Chapter Text
“Kathy, what are you doing holed up in an office, all by yourself, planet-side?”
Kathryn Janeway’s head snapped up so fast she nearly sprained a neck muscle at the familiar taunting tone.
“Nice to see you, too, Q. What did you do to irritate the continuum now?”
Q planted one hip on the corner of her desk, his admiral’s uniform mirroring her own.
“What? Nothing. Junior has been as gentle and compliant as a lamb.”
“I didn’t ask about Junior, as you are clearly the only Q who popped into my office to harass me. So are you bored, or on the outs with the others?”
“Neither. Both. Well, let’s just say it wouldn’t hurt for me to find somewhere to be other than the continuum for the next little while…”
“Mmm hmm.” She sat back in her chair, resigned to engaging with him at least for a few minutes. A glance out her window showed a pitch-black sky above the twinkling lights of Headquarters. It was probably time for her to call it a night, anyway.
“But you’re deflecting, my dear Admiral. Why did you let StarFleet promote you into a bureaucrat? You were meant to be exploring the stars, commanding a starship, leading your intrepid crew into the unknown!”
“So you can pop in and play with my crew any time you feel the urge?” Just mentioning her crew sent a pang of regret through her chest.
She really should attend the party this weekend. She missed them all, but having skipped the last several crew events in the name of work, guilt had kept her from confirming her attendance.
“I think your crew misses you. I dropped in on their little party last week, and they were no fun at all. I couldn’t even goad Mr. Paris into entering an interstellar drag race in the Gamma Quadrant. Something about needing to put the baby to bed.”
Miral’s birthday party had been just a week ago, scheduled early so it wouldn’t conflict with the party to celebrate the anniversary of their return. She had lobbied hard against the formal gala proposed by StarFleet’s public relations team, remembering all too well her crew’s reaction to being paraded before the press and StarFleet brass a year earlier. This weekend’s party would be just the crew and their invited guests thanks to her efforts, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to face them.
“Why don’t you go bother Picard?” Thoughts turning morose, she was suddenly not in the mood to entertain her omnipotent visitor.
“Oh I tried. He was reading—an actual book made out of paper of all things! Dickens’ A Christmas Carol . Said he always reads it this time of year.” His gaze wandered out her window and rested on the lights of the Golden Gate in the distance, seeming in no hurry to leave. One thing she and Picard had in common, other than their status as targets of the alien currently occupying her office, was an appreciation for Victorian British literature.
“I like that one, too, though I’ve never read it from a paper book.”
Christmas was only a few days away, and her mother and sister had been pestering her to transport to the farm early for the festivities. Thus far her excuse of too much work had satisfied them, but eventually she would have to give in. This had once been her favorite time of year, but despite being home, and her crew—both Maquis and StarFleet—being out of danger and with criminal records purged—her Christmas Spirit remained elusive.
“Ah, yes, you always did prefer those dress-up, holonovel versions of Earth literature.” Q’s eyes narrowed, head turning to zero in on her. “Now there’s an idea—“
Stomach dropping, Kathryn stood, bracing her palms on her desk and leaning toward him in what she hoped was an intimidating stance.
“Don’t even think about it, Q—“
But before she could get her next threat of violence past her lips, the pinging snap of his fingers sounded and her office winked out of existence.
*%*%*%*
“Hard and sharp as flint… ...secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.” --Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol , 1843.