Q felt his leg had healed enough so that he could risk standing. He steeled his reserves, and forced himself from off of the blanket, stifling a cry of pain as the tingling agony shot up and down his left leg. He pushed it down inside of himself, and took a deep breath in as he balanced himself.

He let the breath out slowly, feeling the pain subside, until he started to limp forward. He favoured his right leg considerably, but he knew he would heal quickly. being a Q.

Q peeled back the flap of the tent, and squinted into the sunlight. People milled about everywhere, carrying logs for fires at night, grooming horses, cleaning and prepping artillery.

He limped out of the tent, looking around himself at the people Aunt Kathy had spoken of to him. These people believed in him, they knew he was innocent. Well, that was what they said anyway. Whether or not they were being sincere was yet to be seen.

Sincere, he thought, yeah, sure, I know all about that, don't I? He shook his head as he recalled his past behaviour. He had risked so many lives, including his own.

"Q, what are you doing?" he heard someone call, and turning his head to glance over his shoulder, he almost unbalanced himself.

Janeway steadied him just in time, and repeated, "What exactly do you think you're doing out of bed?"

She sounded just like. well, just like his mother. Or what his mother should have been like. His mother had been quite a disappointment in the caring area, as had his father.

What a great childhood I've had, he realised, casting a charming smile in Janeway's general direction.

"I'm okay. If I'm going to be hunted like some animal, I'm going to need to be able to run away from the hunters, right?"

Aunt Kathy smiled discreetly, and nodded. "I see what you mean, but you shouldn't be out of the tent during the day. What if your 'hunters' were to come by? They wouldn't hesitate in shooting you, Q."

He sensed concern in her voice, and he appreciated that greatly. She was doing a much better job of being the parent than the real couple had ever done. Now all he needed was a father figure.

Fat chance, he sighed.

He heard booted feet approaching, and the ring of spurs jangling. He turned his brown eyes in their direction to see another Q approaching.

"Quentin," Janeway greeted him, and Q raised an eyebrow at the title.

What kind of name was Quentin? The Q didn't have names!

As he thought about it, he realised how confusing it had to be. considering everyone here was named the same thing. He had never really thought about it much. It was second nature to him.

"Good morning, Kathryn," Quentin greeted in return, and then turned to face Q, "and to you."

With a furrowed brow, Q replied, "Good morning. I think."

Quentin laughed quietly, his hat shielding his face from the sun, casting shadows over his features. "Good, you're wary around strangers."

"Oh, I recognise you," Q informed him. "You were the one who pulled me off the floor in the town. You helped me and Aunt Kathy."

"Aunt Kathy?" Quentin mumbled, and then continued louder, "Oh yes, the whole godmother thing, I remember."

Q decided he wasn't too keen on this Quentin. He was far too cocky, even by his standards. And he knew all about cocky. He had been the personification of the term not so long ago.

"How are you feeling this morning, Q?" Quentin asked, and then added, "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer another name? There are so many Q's around here, it gets confusing, as Kathryn said."

Q shook his head once, sternly. "No, Q's fine. I'm okay. The leg doesn't hurt as much." After a moment, he added, "Thank you."

Quentin inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

"Are you hungry, Q?" Janeway offered, looking to the youngest of the party.

After realising she was addressing him, he simply nodded with a short smile.

She walked away to rustle up some food, and Q took it upon himself to find somewhere comfortable to sit.

The only thing that closely fitted into the category was a tree stump, cut off about two feet high. Q hauled himself onto it with ease, and waited for Aunt Kathy to return.

Quentin had followed him over, as if taking on the role of his bodyguard.

Q glanced up at him, and felt his brow furrow once again. What did he want anyway?

"So, who do you think framed you?" Quentin asked suddenly, shattering the calm silence.

Q looked up at him, giving him most of his attention, saying bluntly, "I'm going to take a wild guess, and say 'Q'."

Quentin got the joke, and laughed heartily.

It wasn't that funny, Q thought blandly, turning his eyes away from the slightly unsettling Quentin.

* * *

After eating a small amount of unappealing food, Q had taken it upon himself to walk for a while, within the most outer confines of the camp, where Aunt Kathy had assured him he would not come to any further harm.

This didn't make any sense to him. Who would try to frame him? And why?

It was, as the Vulcans would say, illogical. But what did the Vulcans know about all this anyway? They were omnipotent, and they didn't live in a place where any change brought about war that could potentially tear apart the universe with supernovas!

Calm down, he told himself, sitting on a tree stump. He sighed, and cringed a little as a stinging sensation swept up and down his leg briefly.

"Q!" exclaimed an approaching voice, one that made him start slightly.

He whirled, standing, and wavering slightly. The hat swung around his back on the cord, and he found it irritated him a little.

"Oh, it's you," he mumbled, leaning against another tree by the stump he had rose from, and crossing his arms over his chest in an annoyed gesture of impatience.

Quentin, or whatever he had taken his name as, strode up to him confidently, smiling wanly, and said, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. What do you want?"

"Fine way to thank me," Quentin told him, coming around to face him. It was then that Q noticed the six-shooters at his hips.

Q looked down discreetly, and realised he himself was unarmed. His guns were gone, removed. He looked back up into the eyes of Quentin, and smiled, "Sorry. I am grateful, but I'm also confused. All this is new to me." Then he huffed quietly. "Saviour of the Continuum. some saviour I turned out to be."

Gunfire could be heard in the distance, and the frightened whinny of a horse.

Q turned his head in that direction, and closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I'm the cause of another war. What kind of saviour does that to his people?"

Quentin smiled. "It's not entirely your fault, Q."

Q raised an eyebrow. Not entirely? So, Quentin blamed him partially then. He hadn't seen that coming from his rescuer.

"The people of the Continuum are afraid of change, and you're the biggest kind of change the Q have seen for over a millennia. You have to understand that. Sometimes we can be just as fickle as humans."

Q laughed. He could just see Aunt Kathy's face in regards to that comment.

"Now what you have to do is find a way to rectify all of this, and discover who's behind your framing. Then, after all that, the Continuum should be able to return pretty much to normal. Or as close to normal as it gets around here anyway," Quentin informed him wisely, tipping his hat slightly to keep the sun out of his eyes.

Q sighed again. "Yeah, but how do I do all of that? I have no idea why anyone would even want to frame me in the first place."

"Maybe that's the point. The one who framed you probably knew you wouldn't suspect anyone, and used that to his. or her advantage. In not suspecting anyone, they're in the clear," Quentin clarified, looking over his shoulder as a shot echoed.

Q furrowed his brow. "Okay, now that's just complicated."

"Think about it, kid, it'll all make sense soon enough. And then you'll be able to start figuring all of this out for yourself," Quentin added.

Q started violently as three loud gunshots rang out close by, and he heard desperate shouts.

"That's coming from the camp," Quentin exclaimed, and gazed wide-eyed at Q.

"Aunt Kathy," Q muttered in realisation, and shot off as fast as he could to reach the camp.

Quentin was soon on his heels, and even overtook him without much effort.

Within a few moments, they were at the camp, and Quentin ran into one of the tents.

Q slowed immediately at the carnage that awaited him. Everything was in a mess. The campfires had been kicked about all over the place; horses ran around in a daze, freed from their tethers; boxes were overturned and spilling; and tents were knocked down.

"Captain?" he called loudly, concerned.

He started walking over to the tent where he had been staying the night before, and found it had been knocked over, the ropes tying it in place cut. He saw no person inside, and immediately started to panic.

"Aunt Kathy?!" he yelled louder, the fear rising up in him. He ran a hand over his eyes, and called again, and then again. He received no answer.

A few of the other Q had started to shamble back into view, a few of them with spots of blood on their clothing. A couple were sporting visible wounds.

He grabbed the nearest one, even as Quentin appeared again, holding a rifle.

"Where is she?" he demanded, staring the Q right in the eye.

He looked right back, and knew who Q was talking about, as he replied, "She's gone. They took her."

Q released his grip on the other man, and turned his eyes to Quentin, who shook his head.

Moving away slightly, Q stopped in front of a box that had been overturned.

After a couple of silent moments of reflection on all the madness that had taken place, and with a shout of rage, Q slammed his boot into the box, smashing the wood.

* * *

Q sat on the ground, hugging his head on his knees, his heart racing with anger. How the hell could he have let this happen?

He had let Aunt Kathy, his guardian, get abducted; by his own people no less! He was irresponsible, as always. How could he have been so careless?

He heard Quentin's approach, and without even looking up, he said, "What is it?" He was fully aware that his voice was probably muffled, but he did not care. He wanted answers, and he wanted them know; from whoever he could gather them from.

Quentin's voice was quiet, regretful, as he said; "We found this near Katherine's tent."

Q looked up through narrowed eyes, and accepted the note that was handed to him.

He screwed it up shortly after reading it, his knuckles turning white with the pressure he applied to the crushing of the paper.

They wanted him. He had known that all along. But what had possessed them to resort to kidnapping to get him to come to them? Why hadn't they just stormed in and taken him instead of her?

"I can't take this," he grumbled unhappily, letting his head sink to his knees again.

The hand that did not hold the crushed paper ran through the back of his black hair, and scratched his head lazily.

"I know, kid," Quentin said in understanding tones. "You weren't expecting this. None of us were, not from the others anyway. I didn't think they'd resort to this."

"I should have seen it coming," he mumbled to himself. Then, louder, he said, "What are we gonna do? I have no idea what I'm even doing here. Where's my father when you need him." Then he laughed. "No, wait, I don't want my father. He never knows what to do. That's probably where I got my hopelessness from."

"You're not hopeless," Quentin told him feebly, crouching to Q's head height.

"Oh yeah?" Q retorted, raising his head, and looking Quentin right in the eye. "Then how come I can't seem to figure any of this out? Huh? Answer me that. you seem to have the answer for everything."

Quentin sighed then, and stood. "You have to do this on your own, kid. I don't think I can help you anymore."

"You're not going to help me?" he blurted angrily, struggling to rise from the ground, wincing in pain at his leg. It had started to seize up on him.

"I'll help you get Katherine back, but I can't figure the rest out for you. That's something you have to deal with," Quentin replied, his voice stern.

Great, he thought, like I can do anything myself.

"Fine," he muttered in response, and wandered off. He knew exactly what he had to do now. He had to get Aunt Kathy back, and in one piece.

Just how he was going to do it was a mystery.

* * *

"What do you plan to do now?" Q demanded of him as he sat comfortably in the chair beside him, staring with those irritating beady eyes, arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

Chakotay glared over at him, and without replying, looked up at Harry. "How long until the next supernova?"

"I've got one coming up in about five minutes, sir," Harry informed him, "but that doesn't mean we won't get another one unexpectedly sooner, Commander."

Chakotay nodded.

"This is all your fault," Q moaned.

Chakotay looked over again, and this time, did not deny Q the response he obviously wanted. "How did you come to the conclusion that this is our fault? You're the one who won't even believe in your own son."

"No need to get personal," Q whined.

Chakotay sighed, trying to calm himself down.

Tom turned in his chair, and commented, "If you even tried to get to know your own son, you'd see right away that he couldn't possibly have done anything like what you say he's done."

"You don't even know of the accusation," Q told the helmsman, and continued, "so how can you pass judgement so blindly? Don't meddle in things you couldn't possibly even begin to comprehend."

"That's your problem," Tom began.

"Tom," Chakotay warned holding up a hand.

"No, Chakotay, why defend him?" He turned his unforgiving gaze upon Q again, and said, "What kind of father are you anyway? I thought I had it bad, but your son will never know true family if you carry on the way you're going."

"That's enough, Lieutenant. That's an order," Chakotay said sternly.

This time, Tom complied, and with a shake of his head in Q's direction, spun slowly back to his station.

Chakotay glanced in Q's direction, only to see, surprisingly enough, that the omnipotent alien actually looked guilty.

He hadn't thought that possible of a member of his race.

Maybe he was wrong.