#WILLINGLY ABANDON PICARD

[stellarred]

INNER VOICE

What we all heard Q say:

What Q was really thinking:

"Damn! It's been too long! I tried, Picard! (sobbing) I tried to see you! I t-tried to get to you...

But, I was trapped. They kept me away from you...

But, I got away from them. I'm much much too clever.

It's been so long, my love.

You...are still as beautiful as the moment we first met.

Oh...how I wish I could've been there for you.

I always thought of you.

Dreamt of you.

Dreamt of us, Jean-Luc."

What we all heard Q say next:

What Q really thought at this moment or later:

"I'm not letting go of him.

Not this time. Or ever."

My fellow Qcard and Trek friends, something really bad HAD to have happened to Q to cause him to return to Picard's life so late AND for him to not even know just how much Picard had aged.

For Q to be essentially caught off-guard by Picard's aged appearance like that is just crazy nuts.

For Q to have to rely on his IMAGINATION to have an idea of how Picard looked after so many years is just plain insanity.

Something prevented Q from going back to Picard.

With as much as that entity was so totally in love with Picard, there's really no rhyme or reason why he wouldn't have come back.

This scene hints at a complete and radical departure from Q's previous pattern of behavior. This is not what Q does. That's not Q.

I will shout this from the rooftops again: It was NOT by Q's choice.

--And if it turns out that I'm wrong about this and JDL or Pat Stew prove me wrong, okay. I will eat my laptop with a knife and fork. And lots of dressing.

[defaultnaming]

I don't know if this is just me reading too much into things but there was something really icky about picard's speech to jack on the cube basically saying he was incomplete without fatherhood. It's genuinely a cool motivator (though bev should've been the one on the cube instead but they hate mums ig just sayin) and some characters definitely have it (AGAIN.... BEVERLY), but the reason it felt uncomfortable for me was that picard was a career man. As in, no family, no thank you sort of career man. Anytime we see the fantasy of a bio family is when he is being crushed by the resposibility of the picard family name (see nexus only after his bro dies) and it's quite clear he doesn't like children. Again the very first ep of tng defines this part of a character for him.

I'm not saying people don't change, they do and should. What I am saying is that it sends an uneasy message to those (like me) who may see picard choosing to his life accomplishments and value elsewhere as a positive model in fiction (you don't need to define yourslef by what you have the potential to create) by going "look that didn't matter or it wasn't as valuable because having children was always the missing piece, you should have a child to truly 'complete' you even if it goes against who you are as a person because that's what truly matters in the human experience".

Another thing this scene does as well is basically imply you have to accept your child's scumbag actions because "child" and "love" reasons I guess. Jack, by all narrative cues, willing submits to the borg knowing what that would do. Threw a tantrum and hopped on the cybernetic fascism train to kill and enslave other people. Willingly joined the collective that he knows has traumatised his family nevermind anyone else. The narrative, you would expect, would be picard AT LEAST getting jack to see what he has done wrong, that he has hurt others, the people he loves. NOT coddle him with platitudes of love and emotion to change him that again we see narratively he is not wanting for (again, stop ignoring mums). It all lends to this horrible message that you accept your child, that you never wanted, in ABSOLUTE, even if their actions against you and others are unforgivable and that truly is an outdated concept we need to escape from.

It's a sigular issue amongst many in picard s3 that leads to a sense of abandonment of nuance for the sake of nostalgia even at the cost of the characters you love. This series felt 2d in its character paths and that scene in the final ep really encapsulated it for me.

[alarajrogers]

Untitled Picard/Q-ish fic

This is very rough -- no beta, we die like women -- and I don’t even have a title for it yet, but I wanted to get it out there because it’s late. It was supposed to be for Tapestry Day, Feb. 15th.

It is very subtle Picard/Q, and could be interpreted as friendship rather than romantic feelings, because that is how I roll. It’s set in the current Star Trek: Picard series (up through episode 5), and explains why Q hasn’t been around to help Picard with things like supernovas killing billions of people (and for that matter other things that are spoilers so I won’t mention them but would affect his son.)

There was someone sitting in his study.

There was someone sitting in his study, and Laris and Zhaban were nowhere to be found. Quietly Picard edged toward where one of the various hidden phasers that Laris and Zhaban insisted on hiding in his study, dining room, bedroom and pretty much everywhere was stashed.

“You’re not very stealthy in your old age, mon amiral,” a voice said. A voice that was familiar, but that he hadn’t heard in… had it been decades? At least twelve years, to be sure.

“Q!” Picard stepped forward into the study, unable to control the joyful smile on his face. As soon as he was close, though, he took half a step back, literally taken aback by what he saw.

Q looked old.

Not as old as Picard himself, perhaps, but his face was lined and worn, his dark hair shot through with silver. He also had facial hair, a mustache and a brushing of beard on his chin and jawline.

“You look almost happy to see me,” Q said. “Well, you did. Now you just look shocked.”

“I never expected to see you age,” Picard said. “But I suppose you can take the form of an old man as easily as you took the form of a young one.”

Q smiled wryly. “I can, yes, but… there’s always been an element of truth in how I appear to you. I’m not doing this to make some sort of commentary on the fact that you’ve aged… a terrible mortal habit, there, but I don’t imagine I’ll break you of it any time soon.”

“No, I think not,” Picard agreed, nodding. “Are you saying you feel old?” He sat down in the chair that faced Q. “I remember when you told me of your new responsibilities in the Continuum, you said they’d age you prematurely, but I took it for a joke.”

“It was a joke. That’s not… why.” Q closed his eyes. “I know you called for me. You asked me for my help, didn’t you? And I didn’t come.”

“I… assumed that your responsibilities had become too onerous to spend time in the company of mortals anymore,” Picard said, carefully.

It had hurt. When Starfleet had refused to help the Romulans, when there were so many stranded and desperate and Picard had no resources to save them… he had called out to Q. Better to owe his omnipotent sometime-nemesis, sometime-companion something than to cling to his human pride and let billions die.

Q hadn’t come. Picard hadn’t seen him since… since several months before the supernova. Q had said nothing, then, to imply that he wasn’t going to come back.

Picard had spent a long time convincing himself not to feel betrayed by that.

“No, no,” Q said. “I’d have made time for you, if not…” He shook his head. “The one time you break down and spontaneously call for my help, and it had to be for this.”

“So there was a reason for it.”

“A very good reason.” Q snapped his fingers, and a glass of something alcoholic appeared in his hand. Another one appeared on the end table next to Picard.  “Not the house brand, but I imagine occasionally you indulge in something you didn’t grow yourself?”

“Occasionally,” Picard said. Q would get to the point, eventually, and he had learned patience. He picked up the glass and breathed deeply of the aroma. “This is… actually from Betazed, if I don’t mistake it?”

Q nodded. “Adwana wine. Not particularly strong as alcohol goes, not to humans, but it interferes with telepathy.”

“Are we worried about telepaths?”

“Not… exactly.” Q took a sip. “When I’m in human form, the same brain centers that mediate telepathy in humanoids allow me to connect back to the Continuum. I’m not, currently, an extradimensional being driving a puppet around. This is me, mostly.”

The wine tasted rather like sake, but with a sweet undertone that was distinctly fruity and yet wholly un-grape-like. Almost like… blackberries, he thought. But not quite. “You’re shutting down your powers. Why?”

“I don’t want to have them right now,” Q said. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, the Calamarain’s not going to show up on your doorstep. I can’t possibly fully shut myself down with a drink or two. I just… I don’t want to be so aware of it.”

“I suppose you have your reasons.” Picard set the drink down. It really wasn’t to his taste.

“And you’re just waiting with bated breath for me to tell you what they are, aren’t you?”

“That is why you’re dropping hints, I think.”

“You know me so well.” He twirled the drink in his hand. “Tell me, Picard. You had hypotheses, I’m sure. What did you guess was the reason I didn’t come when you called?”

“I’ve said. I thought your responsibilities—”

“There were other things you thought, though.”

“So I see the adwana isn’t interfering with your telepathy that much.”

Q shook his head. “I’m not reading your mind, but I know you.” He leaned closer to Picard. “Jean-Luc, there has never been a day in your life when you haven’t been considering multiple possibilities for everything that happens.”

“Well, I thought perhaps you were forbidden to interfere. Or—”

“Or?”

“Or that… well, why would you care about humans? You have your own life in the Continuum. You have a son. Perhaps your… interest in me was… a passing thing. Something you have no need for, anymore.”

“Mon amiral. Sometimes you don’t know me at all.” Q sounded mock-hurt. “But then, I imagine the truth would be… impossible for you to guess at.” He leaned forward. “I didn’t abandon you willingly, Jean-Luc. Yes, I had more going on in the Continuum than I’ve had in billions of years, but… in the Continuum, I’m a leader now. People look up to me. I’m not sure I have friends there even now. Allies, comrades-in-arms, but… no Q sees me as myself.”

“Well, by definition I don’t see you as yourself, since you have to take a different form to interact with me.”

“Yes. Ironic, isn’t it? I can most be me with a creature who literally can’t even see me. Worthy of being included in a stand-up comedy routine.” He took another deep sip, and then set the glass down with emphasis. “I was dead, Picard.”

Picard raised both eyebrows, head going back. “Dead? How?”

“Did you ever wonder… how could a supernova of one star, however large, start triggering an instability in space that blows up other stars?”

“Neither Federation nor Romulan science was ever able to explain that,” Picard admitted. He remembered something, then. When the Q killed each other with the weapons they’d used in the civil war… it had caused supernovas. “Good God. Did the war break out again?”

“In a sense.” Q looked down at his hands, folded in his lap in uncharacteristic stillness. “There was a bomb.”

“I assume you mean some sort of metaphorical something that best translates to my perceptions as a bomb?”

“Oh, no. An actual bomb. Made of Continuum-substance, of course, you wouldn’t have perceived it except through analogy, but… something that explosively releases raw energy of a form that disrupts the pattern of anything made of Continuum energy and tears it to shreds? Sounds to me like a bomb.”

“By any other name,” Picard said quietly. “But – you were dead? What do you mean by that?”

“I mean I was dead. Someone set off a bomb in the Convocation and… a dozen Q died. Which is actually a very large number. I realize it sounds like a trivial number to you—”

“No. You’ve told me that the Q number in the thousands, if that, and even if there were trillions of you, a dozen deaths are never trivial.”

“Thank you for that.” Q took a deep breath. “I was one of the casualties. The others… didn’t have a son. No Q was willing to spend the time and energy needed to put a dead Q back together, no Q had a pattern to follow they could use for reference to do so anyway… except my son. He used himself as the pattern and he spent the past… I don’t actually know how many years putting me back together and I don’t even know if I’m the same me anymore—”

“Stop.” Picard put his hands on one of Q’s. “You’re alive. That’s what’s important.”

“I don’t know if I am,” Q whispered. “I mean, yes, I’m alive, but am I me? I spent billions of years trying to preserve my identity, so many other Q trying to influence me, and now…”

“Listen to me, Q. Life changes us all. Being what you are, I imagine you don’t have much experience with the concept of scars, but even you changed over time, just from the demands of life.”

“This is a rather large change, Picard.”

“Yes. It is. But what’s the alternative? You can’t go back to what you were before, can you?”

“I suppose not.” He stood up and went to the window, looking out. “You know I would have come if I could, Jean-Luc, right?”

“I know.”

“And there’s nothing – I can’t fix it. I can’t fix any of it.” He looked back at Picard. “Do you know – of course you don’t. I changed things. We were – having an argument. You and I. Not important what it was about. But the point is… I altered the past.”

“Wait. What did you do?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He walked back toward Picard. “It’s all gone. All the changes I made. Retroactively. Because we can’t do anything in the region of space affected by the bomb.”

Picard stood up. “Tell me what you did that doesn’t matter anymore.”

Q sighed. “We were arguing about whether I actually care about you mortals. You were very upset. You pointed out that Data died and I did nothing, and he saved my life one of the few times I was vulnerable. You said that I live on the scale of a god and I can’t relate to mortals enough to be friends with one. So, I fixed it.”

“You fixed what?”

“I arranged for Shinzon to be adopted by a human scientist and taken off Remus in his childhood. Never grew up with the hatred and resentment of humanity. Resented you, but he ended up going into Starfleet anyway. No attempt to destroy Earth. So Data didn’t die, you didn’t suffer clone angst, Charlie – that was what his name got changed to – had a happier life and didn’t run around telepathically raping half-human women. Everything was wonderful.” He leaned his forehead on the wall. “And then there was the bomb. And every change made by any Q, ever, in that region of space, was reverted to whatever it had been before it was changed. And I was dead.” He swallowed. “And now – I’m back, but I can’t bring him back. I mean, I could, he died in Earth orbit, but how am I supposed to bring him back in a world where you idiots would declare him illegal and there’d be assassins trying to kill him?”

“Q. It’s all right.” Picard walked around a chair,  and reached up to his shoulder. “No one expects it of you. Data wouldn’t have expected it of you.”

“You did, once.”

“Apparently that was in an alternate universe. I don’t think you can hold that against me.”

“But you were right.” Q closed his eyes. “I wanted him to live.”

“So did I.”

Q sat down on a sofa that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Picard sat next to him. “Listen,” he said. “I’ve… wanted to tell you, for some time. I never realized, back in the days when you came to visit me frequently… that I’d miss you, as much as I did, if you didn’t come back.” He held Q’s hand clasped in both of his. “I… did consider the possibility that the Romulan supernova represented your civil war resuming, and that I hadn’t seen you because… you’d become a casualty. To be honest, when there were no further supernovae, of course I was relieved because unexpected supernovae are horrible, but it also occurred to me that, if there’d been a conflict among your people, you’d resolved it. And if it was resolved so quickly…” He swallowed. “I thought that meant you were alive.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “What part of me suggests to you that I’m good at resolving conflicts quickly, Picard?”

“The fact that you did. The first time.”

“Obviously not well enough, or no one would have planted a bomb.” He took a deep breath. “So. You missed me?”

“I did. Although I wasn’t going to tell you, if you came back and it turned out your reasons for not coming to see me in so long were trivial.” Picard smiled.

Q laughed. “I suppose you don’t consider death all that trivial?”

“Not at all.” He let go of Q’s hand. “I’m glad you’re alive now.”

“I… suppose I am as well.”

“You suppose?”

“So many died, Jean-Luc. So many. And I’m alive.”

“That’s survivor’s guilt. It’s normal.” He smiled wryly. “There are times when I’m still miserable with guilt that I’m alive and Data isn’t. Or Jack Crusher.”

“Was he as boring as his wife?”

Picard raised a finger and shook his head. “None of that. We’re past the stage where you insult my friends, now. I expect you to keep a somewhat civil tongue in your head.”

Q rolled his eyes. “Oh, how will I ever live up to this overbearing expectations?” He looked at Picard. “It’s like you think I’m a good person.”

“Now that I know something of the culture of the Q Continuum? I do think you’re a good person. About half your flaws are species-or-culture specific, and the other half don’t outweigh the ways in which you try to do what you see as the right thing even when you have to fight your culture to do so.”

Q smiled slightly. “I think you’ve finally gone senile, Picard.” Picard stiffened slightly. “Wait. Did… you get a diagnosis?”

“Assuming that the thing you showed me was a real possible future at the time… I’ve managed to put it off for some years, based on the warning you gave me, but it’s not curable. Yes. I have Irumodic Syndrome. Thank you for the extra years, by the way. I wouldn’t have known to take the treatments that can slow it down or put it off, if not for you.”

“And you’re just going to let this happen?” Q stood up and started to pace, angrily gesticulating with his hands. “You’re all right with just losing your mind? Your intellect, your memories? You’re going to let all that disappear in a haze of confusion and end up in a nursing home drooling applesauce onto your bib?”

Picard turned his hands out and up in his lap, a shrug without shoulders. “I don’t see where I have an alternative. I suppose I could die in the course of this quest, and then I’d avoid it…”

“No.” Q spun on his heel and faced Picard. “There’s another way. Come with me.”

“Come… with you?”

“To the Continuum,” Q clarified.

Picard stood. “Q. You know I have no desire to become something other than human.”

“It isn’t about what you desire.” Q started pacing again. “I know what you want, Picard. If I was making this offer because I care about you and I don’t want to see everything that made you you slowly evaporate before you finally shuffle off this mortal coil and I never see you again, I know you’d say no. ‘I have no desire to be anything other than human, Q’, like being human is the ultimate achievement.”

“It may not be the ultimate achievement, but it is what I am. And if you’re not making this offer because you don’t want me to die—”

“I don’t want any more Q to die,” Q said, walking toward Picard, his eyes completely focused on Picard’s. “You’re a diplomat. You’ve stopped countless wars, talked species who were torn apart by civil war into negotiating with each other. And my war isn’t over, not if someone is planting bombs. And the next one could be my son. Or Amanda. Or my ex. Irritating as she is, I don’t want her to die. I don’t want any of them to die, even my enemies.” He knelt in front of Picard, looking up at him. “Please, Jean-Luc. I’m not asking because I want to make you a god and gloat about how you misuse power – in the Continuum we’re not omnipotent, anyway. I’m not asking because I don’t want you to die – I don’t, but I know you won’t accept a reason like that, and I accepted your eventual death as the consequence of caring about a mortal back when I first figured out that you were more to me than a project. I’m asking because the Q don’t have anyone like you, someone who can compromise but who has the kind of iron will and courage of convictions needed to demand that everyone around you compromise too.”

“My ability to compromise didn’t help the people of the Cardassian Demilitarized Zone, in the end,” Picard said softly. “It didn’t save the Romulans.”

“Yes, yes, are you sure you don’t already think you’re a god? You certainly take the blame like you think you’re omnipotent.” Q stood up. “I know you’ve failed at things. But you’re better at this than me. You’re better at this than any Q in the Continuum. And they won’t listen to you if you’re a mere mortal.”

“But they’ll listen to me if I’m a brand new Q?”

“Yes. Because you’ll make them listen. And because my faction will support you.” He paced again. “You’re worried about misusing your power? We can keep you from coming back to this plane of existence until everyone you cared about is dead, so you’re not tempted to intervene. You’re worried about not being human? Well, when you’re dead you’re not a human being because you’re not being anything at all. If you can contemplate ceasing to exist, how can you refuse to contemplate ceasing to exist as you are, transforming rather than dying?”

Picard took a deep breath. “If you’d come to me a few weeks ago, I might have said yes, but… I have obligations, now. I have to find Data’s other daughter, and protect her.”

Q took a deep breath. “I know where she is, but she’s beyond my reach.”

“So she’s in the Beta Quadrant, somewhere near the area of space affected by the Romulan supernova.”

“Yes.”

“And you can’t save her or help her because she’s in a place where Q power doesn’t work.”

“Yes.”

“I already know where she is, Q. She’s on the Artifact. Bruce Maddox told me, a short while ago.”

Q nodded. “Of course you do. But are you aware that when you came in and found me, you thought you were actually back home with your Romulan bodyguards?”

Cold washed over Picard. Q was right. When he’d sensed that someone was in his holographic study, the one that had been programmed to look exactly like home… he’d thought he was home. He’d thought that Laris and Zhaban were around somewhere and that the phasers they’d hidden about the room were also here. “I… yes. You’re right. I can’t deny it.” Picard took a deep breath. “But it doesn’t change anything. As long as I have enough of my mind here in the present that I can keep fighting, I need to find Soji and protect her. She’s all I have left of Data, and… I couldn’t save her sister. I owe it to Data, I owe it to Dahj to find Soji before the Zhat Vash do.”

“And that’s more important than preventing a war. A war that will cause supernovae and kill trillions of mortals as collateral damage, if it breaks out again.”

“I don’t have long to live, Q. Do I? By Q standards?”

“You could live another sixty years and it would be an eyeblink by Q standards, but… no. No, I think you have less time than that, and you know why.”

Picard nodded. “And you told me that you could, in theory, still resurrect Data, but you don’t want to bring him into a world that has banned his species. Which implies that if I died, you could, in theory, resurrect me.”

“Not if you’re in the dead zone when you die.”

“Yes, true. But if a transporter can create copies of people or hold a pattern in a buffer for 80 years, I’m fairly sure you can copy a pattern and hold it in a buffer as insurance against my death in a place you cannot reach.”

“Are you giving me permission to do that?”

“I’m saying yes. To your request. But not now. I’m still alive now, and I have obligations here. I’m not ready to give up my human existence and leave behind everyone I’ve ever known or cared for… yet. But you’re quite right. The nature of mortality says that sooner or later… I will, whether I want to or not.”

“You’re saying yes?” Q looked stunned.

Picard smiled. “I realize that my saying yes to you is an unusual occurrence, but it’s hardly unheard of.”

“I just…” Q shook his head. “I should have known. I picked you for the ability to think outside the constraints of the human condition. I’ve known all along that I could take you at the moment of your death, assuming you’re not inside the dead zone, but I didn’t realize you knew, and I didn’t think you’d give me permission.”

“There’s nothing about death, per se, that’s particularly marvelous,” Picard said dryly. “As a species, mortality gives us a reason to strive, while we live. As an individual… I can’t live forever as a human, and I shouldn’t, and I don’t want to. But from the perspective of everyone I care for, there’s no difference whether I die and cease to exist, or whether I become a new form of life but break my ties with my former existence. And…” He swallowed. “If there is any chance, any chance at all, that I can prevent what happened to Romulus from happening to other worlds… yes. Yes, very few sacrifices are too great for that. I’m willing to give up my death, and my humanity upon my death, to try to prevent war in the Q Continuum.”

“But you’re not willing to give up what remains of your life.”

“No. Soji is beyond your reach, you’ve said so. I presume the Zhat Vash are mostly beyond your reach as well. And I don’t want you stepping in to solve my problems, anyway.”

“Don’t friends help each other?”

“Yes. But friends also don’t demand godlike exercises of power from friends. You thought I’d be upset with you because you tried to save Data, and you failed, because of the bomb. Data wouldn’t have expected that of you and neither would I… alternate timelines regardless. Perhaps my grief was more raw when I said what I said in that other timeline, or perhaps you made me so angry I lashed out. Here and now, though… I want you to understand. You are not my friend because of what you can do for me, with your powers. I’ve never wanted you to do anything for me with your powers; the only time I ever called on you it was because billions of lives were at stake, and that was worth more than my pride as a human.”

“But Soji isn’t?”

Picard closed his eyes. “If you had the power to snap your fingers and ensure her safety, I might say yes, but you’ve told me you don’t. And I don’t want the Zhat Vash deciding to target the Q, not in your people’s weakened state… yes, I know, I know, you’re still omnipotent, we mere mortals can’t possibly hope to harm you, et cetera… but I know the Borg were attempting to work on a means of capturing and assimilating one of you, and that was before you had a war and invented weapons that work on your kind. I can’t rule out that the Zhat Vash could find a way to harm you if you turned your power on them as a blunt force instrument but didn’t have the power to find and stop them all.”

“I think that’s a silly thing to be afraid of, but I’m touched by your concern.” He said it as if it was sarcastic, but the expression on his face was tender. “But very well. I’ll stay out of your quest. I’ll let you live out however long you have, in your human life. I won’t do anything either to hasten or to prevent your death. And when you die, I’ll repair your mind if I have to, if Irumodic Syndrome has taken too much of it away, and I’ll make you a Q, and you’ll come to the Continuum with me to save my people, and your galaxy.”

“To try my best, at the very least,” Picard said.

Q smiled like a man who didn’t want to smile but couldn’t help himself. “You have no idea how delighted I am to hear that.” He spread his arms. “Hug?”

Picard chuckled. “I don’t do hugs, Q, I’m far too emotionally repressed for that. You know better.”

“I do, yes.” Q laughed… and then leaned in and kissed Picard on the cheek before Picard could stop him or back away. “Is that better? I understand you Frenchmen kiss each other like that all the time.”

“Two hundred years ago. Cultures change. We also don’t use expressions like ‘mon petit chou’ anymore.”

“I can’t call you my little cabbage?”

“Not without sounding hopelessly out of date and archaic.”

“You didn’t seem to mind the kiss, though.”

“I’m too old to let myself get riled up by your pranks,” Picard said, smiling broadly.

“What if it wasn’t a prank?”

“Then I’m too old to let myself get riled up by that, either.” He gripped Q’s arms by the elbows. “But don’t wait to come visit until I’m dead and it’s time for our bargain to come due. I’m going to worry about you if I don’t see you.”

Q shook his head. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Picard released him. “And if you want to propose to me, you have to wait until we’re on the same form of existence. The stress of trying to arrange a wedding at my age really could kill me.”

Q choked on laughter for a moment. “Well, in English, ‘commitment’ is another term for being locked up in the funny farm, and that about sums up how I feel about marriage. But I’ll be absolutely sure to take you out on a few dates while you’re still human. Wine and dine you while it matters.”

“I look forward to it.” Picard glanced at the holographic replica of a clock. It wasn’t moving. Of course not. “Well, whether you have stopped time or not, apparently I am still growing tired, and the hour was late when you came to visit. I need to return to bed.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your beauty sleep, mon amiral.”

“I think I liked ‘mon capitaine’ better.”

“I did too. You never should have let them promote you.”

Picard shrugged. “Time moves forward. We can’t desperately cling to the past, even if it made us happier. Life gives us no choice but to keep growing and changing. Even you, I think.”

“Yes.” Q nodded in agreement. “Even me.”

“Take care of yourself, Q.”

“I’d tell you to do the same, Jean-Luc, but I know you won’t. Not while there are still swashes to buckle and fair maidens to save.”

“Well. I’ll charge into danger without much regard for the odds against me, but I promise to take care of my health, at least.”

“That’s the best I’ll get out of you, I suppose.” Q grinned, and manufactured a hat, obviously so he could tip it. “Until next time, then.”

And he was gone.

[ltbroccoli]

Still Searching

@nashforhire

These had been the longest days of Reg’s life. First Liz had stopped responding to messages. Strange for her, considering she knew how much that would make Reg panic... and then when he’d arrived on DS9 like they’d planned, she hadn’t been there to greet him. She wasn’t in her quarters. And when he checked in with Odo, he learned that she hadn’t been back on the station in days.

Thankfully, Odo agreed that was unusual behavior for her and started a search, retracing her steps... the Enterprise even offered its resources. Reg thanked Captain Picard profusely... and that was when they’d found the Nomad, abandoned and drifting. It made Reg want to vomit. Liz loved that ship. She’d never leave it willingly.

He’d done everything to keep the search going. Taken leave from the Enterprise, joined every search party he possibly could, stayed up until the earliest hours of the morning going over every single sensor reading... but it was no use. The search was called off, despite Reg personally going to Odo’s office and yelling at him. (Liz would have been proud of the volume he managed.)

Well, if they weren’t going to look for her, then Reg would. No one had expected him to simply take a shuttle and leave, and that was precisely why Reg had gotten away with it. The element of surprise. He was away and at warp before they’d even registered what had happened.

And a day later, after tracing signals and following his instincts, he’d found her. On some class M moon. Dressed as inconspicuously as he could manage (the last thing he needed was being caught in uniform and dragging the Federation into this), he landed as close as he dared and sneaked into the facility. Unlocking doors and disabling security measures as he encountered them. It was all a combo of good luck and a sharp engineer’s brain. As well a stunning a few guards here and there with the phaser he’d brought. The entire time he thought his heart would pound itself right out of his chest, or his quick breathing would give him away. Somehow, no one caught him -- or if they did, he fired on them before they could raise the alarm.

Finally, when he was somewhere that looked like they might be cells, he began to hope again. No luck so far, but perhaps that door on the end would be it.. yes! There was a life sign inside. But a guard in front of the door. Well. This was what he’d brought the phaser for... after triple checking it was on stun, not kill, he stepped out and fired before he could overthink it.

Then, cautiously, he stepped over him on the ground and inched the door open, no idea what he would find inside. Trembling as he clutched his phaser. “Liz?” came out in a barely audible whisper.

[geekns]

Why i Still Sleep with My Stuffed Rabbit and a Blankie

TL;DR: People who are abused don’t choose to be a victim. It isn’t their fault. It’s never their fault. But deep down inside a part (if not all) of them will always believe that it is.

People who are abused don’t feel or react the same way as people who haven’t been abused. We are always waiting for the next blow (literal or figurative) to come. It can happen unexpectedly at any time from any direction.

We aren’t hiding because we don’t trust you. We’re hiding because we know you won’t understand…even if you cared to try (which you probably don’t).

Deep down inside we are screaming for help even as we know that no one can help us. We can’t even help ourself.

I am a 36 years old woman whose earliest memories are of being a victim of domestic violence. I grew up in constant fear, emotionally abused and–very occasionally–physically abused. I don’t know why i was the only member of the family that my father physically abused but i willingly would have taken abuse before my mother or sister. I have no physical scars but i don’t think i will ever be okay. All i know how to be is a victim.

The simple answer to why i sleep with Snowy and my Beak replacement (the name of my original blankie) is because they could never hurt me. They were some of the first coping mechanism i found to soothe myself tactilely.  Even over thirty years later i find it extremely difficult to sleep without them.  My first coping mechanism was sucking my thumb, my second was biting the back of my hand…not to the point of breaking skin but to the point of leaving an imprint of my teeth embedded into my skin for a few minutes. Another early coping mechanism was peeling dry Elmer’s glue off my fingers.  

Since these are socially unacceptable actions, they were, of course, vices meant to be broken.  My preschool teachers didn’t let me chew on my hands and started keeping glue out of my reach.  When i was eight, my mother took away my Beak in a final bid to break me of the thumb sucking and it worked.  I didn’t sleep with a blankie for years, not until i acquired a new afghan about five years later.  Snowy is probably the only coping mechanism that i would have refused to let them take away but as it turned out that was a moot point.

I fairly recently found my old copy of Fuzzy Rabbit, a book that gave me extreme anxiety about losing my stuffed animals long before Toy Story was ever made. If you’re unfamiliar with the book it’s very similar to the aforementioned film. The protagonist loses their favorite, aging stuffed animal under the bed upon receiving a new doll for her birthday.  Being highly empathetic, i never wanted any of my stuffed animals to feel unwanted and had a hard time giving away toys i had outgrown as a result. But my own fuzzy rabbit, Snowy, was inadvertently left at the airport shortly after Beak was taken away. I cried for hours, begging to go back and retrieve him. I was devastated.

Years later my sister found another rabbit just like Snowy at a thrift store (even later she found a like new one and i received it for my 30th birthday) and i have restuffed him a couple of times and still use him as a pillow, or clutched to my chest with his face against my clavicle, or with my face pressed against his.  Long ago there was a film or TV show or book that i was exposed to that talked about practicing kissing with a pillow. I practiced kissing with Snowy. 

I know that Snowy isn’t real, that he doesn’t have feelings or think i abandoned him, but as a child i felt i had abandoned the most important toy i ever had. Snowy has given me more kisses and wiped away more of my tears than anyone else in the universe. I spent many a sleepless night pretending that Snowy was a physical representation of my imaginary (boy)friend and i think the only thing that could get me to stop sleeping with him is an actual husband.

And now that i sound properly nuts i’d like to explain a few things about what it’s like growing up abused.  The emotional abuse is worse than the physical abuse.  Like i said, i have no scars, but my heart will be scarred forever if i can even figure out how to put it back together.  The people who were meant to protect me during my formative years and make me feel safe and comfort me are the very people who hurt me.  

My father (inadvertently) taught me that nothing i ever do will be good enough. I spent a considerable amount of time not only walking on eggshells, trying to obey his constantly changing rules to the letter and follow his every whim so he wouldn’t get angry (all completely ineffectual), but bending over backwards to make him like me and earn his respect.  None of it was ever enough.  He worked hard to support us but lived with the scars his parents’ marriage had left on him. He has no idea how much he hurt me growing up. His thoughts are only for himself, of not losing respect in the eyes of his family, of not losing face.  Which ironically did more to make him lose respect than anything else could have.

My mother chose to stay in her marriage. Domestic violence is not a reason to get divorced according to the Bible.  Intellectually i understood this; emotionally all i know is that it reinforced the impression that i am worthless. I would have preferred my mother protected me from my father. She couldn’t.  But i was left with the certain knowledge deep in my bones that i am not worth protecting, saving, or loving.

This knowledge was reinforced by certain other members of my family and all of my peers. It’s really hard to have self-confidence when people that you love tell you you’re not good enough to your face. The actions come through loud and clear, but the words make it worse. Every time it happens a part of me is screaming inside that it isn’t true, that i have worth and value. But a part of me believes the lie just as much if not more. 

I’ve read that some childhood victims of abuse and domestic violence don’t know anything different. They think that abuse is normal and in turn become abusers themselves. I always knew it was wrong. I grew up self-aware, a tiny helpless adult stuck in a child’s body. The great irony is that i am just as helpless as an adult.  My father has mellowed in his old age. I am no longer his victim. Another family member still emotionally abuses me and treats me like a child, even in public. They are just as clueless about the fact that their “honesty” is hurting me.

I am very skilled at intuiting what a person is feeling. This isn’t a gift, it’s a defense mechanism that i learned along with walking, doing whatever is possible not to offend people, talking, and hiding how messed up i am inside. I still find it extremely difficult to talk about my history, not least of all because my mother doesn’t want anyone to know. Along with this intuition comes a couple of side effects. I am very empathetic and shield others’ from distress and cheer them up as much as possible. I am always on the lookout for the faintest sign of impending anger/trouble/attack. I try to always be kind. I am a great listener. And i pick up on all the smallest of passing comments and believe veiled, indirect criticism far more than a rare compliment.

“Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

Now let me just head off any anons who want to tell me to stop whining, grow up, or to stop being a victim. This is not something i can turn off or just get over. I was trained to be a victim by my parents. Like my mother, i don’t retaliate, i just silently take the abuse. I try to hide the fact that it affects me. I understand others’ pain because pain is a familiar “friend” that i grew up with. Pain is how i know i’m alive and there is no way to escape it so i might as well hug it tight and hold on for dear life.

I understand that Tony Stark uses his “ego” to hide how damaged he is. I understand why Loki won’t trust anyone with his pain. I understand that Rey’s resilience and independence and the way she shakes things off is a testament of the pain she endured growing up and still hides deep inside her. There are some very important reasons for hiding your reactions from your abuser(s). Vulnerability can and will be used against you. Tears or anger are seen as a further provocation by an abuser, are a challenge to their unquestionable authority.  

Tears are ammunition for others to use against you, an invitation for further derision, a vulnerability that i could ill afford as a child. I taught myself to not let myself cry and paid for it. I had to relearn how to let myself cry and i wear it as a badge of strength that i can be soft enough to feel anything and everything other than hatred and anger. Even as an adult, people try to act as if it is not appropriate to cry. Don’t believe that lie. Tears are a natural reaction to stress, compassion, sorrow, joy, and a myriad of other stimuli. Tears, as it turns out, are another coping mechanism.

I spend my life seeing rude and belittling behavior magnified (whether it’s directed towards me or not). I cannot ignore it. Once again, this is my intuitive defense mechanism:  notice the warning signs early and often so you can avoid setting off potential abusers. Nowhere is safe except my own bed with Snowy. In public, this is where my imaginary friends come most into play. I never had an imaginary friend as a child (other than Snowy standing in for some unknown potential boyfriend), i didn’t have one until i saw Happy Gilmore as an adult. 

In that film, Happy goes to his happy place so he can let go of anger and focus so he can golf better. I initially created my own happy place to go to whenever i was feeling annoyed or anxious.  I didn’t initially have any people in my happy place the way he does (nor was it sexual in any way lol). But over the years it gradually picked up sages such as Gandalf or Captain Picard who could make me feel safe and give words of wisdom (that are actually things i already known inside myself but have more weight when they say them). 

My happy place gradually changed from a sunny meadow to a campfire on a beach at night. Throughout college, i was consistently alone and my imaginary friend became a sympathetic ear that would provide comfort, casual conversation, and joy during everyday situations. Imaginary Twelve/Peter Capaldi once talked me down from a panic attack in the metro (subway) after a man got into a woman’s face and yelled at her halfway down the train car while we were underground (trapped), in between stations (trapped), on my way home at the end of a long day (tired and it was the only way home so trapped).  And sometimes more recently the people in my happy place are men closer to my own age who are there to shield me with their body from the elements on that beach or even cuddle.

As you might imagine, i am extremely demisexual. I cannot have casual sex, i couldn’t even have sex with the couple of boyfriends i have had. I have been hurt deeply by the man who i trusted the most, i still “know” that no man could ever want me (even as i know that knowledge is wrong and hate feeling that way), i still know that anyone has the potential of hurting me deeply. I’ve only kissed another person in a dream once in memory and i’ve never had a sex dream to my knowledge.

I’m not trying to protect myself from potential sexual partners or push them away, i’m just waiting for the right man, someone who sees how damaged i am and accepts it as a part of who i am. I do want to be the pursued rather than the pursuer. I don’t think i could believe that i am legitimately wanted any other way. I have been the pursuer in all of the potential and actual relationship that i’ve had and being rejected has only reinforced feeling unwantable. It is very rare for me to feel chemistry with anyone.

I enjoy pleasuring myself but rarely imagine anyone being with me when i do so, especially as i age. When i was a child and didn’t even understand what i was doing i imagined that i was a character, part of an OTP that was married. I once saw a video on YouTube where a girl (who also termed herself as demi) described her fantasies in the same way. I am pretty sure that i will never have sex outside of marriage. I hate being a virgin even as i cannot imagine having had sex with any of the men i have liked or loved. I tend to dislike kissing in my limited previous experience. Even when i’m dreaming i “know” that men (and women) aren’t the slightest bit interested in me in that way. Sometimes i’ll dream that a guy is interested but by the end of the dream it will turn out that he’s more interested in easier targets with a more conventional appearance.

Another thing i grew up with was the knowledge i was fat. My parents were always trying to lose weight even when they were a normal, healthy weight. My peers first told me i was fat in second grade. Magazines make their money off telling girls that they aren’t good enough, it was just another lie that i believed. I didn’t get fat until just before i turned eighteen and it happened very suddenly while i was working out six days a week.

I don’t know what it’s like to not be depressed and i don’t know what it’s like to not be a victim. I recently realized that i have been a victim in most of my work situations. I was a victim throughout high school with multiple teachers/coaches. Most of my bosses and even their bosses have been abusive.  I’m actually an optimistic, trusting, and forgiving person by nature and somehow i continually find myself in these situations. I do not cause them. I do not ask for them. Idk if God is trying to teach me something but it’s difficult going through life thinking “finally, this is the time i will be blessed and not have to fight to be happy” only for it to be yet another abusive situation.

I could go on to talk about how all my peers have treated me (even the few friends i’ve had) and how it feels like i am constantly being ignored and how it is very important me to be independent and self-sufficient but i think this is enough of me being too honest for one day. 

I just wanted to try to explain some of the whys of my anxiety, depression, and insanity.