The lowest moment in Picard's life had been the year 2366 after the incident with the Borg. Locutus had controlled his thoughts and his actions, had destroyed him so thoroughly it had taken years to put the pieces back together. Counselor Troi had told him back then that the worst was over, that he would live the remainder of his life in control of himself—his mind, his body—that he would never feel such helplessness again.
She'd forgotten about aging.
There were obvious differences, of course. Instead of all at once, his mind was lost in bits and pieces as the memories faded. The loss of his captainship was not forced but strongly coerced, with the need for spry minds and malleable wills on the fringes of the Federation after the Dominion war. And it was not from the Borg cube but from Earth Picard watched his declining significance, watched his once-close colleagues adapt and move on without him.
That was not to say being an admiral was miserable. It was just different and less pleasant than being a captain. All the maddening bureaucracy, the near-inability to simply give an order and see something done. The politics, the rivalries, the arguments. There were moments when Picard was lying in his bed, staring at the dark, blank ceiling—or during one of the unending arguments, cold cups of coffee, Admirals politely insulting each other across broad tables—when Picard had regretted not accepting Q's offer.
He missed exploring that much. That he thought even Q worth it.
He had not seen Q once since the Enterprise. It seemed another life now, another person who had conducted those affairs. Now he walked places instead of transporting, and after hurting his hip in a skiing accident, he limped places too.
There was one factor involved in Picard's decision to retire and one factor only. The official explanation was that he was about the age to do so. The actual reason was Picard's distaste for compromise. An unsettling change had shadowed Starfleet in the last decade as the Federation morphed from a paragon of justice into a soulless war machine. Officers would do seemingly anything in the name of winning, even selling out on their principles. Not Picard.
The saying was, Old soldiers never die; they just fade away. Fading away was exactly what Picard wanted to do, to retreat to France and his brother's family, to study science or history in whatever capacity he could. He had not envisioned that his career would end in this way, with his desiring to be ignored by Starfleet, but that was what the universe had become. Foreign. Something he could neither change nor explore and so something he no longer saw himself as much a part of.
He asked for a small ceremony. It was telling that no one in the leadership argued with him. He had not invited many of his friends beyond Riker, requesting that the others—Geordi, Worf, Beverly, Data, Deanna and so forth—visit him in France when he knew he would feel more at peace. It was not easy, fading away, but he was slowly coming to accept it, the move from power to powerlessness, from fame to obsolescence.
And then Q.
Q, who embodied power, who bookended Picard's most significant time on the Enterprise—Q like the turning of a lens threw his life into clear definition. Q, who had sworn they would never see each other again. Q, the single person in the universe who could give Picard a second chance.
Q, who was acting exactly as puerile as he always had.
Picard watched in stunned silence as Q fed Admiral Santos new words all in praise of himself. Apparently he thought he deserved full credit for Picard's career. He watched the way Q upgraded the ceremony, making it a more momentous occasion than if Picard had asked for a momentous occasion, an act that would be gossiped about among Starfleet leadership for years, knowing them. He saw Q's amusement at the chaos he was causing, his unflinching immobilization of Riker, his gleeful disrespect of the President. He watched all of it, and he couldn't help but become angry.
It wasn't about Starfleet decorum; to hell with all of that. Q had barged in without asking—and wasn't that always the problem? Not only did Picard feel belittled by Starfleet, he felt belittled by Q, who did not even find him worthy enough to dictate the terms of his own Starfleet-belittled retirement ceremony.
Q had left Picard with open scorn all those years ago. While Picard had wondered if that scorn would turn to bite him with a vengeance, he had never dreamed it would stew for so long. He was especially unsettled when Q exited the building, leaving Picard's request for substitutionary punishment hanging between them unanswered, the box unchecked. And how long would that keep, then?
What was left of the ceremony was a disaster. Admiral Jacobs stuttered so badly presenting Picard with an award that Picard simply took the medal and seated himself, leaving the admiral standing there, hands still extended and pale-faced.
What they didn't know, what they would never believe even if Picard told them, was that Q wouldn't be back for them. He never played the same trick twice. Yet they whispered and fidgeted as if in a sudden expression of Q's anger the roof would fall in.
The president glared at Picard from across the stage. Their last meeting had not ended on good terms—an argument about the morality of trading medical supplies for war criminals. In front of twelve councilors, Picard had thickly implied the president was a snake. Today's development certainly didn't help their relationship.
When at last the ceremony staggered to an end with all the grace of a reanimated corpse, Picard wished he could slip unnoticed out the back door. He held himself in place, however, and shook the hands that shook his. Theirs trembled in fear; his own, in barely-suppressed rage.
Q had promised he'd stay away. It was as if he'd said it solely to get Picard off his guard so he could shock him all over again.
"Are you all right, sir?" Riker asked from the bottom of the steps. Picard welcomed the excuse to leave the line, descending as nimbly as his hip would allow him. They had not seen each other in four months. Picard was more glad than usual to have a friend nearby.
Riker's hand was not shaking.
"Perturbed," Picard answered, "that's all."
"I thought he'd stopped bothering you."
"I thought so as well. I should have known better. He was never beneath these tricks before."
"Well, I doubt your knowing would have changed anything."
"They think I did this. That I've been talking to him all this time." Picard leaned closer. "That's what the president thinks, I'm certain. That I planned this."
Riker frowned, a concerned expression, not what Picard had expected.
"What is it?" Picard asked.
"I was told he's out there, sir. Q."
"What?"
"Where the reception's supposed to be. I can have the Titan beam you out if you'd prefer to avoid him."
"Do you really think that would work?"
Picard unclasped his pips of admiralty from his collar, one other thing Admiral Jacobs had forgotten to do. He dropped those and his medal onto a passing pew as he started toward the door.
"And it isn't 'sir' anymore, Captain. It's Jean-Luc, if you can manage."
Hundreds of people choked the aisle in the back, trying to leave but failing. If anything, more of them seemed to be coming inside than out. Fortunately when they saw what ex-admiral was pushing through them they made room. Q, no doubt, was to blame for this.
Picard felt a thrill of adrenaline that caught him off guard. The only emotion he recalled feeling before a confrontation with Q was keen and bitter annoyance. He decided it was not about Q himself, rather the situation, which reminded him of the Enterprise. No paperwork, no committees, just the mission before him. There was pride, too, at the way the crowd parted for him—Picard, the only human in the galaxy Q ever remotely obeyed.
Picard broke through the crowd into the blinding flame of sunlight. Covering his eyes, he spotted Q at a bar on the lawn at least fifty meters away. Nothing seemed to occupy the entity's attention more than the drink in his hand. Odd. Considering the crowd, Picard had expected much worse.
They were jittery. He couldn't blame them.
"I'll take it from here," he said to Riker.
"With all due respect, Jean-Luc, I don't think you can order me anymore."
"Riker. Will. He's already made it clear…" Picard wasn't sure how to finish that thought, as Q hadn't made anything clear. "I have a feeling the worst is yet to come."
"I'd like to be there for it, if you don't mind."
"If you're trying to—"
In a flash of light, Riker vanished.
It went downhill from there. All of those onlookers who were scattered around Picard—those who probably thought themselves braver than the others to be baring themselves—they hurried back inside the cathedral.
Picard watched them wryly, thinking better of the idea that they saw him as a hero. More accurate, some virgin offered up to a god's fury. The doors groaned shut behind them.
There was no other person in sight. A dozen glistening skyscrapers hedged the field. Q was watching him, though it was too far away to see any specific expression.
"Enjoying yourself, Q?" Picard shouted. The question bounced off the skyscrapers.
Q looked away, sipping his drink as if that were his reply: yes.
Picard saw nothing else to do but approach. The reception area was a tragedy: empty tables, melting ice sculptures, platters of food stagnating in the heat. And Q, not giving a damn, just as always.
Picard had already noted this in the cathedral, but he was impressed again by how very young Q looked. It gave him the uncanny feeling he had slipped into the past.
But Picard had a job to do. This wasn't the time for nostalgia. He was still wearing the uniform.
He barked out a second question, and a third.
"Where is he? What have you done with Riker?"
Q raised the tumbler, turning it in his hand. "He's in here. I've made him just as small as I think he is." After a beat, he added, "I jest of course." He gestured upward with his eyes. "He's on the Titan. Orbiting. …They've locked a transporter on you. Oops. Not in an orbit anymore."
This news was delivered so calmly Picard wasn't sure whether to be concerned or not. "And where is he now?"
Q shrugged. "About ten hours away, maximum warp."
The band of tension around Picard's shoulders started to relax. There'd been no telling which Q he was dealing with: the Q playing nice or the Q willing to make a point no matter the cost. At least this Q didn't seem to be on any sadistic killing mission.
"Was that really necessary?" Picard asked.
"You would have brought him down here."
"All of it, Q! You being here. You flaunting yourself like this! You said you would never show yourself again."
Q studied the tumbler, unfazed by Picard's tone. "That's a different question. Necessary? Nothing I do is necessary. And I told you why I'm here. They were getting me all wrong."
"Yet here you are still. Now make your point and leave."
"Moi? Mon capitaine! Or should I say mon amiral? Ou mon citoyen?"
"Va te faire foutre."
Q laughed. "Touche. C'est tres bien! And how are you, Jean-Luc? I should have asked you that back there. I'm sorry."
"Angry."
"Anger." Q licked his lips, seeming to ponder the word. "I thought I was the only one who felt anger."
"You must feel something, Q, to go to all this trouble."
"Did I ever tell you I like the way you say my name?" Q slipped behind the bar and washed out his glass. "What are you drinking now? Not Earl Grey still?"
"If you think you're going to charm me into letting you stay here, you're wrong."
"I don't think you'll let me do anything, because that it isn't how it works. Why are you acting like this? Relax. Get out of that uniform, why don't you? You're done with all of that."
Q flicked his hand and Picard's uniform changed into something tan and casual, something he might wear at the vineyard in France. It was a simple yet firm example of what Q had said: there was no letting him or not letting him, no matter what their relationship used to be.
Picard glanced back at the cathedral. The bold black doors. The tower bell swaying in the breeze. "Very well, Q. If you're not going to leave, I am."
"Oh you can't tell me you honestly care what happens to them?"
"I care very much."
"After that interment you call a ceremony? What was that medal they gave you, for commendable service? That's the best they can do? In some cultures that sort of mental laziness is a crime. I should blight them all."
"You will do no such thing!"
Q nodded slowly. "It's good to see you're still excitable. But you needn't worry. I had my fit up there, and I'm calm now. The picture of politesse. You can even call them down if you like, I promise to behave."
"As you promised I would never see you again."
"I never promised. Besides it was more about me never seeing you than you never seeing me."
Over a decade had passed, yet Q was speaking to him as though it were days. Worse, Picard was encouraging him by responding in kind. He needed to divert the course of this conversation, and soon, or else deal with the consequences of his resolve beginning to crack.
"You're so old," Q said. "When did that happen?"
"About the same time as everything else."
"Does it hurt?"
"Does what?"
"Your hip. You hobble like a Risian crab. Would you like me to fix it?"
"No."
"I should. You're painful just to watch. Haven't you seen a doctor?"
"I have. It's healing now."
"And how long will that take?"
"Is there something on your mind, Q?"
"Q," Q repeated, mimicking Picard's frustrated tone. "If you're worried about them watching us, they are. Thousands of them in these skyscrapers, crowded at the windows. No one's allowed onto the field lest they go the way of Riker. Still afraid of being seen with me in public?"
"Is that what this is about?"
Q picked almonds from a bowl of nuts, splitting them with his front teeth. "So you're telling me I should go, are you? You want your reception and I should—" He gestured with an almond half. "—va te faire foutre?"
"That is exactly what I'm saying."
"I hear the words, but they sound a little rehearsed and frankly I'm having trouble believing them. Then again the lack of conviction in your voice could be... self-defeat. You don't think I'll obey anyway. But I know a way to tell the difference! I'll give you another chance. This time, Picard, if you ask me to leave, I'll leave. Be careful, though." Q held up his finger. "I will vanish on the spot."
Picard was inclined to believe he would. After having wished to speak to him more than once, he realized he would regret it if Q did vanish. But here? With so many inconvenienced—so many lives at stake? The decision seemed obvious; the needs of the many prevailed.
"Don't do this now, Q. Not in the middle of Starfleet."
"That's strange. I didn't hear a command to leave in there."
"If I ask you to leave, will you return? Say tomorrow?"
"No."
"You're asking me to choose between my retirement reception and you."
"I'm merely asking if you mean what you've been saying all this time."
Picard had no more room to argue. Q had turned the criticism onto him. It was either admit he was a hypocrite or goodbye to Q. He pulled out a bar stool and sat.
Q eyes lit up. There was a twist of a smile just beginning to form before he started with the almonds again. "You're not betraying anyone, you know. If Starfleet had the chance to sidle up to me at your expense, I'm sure they would."
"Is there some expense I should know about?"
"I already told you they were safe."
"Then perhaps we could go elsewhere? I see no need to remain here."
Q gestured to the tables. "And let all of this food go to waste? Come, you can stop pretending this isn't what you want. You put on a spectacle for Starfleet, and for me… but you're glad I came today."
"Under other circumstances perhaps I could say 'glad.' The emotion is not nearly so positive. You're making this as difficult as possible for me when it's the same to you if it wasn't."
"So I'll go then?"
"That isn't what I said."
"Thirsty?"
Q set a drink on the bar. Ice in some clear liquid. Then he leaned forward so that their temples touched and whispered in Picard's ear, "I am making this difficult."
He vanished.
Picard's stomach dropped. He turned and saw Q at one of the food tables and felt such a flood of relief it disturbed him. He needed to control himself. He was supposed to be getting rid of Q, for his own safety, for everyone's. Even if he was temporarily deviating from the plan, that was the plan.
Picard sniffed the drink Q had poured only to set it aside. Vodka. He poured himself a whiskey—better for his nerves—and made for the table where Q was eating.
He felt the adrenaline again. Now he understood what it was: an anticipation fueled by years of wondering, of what if. When he reached the table, he did not sit. Not yet.
"You told them you were the shining moment of my career," Picard said.
Q was licking some sticky food off his fingertips. "I was."
"No, you weren't. You intervened once or twice."
"You mean the once or twice I saved your life? Or do you mean the Borg? Or the anomaly?"
"Both of those your creations."
"I, create the Borg? Jean-Luc." Q bit into a strawberry, tossed the green away.
"You may have told yourself you were improving the ceremony, giving me some voice I didn't have before, but you never asked me what I wanted. You did what you wanted. And you know good and well that in doing that, up there, they'll remember this day for you, not for me."
"History tends to remember the person who's still around."
"I mean your display, and you know that. Don't argue a point I'm not making."
For a moment Q looked like he might bite back. "What point are you making?"
"If you wanted to attend, you could have done it as inconspicuously as anyone else. If you wanted to change anything, you could have asked."
"I'm not anyone else. I couldn't have just attended."
"Then you shouldn't have attended at all. You weren't even invited, Q."
Q turned his palms upward. "And I humbly ask for your exoneration. There. Do we feel better now?"
"I might consider that apology if it had been at all genuine."
"Would you like me to get on my knees?"
"I know you think me stubborn. Belligerent even. You once asked me why I can't talk to you as I would anyone else. The truth is I found it difficult to talk to someone who lives in a fantasy world, or at best, is so wholly removed from the consequences of his actions that he need never consider his actions at all. I know it surprised you when I considered them. I know it chafed you when I told you how poorly you'd come across."
Q didn't reply. He was just silent, just watching Picard.
"You kill without thought. The memories of those who have died under my command still haunt me. You rearrange people as though we were trinkets on a side table—Riker, me more than once… when even as captain of the Enterprise, even with that authority, although I know you never recognized it… I always minded people's personal desires first."
"I can see you've given this some thought."
"I've had time to."
"But you've not considered the most important thing. My interest. Jean-Luc, please. It's been fifteen years. Let's not renew some dreadful argument we both grew bored of. Sit. Drink that… whatever it is you're holding. I'm trying very hard to play nice."
"As am I."
"Pontificating is a terrible place to start. Sit."
Picard complied. A plate of food appeared in front of him, but he didn't touch it.
"I do live in a fantasy world," Q said. "Everything I am is fantasy to you. Would I be interesting to you otherwise?"
"I didn't mean what you are. What you do."
"Where I come from they're the same."
"So every one of the Q behaves exactly the same as you?"
"I'd rather not bring the Continuum into this."
"Why not?"
Q picked at his food and said nothing.
Picard sighed, shifting direction. "I'm not afraid of being seen with you in public. You mistook that for what it really was, that being seen with you would be a tacit approval of your behavior, would impugn my credibility as captain of the Enterprise. And yes, I feared for my credibility. I feared for anything related to my command. That was the fear you saw. It wasn't you; it was how you behaved. But as you said, perhaps those are the same."
When Q didn't reply to that, Picard moved the subject along.
"Why did you come?"
"If there's one question I loathe it's that one."
Picard sighed, grasping for a rephrase. "What was it you were doing before this?"
"I was warming my hands against the heart of a star. I was cascading through a string of Andorian ice tunnels. I was on a planet full of monkeys, soaking my feet. What does it matter to you what I was doing? Something exciting. Something you couldn't comprehend."
"But you saw I was retiring."
"Oh, that's what you're getting at. No. I was told about that. I haven't been watching you. All of that promptly stopped. No, it's a coincidence, my knowing."
"Your uniform's out of issue."
"Is it?" Q said in a way that meant he knew.
There had been so many lulls in the conversation, one after the other, that Picard decided he had better get it over with. He picked at his food before pushing the plate away. "There's something I should tell you. The reason I'm here. I would… consider that offer you gave me. If you extended it again."
The air felt electric. Q made only the slightest movement, folding his hands in front of him, and yet Picard could sense a wall of energy behind it. It was something deadly and dark. As if Picard had split an atom and created the bomb.
"Of course you would," Q said. "You've nowhere else to go. And what am I, supposed to take Starfleet's sloppy seconds?"
"I was only informing you. I would regret it if I hadn't."
"Well I'm glad I could be here to unburden you."
The sarcasm stung. Picard felt the need to defend himself. "It's only natural I might wonder. You spoke of my retirement when you offered."
"After which I made very clear I had lost all desire in that direction."
"I regret that conversation, Q. I wish... things had not ended like that."
"Of course you do. You never saw me again."
"It isn't that. More that you were obviously upset."
"Don't you dare." The word had weight. It swelled in volume, reverberated in the air so that a flock of birds on the other side of the field took flight. Picard remembered how many hundreds were watching them, and perhaps so did Q, because he leaned forward and continued more quietly, his finger stabbing the table, "Don't you dare feign to know my thoughts on anything."
Something about the threat in Q's eyes reminded him of how icily Q, in their last meeting, had told him he didn't care if he lived or died. Picard wished he could leave. A catch-22: too dangerous to stay in Q's presence, too dangerous to risk any sudden movement. He was beginning to feel fortunate things had not worked out.
"I could have made you ruler of the Alpha Quadrant," Q said. "I could have made you a god. I could have given you anything you wanted, things you couldn't have wanted, things you haven't imagined, and fifteen years later we would only be starting. I wouldn't have left you out to dry like this. I wouldn't have sent you skulking back to France."
"You're right. I suppose I must live with the consequences of my decision."
Q laughed. "Don't pretend to be taking this easy either. It's obvious you're desperate for me."
Picard was startled only momentarily. "It's obvious you are bitter even years after the fact. Desperate? You came to me today, Q, let's not forget that."
"I can see it was a mistake. I can see my mere appearance gave you a less-than-favorable impression."
Picard finished his whiskey. He didn't trust himself to answer wisely.
"The truth is I should have never picked you up as a hobby," Q said. "The Continuum mocked me for it. The jokes they tell, you should hear them. They're very funny. More than once I've considered going back in time and warning myself."
Picard murmured, "You should warn me as well." In the middle of the sentiment he realized it was a mistake, that it would do more harm than good, but the words were out. He gleaned the worst from the suffocating silence that followed. Then the meticulous, almost shaky quality in Q's reply.
"Maybe we should both go back so as to remove any doubt. Then again what would warning you do? I created this. It was I who bent down and shaped the mud."
Picard was in the process of shaking his head at the ridiculous God metaphor, when several things happened in rapid succession. Q slid his hand under Picard's chin, despite the table in between them, which must have disappeared. Picard was being guided up by his chin as though he were some kind of animal. When he resisted, Q's fingers became searing hot.
Picard hissed and stood, fumbling with the chair. Even then Q's pressure did not relent. PIcard realized what Q wanted and refused to give it, lifting his chin away from the heat of the entity's hand, keeping his eyes fixed on a cloud above.
"The great Captain Picard. Decomposing into the annals of history. Who worked so hard to escape daddy's vineyard only to retreat there tail tucked between his legs. Look at me."
Picard was shocked as his eyes moved against his will, fixing on Q's. He tried moving them away. Nothing. He tried to retort, to bite back at Q's smugly understated smile, but his jaw would not open either. He felt such fury his arms grew light. His breath rasped through his nose.
Q, on the other hand, was the image of calm. "So saggy, your eyes. Does it frighten you seeing them in the mirror each morning? It's no wonder you latched onto—"
Q staggered backwards, clutching his jaw where Picard had struck it. He looked at his hand, blotted with red, then he touched his face again.
It was Picard's turn to sport the smug, understated smile. He shook the pain out of his fingers, waiting for whatever punishment would come. Something a hundred times worse, he suspected. But he didn't care. He would do it all over again, just for the sight of Q's face under his fist.