Half-True Q
Title: Half-True Q
Word Count: ~1160
Rating: K? K+? nothing offensive in it that I can see
Notes: For the cliche_bingo square reading "Freestyle Crossover". Spoilers for "A Night with Mr Yang" and the Voyager episodes involving Q. It might help you understand what is going on if you scroll down Corbin Bernsen's IMdB page to 1990 and see what he did there.
Henry pulls back from the kiss and stares at his ex-wife. He can't quite read the look on her face, but he doesn't think Maddie's thinking the same thing he is. She's probably thinking that it's time to back away again, time to remind herself why they divorced, not time to remind herself why they married. Shawn popping up is a useful distraction, but not the one that catches Henry's attention. He lets them slip into their familiar conversations and walks off to shake hands with an old friend in the department.
That's the appearance of things.
What it actually is, is that Henry's had a rough night of it, and he's not thinking clearly, and he's forgetting how this human love works. He's allowed to express affection in words, but not in actions; the words obscure the meaning, allow her to glance at it sideways and see it the way she wants. Actions are much harder to misconstrue, and she's trying to think of the best way to do that when their son appears at just the right time. One of Shawn's talents that Henry has always thought is purely human.
A second before their conversation gives him an opening to leave, he feels a very familiar presence in the back of his mind, scratching at a part of himself he hasn't let himself look at for months. It doesn't take him long to connect the presence with a white-haired man standing next to one of the cars parked haphazardly around the drive-in. He doesn't recognize the face, but that doesn't mean anything when it comes to Q.
When it comes to any Q, to be exact.
He walks over, shakes Q's hand, mutters what are you wearing, you look ridiculous, and glances at Maddie and Shawn reflexively.
Q smiles, slaps him on the back, and leads him off, throwing his voice so that Henry hears oh, like you have any room to talk coming over his shoulder.
The moment they're out of sight, Q flashes brightly. Henry lowers his hand from his eyes and blinks once, only to confirm what he'd already guessed--Q's changed into his favorite body again. He's so vain for a normally non-corporeal being.
"What do you want, Q?"
Q wrinkles his nose. "You've gotten so rude lately, Q. It makes me wonder if loss of hair in humans can be tied to increased impatience."
"It's not being rude," Henry explains tiredly, as he sits down, "it's being straightforward. You check in once a year, every year, on Shawn's birthday. Something must be up in the Continuum, if you're making a special visit."
Q opens his mouth to speak but shuts it. Opens it again, almost shuts it, then reluctantly says, "Not exactly."
Henry waits expectantly, his head tilted at just the right angle to be annoying about it. Q rolls his eyes at him before sprawling across the rest of the bench.
"I'm...worried."
"Worried? You?" His scoff is almost laughter; the last thing Q ever used to be was worried.
"I know, it sounds impossible, but what can I say? Fatherhood changed me."
Henry looks at Q (not with-his-eyes looking, but Q-looking, as best he can with his limited senses) seriously for the first time this night, and his annoyance fades. Whatever he remembers about Q back in the day, he is different now. He forgets, sometimes, why either of them thought fatherhood was necessary. "I guess it has. How long has it been for you?"
"A few thousand years."
Henry hums to himself, contemplating the time. It used to be that five thousand years flew by like that for him, but something about having an actual body makes time go so much slower. Seem so much slower. "So, you're worried. What about?"
"Ah--you, actually."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. You took this on willingly, but..."
"But you have such terrible memories of being human that you don't know how I can stand it?"
"No. Well, yes, I really don't know how you can stand it, but Q and Q did, so it's certainly possible. But no, that's not why I'm worried." Q shifts, crosses his legs, sits up, leans back, and eventually settles on spreading his arms across the back of the bench. He stares up at the cloudy sky, which for a moment clears to reveal twinkling stars (which for an even shorter moment clears to reveal not-twinkling stars, but Q lets the vacuum fall apart after a moment). "This would be much easier if you were properly Q, you know," Q says, still looking at the stars. "I could just feel my concern and you'd know it."
"If I was properly Q, I couldn't do this for you." Henry watches the clouds move back.
"So you did do this for me."
Q is looking at Henry now; he can feel it on his neck, his ear. The tingling sensation he associates with being watched. Henry sighs, sits up (his neck can't crane like that for as long as it used to), meets Q's gaze. "I did. Originally."
"But...?"
"But then I went and had the kid I intended to have, and now I'm doing it for him." He looks off toward the theater, where he knows Shawn is. He's probably setting up another screening of the movie for his date, because the first screening was interrupted by a serial killer holding his mother hostage so he'd sit and chat with her. Either one of them could have died. If Maddie had died, Shawn might as well have. If Shawn had--
"We did an awful thing to Q and Q, to make them choose."
Q watches him for a moment, then nods and looks away. "We did."
"Is that what you're worried about? Forcing me to make that choice?"
"The Continuum wasn't involved in this. We've never gotten involved."
"I know." Henry stands up, dusts off his pants. "But you're still worried that I'll have to make that choice."
"Your son picked a dangerous occupation, Q."
"I know."
"We don't know if his powers will ever fully manifest."
"I know," Henry repeats. "But I've got a feeling that he'll take the choice away from me."
Q frowns. "That's a dangerous feeling. If you're wrong, he's dead."
"And if I'm right, he's immortal. Probably." Henry shrugs. "That's the bet I'm making."
"But it doesn't stop you from being worried."
"Do you ever stop worrying about your son?" Q acknowledges the point with a shrug and a smile, then disappears in a flash of light.
It occurs to Henry, as he blinks the dark spots out of his vision, that some things about Q remain the same. He never quite says what he means. It's a common Q habit, and it's much more annoying when Henry isn't Q enough to see through it. Picard's impatience with Q makes more sense now. Henry might figure out that compassion bit in a couple years, at this rate.
Word Count: ~1160
Rating: K? K+? nothing offensive in it that I can see
Notes: For the cliche_bingo square reading "Freestyle Crossover". Spoilers for "A Night with Mr Yang" and the Voyager episodes involving Q. It might help you understand what is going on if you scroll down Corbin Bernsen's IMdB page to 1990 and see what he did there.
Henry pulls back from the kiss and stares at his ex-wife. He can't quite read the look on her face, but he doesn't think Maddie's thinking the same thing he is. She's probably thinking that it's time to back away again, time to remind herself why they divorced, not time to remind herself why they married. Shawn popping up is a useful distraction, but not the one that catches Henry's attention. He lets them slip into their familiar conversations and walks off to shake hands with an old friend in the department.
That's the appearance of things.
What it actually is, is that Henry's had a rough night of it, and he's not thinking clearly, and he's forgetting how this human love works. He's allowed to express affection in words, but not in actions; the words obscure the meaning, allow her to glance at it sideways and see it the way she wants. Actions are much harder to misconstrue, and she's trying to think of the best way to do that when their son appears at just the right time. One of Shawn's talents that Henry has always thought is purely human.
A second before their conversation gives him an opening to leave, he feels a very familiar presence in the back of his mind, scratching at a part of himself he hasn't let himself look at for months. It doesn't take him long to connect the presence with a white-haired man standing next to one of the cars parked haphazardly around the drive-in. He doesn't recognize the face, but that doesn't mean anything when it comes to Q.
When it comes to any Q, to be exact.
He walks over, shakes Q's hand, mutters what are you wearing, you look ridiculous, and glances at Maddie and Shawn reflexively.
Q smiles, slaps him on the back, and leads him off, throwing his voice so that Henry hears oh, like you have any room to talk coming over his shoulder.
The moment they're out of sight, Q flashes brightly. Henry lowers his hand from his eyes and blinks once, only to confirm what he'd already guessed--Q's changed into his favorite body again. He's so vain for a normally non-corporeal being.
"What do you want, Q?"
Q wrinkles his nose. "You've gotten so rude lately, Q. It makes me wonder if loss of hair in humans can be tied to increased impatience."
"It's not being rude," Henry explains tiredly, as he sits down, "it's being straightforward. You check in once a year, every year, on Shawn's birthday. Something must be up in the Continuum, if you're making a special visit."
Q opens his mouth to speak but shuts it. Opens it again, almost shuts it, then reluctantly says, "Not exactly."
Henry waits expectantly, his head tilted at just the right angle to be annoying about it. Q rolls his eyes at him before sprawling across the rest of the bench.
"I'm...worried."
"Worried? You?" His scoff is almost laughter; the last thing Q ever used to be was worried.
"I know, it sounds impossible, but what can I say? Fatherhood changed me."
Henry looks at Q (not with-his-eyes looking, but Q-looking, as best he can with his limited senses) seriously for the first time this night, and his annoyance fades. Whatever he remembers about Q back in the day, he is different now. He forgets, sometimes, why either of them thought fatherhood was necessary. "I guess it has. How long has it been for you?"
"A few thousand years."
Henry hums to himself, contemplating the time. It used to be that five thousand years flew by like that for him, but something about having an actual body makes time go so much slower. Seem so much slower. "So, you're worried. What about?"
"Ah--you, actually."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. You took this on willingly, but..."
"But you have such terrible memories of being human that you don't know how I can stand it?"
"No. Well, yes, I really don't know how you can stand it, but Q and Q did, so it's certainly possible. But no, that's not why I'm worried." Q shifts, crosses his legs, sits up, leans back, and eventually settles on spreading his arms across the back of the bench. He stares up at the cloudy sky, which for a moment clears to reveal twinkling stars (which for an even shorter moment clears to reveal not-twinkling stars, but Q lets the vacuum fall apart after a moment). "This would be much easier if you were properly Q, you know," Q says, still looking at the stars. "I could just feel my concern and you'd know it."
"If I was properly Q, I couldn't do this for you." Henry watches the clouds move back.
"So you did do this for me."
Q is looking at Henry now; he can feel it on his neck, his ear. The tingling sensation he associates with being watched. Henry sighs, sits up (his neck can't crane like that for as long as it used to), meets Q's gaze. "I did. Originally."
"But...?"
"But then I went and had the kid I intended to have, and now I'm doing it for him." He looks off toward the theater, where he knows Shawn is. He's probably setting up another screening of the movie for his date, because the first screening was interrupted by a serial killer holding his mother hostage so he'd sit and chat with her. Either one of them could have died. If Maddie had died, Shawn might as well have. If Shawn had--
"We did an awful thing to Q and Q, to make them choose."
Q watches him for a moment, then nods and looks away. "We did."
"Is that what you're worried about? Forcing me to make that choice?"
"The Continuum wasn't involved in this. We've never gotten involved."
"I know." Henry stands up, dusts off his pants. "But you're still worried that I'll have to make that choice."
"Your son picked a dangerous occupation, Q."
"I know."
"We don't know if his powers will ever fully manifest."
"I know," Henry repeats. "But I've got a feeling that he'll take the choice away from me."
Q frowns. "That's a dangerous feeling. If you're wrong, he's dead."
"And if I'm right, he's immortal. Probably." Henry shrugs. "That's the bet I'm making."
"But it doesn't stop you from being worried."
"Do you ever stop worrying about your son?" Q acknowledges the point with a shrug and a smile, then disappears in a flash of light.
It occurs to Henry, as he blinks the dark spots out of his vision, that some things about Q remain the same. He never quite says what he means. It's a common Q habit, and it's much more annoying when Henry isn't Q enough to see through it. Picard's impatience with Q makes more sense now. Henry might figure out that compassion bit in a couple years, at this rate.