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The Enterprise D had recently docked at Alpha Yen IX, a planet famous for its beautiful locales, pleasurable company, and wild parties. The planet had been largely untouched by sentient life, so the flora and fauna were still mostly intact.
It had not been overstated. The crew had been invited to the Ta’Lomar, a famous celebration of life, which included much drinking, dancing, and partying.
The members of the bridge crew he could see were having quite a time. Data was dancing with an obviously intoxicated Geordi. The android looked (If it was possible) a bit unsure of himself. As far as Picard knew, no one had ever taught Data how to party.
Riker was chatting with a gorgeous redhead. They seemed enthralled by each other. The girl was quite pretty, and the commander seemed to be enjoying himself.
He didn’t know where the others were, but no doubt they were having an interesting experience.
Picard himself was sitting at a smaller round table, nursing a drink. He didn’t want to have too bad of a headache the next day, as most of the crew undoubtedly would. Too many mornings had been spent with a hangover to wish for any others.
“Mon capitaine!” A voice came from beside him. He massaged his head, and turned. The visit was probably due anyways.
Q was standing (although that seemed like an overstatement) next to the table. But something was off; he was wobbling on his feet and the normally fluid French was mushed together in a way it had never been before. He grinned crookedly at Picard.
There was no doubt about it.
Q was drunk.
“I have not seen you in so long!” He slurred, while simultaneously collapsing backwards. It was only Picard’s quick reflexes that stopped him from falling.
“Let’s get you out of here.”
He signaled to Riker. The man quietly excused himself from the seductive woman sitting next to him. When he made it through the crowd and to Picard, his eyes widened almost comically, taking in the way that Q was leaning heavily on the captain. “Q? How drunk is he?”
Picard sighed. “I don’t know, so he’s going to my quarters for a while. Keep an eye on things, and call me if anything goes wrong.”
Riker grinned playfully. “Yes, sir. But to speak frankly, Captain, you’re going to have a hell of a time.”
Helping Q to his quarters was quite difficult. He kept getting distracted by the ‘shiny’ computers, and several officers gave him strange looks as they passed by in the hallways.
However, they did make it. Q collapsed onto the bed, hand over his eyes. Picard said,”Computer, dim lights seventy percent.”
Much of the room was now cloaked in shadows, the small kitchen, bookshelf, and study. Contradicting what he’d overheard several ensigns speculating about, he did not have what was practically a mansion for his quarters. They were largely the same, except for a specialized console.
He also ordered the synthesization of a waste bin, having been drunk many times previous, and aware of how nasty it was when you would wake in the morning. Picard called it being prepared.
Q groaned dramatically, and made grabby hands at the captain. The gesture was so childish, he had to give a smile. “I messed you. No. Missed you.”
“Why are you here, Q? And how did you get so intoxicated?”
The alien paused. “Made a bet. We Q have some gooood liqueur.”
“And?” Had he forgotten the other piece of the question? Picard repeated it.
“They’re mean to me. Don’t like me. Call me names.” Q’s face had an unusually sullen expression on it. Most of the time it was either a grin or scowl.
“The other Q?” He nodded tipsily.
Strange. Picard had always known that there were outsiders among every species, but somehow he thought that one would have moved beyond such a concept. Apparently not.
“That’s why I like you so much, Jean-Luc. You don’t hurt me…” Q clumsily tugged up one of his dress uniforms’ sleeves, revealing an ugly zigzagged scar. It stood out against the rest of his flesh.
The more Picard studied it, the more wounds he saw. All of them were white or a light shade of pink, and there were none that were bleeding. But Q may have healed them through his god-level power. They might be brand new.
But it still shocked him, that a race could be so cruel as to knowingly wound one of their own kind in this day and age. Earth, in its ancient times, had done it several times hundreds of years ago. But as of thirty five years ago, a law had been passed on that planet that prevented it.
Picard lowered himself down onto the bed on which Q lay. To his horror, there were tears glistening in the alien’s eyes.
His expression seemed to provoke Q even more, who wailed loudly and threw himself down onto Picard’s lap. He rested his head on the captain’s leg, and curled into a loose ball of limbs.
“I’m sleepy.”
This was apparently true, for mere moments afterwards, Q began to gently snore.
Picard hated to admit it, but he too fell asleep as well only ten minutes later.
When he woke up in the morning, the Enterprise’s computer informed him that it was 0600. They’d slept through the night.
Unfortunately, the machine’s loud voice awakened Q as well. He immediately jumped up and grabbed the trash can off the floor.
So Picard was properly woken by the sound of vomiting.
He shook off the last few embers of sleep, and stood beside Q. It was awkward; he’d never really been the kind of person who comforted others. All he could provide was his presence.
When Q stopped heaving up alcohol, (Picard had gotten quite concerned about the amount he’d drunk the previous night.) he slumped over, exhausted.
“It hurts, mon capitaine.” He whined.
“I know. That’s what you get for doing something like that,” Picard paused, and remembered his question. “By the way, how much did you drink?”
“…Fourteen glasses.”
Picard was stunned. “That would kill any human!”
Q scoffed. “We have higher resistance than you. Humans are all-around quite weak. I've told you before that we’re much, much better than you”
He pushed aside the insult. “Well, based on what you told me last night, your alcohol is also stronger. It’s just increasing the ratio. Higher tolerance, more strength.”
The Q paused, and whispered, “What did I tell you last night?”
Picard considered the question and his answer.
“You said the other Q disliked you, and would call you names. And-“ He slowly pulled up the alien’s sleeve, revealing the marks of hatred. “That they would hurt you, and how you liked me more because I was kind to you. Then, you fell asleep on my lap.”
It was apparent that Q could remember several other details as well as this, for he flushed and murmured in an embarrassed tone,” I apologize.” Something that was very unlike him.
His mind told him not to do it. It was stupid, and an absolutely terrible idea.
Picard threw logic and reason and common sense to simply say one thing:
“But I don’t think I minded.”
Q’s face was a mask of pure, absolute shock. He stayed as still as a statue.
Then, with no warning, he practically leapt onto Picard, their lips colliding in one of the messiest kisses the captain had ever had. He wrapped his arms around Picard’s middle, and Picard found his hands entangled in Q’s brown hair, pulling their bodies tightly together.
Q gave a quiet gasp, shuddering under the touch. The captain thought he’d overstepped his boundaries, but when asked if anything was wrong, Q responded,” I… I’ve never been held like this,” He nuzzled in tighter. “It feels good.”
Had the others of his race really hated him so much that they wouldn’t give him any affection? And he had accused humans of being a cruel race.
The alien groaned suddenly, swaying to the left. For the second time in two days, Picard caught him.
“My head hurts.” He mumbled, massaging his temples.
So the headache had set in. From the outrageous amount that Q had drunk, he would probably be incapacitated for the rest of the day.
So Picard gently lowered him down onto the mattress, and was pulling the sheets over them when his communicator pinged.
He sat up and answered,”Picard here, go ahead.”
“Commander Riker, sir.”
“Go ahead, Commander.”
Picard was sure he could hear a smile in what Riker said next.
“You might have wanted to mute your microphone. It was on the whole time.”