Dreaming of Q - Chapter Six

[themistoklis]

Title: Dreaming of Q
Fandom: Fake News, U.S. politics
Summary: Q's ("Stephen" Colbert) game has come to an end, and with some creative wriggling he may get what he wanted anyway. Q tries to smooth things over before life goes back to 'normal' on the USS Hope.
Character/Pairing: "Stephen"/Jon, Rahm Emanuel, Barack Obama, Joe Biden, Kalpen Modi
Rating: PG-13, language
Length: ~5700 words
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Notes: Co-written with the ever excellent doctorv. Thanks endlessly much to the lovely sirdrakesheir for intense betaing, and sailorptah for proofreading. Star Trek crossover of a sort.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Five


Chapter 6

The lights were low, but still bright enough to easily see by. The clink of glasses and murmur of conversation came from all around, but shadows hid the identities of the bar's occupants, small glows lighting various booths and tables only enough to see their surfaces and the occasional hand. It was altogether very atmospheric, giving the impression of quiet, muted class while at the same time carrying the kind of energy that said it wouldn't be adverse to a brawl.

"What can I get you?"

Whirling, then overbalancing and catching himself on the edge of the bar, Rahm realized that he was no longer frozen. The lights over the bar rose just enough to see the bartender, wiping down an already spotless glass with a rag. Jon's -- Q's smile was almost a smirk, but a kind one.

"What can I get you, Commander?" he repeated.

"Andorian ale," Rahm rasped, staring at him.

Q was sitting next to him, slumped over the bar, dark eyes fixed on Q's black bowtie. Standing behind the bar, Q was wearing a black vest and white shirt, like a bartender out of some old movie. Rahm watched him toss bottles around and pour without looking down and wondered if he just might have been.

Slugging down the first gulp left his throat burning, and Rahm wiped the ale off his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked over his shoulder and the lights rose just slightly, revealing the rest of his crew -- his crew -- gathered around small tables scattered through the bar. He couldn't tell how big the bar was, but right there, at the tables closest to the bar (but still a dance floor away), there was his crew. Zeke and Peter and Barack all staring at Joey. Rahm nearly laughed.

No one out-drank a Klingon (even one who was three-fourths Betazoid).

Rahm took a step toward the table, feeling the urge to make sure they were in one piece, and suddenly found himself standing beside his captain's chair. "Rahm!" Barack greeted him cheerfully. "Joe was just telling us how much he's been enjoying the new holodeck program."

Beaming, Joe said, "I can't wait to get a copy. Very interesting, your old Earth politics."

Barack met Rahm's eyes and an unspoken communication passed between them: just go with it.

Leaning down, Rahm murmured in one slightly pointed ear, "Are you okay, sir?"

"I hate to admit it, but I had fun with this...what would you call it, Number One?"

"Kidnapping?"

Barack grinned. "That works too. But I did have fun, and everyone seems to be in about the same condition they were in before it started. I consider that a win."

"Being jerked around by a bored Q, sir?"

A firm look was leveled at him as Captain Obama frowned gravely. "Not being destroyed by a bored Q because my First Officer chewed him out? Yes, Rahm, I consider that a win."

Rahm looked away with a grimace. It was a valid point.

"I suppose," Barack continued thoughtfully, "I'm also lucky I have a First Officer willing to take on a Q for the sake of the crew." Glancing up at him, Barack raised an eyebrow and gave him a small smile.

Rahm straightened, hands clasped behind his back, and inclined his head. "Sir."

"Another round of drinks, gentlemen?" said a voice just behind Rahm.

Smiling amiably, Q stepped forward with a tray of drinks, distributing them around the table with ease. Once his tray was empty and tucked under his arm, he set a firm hand on Rahm's arm and said over his shoulder, "If you'll excuse me, I need to steal the Commander away for a minute."

Turning at a tug on his arm, Rahm found himself back at the bar, Q once more wiping off a spotless glass. Q, in the mean time, had vanished. Staring at the other Q's vacated seat, a gentle swishing sound made him turn around to see his drink being refilled. He looked up, mouth suddenly dry, and exhaled. Staring at the blue-tinted gray eyes of the bartending Q, Rahm thought crazily of reflection nebulae.

"What do you get out of this?" he suddenly asked of the Q. "Why play along?"

Eyes flicking up from the glass to meet his, Q hesitated before saying, "It's fun playing along." When Rahm furiously opened his mouth, Q raised a hand and continued. "The ambassador had the right idea: it is like one of your holodeck games...you just didn't know it."

"I knew something was fucking wrong," Rahm argued, growling.

Unexpectedly, Q grinned. "But that was part of it, man. It wouldn't be any fun if you couldn't figure it out."

Rahm scowled. "So who won?"

Q shook his head. "It's not that kind of game." He tilted his head and shrugged. "But if I had to call it, I'd say it was a tie."

"Because you interrupted."

The Q's gaze sharpened, the bar's lights reflecting oddly in his eyes. "If I hadn't--"

"I didn't need you to protect me," Rahm snapped.

There was silence at the bar, the clink and murmur of the background seeming to lower in volume somehow. Q's focus was once again drawn to the task of wiping off the glass in his hand. "I wasn't protecting you, I was protecting him," he said in a soft, subdued voice.

"You're making about as much sense as an Andorian Sex Ed class."

Q glanced up and grinned again. "I like that," he said. "I may use that some time." When Rahm just glared at him, the smile melted away.

"My...primary concern in this was Q, it always has been. I like you people, mortals, and I've spent a lot of time trying to help you--"

"Did you ever think maybe we don't need or want your fucking help?"

Q suddenly leaned over the bar, one arm resting on its surface to support him. He narrowed his eyes. "You remember a while back when the Cohen-Fanar colony was almost wiped out by the system's sun unexpectedly going supernova?"

"Yeah, a freak meteor storm knocked one of the closer planets out of orbit long enough to block the worst of it so the colony could be evacuated..." Rahm trailed off, eyes widening as he stared at the man-shaped being barely a foot away from him.

Straightening, Q returned his attention to the bar rag in his hands. "I help where I can...especially when it's my own people causing the problem," he said evenly. "But in this, my main concern is Q." Glancing at Rahm again, Q twisted one hand away from the rag to reveal a remote control. Above him, an old fashioned Earth television hissed and glowed to life.

At the press of a button on the remote, the static on the screen blinked over to an image of Peter Orszag adjusting his cuffs in The Daily Show's green room.

"Though I did try to help your people as well."

Jon Stewart entered the room and greeted the waiting Orszag with a grin and a handshake, saying, "Thanks for staying."

"My pleasure. I really enjoyed the interview."

"Well the audience was certainly charmed. Hey listen, uh, what do you know about this feud between Stephen and Commander Emanuel?"

"Um...I know that even mentioning Colbert's name makes his eye twitch."

On screen, Jon giggled. "I am impressed. Uh look, can you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

Reaching out to once again shake the Lieutenant's hand, the supposed comedian tightened his grip and pinned the man in place with a penetrating stare of starlight reflected off cosmic dust. "Please tell Commander Emanuel that Q says hi, Lieutenant Commander Orszag."

"Sure," Orszag replied, voice sounding dazed and distant, though his posture had been abruptly infused with military precision.

Jon grinned and let go of his hand, saying, "Thank you, Peter, I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me."

"Huh? Uh, yeah. Yeah, it's been an honor."

"Likewise."

Still looking dazed, Peter walked off screen as the scene faded to black. Moments later it was replaced with the green room again, but waiting in it this time was Katherine Sebelius.

"What's the point of this?" Rahm hissed, suddenly remembering with a cold chill how enthusiastic Orszag had been about Jon Stewart upon returning from the show. He had passed on Q's message and then suggested more of their people should go. "Showing me you've been brainwashing my crew? You're no better than him."

Not looking away from the TV screen, Q calmly remarked, "You're missing the point if you think that's what I've been doing. Watch."

So Rahm watched, as one by one, members of his cabinet, of the USS Hope's displaced crew, met Jon Stewart backstage and were given the same instructions to tell him that Q said hi. He was missing something, he knew it, lurking at the edge of his mind and just waiting for the right moment to--There.

"You called them by their titles," he murmured. "Their real titles." Eyes sliding from the screen to the Q, Rahm said almost accusingly, "You were reminding them who they were."

"Think back, Commander, that's not all I was doing."

Not all...tell Commander Emanuel that Q says hi...

They had, hadn't they? Every last fucking one of them had told him "Jon says hi" and then...

"You were reminding me, too. Weren't you?"

A small smile played at the corner of Q's mouth as he shrugged one shoulder. "I couldn't be obvious about it. Q would've noticed. Or the others would have. I didn't want to involve them..." The smile disappeared, replaced by a furrowed brow as he continued to gaze up at the television. "Turns out I didn't have a choice."

Confused, Rahm turned back to the TV, where one of the new additions to the White House staff was walking on set. Within the context of the illusory world created by Q, he was a former actor and currently the Associate Director of the White House Office of Public Engagement. On the Hope, he was part of the Engineering staff, someone Rahm could remember seeing all over the ship.

Jon introduced and greeted him as Kal Penn, but was quickly corrected by the man, who called himself Kalpen Modi. As they sat, Jon graciously apologized, called him Kalpen, and asked if he could call him Kal. Modi agreed, grinning.

"Good to meet you! Now tell me," Jon leaned in, gazing at the man with a serious expression. "Now that you're becoming influential in politics, do you ever worry that people will still see you as nothing but a pot-smoking funnyman?"

The serious expression lasted through Kal's chuckle, but when the audience cracked up, he grinned. "Heh, um, yeah, a little, sometimes," Kal replied, smiling a bit wryly. "But I've already been involved in politics--"

"Campaigning for Obama?"

Kal nodded, motioning toward Jon with one hand. "Right, and I've been studying political science since high school. So this is more a...returning to my roots than completely out of nowhere like some people seem to think." He grinned suddenly, looking up to meet Jon's eyes. "And speaking of roots, we've actually met before."

Surprised, Jon straightened. "We have?" His voice squeaked on the last word and the audience laughed.

"Yeah, I was surprised you didn't recognize me, really," Kal said, still smiling. There was something disconcerting about his tone and expression. "You and that friend of yours."

Jon froze, going pale. His smile teetered on the edge of falling off. "W-Well Stephen is... He-He...takes some getting used to?"

Kal laughed. "You're a natural diplomat, Jon."

Jon smiled weakly, fidgeting with his pen. "I try," he muttered, then glanced up at the camera to add, "We'll be right back."

He had spent most of the Toss drinking in Q's presence and reassuring himself that his friend was still safe and whole.

The screen briefly faded to black, then faded back in to the backstage area of the show. In the green room, the first thing out of Jon's mouth was a hissed "What are you doing here, (Q)?"

Smiling enigmatically, the Q calling himself Kalpen sat back on the couch, lounging even. "I go where my crew goes," he said, calmly. "I think the more important question is what are they doing here? Or you for that matter."

"Looking for a good time?" Jon ran a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the tremor in his fingers. "He's not doing any harm," he insisted. "And I'm...keeping an eye on him."

"You two are so codependent it's not even funny."

"Hey!"

"Look, I'm telling you this as someone who likes and respects you, Q," (Q) said, leaning forward and fixing Jon with a grim stare. "Make sure that he continues to not do any harm to the Hope's people, or he'll bring down the wrath of the entire Continuum on his loud-mouthed head."

Jon swallowed loudly. "You...You can't," he said. It came out more as a plea than a threat, but the hint of a threat lurked below the surface, the tone mimicking the nature of its owner.

They eyed each other from across the room, two beings of immeasurable power diluted into human bodies that didn't even hint at what they were capable of. Each in the grips of intense loyalty and thus unwilling to budge.

Kal smiled and leaned back. "You could do better for a friend than the Continuum's crazy, unacknowledged uncle, Q," he remarked. "They might not all understand you, or your need to protect mortals, but you've managed to get a fair amount of respect among our ranks."

Q's brow furrowed as he frowned. "Q isn't cr--" He paused, thinking it over. "He's better than you give him credit for."

"If you say so," Kal said with a shrug. Getting to his feet, he stretched, then he grinned. "Don't think I haven't noticed what you've been up to."

Jon gave a small, strained smile. "Playing along?"

Leaning in close as he approached the doorway that Jon hadn't moved from, Kal whispered, "You're reminding them of who they really are. You're stacking the deck to help them win this fucked-up game he's playing."

"I prefer to think of it as evening the odds," Jon murmured.

"Even so...thanks." (Q) frowned. "But don't think I'll hesitate if you stand between me and him if he raises a fucking finger against my people."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "What was it someone once told me about going native?"

"There's galaxies of difference and you know it, Q."

"What we both know, (Q), is how far I'll go to protect him."

Their eyes met again, inches and a universe away from each other. After a moment of eternity, (Q) quirked a smile and Q's mouth twitched.

"The others don't know about this?"

"Not yet," (Q) replied, eyes moving to the door.

"I'll keep an eye on him." Jon stepped aside and turned around to face Kal again. "He doesn't mean any harm."

"Neither do baby junthakae, but they can still kill you." (Q) paused with his hand on the doorknob and glanced back to say with a hint of regret, "I like you, Q. But I won't hesitate."

"Fair enough."

The picture blinked out at (Q)'s exit and it took Rahm a white-hot second to process what he had just witnessed. "He's part of my crew."

"Yes."

"One of you fucking meddlers has been lurking on my ship, pretending to be a member of Starfleet--"

"He isn't pretending," Q interrupted, finally turning to face him again. He looked somber. "(Q) went to your Academy, took your classes, passed your tests, and was assigned to your ship the same as everyone else on it. He wanted the full experience."

"Why?"

"As I understand it, he's studying your people in an effort to convince the Continuum that next time we have a fucking civil war, maybe we should watch which suns we're blowing up so no one gets caught in the crossfire."

Memories of the shaken Cohen-Fanar colonists flashed through his fizzling mind. "You're fighting a war?"

"Not anymore," Q said grimly. "And with any luck, never again."

Finally remembering his refilled drink, Rahm grabbed it and downed the Andorian ale in one smooth motion. "Fuck," he growled, voice rough from the burn of the alcohol. "That's why you stepped in. He was going to--"

"I don't know that," Q cut him off swiftly. "And neither do you. Because it didn't happen. Nothing happened. We all came here and had a nice drink and cooled off." Glancing to the side, he added, "Isn't that right?"

Rahm's head whipped around to take in Q, once again sitting on the bar stool next to him. The Q folded his hands on the bar and put his chin on top of his knuckles, saying nothing. Leaning down, Q murmured something into his left ear -- the one away from Rahm -- and drew back slowly, picking up his rag again to wipe at the bar with.

"Yes," Q muttered sullenly.

Rahm's heart nearly stopped. "That's it?"

At a look from Q, Q added, "M'sorry."

"After all you put us through -- You're fucking sorry?!"

"Now now," Q said, refilling Rahm's drink again. "We can all play nice."

"I don't even understand why the hell this happened!"

Q sat up straight and glared at him, the low lights glinting off his glasses. Before he spoke Q leaned forward and laid a hand over his arm, and Q's voice was surprisingly quiet when it finally came out. "Every overture of friendship I make, spat back in my face. This is your--"

Q cleared his throat meaningfully.

Q's face collapsed. "I just wanted a human friend," he said, looking pleadingly at Q.

Rahm downed his third Andorian ale. "Fuck," he said. Then, for added measure: "Fucking hell. Motherfucking knucklefuck fuckwit--"

"We get the point!" Q snapped.

Rahm turned to him and grabbed his tie, glad that this time he knew what he was doing. The music didn't skip a beat though he yanked Q forward so their foreheads nearly bumped, and the man's dark eyes widened, glinting like stars going out for the night. "If I agree to be your human friend, do you agree to never darken our doorways again?"

"Unfair!" Q said, gaping.

"Why?"

Q cleared his throat. "Temporal Prime Directive, Q."

"I hate playing by their rules."

"Are you saying you've already messed with us in the future?!" Rahm was pretty sure that the fourth drink didn't even touch his tongue on the way down. He'd been warned not to drink too much Andorian ale, once, but it was the only drink that Joey didn't like. And drinking it meant he didn't ever have to share.

"No," Q said, rolling his eyes. "I'm most definitely not saying that."

"How about," Q said, swirling his rag around the lid of a glass, "I promise to be there with him, whenever he shows up again."

"And you'll be my human friend," Q trumpeted.

"I feel sick," Rahm muttered under his breath.

"Now that that's settled, it's time for you to go home," Q said.

"You can't go messing with our memories any more than you already have--"

Q held up a hand. "You and Barack and two senior officers of your choosing will remember. Do you really want to explain this to your crew? Your families?" The last word brought raised eyebrows and a glitter in those stardust eyes.

Rahm sank back down on his stool, startled to find himself on his feet.

"Wait!" Q exclaimed. "Q! Q, take a picture!"

Before Rahm could react, an arm was thrown around his shoulders while a cheesily grinning Q pointed at him with the hand not clutching Rahm's arm. The last thing he saw before the flash of the old fashioned camera blinded him and whited out the world was Q smiling at his friend's antics.

---

The light faded and Rahm rocked slightly, his hand coming down on the corner of a control panel. Sounds roared in the corners of the room and he shoved his heel against the floor, bracing himself. He had to blink away white spots before the panel looked like a panel, but it took longer for the rest of the room to fall into focus. He sucked in a few shuddering breaths and leaned against the controls, shoulder pressing a button that made all the lights next to him flicker until he stood up straight again.

A passing ensign started to give him a dark look before the kid met his eyes. The kid skittered off and disappeared into the crowd, while Rahm let the wall hold him up. Something distinctly blue was sloshing around in his stomach: he could still taste Andorian ale in the back of his throat.

He was back in uniform again.

"Sorry about that," a voice on his left said, making him jump. He looked over to see a wide smile at his side. "Some meddling made the warp core flash there for a moment. We've got it all fixed now, sir."

Rahm stared at him, feeling his jaw lock into place. The rest of the engineering crew ebbed and flowed around them, pounding along the paths laid into place for the aftermath of a warp core malfunction. The yellow-gold of his uniform framing his face, Kalpen stared straight at him. How long had he even been on this ship?

"Ship's business should continue as normal," Kalpen went on, head tilted to one side.

Rahm thought of him standing there, on the television, swearing hell if the crew was harmed. But Rahm could also think of a dozen other times had Q put the ship in nearly as much danger without a word from this kid in engineering, this Q undercover. How long had he been here, watching them, reporting back to the Continuum?

…When had he ever let anyone down?

"Never," Rahm muttered to himself.

Kalpen's eyes widened slightly. "Commander, sir?"

"You," Rahm said, stepping away from the wall, "are going to schedule a bridge shift a week from now on."

A brief moment passed, nothing but the hum of the engines, and Kalpen stood to attention. "Yes, sir."

I want you where I can see you, Rahm thought, but kept his mouth shut as he pushed off the wall. Giving him a parting nod, Kalpen moved back to his station, murmuring commands to the ensigns around him. No one was acting like anything was wrong. The warp core had flared, nothing serious, make sure those reports get filed on time.

He stood and watched the crew move around until something clicked in the back of his brain: his Captain.

---

The lift doors did not appreciate being shoved open, or at least that was what the computer snapped at him as he threw himself onto the bridge. The crew got one look at him and flung themselves against their stations, one poor ensign vaulting over her control panel to (barely) avoid getting hit.

Standing behind her station, Mona rolled her eyes at him and pointed at the door leading to Barack's office. "He's in there on a call with Dr. Biden, she called about something with Ambassador Biden, but I wouldn't go in there--"

Rahm grunted and barreled towards the door. The computer stammered out a protest before opening in time for him to jump sideways through the gap. "Barack, you tell me right now if that jackass left any marks on you--"

A hand on the side of his face, Barack raised his eyebrows. "It's good to see you too, Rahm. Come in, have a seat."

He was pacing, too, walking parallel to the desk, pivoting on his heel closer and closer to the wall with each pass. "I can't believe we just spent weeks at his beck and call! There has to be some way to get back at them, some way to get the Continuum to deal with him!"

"Didn't you promise to be nice?" Barack asked.

"That's the way I heard it."

Rahm froze mid-step, one foot stuck out in the air before him. He glanced to the corner of the room and brought his shoe back to the floor, shifting his posture under Michelle's smirk. "Commander," he said, pulling his hands behind his back. "I didn't realize you were here."

"Remember how we got to choose two other senior officers to remember everything?" Barack asked.

Without turning around, Rahm nodded. "Good choice, sir."

"You were cute on The Daily Show," Michelle said. "We should get you in a suit more often."

Rahm gritted his teeth and nodded, mumbling something about needing to check on his crew before stomping out of the room. This time he clipped his shoulder on the door, but Michelle was laughing so hard he didn't stay behind to snap at the computer.

Things were well enough back to normal.

---

Sitting at the desk in his private quarters, Barack's fingertips slid over the touch keyboard. He watched pages shift and change until the one he needed came up, and then he paused with his lips slightly parted. Exhaling, he pushed himself out of his chair, stepped around the desk and gathered Bo up in his arms. The dog was less than pleased to be laid out in the hallway and slunk away with his head down low.

Barack shook his head. The girls were around somewhere -- he hadn't wanted them to go back to school just yet. Michelle had raised an eyebrow but kissed his cheek before going to her deck for work, and the girls had relished the chance to go back to bed for another hour. He was taking them out in a shuttle later because he hadn't had a real excuse for them about why he wanted to stay off the holodeck for the next few decades.

Shadow realities had lost a bit of their appeal.

With the dog in the hall and the ears in the room reduced to two, Barack leaned over his console and said the stream of letters and numbers that unlocked Q's official Starfleet file. Memorizing the string had taken him a while, but sixteen characters had been the minimum Starfleet was willing to go with, since it was three more than what Rahm had demonstrated he could rattle off on the top of his head.

Barack thought the admirals underestimated his First Officer, but the first suggested password had been twenty-four characters long and he preferred not to go back to that.

He brought up security stills of Q and added them to the file. Not strictly necessary, but another step he could put between himself and the task of writing out the final version of the incident report. He wondered if he could just copy and paste things he'd sent to various Starfleet administrators.

Sliding past the section he was supposed to be working on (Interactions with Starfleet Personnel) he went directly to the last sub-section on the page (Commander Rahm Emanuel). Hopefully this section would never have to be used -- hopefully this entire page would never be needed, but they couldn't let something like this go without a safety net. If any other captain encountered Q, well. Rahm would be on the next shuttle whether he liked it or not.

Head buried in the work, Barack jumped back when the door slid open.

"Fucking computer didn't want to let me in," Rahm barked, stomping forward and launching himself into the chair in front of Barack's desk. There was a beat of silence, Barack's hands hovering over the keys, and Rahm snarled, slumping down. "Yes, the girls are out of earshot. I'm not that much of a jackass."

Exhaling, Barack quietly saved his work while staying ready to spin the monitor around in case Rahm leaned forward. The other man rubbed his hand over his face and sighed, looking for all the world like he was going to melt into his chair, but Barack didn't doubt his reflexes for a second.

His hand dropped away and Rahm tugged at the collar of his uniform. "Your dog tried to eat my shoes when I came in."

"He does that."

"You need to let him run around on the holodeck." Rahm glanced at the back of the monitor and raised an eyebrow. "So why did I have to use my password to get in here?"

Barack didn't bother asking why he hadn't knocked. "I'm working with sensitive information," he said, backtracking through the file. There really ought to be one place to click and close out everything.

"What sensitive information would I not know about? What the fuck's wrong now -- is that a picture of him?!" The Commander shoved himself out of his chair and slapped his hands down on the desk, trying to lean around Barack's shoulder to see the screen.

"No." The pages finally closed, the screen went dark. Barack let out a breath, though he had to blink away the after-image of Q with his arm slung around Rahm, the Hope crew crowded at out-of-focus tables behind them. The photograph had just been there when he'd opened the file, and he hadn't really tried to see if he could delete it.

"Was that my name? What the hell were you putting on there?"

"We're going to walk Bo now, Rahm."

"Since when did that knucklefuck have his own file? I want to look at it. Barack, it has my name on it, I want to look at it."

He eased out of his chair and ignored the man's frantic punching at the keyboard. "You're not even supposed to be on duty right now," he said.

He shot a look over his shoulder and caught a scowl in return. Barack took a small breath and stopped in the doorway. Drastic times called for drastic measures.

"Get out of your uniform and meet us at Holodeck three in fifteen minutes. Bring your kids."

Rahm looked down at the keyboard and back up at him, eyes glittering.

"Yes, sir."

---

Q pressed tight against the new alcove in the wall, face smooth and utterly unrevealing. Not that a human face could come close to expressing the depth of a single Q emotion, but -- he had other things to concentrate on at the moment. More important things.

"Did you have to make this thing so small?" Q asked, glancing up at the ceiling of the cramped alcove.

"Mmm."

The unassuming recess hadn't garnered them a single look from any of the passersby (or anyone doing any lurking of their own). As long as he'd been making the niche anyway, Q had slanted it at the best angle to see all the action happening just a few feet down the hallway. He sucked his lower lip in between his teeth and listened to the burbling voices coming from around the corner.

"Where's the rest of your people?"

"C'mon, Peter, it's not like I need ten people to show me around a starship. I have been on these before."

This little body's head was rushing. Q let himself fall into it for a moment -- just a moment, submitting to the rush of blood and the pounding of the heart in his working ear and the soft, pointed silence in the other. He gripped a ridge in the wall with one hand, steadying himself. Apparently he needed to take a look at the knees on this particular model before he took it out for another spin. They had a tendency to weaken.

"Ah… yes sir."

Q briefly shut his eyes, opening them at the brush of fingers against his cheek. He met Q's eyes and very nearly found himself reaching up to take his glasses off for a better look. A simple thought took the glare from the glass, though, and he was reminded that he kept meaning to ask Q how he'd managed to mix up that color for his eyes: gray that snatched blue from anywhere and everywhere.

"Are we going to talk?" Q murmured, his fingertips brushing Q's chest.

Through the fabric Q felt everything in him shiver, a quiet wave of Q washing through him, the touch not finished at the edges of their current bodies. As the other being's hand fell away, Q swallowed. It was good to be back, like this, with another Q. Even if this body's throat was dry now.

"It's Joe, Peter. Call me Joe."

"Later," Q said. When Q gave him a look, eyes cool, he exhaled. "(Q) wouldn't like finding us chatting it up in the mess hall."

"No," Q said, lips quirking. Something flickered through his eyes Q couldn't place. "He wouldn't."

"Did I miss lunch?"

"No sir. The Captain is waiting on you, sir -- Joe."

Q leaned forward again, breathing softly. "I just ask," he said, "because I'm curious. You thought you'd made me and you gave me a whole life, Q, not just a studio for me to huddle in with the lights out. You gave me a history and fans and a family--"

Another design flaw in these humans: blood was always rushing all over the place. Q felt his face flush and turned towards the hallway, trying to avoid his friend's eyes. "You're always talking about the evolution of culture and nonsense like that, I just went off things you seemed to like."

"Are we eating in the mess hall?"

"I think Captain Obama has a table prepared in his quarters--"

The surprise in Q's voice was just a little unwarranted, Q thought. "All those times I talked on about human history and human society, you were paying attention?"

Q only took Q's elbow in his hand and pressed a finger to his lips, murmuring for him to listen. The best part was coming up. Q's lips pursed once against his fingertip before he leaned slightly towards the hallway, craning to listen and brushing the gray front of his uniform against Q's red.

Just… a couple more steps…

"Nonsense, I'd like to eat with the rest of the crew--"

Q's hand slid into his, and Q's fingertips flared.