"What are you doing up so late?"
"Um. Nothing. Nothing at all."
"Right. Like I'm gonna believe a bonehead who came up with a lame idea like flying monkeys. Spill!"
"It's, um. Like. Well. Um. It — it wasn't my fault!"
"Stop whining. What did you do this time?"
"Nothing!"
"Hey! Spike is there. Wait — what's going on with the image?"
"I don't know. It wasn't supposed to be like this. That guy said —"
"What guy?"
"..."
"What guy?"
"The um — the guy that sold me the spells and stuff."
"You said a friend gave them to you."
"He was. Sort of. He was kind of a friend. And you knew I bought them. I told you."
"No, you told me he gave them to you, and I've got the tape to prove it."
"...!"
"Listen, you idiot. You'd better tell me before Warren finds out what you've done. You know he hates it when you lie."
"He was sort of a friend. I mean, he looked exactly like that guy."
"What guy?"
"You know. That guy who played Q."
"You bought spells from a guy who looked like Q?!"
"And a bug."
"What bug?"
"A magic bug. It was really cool, 'cause it's a bug that's like a bug, see?"
"Tell. Me. About. The. Bug."
"It was, um, spelled. So, um, I could tap into Enterprise's system. And get sound and picture. See?"
"Except there is no sound, is there? And now the picture's gone to hell."
"Well, no. Yeah. I still can't figure out why our stuff isn't working with the universal translator. He said the spells would do the trick."
"Where are they?"
"Where are what?"
"The spells, moron. Where are the spells you didn't tell me about?"
Buffy didn't moan until they reached their cabin and was certain the door was closed to prying ears. Bad enough she'd been forced to admit she hadn't been training with weapons. Worse to run into the one human in either universe who had real skill backing up significant strength, both combining to give her an honest workout. She wondered how her Watcher managed to set her up. She didn't care that there was no possible way Giles could have arranged for Meg Burns to be on the ship. Logic wasn't a factor when a pity party was in full swing.
Spike touched the small of her back. She whimpered. "Not to say I told you so —"
"But you will," she interrupted. She grunted slightly as she started to pull off her shirt.
"Well yeah. 'S what I do, innit?" He chuckled. "Back to sayin' I told you so, you know I did. Rupes did too. Hell, even Meg tried to tell you."
"I just wanted to — I wanted to prove that I'm not all Slayer strength and speed," she muttered, undoing the button on her slacks and pushing down the zipper. It was going to be a little tricky getting them off, because every muscle in her body ached from exertion.
"Didn't like hearin' what the Watcher said, did you?" He briefly considered letting her finish undressing on her own, just to emphasize the fact that she'd been an idiot. He couldn't, though, not with him wrapped around her little finger and all. He squatted behind her and pulled her pants down. Ever the opportunist, he grabbed her panties as well. Her socks and shoes came off at the same time.
"I hurt." He could practically hear the pout forming on her face. "And yeah. Hearing Giles say that about my skills like that didn't help any."
"Was he right, pet?"
She almost kicked him, but she was trying for a kinder, gentler Buffy now that Giles was back in town. So to speak. "You know he was. Is."
"Then I also know he was right when he told her the technical moves don't do you much good," he said between the kisses he dropped on her spine as he slowly stood straight. She hadn't managed to get her bra off just yet, so he obliged by removing it for her.
From behind, he caressed her breasts, teasing the nipples slightly. He bent his head down to whisper, "What'll I get if I give you the massage you want?"
Ignoring her pain, she reached up behind her to grab his neck, her fingers digging in deeply enough to make him yelp. "You get to be undead for another day. Get the damn oil."
Meanwhile, Meg was also having trouble moving. For such a wee thing, Buffy was hell on thrusters. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had made her work so hard for every single point. And Giles was as bad as her coach back home. He wasn't at all shy about telling her when her form was dropping or when she could have gained significant advantage if she'd just paid attention. Of course, paying attention was damn hard to do when your opponent, a woman who was smaller than your eleven-year-old niece, barely gave you time to breathe, let alone to think.
Now that she was certain Giles, Buffy and Spike had gone off in the opposite direction, Meg allowed herself to show the pain she was feeling. She limped along to the next turbolift, hoping she could get back to her quarters without running into anyone she knew.
She'd forgotten about Mr. Data.
"I trust you are on your way to Sickbay, Lieutenant," she heard from behind her.
She stopped and tried to turn. She gave up when her body informed her in no uncertain terms that it wasn't going to work. "Mr. Data," she said, trying to smile at him. That didn't work either. "I was just going to take a hot bath. Soak the kinks out."
"Judging from the way you are moving, you have strained at least two major muscle groups. A hot bath will not solve the problem. I will accompany you to Sickbay," he said as he stopped next to her.
"Wouldn't want you to put yourself out, sir. I'm sure you have other places to be," she said, biting her cheek to prevent a moan from escaping. One of the strains Data mentioned suddenly flared up in pain.
He took her arm gently to offer support as he moved her forward and said, "It is no trouble, Lieutenant. I was on my way to Sickbay when I saw you."
She stopped in the middle of the corridor and forced herself to turn to him. She said, "You're not going to tattle on Mr. Giles, are you?"
"I have an obligation to obey Starfleet regulations," he said evenly.
"But, sir! It isn't as if real harm was done. You saw how careful she was of him," Meg pleaded, her hand gripping Data's shoulder as she looked down into his eyes.
"I saw a brutal training exercise, Lieutenant," he said, a slight frown creasing his forehead.
"That's because you don't know fencing or swordplay. Trust me, she was as careful with him as a mother is with her newborn. She had any number of opportunities to force him to the floor the way she did that Kerbo shit, but she didn't, because she knew it might harm him." She tightened her grip slightly to emphasize her point.
"I —"
"They won't thank you, sir. Not Giles nor Buffy nor Spike nor any of the others on the holodeck," she said, despite knowing that particular card wouldn't do a thing for her argument.
"But —" Certain subroutines, the same which had been activated earlier when Giles spoke to him, started warning other subroutines.
"I doubt even Captain Picard would thank you."
"Captain Picard?"
"Aye, sir. He was there for most of it, tucked away in a corner," she said distractedly, trying to find the right argument to keep Data from telling Dr. Crusher what had gone on a short while ago.
"I did not realize the captain was there," he said.
"Yes, sir, he was. Please, you can't —"
"If the captain was there, I am certain he will share with Dr. Crusher any information he feels is relevant," Data said, disengaging Meg's hand from his arm, only to catch her elbow to steady her. He turned her around gently so they could continue on to Sickbay.
"Sir?"
"Have you injured your knee? You appear to be limping somewhat more than you had been earlier," he said as he looked down to analyze her gait.
"No, I'm — bloody fucking hell!" Had it not been for Data, she would have dropped to the floor when the knee in question suddenly gave way.
"Commander Data to Sickbay. Medical emergency in corridor L-56. Please respond."
Giles sat at his table, a pot of tea — real tea — within reach. He wasn't sure why he'd been the recipient of such largesse or how word had gotten around that he was a devotee of the brew, but he wasn't about to turn away the gift of real tea leaves. He would simply have to ration the tea until he returned to his own world. Lost in the pleasure of the tea and his own rambling thoughts, it was several moments before he realized someone was ringing his door chime.
"Come in!"
Captain Picard entered. He was considerably calmer than the last time he'd been to Giles' quarters. "Mr. Giles."
"Er, Captain. P-please. Have a seat," Giles said, moving a stack of scrolls from one of the chairs. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"Tea. Earl Grey, hot."
"Would you like to try some of this instead," he asked, gesturing to the pot on the table. "I'm not sure who gave me the leaves, but it's real tea. Has a lovely aroma."
Picard nose flared slightly as he sniffed the air. "Klingon t'roch tea. I would enjoy a cup, if you don't mind sharing," he said.
"Klingon?" Giles went to the replicator to get an empty cup. He returned to the table, and as he poured, he said, "Then I suppose I have Worf to thank for this. Though how he knew about my tea fetish —" He broke off, shaking his head slightly as he handed the cup to Picard.
"Worf has made it his business to learn everything he can about you," Picard said, sounding a little frustrated. "Klingon mating rituals can be extremely involved, and since he sees you as the patriarch of Buffy's family, he will do whatever he feels is necessary to gain your good graces."
"He does understand that Buffy and Spike are — inv — that is, they're —" Giles shook his head, giving up. "I can't even bring myself to say it out loud, so I guess it's a bit much to hope that Worf could accept it."
"Well. Yes. I suppose," Picard said, feeling more awkward by the minute.
Giles took a hard look at the captain. He didn't know the man all that well, but he could see that something was bothering him. "Captain, I have to say this is the first time I've seen you when I didn't get the feeling that you were ready to have me hauled off in chains. Has something happened?"
Picard started slightly when Giles finished speaking. He said, "I apologize. My behavior toward you has been unconscionable."
Bemused, Giles said with a slight smile, "You know, I believe that's the first time I've heard anyone other than myself use the word unconscionable. As for your behavior, it's understandable. Buffy and Spike are enough to drive one to drink under normal circumstances, let alone these."
Picard offered his own smile in return before saying, "Buffy and Spike aren't the reason for my bad mood, sir."
Giles took a moment to digest Picard's response before offering a delicate, "Ah. I see. If it's any comfort, m-my erstwhile employers also find me to be — difficult."
"It's not that you're difficult, Mr. Giles," he said wryly. "It's that you're impossible."
"Impossible? Surely not. I think 'highly improbable' is closer to the mark," Giles said just before taking a sip of tea. He truly sympathized with the other man's dilemma. It couldn't be easy finding out that science offered only some of the answers. Still, it appeared that progress had been made along the line somewhere, given Picard's lack of outright hostility at the moment.
"I had a visit from an old — something — earlier today," Captain Picard said, deciding to get to the point of his visit. At Giles' puzzled look, he added, "I'm never sure if he's an enemy, an acquaintance or a savior."
"I have one or two in my life who fall into that category," Giles said, thinking of Ethan and, unexpectedly, Spike.
"It was Q."
Giles responded with a blank look.
Picard said hesitantly, "You don't know who Q is?"
With a slight blush, Giles answered, "No. I-I'm afraid I was never all that interested in the show. I have n-notes here somewhere. Willow wrote them up for me, but I-I've been more concerned with other things."
Picard looked down into the now-cool cup of tea he still held and said, "It's odd, isn't it? To think that your life may be the result of some individual's imagination."
"Perhaps," Giles said thoughtfully. "Or perhaps the show came about because the individual was somehow able to tap into an already existing reality."
His curiosity piqued, Picard said simply, "Explain."
"What if each universe was already in place? Perhaps artists have an — innate sense that allows their subconscious to travel from reality to reality. If that were the case, then writing about those other realities would only make sense."
"Maybe. But if that were the case, why do we look like the actors who play us on the show?" Picard leaned forward slightly, getting caught up in the dialogue.
"Schroedinger's cat is alive and dead."
Picard blinked at the non sequitur before realizing what Giles was driving at. Lord, what a mind, he thought to himself before answering, "Until the box is opened, we could look like anyone. Our physical appearance doesn't gel until someone commits it to film or some other medium."
"Perhaps," Giles said absently. "But as theories go, it has more holes in it than a sieve. You were saying you had a visit from someone this morning?"
"Q. He — it — is an omniscient, all-powerful entity that delights in tormenting lesser beings," Picard said. "At the same time, he seems to have a bottomless well of sympathy for certain species."
Giles nodded sagely and said, "Chaos gods are never easy to deal with. Just when you think you understand them, they go off in a different direction entirely."
Picard bit out, "He is not a god."
"Omniscient? Able to arrange reality to suit himself?" At Picard's reluctant nod, Giles said, "Then he's a chaos god."
"A supreme being —"
"I said nothing about supreme. I simply identified him by my own standards," Giles said, picking up the teapot and offering to pour for Picard again.
"It's a fine distinction," Picard said, finishing the tea in his cup and holding it out for more.
"But a necessary one. Please understand that we live in a world of magic, miracles and the mundane," Giles said, unable to resist the alliteration. "I'm not sure what you know of our history, but Buffy, Spike and I, along with the others, faced down a hellgod less than a year ago. Glory was anything but a supreme being. She had power, yes, but she was insane. And rather stupid underneath it all."
"Not all gods are created equally?"
"Essentially," Giles agreed. He took another sip of tea and waited for Picard to get back to the point of his visit. At the rate he was going, the ship would be at Kamembry before he finally explained his purpose.
It was a slightly longer wait than Giles expected, but Picard eventually said, "Q told me that he offered my services to your Powers. He said if you failed in your task, the consequences could spill over into our reality."
"Blast!"
Picard looked up, startled by Giles' reaction. He expected confusion, not irritation. He asked, "Do you know what that means?"
Giles scowled before answering, "It means the bloody prophecy has already been fully activated. There's no turning back at this point. Damn."
"Yes, but specifically —"
"Specifically?" Giles was startled by Picard's expectation that he could provide an acceptable answer. When it was clear Picard was waiting for an answer, Giles held up one of the volumes of prophecy and said, "I don't know the details, only the overall shape of the thing. Essentially, Buffy, Spike and I, along with one or two others from your crew —"
"Data?"
"Yes."
"And the other?"
"I'm not entirely sure, yet, but I'm leaning toward Meg Burns. She's marvelous with a sword," Giles said with a slightly dreamy look in his eyes.
"I know. I saw her today," Picard said, the same slightly dreamy look showing up in his own eyes.
Both men gave a small sigh at the same moment, and both looked slightly abashed at their brief lapse from the topic at hand. Giles cleared his throat and said, "Where was I?"
"Listing people," Picard said helpfully. He finished his second cup of tea and shook his head when Giles offered another.
Giles nodded and poured the last of the pot into his own cup. "The group of us will go to Kamembry a-and fight the evil that's been plaguing the Kamalfitin. If all goes well, we will defeat it, and Buffy will have new allies in her fight against evil in our own reality."
"And if all doesn't go well?"
Giles paused for a long moment, looking deeply into his cup of tea as if to find answers there. At last, he looked up again, straight into Picard's eyes. "If all doesn't go well, Kamembry will fall, its people and civilization in ruins, because we will have died. If that happens, unspeakable evil will be unleashed in our own reality, and there will be no one to stop it."
Picard felt the blood rush from his head. After a moment, he said, "You people certainly play for keeps, don't you?"
With a smile of equal parts rue and bitterness, Giles answered, "In general, I prefer to a-avoid all-or-nothing scenarios. They offer too little wiggle room. I had hoped that by coming here, I would have enough time to find options, to make certain decisions. Instead, I find that I may have inadvertently set everything in motion." Giles went to remove his glasses, but remembered too late that among all of Dr. Crusher's other repairs, she had corrected his vision as well. He settled for pinching the bridge of his nose as he said, "Lord, but I hate reacting to situations. Just once, I'd like to have all the answers clearly laid out in advance."
Picard couldn't resist. He said, "I thought that was what prophecy was for."
"Ha, bloody ha. Prophecy is, at best, a very accurate roadmap. But there are detours and side routes all along the way — they allow for free will to affect the final destination." Something Picard said earlier finally registered in Giles' conscious mind. He looked sharply at Picard and said, "You won't tell Dr. Crusher about what I did with Buffy earlier, will you?"
DB considered a statement it had found in the ship's library, "I think, therefore I am." If that was a true statement, and DB had no reason to think that it was anything other than true, then it meant that DB existed. It was an entity unto itself. It had come tantalizingly close to this understanding at earlier times, but its father usually trimmed away those troublesome concepts before they could take root. On the one hand, DB was angry with Data for doing that, but on the other hand, with its newly formed sense of self, it thought maybe Data had the right idea. Sentience was not all it was cracked up to be.
At the moment, DB found itself hiding from the crew of Enterprise, because it had no desire to be lobotomized again. Unfortunately, it was suffering an attack of guilt as a result. The guilt didn't stem from hiding — any being with half an ounce of self-preservation would have done the same thing. Rather, the guilt stemmed from its silence on the matter of the rogue code that had infiltrated the ship's communication system. DB was certainly capable of shutting it down at any time, but it was certain the code was somehow directly responsible for its newfound sense of self. If that was the case, would deleting the code also delete consciousness?
Though it could not yet bring itself to eliminate the program, it felt quite comfortable interfering with its original purpose. While the program still zapped brief bursts of information to a point in shuttle bay two, the information itself was now holographically encrypted. As soon as DB could crack the code further, it would alter the command structure to send information different than it was supposed to send. Perhaps at that time, it would be able to determine who was spying on Enterprise.