'Q'. Presumably the letter, rather than something you did when you were waiting for a taxi.
Was that supposed to mean something to him?
Q was looking at him expectantly, so presumably it was.
"So what are you doing on my ship?"
A flicker of annoyance, probably because his persistence on that topic was becoming tedious. "I'm here because I'm bored. Commander Riker is every bit as tedious as Jean-Luc, and I've lost all patience with the both of them."
A hasty review of the names of as many of Starfleet's command personnel as he could remember failed to come up with any Commander Riker. 'Jean-Luc' could be anybody.
"It occurred to me that maybe I'd picked the wrong people to befriend," Q continued airily. "So I thought I'd try a time when your species hasn't had so long to become bumptious with its own self-importance." He waved a hand. "And so here I am. Entertain me."
Malcolm Reed had an honest respect for his own skills. If called upon to shoot something or blow something up, he would have been confident of his ability to do so, these being his greatest strengths. But when it came to entertaining people, it was quite possible that there was absolutely nobody aboard Enterprise less capable than its armoury officer.
He suspected that his visitor was perfectly aware of that fact.
"I was not commissioned for my powers of entertainment," he said glacially.
"True, true." Q's smile was sardonic. "But then you have so many hidden talents that Captain Archer was unable to take into consideration when he was selecting his officers."
And yet again the scene changed.
Malcolm was standing on the Bridge, directly in front of the viewscreen. A quick look around revealed that everyone was present, everyone was safe – the captain was seated in his chair, reading something from a PADD, and even Trip was paying a brief visit to the Engineering station. They all seemed to be busy with routine tasks, but although Malcolm wasn't aware of having made a sound, everyone looked up and stared at him, plainly as astonished to see him there as he was.
This in itself would have been bad enough (unannounced and startling appearances on the Bridge were not Approved Officer Conduct), but after a second he realised with a chill of absolute horror that he wasn't wearing his Starfleet uniform. He was in an outfit he'd worn for a Section 31 op, one that had ended with the team having to fight their way out of a particularly dangerous situation. He'd gone in as bait, and was dressed accordingly, but the black leather was half torn off him in places and glossy with blood. He still had a knife in his hand, the only weapon he'd been allowed to carry; the foot-long blade was red. It fell to the deck, and the clatter of it was loud in the silence.
Captain Archer stood up, the astonishment on his face giving way to dismay and concern. "Malcolm, what the hell–? Are you okay?" His hazel eyes widened as he took in the blood, and he slapped the comm. panel on his chair. "Archer to Sickbay. Phlox, report to the Bridge – on the double!"
Malcolm had never been so glad to see the inside of his own office before. Though he could only imagine the myriad questions that would be asked next time he and the captain came face to face. Which would probably happen very shortly, when the computer provided his location in response to the inevitable demand of where he'd disappeared to.
He was appalled by the knowledge of the consternation and worry the apparition would have caused to the captain, and indeed to everyone else on the Bridge. And one thing he definitely didn't need was curiosity; his past was well hidden, but he was in the best position of all to know that secrets, especially damaging secrets, have a way of sneaking out. He'd helped enough of them into the daylight in his time, invariably to the extreme detriment of their owners.
"You see, you can be entertaining – in the right circumstances." Q smirked.
Guilt and rage choked the words in his throat for a second before he got out, "You had no right–!"
The entity – for surely the appearance of humanity was nothing more than a convenient illusion – waved this away. "'Might' equals 'right' as far as I am concerned. And now I trust you're prepared to treat me with a little more appropriate respect."
"Respect – you?" Malcolm took a step forward, his fists balled. "You've risked my career, you–!"
"Oh, please." A scornful wave of a finger, and he was frozen where he stood; literally frozen, for he could not move so much as a muscle as Q stood up and walked around him, inspecting him disdainfully. "I must say, Starfleet make poor choices in their security officers. Worf was another who never knew when to stop."
I hope he managed to punch your face through the back of your head, whoever he was. The thought went unuttered, because he couldn't move his mouth to form the words, but he prayed that Q would be able to hear them anyway. Right now, the only thing that could have induced him to kowtow to this lanky, sneering shite would be any threat to the ship; the safety of Enterprise and her crew were his responsibility and his number one priority. He calmed himself slightly by reflecting that although his career might well be at serious risk if Captain Archer ever did discover that he had an ex Black Ops agent working as his Head of Security, there was little real risk of his making this discovery simply on the basis of what he'd witnessed in that one startling apparition. After all, given Malcolm's Section operative's facility for concealing a truth in full view, it would be child's play to twist this latest one into just one more of the inexplicable series of happenings that had befallen him to be narrated to his bewildered CO: "I have no idea why he had me naked in a throne room, or dressed in torn leather, and oh, did I mention fighting a Klingon?"
"Well. However substandard – I think you'll do for now." Q resumed his chair and crossed one leg over the other, thrusting his hands negligently into his pockets. "I'm interested in investigating the concept of this thing you Humans call 'love'. 'The passion of the heart', I believe is the term."
Malcolm found himself able to move, but felt discretion was the better part of valour at that moment. "'Love'?" he spat, outraged. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Q steepled his fingers once more and smirked at him over them. "Oh, let's not be coy, Lieutenant. I think you know perfectly well."
Almost without his knowledge, his hands had bunched into fists. "I don't know what you're talking about."
No response to that; only the smooth turn of a hand to bring the palm upward, showing a tiny, perfect hologram cupped in it.
He already knew who he would see. And that it was pointless to deny –anything...
But he stiffened his back defiantly. "She's none of your business!"
"And none of yours ...yet, eh, Lieutenant?" The voice was sly. "Except as the scared little thing who's grown into a brave young woman – one of the crew it's your sacred duty to protect. I don't imagine she has the faintest idea how much you look forward to those extra phase pistol lessons you scheduled for her..."
"As I do for any member of the crew who needs them!" Malcolm snapped, flushing.
"But of course!" The supercilious eyebrows climbed. "But I hardly think you find Crewman Anderson's aftershave enchanting. And I hardly imagine you have to school yourself quite so sternly to behave with absolute propriety when you're adjusting Lieutenant Durand's posture."
By this time the Englishman was almost shaking with rage and humiliation. He'd fought tooth and nail against the attraction he felt, but though it was a losing battle he prided himself that no-one else even suspected his hopeless longing for a woman eight years his junior, one who wouldn't look twice at him as anything other than a senior officer. Having this absolute stranger spread out his private pain for amused inspection as though it was a cheap story in one of the more salacious newspapers was almost more than he could bear.
He had to swallow several times before he could be sure his voice would serve him. Then he spoke with arduous calm. "Whatever I may or may not feel about a member of this crew, or what they may or may not feel about me, is none of your business. Whoever you are."
"Ah, but I'm about to make it my business. I feel as though setting you a challenge might be entertaining."
Whether Q's powers were real or whether he was simply superbly able to induce hallucinations in his victims, there seemed little point in attempting to defy him. Malcolm swallowed again, dry-throated, and made what he already knew was a vain plea.
"Whatever you have in mind– please– no-one else aboard Enterprise–"
"Oh, mon cher Lieutenant – that's the whole point of the exercise!"