The man named Q

Rated K+

Summery, Kathryn lays dieing, who better to help out then Q. a short story written in rhyme.

Umm God owns all!

A warm hand grasp cold,

In an action,

So very old

A shattered man

Bends down,

Clasping a tiny hand.

Words saying to fight are spoken

To the undersized form

That lay there broken

A precious life lay in the balance,

He's just wishing

That she'd break that awful silence.

The doctor's face is grim,

As he turns from her,

To look at him

He shakes his head,

And with solemn voice says,

I'm sorry, but she is dead.

The room is so quiet

That the sound of grief rings

So loud that no one could ever miss it.

The man sinks to the ground,

Sitting by the silent figures bed,

Not moving not making a sound.

When from out of the blue,

A sound comes, one that is centuries old.

But at the moment very new

"Chakotay"

A whispered voice

Does say.

Jumping up to see,

Still

The form no longer be.

Fills the room,

Q At the foot of the bed

Did loom.

Holding the sight of many eyes,

He jokes and grins, the he says

"Now what would I do if she dies?"

Then the Q departs

As the man hugs and kisses the woman,

The kiss deepens as her lips part.

The man then offers a silent thank you,

To the man that they had once called a pest,

The man named Q.