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[ If her moving in means the transport of her wardrobe (it might), he'll no doubt question her about that particular item, but for now he's oblivious. He has this moment, and as she accepts her hand he carefully steps into her, flawlessly appropriating the perfect waltz frame, one hand in hers his other on her shoulder, elbow raised to shoulder height. ]

The Q seek out whatever novelty they can, and ballroom dancing is infinitely more interesting than Vulcan meditation. I might have picked up a few things. Unless you're an Argentinian Tango sort of girl?

[ Because if she was--well, he would be more than happy to oblige. But for now, he leads in a traditional box step, starting slowly enough to allow her get her bearings. ]

No tangos. I was forced into ballet growing up. I make a point not to engage in anything more complicated than that which I learned in command school.

[ dancing! a little known command requirement. you never know when you're going to be heading up a first contact situation or invited to a gala on behalf of the federation. being able to participate in dances reflected well on yourself, as well as the rest of starfleet. not that she wouldn't be able to pick up on and keep up with a tango, having a background in dancing. ~~even though canon mentions this like once and then promptly forgets about it WRITERS /shakes fist~~ which is why it's not just the command training that has her falling into step so easily with the pattern he's laid out, still tense in some ways, but relaxing in others. ]

It's fine. I'd offer - given ample opportunity - to school you in something more exciting, but--no, it's probably not your thing. The waltz. The waltz is the dance for Kathryn Janeway. Elegance and poise, no hair out of place.

[ He's winding her up. Q dances the line somewhere between teasing and compliments, it's hard to know which. He knows she isn't all waltz (as he suggests) nor indeed ballet, for they hardly capture her full spirit, and no wonder she disliked the learning experience. Paso doble, he thinks. That would suit her just fine.

The rhythm is gentle, predictable. Without music, it's a conversational dance, not breathless spinning or an attempt to mangle steps together when neither partner was psychic. That predictability in the face of so much out of their control made it almost safe. If everything else was out of control, there would still be this three beat rhythm. ]

Do you feel any better now?

[ A delicate approach to asking about the kiss. ]

[ she rolls her eyes at his words, falling easily back into step with old, familiar patterns of annoyance. but her expression softens — some, only some — when he asks that question. it's a simple question, one anyone else would likely be able to answer truthfully without hesitation. normally she wouldn't hesitate, but she also wouldn't offer up the truth. "i'm fine," she says. she's always fine. perfectly fine. but fine is far from what she is, but since when did not being fine stop her, hold her back? she hasn't been fine in years. ]

Honest answer or the answer I'd give everyone else? [ from chakotay to kirk to mccoy — "i'm fine." ]

Both are honest in their own way.

[ He knows the answer because he knows her, has slid in through the bulkheads of Voyager often enough in his roaming of infinity, son in tow. His head tilts slightly to one side, and his height absorbs the change in balance the inclination gives the dance. ]

You are fine. Perhaps coping would be a better word, but fine at least keeps people from asking questions, doesn't it?

[ But he knows better, which is why the topic stands at once an offering to discuss how she really feels, and an excuse for her to duck away from the details. ]

[ she takes the offered easy way out, though he likely knows she wouldn't have elaborated regardless of if she admitted to being not fine or not. ]

Then I'm fine. [ coping. fine because it prevents people from asking questions she's not going to answer, anyway. if it were as simple as asking her what was wrong, her CMO and first officer wouldn't be so concerned with her closing herself off. ]

And you, Q? Are you fine?

[ And she gives her answer, and they have their silent accord of his knowing otherwise, and that were it not anything she could cope with, she might feel safe enough in his detachment from her world order, her crew, to place her confidence once more in him.

So he smiles, and returns to his former position, leading her into a pivot turn so that they could avoid dancing their way into the fire. ]

I don't sleep well, and waking up is a thousand times more abhorrent. I occasionally get headaches so bad they make my teeth ache--did you know that could happen? I didn't. I miss knowing, but most of all I miss my son. But...

[ But he hadn't given up the ghost, and the world wasn't such an awful place. Even the curses he'd come to live with, in a manner of speaking, but then nothing transcendentally awful had happened to him yet. ]

I'm fine too. As fine as I could be. And I suspect I owe a great deal of that to you.

[ he misses his son. kathryn stops dancing, but doesn't step back or make any move to remove his hands from her. if there's one thing kathryn honestly believes he has nothing but the best of intentions towards, it's his son. a son that could've been hers, had she agreed; a son that was her godson, because she hadn't. and she empathizes with his plight in that regard, can only imagine what it must be like to be parent separated from your child. being separated from the rest of the crew and her ship is hardly an adequate comparison. ]

And so will he. Fluid existence — isn't that what you were trying to get me to understand? Even if he, as a Q, is able to note the absence, who says that noting and noticeable have to go hand-in-hand? [ she is trying to think outside the box here, which is a bit difficult, considering how much she likes that box. ] I may be a member of an "intellectually challenged" species, but I understand enough to know that... things will be okay, and we're not going to be here forever. Eternity is something I take issue with, and like hell am I — or you — spending it here.

[ she'll come back to him owing her in a moment. ]

Edited (nvm the latin i decided to rewrite the dialogue altogether) 2013-12-16 05:59 (UTC)

[ He recovers quickly from the halted step, watching her eyes as she thinks, as she speaks. It's incredibly touching how hard she's trying, considering how often their conversations have turned toward such topics, her attempts to understand and empathise were why Q - the other Q - had profited from her adjudication of his case. She almost casually took these concepts and wound them around the softest of platitudes, and he found himself smiling gently down toward his collar.

Oh, she was a clever one, yes, but of her traits her cleverness could be repeated. It was the entire package that made her Kathryn Janeway; both the steely surface and the mysteries that lay beneath it. And she did something nobody had ever done for him - not actually ever - she made him feel better.

And what better way to thank her, he supposed, than to mimic her earlier action of gratitude and understanding, and with one hand brushing her hair aside, lean forward to brush a gentle kiss against her temple. ]

[ she wasn't expecting that, and she tenses at the feel of his lips pressed against her skin, but doesn't lurch away or demand he release her. kathryn tolerates the affectionate gesture for what it is, what it represents— only to ruin the moment as mistletoe sprouts from the outer wall of the ledge. apparently, one doesn't need to be under the mistletoe to be affected by it. she takes his face in her hands, raises up as high as she can on her toes, and kisses him again. ]

[ He isn't oblivious to the tension, which is why the kiss ought to be a surprise. Ought to be, except that he finds himself as overcome as she is at the appearance of the malevolent parasite.

Almost at once his embrace becomes something more possessive, obliging their considerable difference in height by stooping to meet her, almost tilting her back across the balcony in the process; but where there had been a dazzling drop before, now they were down in the fairgrounds below, the gentle turning of the carousel beneath them. Mistletoe, ivy and holly, fringed frost white, crawled to life about their feet, climbing about the golden hooves of the brightly colored carousel horse upon which Q now effortlessly lifts her, never once breaking the persistent, demanding kiss.

He forgets he needs to breathe--why bother? For perhaps the first time in weeks he feels eternity winging out beneath him again, oblivious to the exertions his excess of powers takes on him, filled as if by magic with a joy and satisfaction he hasn't felt since the moment he'd first held his son in his arms. ]

[ she doesn't, taking in much needed breaths around kisses, far more skilled in the art/act of kissing than a q who doesn't maintain a constant, bipedal form. the floor beneath her is spinning, her feet no longer on the pebbled roof, but she barely notices. he lifts her up into the horse's fiberglass saddle and one of her hands shoots out to grasp the metal pole that keeps it suspended in the hair between the carousel's ceiling and floor. she's fisting the fabric of his shirt in the other, intent on holding him in place.

this, she won't take much issue with when it's over. it was in her nature to examine every foreseeable possibility, to look down every road while determining the smoothest course. of course she knew it was very likely she'd end up in q's arms before the day was over, that she'd be kissing him senseless just like she had chakotay and kirk before him. kissing, like she said, wasn't the problem. it was the people she found herself kissing and the lack of conscious control. but this time, she moved one step ahead of the curse with the kiss she'd given out willingly. ]

[ Oh yes, easy peasy. Just brush themselves off and get back to what they were doing - headache not withstanding - but for now the mistletoe's power consumes them both.

Q learns quickly. He may not be very experienced with kissing (though it's certainly not a completely novel experience), but experience comes quickly to surmount what his mimicry has picked up, and he seizes the tiny breathing spaces where they become available. Mostly he takes his cues (Qs) from her. One arm stays, an anchor around Janeway's back to keep her from falling off the back of the carousel horse. The other moved back to her hair, fingers shedding the band that secured her plait carelessly only to plunge deep into the auburn strands.

He isn't entirely beyond himself. There was no fogginess, no single minded erasure of who he was, it was more a feeling of necessity, rendered instantly into a set of physical directives that it only made sense to obey. He was still Q. The change of environment had been one thing, but there was also something else, a passionate intensity that came close to being competitiveness that thoroughly overwhelmed him. He was Q, and if he was going to be compared to Chakotay and Kirk then he was damn well going to come out on top.

Or. Well. That was the idea. Briefly, his teeth nipped at her lower lip, still swollen from her earlier exertions, before seeking out a tongue-twisting exploration of every inch of her mouth, relishing the sensation of the silk soft enamel of her teeth, of catching her breath into his own lungs with each exhalation. Oh, he'd probably sulk later when he realised just how much he'd enjoyed that particular accomplishment (humans were weird). ]

Edited 2013-12-17 01:10 (UTC)

[ quick learner indeed, and depending on how generous she's feeling later, she may just compliment him on that. impressive for someone who isn't supposed to be human — from an objective standpoint, of course. and from a scientific point of view, she'll find that lack of fogginess fascinating, if not envious. should he choose to share that detail with her, she'll take it as an indication that the city's hold on people isn't the hopeless case they thought it was.

but her mind is presently incapable of thinking scientifically, a rare occurrence for someone as goal-oriented as the captain. she's far too occupied with what he's doing to her, rewarding him with a soft mewl of pleasure when he bites down on that already swollen lip. she lets go of the pole so that she can wind both arms around his neck and press herself up against him, relying on him to keep her steady in the saddle.

for once, she isn't fighting for control. she isn't pulling the proverbial rug out from under his feet and taking hold of the reigns while demanding he follow. ]

[ The shift in weight means he has to step into the horse, bracing his weight against the fiberglass body as counterbalance, because the alternative - taking his hand out of her hair and holding onto the pole for dear life - is frankly unfathomable. It helps that she's small, lightweight, and their new center of gravity isn't exceptionally difficult to nail down--lets him concentrate on other things, like the endearing sounds that she's making and the silk delicate strands of hair turned steel strong as he knots them through his fingers.

No splendid second of the kiss goes uncounted. With each that passes, the sprigs of mistletoe seem to wither, as though their persistence seeps every sap of magical strength from them, and as he finds himself approaching the tipping point of self control, Q becomes determined to draw one last gasp or whimper from her, so that he might commit it to memory.

In the space of just one breath he drops her - but only a few inches - catches her weight again and presses in again to seize the last precious moments, deliberately committing the taste of her mouth to memory, and then--ah, here it was!

The immovable object began to give way, and Q rallied, exerting his full force against it. For better or for worse, self control was seized back, although his withdrawal was not nearly as abrupt as its return. He gathered her upright first, withdrawing his hand from her hair, and brushed his thumb across her lips tenderly as he pulled away, giving her a moment to find her balance while sparing her the ignominy of having his slobber all over her; that would never do.

Over her shoulder, the last sprig of mistletoe still held on, persistent, but one withering look sent it back to hell where it belonged. ]

[ he succeeds in doing just that, something breathy and wonderful escaping from between her lips. she holds on to his shoulders as he moves her, still caught up in the atmosphere of it all — she refuses to call it magic — snapping back to reality to moment her boots touch the ground, as if the click of her heels against the steel bottom of the carousel is a loud gong. it takes her a moment to become fully aware of her surroundings, of her company. last she checked, she was dancing with q on the roof, not down in the city below, standing between q and a fiberglass horse.

her posture resumes its former rigid stance when he touches his thumb to her lips, resisting the urge to wipe her mouth off properly on the back of her hand. it would likely cause both injury and insult, and if and when (sooner, later, etc.) kathryn decides to inflict pain upon q, it won't be this way. it isn't disgust that fills her so much as frustration, annoyance, and exhaustion. kathryn's notorious for running herself ragged, but this day in particular has taken a lot out of her emotionally. ]

Well, [ she didn't realize how breathless she was until she attempted speech ] that was certainly something. So much for putting ourselves above the issue.

[ Breathless, yes. Flushed with exertion, with breathlessness--it's a strange feeling, but a welcome one none the less, and this from a man who treasures his self control; but he's never kissed like that, never been kissed like that, and it's not a human interaction he minds having experienced. When she has her own weight again, he disengages, moving carefully aside. The carousel still turns with rhythmic certainty, and there's something comforting in that.

Now came the important decision: comfort, compliment or crow? ]

Certainly something. I suppose that's an acceptable description. You were magnificent, by the way.

[ There. He wouldn't embarrass her by being anything but himself, therefore allowing her to be herself. No questions asked. No dramatic reshaping of the status quo. They could carry on right where they left off. ]

I don't think it'll pick another fight with either of us tonight, and if you mind me saying, Kathy, since home is twelve flights of stairs, we really should get going. [ He offered his hand toward her. ] May I help you disembark?

Of course I was.

[ in the midst of all the awkwardness these kissing scenarios have produced, kathryn's grateful he doesn't attempt to conjure up any more. it would've been detrimental to his health, otherwise. she grins, chin held high like there were pips pinned to the collar of her coat, and brushes past that offered hand, stepping down off the carousel of her own accord. ]

Not bad — for a non-human.

[ Such self confidence! He stands there dumbstruck for a few moments, rotating a little further around the carousel before he stumbles suddenly off it, as though tugged after her clumsily by an invisible leash--and perhaps it's true. Was that a compliment he'd heard? Why, he's flabbergasted. And scuttling to catch up, moving into her wake as they return toward building twelve.

The headache is there now, persistent as a drum against his temple, but Q gallantly decides not to whine and sulk about it. What would it mean for his image? But it's still something that he's not whipped them away on a shortcut back to the apartment, to safety, and more importantly up those twelve flights of stairs without having to get into the elevator. He hasn't ridden in one even once since Kathryn had taken him up to her apartment the first time. And perhaps he'd been foolish to choose an apartment on the top floor, but it gave him immediate access to the stars and a feeling of being able to see everything even if he couldn't--both equally important to keeping him sane. ]

Let me in on the joke. I'm dying to hear what's so funny.

Edited 2013-12-18 02:35 (UTC)

[ would you have been satisfied with anything other than self-confidence from kathryn janeway, q? just because she hasn't actively participated in the act of kissing for some time doesn't mean she doesn't remember how to do it, that she isn't still damned good at it. like riding a bicycle — or piloting a shuttle or starship, going by this place's certain lack there of. same principle applied; she could sit down at the helm after six months of not having so much as stepped foot on a space-fairing ship proper and be able to navigate her way through an asteroid field without so much as grazing the hull. ]

You. [ she answers after a moment, trailing slightly after him now that they're in the building. an odd role reversal, but she doesn't exactly know where she's going. ] This day, these scenarios. Like a kissing Kobayashi Maru, only I think I've actually beat the no-win scenario in this instance in successfully pinpointing the one angle that's not going to end in apologies or a change of address. And it's you of all people. [ throws her hands up. ] Go figure.

Edited 2013-12-18 02:52 (UTC)

[ He briefly steps behind, but only to hold the door open to the stairwell and allow her to step past him. The only way is up from there, and he joins her again. If she was breathless before, the twelfth floor will be exhausting. Fortunately his prediction still seemed to be holding water. The mistletoe was nowhere to be seen, not lurking under doorways or around corners, and their way remained relatively unimpeded, but for the stairs.

He rolled his eyes at her explanation. He was the solution to the unwinnable scenario. Him. He didn't know whether to be offended or flattered. ]

Oh, I see how it is. In that case I'm glad to be of service. I'll be sure to invite you over the next time the city sets about humiliating everyone in sight.

[ A tinge of sarcasm, maybe, but if there was it was to mask something compassionate about the offer.

In truth, he understood. In the end, Q and Janeway were equals, would always be (no matter how he waved his hand and insisted otherwise). It was she who had saved his life in the Continuum, she who had walked into the enemy camp with nothing but a white flag to try and bargain for a truce. They had an understanding, a strange but functional relationship that wouldn't have been easy to explain--oh, he wished he could see her report to Starfleet about his appearances! Before a board of enquiry, perhaps, or a classroom full of cadets. That would be delightful!

Here, though, their equality played a different role. No delicate chain of command constrained them, and at the end of the day Q would still be Q, and she would still be no less 'Kathy', meant endearingly but with no more respect for human protocol or etiquette than usual, and with no sulking about wishing for things to be different.

No, they were both, Q thought, quite happy with the status quo, thank you very much. No dynamic shifted. The City couldn't win. Their shields were permanently up. Perhaps there was something funny about that. ]

Ha! [ He said, at last. Ha! Take that, Mistletoe! ]

[ oh, how she was looking forward to those debriefings. ~~if and~~ when she got voyager back, she'd likely spend the first month or so rotating from one debriefing to the next. she imagined they would be as baffled by her insistence that q wasn't necessarily a problem for her so much as he was an annoyance, something she could easily tune out when she'd had enough as long as he didn't snap his fingers — and even then, it wasn't so much a danger as it was an exercise in patience while waiting to be put back. of course, the problem with starfleet's reports on q was that the majority of them were written from picard's perspective.

as if there were some unwritten law hidden deep in the margins of some sub-article of an obscure, forgotten regulation that the word of enterprise captains was to be taken as gospel truth.

she was still displeased with kirk and spock's reaction to her informing them of q. starfleet command wasn't likely to respond any better. ]

I'll take you up on that the next time the City's overrun with zombies.

Edited 2013-12-18 03:47 (UTC)

[ In this instance he misunderstands the meaning of her use of the word zombie, and it's probably for the best. They set off up another flight, and then another, and he feels himself flagging already. He's out of shape, really, but then he's never really been in shape. Who needs boundless energy when you can summon immeasurable strength from nowhere, bend reality, move without taking a single step. This human exertion had long since lost its novelty.

Although speaking of curses. ]

There's something I need to ask you, Kathy. And please don't think to shield me from the truth, I won't stand for it. Is it true that there are curses that...make you forget entirely who and what you are?

[ There's no doubt this time: there's worry in his voice. ]

[ probably for the best. she likely would've misunderstood it herself if not for the fact that she has tom paris for a pilot. he tends to carry on conversations with harry about the strangest things, as if the people filling the space on the bridge between the helm and ops aren't even there. ]

Who and what you are, as well as who and what you're going to be. I spent a weekend as an ensign, fully convinced that I was as a I should be, that tales of "Captain Janeway" were just that — tales. Fiction, and not a reality I'd eventually be facing.

[ Out of all the things he'd found out during his conversations with others, the idea that he might soon lose his own sense of self was by far the most unnerving thing. He could stand the idea of dying and being brought back--not so strange, that one. But losing himself? It sounded like a fate far worse than death. To lose his powers but still know himself to be Q was one thing. To lose them and forget who he was...?

Janeway having experienced it only really brought it home to him. There was no laughing this one off, no sidestepping it. Ginny had insisted that it would happen, and since Kathryn only confirmed it, it seemed to him a threat looming increasingly on the horizon.

He studied his shoes as they climbed up another flight of stairs, keeping quiet for once, and not just because he was out of breath. Only one more to go. At last he spoke. ]

I appreciate you being honest with me.

Edited 2013-12-19 21:43 (UTC)

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action - the dialogue is gorgeousss

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