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[ she scoffs at the incredulity of his suggestion. stick with him. as if she, kathryn janeway, needs some sort of bodyguard or lookout. that's not who she is. she's not the damsel in distress. she's the one who defies all these antiquated gender role stereotypes this century is oh so fond of and rescues her own damned self after being kidnapped. she's the hero of her own story, she doesn't need someone to play the role for her. it's frustrating to be presented with something she found grating in the kazon alive and well in her own species. why tom is so fascinated with this era, she'll never know. it's all too barbaric for her tastes. ]

And what if the mistletoe compels me to kiss you? Would you do everything in your power to stop that or reap the benefits of it?

[ a bold question, but bold might as well be one of her many middle names. ]

Edited 2013-12-15 06:07 (UTC)

[ To tell the truth there was as much gentle ribbing in the suggestion as otherwise. The problem with finding oneself attracted to formidable women was that sooner or later you were treated very much to the true ways of the universe, and that inevitably meant the realisation that universally, as a gender, women would invariably have the upper hand, and there was nothing anyone could do about it, protestations to the contrary withstanding.

And if Q didn't like that, he could have found himself someone soft and brainwashed to pine over. There were enough species in the universe that imprinted on their respective partners that it wouldn't have been too hard. No, it just wasn't the way he liked to play the game. What was the point if it was easy?

That was fundamentally the problem with the mistletoe. What was the point if it was easy? It was like reading the last page of a book without taking in the whole story. Like being told how a movie would end. Like someone telling you how your children would look when they'd finished growing. For Q, who could have anything he wanted without so much as lifting a finger (although he often did just for show), the novelty was in the journey. Oh, how dull! Janeway had been right after all. But like hell was he ever going to tell her that. ]

Madame Captain, you imply I'd have a choice in the matter myself, but let's argue either way, shall we? First, were it in my power to do so, I would most certainly see to it. I have my reasons, but suffice is to say that I don't find compulsion revs my engine so to speak. What's the point in being handsome, dashing and all-powerful if you have to beg for scraps?

The second, then: Suppose we were to find ourselves, even here-- [ He motioned skywards. ] --abducted by the throes of passion. Well, I'd certainly throw myself into the experience, I don't know about you. But what would it mean? Only that we have both been convicted to the same cruel trickery, and we should collectively be very angry about it. A little congratulations on my prowess wouldn't go amiss, but all in all I can't imagine our not being able to go on with things as though nothing has happened, and in the spirit of mindality, mon chere capitaine, lack of belief in the incident may indeed strike it cleanly from existence, if that is what you prefer.

I'd be offended, but I wouldn't hold it against you. The mind must adapt to accept only the reality it can live with, after all. [ Okay, so that last bit was pure teasing, but who could blame him? ]

I don't particularly like the idea of a Q being forced into the same situations as us "lowly" mortals. I was hoping that you had some sort of... control over the situation that the rest of us lacked, but if you're experiencing the same unbidden burst we are, then... [ that's damned unsettling. as unsettling as a q with nerfed abilities who supposedly wasn't thrown into this holding cell of a century by the continuum to teach him some sort of lesson about playing well with others. she's doesn't fully believe that he didn't do anything to warrant this, that the continuum isn't behind his being here, but is open to the possibility that even the q can find themselves victims of the city. ]

To be honest, [ she uncrosses her legs, sits up straighter, and pushes her braid back off her shoulder, momentarily forgetting about the hickey it was hiding. ] it's not the kissing itself that I have a problem with. Sure, as a captain, I'm required to take issue with kissing certain individuals, but as a person, I'm bothered by the lack of control. Free will. If I'm going to kiss someone, it's going to be on my own terms and not because some plant demands that I do so.

Free will is invariably the problem. Take it from someone who knows.

[ He sits up too, but still sidewards on the chair, his legs curled up behind him, because now that the light catches her just so, he can see the bruise - well formed now - where it sits between her shoulder and her throat. Well now. Chakotay really hadn't held back, had he? And no wonder Janeway had to get out of there. She wore a badge of her shame right there at her throat. ]

One might even suggest that, as you have the Prime Directive, so the Q must allow free will, and while it might have been implied otherwise in one of those Captain's Logs of yours, I none the less have held to my end of the bargain. What would be the point? Oh, we push the boundaries now and again, but there's no fun in making someone do something. It really does make me wonder whether or not a Q is in control of this place--it just isn't like us.

[ Some other omnipotent beings, maybe, but not the Q. He slides out of his chair at last, approaching the side of Janeway's chair, where he crouches beside her, frowning at the injury. ]

I could make that go away. [ Could. If that was what she really wanted. He wasn't sure it was. Humans were complicated, and women even more so. ]

[ it takes her a moment to realize what he's talking about, having forgotten about the mark altogether. but when she does, it isn't to pull her braid back over it and shoo him away or to hide her face in embarrassment. it's to huff in utter irritation with everything, which includes brandishing (and concealing) a hickey like some cadet that's been sneaking around after hours. ]

Compliments of Jim Kirk. [ not chakotay. he might've left a faint imprint on her, but the dark coloration of the bruise and how sensitive it was to the touch was all james kirk. thank you, gentlemen. she appreciates it. honestly, everything about this day is ridiculous. from the position it's put her in, to q offering to remove a hickey for her. could it possibly get any worse?

she holds up a hand, shakes her head. ] Don't worry about it. Save your tricks for something other than... [ gestures to her neck ] this.

As you wish.

[ He rises back to his feet, but only to perch on the arm of the chair beside her, peering back into the fire. ]

Oh, but you've been through the wringer. There you were, skillfully maintaining your cool, and along comes a plant to undermine all your hard work. I don't envy you your position, Captain.

[ But there was more to it than that, wasn't there? It had reminded her all too blatantly of what she couldn't have, and while there were those among the City's population who seemed to throw themselves headlong into the season (and James T. Kirk was presumably one of them judging by the prickly bruise) she would always stand alone; that was her mantle to bear. Q reached for the hand on her knee, settling his own on top of it. ]

You have the propensity to dwell on things you wouldn't change, even if you wanted to. Today's activities had but one possible outcome, and one only.

[ like the decision to destroy the caretaker's array. that order would haunt her for the rest of her life, but if given the chance to do it over again, she wouldn't change a thing. forever praising herself and beating herself up in one fell swoop, yet all anyone ever sees is a cool, calm, almost icy exterior with no hints towards the turmoil brewing on the inside beneath those glacial layers. ]

Heartbreak and disappointment.

[ kathryn looks down at that hand. if it moves higher, she's likely to break it. she tells herself that she's preventing him from doing that when she turns her hand over under his so that she can properly curl her fingers around his much larger palm, but maybe even those who choose to be lonely need the comfort of another's touch now and then. ]

[ Under other circumstances his words might have been seen as condescending, and he half expected her to bat his hand away and tell him not to talk down to her. He'd have probably deserved it too. But this time his efforts to sympathise didn't go entirely unrewarded, and he squeezes at her hand reassuringly as she turns it into his own. There was that warmth again, the strange feeling of being wanted (not desired, mind you, but his presence accepted, even sought out) that was so particularly surreal to him.

Betraying that sentiment of warmth and trust was outside the realm of his ability. He stayed for a moment longer, speaking confidences. ]

Perhaps it's for the best. You may find you come out stronger for your experience, both of you. Well--yourself and Chakotay, at least. Whether Kirk has the propensity to learn at all is still a matter for great debate.

Starfleet instructs you in making difficult decisions, in what you might do when you come face to face with such challenges. [ A thoughtful pause. Okay, let him approach that from a different direction. ] You asked me several days ago if I would have preferred Picard's being here to Kirk. The truth is that the three of you approach an impossible situation in different ways, and Picard's is by far the least helpful. Kirk doesn't believe in a no-win situation; he uses his bravado to muddle his way through. Picard relies wholly on the might of the Federation and the many extraordinary talents of his handpicked crew. You - you alone - have to dig your heels in and fight your way through to the end, because there's no safety net waiting for you. You're the only one I would trust among you to find your way out of this, and you will.

There may be sacrifices along the way, but you've made them before. You know what decision you have to make, when neither option is palatable; that ultimate test has been laid at your feet too many times to so much as bat an eyelash at it now.

[ touched, kathryn reaches out to cup his cheek with the hand that isn't gripping his. then she does the unexpected— kisses him. a brief, chaste kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. and one that wasn't prompted by the appearance of mistletoe. there's not a sprig in sight. no, that kiss is all her; a thank you and a reassertion of control all in one.

withdrawing, she stands and heads for the ledge again, peering down at the darkening city streets below. ]

[ There. He did a good thing, said the right thing, and for a moment they're eye to eye and he expects that to be all it is.

And then she kisses him - a gentle, brief kiss - and in the grand scheme of things it isn't the longest or the fieriest or...what was it that they said about the perfect kiss? Weightlessness. It was just a little kiss, but it was bigger than any alternative. It meant everything and nothing at once. If Q was going to break down why she did it, question what it was for (out loud or even just in his head) then first he had to get his brain to start working again.

It had never done this before - simply stopped dead, like something colliding with the ever present immovable object - all the magnificently complex system of gears grinding to an untimely halt.

Wordless, he stares into the empty chair, then at least manages to reassert function enough to look after her, where she's moved to stand beside the ledge. Any second now. Computer? Are you there, computer? Oh, here's the on switch. Electronic horses--there we go. Just give him a moment. ]

[ when he fails to trail after her like she expected he'd do, kathryn glances over her shoulder to find him sitting in the exact spot she left him, as if he's suddenly an android whose programming has run into a bit of trouble when it comes to processing the data surrounding her impromptu, mistletoe-less kiss. she can't help but find amusement in that — and something of the upper hand. forever the strategist, regardless of whether she's engaged in battle, on duty, or not, kathryn files away this knowledge for later. who knows, being able to render q speechless may come in handy one day.

the street lamps start to come on as she returns her attention to the city below. it's larger than her ship, yet somehow feels so much smaller. like a cage or a corner of the brig. she's not a woman who was meant to be contained within the walls of anything, much less this place. she's suited to space for that reason, and doubts she ever would've been happy with the life the scientist she initially aimed to be. she liked her labs, but she would go mad laboratory-bound. being able to travel freely and see the new, unexplored, undocumented mysteries the delta quadrant had to offer is one of the many things she misses about returning to her proper linear existence. here, everything is ancient history, like chapters of a holonovel she never really cared for stuck on repeat. ]

Things ought to return to normal by midnight.

[ He didn't think very many things would return to normal by midnight. Nothing was going to change the fact that she'd slammed a quick kiss down on him for some reason. But okay, here came his mind to catch him up on what was going on, on the fact that her action was a reclamation of her free will, a reminder to herself that not only was she capable of making decisions on her own, it wasn't the act of kissing that had bothered her--she'd said as much, hadn't she? It was how out of her control the act had been. Perhaps this was her way of proving it; proving it was hers alone.

And he had just found himself in the crossfire. She trusted him, that was what it really meant. After all she'd already threatened him - Borg Queen immolating eyes and all - to keep quiet about this conversation--presumably kisses and all.

There. He felt much better now he was a little more up to speed with what was going on. He rose at last, coming over to join her in her overseeing of the city. ]

I should have brought cards. [ He inclines his head. ] When was the last time you danced, Madame Captain?

[ normal was relative, of course. kathryn herself was far from normal. she was extraordinary under the the most mundane of circumstances, and while well aware of it, didn't flaunt it. unless flaunting it got someone to eat out of the palm of her hand, then... but she was quickly figuring out that she didn't even have to try when it came to q. she could likely hold his attention while reciting some of the doctor's poetry. she had to admit — it made her feel pretty powerful, especially since she knew it would be like this whether his powers were fully intact or not.

he was like — what was that he called her on that weekend he doesn't remember? a firecracker? — he was like a moth to the flame. and she was the flame. ]

If I say with Jim Kirk during an old Earth holiday called Halloween, are you going to torment me about it?

[ To be fair, he'd probably have followed Picard around in earnest if only he'd been there, and if Kirk was the only one present, well, he'd follow him around too. But Janeway was here, so she got the full weight of his attention. And yes, there was more to it than that. She really was spellbinding--he wouldn't have selected her otherwise. He hadn't had the chance to spend this much time with her before, able to call on her as he pleased, and the longer he spent in her company the more he found he respected and cared for her; an advantage Picard would never quite have.

She could tell, and he knew that she would use it against him, not that he resented it--not at all! He was Q, after all. Anything less than respect for what he might be capable of wasn't worth his time, and she wouldn't be Kathryn Janeway if she didn't size up every interaction for the advantages it might grant her. ]

Another curse, I suppose?

[ And that was the point. He offered his hand toward her, smiling something warm and secret. ]

In the interest of free will, then.

Not exactly, but you can call it a curse if it's too hard to believe I attended the festivities of my own accord — and in costume, too. Gold isn't my color. [ it isn't a stretch, being that she wasn't there to mingle. october had been a string of one deadly curse after another, and she'd placed herself at that party deliberately to be on hand if anything else happened with that many people consolidated in one area. the costume? blending in. going with one of kirk's uniforms made her feel only slightly less ridiculous.

she eyes that hand for a moment, then takes it. ] Just don't step on my toes.

Edited 2013-12-16 00:43 (UTC)

[ 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. ]

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action - the dialogue is gorgeousss

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