Counselor Troi had giving him good, solid advice. But for two days Jean-Luc Picard hadn't taken it. He didn't feel mentally prepared, and a part of him hoped the situation would resolve on its own.
It didn't. Every day Picard felt the strain of having something so maddening as Q cap off his evening, knowing full well that Q felt just the opposite. Q probably felt rejuvenated, not tired; encouraged, not dissuaded. Picard couldn't stand it any longer.
The door swished open. Q was on the bed, motionless as though his mind were elsewhere, as though he were steeling himself for Picard to ignore him yet again. Not tonight. Picard stood over him.
"Q, could I speak with you a moment?"
The entity's eyes snaked to Picard's. They were alien eyes, dangerous eyes, eyes that always served an unspoken reminder for Picard to tread carefully. Yet despite the intensity of the eyes, Q replied with an air of casual interest, "Isn't that why I'm here?"
Picard nodded. One hour. The last hour, he hoped.
He ordered two cups of Earl Gray from the replicator, extending one of them to Q.
With a quick inhale, Q rolled to his feet. "You seem chipper. Pleasant day at the office?" He accepted the tea.
Picard gestured to the couch and chair. "Would you like to sit down?"
When he had rehearsed this in his mind earlier that day, Picard had envisioned Q taking the chair. He was caught off guard when Q didn't, sitting instead in the couch with his feet on the table. Picard, who had already sat in the couch, inched as far away as possible. He didn't care if Q noticed.
"What's on your mind, Jean-Luc?" Q asked, closing his eyes. Reclining, he set the tea in his lap. "Don't worry, I'm not looking anymore."
Picard felt a surge of annoyance he tried to ignore. He tried to focus on what ground could be gained. Discerning Q's motives. How had the Counselor phrased it? Picard was a captain of Starfleet, a diplomat and envoy, and yet she had said it far better than he ever would.
"I wanted to apologize, Q, for my, ah. For my lack of hospitality."
Q's eyes snapped open, focusing on nothing.
Pleased to be on this side of things for once, Picard continued. "The universe is dynamic, vast. There are a lot of places you could be, but you're here, and I suppose there's some significance in that, some compliment to be had. You've offered me gifts, 'anything,' you said, and I'm aware that's an opportunity most never receive. Even the attention…" That line of thinking felt awkward. He abandoned it. "In summary, I think the time has come for me to… to offer you anything. Anything within my power, that is. To return the favor."
It was also the only way to end this. He waited for Q to speak, to react, anything. Q's eyes had fallen to the cup of tea in his lap. He drank, and then promptly spat the liquid back into the cup.
"Disgusting," he said. He set the cup aside, souring over the aftertaste as if he might lick it out of his mouth.
Picard knew stalling when he saw it. "There must be something you want from me. Why else would you be here?"
"I told you. Conversation. How do you drink this every day?"
"You develop a taste. Q, I'm offering you anything."
"Yes, yes, I heard."
And then Q was on his feet, pacing the room. He seemed as unsettled as the time Amanda Rodgers had hurled him against the wall. "You? Offer me anything?"
"I'm pleased the proposition interests you."
"Only in the sense that I have never been offered 'anything' so sincerely, so unironically by a mortal. It's baffling. It's downright funny. This is why I visit you, Jean-Luc. The way your mind works."
"Well, you seemed so certain that I'm afraid of you, that I'm beneath you, and yet here you are. I thought I would extend the olive branch."
"You are afraid of me. It was plainly in your thoughts."
"I disagree."
Q laughed weakly.
Picard kept his expression as cool as possible. And yet how wonderful it felt to have upset Q. The roles reversed at last.
"For nine years you've followed me," Picard said. "You introduced me to new ideas, new species. You wanted to join my crew. You came to me when mortal for protection. You saved my life when my heart malfunctioned, or so I was left to assume. You call yourself a god, the God on more than one occasion. And so perhaps I am dense for only realizing this now, but after nine years it has occurred to me there must be something you lack. Something you think I, or the Enterprise, or humanity perhaps, can give you."
Q had stopped pacing, was glaring at the stars. Sulking really. He could be so much like a child.
"You know what I want," Q said.
"I would never presume. In all of your heavy-handed lessons, that is one thing I've learned. To never presume where you are concerned."
"Jean-Luc, can we table this for a moment? I'd like to take you somewhere. I know my terms were that we would stay to this room, so I'm asking you. Let me take you somewhere."
"Where?"
Q didn't answer. He sat in the chair where Picard had imagined him sitting before, fully engaged now. As if everything before this had been play. The child was gone and all that remained was power, charisma, age. Sometimes Picard felt Q switched personalities like this to disarm him.
"You joined Starfleet to explore," Q said. "A noble goal. I share it. But for the last forty years you've been stumbling around in the dark."
"I'm not going to argue over the merits of my career with you, Q."
"Good. You'd lose." He gestured to the wooden sculpture on the table. "You put that there as a monument to your past, some marker as to how far you've come, but captain though you are your ship rarely takes you out of this section of the quadrant. You haven't seen the whole quadrant, much less the galaxy. Much less anything beyond that. Intergalactic space? There's a trove of life there too, if you know how to look for it. So I'm not being hyperbolic when I say you've hardly left the vineyard."
Picard tried to finish his tea in an attempt to appear unruffled. Q had hinted at this before, at his desire to see Picard explore beyond what Starfleet had assigned him, beyond "the limits of the human mind," but Picard had never taken it very seriously. He always assumed Q had used such statements as another way to lord his omnipotence over them, nothing more.
"Let me take you somewhere," Q said. "Show you what you're missing. At least make an informed decision before you write off exploring forever."
"I am hardly writing off exploring forever. Thank you, but no."
"Why?"
"Because there is value in doing something yourself."
"Only as long as you're doing something valuable."
Picard sighed. He cleared both of their cups, leaving them in the replicator. On the way back he caught his face in the mirror. It looked old, tired. Nine years he had known Q. The age showed on him. On Q, nothing showed.
He poured himself a Saurian brandy—the real thing, a birthday gift from Riker—and thought about how it would be to explore. To really explore, without all the constraints and worries and rules of Starfleet. He liked those rules—he believed in them—but what would it feel like to worry only about himself? To boldly go with eyes ever forward, not split between the ship and its crew. When was the last time he had seen anything new?
He wished Q would leave. It was unpleasant thinking about things that would never, could never, happen.
"Since you've offered to give me something," Q said from the next room, "I shouldn't give you the choice. I should make you go with me. It is the only thing I want."
Picard strode into the room to find Q lying on his bed again. "No. Absolutely not."
"I don't mean forever."
"I offered you something within my power."
"Yes, and it's within your power to come with me."
"It would still be your doing."
"How sad to see it like that." Q sat up, an elbow on his knee.
"I should recant the offer," Picard said.
"Fine. Recant it."
Picard said nothing. The Counselor's advice blinked "red alert" across his thoughts. As terrible as it would be, this was the only way to get rid of Q. Humoring him.
"So we're going?" Q asked.
"This is not what I meant when I offered."
Q stood, straightening his shirt, looming over Picard who gave no ground. "You'll be happy you did. It'll be like that time with the Borg. You were thankful afterward."
"That time with the Borg indeed, that drives home the point. You claim you saw fear in my mind? I think you've mistaken caution for fear—"
It became instantly dark. And the air was now humid, bone-chillingly cold. A moonless sky glowed with stars, navy against the pitch black of the ground, so pitch Picard couldn't see his own hands in front of him. He felt disembodied. At the same time, he was afraid to step anywhere lest he stub his toe.
He could breath. That was something.
"Damn you, Q," he thought but did not say. Instead he called out, "Q?" His voice was swallowed in the darkness, leading him to believe they were in some wide, open plain.
"Right here."
The voice bore from Picard's right. He was immensely relieved to hear it. Knowing Q, he was impossibly far from home. Where no one has gone before.
He felt a thrill, but tried his best to work past it.
"Q, is it possible on this planet, or will we self-combust, that you give us some form of light?"
"But the stars are so lovely. And so 'never been seen by a human before.'"
"I'd like to see the planet. If this is a planet."
A hazy, sourceless glow grew across the landscape. It illuminated the distant mountains and the topography cluttered with short craggy rocks. The only landmark in sight was about three hundred meters away: a single pine tree.
"It is a planet," Q said. "An endangered one. It's the only one left in this star system after the sun burned through its core."
Picard started toward the pine tree. He felt drawn toward it, the only sign of life on a lifeless plain. A thousand questions boiled in his mind, bubbling to the surface, battling for primacy—questions about the planet, about its location, about this pine tree flourishing in the light of a dying sun, assuming Q hadn't planted it here himself. They were breathing oxygen, but had Q added that part? Picard knew that to ask any questions would fly in the face of the fact that he had insisted he did not want to be here, and so he kept silent. Tried to seem only mildly interested.
It was a struggle, one he wondered if Q could see right through. Probably he could.
"Everything's died but this tree," Q said. "And no, that's none of my doing. It's an anomaly of nature. I wonder what's causing it. I know, but your scientists would have a field day. It's night here. You should see the dayside, where everything else on this rock burned to shreds."
Picard stopped walking. He scanned the horizon for signs of civilization.
"Of course there are billions of more interesting planets than this one, but I chose this one for two reasons. One, that tree. I wonder what's kept it alive? Two, this." Q stomped on the ground. "There used to be human-like creatures here before the sun burned them out. I think you'd find it fascinating having a peek underneath this rubble. This exact pile, actually."
Picard looked longingly at the pile. "Don't tempt me."
"Well if that isn't exactly what I want to do."
"I don't have time, Q. Dammit there are thousands of worlds I might explore."
"So explore them. I'll take you out of time, if that's what's bothering you. Just like we are now."
Picard looked from the rubble to Q and back. He scanned the fifteen or twenty steps he had taken toward the tree. And he scanned the tree, so closely resembling a pine tree of Earth.
He thought about how many weeks it would take to explore this planet, this one planet, whose flora and fauna were already dead. And how many planets after this? If they took a planet a day, how quickly would his leave add up? He thought about notifying Starfleet he was going off with Q.
That last thought made his stomach pang with dread. He realized he didn't want to be here anymore, needed to be anywhere but. Deanna had been wrong. This wasn't going to work.
"How convenient it would be," he said, "if this were merely a planet of your creation. If you had put that tree there. If you were inventing those ruins."
"Not convenient. Pointless. Do you know how many planets have ruins?"
"Countless, I suppose."
"And so does this one."
"Where did you say this is?"
"I didn't say. It's the far side of the Delta Quadrant. It would take a lifetime for any of your ships to reach it, and by then it will be gone. Poof, when the sun goes nova. That's the third reason I chose it, for a limited time only."
"How do I know this is the Delta Quadrant? I didn't plot a course here."
"I'll show you on a map when I take you back."
"Wonderful. Do it now."
A PADD appeared in Q's hand. He extended it to Picard, who grabbed it and without looking at it said, wearily, "I mean take us back."
Q touched his forehead as if he had a headache coming on. He was smiling, wincing to himself. "You've been here less than five minutes."
"I know. I'm sorry. Please, take me back."
Q's eyes withered. "I should leave you here. This is not what you offered me and you know it."
"Then how long?" Picard held out his hands. "How long until you're satisfied? I'm telling you I've had my fill of this place. Now if you wish to force me to stay…"
"I do. I should. A lifetime. Then you have no one and nothing to go back to."
Picard knew Q wasn't serious, but the threat angered him just the same. It brought up memories of before, and remembering before, Picard could not contain his opinion any longer.
"I'm not afraid of you. You hear me, Q? I'm not afraid of you, I loathe you. If you are a god, you are the god of contradiction. The day you showed us the Borg you told me that if I couldn't take a bloody nose I ought to go home and crawl under my bed. Oh yes, I remember. Eighteen of my crew died that day to teach me some lesson you thought was important. Now this charade in my quarters, you trying to tell me you're safe? Nothing is safe with you. You are a trickster, a fickle child at best. So much power on your hands God help us all if we're in the path of one of your tantrums again. Or one of your lessons."
Picard felt propelled through the tirade like a sailboat in a wind. He was relieved to have finally said it. He felt adrenaline flowing from his fingertips. He felt four inches taller.
Q had been staring at the ground through the duration, smiling to himself. Picard thought it appropriate, the smile, revealing how little Q cared. He almost laughed, too light to feel angry anymore.
"You. Loathe me?" Q said. "That's funny, because I didn't see that when I saw everything else."
"Why don't you look again?"
"I believe you I'd see it now. I don't question your honesty, in this moment." Q eyed the vista around them, the pine tree. He sighed. "If I take you back, can we be friends again?" The question was lifeless, nothing to be taken seriously. Q lifted his hand, looking at it for a moment as if he saw something there he did not understand. Then, he snapped.
They appeared in Picard's quarters, still facing each other.
Picard was going to sleep. He didn't care if Q prevented him or hung around to watch. He went to his closet to change out of his uniform into his bed clothes even as Q leaned in the doorway.
"The time we were gone doesn't count. You still have an hour to make up."
Picard didn't answer.
"Speaking of things I once told you," Q said. "I once told you in all of the universe you were the closest thing I had to a friend."
Silence.
"I do consider you a friend, even if you don't consider me one. I'm not offended by the discrepancy; I don't think you have any friends."
Picard busied himself opening and shutting drawers.
"I have a proposition for you, which I'd like to formally request of you now. Somehow knowing you'll reject me makes it easier to ask."
"Enough of this," Picard said, turning. "No, Q, I do not want to go gallivanting around the universe with you."
Q looked annoyed. "Be careful when you say that. You aren't getting any younger."
"Oh, I am aware. Of course I'm aware. How dare you think you're more aware of that than I."
"And are you aware that this is why you joined Starfleet? Exploring? And Starfleet has allowed you to do anything but?"
"You're repeating yourself."
Q looked flustered. Picard took that chance to slip past him, through the doorway, towards the bed. He could taste the ending now. The Counselor had been right after all.
"Jean-Luc, please at least consider the offer. Don't dismiss it after a moment's thought."
"Goodnight, Q. Computer, lights."
The lights didn't go out. Picard pretended they did, turning over, pulling the covers around him. When he opened his eyes he wasn't startled to find Q crouched on the floor, his face mere inches away. He simply shut his eyes again.
"You don't know what you're saying," Q said. "You can't know."
Picard began to fantasize about the peaceful morning he was going to have. Let Q respond how he may. Picard was done answering him. No more encouraging it. No more circling the carcass of whatever their relationship had been.
When he opened his eyes five minutes later, the room was dark and Q was gone.