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Hello? Hello? How am I supposed to know if this thing is working or not? Oh, who cares. Leave a message, or whatever it is you people like to do, and I'll decide whether or not you're worth the effort of my calling you back. Au revoir~

Oh great. Now which button do I press?

[ Beep. ]

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You haven't exactly made yourself at home.

[ she's likely the only person in the entire city who would approve of just how bare bones this place is. it had been strange, living with kirk and mccoy, who were content to put things up on shelves like they had just moved into a new set of quarters for however long they'd be staying in them — or chakotay, who'd taken the time to dress their apartment with all the basic comforts of an actual home. perhaps it was in attempt to feel settled or comfortable with this place, but kathryn refused to settle and she'd never be truly comfortable in this godforsaken city. ]

I couldn't tell you what a home is. I've never had one.

[ Oh, the Continuum counted, to a certain extent. It was home because it had always been a place he belonged, but it wasn't a home in the mortal style. It wasn't a den or an earth, a roost or a sty. It was the Continuum, and therefore not really a place at all. A plane of existence--that was different. ]

Is it okay? Because I can change it.

[ Actually he was all out, and the lights were making his head hurt. ]

[ she doesn't call him on his bluff, knowing full well that he's fresh out of tricks, otherwise he would've made their ascent up those flights of stairs considerably more easier. or transformed the elevator into a turbolift. he snapped his fingers one time too many for her tonight, and she suspects he had something to do with the mistletoe's retreat. it's a wonder he's not suffering from the same excruciating headache he had the day he tried to pull in the delta flyer — or maybe he does, and he's taken a page out of her book and is hiding it well.

either way, she smiles softly and shakes her head. ] No, this will do. Though you're wrong about not having a home.

Home doesn't necessarily have to be a place. It can be a state of being, the presence of an object or set of objects, or even another person. And for you, I think you're son is home. Now, anyway.

[ No, definitely suffering, although in the absence of a steady stream of analgesia, he's learned that - at least - going to sleep tends to cure the problem. Of course if he'd turn the lights off it'd probably be easier, but he's not that brave. So stubbornly holding out against the pain it is, and he thinks he's doing quite a manly job of it, actually.

There's that softness again, and at the hint of it he inclines his head toward her slightly, considering. She's incredibly compassionate; it's one of the things that Q had suspected would make her such a good influence on the Continuum. She's certainly been a good influence on Junior (and arguably him, but don't tell anyone.) Here she demonstrates it again, and Q places a hand against her shoulder, stepping back into the doorway. ]

Then until I see Junior again, I won't be settling for anything less.

[ If his son was home... If his son was home, if she was right, then he would never feel comfortable here, no matter how hard he tried to fit in. Did that make his efforts pointless? No--not so long as those efforts were directed toward escape. Like Janeway, he couldn't afford to be truly happy until they'd been sprung from this trap. ]

[ she could've easily shrugged that hand off, stepped away from it and closed the door in his face, but she refrains and holds her ground. her stance isn't nearly as rigid as it was when he touched her after their kiss, but it isn't completely relaxed either. honestly, it's a miracle she's hovering somewhere in between the two after the day she's had. likely just preserving all her sharp angles and hard lines for the morning when she's bound to be less tolerant of everything she's been setting aside in favor of doing everything in her power to avoid locking lips with any more strangers. ]

Good. I wouldn't expect any less out of a citizen of the cosmos.

[ He releases her shoulder again quickly enough. He needs to put his head down, or else he'd linger and milk the moment for all it was worth; but they're both tired, and a few moments alone before sleeping wouldn't go amiss--and for Janeway, the chance to better settle into the new environment. ]

There should be spare blankets in the wardrobe, all the usual...hygiene things... [ He hovers halfway out the door, his hand on the edge of it, looking back at her as he gestures toward the bathroom. ] Is there anything else you need?

[ she wouldn't sleep comfortably if she were in the bed she'd grown accustomed to in the apartment she left behind or the bed in her quarters back on voyager. either she's waking herself up in fits of paranoia, instinctively jolting awake ready to deal with whatever's caused the ship to drop out of warp, only to realize that the reason she can't feel the hum of the engines from the lower decks is because she isn't even on the ship; or she's simply too restless and plagued with thoughts she refuses to share with anyone else to sleep soundly. fueled by caffeine, it's rare she gets a full night's worth. ]

No, I'm fine. Thank you. [ the words carry unspoken weight. she's grateful to him today, but she knows it likely won't stay that way. ] Goodnight, Q.

Goodnight, Kathryn.

[ He steps the rest of the way through the door, glances across the room once more, then gently closes it behind him. Only then does he stop to knead his hands into his head, doubling forward slightly to duck his face away from the bright lights. Time to sleep this migraine off; and hopefully they could avoid vicious brainmelting mistletoe for a while yet. That is to say: he sincerely hoped he wouldn't be here if, as some people on the network had mentioned, it came around after another year. Considering it had been mere weeks, the idea of holding out for 52 of them seemed remote. He head for bed. ]

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