Welcome to the latest branch of the Only Human tree.

     We as fan writers are taking a canonical universe and creating
branches off that, little "what ifs" for our own enjoyment. 
Sometimes we enjoy pretending that our "what ifs" are part of the
series, using them to explain things that happened or add poignancy
to particular moments, to increase our enjoyment of the series
based on the memories of the stories we've created.  And sometimes
we create a "what if" so extreme that clearly it doesn't fit into
the series canon.
     When fanfic feeds off itself, usually it follows the first
pattern.  Either the first story was part of the canonical universe
As Explained By Writer X, and then the second story fits into both
Writer X's and Writer Y's personal canon... or the first story was
a what-if, and the second story was By Writer Y, Set In Writer X's
Personal Universe.  The main reason we do this is probably to avoid
confusion.  Having an alternate universe of an alternate universe
of an alternate universe is asking for trouble.
     Mercutio and I clearly must like trouble, then. :-)  After I
began writing my novel Only Human (based on the premise that Q lost
his powers in Deja Q and never got them back), I began to be
plagued by ideas that couldn't be done without the backstory I'd
set up, but couldn't fit into the canonical Only Human universe,
either.  What if the Andorian who'd tried to kidnap Q succeeded? 
What if Q and Harry Roth made the beast with two backs?  What if
Queria Lang (an original character of mine, who appears in one
chapter of PropinQuity) came to the starbase and met Q there?  What
if the Cardassians had kidnapped Q?  And so forth.  I never did any
of these, because I was afraid they'd be hopelessly confusing.
     Mercutio, inspired by Only Human, and depressed at the fact
that hundreds of pages had gone by and Q hadn't yet had sex :-),
sent me what was to become Chapter 1 of PropinQuity, expecting that
nothing would come of it.  In it, she introduces a character to
save Q from the despair that led to his suicide attempt, Naomi
Allen.  I liked the story considerably, twisted her arm into
posting it, and then sat on her virtual doorstep like a puppydog
with my tongue hanging out until she wrote more chapters.  28 of
them, in fact.  They're available at the sites listed below.
     Now, of course, I began to spin "what ifs" involving Naomi
(ooh-- a new character to torment! :-))  I tossed one of them at
Mercutio and she ran with it.  Thus was "InseQurity" born.  
     At some point we decided that it would be tedious to do more
"Q's first relationship" themes in IQ, since that had already been
done in PQ and will be done again in OH, so we decided to
incorporate another what if I'd had for some time, the one about
Harry Roth (a character I created, a gay physicist with a talent
for witty repartee) becoming Q's lover.  I wrote "The Night They
Drove The Borg Down", and we incorporated it as backstory for
InseQurity.

For those who care, these are the sequence of events and the places
the universes split:

First there was Deja Q.  All Only Human universes split from Deja
Q.

Then there was the Deja Q Addendum, the flashback in Only Human
that explains how the events in Deja Q got changed, and Q's first
days on the Enterprise.  This includes Guinan kicking Q in the
crotch.  All Only Human universes incorporate this.

Then there was the Battle with the Borg.  Q heavily participated in
planning and strategizing for the battle with the Borg, and as a
result of his involvement, Picard did not become Locutus, and there
were lighter casualties at Wolf 359.  All Only Human universes
incorporate this.

The first split happens at the party right after the Battle with
the Borg.  In the Only Human universe, Q goes to bed alone.  In
"The Night They Drove The Borg Down", he goes to bed with Harry
Roth.

In all universes, about a year after that, Q was attacked by an
assassin and Security Chief Ohmura died.  As a result, Q was beaten
up by Security.  In the Only Human universe, Q managed to call for
help after his attack; in "InseQurity", Dr. Allen finds him. 
"InseQurity" takes place in the same universe as "Night... Borg."

"PropinQuity" takes place close to a year after this event, and
splits off when Dr. Allen invites herself into Q's life.  

"Only Human" itself begins with the death of Picard and Q's suicide
attempt.  Picard's death does not occur in any of the other
timeline splits.

For more information, check out the "Deja Q Tree" at 
http://www1.mhv.net/~alara/dqtree.html (use Netscape; it sucks with
other browsers), which will also bring you to an archive site
containing all these stories.

You can also get these stories from:

ftp.netcom.com /pub/al/aleph/trek (Only Human, InseQurity) 
/pub/al/aleph/trek/adult (Night... Borg).

ftp.europa.com /outgoing/mercutio/alt.fan.q (Only Human) 
/outgoing/mercutio/asfs (Night... Borg, InseQurity)
/outgoing/mercutio/PropinQuity (PropinQuity).

ftp.token.net /pub/startrek/adult (PropinQuity, but this may move
to TNG with an R rating; Night...Borg)
/pub/startrek/incomplete (Only Human) 
/pub/startrek/story/tng (InseQurity)

http://www.europa.com/~mercutio/Q.html and follow the links from
there.

InseQurity is rated R for some small amount of sexual content, and
fits into the hurt/comfort genre, though most of the hurt is
emotional.



InseQurity, by Alara Rogers (aleph@netcom.com) and Mercutio
(mercutio@europa.com)


Naomi came down the corridor, trying not to puff.  It had been a
tiring walk, even for her and she still wasn't sure why she hadn't
just put off her evening exercise when she'd discovered the
holodeck was booked by someone with a higher priority than her own.

But she was stubborn, and that was the way it was.

As she came around the corner, she heard an eerie, spine-tingling
sound, like a dying animal or something in pain.  Instinctively,
she flinched, then kept going at a slower pace, not one to back
away from danger even when that might be the bright thing to do.

Huddled on the floor was a broken shape... reaching out for
something?  She couldn't tell for certain.  Whatever it was, the
person was hurt.  Without even thinking about it, she knelt down.

"Hello?  Are you..."

Before she could say anything else, Q broke away from her,
cowering, moving as far away from her as his injured state would
allow.  Naomi could see how much it hurt him to move, but he was
still scrabbling for purchase on the floor, trying desperately to
put distance between them.  His voice came out in a broken litany
of terror.  "Don't hurt me don't kill me please don't kill me
please please don't hurt me."

Naomi backed away from him.  It was Q, she knew him now, although
she wouldn't have recognized him if he hadn't spoke.  He was
nothing like the proud peacock she remembered, and she couldn't
imagine what kind of monsters would do something like this to him.

They had to get out of there.  She bent down further, making
herself as small as possible.  "I won't hurt you."

Q focused on the tiny redheaded woman kneeling in front of him. 
She was much too close to him and he couldn't stand it and she was
going to hurt him and nothing would stop the hurting.

He whimpered and shrank away.  She got up to go to call for help,
and spotted his comm badge, lying on the floor a meter or two away.

She wasn't wearing one of her own, because she didn't need it for
anything and rather preferred no one being able to find her.  Naomi
went to it, picked it up and tapped it.  "Dr. Allen to Sickbay."

"This is Dr. Li."

"I've got Q here.  He appears to be very badly hurt.  I don't think
you want to try to move him; he's terrified of someone hurting him
more.  Can you beam him directly there?"

"I can arrange for it.  Where are you?"

Naomi told him, and within a few minutes, the shimmering descended
over them and then they were in Sickbay.  Naomi didn't realize how
scared she'd been until the bright lights were all around her
again.  Having people there and noise and motion was an intense
relief after the darkness of that lonely corridor.  She didn't even
consider that a few moments before that she'd been walking through
there on her own; finding Q there, brutalized, had colored her
impressions completely.

"Noooo!!" Q howled, and without even thinking about it, Naomi went
to him.

"What are you doing to him?" Naomi asked fiercely, putting herself
between Q and the doctor.

Li looked at her as though she were the stupidest person in the
world.  "I'm *trying* to help him."

"That's not what it sounds like."

"It's Q.  He... he can be somewhat irrational."

Naomi glared at the doctor.  "Well, be more careful with him. 
Someone just tried to kill him."

Li muttered under his breath, too low for her to hear, "So what's
new?"

In the grey recesses of his mind, Q had tried to fight off the man
who had tried to hurt him again, and failed, and then the red
haired woman had protected him.  He didn't know how he knew that,
how he knew what had happened; he wasn't listening to anything they
were saying, too wrapped up in his own pains to be aware of words,
but he could hear it in her tone, feel it in the way she stood
between him and his attacker.

Then the pain came again as they moved him to one of the beds and
started cutting his clothes off of him to get at his injuries.  Q
saw it all as dark shapes moving in on him, hurting him, trying to
kill him, and he began pleading again, tears coming to his eyes,
"Please no no please don't kill me please..."

And then she was there, and there was a soothing voice in his ear,
murmuring comforting words to him, stroking his head, and he turned
into her.  The people who were hurting him didn't go away, and he
wanted to protest, wanted to be terrified of them, but as long as
the comforting presence was there, he felt safer.

Li looked up at Naomi, cradling Q's head against her, and crooning
to him.  "Good, keep him quiet, this will be easier."

Naomi shot a glare at the doctor, but didn't stop.  She didn't even
really know Q, but he was broken and he seemed to need her, and for
the moment, that was enough.

****

Taking care of his wounds seemed to take forever.  Long before it
was done, Q had lapsed into unconsciousness brought on by the
painkiller and sedatives they had given him.

Still, Naomi didn't leave.  She didn't know why she was staying. 
She hardly knew Q and didn't think he remembered her at all. 
They'd met precisely once, during the drive to find anything to
stave off the Borg threat.  He'd been brilliant, egotistical and
entirely unreachable.  The interchange of insults at that time had
been a brief moment of forgetfulness and sparring in the midst of
tension and the numbness that could only come from too many hours
spent going over the same failed solutions to the same impossible
problems.  He wouldn't remember that; it could hardly have been as
significant to him as it was to her.

But she couldn't leave him.  Not given the way he'd clung to her. 
Q had been frightened of everyone there, of even the doctors.  She
was the only one he seemed to trust, and it went against her grain
to abandon him.

****

Q woke up to a world of pain and soreness, coming out of nightmares
he couldn't remember but loathed himself for being weak enough to
have.  It wasn't enough that he was frightened of everything, that
he had to make up more things to be frightened of while he was
asleep?

He looked around.  He was in Sickbay.  He knew the bland decor here
better than he knew his own rooms; no wonder, since he was here
more often.

Curled up on a chair next to his bed was a small, red-headed woman.

Q didn't recognize her, but something in the back of his head did. 
Flashes of unimaginable terror went through him, distorted,
mask-like faces, people hurting him, interspersed with images of a
comforting presence, of someone who looked just like the woman in
the chair.

Horror went through Q in a shock as all of the experiences of the
night before flooded back into him.  He'd been coming back from the
physics lab, and then two men had stopped him.  He'd known as soon
as he saw them that they were going to kill him.  The masks they
were wearing made that blatantly obvious.  Beating up on him was
one thing; he had been beaten up on by any number of people,
including the occupants of one of the starbase's bars for
transients, and there had been no reaction at all from the people
supposedly protecting him.  Beating up on Q was an enjoyable hobby
around here.  But the masks meant something different.

He'd tried to beg, *had* begged, but it had been no use.  With the
ease of long practice they had hit him, punched him, kicked him,
left him bruised and beaten on the floor.

And then *she* had arrived.  He had only dim memories of that, of
being terrified of her as well as everything else, of trying to get
away from her, and then, after she had apparently had them
transported to Sickbay, seeking *comfort* from her.

That was an even worse humiliation.  He had cried on her like a
helpless child, and everyone had seen it.

And now he was here in Sickbay, and Security, for Q knew that
Security had been the ones to do this to him, was trying to kill
him.

Hopelessness and rage went through him.

"You're awake?"

The voice penetrated his thoughts and Q looked up to see the woman
who had taken care of him the night before.  "What a brilliant
deduction."

"Thank you," she said gravely.  "Are you all right?  Are you in any
pain?"

"What are you, some kind of nurse?  Of course I'm in pain."

"I'll go get the doctor."

When she came back, Q was sitting up.  "I'm leaving."

"Really?" Li asked.  "I thought you were in pain."

Q glared at him for a moment.  "Does it matter?  I'm sure you'd
rather have me squirming in agony than give me anything which will
help."

Naomi glanced at Li.  "You *will* give him something, won't you?"

Li looked at her, annoyed.  "That was the general idea, yes."

Q didn't have time to protest as Li injected him with another
painkiller.  "You can go back to your quarters, Q, as long as you
promise not to exert yourself.  You need rest more than anything
else right now."

"Yes, Mommy."

Li shook his head, and turned to speak to someone outside the room.

"He's ready to go back now."

Two Security guards entered the room, and Q cringed before he could
stop himself.  Naomi saw the movement and stepped protectively
closer to him, looking between Q and the guards.

Faking a wellness he didn't feel, Q got down from the bed and
strode out.

Naomi tagged along behind him, still curious as to exactly what was
going on here.  However, neither Q nor the guards spoke.

At the door to his quarters, Q turned on her.  "What are *you*
doing here?"

Naomi flinched slightly.  "May I come in?"

"No," Q said harshly, then went inside.

Naomi shrugged, watched him go, then left, not noticing the
Security guards, who followed Q inside.

Once inside, Q realized someone had followed him.  He swiveled,
ready to lambast the foolish woman for disobeying him.  But the
words died on his lips as he realized who had followed him. 
Security.  He didn't know if these were the two who had come after
him.  With masks on and in the dim light of the corridor it had
been impossible to tell who they were.  That only made this more
frightening.

"What are you doing here?"

The taller one shrugged slightly.  "Orders.  We're here to protect
you."

His smile seemed to Q more like the smile of a predator.  "I don't
want you and I don't need you.  Leave!"

The guard shook his head.  "We'll be staying.  Watching you."

That was what he was afraid of.  Q fled into his room, locking the
door behind him, and then realized that wasn't going to do any
good.  They were Security.  They could override the computer lock. 
If they wanted to kill him and finish off the job, he was dead.  A
howl of fear and anger stuck in his throat.  He didn't know what to
do.

Q commed Anderson.  She put him through a brief explanation of his
attack before she would hear any complaints from him.  Q fussed and
fumed through that, before he was finally able to tell her why he'd
called.  "You have to get these goons out of my quarters."

"The Security guards are there to protect you, Q."

"Security tried to kill me!"

"Q, we've been over this.  You have no way of knowing who tried to
kill you.  You said your attackers were wearing masks.  Until we
can find out who *did* try to kill you, having Security protection
there with you makes the most sense."

She closed the connection and Q jumped up, pacing.  He was going to
die.  He had no doubt in his mind that they were going to kill him.

The only question was how much they were going to make him suffer
first.

Suddenly he wished he hadn't sent that woman away.  It was a
foolish thought; he didn't need her and there wasn't anything she
could do.  Of course, they'd be less likely to want to kill him in
front of witnesses...

And he didn't know her name.  He had no idea who she was.  She was
just one more in the string of faceless people roaming around the
starbase.  He didn't care to learn their names.  For the most part,
they weren't worth getting to know.  And they all hated him, even
the ones who were almost worth talking to.

Before he could stop himself or think better of it, Q queried the
computer.  "I need the name of a woman, most likely human, about
1.5 meters in height, red hair."

"There are six persons matching that description."

"Display a picture of each of these."  Dr. Naomi Allen was the
third of these.  Q felt a tremor of relief go through him at just
seeing her face.  That was as contemptible as everything else he
was feeling right now.  Why should he want anyone else?  Why should
he be so affected by the sight of this person, when he knew that
nothing and no one could or would help him?

Now that he had her name, he could contact her.  It would be
simplicity itself.  But the very thought of it frightened him.  To
call her would be to admit to his fears, to expose himself to the
worst kind of rejection.

But the alternative was sitting outside his door.  Security. 
Waiting to kill him.

With a strangled sob, Q placed the call.  Her face appeared on the
screen.  "Yes?"  She recognized Q, saw the strain in his
expression.  "Is something wrong?"

"No!" Q said automatically, then wished he hadn't.  He *meant* yes,
but he couldn't say yes, and now that she was there, right in front
of him, he didn't know how he was ever going to admit that he
needed her.  He couldn't.  It was impossible.

Naomi cocked her head.  "Nothing's wrong at all?  You haven't
magically reconsidered my offer and decided to invite me over?"

He felt relieved.  Something he could answer.  "It would be an
enormous concession on my part, yes."

"Of course it would.  That's why I'm so grateful for it.  I'll be
right there."

And she'd terminated the call before he could say another word.  Q
felt better.  But what a pushy woman!  She'd decided to intrude her
way into his life on a bare word.  How dare she?

****

"He said he didn't want to see you."

"Well, I just talked to him, and he'd changed his mind.  Can you go
ask him?"

After a brief wrangle at the door, Security let her in.

Naomi stood in the middle of the room, waiting as Security got Q to
come out of his room and confirm that he had indeed called her
there.

At that point, they just stood there, Q staring awkwardly at Naomi.

She knew he had to want to talk to her about something, and yet,
how could they talk with the guards there?  They could go into his
room, but apparently, that wasn't an option.

The silence extended between them until Naomi felt it was becoming
ridiculous.

She turned to the guard who had let her in.  "You can go now."

He stifled a laugh.  "I'm sorry, ma'am.  Our orders specify that we
are to remain with Q..."

"Then remain outside."

He looked significantly at her.  "We can't leave a threat to
Security with him alone under the circumstances."

Naomi stared at him for a moment before realizing he was
classifying her as a threat.  "I was next to him all night in
Sickbay.  I *found* him when he'd been attacked.  If I were a
threat, I had a lot of better chances to kill him than this."

"Nonetheless..."

Naomi stared at him.  "Leave."

"Ma'am, if you can't refrain from attacking duly appointed members
of Starfleet Security, I'm going to have to arrest you."

Naomi's expression was fixed and disbelievingly.  "I want to talk
to your commanding officer."

"With Ohmura's death," and Naomi thought she caught a glance past
her at Q, who had slumped into a chair in a posture of extreme
defeat.  "I'm the highest ranking officer left until the commodore
assigns a new Security Chief."

"Then I want to talk to the commodore.  *Now*."

Anderson was not pleased to be hustled down to Q's quarters in the
middle of what was a busy morning.  She was in the middle of her
investigation into the fracas surrounding the attempt on Q's life. 
The official version of events hadn't been taken from him yet, but
given the computer records, and the accounts from Drs. Allen and
Li, there wasn't much he could have told them.  The little Q had
added during his call earlier only made it that much more her
problem than anything else, at least until a new Security Chief
could be located.  The current members of the Security department
were competent enough, but not of the rank or quality she wanted to
promote.

"What seems to be the problem?" Anderson asked in a deceptively
mild tone.

"They won't leave," Naomi said.

"We need to take Q's deposition," the guard said.  "Dr. Allen was
interfering with our duties."

Naomi looked at him, mouth falling open.  "You liar!"

Anderson held up her hands before it could turn into a
free-for-all.  "Let me understand this."  She looked at Braun. 
"You're refusing to leave because you need to take Q's deposition."

"Yes," he said sulkily.  There was more to it than that, but he
couldn't very well admit to wanting to keep Naomi out just for the
sheer pleasure of inconveniencing Q.  Security had numerous reasons
to want to discommode Q as much as possible, not the least of which
was his culpability in Ohmura's death.

Anderson turned to Naomi.  "And you'd like them to leave so that
you could have privacy with Q?"

Naomi flushed.  That didn't sound right at all.  "Essentially,
yes."

"Then take the deposition and get out," Anderson said to Braun. 
Her back was hurting and she didn't want to be there at all.  The
wisdom of her decision not to promote him to Chief was confirmed by
this little incident.  If Braun couldn't settle a kindergarten
dispute like this, he didn't belong in charge of one of the most
vital departments on the starbase.

Anderson stalked out, leaving the Security guards looking at Naomi
with hatred.

Braun cleared his throat.  "I'll take the deposition now.  Unless
of course, Q refuses."

Q sat in the chair, fright overwhelming him as the two guards
approached him.  One of them stood next to the chair, while the
other one loomed over him, effectively blocking any possibility he
had of getting away.  Only Naomi's presence in the room reassured
him.  They wouldn't kill him while she was there.  At the very
least, she would call for help before they could hurt him.  He was
ashamed of himself for being so afraid, but he couldn't help it. 
He *knew* in his recently fractured bones what they were going to
do to him, what they wanted to do to him.

The deposition went quickly, despite Q's insults and Braun's desire
to stretch this out as long as possible.  Q just didn't know enough
to be of much use.

When the guards had departed, Q still didn't move from his chair.

Naomi looked at him, really looked at him, seeing the drawn lines
of his face and his haggard expression.  She'd had to restrain
herself from attacking Braun when Q had revealed that Security had
been the ones who had almost killed him.  How could Braun be so
cruel to Q when he'd undergone such an experience?  How dare they?

She retreated inside Q's room, coming back out with a blanket.  She
tucked it around Q, who still seemed unnaturally restrained.

Naomi got a mug of cocoa from the replicator and came back with it,
placing it in his hands, and sitting near his feet.  He didn't
drink it, but he held the cup, almost as if he was drawing warmth
from it.

"I don't need your mothering," Q said finally, after a very long
time.

"Of course you don't," Naomi said, leaning up against his legs.  "I
just like to do it."

"How typically human."  He set the cup down, and then felt even
emptier without something to hold, something to do with his hands. 
He couldn't even begin to describe how terrible, how
soul-destroying it was to be torn apart by people and then be
forced to describe it all back to those very same people while they
pretended not to remember it.  They'd taken it like he'd been
praising their fine handiwork.

And, from their point of view, he probably had been.

Q shuddered again uncontrollably.

"Are you still cold?"  Naomi knelt up, then moved to the edge of
the chair.  She didn't know whether this was a good thing to do or
not, but he'd needed her last night in Sickbay and she moved ahead
in the courage of that conviction, tugging his head to her and
pressing herself against him so that she could hold him.

With a strangled sob, Q's arms went around her.  He didn't want
her, didn't need this, but he couldn't refuse it either.  He was
going to hate himself later, as much as he hated her now, but he
had to accept.  The need was too great, and at the moment, it
didn't matter that she would only turn on him and hate him like
everyone else he ever knew always had.

****

Q woke up feeling pained and uncomfortable.  He could barely stand,
and the only thing he wanted were painkillers.  Of course, he
couldn't get enough of them to do any good, he never could, but
anything was better than this.

After the drug had taken effect and he had been able to complete
his toilet, Q felt better.  Almost dead rather than just wishing he
was.

He stopped at the door to the main room as a quick thought flashed
through his head.  The last thing he remembered was Naomi guiding
him into bed.  He hadn't had any energy to resist her; he had
*needed* her too much then, as horrifying a thought as it was. 
That was all in the past.

But what if she were still there?

Steeling himself, Q stepped through.  Curled up on the couch, fast
asleep, lay a small woman.  Q walked over, studying her, relief and
panic moving through him.  She'd stayed here.  No one had come in
during the night, she had protected him.  But Security knew where
she was and that'd she'd been there.  Everyone would think that
he'd invited this person here in order to engage in the deepest,
most depraved acts he could imagine.

While Q was torn between the two possibilities, Naomi opened her
eyes, awakened by his presence near her.  "Good morning."

"What are you doing here?" Q asked, surly.

Naomi looked slightly confused.  "You asked me over.  The guards. 
Remember?"  She sat up and stretched.  She was wearing a light
dress, and the action caused the material to tighten across her
body.

Q swallowed hard, and turned away, trying not to limp.

"Are you all right?"

"Why would I be all right?" Q snapped.  "People want to kill me,
every bone in my body has been broken and reset, and now I wake up
to *this*!"  Q stood there trembling, the force of his outburst
shaking through him.  He was far weaker than he knew, and his raw
emotions lay too close to the surface.

Naomi cocked her head.  He was in pain, that much she understood. 
And he was frightened of Sickbay and the doctor, or she'd suggest
that he go there.  She certainly wouldn't put up with that much
pain.  She'd be begging someone for a backrub...

She stood up and came over to him.  Instinctively, Q backed away,
then fought the urge.  He couldn't show that he was scared.

"Would you like me to rub your back?"  The offer wasn't entirely as
selfless as it sounded.  Although she'd hardly take advantage of
anyone as vulnerable as he was at the moment, there was something
to be said for getting to put her hands all over him.

"Do you always proposition men first thing in the morning?" Q
asked, trying not to say yes or no.

"Sometimes I wait until later in the day."  She reached out to him,
not quite touching him.  "It'd help if you'd lay down."

Q found himself being led back into his bedroom and placed face
down on the bed.  He didn't know how that had been accomplished,
and was starting to feel uncomfortably exposed when her hands ran
over his back to settle lightly on his shoulders.  The feeling was
exquisite and he couldn't stop himself from moaning as a bubble of
pain welled up, burst, and a feeling very close to relaxation took
its place.

Almost immediately, the rest of his body started to hurt more, and
Q imagined what it would feel like to have her hands on the rest of
him this way, remembering how Harry Roth used to do this to him and
how good it had felt.

Thinking of the physicist reminded him of something very
unpleasant, of what backrubs were for.  This was all a part of
sordid human sexuality.  He'd been tricked!  How could he have
forgotten?  The pleasure he was feeling was only a lure to get him
into bed and once he had sufficiently let down his guard, she was
going to seduce him, derange his mind and common sense in order to
use him for her own depraved purposes.  And then she'd hurt him,
humiliate him, make him a laughingstock or tear his heart to
shreds.

She was just like all the rest of them.

Q didn't know why that thought filled him with such grim despair. 
In any case, he had to get rid of her now, before her touch
destroyed what was left of his good sense.

He surged up out of her hands, and turned over.

"What's wrong?" Naomi asked, concern on her face.

Q used the pause to muster his self-control and put his facade in
place.  "Your services will not be required after all.  I find that
they don't meet my needs after all."

Naomi stared at him for a long moment before accepting that as the
truth.  She couldn't find any other truth in his eyes.  She'd moved
too fast here, and that was her own fault, not his.  He was being
polite, and in truth, probably wanted to rest in peace and quiet
after the experience he'd had.

"All right."  She got up, but turned at the door.  "If you need
me..."

"I'll be very surprised."

****

It was more than an hour after he'd been supposed to be at work
before Q could muster up the nerve to leave the room.

The guards fell in behind him as he did.  There were two different
ones this morning, a man and a woman.  Not that it mattered.  They
were both human.  Q could be reasonably sure that the woman, at
least, had not been one of the ones to beat him up, but that didn't
mean she hadn't been in on it.  All the humans on this starbase
wanted him dead.

Except for Naomi.  She wanted something far more sordid.

His mind skittered away from the thought of Naomi, concentrating on
a much closer topic -- getting to work alive.  There were
scientists waiting to talk to him.  Surely Security wouldn't choose
*now* to kill him.

After all, since the attack, they'd been assigned to his
"protection."  They could get at him any time they wanted.  They
didn't *need* to do it now.

Q did not find that thought even slightly reassuring.

****

There were several people in front of the meeting room, milling in
front of the door.  Blocking his route in.

"Murderer!" a woman shouted.  "How many starships full of people
did you murder?  How many planets did you destroy?"

Q didn't understand it.  Aliens had attacked him countless times
before, and had often claimed some story of woe and death as
justification for their actions.  They'd even killed well-liked
people on the starbase before.  Why was this different?  One alien
woman -- one alien woman whose machinations had caused Ohmura's
death -- had told a sob story, and now everyone on the starbase
hated him.

For the first few days after Ohmura's death, Q had ignored these
outbursts. Humans were stupid, irrational, primitive creatures, and
he could go mad trying to understand them.  Besides, he'd figured
they wouldn't hurt him -- that was what he had Security for.

He wasn't quite so unconcerned after the night before last.

Trying desperately to hide his fear, Q glanced surreptitiously back
at his guards, to see if perhaps there was a chance they were
likely to do their jobs.  Their arms were folded, and the woman was
snickering.  Q turned back to the protestors in front of him. 
Security looked more likely to sell tickets than protect him if
these people attacked him.

If he didn't go in, they'd know he was afraid.  Right now he could
make it seem that he was just being fashionably late.  He showed up
to these meetings late all the time, a small exercise of the only
power he had.  But if he stood here, waiting, frozen, everyone
would know what a coward he was.

Besides, if Q screamed loudly enough, the scientists in the room
would probably come to his rescue.  They couldn't let him die yet;
they hadn't yet had their chance to inflict their idiotic theories
on him.

He swallowed and stepped forward.

"There were kids on that starship," the woman who'd called him a
murderer hissed.  "You're a despicable waste of life."

She was in his way.  Q gazed down at her with his best mask of
disdain, trying desperately to keep from trembling with terror. 
"And you, madame, are an underevolved primate with virtually no
understanding of the universe.  You would hardly recognize truth if
it bit you on the nose.  Now kindly move out of my way."

"Why?  So the Federation can profit from sheltering a murderer?"
she snarled.

Her cohorts moved in on him menacingly.  Q's knees started to go
weak.  Involuntarily he glanced back at Security, who showed
absolutely no signs of planning to intervene.

"An eye for an eye?" he asked harshly.  Through the fear, he felt
a small modicum of pride that his voice hadn't shaken at all.  "You
don't approve of me, so you're going to attack me now.  Oh, how
very enlightened of you.  I cannot imagine why I ever thought you
a primitive, backward species, such moral sensibilities you show."

The woman backed down, stepping out of his way.  "We'll get you,"
she snapped.

"Stand in line," Q retorted, and stepped forward into the safety of
the meeting room.

****

He couldn't let this keep happening.  Living in terror of Security
was bad enough.  Living in terror of everyone else on the starbase
was sheer hell.

Briefly, longingly, he thought of Naomi.  These people hated him,
but she was their fellow human.  She could make Security do what
she wanted.  She'd even talked Anderson into actually being helpful
for a change.  Would it be so dangerous to call her?

Harshly he squashed that thought.  Of course it would.  She wanted
only one thing from him, and when she didn't get it, she'd turn
vicious, like Amy Frasier had.  Or if something impossible occurred
and she did get it, which she never would, she would think he was
terrible, and repulsive, and then she'd turn on him, like Harry
had.  And he would never know the point where lust turned to hate
until it was too late.  At least he knew where he stood with
Security.

On the other hand, where he stood was with one foot in the grave. 
And he desperately didn't want to put the other foot in.

There had to be something.  He racked his brains, barely
concentrating on the idiots talking to him.  Someone he could
trust...

And then he had it.  Remembering the incident with Amy Frasier had
triggered another memory.  The Security people who'd rescued him
from Amy had been Ohmura, and a Vulcan female.  Sekal's wife,
what's-her-name, right.  T'Meth.  He couldn't believe he remembered
that.  Vulcans were among the most boring species the universe had
ever seen fit to bring into existence, but they were not likely to
be swayed by a mob mentality.  It was Security's job to protect Q,
and a Vulcan would remember that, even if everyone else forgot it.

****

Contacting T'Meth directly did not work.

Like all unimaginative, hidebound people around the universe, she
would not leave her post without orders.  Never mind that her post
consisted of sitting around in the Security offices all day waiting
for someone to have a problem.  Or pacing up and down some useless
stretch of corridor.  He was clearly more in need of Security's
services than anyone else on the starbase, but she had her orders. 
When he asked who could grant his request, he learned that her
immediate superior was Braun -- the man who'd tormented him last
night, the man who might very well have been one of the two that
tried to kill him.

Oh joy.

From experience, he knew better than to comm Anderson.  She would
come when he called, if she felt like it, if no other pressing
problems like a shortage of grease in the replicator hoppers or
diplomats with hangnails turned up.  If he tried to argue her into
anything important over the commlink, she would simply disconnect
rather than listen to him.  Anderson seemed to be willing to do
almost anything to avoid listening to him.

No, he had to go to her office.  Which was halfway across the
starbase from here, through territory that Q had learned was
hostile, to his pain.  And all the way, he would be flanked by a
pair of goons who wanted him dead.

The other alternative was to hide under his bed all night , and all
day the next day, until she finally showed up -- and hope that no
one dragged him out from under the bed in the middle of the night
and finished off what they'd started.  This was even less
appealing.

He was a nervous wreck by the time he reached Anderson's office,
and was not in the mood to wait.  He walked in on her while she was
in the middle of talking to someone.

"...not very diplomatic, no, I'm afraid.  But then, that isn't what
he's here for -- Just a second, Professor.  I have an emergency on
my hands."  She froze the comlink and turned to him angrily.  "I
thought you'd grasped the concept of 'doorbells' two years ago."

"And I thought you'd grasped the concept of 'security.' As in
'protection.'  As in 'giving the people who tried to murder Q free
access to his room is a bad idea.'  It's too bad you don't seem to
be that bright."

Anderson sighed heavily.  "We've been *over* this, Q.  We don't
know who tried to kill you yet."

"I do.  But of course why would you listen to me? I'm only the
victim."

"Do you have names?  Faces?  Anything substantial to go on?"

"They were wearing masks!"

"Exactly my point.  We can't leave you without protection because
you have an irrational hunch that Security attacked you."

An irrational hunch?  Q was outraged.  He knew the way Starfleet
Security moved, knew the way they talked.  They might have been
wearing masks, so he didn't know *which* ones they were, but he
knew *what* they were beyond question.  "And what if I'm right? 
Did it ever cross your mind that I might be right, dear Eleanor? 
You seem to consider it a nuisance I personally have inflicted on
you that you have to explain to my visitors that I'm hurt and can't
see them.  Exactly *how* do you propose to explain it to them when
your incompetence kills me?"

"And suppose you're *not* right.  If I don't leave Security
guarding you, whoever tried to kill you could ambush you again, or
break into your room while you're sleeping.  Do *you* want to run
that risk, Q?  I don't."

"Better that than letting the murderers *in!*"  His voice cracked,
sending a wave of humiliation through him.  He couldn't break down,
not now.  "Besides, I'm not asking to be left without protection. 
I just want protection worthy of the name."

"I'm in the middle of a call, Q.  I haven't got time for your
games.  Either spit out what you want, or leave."

"I want T'Meth."

"Who?"

"Surely you remember her, Eleanor.  Vulcan security officer?  Cold,
humorless, unimaginative?  I want her guarding me."

Anderson was starting to go from annoyed to genuinely angry.  He
*dared* make sweeping demands at a time like this?  Who *did* he
think he was?

"She's one of our best investigators, and I currently have her
assigned to *your* case," Anderson snapped, Q's clarification
having narrowed the context enough for her to remember the person
he meant.  "If I demoted her to babysitting you, we'll lose days on
the investigation, and the people who attacked you will be running
around free.  I *don't* think you want that."

Q had the worst sense of timing in the universe, to be making
demands now, Anderson thought.  At the moment she didn't even want
to *see* him, to be reminded he existed.  It was not exactly that
she blamed him for Ohmura's death.  Ohmura had been a good man, a
good security chief, and a friend, but he was, after all, a member
of security, trained and expected to protect civilians at the cost
of his own life, if necessary.  And no, it wouldn't have *been*
necessary if Q had obeyed her and ducked when she shouted, but Q
was a civilian, and civilians did stupid things under pressure. 
She couldn't blame him for freezing.

What she blamed him for was not being worth it.  Jihana Melex's
story had been heartwrenching; Anderson had encountered enough
deadly weirdnesses out in the universe, during her days on
starships as crew and then captain, to know exactly how she'd feel
if an omnipotent being showed up and forced her crewmates to
undergo a test they could not possibly pass, or survive, and only
she had lived to tell the tale.  How many alien would-be assassins
had Anderson allowed to be killed to protect Q?  How many of those
attempts had been justified?  She'd heard about him doing things
like -- well, like introducing humanity to the Borg, causing 18
deaths but helping humanity to prepare for an inevitable conflict. 
Some of his attackers had charged him with destroying their
religious beliefs or their cultural taboos, but she'd never
believed he deserved to die for that.  And if he'd caused deaths
that in the long run helped save far more of that species, she
couldn't believe he deserved to die for that either.  But he hadn't
given any better reason for killing Jihana Melex's crewmates in his
test than that he'd been in a bad mood at the time, and that
changed everything.  Now she knew that the creature she'd spent two
years protecting and coddling was a cold-blooded murderer who
deserved to die.

He would never be tried for his crimes.  Picard had talked the
Federation Council into issuing Q a blanket pardon under Federation
law for crimes he committed as an omnipotent entity.  The terms of
the pardon -- it wasn't even a pardon, really -- recognized Q the
human as a different legal being from Q the omnipotent, and
therefore, not only could the Federation never try Q for his
crimes, it could not allow him to be extradited by other
governments for them, no matter how heinous they might be, any more
than the Federation would let a child be extradited for the crimes
of its father.  A legalistic fiction had been created that absolved
Q of all responsibility for his past life, because it was
expedient.  Q was useful.

And so good men and women would die to protect a monster, out of
political expediency, and it was Anderson's responsibility to
ensure that this was done.  She was not a creature of politics,
though she'd had to engage in it in her days as a starship captain
and now.  Justice was not being done, and her duty was to ensure
that it *could* not be done, and the conflict between her ethics
and her sense of duty was ripping her up inside.

And now the cause of the injury had brazenly turned up on her
doorstep, demanding she do *more* to protect him from the fate he
richly deserved, belittling the actions of men and women who put
their lives on the line for him every day, with no reward, by
claiming *they* were out to kill him.

She had to protect him.  She had sworn an oath to Starfleet to
obey; she couldn't throw that out of ethical delicacy.  Moreover,
she had taken on the assignment to protect Q, and would perform
that to the best of her ability.  Anything else would be a betrayal
of her oath to Starfleet and a betrayal of her self.  And she
*knew* how valuable Q was; she had been there the day the Borg were
defeated.  But the Federation was obtaining that value by making
her sacrifice lives to expediency, and that hurt.

"What I don't want is to be murdered by those self-same free
assassins because *you* authorized them to come in my room anytime
they like," Q retorted.

"Fine.  According to your deposition, your attackers were males of
medium build.  I'll assign female guards and male guards with odd
builds.  Will that shut you up?"

Inwardly Q flinched, assaulted by a sudden flashback.  The last
time someone had told him to shut up, he had been on the floor,
begging them to let him live.  And then they'd kicked him in the
head to silence him.  Outwardly he maintained a pose of controlled
fury, no fear in his demeanor.  He hoped.  "You're missing the
point, dear Elly.  The two people who attacked me were members of
Security, yes, but they just happened to be the ones who acted. 
*All* of them want me dead.  All the humans, anyway.  If you assign
anyone other than a Vulcan to guard me, you're signing my death
warrant!"  His voice sounded too loud, too shrill in his ears.

"You're being paranoid.  As well as ridiculous.  Even *if* -- and
this is a big if -- some few members of Starfleet hated you enough
to violate their oaths, that doesn't mean they all want to kill
you."

"But you haven't seen how they *look* at me,"  Q pleaded, growing
more and more desperate.  "It's written all over them."

"Has anyone made any direct threats?"

"They don't *need* to.  Their body language does it for them."

"I don't have time for this," Anderson snapped.  "I'm not going to
feed your paranoid fantasies, Q.  Security did not and will not try
to kill you.  The arrangements stand."

But what he wanted was such a simple thing, so easy for her to
order.  Rage welled throughout him as he realized why Anderson was
balking.  She wanted him dead too.  Her oath actually meant
something to her, so she couldn't act directly to kill him, but she
could refuse to believe in a clear and present danger to his life. 
"Then I suggest you figure out a way to explain to my guests why
I'm refusing to see them," he snapped, "because I refuse to
continue to run a gauntlet to get to work in the mornings, and if
you refuse to give me a Vulcan bodyguard, I will have to protect
myself as best I can by staying in my room.  At least *that* way if
Security kills me it'll be obvious who did it."  His voice was
poisonous, laden with fury and sarcasm in a desperate
attempt to mask the fear.

Anderson scowled at him.  "Don't push me, Q.  Two can play at that
game."

"Going to cut my computer access off again?"  Q asked mockingly. 
"What do I care?  I've been entirely too preoccupied with not being
killed to *notice* my computer lately.  If I'm going to die, the
loss of computer access seems a rather trivial issue, don't you
think?  And you can't confine me to quarters if I'm refusing to
leave them anyway."

"I could always confine you to the brig," Anderson suggested.

All the blood drained from Q's face.  To be locked up in Security's
territory, at the mercy of whatever they might choose to do to him,
was the most terrifying thing he could imagine.  "Do that," he said
softly, with venom, "and you may as well simply shoot me, because
I will never work for you again."  Which was certainly true.  Even
if he *wanted* to, he would be unable to, for the simple reason
that he would be dead.

Anderson studied him.  It was a painfully tempting thought.  Q
wouldn't carry out his threat, and if he did, there would be no
more obligation to protect him.  On the other hand, it had been
hard enough explaining to the waiting scientific dignitaries that
they had to wait because Q had been injured and needed a day to
recover.  If Q simply refused to go to work, the vultures would
descend on Anderson *en masse*, and she didn't relish that thought.

And she was sure that Q *would* stop working for at least a week or
two just to make her life unpleasant in revenge, if she put him in
the brig now.  If anything could make him put up with boredom, it
was spite.

"I'll assign T'Meth to you until the perpetrators have been
caught," she said finally.  "I don't for a moment believe you'd
quit and risk losing all protection over something like this, but
I don't feel like putting up with the hassle.  Once we've
identified your attackers and ensured that they can't hurt you
again, Security will go back to a regular guard rotation schedule. 
Satisfied?"

No, he wasn't, but it was better than ending up in the brig. 
Besides, if T'Meth guarded him until his attackers were caught,
surely she'd see what the rest of Security was doing to him, and
realize how he needed someone like her.  "For now," he said.

****

He waited in the lobby in Anderson's office for T'Meth to show up.
The security goons that had brought him here glared at him, but for
once he didn't care.  They wouldn't dare kill him in Anderson's
office, and he didn't need to go back with them.

T'Meth arrived, ramrod straight and expressionless as she relieved
the guards already there.  Q inspected her with a vast sense of
relief.  "You know, whoever designed Security uniforms obviously
never imagined that Vulcans would go into security.  That yellow
color goes beyond repulsive against your skin."

She ignored that.  "Do you still have business here?"

"Why?"

"Your quarters are more secure."

Now that she was here, perhaps she was right.  Q got up., the
unbearable pressure of the last few days' terror easing ever so
slightly.  "This is beyond a doubt one of the most boring locales
I've been forced to spend time in," he said grandly.  "Shall we
return to my quarters for an infusion of good taste?"

She still didn't respond.  Damn.  Sekal would have made a dryly
sarcastic retort to that.  He was a lot more fun than his wife, it
would seem.

****

T'Meth made him wait in his bedroom while she systematically
inspected every inch of the living room, carefully removing the
bric-a-brac and various antiques, moving them to the other side of
the room, and then pulling apart every inch, searching under the
sofa pillows, under the furniture, pulling open the drawers... even
to him, it seemed she was being paranoid.  When she repeated the
process with his bathroom, and then made him wait in the living
room while she continued in his bedroom, he was almost sure of it. 
He stood at the door and made rude comments throughout.  A large
part of him resented the intrusion, the fact that everything he
owned was being closely inspected, but T'Meth pointed out that if
security truly wanted him dead, the smart thing to do would be to
plant an explosive or something in his room while he was out.  And
another part of him appreciated that.  She was being enormously
paranoid, but that meant she was taking him seriously.  And she was
thinking of things that he himself would never have imagined. 
Whether they were things that were even remotely probable or not
wasn't the point; Q felt annoyed but considerable more secure after
she was done.

She set up a logging program to record all entrances and exits into
Q's room, and established a lockout code such that only she, Q and
the medical department could override the door if it was locked. 
"The arrangement is less secure than I prefer," she said.  "If you
and I are attacked by assassins and neither of us has a chance to
release the door, Security will either need a doctor to release the
lock or will need to be beamed in.  Precious time will be lost. 
However, since it is likely that Security itself presents a threat
to you, we must compromise."

Something taut in his chest loosened then, something that had been
tense so long he hadn't felt it until now. "You believe me?" he
asked, hardly daring to hope.

"The evidence would seem to point in that direction.  Someone
sabotaged the hall monitoring system.  The evidence I've been
gathering makes it clear that that person had access to the system.

Therefore, logically, either a member of security, who would have
legitimate access, or someone with programming or engineering
skills, who could obtain illicit access, was involved.  Obviously,
most of the people with the necessary skills are concentrated in
the programming and engineering departments.  The programmers have
little motive; you rarely interact with them.  Engineers are a less
likely possibility than programmers, because their specific skill
set lends itself to mechanical chicanery, and there is no evidence
of mechanical tampering.  In addition, they have more motive than
anyone else here to wish you safety, as your work has enabled their
department to produce enormous breakthroughs, but they themselves
deal with the science department and rarely with you directly. 
They derive benefit from your presence and are not often
inconvenienced by you, as people who deal with you directly often
are.  The number of people outside those departments with the
requisite skill sets are very few; and Security does, in fact, have
motive to wish you harm.  Also, for an engineer or programmer to
sabotage the monitors would require extensive planning; a Security
officer could simply shut them down on a momentary impulse. 
Logically, it follows that Security are the most likely culprits."

Someone believed him.  He swallowed hard against an inexplicable
desire to cry.  "Why didn't you tell Anderson that?" he asked
harshly.

"At the moment, I have no hard evidence, merely conjecture.  I did
not wish to make a report until I had something more."

Shortsighted stupidity, and he told her so.  If she had reported
her findings to Anderson the moment she had them, Q wouldn't have
had to browbeat Anderson into giving him adequate protection. 
T'Meth ignored him.

****

He spent a significant portion of the evening mindlessly,
rearranging the knickknacks that T'Meth had put into disarray.  She
claimed to have put them all back exactly as she found them, but he
didn't believe her; he distinctly remembered the arrangement being
completely different.  He expected T'Meth to try the old chestnut
about Vulcan eidetic memory, but she said nothing; she sat in the
main room, impassively staring into nothing.  It was unnerving.

One of the objects was broken.  A small and very delicate crystal,
it had been on the table next to the chair where he'd given his
deposition last night.  He remembered a large meaty hand on the
table, forming a barricade to keep Q from escaping, and remembering
thinking at the time that it was like having a bull in a china
closet.  But he'd been more concerned with survival than breakage,
then.

Q picked up the shattered crystal, dismayed.  A vicious comment
rose to his lips, and died.  He knew T'Meth hadn't broken it, had
seen the meticulous care with which she had handled his things.  It
had been them, last night.

They wouldn't be happy until they broke everything he owned, would
they?

Such a small thing, such an inconsequential thing... its breakage
was nothing next to the wreckage of his life, and yet to his horror
Q felt tears welling up.  It was as if the little crystal
symbolized his life right now, and the image was the final straw. 
An anguished sob forced its way past the tightness in his chest. 
He had to get to his room, had to hide himself -- he couldn't let
anyone see him like this.  But his legs buckled under him and
refused to take him anyplace, as the sobs came harder, faster.  He
felt like the crystal, something so terribly fragile that the
slightest carelessness had shattered him, and now there were broken
shards of him all over the floor, crying hysterically for no
particular reason.  Why was he crying?  He had T'Meth guarding him.

He was safe now, or as safe as a mortal could get, anyway.  Why was
he crying?

Through humiliation and tears, he glanced up at his protector.  She
had gone to stand by the door, and was facing it, away from him, as
if his emotionality disgusted her so much she couldn't bear to
look.  The humiliation intensified, and mingled with a totally
irrational desire to beg forgiveness, to seek comfort.  He wanted
someone to hold him, like Naomi had held him last night.

A moment later he had dismissed the desire as the most unbelievably
stupid thing that had ever crossed his mind.  T'Meth was honoring
his privacy to the extent that she could, since she couldn't very
well stop guarding him and leave.  And that was what he wanted.  He
didn't need someone to hold him, to entangle him further in the
weak emotions he was feeling.  He was Q, and he didn't need
anybody.

Slowly, with hiccups, he managed to stop crying.  He got to his
feet and staggered to bed without looking at T'Meth or
acknowledging her presence in any way.  She wouldn't pry or gossip
like a human, he knew; she would pretend it had never happened. 
And he would do his best to do the same.

****

The protestors were in front of the meeting room again the next
day.  Q hesitated instinctively.  T'Meth, one pace behind and to
the side of him, moved forward, stepping into his path, and strode
forward.  Encouraged, Q followed.

"Clear the area," she said.

The woman who had accosted Q yesterday shook her head.  "We're a
peaceful protest group.  We have a right to be here."

T'Meth's eyes narrowed very slightly.  "By order of Commodore
Anderson, during periods of threat to Q's safety, Security is
authorized to take whatever measures are deemed necessary to
protect him.  You will clear the area now."

"Or what?" someone sneered.

There was suddenly a phaser in T'Meth's hand.  "Or I will stun you
all and have you dragged to the brig, pending deportation off this
starbase."

"You're protecting a cold-blooded murderer, did you know that?  So
much for Vulcan pacifism and Vulcan justice!"

"Move away from the door, ma'am, or I will be forced to stun you."

Q watched all this in uncharacteristic silence, feeling marginally
safe in public for the first time since Ohmura's death.  The
protestors backed off slowly, milling away.  If Q hadn't been in
public, he would have sagged with relief.  A few months ago, he'd
have been disgusted if he'd heard that a member of Security
threatened to stun a crowd of innocent protestors.  Now that they
were protesting *him*, however, he found himself understanding the
move a lot better.

T'Meth stepped forward to the door to the conference room, so that
it opened, and peered inside, phaser at the ready.  Q saw
scientists inside with startled expressions on their faces.  Ivory
tower morons probably had no idea of the threat to him, or else
didn't care.  "It's clear," she said.  "Go in now."

In a better mood than he'd been in in days, Q made his usual
dramatic entrance.

****

Today, T'Meth was using the console in Q's living room.  Q had been
trying to relax in his room, but it was impossible with a voice out
there, disturbing his privacy.  Why couldn't she use keyboard
input?  Q stalked from his room.

T'Meth looked up as he came in.  "Q. I was about to request your
presence.  There's something I would like to discuss with you."

"Such as the fact that your chatter out here is keeping me awake?" 
It wasn't actually, since he hadn't been trying to sleep.  But it
was the principle of the thing.

"I have been investigating the whereabouts of Security officers at
the time you were attacked, and I've identified three officers who
I believe can be trusted to assist with the investigation."  She
touched a key and three images appeared on the screen -- two humans
and an Andorian.

"*Security* officers?  You can't be serious.  *None* of them can be
trusted."

"Unlikely.  There are sufficient circumstances in the case of these
three that I believe they can.  All three have substantially
different builds from what you described of your attackers, and for
various reasons I doubt any of them were involved in a coverup." 
She touched the Andorian's picture.  "Ensign Sev was on guard duty
in the brig all night, as there had been a bar fight approximately
two hours before your attack.  Sev subscribes to a warrior ethic,
and believes that committing violence against a non-combatant is
the act of a cowardly, worthless being.  He is highly unlikely to
have willingly participated in the plan or assisted in covering for
those involved in the attack."

"Yes, well, he's not human.  It's the humans I'm worried about."

"Lieutenant Veloz was on the holodeck, playing poker with six other
people.  In addition, Veloz rarely socializes within the
department, and is highly conscientious about following regulations
and avoiding impropriety.  It is extremely unlikely that Veloz
would have been recruited to assist in a cover-up.  And Ensign
Koratagere was at the bedside of his wife, who was giving birth. 
He has been on paternal leave for the days since, and most likely
had priorities above harassing you.  In addition, Koratagere is an
unlikely suspect in any case, as his crewmates speak of him as
easy-going, friendly and slow to anger."

"They're still humans in Security."

"Q, I require backup.  Today if the protestors had rushed you, my
protection might not have been adequate.  There were several points
where you were exposed to them, for the simple reason that there is
only one of me.  I am not asking your permission, merely informing
you that I have chosen these three to back me up, and why.  Have
you ever experienced unpleasant behavior at their hands?"

"No," Q said reluctantly.  "I don't think so.  It's so hard to
tell; I can't keep all those faces straight."

"Sev is the only Andorian in Security and Veloz and Koratagere are
both distinctive in appearance.  I suspect you would recognize
them."

"I suppose."  He did recognize Koratagere from the picture, a
cheerfully grinning Indian man who Q remembered as startlingly
short and slight for a Security officer, and who had generally been
polite to him.  Perhaps T'Meth was right.

"Then they will be assisting me.  I may on occasion call on them to
serve as my relief, and one of them will accompany us to your
duties in the daytime."

"How do I know they won't harass me?"

"If they harass you, which is unlikely, they will be relieved of
duty."

That was only mildly reassuring, but still better than the
assurances he'd gotten from anyone else.  "Are we quite done here?"

"I have additional questions to ask you."  She swiveled in the
chair.  "According to your deposition, your attackers were masked,
and you claimed to be unable to distinguish members of Security
from one another by body language or build."

He had a hard enough time distinguishing them by faces.  "I
remember what I said, thanks."

"Would you be able to distinguish their voices?  You said they
spoke to you."

"Can't you figure out whose whereabouts are unaccounted for?"

"To the extent they ever are, everyone's whereabouts are accounted
for," she said dryly.  "Members of Security work in pairs when we
are not on alert status, and often patrol areas of the starbase
where there may be no other crew at the time.  As a result, few
members of Security ever have an alibi stronger than their
partner's word.  Since most of the Security teams consisted of two
male humans or near-humanoids of average height and build, and most
of those have only their partner's word for an alibi, we need
something more substantial to narrow the choices."

The voices echoed in his mind, hate-filled voices twisted with
rage, screaming at him.  "Maybe," he said.

"Good."  She turned back to the computer.  "Tomorrow we will go to
the Security office and you'll listen to recordings of the suspects
being questioned."

"Can't we do that here?  Why do we have to go to the Security
office?"

"Because the system that allows you to access suspect files is
protected, by privacy regulations, and can only be accessed from
Security consoles."

The idea of going to the Security offices, the heart of enemy
territory, terrified him.  But he had a trusted bodyguard with him.

T'Meth wouldn't let him get hurt.

****

There were no visitors scheduled tomorrow.  Under most
circumstances, Q would have spent the day in the physics lab
instead, as it was entirely too boring to stay at home and do
nothing.  T'Meth had a project for him, though, so the physics lab
would have to do without.  Which was just as well.  There was a
particular person there who Q would rather not see in anything
resembling a vulnerable state.

He hadn't been in the Security offices since Ohmura's death.  They
had always seemed cold and impersonal; now they were downright
terrifying.  The people in them stared at him coldly, every line of
their bodies eloquently expressing what they'd do to him if T'Meth
weren't there.  Q swallowed and forced himself forward, having to
literally concentrate in order to put one foot in front of another.

They were met at the console by Lt. Veloz.  "All the suspects have
been questioned and recorded, sir."

T'Meth nodded in acknowledgement and gestured Q to a chair.  "We
will play back recordings of the suspects being questioned.  The
suspects include all the males in Security, Engineering, and
Systems.  Once you've identified your assailants' voices, we will
try to obtain a confession."

The voices started to play.  For the most part they were calm and
controlled, maybe a little tense.  Occasionally annoyance or
genuine anger crept into the voices, but none of them were the
shouting, twisted, rage-filled demon-voices that still haunted Q's
nightmares.  These were sentient beings he heard speaking, but the
voices he remembered belonged to monsters.

Some people he latched onto in brief hope because of what they said
-- the people who said, "I didn't do it, but I can't say I'm sorry
it happened -- Q deserved it" or words to that effect.  But he
couldn't make their voices fit the pattern in his head.  And
eventually it occurred to him that the guilty parties probably
wouldn't dare to say such a thing anyway.  So then he concentrated
on the people who expressed sympathy for him, or the people who
protested with outraged innocent.  But none of those fit either.

After several hours of this, Q looked up, defeated.  "I can't
tell," he muttered, all too conscious of his failure.

"None of these voices clearly belong to your assailants?"

How to make her understand?  "The people who attacked me were
complete barbaric savages.  These... recordings you have are of
people behaving rationally.  How am I supposed to relate the two? 
People sound completely different when they're snarling like wild
beasts."

"You cannot distinguish your assailants' voices because they spoke
to you in anger?"

"They didn't speak.  They shouted, or snarled, or slavered.  Their
voices were completely distorted by their savagery."

"Well, that doesn't sound hard to get," Veloz said.

"What do you mean?" T'Meth asked.

"Getting recordings of people snarling at Q.  All we'd need to do
is make a short list of likelies and have Q himself interrogate
them.  I'm sure he'd have no problems getting them to snarl at
him."

"Very funny," Q growled.  "I expect you think you're a wit."

"I'm serious.  You won't recognize the voices unless they're
furious.  But you're probably more talented at making people that
furious than anyone else on the starbase.  If you question the
suspects and deliberately make them angry, you'll probably
recognize the ones that did it."

"What if Q cannot make them angry?"

"Then chances are they didn't attack him.  People who can keep
control of themselves don't go beating up civilians they're charged
to protect."

T'Meth considered.  "The plan has merit."

"Now wait a minute!  Don't I get a say?"  Terror coiled through Q's
guts, tightening.  To face off against the people who wanted him
dead and deliberately *try* to enrage them against him was
unbearably frightening.  He couldn't do it.  There was no way.

"Q, we need to narrow down the suspects.  Without input from you,
the task will be very nearly impossible."

"That's your problem.  All of Security wants me dead anyway, so
it's not like finding the perpetrators is actually going to make me
any safer."

"You're being foolish and shortsighted," T'Meth said severely.

"Not to mention they'll be free.  People who violated their oath to
Starfleet and very nearly killed you will be free, gloating about
how they escaped punishment.  Everyone will start to believe that
if *they* beat you up, too, nothing will happen to them.  And
sooner or later, those two will be on call when you end up in
trouble.  I just thought I'd point that out."

Veloz had a point, unfortunately.  Maybe the fact that only two
people actually *had* attacked him, out of all the people that
wanted to, meant that they were the only two who thought they could
get away with it.  And if they *did* get away with it, it would be
open season on Q.  Q swallowed hard.  "I want two people protecting
me the whole time I'm with suspects," he announced.

"Logical," T'Meth said.  "We will both be with you."

****

The interviews were conducted in a meeting room, far from the
security offices, to minimize the chance that officers who hadn't
been questioned would overhear the interrogation and figure out
what was going on.  All of Security would be questioned first, as
T'Meth considered them more likely suspects than Engineering or
Systems personnel.

In one sense the plan worked well.  T'Meth and Veloz sat at either
end of the room, silent and mostly unmoving, not drawing attention
to themselves, while Q paced in the center, presenting an image of
total control as he made vicious accusations against each suspect. 
He impugned their intelligence, belittled their skill and cast
aspersions on their loyalty to Starfleet.  The object was to get
them angry enough to shout at him, and that he did.  Through
judicious use of body language, intrusions into personal space, and
a bit of shouting on his part, he managed to make most of them
defensive and angry, and could then tell from the voices whether
they should be on the short short list or not.  As far as doing
what it was intended to do, it worked beautifully.

In other senses, it was a bad idea.  Q's stomach had turned to a
lump of knotted wood, more tense than animal tissue could bear, and
between suspects he kept having to down anti-nausea agents. 
Standing up in front of people who might have tried to kill him and
deliberately provoking them to anger took more courage than he'd
thought he had.  It was easier when he was actually doing it -- he
could take the fear and the tension and focus them outward, against
the suspect he was questioning.  He was sick with fear but also
high on adrenaline, momentum carrying him through.  In between
suspects, however, he came dangerously close to collapsing, closer
and closer each time.  He couldn't do this.  It was impossible.  He
couldn't face one more angry Security officer.  And then the next
one came in, and the need to act took over, his lifelong
performance skills controlling him, making his mouth and body move
as if his physical form were a puppet he was manipulating, a small
homunculus cowering in terror up in the top corner of his brain as
he pulled the strings that made the body dance.

The fourteenth man he interrogated was a Lt. Blevins, who seemed to
be on the verge of breaking, but had so far successfully repressed
his rage.  Repressed rage was not the goal.  Q needed Blevins to
express it.  So after calling Blevins a monkey didn't work, and
accusing him of conspiring against the interests of the Federation
didn't work, and various and sundry other insults that had gotten
the others to snap at him didn't work, Q felt stymied.  Blevins was
staring at him in silence, fists clenched and jaw clamped shut, a
muscular tic twitching in his face.  He just needed a little push. 
Something truly evil.

"I don't understand what you all were so upset for anyway," Q said
with flippant coldness, watching Blevins carefully.  "You *must* be
aware that it's Security's job to be expendable.  Your lives are
basically debased coinage -- just warm bodies to throw into the
line of fire, no minds of value to speak of.  After all, there's
plenty more where you came from, right?  Stupidity *does* tend to
breed in droves.  No doubt somewhere there's an entire litter of
people like you, the next generation of cannon fodder."  That sort
of comment usually got them.  But Blevins was still clenched,
silent.  "Ohmura was only a Security officer after all -- it's not
as if an *important* person died.  Probably the most valuable
contribution he made to the universe was in dying to save my li--"

Blevins snapped.  He lunged at Q so quickly that even though Q had
been watching, gauging his response, he hadn't seen it coming.  Q
screamed as Blevins knocked him to the floor, hands on Q's throat,
squeezing.  "You fucking *bastard*, we should have *killed* you!"
Blevins snarled, slamming Q's head against the floor.

And then Veloz and T'Meth were on Blevins, dragging him off.  "Let
me go!  He deserves to die, the fucking bastard, you heard what he
said about the Commander..."

"You have the right to remain silent," T'Meth said.  "You have the
right to legal counsel..." It was actually taking an effort for her
and Veloz to wrestle Blevins back, despite Vulcan strength.

"We should have finished it!  Goddamn him, he killed Commander
Ohmura and he's *not* even fucking *sorry!*  He deserves to die!"

T'Meth nerve-pinched Blevins, and he fell in a heap.

"I'll get him to the brig.  Veloz, stay with Q."

Q got to his knees slowly, sick and dizzy.  His whole body hurt,
most especially his throat and the back of his head, and he was
shaking, light-headed and nauseous from terror.  If the attack
itself hadn't triggered flashbacks, the man's voice would have.  It
was unmistakably one of the two that had brutalized him.  And even
though Blevins had been dragged off, Q couldn't make himself
believe he was safe.

"You... didn't mean any of that, did you?" Veloz asked hesitantly. 
"About Security, and Commander Ohmura.  You were just trying to
make him mad."

Q looked up at Veloz with an expression of pure contempt on his
face.  What an unutterably stupid question.  He was going to say
something cruel and witty in response, but his body betrayed him. 
The nausea overwhelmed him, and Q doubled over, fighting it, but it
was too long denied.  With a sick sense of humiliation, Q found
himself vomiting, emptying his guts on the floor despite all the
medication he'd taken.

"Hey! Are you all right?  Do you need me to call Sickbay?"

Li would assume it was just a normal human thing that Q was whining
about to get attention.  "No Sickbay," Q said thickly.  "I'm fine. 
I just need -- need to--"

He threw up again, dry retching, his body unconvinced that it had
finished purging itself.  Q felt the guard's hand on his shoulder,
felt Veloz kneeling next to him, and stiffened in fear.  But the
touch was gentle, unthreatening.

"Let me help you get to the bathroom.  You need help."

"No Sickbay," Q gasped through dry heaves.

"No Sickbay," Veloz promised.  "We'll just get you cleaned up. 
Okay?"

And as if the humiliation of vomiting in front of a stranger wasn't
enough, Q found the small kindness more than he could bear, and
began to sob as the heaves left him, all defenses crumbling in the
aftermath of such fear.  He had to get up, get cleaned up, stop
crying, but he couldn't, none of it.

"Oh, hey, hey, it's all right.  You're safe.  We got him." 
Awkwardly Veloz patted Q's shoulder, as if having no idea how to
give any more comfort than that, though even that was too much.  "I
guess you *didn't* mean it, did you.  Saying those horrible things
must have made you sick."

Too far gone to hear the facetious tone, Q decided that was the
stupidest thing he'd ever heard, and he wanted to point out that
Veloz was totally wrong, that saying horrible things was Q's stock
in trade and he was certainly not weak enough to vomit, let along
cry, because he'd had to say something offensive.  But he was
crying too hard to speak.  Too weak to move, too weak to stop, too
racked with sobs to protest, Q could only kneel there in a puddle
of his own vomit and sob brokenly as Veloz gave what awkward
comfort it was possible for a member of Security to give.

Veloz helped him up before the sobs had abated.  "Let's get you
cleaned up.  T'Meth doesn't need to see this."

The comment perversely reassured Q.  It meant Veloz thought that
his crying was disgusting and humiliating, of course, but then Q
had already known that, and didn't care so much if someone else
knew it too.  But the statement that T'Meth didn't need to see this
meant that Veloz wouldn't tell anyone, that this would be kept a
secret.  It was not that Q feared T'Meth seeing him like this, not
much anyway; he knew from the incident with Amy Frasier that she
would keep her mouth shut.  She and Ohmura had both proven that,
that day... At that thought an unexpected wave of grief hit him. 
He had never asked Ohmura to die for him.  He had never wanted
that.

"Do you need any help?"

Q pulled away angrily.  How helpless did Veloz think he was? 
"Spare me your worthless pity," he snapped through the last of the
sobs, and was gratified to see the shocked look on Veloz' face. 
Maybe now the guard would stop trying to play kindly babysitter. 
He stalked into the bathroom to get cleaned up.

Several glasses of water stopped the sobbing and quieted his
stomach slightly, though they couldn't quite wash the awful taste
out of his mouth.  He couldn't get cleaned up enough to meet his
own standards, was incapable of doing so with the resources he had
here.  His own clothes were a total loss; the vomit stains would
never come out, and he was sure that the smell of fear would linger
in the cloth forever.  But the best clothes the replicator had to
offer would still be completely unacceptable if he had a choice,
inferior to anything he owned in color, style and fit.  He could
get his cosmetics out of the replicator without difficulty, since
that was how he generally got them in the first place, but his
hands trembled and kept smearing the makeup, and he couldn't seem
to get rid of the red in his eyes, or the helpless, shocked look. 
Despite the makeover, he imagined he could still smell the sour
tang of vomit about him, could still see his trembling hands, his
tearstained face.

But this wouldn't do at all.  He had to pretend nothing was wrong. 
If he focused on the legion of imperfections in his appearance, he
would break down again, and that was totally unacceptable.  So he
took a deep breath and drank another glass of water.  When he
emerged, he was still weak and shaky, but in much better control of
himself.

Veloz was waiting for him as he emerged from the bathroom.  The
guard was wearing an odd expression.  There was no reason to
dislike Q, indeed Veloz felt a certain amount of pity for Q,
despite the evil things he'd said and the kind of person he was. 
Enough pity to want to help him, and enough lingering anger and
doubt over the ring of truth in Q's voice when he'd condemned
Security and dismissed Ohmura's death as meaningless to want to
twist the knife.  "Do you know why everyone hates you?"

And he had almost begun to trust this creature.  Fear built up in
him, fear that Veloz would turn on him too despite T'Meth's
assurances and the seeming kindness displayed earlier.  "As I
understand it, the general consensus is that I murdered poor dear
Commander Ohmura by having the temerity to have assassins come
after me."

"That's not it.  Everyone hated you before the Commander died, or
they wouldn't be blaming you now."

This was not entirely news.  "Then it's undoubtedly my charming
personality and winning ways," he said bitterly.

"No, we've dealt with obnoxious people too.  The problem is that
you treat us like dirt.  When we're risking our lives to save
yours, you act like we're scum and we're wasting your time."  This
was said in a calm, reasonable voice, not the vicious animalistic
snarling of his tormentors, but the content of the words made Q
tremble inside nonetheless.  "It would be different if you were
some sheltered diplomat who has no idea he could get hurt.  But
we've saved your life over a dozen times.  At least four of those
times, you were in immediate danger of dying when we rescued you,
and you knew it.  So you know how important we are to you, you know
how much you owe us, and you *still* treat us like dirt.  Which
means you're either the most ungrateful being in the universe, or
you would really rather be dead."

Q swallowed, backing away from the security guard, finding a wall
behind him and not feeling reassured by that.  "How enlightening. 
I'll keep it in mind."

"I'm not going to hurt you," Veloz said disgustedly.  "You can stop
trying to run away."

The comment shocked Q.  Had he been that transparent?  He stiffened
with affronted dignity.  "I'm not *frightened* of you, I assure
you.  Merely bored."

"You should listen to me anyway," Veloz said.  "People are just
people, and if they think they're risking their lives for someone
who thinks they're dirt, they won't do nearly as good a job.  You
should try being nice to Security for a change; if you hadn't
treated us all like we were out to get you from day one, no one
probably *would* be now."

"I'll send thank-you cards to the entire department," Q said
sarcastically.  "Now, I really *do* have some important work to
do."

He turned away, trying to make a dignified exit, an expression of
regal disdain on his face that collapsed as soon as his back was to
the guard.  Perhaps Veloz wouldn't hurt him; *some* few humans were
capable of transcending the limitations of the species and
overcoming their dislike for someone to behave professionally
toward him.  But Veloz had basically just admitted to hating Q,
because Q had apparently not groveled sufficiently with gratitude. 
There would be no more moments of gentleness, of comfort, not that
Q wanted that.  And Veloz had a point.  The rest of Security
probably felt the same way, and were far less capable of being
professional about it.  The incident with Ohmura had merely
catalyzed what they'd all been feeling anyway.

He wasn't safe.  He would never be safe as long as he was on this
starbase -- as long as he had to deal with humans at all.  And as
long as he himself was human, he would have to.  Despair welled up.

Could he really live this way for the rest of his life?

Stupid question.  Of course he could.  Because the only alternative
was death, and if he took *that* way out, well then he still would
have been putting up with this for what remained of his life,
wouldn't he?

Shaking, Q led the way out of the room, followed by Veloz.  For a
tiny moment, he felt relief, that in leaving the room he had left
its terrors behind.  And then a horrible realization struck him. 
There was still one of them on the loose, and T'Meth was inexorable
and merciless.  Despite being the perfect guard, she didn't seem to
particularly care about his mental health, only that he stayed
alive.  He could very well imagine T'Meth making him do this again.

He couldn't.  He couldn't go through that interrogation process
again.  His mind and body rebelled at the thought, nausea rising up
to choke him.  And yet, he didn't have a choice, wouldn't have a
choice.

Q savagely suppressed a sob.  He wouldn't cry here, not now.  He
wasn't so weak he'd just break down in public.

Not yet.

With a feeling of suspension and terror, Q remembered Blevins' face
changing as the guard attacked him.  It wasn't reassuring at all to
have a face to put with that twisted voice.  Instead, the new
stimuli only combined with the old.  He could hear the voices, hear
both of them screaming at him, feel himself going down, like he had
only moments before, and even with T'Meth and Veloz there, Q had
felt no more hope that he would be safe, that he would survive.

Even Veloz, the supposedly safe Security guard T'Meth had picked
for him doubted and despised him.  They all did.  None of them
believed him, any of them would be delighted to kill him for what
had happened to Ohmura, even though it hadn't been his fault.  Even
Veloz.

Q shied away from his escort, dark, momentary flashbacks of another
horrible night combining with the events of a few minutes past. 
They all wanted to kill him, and there was no safety anywhere,
would never be safety.

"Q!"

The voice caught him by surprise, and Q nearly backed into the wall
trying to get away before he realized who it belonged to and that
Veloz was regarding him with suppressed disdain.

Naomi came over to him, ignoring Veloz entirely.  Q's eyes were
haunted, and he looked horrible, worse than she'd seen him since
almost literally picking him off the floor, several days ago now. 
He'd needed her then, but afterwards almost thrown her out, and she
didn't know how he felt about her at all.  "Are you all right?"

Q wanted to run, wanted to not be there, to not be alive at all. 
There was only one person on the starbase he wanted to run into
less than Naomi.  And yet, something in him responded to her
presence, felt oddly comforted that she was there.  She was only a
tiny slip of a woman, she couldn't protect him, and yet he felt
like throwing himself on her mercy and begging her to keep him
safe.  A thoroughly ridiculous impulse.

And yet...  "You can stop pretending you care," Q said acidly,
having run through and discarded a dozen possible responses in
those brief seconds.  "I don't need your pity."

"Who said anything about that?" Naomi asked lightly, eyes worried. 
He looked very unhappy.  "Mind if I walk you back to your
quarters?"

He couldn't think of anything better.  A wave of relief washed
through him.  He didn't want to be left alone with anyone from
Security right now, no matter how confident with them T'Meth might
be.  After all, she was also from Security, and to Q's tired,
terrified mind, it was all the same.

"I can't stop you," he said, striving for a grand tone.

Naomi tucked her hand under his arm, not waiting for permission. 
He looked like he needed all the support he could get, as if he
might very well fall over without someone holding him up.

Q accepted it, a warm rush of comfort he didn't want to think about
too much coming from her touch.  Everything would be all right now.

Veloz escorted them back to Q's quarters, not quite sure what else
to do.  T'Meth hadn't left specific instructions on the subject of
guests, and given that Dr. Allen wasn't a member of Security and
had what amounted to a pre-existing relationship with Q, it seemed
safe to say that she wasn't a suspect in the current case.  Under
the circumstances, it seemed that the best thing to do was to allow
it, and notify T'Meth immediately.

When they reached his quarters, Naomi came inside with Q without
being asked.  He was too helpless for her to leave him, and
although she didn't know what was going on, she couldn't abandon
him like this.  It just wasn't in her nature.

Veloz took a post inside the room, going immediately to comm T'Meth
and inform her of their current location and Dr. Allen's presence.

Q didn't seem to notice, although he was aware of both of them.  He
didn't think Veloz would leave them alone; T'Meth certainly
wouldn't have, and although he deplored the loss of privacy, Q
couldn't say that was a bad thing.  Their paranoid behavior
outstripped his own, and gave him back a tiny feeling of safety, a
feeling which had been entirely taken away today.

A sob escaped his throat then, and Q looked at Naomi, eyes
horrified.  What was he doing?  Didn't he have any control at all?

Naomi pushed gently on his arm, steering him to the couch.  She
wasn't paying any attention to Veloz.  Q didn't seem any more
threatened by the guard's presence than he was by everything else,
and right now all she was concerned about was Q and what was making
him feel this way.

Q sat down, and she came to settle by his side, holding onto one of
his hands with both of hers, expression concerned and sympathetic.

Q glanced at her, and that was all it took to set off the storm of
tears again.  She was entirely too caring for him to be able to
deal with, and although he didn't want to cry, didn't want to show
any kind of weakness, he couldn't help himself.

Naomi reached for him, drawing him close to her, and Q didn't
resist, letting her hold his head against her.  "It's all right,"
she said soothingly.  "It'll be all right."

That was wrong, and Q knew it, but he couldn't form the words,
couldn't speak at all.  The only thing he could do was cry, cry and
cling to her as if she represented the only form of security in the
universe.  And she did.  There was safety with her, protection from
all the gibbering evils that pursued him, solace for the
unhappiness and discomfort he felt.  The door had been unlocked,
the homunculus unleashed and now he could vent all the terror and
violent disturbance he felt.

Veloz let them have their privacy, keeping well away from them. 
There was obviously no threat from Dr. Allen to Q, much the
opposite.  The opinion of Q which had begun to form back in the
interrogation room died in the face of that, and now Veloz was
completely confused.  One moment Q was being a sarcastic peacock,
strutting about arrogantly as if he owned this starbase, or being
brittle and touchy, rude to those who tried to help him, and it was
hard not to hate him when he was like that.  But just as he began
to seem like a total loss, he would do something that showed his
humanity, his vulnerability, like throwing up in the conference
room or crying in Dr. Allen's arms, here, and it was impossible to
keep hating him.  He was behaving as though Dr. Allen actually
meant something to him.

Veloz considered that in light of all the other facts.  Dr. Allen's
identity was well-known to all of Security.  Even if she hadn't
managed to call the commodore down on Braun -- not a bad thing in
and of itself -- Allen's probable relationship to Q was somewhat of
a running joke.  Something to laugh about and deride.  Only there
was nothing to laugh about now.  Veloz felt embarrassed to even be
in the same room with them, to be intruding on what was obviously
a very emotional moment for the both of them.

Q didn't even notice the guard.  It didn't seem to matter right
then.  The only thing that mattered was having Naomi there, and
knowing that she believed in him, that she would protect him, would
keep him safe.  It was a stupid thought, and in another frame of
mind, Q would have never accepted it as being even remotely true. 
But in the depths of his pain and humiliation, it seemed like the
only truth there was, and he clung to it.

Except she didn't know, couldn't know how horrible he really was. 
She would turn on him as they all had, if she heard about the
incident with Ohmura.  Q couldn't keep that thought from slipping
out, and it frightened him.  He needed this little island of
safety, needed the haven she'd been providing him since the first
moment he'd met her, bending over him in a dark hall.  The
wretched, eternal loneliness he had been feeling for so long had
come to a head for him back in that interrogation room and, in the
spasms and the sickness, all the boiling, horrible pain he felt had
been exposed.

He couldn't go on being so alone, couldn't bear it if she hated him
as they did, couldn't bear to be alive if this last person who
believed in him turned away.

It was a pathetic thought, and Q clutched onto Naomi's tunic even
tighter, unwilling to let go.

Soothingly, Naomi ran one hand through his hair, stroking it
softly, her other arm around him, holding him close.  She didn't
know what he needed or what was wrong, but the question of not
providing him with it never came to her mind.  He was hurting, and
that was all that mattered.

Q looked up through his tears, as if seeing her for the first time.

"I didn't mean to do it."

"Of course you didn't," Naomi said, reassuring him, tone absolutely
serious.

That didn't sound particularly convincing to Q's ears.  He knew
she'd hate him if she heard all the facts.  She wouldn't believe
him, no one ever had, or even cared.

But he *had* to tell her nonetheless.  It was suddenly very
important to Q that someone, anyone, that just one person believe
in him.  He couldn't survive without that.  And if anyone would,
she would.

"I wasn't frozen.  I never freeze."

Veloz's ears pricked up, listening.  The security guard had a very
good idea of what this conversation was about; anyone in Security
would.  There was only one occasion of note where Q had frozen and
done it in a dramatically damaging way.  The issue of what had gone
through his mind then had been debated repeatedly, with the
conclusion coming down to the obvious: Q was too arrogant to follow
the basic guidelines Security had laid down for him for his own
safety.  There was no question in Veloz's mind that this was the
truth.  Q had never even bothered to learn basic self defense; why
should he care about anything else that they'd try to teach him,
when, in his own words, there was so much expendable cannon fodder
to stand in the way of any attack?

But it was interesting, nonetheless, that Q would bring it up at
all, much less now.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Naomi asked gently, in a very
soft voice.

Q didn't pull away from her, his head still resting in the curve of
her shoulder, pillowed against her chest.  He held onto her
tightly, and stared at nothing in particular, taking comfort from
the sound of her heartbeat.

Haltingly, he began. "He said... he was going to kill me."  He
remembered that with painful clarity, as if it had been burnt into
his brain; remembered standing there, facing the gun.  But how
could he explain how he'd felt, when he didn't understand it
himself?  "He had a primitive Terran weapon in his hand, an antique
firearm, and..."  Q trailed off, unable to continue.  This wasn't
working.  She would never believe him.

"And you were frightened," Naomi prompted.  "There's nothing wrong
with that."

"No!  You don't understand..."  There was no help for it but to
plunge onward, muddling through.  "I wasn't frightened, I was... I
don't understand why.  It doesn't make any sense."

"What doesn't make any sense?" Naomi asked patiently.

"How I felt.  I *should* have been frightened.  But I wasn't.  It
was as if... he said it, and it was true.  As if it were my...
destiny."  Q was aware of how melodramatic he sounded, but there
was no other way to phrase it, no other way to understand it.  "I
didn't.. I didn't think to move, because it seemed like there was
no way to avoid it, and I didn't even want to.  It was... as if...
I was fulfilling something by standing there.  As if I were in a
play, and this had been in the script from the beginning.  I wasn't
afraid... if I *had* been, I would have ducked.  I'm not stupid."

"Of course you're not," Naomi said soothingly, still stroking his
hair.

A wave of self-hatred washed over him, and he clung to her more
tightly, hardly aware of doing so.  "But I *was*.  Why would I have
stood there, like a complete fool, if I wasn't?  Why wouldn't I
have realized I was in danger until -- until Ohmura--"  Another
flashback assailed him -- lying on the floor in a pool of blood and
gray matter with a broken human body on top of him, an empty shell
hollowed out by a single shot from a primitive weapon, knowing that
if the person who this empty thing had been hadn't interposed his
body between Q and the bullet, it would be Q himself who would be
gone, nothing remaining but a bleeding husk, like Ohmura was now...
The horror, the guilt of that, was almost more than he could bear. 
He choked back a sob.  "Ohmura was a fool," he strangled out.

"Why?"  Naomi knew part of the story, knew that Ohmura had been
killed trying to save Q.  It was obvious that Q felt very guilty
about it, and she couldn't bear to let him hold all this inside
where it was tearing at him.

"He shouldn't have tried to save me.  A phenomenal act of stupidity
on his part.  What sort of moron would get himself killed for *my*
sake?"

The sympathy Veloz had begun to feel fled in a moment of rage.  How
dare Q?  Had it never occurred to him that it was Security's *job*
to get killed for his sake?  That regardless of whether or not Q
thought it was a smart idea, it had been Ohmura's duty?  Ohmura had
made the supreme sacrifice for Q, and all Q could say was that
Ohmura was a moron.

Naomi fought a smile, Q's statement seeming inadvertently humorous
to her, then lost the feeling entirely in a rush of protective
anger as she realized how thoroughly Q meant it.  "You don't think
you deserved to live?"

"What does it matter what I think?" Q retorted hotly.  "Every goon
on this Starbase has already tried and convicted me.  Nobody else
thinks I deserved to live instead of Ohmura; why should I?"

She held him fiercely close to her, unable to think of anything to
say to that, wanting only to keep him from that horrible
self-loathing.

Her fervent embrace made Q feel a strange sense of security and
comfort that perversely brought the worst of the despairing,
roiling emotions to the surface.

"I didn't mean for him to get killed!"  The words burst forth in a
sudden torrent of pain.  "People keep getting killed for me --
n'Vala, Ohmura -- I didn't want that!  They all think I *wanted*
him to die, I didn't care, they've all decided I'm a monster who
goes about snickering and twirling my mustache as people drop like
flies around me, but I didn't want it!  I didn't mean for it to
happen!  I didn't..."  He sobbed hysterically, brokenly, the pain
raging through him too great to be borne.  Everyone hated him and
thought him a monster because people died for his sake, and maybe
he was.  Why did they keep throwing away their lives for him?  What
good was he to anyone?  He was completely incapable of being a
proper human, of fitting in with their pathetic little species, and
that made him even more pathetic, the former god who couldn't even
figure out how to act like a human, who couldn't keep himself from
being hated and despised by everyone.  If he hadn't been a
worthless Q, the Continuum wouldn't have rejected him, and he
certainly made a worthless human.  Why did people die for *his*
sake?  What was wrong with them?

Veloz turned away again, trying to pretend not to hear that, not to
hear any of that.  It was impossible to hate Q in the face of that
pain.  He had been a short-sighted fool who had gotten someone
Veloz respected killed, he had called Ohmura a fool for dying for
him, he had never shown any gratitude whatsoever to Security for
repeatedly saving his life... and yet he couldn't be entirely
despicable, even with that.  The pain and guilt in his voice were
unmistakable, and Veloz believed him.  He hadn't wanted Ohmura to
die, hadn't enjoyed it, was wracked with guilt over it.  It didn't
change the fact that he had been stupid enough to cause it to
happen, and for that Veloz could be angry at him, but couldn't hate
him.

Naomi held Q tightly, stroking him, murmuring soft reassurances as
he wept.  He was hurting so badly over this, not the cold-blooded
monster people portrayed him as at all.  Not that she had ever
thought such a thing of him, but now it was even harder for her to
understand how anyone else could.  She wanted to attack the
Security guards who had tormented him, to make them hurt as badly
as he was hurting, to make them see how much pain they were causing
to someone who didn't deserve it at all.

But she couldn't do that.  All she could do was give Q comfort,
interpose herself into his private nightmare and reassure him that
one person, at least, thought he deserved to live. 

****

It was a long time later before Q looked up and realized where he
was and what he was doing.  He was sprawled out along the couch,
lying against Naomi, who was propped up against an arm of the
couch, and stroking his hair.  He was holding onto her fiercely,
and as soon as he noticed that, Q released her, embarrassed to be
found so weak.

"You all right?" Naomi asked, letting him pull away from her.

"Fine," Q said gruffly.  "I'm perfectly fine."

"If you're sure," Naomi said.  She followed him with her eyes as he
sat up.  When he made no move to leave the couch, she scooted
closer to him, holding onto his hand.

Q didn't resist, couldn't resist.  He knew he should get up, should
throw her out and then go and restore his battered appearance, but
he couldn't.  There was something intensely comforting about having
her here, and he was afraid if he moved, she'd be gone and then
he'd be left with all the fears and terrors of the afternoon's
experience.  The emotional storm had left its afterimages on him
like a blast wave and he'd be horribly depressed even right now if
her presence wasn't holding the worst effects at bay.

He'd throw her out eventually, of course.  But just for now it
didn't seem so wrong to hold on to her, to try to keep what little
consolation he had.

****

T'Meth returned, coming to Q's quarters shortly after Q had
regained his composure but before he'd actually gotten up the
resolve to throw Naomi out.  She looked at Naomi.  "If Dr. Allen
would care to leave, we can resume."

Naomi looked between them.  "Am I interrupting something?"

Q paid no attention to Naomi, staring instead at T'Meth.  "Resume
*what?*"

"There is still another suspect to locate," T'Meth pointed out. 
"Blevins confessed to the assault but refused to name his
accomplice."

He couldn't do this.  There was no question.  Numb horror at the
thought of facing one more enraged guard, of pretending to be in
control while waiting for another murderous attack, froze Q where
he was.  He couldn't even make himself speak, to protest.  He had
a sudden urge to curl up against Naomi for comfort and suppressed
it savagely.  He couldn't do that.  But oh, god, he wanted to.

"There's no way," Veloz said.  "We'll have to make Blevins confess,
if necessary.  Or check out his alibi to see who it implicates.  Q
can't do any more of this."

Naomi nodded, hard-faced.  She didn't know what they were talking
about, but if it meant subjecting Q to more of whatever had made
him like this, she was against it.

Q stared at Veloz, startled.  It was true, he couldn't, but what
gave Veloz the right to interfere in Q's business?  He was capable
of defending himself.  Wasn't he?  And why should the guard even
care?  Given what had been said earlier, Q would have expected
Veloz to want to put him through more of it, to get some pleasure
out of seeing him go through hell.

"Why do you say that?' T'Meth asked.

Suddenly Q knew that Veloz would describe the entire humiliating
scene in the interrogation room, or worse, the way he'd broken down
and cried in Naomi's arms just now. He had to speak, to head that
off.  "I'm fine," he said harshly, even though it wasn't true at
all.  "I can do it."

Naomi opened her mouth to object to that, but before she could say
anything, Veloz was speaking.

"You think you can," Veloz said.  "But how objective are you?" The
junior officer turned to T'Meth.  "When people suffer a trauma like
that attack, they lose their objectivity.  Q's going to think
everyone's the man who did it now.  Or if he tries to compensate
for that, he might miss the real guy.  Besides, now that we have
Blevins we've got a better lead.  I don't know that we should
really be encouraging everyone to hate Q's guts more than they
already do if there's any other way to do it."

"Perhaps we can use the knowledge of Blevins' identity to narrow
down the suspect field, at least," T'Meth agreed.  "And if there is
only one person thus implicated, we'll have our man; if there are
two or three, Q might be able to identify his attacker by normal
voice from such a small pool."  She nodded once.  "Logical.  Very
well, then, Lieutenant.  If you would continue at this post, I'll
begin cross-checking."

T'Meth left.  Q looked hard at Veloz, disturbed.  He was glad he
wouldn't have to go through that again, of course, but the fact
that Veloz had defended him troubled him.  Veloz had seen him crack
completely, had seen him break down in the interrogation room and
again here in Naomi's arms, and was undoubtedly thinking of Q as
someone weak and pitiful, someone to be despised and treated like
a child who couldn't protect himself emotionally.  It was an
entirely unacceptable picture.

He had to get changed, put his armor back on.  He disappeared into
the bathroom to reconstruct his appearance, and emerged twenty
minutes later, his face transformed into a mask of control and
invulnerability.

Naomi had felt somewhat uncomfortable sitting around in the room
with Q gone and the guard studiously ignoring her.  She didn't want
to simply leave without telling Q she was doing so, but she didn't
know what he was doing or why it was taking him so long.  And when
he came back out immaculately groomed, no evidence of pain or fear
or anything but disdainful boredom on his face, she decided she had
probably overstayed her welcome.  Q didn't need her anymore.  She
stood up.

"Thank you for having me over," Naomi said.  "But I'd probably
better get going, unless you'd rather I stayed?"

"That's quite all right," Q said grandly, glad that she had given
him an opening to get rid of her.  He had shown entirely too many
vulnerabilities to her for his taste.  "You can go on and scurry
back to whatever tedious little things you do with your life."

Veloz shot him a look.  But Naomi wasn't offended in the slightest,
feeling instead reassured by his manner and the restored good humor
of his words.  Q really was all right.  Naomi grinned.  "I'll try
to bear up under the boredom."

As she left, Veloz caught a momentary look of loss on Q's face, as
if he were not nearly so unconcerned about Dr. Allen's departure as
he pretended to be.  Wasn't *anything* about this man's reactions
straightforward?

Veloz shrugged, finally deciding that there was no point trying to
figure Q out.  Whether he was a total bastard, a tortured soul, or
both, ought to be irrelevant to Security.

****

Q was still awake, in his room reading, when the shift change
occurred, and Koratagere and Sev came to replace Veloz.  In his
room he could hear the conversation.  "And what *was* up with those
interrogations today?" Koratagere asked.  "The entire department's
talking about how you and T'Meth stood there and let Q shred people
to pieces."

"T'Meth didn't say anything?" Veloz asked, sounding startled.

"T'Meth cannot be bothered with anything so tedious as the opinions
of her co-workers," Sev said dryly.

The other two laughed.  Then Veloz said, "It was part of a plan,
actually.  Q couldn't identify his attackers' voices when they were
speaking calmly, so I figured if he got them mad, he'd recognize
them."

"Well, someone should have debriefed the department," Koratagere
said.  "Even the people who thought Q *didn't* deserve to get
beaten up think he's a complete jerk now.  There's a lot of
sympathy for Blevins."

Veloz was disbelieving.  "How, exactly, can anyone sympathize with
Blevins?  The man's an idiot and he broke his Starfleet oath.  Just
because Q is a complete jerk is no excuse to beat him up."

"Hey, I didn't say I *agreed* with them.  Just telling you what I
hear.  The general feeling is that Q could provoke anyone into
attacking him."

Veloz sighed.  "I guess I'd better try to debrief people before I
go off-shift, then.  I can't believe T'Meth didn't do it."

"It's not logical that people should be angry," Sev said. 
"Therefore they're not angry.  We all know that logic is the
perfect way to examine the universe, after all."

"How long has she been in Starfleet?  Thirty years?"

"You know Vulcans," Koratagere said.

"I don't think your attempts to debrief people will help much," Sev
added,.  "People are not very fond of you or T'Meth at the moment,
either."

"This just gets better.  Are you two on the shit list for working
with us?"

"Not yet," Koratagere said.

"Give it time," Sev said.

Veloz sighed.  "There are days when I wonder why I ever went into
Security."

"Everyone wonders that," Koratagere said.

"Really?  It seems like most people are pretty confident that they
belong--"

"No, I mean everyone wonders why *you* went into it, Veloz."  There
was a grin in the man's voice.

"Ha ha ha.  I'm going to try some damage control, at least.  Try
not to keep Himself awake; you'll never hear the end of it."

"That would probably require that Kort keep his mouth shut," Sev
said.  "I doubt that's biologically possible."

Q turned on music so he wouldn't have to hear the rest of the
conversation, and so that the chatting guards couldn't hear him. 
He didn't want to know any more.  The fact that Security itself had
turned on those of its own who had allied with him didn't surprise
him, nor that Veloz's brilliant plan today had made matters even
worse for him, but it scared him nonetheless.  Humans had a
distressing habit of changing alliances to win their friends'
approval.  T'Meth might have certified Koratagere and Sev as safe
earlier, but if the rest of Security started making *their* lives
hell, how long before they, and Veloz, switched sides again?

He thought of calling Naomi back, but dismissed the notion.  It was
far too humiliating that he had sobbed in her arms, that he had
said stupid, idiotic things about Ohmura deserving to live more
than him, as if he'd actually come to believe the morons tormenting
him.  He couldn't leave himself open to that kind of humiliation
again.  Besides, he hadn't forgotten what Naomi really wanted, the
sordid motives that drove her.  He remembered Harry, and Amy, and
*knew* what would happen if he let himself be entangled with a
human that way -- nothing but pain and humiliation.  No, he would
bear this himself.

At least until he knew for sure if they'd switched sides or not.

****

T'Meth came to get him the next morning, before he'd gotten fully
dressed and ready to run the gauntlet yet.  "We've identified three
high-likelihood suspects for Blevins' accomplice."

"Wonderful.  I'm happy for you."  He turned back to adjusting his
collar.

"You misunderstand.  Your assistance is required to identify which
of the three we should charge."

Q stiffened, the fear from yesterday welling up again.  He could
*not* go through that again.  Not for three men, not for anyone. 
"Do you really need me to hold your hand *every* step of the way?"
he drawled.  "Really, T'Meth.  I thought you were competent."

"None of the suspects has an alibi of his own, and all have
corroborated Lt. Blevins' alibi.  Ensign Michaelmas originally
claimed that he was with Blevins; he has now reneged on that alibi,
and confessed to lying, claiming that he was with his roommate,
Ensign Guy.  Guy originally stated that he encountered Blevins and
Michaelmas on patrol during the time period that you were injured;
he now claims that he and Michaelmas were playing poker with Guy's
partner, Ensign Kimmelman.  Kimmelman's story has also changed to
match Guy's.  All of them will be charged with lying to a superior
officer, disobedience, absence from their posts, and obstructing
justice.  One of them, however, should also be charged with assault
and battery."

"What about attempt to murder?"

"It is unclear whether they in fact intended to murder you."

He turned on T'Meth.  "What, are you deaf?  Did you completely miss
what Blevins said yesterday while he was strangling me?  Didn't you
hear him ranting about how he should have finished it?  What
*exactly* do you suppose that means?"

"If they had intended your death, you would be dead," T'Meth said
severely.  "It has not yet been decided whether or not to charge
them with attempted murder, as any serious attempt on their part
would certainly have been successful."

"They wanted me to die slowly, in agony," Q snapped.  "Do you
honestly think I would have survived if Naomi hadn't found me?"

"Your com badge was still in the area, where you could
theoretically have reached it and called for help before losing
consciousness.  If they had wished to ensure that you were not
rescued, they'd have removed the com badge.  Speculation is
fruitless in any case, as it has not been decided what to charge
them with."

"I want them charged with attempted murder!"  The idea that Blevins
might get a lesser sentence than that, that he might escape
punishment, twisted Q's stomach with rage.  "They tried to *kill*
me and I *will* see them charged for it!"

"Then you run the risk of letting them go free," T'Meth said. 
"Blevins has already confessed to assaulting you.  His conviction
is assured.  If you charge him with attempted murder, though, he
can claim that he did not intend to or attempt to cause your death,
and he may be found innocent of that charge."

"He's not innocent," Q said tightly.  "He wanted me dead.  I was
there."

"I am not disputing your testimony.  But if you cannot prove your
allegations, Blevins might receive a comparatively light sentence. 
Think about it.  In the meantime, we still need to identify
Blevins' accomplice."

"No.  I'm not doing what I did yesterday over again.  It's *your*
job to find who did it, not--"

"You would not be required to do what you did yesterday," T'Meth
interrupted.  "Given that our suspect pool has been narrowed to
three, you might be able to identify the perpetrator's voice
directly."

"Oh." Q considered.  He was willing to do that.  "Well, if you're
planning on being reasonable about it, I suppose I could do that." 
A frightening thought struck him.  "Do I have to go to the Security
offices today?"

"Today I have received permission from Commodore Anderson to play
the recordings from here."  She led him out to his living room,
where she had linked a tricorder into his console.  "Watch and
listen."

Halfway through the second suspect's interrogation, he knew it. 
"It's him."

"Ensign Michaelmas.  Blevins' partner."  T'Meth studied the
readouts.  "Are you entirely certain?"

"Yes."  The voice was nervous, trying to remain calm, nothing like
the voice that had shouted at him.  But the man was lying.  Q could
see it all over him.  He had spent far too many centuries as a god
of mistruths and trickery not to know a lie when he saw one.  And
that itself wouldn't prove it -- the first suspect was lying, too,
claiming an alibi for Michaelmas where none existed -- but it was
the wrong kind of lie.  The first man was covering to protect
someone else, and no longer had anything to lose himself, having
already been caught in one lie.  The second suspect was nervous,
and guilty, and terrified.  And with those things as clues, Q was
able to transform the man's voice in his head, to hear the
connections between Michaelmas' nervous lies and the voice that had
snarled at him to shut up when he'd begged for mercy.  They were
the same.

"Listen to the third in any case,"  T'Meth said.  "It would be wise
to be certain."

So he listened to the third, but the man's voice was all wrong, a
deep bass grumbling that could never have turned into the
high-pitched snarl Q remembered.  "No.  It's Michaelmas.  The other
two are all wrong."

"Michaelmas was the most likely suspect in any case," T'Meth said,
nodding.  She touched her com badge.  "T'Meth to Lt. Braun."

"Braun here."

"Q has pointed to Michaelmas as his second assailant, sir.  He is
quite certain.  Please coordinate with Commodore Anderson as to the
charges."

"I'll do that, Lieutenant." Braun did not sound remotely
interested.  But then, why would he be?  He would probably have
been just as glad if the culprits were never found.

"He certainly seems enthusiastic," Q grumbled.

T'Meth turned back to him.  "I believe you have a meeting today. 
Are you prepared?"

"As much so as I ever am," Q sighed.  Even with T'Meth, he didn't
want to face the protestors again.

Sev met them on route, to provide T'Meth with backup in case the
protestors got unpleasant again.  But they were relatively subdued.

Perhaps T'Meth's performance two days ago had scared them into
shutting up; they were there, but they made no attempt to accost Q
or speak to him, and for that he was enormously relieved.  Perhaps
finally everything was coming back to normal and he would be safe.
     
The court-martial was three days later.

Q had looked forward to it greatly, expecting it to be a kind of
catharsis, as well as the only revenge he'd get.  The charges were,
in fact, set at attempted murder; while Anderson wasn't fond of Q,
the notion that Starfleet officers could betray their trust in this
fashion disgusted her, and she intended to throw the book at them. 
And Q was vindictive enough to plan to take great glee in seeing
his attackers go down.

But it wasn't what he expected, what he'd hoped for.  It wasn't
enough.  For one thing, he himself was allowed to give testimony
only briefly.  The proceedings were kept cold and businesslike, and
the men themselves looked detached, as if they barely cared what
was happening.  He had wanted to see fear, shock, pain on their
faces.  Instead he saw emptiness, masking them as effectively as
they'd been that night.

Blevins pleaded guilty to assault and battery but not guilty to
attempted murder, as T'Meth had warned.  Both Li and Naomi were
asked to take the stand for the prosecution, confirming that Q
would have died without medical treatment, and that his injuries
were such that he probably could not have reached his combadge in
time.  Q dreaded hearing what Naomi would say about his condition
and the humiliating way he had cowered away from her, but she stuck
strictly to the pertinent facts.  Before and after she took the
stand, she flashed him a few comforting smiles, which were a little
bit of reassurance, if for no better reason than he knew that at
least one person in the courtroom was rooting for him.  But her
seat in the courtroom was far behind his, and he would not
embarrass himself by turning around to look for her.

Q himself desperately wanted to take the stand.  He couldn't make
himself speak of the way Blevins had slammed his fist into him as
Michaelmas held him up, battering Q over and over until he was too
weak even to beg anymore, could only moan with pain and terror,
knowing he was dying.  But he could have spoken of the way Blevins
attacked him in the interrogation room, of some of the things
Blevins had said that night.  He could have made them see what a
monster this creature was.  But the prosecution had apparently
decided there was enough evidence presented, and they moved on to
Michaelmas without letting Q testify at all.

Michaelmas' plea was not guilty, claiming that he hadn't been
involved in the attack at all.  This time Q was called on to
testify.  But he wasn't allowed to be theatrical, he wasn't allowed
to embellish; he was ordered to answer the questions and nothing
but the questions and every time he tried to add in a useful piece
of information, he was told to be quiet or risk being found in
contempt of court.  And all they asked him was how he had
identified Michaelmas, what made him think this particular man had
attacked him.

The court-martials were short, sharp and to the point.  Within
three hours, both Blevins and Michaelmas were charged with
conspiracy to commit murder, attempted murder, and a host of other
lesser crimes.  They were drummed out of Starfleet and sentenced to
twenty years in a penal colony.  Q was outraged -- they had tried
to kill him.  They should be locked up for life!  But his protest
to the prosecuting attorney was futile.

He didn't feel catharsis.  He didn't feel vindicated.  The whole
experience left him frustrated, angry and drained, as if he'd been
wrestling with an insoluble problem for days and was now told it
could not be solved just as he'd been on the verge of a
breakthrough.  And then came the final straw.

As he left the courtroom, two guards he didn't know came up to him.

Q flinched.  "What are you doing here?  Where's T'Meth?"

"We've been assigned to guard you," the first guard said.

"No, you're not.  T'Meth's supposed to guard me.  Or one of her
handpicked lackeys.  Where *is* she?"  He scanned the departing
crowd, looking for her.

"Signing off on the papers for Blevins and Michaelmas.  She's been
relieved of the case."

"I want to talk to her.  Now."

Down in the Security offices, T'Meth was sharp with him.  "The
danger to you from Security is ended.  There is no need for
specific people to remain assigned to you."

"What do you mean, the danger is ended?"

"The perpetrators have been caught--"

"And you seriously think they're the only ones that wanted me
dead?" There was an edge of hysteria in his voice.  He had just
barely started feeling safe again.  She couldn't take that away
from him.  "This entire *department* wants me dead, T'Meth!"

"I have seen no evidence that that is the case."

"Then you're not *looking*!  Haven't you seen the way people stare
at me?"  Part of his mind remained aware that he was making a
scene, in the Security offices, revealing his weaknesses and fears
to the people who would most want to use them against him, and was
horrified.  But the rest of him didn't care, too caught up in his
fear and outrage to pay attention to that tiny little voice of
reason.  "The way they talk about me?  They want me dead!"

"They dislike you.  This is true.  But it is a far, far gap from
disliking you to actually plotting to kill you.  Blevins and
Michaelmas were obviously unstable; no one else is likely to
violate their Starfleet oath in such a fashion."

"How do you know?  Blevins and Michaelmas were willing, why not
other people?"

"Blevins and Michaelmas were an aberration.  Q, you are being
illogical."  From a Vulcan, that was the ultimate put-down.  "I
will not act as your personal bodyguard without direct orders to do
so from Commodore Anderson, now that the threat to you is past."

"I'm *not* being illogical.  You're being short-sighted and
stupid."

"This discussion is over.  I have work to do."

"I'm going to Commodore Anderson with this."

"Do so.  I would be interested to hear what she would have to say."

Anderson was even more blunt.  "T'Meth is not going to feed your
paranoid fantasies anymore, Q," she said sharply.  "She's been on
maximum rotation for several days, with very little sleep; I
wouldn't have asked it of her if she weren't Vulcan, but even
Vulcans need to sleep sometime.  T'Meth deserves a vacation.  Now,
we haven't ruled out the possibility that *someone* might be
inspired to commit a copycat crime, as unlikely as it seems. 
That's why the Security protection will continue.  But Security
itself is not going to attack you, and I can't keep treating the
entire department like it might."

"And then what?"  Q asked harshly, knowing he couldn't save this
one, that he was doomed, but desperately trying anyway.  "What
happens when they show their true colors, and I end up dead?"

"You're not going to end up dead.  Security is working in pairs
with you.  If you ended up dead, it would be a sure thing that the
team working with you had killed you, and they'd be drummed out of
Starfleet and sent to a penal colony like Blevins and Michaelmas
were.  No one wants that.  And no one would be stupid enough to
risk it."

"You're betting *my life* that *Security* wouldn't be *stupid*?" he
asked her incredulously.  "While you're at it, why don't you just
bet my life that you can find a Ferengi who gives to charity, too?"

"Get out of my office, Q.  You've had your say, and the answer is
'no.'"

Q swallowed.  "And what if I stop working for you?"

"I throw you in the brig.  You haven't got a leg to stand on
anymore."

She *might* be right; Security might not be shortsighted enough to
kill him when it would obviously point to them.  If he ended up in
the brig, though... an "accident" might happen, he thought, fear
and helpless rage souring his stomach.  He had to give in on this
one, and desperately hope that Anderson had assessed Security's
self-interest correctly.

Even though he was sure she was wrong.

****

In his quarters, he stripped off his fancy courtroom suit and
showered, trying to get rid of the smell of fear.  The guards had
tailed him very closely back to his room, and he'd been
half-convinced they would jump him the whole way.

He dressed in a pair of elegant pajamas, trying to console himself
with the pleasure of attractive clothes.  Not that it was likely to
work, but he'd try anything.  As he left the bathroom and entered
his bedroom, exhausted and longing for sleep, he saw a slip of
paper lying on his pillow.

"It should have been you."

The neat printing did nothing to conceal the venom behind the
words.  They were going to kill him!  This was their warning to
him, their opening shot.  They were playing with him, like a cat
with a mouse, batting him around before finally getting to the
point of finishing him off.

Or maybe they were hoping he'd do it himself.

He crumpled up the paper in his hand, the only thought in his mind
how to keep them from killing him right then.

But there was no way.  They had access to his room.  The note made
that painfully clear.  Q threw it away, then broke down into
hysterical tears.  No one believed him.  No one cared.  Not even
T'Meth, not even Anderson, to whom he was supposedly a valuable
Federation resource.

Security was going to kill him and he couldn't stop them.

Q stayed awake for a long time after the tears finally stopped,
curled up in a ball in his bed, listening for the faintest of
sounds, for the first sign that they were coming after him. 
Finally, exhaustion overwhelmed even his own hyperactive mind.

****

Lights came on, and Q came awake in a heart-pounding rush. 
Surrounding his bed were more of the faceless Security guards, and
Q instinctively cowered away, convinced that they were here to kill
him at last.  This was it.  They were going to do, in the one place
he had hoped was safe, that he had foolishly believed to be his
own.

"Is everything all right?"  the bigger of the two security guards
asked.

Q's heart slammed.  Of *course* everything wasn't all right. 
"Nothing's wrong," he snapped, harshly, his voice on the edge of
cracking.  "Now get out!"

"Are you sure?  We heard you yell."

The other one grabbed the covers and yanked them back
unceremoniously, exposing Q completely.  He was trembling, and
wearing only a pair of light pajamas, and the humiliation of being
seen this way almost overpowered the fear.  "What are you *doing?*"

"Just checking.  You might be a shapechanger, hiding the real Q."

Since this had, in fact, happened once, it was a plausible story. 
Q didn't believe it for a second.  The big one got on his hands and
knees and peered under the bed.  "All clear here."

"This is absurd!  I didn't call you!"

"Hey, we heard you scream.  Are you calling us liars?"  The other
one loomed over him.

He wanted to make a retort to that one, something cutting, and
cruel, and richly deserved.  But he couldn't.  His mouth was frozen
with terror.  If he said something, anything they didn't like, they
might kill him.  They might anyway.

The larger security guard returned from inspecting the closets. 
"Nothing so far."  He was grinning broadly.  If Q had actually
needed proof that they were doing this to torment him, that would
have served.

"Guess it was a false alarm, then."  He looked at Q with a smarmy
expression of mock-concern.  "Poor baby have bad dreams?"

Q swallowed.  "You've done your job.  Get out."

"Not so fast," the smaller one said, leaning over the bed.  Q
flattened back against the bed, terrified, hands moving
instinctively to protect stomach and face.  "You know, you have
some nerve," the man hissed.  "Everyone in the galaxy wants to kill
you, and here *we* are, standing in the line of fire, throwing
*our* lives away for you.  And you treat us like crap."

The menace in the man's voice was unmistakable.  Q cowered back
further, but there was nowhere he could go.

"He does.  He thinks everyone's beneath him.  He doesn't care *how*
many pitiful little human lives get thrown away for him, just so
long as *his* precious, superior skin is safe."

The big one walked around the bed, and the second one made as if to
leave, and Q felt a tiny second of relief.  But then the smaller
one turned back, lingering by the bed for a moment.

"Don't scream unless there's *really* something wrong.  You know
what happened to the boy who cried 'Wolf'."

They snickered and left the room.

The lights were all still on, and Q was still lying there, pressed
flat against the bed.  He didn't realize for a long moment that he
was subvocalizing, repeating over and over under his breath, "Don't
kill me, please don't kill me."

With a horrible sense of falling and destruction, Q savagely tore
his mind off of the litany.  It didn't do him any good before and
it wouldn't do him any good now.

But it didn't matter.  They'd accomplished their purpose.  No
amount of exhaustion could force him into trusting sleep now.  Not
when they could come back in at any moment, and this time, not stop
at a warning.

****

Q stalked back to his quarters.  He'd torn apart everyone who'd
come to see him today, reducing one woman to tears.  He didn't
care.  He'd even taken a certain savage satisfaction in the sight. 
If he were suffering, then everyone else deserved to suffer as
well.

The guards who'd been shadowing him stopped him as he was about to
go through the door. "Aren't you going to invite us in?"

Q looked at them.  "No."

The taller guard leaned over, his very posture menacing.  "That's
not very gracious of you. We put our lives on the line for you
every day, good people have died for you, and you can't even be
courteous enough to invite us in."

Q held very still.  This was it then.  They were going to kill him
now.  For a brief moment he was in that dark corridor again, lying
on the floor, hearing his tormentors screaming at him, "Ohmura
*died* for you, you worthless sack of shit!" as they punched and
kicked at him over and over again.  Part of him wanted to beg for
mercy now, while a small voice just wanted this over with, and him
dead if that was the end.

But he couldn't.  With all the dignity he had left, Q said, "Do
what you want.  I can't stop you."

He entered his quarters, feeling them following him.  Maintaining
an easy stride, trying not to show how terrified he was, Q fled
into his own room, hoping to put this off for as long as he could.

They didn't follow him into the bedroom, and Q almost cried with
relief then.  But he couldn't.  This didn't mean he was s