I own nothing in the Star Trek universe, or in England, for that matter.

A good writer can record short stories describing small moments in time, transporting the reader and allowing him a small glimpse into the lives of the characters being created. A great writer can string those moments together into a coherent story. Unfortunately, I am neither. My glimpses into the life of a Q who ended up somewhere other than on the Enterprise as a result of the Continuum's banishment in "Déjà Q" is neither coherent, nor strung together into a complete story. Sadly, it is not told in chronological order either. Maybe that's why all of those Hollywood movies use flashbacks. Their writers have trouble connecting the dots, also.

The Puzzle

Bethany checked to make sure the blackout curtains were secure once more before sitting down on the blanket near the fireplace. "Mrs. Miller assures me that all of the pieces are here," she said, straightening her skirt as she knelt in front of the coffee table.

"That's what she said last time, but I believe one of her obnoxious grandchildren ate those four missing pieces. To have worked on that puzzle for four evenings in a row, and then to have to leave the project incomplete was as infuriating as the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition." Q added another log to the fire before kneeling beside Bethany on the blanket. "What is this one?" He picked up the box lid and studied the picture. "Paris doesn't look anything like this. The Eiffel Tower has been coated in Settio oil to prevent further degradation to the structure. Which, of course, gives it an orange sheen."

Bethany ignored the reference to Ferengi, and Settio oil, but couldn't resist commenting on an obvious inconsistency in Q's story. "The Eiffel Tower isn't orange." She began to sort the puzzle pieces into outer edges and inner pieces.

Q picked up a piece and placed in the middle of the table. "It was Settioized in 2050, after the Fourth World War. The Haran gases were causing it to crumble at an alarming rate."

"It's 1940,... and I told you, you can't start the puzzle in the middle. You can't be sure that is where the pieces will wind up at." Bethany reached across the table to sort through the pieces on Q's side, her hand brushing against Q's arm in the process. "You start on the edges, … and there won't be a Third World War, much less a Fourth."

"Well, I am sure. On all three accounts." He watched her hand as she worked. "Human kind will not learn from its mistakes, the Eiffel Tower will crumble, and that puzzle piece will be in the center of the picture."

"There are no Ferengi, no Haran gas, the Eiffel Tower isn't coated in Settio oil, war will end with the defeat of Hitler, and we will never let these atrocities occur again, John."

"I told you, I am Q, not this John Doe to which you incessantly refer." He repressed the aggravation he felt at repeating this discussion once again. Aggravation was a human emotion. The Q didn't have human emotions.

"Well, keep referring to Ferengi, and an orange Eiffel Tower, and Dr. Mueller will have you committed. Shell shocked soldier or not, he has little patience with delusions." Bethany began working on the edges, hoping to find a corner piece.

Q placed five more puzzle pieces in random places on the table top. "I was never a soldier. I'm not shell-shocked. I haven't lost my memory due to injury." He added seven more pieces to the six already there. "I'm being punished for interfering with the natural progression of numerous lesser species or some such nonsense."

"Okay. Hand me the pink piece by your elbow." She smiled, relieved that there had been no tantrum this time when she had confronted him about the fantastical alternate reality he had constructed to help him deal with whatever atrocities he had experienced in the war. Obviously his condition had been diagnosed as severe, allowing his discharge from service, since every other able bodied male between 18 and 35 had already been called upon to defend King and country. To have a healthy young man walking through the village these days was an oddity. Bethany had been afraid at first that Q would be subjected to the ire of the remaining townsmen of Lewes. But, a person had only to spend a few minutes in conversation with him, to realize that something was amiss. She had tried at first to convince him to keep his story to himself, but decided after a few trips into town, that his delusions worked in his favor. Most of the older men and women patted him compassionately on the back, and shook their heads in pity as they walked away. The few injured young men that had returned to their village, seemed to recognize in him a kindred spirit, and only nodded as they listened to his constructed tale of banishment from a superior alien race. Bethany had heard it so many times that she knew it by heart. "The pink piece, please."

When he didn't move, she leaned across him to reach it. Glancing up, she realized her mistake. In such close proximity, it was easy for Q to lean down and press his lips against hers. She was surprised by their softness, and warmth. Despite her surprise, she closed her eyes, and pressed back, enjoying the heat. Parting her lips, she sucked gently on his lower lip. She opened her eyes, and realized he was watching her. Pulling back, she moved away from him.

Q placed two more pieces on the table, seemingly non-plused by the interaction.

Bethany sat back, and sighed. "I have to ask. Do you have remarkable restraint, or do you just not find me attractive?" She watched him move six new puzzle pieces around on the table. "I mean, this is the second time you've kissed me, yet I almost feel as though I'm just an experiment for you, or part of a study you're conducting on human interactions." Instead of answering, he merely reached for four new pieces. With them, he connected the original pieces he had placed in the center of the table, but he didn't reply to her question.

"You can't force those pieces together just to prove a point," she said, resigned to his avoidance of the topic she had broached.

"I'm not forcing anything," Q said, adding several more pieces to the conglomeration he had constructed in the middle of the table. "They fit."

"That isn't the design on the box lid," she sighed. "Just because the pieces fit, doesn't mean that they match."

Q turned to face her again. He put a final piece on the table. Raising his hand, he gently touched her cheek. Leaning closer, he pressed his lips against hers again, but this time with much more urgency. His tongue raked against hers, stealing away her breath. When he finally withdrew, he repeated her words back to her. "Don't mistake my restraint for disinterest. But sometimes, even though the pieces fit, they don't match." He stood to leave. "Goodnight, Bethany. I'll see you in the morning."

Bethany watched Q walk to his bedroom. When his door shut, she glanced down at the picture he had assembled in the middle of the table, sans edges. Paris, at night…with an orange Eiffel tower in the distance.

Please read and review, and feel free to inform me of any inconsistencies, or grammatical errors.