A/N:For the 30-Day Writing Challenge on Tumblr. Prompt: "Turning the pages backwards"
Ambassador Jean-Luc Picard climbed into bed, but he didn't turn out the light.
He had stayed on many an alien ship since he'd taken this diplomatic position, but this one was a little different. The thrum of the distant warp core sounded vaguely familiar, not unlike the purr of Enterprise-D's engine after one of Geordi's tune-ups.
Sometimes Picard wondered what would have happened if he hadn't stepped down as captain, split up with what remained of the crew. A few times, he'd thought about reaching out to everyone, seeing how many he could get together for a drink and a game of poker.
He'd been considering it the last time he'd called La Forge. Geordi was the only member of the crew he'd managed to stay in touch with; but that was all right, because the former chief engineer did a good job of keeping him updated on the crew—Data's professorship, Worf's diplomatic achievements, Beverly's children…
It was probably best that they'd all moved on with their separate lives. Their time together had been wonderful, but it was over now. No need to revisit the past.
Picard reached up and turned off the light.
When Jean-Luc awoke, he was surrounded by white. Vast, quiet nothing that extended as far as the eye could see.
"Q?" he called into the emptiness. "It can't be you, after all these years."
Silence was the only reply. The ambassador took a few steps, but stopped. The featureless white expanse made it feel as though he hadn't moved an inch.
"Q, I know you're there," repeated Picard. "Answer me."
He scanned the blank environment, hoping for a sign, a word.
When no reply came, he turned to face forward again… and there was a book.
It looked old—like one of the volumes of Shakespeare Picard's grandfather had owned. The green patterned cover was tattered, the edges of the pages were yellowed and warped. The thick tome rested on a simple wooden podium.
"What is this?" Picard called into the emptiness. "Come and speak to my face."
Nothing.
Picard bent over the book, feeling its worn edges. He examined the spine, looking for some identifying marker. Finding none, he turned back the cover and flipped to a random page.
The book contained not words, but instead what could only be described as a video feed – showing Picard himself. In fact, it was a place he recognized, a room on the Enterprise-D. He watched as the little representation of him walked over to the table where his bridge crew was playing poker, and joined them.
He flipped to another page – there he was again, this time sleeping on the ground next to a campfire.
Something stirred in his memory. He recognized that place, that campfire. He'd been there with her.
He remembered the echo of thoughts in his mind that were not his own, the new bond that lasted even after the telepathic link was broken.
Squinting at the silently flickering flames, he tried to make out the red-haired woman's sleeping form on the other side of the fire. He thought he could see a silhouette…
The pages began flipping of their own accord. It was as though a wind was blowing through, but Picard couldn't feel a breeze. The book fluttered for a moment, falling open to another scene, this time in his ready-room. There he was at the desk, quietly talking with… Beverly.
He remembered this moment too.
"Enough, Q!" shouted Jean-Luc into the whiteness. "I know it's you, show yourself!" He grabbed the front cover of the tome with both hands and tried to slam it shut, but the large volume remained stubbornly open, held there by an unseen force.
On the page, his younger self was leaning closer to Beverly – placing his hands comfortingly over hers.
Jean-Luc took hold of the paper and tugged, trying to rip it out. "I'm not going to sit through one of your little charades!" he yelled. "Come and show your face!"
The page remained firmly attached. When Picard pulled his hands away, the corner wasn't even wrinkled.
Beverly was bending down…
"Bonjour, mon capitaine!"
Picard didn't even have to look up to know who stood in the white void before him.
"Q! What is the meaning of this?"
Q—adorned with judge's robes—smiled broadly. "Don't you see, Jean-Luc? You were thinking about what it would be like to revisit the past."
Picard snorted. "Don't tell me you're giving me the opportunity. I remember how that went before. The experiences I've had, the choices I've made, they all led me to who I am today. I've left the past behind."
"Ah, but you misunderstand," Q said, extending his arm in a theatrical sweep. "You see, I haven't brought you here."
"That's ridiculous. Of course you have."
"But I haven't, Jean-Luc. That's the thing. You've brought yourself here."
Picard glanced down to where the book had been, but in its place was a mirror. He startled at the reflection – it showed a man ten years younger, wearing a Starfleet captain's uniform. His third pip was slightly misaligned, just as it had been in the final scene he'd witnessed in the book.
Illusions, he thought, shaking off the image.
"I didn't 'bring myself' anywhere," he said. "I don't have that kind of power."
Q shrugged. "I don't make the rules. Well, sometimes I do, but not this time." He gestured to the book, which had reappeared in its former place. "You've even brought me here, somehow."
Picard huffed. "Fine. At least tell me why I'm seeing this moment." He pointed at the page, where Beverly was just getting up to walk out of the ready-room. As she stood, the scene restarted, showing again the conversation at the desk.
Q peered down at the book. "Well, it's quite simple," he said. "This is the moment on which your regret hinges."
"I don't understand," snapped Picard. "I don't regret what we're seeing here."
Q shook his head. "I have to explain everything, don't I? This is the last moment you remember feeling like yourself, the moment you so desperately want to return to. Somewhere in your puny subconscious, you think that this"—he gestured to the scene on the page—"is where you lost yourself."
Picard watched the image replay again, the gentle touches, the unspoken words.
Q continued, "And thus we are brought here." He thrust his arms out to indicate the expanse. "A limbo, between life and what could have been, to contemplate your choices."
"So you're saying I took the wrong path?" Jean-Luc asked, skeptical. "That if I changed this one moment, I could have a better life?"
"Right, wrong, you humans are such black-and-white thinkers!" exclaimed Q. "The truth is, to have a 'better life,' you must appreciate what you have in every moment. And you, Monsieur Picard, did not appreciate what you had before it was gone."
Jean-Luc crossed his arms.
"…But I digress," Q continued. "I suppose in a way, you have chosen the 'wrong' path – you are not happy in the universe you come from."
"I'm perfectly happy."
"Then why," Q asked, "do you keep replaying that scene in the ready-room?"
As if on cue, the scene on the page restarted once more.
Q whispered, "I'm not in control of the book."
"Enough!" Picard shouted. "I cannot change the past, and I refuse to spend my life looking backwards, regretting the choices I've made. What would you have me do, Q?"
"Jean-Luc." Q reached down and rapped on the book with his finger like an angry schoolteacher. "This isn't just a window to the past. It's a door."
Picard stared at him. "You want me to go back?"
"BINGO!" Q yelled, his voice echoing in the void. "You'll be swept back into the past, given the chance to take another road. How does that sound?"
"What if I decide not to go?"
"Then you can stay here and contemplate the past forever, I suppose. Or at least until you decide you're satisfied with your current life." Q brushed a piece of invisible lint off his sleeve. "How should I know? You created this place."
A chime broke the silence.
Pulling a large gold pocketwatch out from his judge's robes, Q declared, "Ah! It seems that's all the time I have for today! So to speak." He laughed.
"I thought you didn't come here of your own accord," Picard said. "I thought I brought you, remember? What if I say you can't go?"
Q shrugged. "My work here is done, that's all I can say. Ta-ta for now, mon capitaine! I'll see you sometime… in the future!" And with a snap of his fingers, Q was gone.
Jean-Luc surveyed the emptiness.
He found himself staring down at the yellowed pages of the book once again.
Beverly was leaning in. Her lips met those of his younger self.
Ambassador Picard brushed his fingertips over his own lips. How was it that he could still remember exactly the way that kiss felt, a decade ago?
He reached for the image, pressed his fingers into the paper…
"Is something wrong?" Beverly whispered.
She was close, so close.
And he was on the Enterprise. He was captain again—aboard his ship, surrounded by his crew. He wasn't going to let them go so easily.
And this was her.
"No," he whispered back. "Everything is very, very right."
She smiled, and leaned in to kiss him again.
Q watched the two of them, sitting there at the ready-room desk. They were so happy, so oblivious to all that their choices would influence.
"Enjoy, mon capitaine," he whispered, "while you can."
A/N:The Picard/Crusher romance grew on me in my second watch of the series. I didn't like the (lack of) resolution in the movies, or in Picard Season 3. Here's my own option. 3