Q never returned for his hour after that. Now that he'd posed his proposition, and been denied, he had obviously decided there was no point anymore.
In the three months afterward, Picard mulled over Q's words more than he liked to admit. He came to two realizations.
The first, most bitter of his realizations was that Q had been right. Picard wasn't an explorer anymore. He might have started out that way, but his job description had morphed sometime after becoming Captain. Maybe when the first crewmember had died as a direct result of his orders. It had never felt like exploring after that. It had felt irresponsible to think of it so.
He was a caretaker. A shepherd. A representative of freedom, equality, of everything the Federation stood for. Any exploring that happened as a result of those things was incidental. Unintentional even. Yes, he sailed the outer edges of charted space, and that was far more exploring than he would have done in a vineyard back on Earth, no matter what Q said otherwise—but there was a very clear, very real out of bounds. Signs which warned "Here There Be Monsters." Starfleet had more important things for him, most notably keeping its flagship (and top warship) close.
The second realization: if he had wanted to be an explorer, he shouldn't have become a captain. He should have become a scientist. Less responsibility there, except the responsibility to learn, to discover. Perhaps a small part of him had wanted the power that came with a command position and that was why he'd compromised along the way. Regardless, he couldn't live in both worlds, not unless…
Unless Q.
Q's proposition was tantalizing. A way to have both the Enterprise and the thrill of the new. He had given his answer, but he was not so foolish as to think Q wouldn't accept another.
When Picard was younger, he had been thrilled to eschew his responsibility and drift wherever he may. Now that he was older, it was almost the opposite. Picard's responsibility to the Enterprise was a palpable presence in his life, as comforting as a friendship, as valuable as an aged wine. Without the Enterprise, what did he have? And what sort of life? Without the Enterprise, Picard would be faced with questions—and with demons—he had nearly forgotten about.
So it was decided. This was the life he had chosen. He wouldn't leave. Not even on occasion. Not even to think about leaving lest he stir up feelings of discontent, which may in turn stir up something worse.
It left one more decision to be made.
Q had left the star charts of the Delta Quadrant in Picard's quarters. It was a thousand solar systems unknown to the Federation, with the planet Picard had visited marked in bold, bright red. What was Picard to do with it? He couldn't bear to erase it, and had in fact added it to the computer's memory in case the PADD's memory failed. Cartographers might spend hundreds of years compiling that amount of information… Or Picard might hand it over. There would be no doubt as to its legitimacy. He wasn't some loafer claiming history with Q—he had history with Q, documented—and he had the credibility that being Captain of the Enterprise lent him. When Picard had been thrown to the edge of the galaxy by Wesley Crusher's Traveller, he had logged a full report to the Federation then. Why was this any different? He would tell them for progress and for science, not for glory.
But what held him back, every time he went to do it, was Q. Q and Picard's own regret about Q. Picard had mulled that over too.
Q was capable of deplorable things and had done deplorable things on several of their meetings, but that did not mean everything Q did was deplorable. It did not make him some un-person who had waived all his claim to dignity and acknowledgment. If Picard was to ever boast to the Federation about the Delta quadrant, for his conscience's sake he needed to apologize to Q. He had been honest, but he had not been kind.
Perhaps with this, the cord would be cut. The chapter of their relationship would be closed forever. Perhaps, as the Counselor had implied, Picard had only ever encouraged Q by being stubborn.
The trouble of the apology was getting Q's attention, an activity at which some might say Picard was proficient. If only it had ever been in his control.
Riker was leaning over Commander Data's shoulder at ops, conferring on some report or another, when Picard approached. They broke off conversation. Riker stood straight.
"Mr. Data, I have a rather unusual request. I would like you to send out a hail on all frequencies. It should read, 'Captain calling Delta pine.' Nothing more."
"Delta pine, sir? If this is a person you wish for me to hail, perhaps—"
"It isn't. It's a bit of an inside joke. Just Delta pine will do."
Riker raised his chin, narrowed his eyes.
"It's personal in nature," Picard clarified. "And I'm aware that subspace communications should not be used in this manner but I think we'll all overlook it just this time, yes?"
Data raised his eyebrows and blinked several times, then with insect-like agility tapped the console.
"You'll have to enlighten me, sir. I'm curious," Riker said.
"Oh no, Number One. You are never to ask me about this again, Captain's orders." Picard smiled to let him know it was a joke—an order and a joke in one—and retreated to the turbolift, pleased all of that business was over with.
He hoped it would work. He wasn't sure what else to try.
The turbolift hummed to life. There was a hissing sound afterwards. For a second Picard thought it was a malfunction. Then he realized it was Q's flash.
"Captain Jean-Luc Picard of Starfleet, what can the Q Continuum do for you today?" Q was leaning against the wall, arms folded, both looking and sounding bored.
"You must be watching us perpetually," Picard marveled, making sure to say "us."
"A very, very small part of my mind keeps an ear tuned. Usually I forget I'm doing it."
"I see," Picard said, wondering if there was an inoffensive way of asking Q to stop.
"Did you want something?" Q asked.
"Yes. To talk."
"Here?"
"No. My ready room would be better."
They appeared there. Picard, standing behind his desk. Q tapped a console to lock the door then strolled over to inspect the fish.
"Thank you," Picard said.
"Anything I can do for your precious privacy."
A reference to the anonymous hail. At least Picard hoped that was all it was. He sat, trying to remember what he was going to say. Oh yes: the apology. He had to gather his thoughts. He had not expected Q to appear so soon.
"I've been observing humans lately," Q said.
"Oh?"
"Yes. On Earth. Straight to the source. I've paid very special attention to friendships." Q ordered two Earl Grays at the replicator, giving one to Picard. A tin of sugar appeared and Q stirred in three spoonfulls. "Acquiring a taste," he explained.
Picard sipped the tea. He wasn't sure he wanted to ask, but he did. He needed Q in a good mood. "Friendships?"
"Right, yes. They're not so different from friendships among my own kind. Although given our self-sufficient nature, the Q tend to be more reclusive."
In the lull that followed, Picard wasn't sure what to add. He wasn't sure how to move on either, not without a jarring change of subject that might be interpreted as stubborn. He sipped the tea, taking his time with it.
"So," Q said, "why am I here?"
"Of course." Picard set down the cup. "I wanted to apologize. What I said to you, three months ago, I meant. But I shouldn't have said it like that."
"You shouldn't have lost your cool."
"Yes."
"Your cool." Q intoned the word as if he were tasting it. "I don't notice things like that. I was pleased you were being honest with me. Well, not altogether pleased. Apology accepted."
"Thank you."
Q looked away, looking distracted. He took the tea to the window, showing no sign of leaving.
Picard had not planned on asking Q for permission, merely on apologizing and proceeding on his own. The lull coaxed it out of him.
"Would you mind if I—?"
Q interrupted him. "If you told Starfleet about our little trip? Of course you want to. I had assumed, if you had taken my offer, you would want to. You love knowledge, but you have a deep and disgusting streak of responsibility. Which, I suspect, is why you didn't take me up on my offer to begin with. Maybe when you're done with Starfleet."
They locked eyes. It was only for a second, as if Q was ensuring Picard had understood his meaning.
Picard did understand, but he wished he hadn't. He resented that the offer was being extended like this, not that he was going to encourage Q by telling him. He looked down. Rotated the tea cup a full circle. He wanted Q to leave.
He decided a question wouldn't be out of order. "Is there something on your mind?"
"You're the one that brought me here."
"I did, yes. And I, ah… appreciate you coming."
"Look at you, squirming. You think it will be like last time where I never go away. You've got what you wanted, and now I'm supposed to leave."
Q snapped and the teacups vanished with a hiss that startled Picard. So tense today. He disguised the flinch with movement, readjusting himself in his chair. He could feel Q studying him as though he saw right through it.
"I wasn't going to say this now," Q said. "I was going to think about it a while longer. But let's have it over with, shall we? Since my presence unnerves you so."
He sat opposite the desk. Quite the reverse from what Picard would have expected, he looked more comfortable, more relaxed than before. "You remember when I looked into your mind and saw fear? I assumed it had to do with me. Everyone fears me, why not you? I don't say this but once a billion years, so, brace yourself: I was wrong."
Q continued, "I've had time to think about just how wrong I was. Jean-Luc Picard is different from mere mortals. Jean-Luc Picard is the captain of a starship, and he's far more afraid about his image. It's not even about being a captain, really. I think even if you were pan handling on a street corner you would resent each and every penny I gave you. God forbid anyone look at your accomplishments and see me."
Q leaned back as though giving Picard a moment to let this revelation sink in. By the time he continued, Picard was beginning to worry that he had somehow gone too far earlier.
"I thought of you as a friend," Q said. "I told you as much. I wasn't sure why you couldn't understand that, so I observed them. Well, I realize now what a fool I've been. You are nothing like a friend."
Their eyes locked.
Without movement, without smugness, without any reaction at all, Q continued. "I don't think you've ever been in a room with me without wanting to leave. Never accepted a gift without wishing you'd gotten it some other way. You've never even thanked me for saving your life. Not that I crave sycophancy, because I don't, but it just sort of… stuck out to me, that's all. I save your life, and nothing."
"The heart," Picard murmured. "I didn't know it was you."
"You knew."
"I did not know, not explicitly."
"You could have asked. And when your ship exploded and I put a stop to that, you said nothing."
"I did. I did thank you."
"'On behalf of my crew, thank you.' Those exact words. I watched it again, dumbfounded I had seen any warmth in you at all."
Picard had no response. He supposed it was true that he hadn't thanked Q personally.
"But I didn't come here to beg an apology," Q said, "although I guess I already got one. A different one."
"Thank you for saving my life," Picard said quickly. "Twice. Thank you."
Q's eyes remained dangerous even as he smiled. "You're very welcome, Jean-Luc. I'm glad I did, considering how I felt back then. But frankly, considering how I feel now, it isn't something you should ever expect again."
"Of course not," Picard said, feeling that Q had just slapped him.
"And I should thank you, really," Q said.
"Why is that?"
"Because I came here, three-and-something months ago, for a purpose. For some nagging doubt in me. But it's gone now. And I think you had a part in expunging it. So, thank you."
It wasn't the sort of thing you said 'you're welcome' to.
Picard watched Q stand with a worrying mix of helplessness, confusion, expectancy. He could see things spinning out of control but was frozen against reaching out and stopping them. How could he, when he hardly understood what he was stopping? And Q's expression was nearly his opposite, a peaceful frigility Picard had first seen at Farpoint and had not seen any time since. It was as though Picard was an insect and Q was the eternal, unfailing sun and anything might happen.
"Q, if it was anything I said…"
Q's laugh was slight. "Why would it be anything you said? No, rest easy. It's better for both of us this way."
"What is?"
Q lowered his eyes, lowered his hand to tap the desk three times. "Do what you like. With what I've told you, showed you, I don't mind. I'm leaving you now. Forever this time."
And with that, he vanished.
Picard sat there for a long moment, stunned. Someone paged him, but he neither acknowledged the message nor remembered later who had done it. He looked around for things to clear away, tea cups and so forth, but Q had taken all of the mess with him. There was nothing for Picard to do but… go on. Unimpeded. Unrestrained.
Finally what he had asked for. He waited for the surge of energy, the rush that accompanies long-awaited gratification. But it didn't come. Instead he felt an emptiness he was afraid to conront.
His bridge outside. The crew, the Federation, the entirety of space to himself. And it had been so easy, as easy as not caring what happened anymore, as easy as looking the danger straight in the eye and shrugging.
What Q had said about Picard resenting Q's help, about being overly concerned with his image? It was years before Picard even remembered that part of the conversation, much less considered if it was true.