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And what if I am?

[ because she never really has fun. she tried, in those early years, to sit back and enjoy the holodeck, but she could never really get into the programs. even her beloved da vinci simulation lost it's charm after a while. fun was now sitting in her quarters during a rare moment of quiet time, curled up in the big chair before the viewport with a good book she wasn't even close to finishing.

reaping the benefits of this curse instead of focusing on all the downsides of it wasn't going to stop her from working on a way out. nor was letting her hair down and allowing herself to be just kathryn now and then. especially since it was doubtful she'd have the opportunity to do so again once they were home free and she was captain of a starship again. ]

I'd say keep it, but you don't exactly need it. [ she takes it from him, turning the weapon over in her hands. ] I gave this Kirk. My first official bending of the rules — not breaking, just... skirting around them without snapping any of the ties that bind. He was unarmed and useless to me dead. Arming him was a necessity.

And a liability. [ Stated matter of factly. ] In fact every liberty you took with him was a risk. Every one. If you had misjudged him just for a moment, misplayed your hand, it might have all ended in disaster.

[ She's being sentimental. It isn't about the phaser any more, it's about Kirk, but her words aren't quite right. He regards her owlishly, observing from his own considerable height without making an effort to soften his advantage for once. ]

You know, humans are one of only a few species in the universe that have a phrase like that one: He's no use to me dead? Very few races are quite so sentimental. The Klingons, the Borg, the Orions, the Romulans, the Ferengi--none of them could care less. Even if a person is useful, it hardly matters whether they live or die. Sentimentality; the true source of the liberties you took with him. The ones you took with the Maquis. The liberties you take with me. It isn't necessity. Maybe you told yourself that to make it easier, but the fact is that every life matters to you. Every life. You wouldn't have become stranded in the Delta Quadrant at all, otherwise.

It's easier that he's gone, but don't underestimate his value to you. It wasn't anything that could be paid up in gold pressed latinum.

If you don't think I was aware of that, then you don't know me half as well as you claim to. [ because every risk was a calculated one. nothing decided on a whim, no choice made without careful consideration. she was playing a very delicate hand of cards the entire time she was sharing the proverbial big chair with a younger, alternate version of the james t. kirk she studied in command school. ]

You're right; I do value life. [ cold, heartless captain of stone who cares far more than most are aware of. ] Isn't that one of humanity's brighter qualities, something that sets us apart from the rest?

[ Of course he knew. Which was why he knew that the same choice was the only reason why - at first - she'd dared to consider facing down the liability that was Q himself. Compared to him, Kirk was a pussy cat, and yet Kathryn had taken that risk too--a whole sequence of them, in fact. His eyebrow remained in place, but the arch stance settled slightly, and he leaned past her, opening the drawer to take out a soft brush. He left the drawer open. ]

Not life. That's only a side effect. You value potential.

[ he left it open and she dropped the phaser into it. as at home as she felt with a weapon strapped to her thigh, it was the wrong model for the officer she would be masquerading as. ]

Don't you? [ she glances over her shoulder at him. ] Why else would you stop to give a damn about some narrow little bipedal primate?

Oh, more than anything. [ She's right, of course. Potential is why he bothers proverbially getting out of bed in the morning. Raising both hands, he carefully lifts Kathryn's hair back over her shoulders, the handle of the brush gripped under his thumb. ] And some narrow little bipedal primates have more potential than others. But it's my own potential I'm ever most concerned with. Isn't it yours?

Of course it is.

[ she watches him in the mirror, lets him tend to the bushy mess of untamed hair her younger self refused to cut or even layer for reasons she can no longer remember. must've been the style of the time, or perhaps she just had other things on her mind than what to do with her hair. she was still a scientist then, and not a captain who snagged her updos on the bowls of her ship when crawling through the jeffrey's tubes. or endured a series of mind numbing experiments with her dopamine levels to the point her hair felt as if it weighed thousands of kilos. kathryn had let it grow out here, but was likely to chop it off again when she got the hell out of dodge. ]

I beat the Borg with it.

The thing about the Borg is that nobody ever really beats them.

[ They adapted, and one day, if they weren't very careful, they might even adapt to the Q. It would be a cold day in hell, but there was always that potential, and a little caution never harmed anyone. He set about brushing and untangling it, working from the bottom up--she'd already done a portion of the work, and his expression demonstrates an intensity of focus on the task. ]

But it doesn't change the fact that we're made for great things, you and I.

[ the way she regarded in the mirror all but said challenge accepted. until the borg proved her otherwise, kathryn would continue to find new ways to take them down or die trying. for someone who never expected to be starfleet's leading expert on the borg — that was supposed to be picard's lot in life, but oh how clouded his perceptions were — she sure takes the gig seriously. the galaxy fears the collect. she does not.

just like q. there's good reason to be afraid of him, she probably ought to, but fear was never part of the equation. ]

Perhaps.

[ He likes that about her. Many people would be afraid. They might front it with bravado while their hearts quickened in their chests. More people insulted him by being the opposite, by not even seeming to notice just what he could do to them if he put his mind to it. They wouldn't be properly afraid of him until they were stuck in a glass bottle being violently shaken to death. Fear was sensible, but the only thing that Q had ever really wanted was respect. For his powers, for his acknowledgement, for his help--it didn't matter. But he was important, and he was decent enough not to be the most dangerous, selfish, impudent thing in the multiverse, and ever since he'd revealed himself to humanity, the only thing he'd ever desired was to be treated with the good grace that he rightly deserved.

When he finished he reached up, parting Kathryn's hair and working it into a complicated fishtail plait. That part, at least, was easy, like writing algorithms into a computer by hand. ]

It isn't up for debate.

[ It was whimsical enough not to be a telling of her future. ]

Now then, how's that? Do you have a band?

[ did q just tell her that her potential wasn't up for debate? she doesn't question it, riffling through the drawers for a hair tie of some kind. she finally comes across a thin, black hairband and hands it back to him. ]

I didn't know you could braid.

[ Not even remotely up for debate. It isn't just adoration, though--his expectations took form in academia. The Q kind. He takes the band and ties the end firmly, before releasing his grip and leaning away. ]

Is it meant to be difficult?

[ Mathematics and gravity. That and it turned out he had some measure of skill with his hands, but she already knew about that. ]

[ a shrug. ]

For some people it is, especially the more elaborate designs.

Well not for me, and I've never done it before.

[ He leans over suddenly and plops a kiss on her temple, then flashes neatly away to a safe distance--the door, which he holds open. ]

Now then, don't you have trouble to be causing?

[ she moves as if to bat him away when he kisses her temple, ready to berate him for touching her like that when she's in the body of her nineteen-year-old self— but he's gone, flashed away before she has the chance to. kathryn plants her hands on hips. ]

You're a terrible influence, you know that?

[ Something flickers in is expression, a flame that has caught in his eyes, and he leans his shoulder into the door, arms folding across his chest. ]

It's a definition I'm intimately familiar with. [ As a trickster god--well, several. ]

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