Oasis 4/4 (TNG)
Title: Oasis
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A Starfleet doctor, still grieving her husband's death during the Enterprise's first encounter with the Borg, finds herself faced with an agonizing choice when Q is mortally wounded.
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the Star Trek universe and everything it encompasses. This story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights, and the only profit I gain by it is emotional satisfaction.
PART THREE
Fatima slept better that night than she had in the previous seven nights combined. When the first glimmer of morning light reached her face, she rose quickly and dressed in the funeral robes she had finished the night before. As she was braiding her hair, she heard Q step around the partition separating her chamber from the rest of the tent, and turned to greet him. Like her, he was dressed in white from head to toe; like her, he looked rested, composed, expectant.
"Abu sent me to tell you to hurry up," he said, somewhat bashfully.
"I'll be right there," was her reply. She glanced at Q, and smiled, reading his discomfort at the idea of praying. "It won't be that bad. It's really for my benefit more than yours; I was raised by people who prayed five times a day. There's nothing quite like trying to figure out what direction Mecca is in when you're way out in space somewhere." Q's eyebrow lifted. "Even the Bajorans thought I was nuts sometimes." He stifled a laugh as she rose. "Come on," she said, tugging at his arm. "I'll walk you through it."
The prayer ritual went smoothly, and even though Q knew it was meant for Fatima's benefit, something about the rite resonated within him. He had always been fascinated by human liturgies, and loved to watch them, unseen, as the participants struggled through their pitiful attempts at communion with the sacred. What was even more fun, he remembered, was spicing the rituals with a little 'deus ex machina' from time to time. It had been a long time since he tried that though; the last he could recall, the Oracle at Delphi had fallen off her tripod and broken her leg.
He did not mock Fatima's prayer ritual, although there was a certain incongruity in one immortal being speaking in human sacred language to another. He was glad when it was over.
As they walked silently through the forest on their way to the river, Q noticed that the cacophony of birds he heard yesterday was strangely absent, and even the wildlife he had seen had disappeared from view. It was an eerie sensation, such utter silence after the joyful noise and liveliness of the day before, and it reminded Q of the proverbial 'calm before the storm'. He thought to ask Fatima her opinion, but she seemed to be lost in thought, a wistful smile on her face.
The silence was stifling as the trees gave way to a narrow sandy strip on the banks of the river, and Q became increasingly nervous. He reached for Fatima's hand and gave it a squeeze to reassure himself of her presence, because she seemed to be thousands of miles away. She squeezed back, but continued walking towards the river, not even looking back at him. He dropped her hand and stopped. "Wait," he insisted.
She stopped but refused to turn and face him. "What is it, Q?" she asked, a subtle note of impatience evident in her voice.
"Something's not right. I can't explain what. It's -- oh, I don't know. It's not real. What happened to all the birds and animals? Doesn't it seem unusually quiet to you?"
Fatima spun around, alarmed. "What are you talking about? The trees are filled with birds. Can't you see those lions on the other bank?"
Q took a step forward. "No, I don't," he replied, stressing each word separately. "As far as I can see, you and I are --"
Fatima held up a hand, momentarily silencing him. "Sh. Do you hear that?"
Q strained his ears. "Hear what?"
"That rumbling sound."
"Where is it coming from?"
She looked around nervously. "I can't tell. I'm not even sure I'm actually hearing it. I can feel the ground shaking."
Q froze, directing his attention to his feet. A muffled bellow, barely perceptible to his heightened senses, rose up from deep within the earth. As he strained to identify the sound and determine its source, the volume increased, shaking the ground beneath his feet with a dull pounding rhythm and driving water over the river's natural banks. He grabbed Fatima's arm and tugged her back towards the forest. "Come on," he urged. "Let's get out of here."
Fatima resisted, wrenching herself free of his grasp and turning back to the river. "But the ritual --"
"The ritual can wait. Something is very wrong here, and I'm leaving with or without you." He moved towards the relative safety of the trees, his long legs carrying him across the sandy beach in three strides.
With his back to the river, Q did not see what transpired next.
A monstrous black bull emerged from the river with a thundering roar and charged straight for Q, its head held low, its long curved horns aimed menacingly at his back. In less time than it took for Q to turn in horror at the terrible sound, Fatima had unsheathed her dagger and hurled it, embedding the blade deeply between the beast's eyes. Blinded by blood, pain and fury, the bull turned towards Fatima's scent and charged. She stood her ground, intending to step aside at the last minute and let the animal run past, but a treacherous root snagged her foot and she fell to the ground with a cry of alarm. Before Q could react, the bull had gored Fatima and tossed her in the air like a rag doll, then flung her to the ground and trampled her, sending particles of sand mixed with blood and sweat flying.
"No!" Q screamed with a voice torn from the very heart of the Continuum.
Without thinking about his own safety, Q raced to Fatima. The bull, sensing Q's presence, turned its attention away from Fatima's broken, bloodied form and snorted at Q, pawing the ground with a mighty hoof, daring him to come closer. Q slowly reached down to pick up a stick -- a woefully inadequate weapon, he realized -- and brandished it as he edged between Fatima and the bull. With a sickening sense of relief he heard Fatima moan and stepped bravely foward, swinging the stick back and forth in an attempt to confuse the animal. He could feel its hot breath, rank with pain and hatred, on his face. The bull bellowed, gathering its powerful muscles in preparation to charge, but just as suddenly dropped to its knees with a groan and toppled over, dead before it hit the ground.
Q stood there dazed, his mind reeling, his chest heaving as he struggled to regain his composure. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flutter of movement, and remembered Fatima.
Her once pristine garment was covered with blood, dust and grass and her hair was matted with blood pouring from a cut above her left ear. There was a horrific gash across her torso where the bull had gored her, and Fatima pressed her hands to the wound to keep her intestines from spilling out. On her back a giant cloven hoofprint gave testimony to the trampling she received, echoed by the dozens of scrapes and bruises that decorated her sickly pale flesh. She was alive, but barely.
Q knelt down by her side and with infinite tenderness lifted her in his arms. Even in the fullness of life she was a mere slip of a girl, but now she was virtually weightless. As Q stood she moaned again, bringing a brief rush of color to her cheeks, but Q could tell by her pallor that death was near. His only thought was of getting her to the shrine, where Abu Primus, or pehaps even the Saint, might be able to help her.
Drawing strength from his determination, Q carried Fatima into the forest.
* * * * *
Abu was waiting for them at the entrance to the shrine and seemed to Q to be curiously unsurprised by the sight of the bloodied figure draped over Q's arms. He beckoned Q inside.
The interior of the shrine was as simple as the exterior was ornate. The four walls were freshly whitewashed, bare of any decoration except a small niche in the eastern wall indicating the direction of Mecca. In the center of the shrine was a long, low table covered with a white cloth, on top of which rested a gold chalice. At each end of the table were two candles, providing the only light inside the shrine. Abu instructed Q to lay Fatima on the table.
Abu produced from within the folds of his cloak a long knife set into an ebony handle inlaid with precious stones. He turned the knife so the handle was pointed at Q. "Kill her," he said.
Q was stunned.
"What?" he cried.
Abu was unmoved by Q's reaction. "You must kill her if you want to go home, Q. That is the challenge you must face."
Q felt his fury rising like bile in his throat as he resisted the urge to strike Abu. "How dare you demand this of me! She saved my life countless times, and her reward is this treachery?"
Fatima's eyelids fluttered and she reached out her hand, searching for Q. As her hand came to rest on his cheek, she forced her eyes open with great effort. He was astonished at the tenderness and love he saw in her expression. "No Q, I did not save your life, at least not yet. If you don't kill me, then you will die."
"No!" Q roared in impotent rage and helplessness. "I won't do this to you! Not after what you did for me." His hands trembled as he carefully tucked a strand of hair behind Fatima's ear and wiped a smudge of blood from her cheek. "I can't live without you."
"You won't have to. The moment I breathe my last, we will become as one, and I will be with you always. But I must die at your hands, Q."
"I think the bull's already taken care of that." Tears streamed down his face, washing away the bloodied imprint of Fatima's caress.
"The bull was merely the last manifestation of Soma's poison," Abu said. "You have been restored to your natural state, now that all vestiges of the toxin have been defeated. But Soma's poison didn't just turn you into matter; she wiped away your identity and your link to the Continuum. Fatima volunteered to sacrifice her life to restore yours."
"You've known all along that I would have to kill her," Q said menacingly, glaring at Abu.
"Yes."
"And still you let me --"
"-- grow to love her? Of course; it was only natural. You've been two bodies sharing a single soul as Fatima helped you overcome the poison. She has also come to love you, even against her memory and instinct. But now that you are free from the poison, you must occupy this soul alone. Fatima's work is done. If you do not kill her before she dies of her injuries, then there is nothing more I can do for you, and she will have died needlessly."
Q bent his head down and inhaled deeply. He could not let go. There had to be another way. In his infinite knowledge he knew, however, that there was no other way. He knew about Soma, and knew that only one other Q had survived one of her assassination attempts. That Q, his father, now stood before him, urging him to take the knife and restore himself to immortality by killing the one human he could not live without. Without looking up, he held out his hand, palm up. "Leave us alone," he said.
Abu gently placed the knife in Q's hand and exited the shrine.
Q lifted his head and gazed at Fatima, his heart bursting with love and gratitude and mourning. Her eyes were open, but the light that once flickered in them was dull and vacant. He smoothed his hand across her brow and leaned over, careful not to put any weight on her, and kissed her, his lips whispering "Forgive me" against her cold skin.
In the blink of an eye, the knife flashed across her throat.
Our two souls therefore, which are one
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion
Like gold to aery thinness beat
John Donne, "A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning"
Q knew the moment his eyes opened that he was on the Enterprise, in Sickbay.
His head ached, but he was fully restored. Raising himself up on his elbows, he spotted his son and Primus standing at the foot of his bed, joy and relief radiating from their faces. A commotion in the next room drew his attention away from them, however, and he sat up and jumped off the biobed to investigate.
A cluster of humans were gathered around a pale form in Starfleet medical blues. Doctor Crusher was a blur of movement as she called for instruments or hyposprays in an obviously futile attempt to revive her patient. Picard, standing at the head of the biobed, looked up and saw Q standing in the doorway. His lips thinned in a half-grimace, half-smile, then he looked back towards the patient, absently stroking her thick black hair.
Data and Counselor Troi came towards Q. "I see you have recovered, Q," the android said. "Primus's plan worked."
"Q, are you all right? Is there anything we can do for you?" asked Deanna.
"Who is she?" Q asked, indicating the unconscious young woman. "What happened?"
"That is Doctor al-Ghazali," Data said.
Deanna studied the expression on Q's face. "Do you remember anything of your experience?"
Q did not respond. At the mention of her name, he knew who she was, and realized with a start that what he thought had been a very strange dream was all too real. "Where you lead, I must follow; where you are going, I cannot come," he said to himself.
"Q?" Data prodded.
"She's dead, isn't she."
"She saved your life," Deanna said.
"She gave me her life. Hardly a fair trade, is it? One simple human life in exchange for immortality."
Picard, overhearing the exchange, joined them. "She gave you her life willingly, Q. Once again a mere mortal has rescued you from the jaws of death." He glared at Q.
"I'm not interested in any of your self-righteous sermons, Jean-Luc." He looked at Picard, his eyes narrowed with anger and impatience. "I am fully aware of what she sacrificed for me."
"Don't you ever forget it, either. I'll make sure you don't."
"Captain," Deanna interjected, "I'm sensing a very strong feeling of grief. What we saw in Sickbay may have only lasted a few seconds, but I think Q knows Fatima much better than we realize."
"How perceptive, Counselor," Q said. "Do you feel my pain? You cannot possibly fathom what I feel. I'm a Q; I don't 'feel' anything."
"You do seem unusually disturbed by Doctor al-Ghazali's death," Data rebutted.
Q ignored him and walked over to the biobed. "Don't bother, Doctor Crusher," he said hoarsely. "There's nothing you can do for her. There's nothing anyone can do for her." Beverly looked up, studying him. She remembered looking in a mirror not long after she learned of Jack's death; that exact same expression she saw so many years ago was now reflected in Q's face. She quietly put away her instruments and ushered everyone else out of the room. When he heard the doors slide shut behind him, Q finally allowed the unshed tears to fall freely.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and tuned to face Primus. "Why, Father?"
Primus responded without speaking, letting his compassion and comfort fill the Continuum and flow into Q's consciousness, healing and strengthening him. "You would have died if not for her, my son. Her death was instantaneous, and she felt no pain. Don't grieve because she is dead, rejoice in her happiness. She is with her beloved now, and you can go home."
Primus turned Q away from Fatima's body and forced him to look at the young Q standing a few feet away, longing to embrace his father. "Remember your son who needs you, and your responsibility to the Continuum." He patted Q on the back. "Let's go home."
Q took a long, lingering look at Fatima's lifeless body, committing her features to memory. She looked odd, wearing a Starfleet uniform rather than the desert robes to which he was accustomed, but he knew he would never forget her lovely face or her selfless sacrifice. She was a part of him, now. She was a part of the Continuum.
Q snapped his fingers and disappeared.
* * * * *
Q appeared at the entrance to the crypt and hesitated a moment, gathering his strength. Picard had dutifully brought him to Federation Headquarters last month, leaving Q on Earth with a stern warning to 'mind his manners' and a promise to keep Q in line. As soon as his diplomatic obligations allowed, Q came to this place, the al-Ghazali crypt outside the ancient ruins of Susa. He could not bring himself to attend Fatima's funeral, even though Picard had personally invited him, but he knew he had to pay his respects.
Q took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The crypt was a long marbled hall with golden plaques identifying each set of remains. Q could tell that the crypt had been in use for nearly twenty generations. The two most recent additions, Ali and Fatima al-Ghazali, were buried in a single vault near the back of the crypt, eternally reunited in death. He spotted the remains of several floral arrangements, holdovers from Fatima's entombment, and restored them to life with a snap of his fingers. Then a perfect sprig of jasmine materialized in Q's hand, and he carefully bent down and placed it on the floor beneath the plaque bearing Fatima's name.
Sighing, Q stood and walked towards the entrance. Had he turned around, he would have seen the ghostly pair emerge from the shadows to pick up his offering and hold it to their lips. Had he listened, he would have heard the young woman draw away from her husband and call out to him. Had he stopped, he would have felt her wrap her arms around him in a heavenly embrace and place the airiest of kisses on his mouth.
But Q walked out, never looking back.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A Starfleet doctor, still grieving her husband's death during the Enterprise's first encounter with the Borg, finds herself faced with an agonizing choice when Q is mortally wounded.
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the Star Trek universe and everything it encompasses. This story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights, and the only profit I gain by it is emotional satisfaction.
PART THREE
Fatima slept better that night than she had in the previous seven nights combined. When the first glimmer of morning light reached her face, she rose quickly and dressed in the funeral robes she had finished the night before. As she was braiding her hair, she heard Q step around the partition separating her chamber from the rest of the tent, and turned to greet him. Like her, he was dressed in white from head to toe; like her, he looked rested, composed, expectant.
"Abu sent me to tell you to hurry up," he said, somewhat bashfully.
"I'll be right there," was her reply. She glanced at Q, and smiled, reading his discomfort at the idea of praying. "It won't be that bad. It's really for my benefit more than yours; I was raised by people who prayed five times a day. There's nothing quite like trying to figure out what direction Mecca is in when you're way out in space somewhere." Q's eyebrow lifted. "Even the Bajorans thought I was nuts sometimes." He stifled a laugh as she rose. "Come on," she said, tugging at his arm. "I'll walk you through it."
The prayer ritual went smoothly, and even though Q knew it was meant for Fatima's benefit, something about the rite resonated within him. He had always been fascinated by human liturgies, and loved to watch them, unseen, as the participants struggled through their pitiful attempts at communion with the sacred. What was even more fun, he remembered, was spicing the rituals with a little 'deus ex machina' from time to time. It had been a long time since he tried that though; the last he could recall, the Oracle at Delphi had fallen off her tripod and broken her leg.
He did not mock Fatima's prayer ritual, although there was a certain incongruity in one immortal being speaking in human sacred language to another. He was glad when it was over.
As they walked silently through the forest on their way to the river, Q noticed that the cacophony of birds he heard yesterday was strangely absent, and even the wildlife he had seen had disappeared from view. It was an eerie sensation, such utter silence after the joyful noise and liveliness of the day before, and it reminded Q of the proverbial 'calm before the storm'. He thought to ask Fatima her opinion, but she seemed to be lost in thought, a wistful smile on her face.
The silence was stifling as the trees gave way to a narrow sandy strip on the banks of the river, and Q became increasingly nervous. He reached for Fatima's hand and gave it a squeeze to reassure himself of her presence, because she seemed to be thousands of miles away. She squeezed back, but continued walking towards the river, not even looking back at him. He dropped her hand and stopped. "Wait," he insisted.
She stopped but refused to turn and face him. "What is it, Q?" she asked, a subtle note of impatience evident in her voice.
"Something's not right. I can't explain what. It's -- oh, I don't know. It's not real. What happened to all the birds and animals? Doesn't it seem unusually quiet to you?"
Fatima spun around, alarmed. "What are you talking about? The trees are filled with birds. Can't you see those lions on the other bank?"
Q took a step forward. "No, I don't," he replied, stressing each word separately. "As far as I can see, you and I are --"
Fatima held up a hand, momentarily silencing him. "Sh. Do you hear that?"
Q strained his ears. "Hear what?"
"That rumbling sound."
"Where is it coming from?"
She looked around nervously. "I can't tell. I'm not even sure I'm actually hearing it. I can feel the ground shaking."
Q froze, directing his attention to his feet. A muffled bellow, barely perceptible to his heightened senses, rose up from deep within the earth. As he strained to identify the sound and determine its source, the volume increased, shaking the ground beneath his feet with a dull pounding rhythm and driving water over the river's natural banks. He grabbed Fatima's arm and tugged her back towards the forest. "Come on," he urged. "Let's get out of here."
Fatima resisted, wrenching herself free of his grasp and turning back to the river. "But the ritual --"
"The ritual can wait. Something is very wrong here, and I'm leaving with or without you." He moved towards the relative safety of the trees, his long legs carrying him across the sandy beach in three strides.
With his back to the river, Q did not see what transpired next.
A monstrous black bull emerged from the river with a thundering roar and charged straight for Q, its head held low, its long curved horns aimed menacingly at his back. In less time than it took for Q to turn in horror at the terrible sound, Fatima had unsheathed her dagger and hurled it, embedding the blade deeply between the beast's eyes. Blinded by blood, pain and fury, the bull turned towards Fatima's scent and charged. She stood her ground, intending to step aside at the last minute and let the animal run past, but a treacherous root snagged her foot and she fell to the ground with a cry of alarm. Before Q could react, the bull had gored Fatima and tossed her in the air like a rag doll, then flung her to the ground and trampled her, sending particles of sand mixed with blood and sweat flying.
"No!" Q screamed with a voice torn from the very heart of the Continuum.
Without thinking about his own safety, Q raced to Fatima. The bull, sensing Q's presence, turned its attention away from Fatima's broken, bloodied form and snorted at Q, pawing the ground with a mighty hoof, daring him to come closer. Q slowly reached down to pick up a stick -- a woefully inadequate weapon, he realized -- and brandished it as he edged between Fatima and the bull. With a sickening sense of relief he heard Fatima moan and stepped bravely foward, swinging the stick back and forth in an attempt to confuse the animal. He could feel its hot breath, rank with pain and hatred, on his face. The bull bellowed, gathering its powerful muscles in preparation to charge, but just as suddenly dropped to its knees with a groan and toppled over, dead before it hit the ground.
Q stood there dazed, his mind reeling, his chest heaving as he struggled to regain his composure. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flutter of movement, and remembered Fatima.
Her once pristine garment was covered with blood, dust and grass and her hair was matted with blood pouring from a cut above her left ear. There was a horrific gash across her torso where the bull had gored her, and Fatima pressed her hands to the wound to keep her intestines from spilling out. On her back a giant cloven hoofprint gave testimony to the trampling she received, echoed by the dozens of scrapes and bruises that decorated her sickly pale flesh. She was alive, but barely.
Q knelt down by her side and with infinite tenderness lifted her in his arms. Even in the fullness of life she was a mere slip of a girl, but now she was virtually weightless. As Q stood she moaned again, bringing a brief rush of color to her cheeks, but Q could tell by her pallor that death was near. His only thought was of getting her to the shrine, where Abu Primus, or pehaps even the Saint, might be able to help her.
Drawing strength from his determination, Q carried Fatima into the forest.
* * * * *
Abu was waiting for them at the entrance to the shrine and seemed to Q to be curiously unsurprised by the sight of the bloodied figure draped over Q's arms. He beckoned Q inside.
The interior of the shrine was as simple as the exterior was ornate. The four walls were freshly whitewashed, bare of any decoration except a small niche in the eastern wall indicating the direction of Mecca. In the center of the shrine was a long, low table covered with a white cloth, on top of which rested a gold chalice. At each end of the table were two candles, providing the only light inside the shrine. Abu instructed Q to lay Fatima on the table.
Abu produced from within the folds of his cloak a long knife set into an ebony handle inlaid with precious stones. He turned the knife so the handle was pointed at Q. "Kill her," he said.
Q was stunned.
"What?" he cried.
Abu was unmoved by Q's reaction. "You must kill her if you want to go home, Q. That is the challenge you must face."
Q felt his fury rising like bile in his throat as he resisted the urge to strike Abu. "How dare you demand this of me! She saved my life countless times, and her reward is this treachery?"
Fatima's eyelids fluttered and she reached out her hand, searching for Q. As her hand came to rest on his cheek, she forced her eyes open with great effort. He was astonished at the tenderness and love he saw in her expression. "No Q, I did not save your life, at least not yet. If you don't kill me, then you will die."
"No!" Q roared in impotent rage and helplessness. "I won't do this to you! Not after what you did for me." His hands trembled as he carefully tucked a strand of hair behind Fatima's ear and wiped a smudge of blood from her cheek. "I can't live without you."
"You won't have to. The moment I breathe my last, we will become as one, and I will be with you always. But I must die at your hands, Q."
"I think the bull's already taken care of that." Tears streamed down his face, washing away the bloodied imprint of Fatima's caress.
"The bull was merely the last manifestation of Soma's poison," Abu said. "You have been restored to your natural state, now that all vestiges of the toxin have been defeated. But Soma's poison didn't just turn you into matter; she wiped away your identity and your link to the Continuum. Fatima volunteered to sacrifice her life to restore yours."
"You've known all along that I would have to kill her," Q said menacingly, glaring at Abu.
"Yes."
"And still you let me --"
"-- grow to love her? Of course; it was only natural. You've been two bodies sharing a single soul as Fatima helped you overcome the poison. She has also come to love you, even against her memory and instinct. But now that you are free from the poison, you must occupy this soul alone. Fatima's work is done. If you do not kill her before she dies of her injuries, then there is nothing more I can do for you, and she will have died needlessly."
Q bent his head down and inhaled deeply. He could not let go. There had to be another way. In his infinite knowledge he knew, however, that there was no other way. He knew about Soma, and knew that only one other Q had survived one of her assassination attempts. That Q, his father, now stood before him, urging him to take the knife and restore himself to immortality by killing the one human he could not live without. Without looking up, he held out his hand, palm up. "Leave us alone," he said.
Abu gently placed the knife in Q's hand and exited the shrine.
Q lifted his head and gazed at Fatima, his heart bursting with love and gratitude and mourning. Her eyes were open, but the light that once flickered in them was dull and vacant. He smoothed his hand across her brow and leaned over, careful not to put any weight on her, and kissed her, his lips whispering "Forgive me" against her cold skin.
In the blink of an eye, the knife flashed across her throat.
Our two souls therefore, which are one
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion
Like gold to aery thinness beat
John Donne, "A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning"
Q knew the moment his eyes opened that he was on the Enterprise, in Sickbay.
His head ached, but he was fully restored. Raising himself up on his elbows, he spotted his son and Primus standing at the foot of his bed, joy and relief radiating from their faces. A commotion in the next room drew his attention away from them, however, and he sat up and jumped off the biobed to investigate.
A cluster of humans were gathered around a pale form in Starfleet medical blues. Doctor Crusher was a blur of movement as she called for instruments or hyposprays in an obviously futile attempt to revive her patient. Picard, standing at the head of the biobed, looked up and saw Q standing in the doorway. His lips thinned in a half-grimace, half-smile, then he looked back towards the patient, absently stroking her thick black hair.
Data and Counselor Troi came towards Q. "I see you have recovered, Q," the android said. "Primus's plan worked."
"Q, are you all right? Is there anything we can do for you?" asked Deanna.
"Who is she?" Q asked, indicating the unconscious young woman. "What happened?"
"That is Doctor al-Ghazali," Data said.
Deanna studied the expression on Q's face. "Do you remember anything of your experience?"
Q did not respond. At the mention of her name, he knew who she was, and realized with a start that what he thought had been a very strange dream was all too real. "Where you lead, I must follow; where you are going, I cannot come," he said to himself.
"Q?" Data prodded.
"She's dead, isn't she."
"She saved your life," Deanna said.
"She gave me her life. Hardly a fair trade, is it? One simple human life in exchange for immortality."
Picard, overhearing the exchange, joined them. "She gave you her life willingly, Q. Once again a mere mortal has rescued you from the jaws of death." He glared at Q.
"I'm not interested in any of your self-righteous sermons, Jean-Luc." He looked at Picard, his eyes narrowed with anger and impatience. "I am fully aware of what she sacrificed for me."
"Don't you ever forget it, either. I'll make sure you don't."
"Captain," Deanna interjected, "I'm sensing a very strong feeling of grief. What we saw in Sickbay may have only lasted a few seconds, but I think Q knows Fatima much better than we realize."
"How perceptive, Counselor," Q said. "Do you feel my pain? You cannot possibly fathom what I feel. I'm a Q; I don't 'feel' anything."
"You do seem unusually disturbed by Doctor al-Ghazali's death," Data rebutted.
Q ignored him and walked over to the biobed. "Don't bother, Doctor Crusher," he said hoarsely. "There's nothing you can do for her. There's nothing anyone can do for her." Beverly looked up, studying him. She remembered looking in a mirror not long after she learned of Jack's death; that exact same expression she saw so many years ago was now reflected in Q's face. She quietly put away her instruments and ushered everyone else out of the room. When he heard the doors slide shut behind him, Q finally allowed the unshed tears to fall freely.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and tuned to face Primus. "Why, Father?"
Primus responded without speaking, letting his compassion and comfort fill the Continuum and flow into Q's consciousness, healing and strengthening him. "You would have died if not for her, my son. Her death was instantaneous, and she felt no pain. Don't grieve because she is dead, rejoice in her happiness. She is with her beloved now, and you can go home."
Primus turned Q away from Fatima's body and forced him to look at the young Q standing a few feet away, longing to embrace his father. "Remember your son who needs you, and your responsibility to the Continuum." He patted Q on the back. "Let's go home."
Q took a long, lingering look at Fatima's lifeless body, committing her features to memory. She looked odd, wearing a Starfleet uniform rather than the desert robes to which he was accustomed, but he knew he would never forget her lovely face or her selfless sacrifice. She was a part of him, now. She was a part of the Continuum.
Q snapped his fingers and disappeared.
* * * * *
Q appeared at the entrance to the crypt and hesitated a moment, gathering his strength. Picard had dutifully brought him to Federation Headquarters last month, leaving Q on Earth with a stern warning to 'mind his manners' and a promise to keep Q in line. As soon as his diplomatic obligations allowed, Q came to this place, the al-Ghazali crypt outside the ancient ruins of Susa. He could not bring himself to attend Fatima's funeral, even though Picard had personally invited him, but he knew he had to pay his respects.
Q took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The crypt was a long marbled hall with golden plaques identifying each set of remains. Q could tell that the crypt had been in use for nearly twenty generations. The two most recent additions, Ali and Fatima al-Ghazali, were buried in a single vault near the back of the crypt, eternally reunited in death. He spotted the remains of several floral arrangements, holdovers from Fatima's entombment, and restored them to life with a snap of his fingers. Then a perfect sprig of jasmine materialized in Q's hand, and he carefully bent down and placed it on the floor beneath the plaque bearing Fatima's name.
Sighing, Q stood and walked towards the entrance. Had he turned around, he would have seen the ghostly pair emerge from the shadows to pick up his offering and hold it to their lips. Had he listened, he would have heard the young woman draw away from her husband and call out to him. Had he stopped, he would have felt her wrap her arms around him in a heavenly embrace and place the airiest of kisses on his mouth.
But Q walked out, never looking back.