De-Tached: Story 3: Life with Beverly
Chapter 3: La fête de Noël est terminée.
"I must say, Jean-Luc, you really do know how to throw a party."
Jean-Luc refused to dignify this statement with a response.
Determined to keep on annoying his favorite mortal, Q waved his hand, and a lowball glass filled to the brim with Aldebaran whiskey floated in front of Admiral Jean-Luc Picard's nose. Much to Q's surprise, Jean-Luc actually grasped the floating glass, and drank almost half of the green liquid before the sorely put-upon mortal finally deigned to turn his head to the right, just a little bit, to glare at the being sitting next to him on the Louis XIV style padded sofa.
"What are you doing here, Q? I don't recall inviting you."
"Oh, how could you not invite me, Jean-Luc? I'm sure that my invitation just got lost in the interstellar mail somewhere…"
Admiral Jean-Luc Picard continued to stoically glare at the being to the right of him, wearing a white Napoleonic uniform with gold epaulets. Not to mention a glittering array of pseudo-medals and awards pinned to Q's chest. Q's matching hat had disappeared some time during the evening.
Deciding to change the subject, Q too-casually asked, "Do you think that your blooming bride will ever forgive you?"
"I do not care to discuss my bride - blooming or otherwise - with you!" Contrary to the strength of his voice, Jean-Luc slouched against the oval back of the copper silk upholstered sofa. For he was a weary man - a very weary man.
Q glanced about the main ballroom that had once been part of an ostentatious embassy (hence the French furniture) that was now part of Jean-Luc's home. The aftermath of the party was everywhere. "Well, there's no reason why we have to look at this mess…" He snapped his fingers. Instantly, the room was put to rights. The broken glass and plate ware became whole again and suddenly appeared in gleaming stacks on the long buffet tables. Sheffield silver candelabra that had been tumbled were standing upright again, with new, freshly lit candles glowing. The food that had been flung about the room - for it had been a most notable food fight - was now as it originally had been when the party first started. For Ludvig had outdone himself this Christmas day, and had prepared a buffet feast that rivaled anything that any other embassy - or Winston Holt Wiley's chef - could have created. Exotic dishes from over twenty different worlds as well as the more traditional Christmas choices now were on display on the long, lace trimmed tablecloths. All was as it had been less than seven hours ago. Even the punch bowls and the bar stations were as they had once been.
Jean-Luc's eyes narrowed, staring at the silver or crystal punchbowls. "Was it you, Q? Were you the one responsible? Did you spike the punch?"
"Jean-Luc, you wound me. Of course I didn't spike the punch with alcohol! I didn't have to. Everybody in the galaxy knows not to drink the punch at a party where there are Starfleet cadets - unless they really want to get drunk. For the punch is always spiked at those parties…" He smiled as if remembering certain incidents, then added, "I should know..."
"Q!" he snapped. "What the bloody hell are you even doing here? I thought that the Continuum had banned you from meddling in Sector One!"
"I can still visit! And I didn't meddle!" Q protested. "I didn't have to!"
"For a change, he's telling the truth," a voice from the doorway announced. Both men turned to look at Guinan as she walked over to them. Guinan was a sight to behold. For she was wearing an outfit that had at one point during the evening, been pure white. In fact, Guinan had looked positively angelic. Which apparently had been the point of her costume, for her chapeau had been huge and the flaps had draped down her back like seraphim wings. It had even been trimmed with white feathers. There had been gold sparkly things at the crest to the hat that could be mistaken for a halo. And when Guinan had walked, the wings had trembled and floated as if they were really wings.
Jean-Luc idly thought that he had never seen Guinan in all-white before. He didn't suscribe to the 'angel' part for a second.
Guinan held up a bottle of green stuff and looked her friend over. She contemplated his all-white and gold admiral's dress uniform. And then she idly wondered if the brown stuff staining the front of his jacket was gravy, tea or beer. "Care for some more, Jean-Luc?" She decided that the dark staining on his torn sleeve was decidedly wine.
"Why not?" the admiral grumbled as he held out his glass, ignoring the damage to his uniform.
"Me, too!" Q added as an empty glass materialized in his hand. Guinan obligingly filled it. And then she sat down to the left of Jean-Luc on the sofa.
"Are you telling me that Q was not responsible for all of this?" Jean-Luc slightly gestured about the ball room, and toward the mess that could still be seen beyond the French doors that opened out onto the terrace and gardens.
Guinan produced her own glass, filled it, and then drank for a moment before she answered her friend. "Nope. It wasn't Q's fault. This time." More softly, she muttered, "I think…" She leaned forward so that she could send her death glare in Q's direction. "But he could have helped stopped it, if he had chosen to do so."
"How was I to know that you weren't performing some obscure ritualistic Christmas traditions?" Q protested.
Jean-Luc's response was only to glare at Q, indignantly.
Guinan rested against the padded back of the sofa. "He does have a point." She chuckled.
"What?" Picard grumbled.
"You know Jean-Luc, you may have finally accomplished that which countless missionaries and protestants have been trying to do since the first, first encounters." Guinan knew Jean-Luc wasn't following her line of thought. "I actually heard both the Klingon and the Andorian diplomatic delegations say that this was the best party that they'd even been to on Earth." She chuckled again. "The Klingons left saying that they'd like to continue on with this Earth tradition. That it was indeed a tradition worthy of a Klingon. And saying something about it being their turn to host the Academy Christmas open house next year… provided of course, that you don't expel all the Klingon Starfleet cadets out of the Academy this year…" She took a sip of her whiskey and then giggled. "Klingons throwing a Christmas party. I'm sure that it's on some priest's what-I-want-for-Christmas wish list, somewhere."
"They're welcome to it," Jean-Luc mumbled as he finished off his glass of whiskey. He'd not had that much to drink during the party. Now, he was determined to make up for it afterwards. Guinan obligingly filled his empty glass. He closed his eyes remembering all that had happened.
"Cheer up, Jean-Luc," Guinan stated. "It could have been worse."
"Really?" Jean-Luc's sense of sarcasm had been clearly unleashed. And just as clearly the whiskey was helping this attitude along. He over-ennuciated each syllable. "Madam Guinan, just how could it have really been worse? My house was trashed. I will probably have to discipline hundreds of cadets on the morrow. I am sure that Boothby will be angry once he sees what the revellers have done to his gardens. And then there are all of the dignitaries, ambassadors, professors, admirals, officers, their families, Fleet Admiral Winston Holt Wiley, Lwaxana Troi, Mildred, whatever - and my wife - to whom I will have to proffer my humblest apologies..."
Q interrupted him. "Don't do humble, Jean-Luc. You don't do humble too convincingly," Q advised.
Jean-Luc uttered an Orion curse word that Q did not even think that Jean-Luc knew much less knew the meaning of. Jean-Luc continued. "To all of these people, I will have to make amends. So Madame Guinan and Q, just tell me how it could have really been worse?"
"Real-ly, Jean-Luc," Q mimicked. He pointed. "At least the outdoor Christmas tree is still standing."
"Barely," Guinan just had to add.
"You know where you went wrong," Q suggested.
"No, where did I go wrong?"
Q wasn't used to hearing such venomous sarcasm from Jean-Luc's lips. He was actually surprised by what his mon ami was feeling.
"You should have never thrown an open house...," Guinan sagaciously answered.
Jean-Luc merely groaned, mentally acknowledging this bit of wisdom too late. He then shut his eyes, willing the night's events to just simply go away.
They didn't.