming even after I sit up. While she crosses the outer room, I shrug
quickly into my robe, just beginning to formulate questions. She's not
on tiptoe despite her caution, not going out of her way to remain
silent: she intends to speak to me. What does it mean that she has
barged into my quarters in the middle of the night? Why is she here, why
has she come without warning me, what should I say? I order the lights
up ten percent.

Kathryn starts, a little, seeing me awake and sitting on the side of my
bed with my robe hastily closed. "Chakotay." I nod, acknowledging her
and accepting her presence here, despite the as-yet-unexplained
circumstances. She is wearing nightclothes, discreet long-sleeved
pyjamas, but it's still a surprise. She rarely appears out of uniform
anywhere on the ship. She surprises me again by stepping towards me to
sit beside me on the bed, her thigh brushing mine.

"I saw Q," she begins.

Damn. My instinct is to contact the bridge at once. Whatever the all-
powerful pest wants, he clearly wasn't being honest with me about not
appearing to her, and it now concerns the whole ship: after all, the
last time Q appeared to Kathryn Janeway, his behavior had consequences
for the entire cosmos. Maybe that's why Kathryn has come to me, alone,
instead of calling a crisis meeting in the conference room--it's not
like we really could do anything to stop him. Still, this is odd
behavior for her, and I worry fleetingly about her state of mind.

"What happened?"

"I know I should probably call a staff meeting, but I'm not entirely
sure that it wasn't a dream," she admits sheepishly.

"What did he say?" As I ask, I examine her closely. Her eyes are puffy,
possibly with sleep but the streaky color on her cheeks makes it look
like she's been crying recently. And her clothes have traces of dampness
on them, as if she wiped her face with her hands and then dried them on
her shirt, and her hair looks as though she's run her fingers through
it. "Are you all right, Kathryn?" I demand.

"I'm..." She takes in a deep breath and blows it out between her lips.
"Chakotay, I don't even know who I am right now."

Her words bring a rush of tears to my eyes; I turn my head away, aching
for both of us. I think, I know how you feel, Kathryn. I loved you, and
I knew who I was. It all fit together: being your first officer, being
your friend, being a part of this ship. Now none of it seems real. I
don't want to be this person.

"What did he do to you, Kathryn?" She bites her lip.

"He told me he was going to see you. Because he wanted to do something
nice for you, because you and the crew showed up and brought his mate
when the Continuum was about to execute us. But you were...busy, and he
didn't want to interrupt..."

That little creep! He told us the same cover story, and we both bought
it! I feel my cheeks flaming; I can hardly tell her that he told me the
same thing. "He woke me up," I say instead. "I was fast asleep, and he
said..."

"You saw him too?"

"Yes."

"Chakotay..." Her voice contains exasperation. "Why didn't you contact
me?"

"He put me to sleep."

Kathryn stares for a minute. "Well, that's a first," she says finally.
"I've heard Q be boorish, but never boring."

In spite of myself, I laugh. "It wasn't that. I mean, he made me fall
asleep. Literally. Said something about us needing a good night's
sleep."

"Us?"

"That was what he came to talk to me about."

A little shyly, she hesitates. "Me too."

"What did he say to you?"

"He told me that at the rate I was going, I was going to turn into
Alanna Necheyev."

"He told me I was going to turn into Jean-Luc Picard."

"You're kidding me." Kathryn stares at me with great amusement on her
face. "I hope you took it as a compliment. I think he has a crush on
Jean-Luc Picard."

"Q?!"

"Why else would he have singled him out for so much pestering? Do you
know, Picard recorded in one of his logs that Q told him that if he'd
known the good captain was susceptible to chivalric romance, he'd have
appeared to him as a woman? That's something I've been meaning to
mention to Q..."

She's laughing and I join her, the ice broken. "So, while he was
claiming to have caught both of us in respective compromising
positions..." She blushes scarlet, putting a hand over her eyes. "What
did he tell you to do about it, Kathryn?"

"Uh-uh. You first." Removing the hand from her face, she leans back on
her palms, waiting. I take a deep breath.

"He told me to tell you...something I think I've already told you, but
without benefit of ancient legends."

"Me too." Her eyes lower to the floor. "He told me to tell you something
I thought you already knew. Except then I thought maybe you didn't know,
or didn't care."

"Didn't know what?" I know it's the wrong question to ask. Q made it
clear that I would have to tell her first, just as she'd made it clear,
but I refused to heed her message, all those months ago. I remember the
moment of transition, the moment when it became muddled: Riley Frasier
and her Borg collective. When I was with her, I wanted it to be Kathryn
I was with, but when it was over, Riley was the one I remembered. Not
Kathryn. She wouldn't let me in, couldn't seem to forgive me. And I
couldn't forgive myself. I'd polluted my bond with her through the link
with them. I don't know how to apologize for that.

"That you didn't know...how I felt. It was so confusing. I thought...I
saw you crying over my dead body, I thought we were almost there. There
was still the problem of protocol, and our mission, but in the big
picture they didn't seem like the obstacles they had. And then...you
weren't there. I was alone. I didn't know if it was something I did or
something I didn't do...you never told me..."

Even all this time later, the argument we'd had over the Borg alliance
still hurts, more than I'd ever imagined it could. "I thought I was
doing what you wanted. Being your first officer. Not trying to be
anything else." Kathryn won't look at me, and her eyes are too bright in
the dim light. I think of Q and am surprised to find that I can draw
strength from him; I take her hand. "I was afraid, Kathryn. I thought
I'd offered you everything I had on New Earth, and you didn't want it. I
was afraid to tell you I loved you because I didn't think you wanted
it."

For what seems an interminable time to me, she sits biting her lip,
clenching my fingers, not speaking. When she needs to wipe her eyes, she
has to sit forward to take the weight off her other hand. "You
said...peace. You didn't say love, not then," she whispers. "And now
you're using the past tense."

"That's because I'm still afraid. I do better with stories."

Her eyes lift to mine, and tears spill down her cheeks. "I do better
with straightforward...but I wasn't straightforward with you. I'm sorry.
I did love you. I should have told you so."

"Now YOU'RE using the past tense."

"You're not the only one who's afraid."

"I know, Kathryn."

We sit together on my bed with the weight of the words unspoken between
us, and I am suddenly certain that Q is in the room with us, listening.
I see us from his perspective--an omnipotent being, who already knows
what will become of us after this conversation and this mission, to whom
tense means nothing because time means nothing. I hear his sardonic
laugh, I watch him roll his eyes, and abruptly I am filled with courage
born of the gratitude that I am what I am, and who I am, with her, where
we are. I look at her and smile, the weight lifted, and I say the words
so easily that she looks surprised. When I say them again, I lift her
hand to my mouth and kiss it. She presses her fingers to my cheek and
returns the words, then the kiss, and it's as if the last two years
never happened, as if the moment exists in Q-time, ever and always. The
problems of protocol, of the mission, all of the little excuses are
miniscule against the great span of eternity in which we exist. I hear
the chuckle, which sounds less sardonic this time, more satisfied.

And then I know he's gone. There's nothing but Kathryn, her hands on my
face and her mouth on mine, and our whispers between kisses. For the
first time his meddling actually seems like benevolence.

I think from the perspective of a god of romantic myths I've dismissed
as ludicrous--Cupid's arrow and Isolde's potion, thunderclaps and roses
blooming. In this moment with Kathryn, now, I spare a thought of
boundless gratitude for Q, who could make a believer even out of an
idiot like me.