[Captain's Log:] A Rendezvous for Two with Q

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Captain's Log, stardate 43956.5: the mood aboard the Enterprise continues to be a cause for concern for me and my chiefs of staff. While Q's mischief of more than a month previous amused some, it did not ingratiate him any more to the grand majority of passengers aboard. I have not seen him since, no doubt because he is off somewhere licking his wounds; though, whether he truly cares about the people on this ship is still something I have not at present any reason to believe.

Counselor Troi has advised me that many aboard the Enterprise suffer from feeling 'cooped up'; as if they are trapped, and unable to realize their full potential so long as they are within this gilded cage. While our last attempts to offer some shore leave to the visitors ended in disaster, it has been agreed that a stop at a planet that is known to us for being peaceful and relatively safe may do everyone some good — the crew included. Since the Enterprise is not currently engaged in any mission of import, I find myself without reasonable argument to Commander Riker's all-too-eager suggestion of the planet Risa, a world known for its ... comforts.

It occurs to me that such distractions may not satisfy everyone, should they continue to reside with us. The next time I see Q I will once again make my case for sending the travelers home, but should he disagree, which I no doubt expect he will, I may have to offer our guests a sense of more permanence here. Counselor Troi has prepared a small list of jobs and activities that may suit, and the longer these people remain here without incident, the more inclined I am to entertain the notion. Luckily, that is a thought I won't have to entertain until after the Enterprise departs from Risa—

"Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud, Jean-Luc! Why wait when you could have super-humans, cowboys and Indians, and even more of those androids you're so fond of running the place?"

"Computer, end recording!" Picard commands, swiveling his chair to face the window in his ready room. The computer responds with a mild chime, ending the log he was trying to record. Q has perched himself against the windowsill, and is watching him with a smirk.

"Did you miss me, Mon Capitaine?"

"Oh, yes," Picard nods. "The way I miss a toothache."

Comments

[trial_never_ends]

"My utmost? Oh-ho, Jean-Luc," Q laughs. "It's almost as if you don't know me at all. A few harmless parties and a handful of times adjusting the gravity fields and oxygen levels of certain rooms is hardly my utmost."

Picard turns rather blue at that last remark, which Q must admit is the most amusing sight he's come across in weeks. "I assume you're referring to that unpleasantness on Alemar III? Don't worry, my dear Jean-Luc, I foresee no disaster awaiting you or our guests on Risa. It's a holiday, after all, captain. A time for giving."

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"You're referring to the ancient observance of Christmas," Picard nods, pursing his lips. "Yes, I am aware. As I am aware of what happened the last time an old Earth holiday passed aboard this vessel."

Picard would rather Q keep all funny business to himself this time around. "And what of the people who have gone since you brought them aboard? I trust they are not being held in some supernatural penalty box for a perceived slight against you?"

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"Jean-Luc, you remember," Q replies coyly, delight scrawled across his features. "You needn't have concern for that either, captain. Those who have gone merely used up their usefulness here. I sent them back to their own worlds. Yes, yes, I can do that."

He holds up a hand, wishing to stave off any point the captain may try to make from the admission. It's not as if he won't bring them right back given the changing winds and the condition of the sea; or, to the point, should he fancy it.

"If you are trying to imply I may be up to some mischief again, Mon Capitaine, I must say I am once again wounded," he goes on, clutching his heart. "That is not in the spirit of your holiday, is it?"

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"I mean it, Q," he warns. "I want no Christmas-themed madness aboard my ship!"

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Q pouts, growing grouchier by the minute.

"Fine," he huffs. "But I make no promises for anyone else here. It could be, Jean-Luc, that you are simply in sore need of a little holiday spirit."

Q looks off to some point beyond Picard, grinning.

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Picard arches an eyebrow, but convinces himself not to be taken in by any of Q's airs of mystery.

"Once you have removed yourself from my ship, I assure you my spirits will be quite high," he volleys.

[trial_never_ends]

"Jean-Luc," Q singsongs, wagging a gloved finger. "You really must learn to be nicer. After all, I could very well do my utmost to make things aboard a bit ... harrier."

He smirks.

"Perhaps you have simply allowed your decorum to slip, because you haven't taken into account just how your honor could be removed from you."

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This, however, is one mystery he cannot let slide. Q is obviously hinting at something.

"Q," he warns once again, placing his hands on his hips.

[trial_never_ends]

"Have a pleasant holiday, captain," Q grins, snapping his fingers and winking out of sight.

His voice lingers after his presence has left.

"Oh, and do be sure you send that fetching Klingon ambassador my highest regards. Qapla'!"

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"Q? Q!" Picard shouts, but it's no use. Q has gone.

Sighing, he drags one hand over his face and circles back to his desk. These meetings with Q are always far too short, but at least it feels like they have made some progress. Q has, after all, alluded to coming to his senses and allowing their visitors—blast, his visitors—to return to their homes. Unfortunately it came along with the implication that guests may continue to reside on the Enterprise for quite some time yet. Not ideal, no, but if there is some underlying point to all this, then Picard will find it. Perhaps in doing so, it will at last bring an end to all this madness.

He returns to reviewing the list Deanna provided for him. Employment opportunities, recreation, means of keeping everyone aboard busy and content. It's enough to give him a headache, but at this point he must admit keeping them all under lock and key will do none of them any good at all.

[frostedoverland]

It hadn't taken long for Jack to find the Captain's quarters, not that he was necessarily looking given he was pretty sure this guy was the last person who would ever see him. But it just so happened that he came at the right time since he found the illustrious Q and Picard arguing about the current situation. It was certainly an interesting find, something to relay to his friends when he could. For now, Jack was content to listen from where he was, perched on a high self with his staff resting against his shoulder.

He grinned slightly when Q spotted him, not at all surprised by the occurrence. Q was the one that brought him here, after all, it only made since that he could see the Winter Sprite. Once the mysterious being left, Jack decided it was time to give this Captain a little fun. Poor guy could use it.

It was nothing special, really, but soon, frost was spreading where he sat and where his staff's crook tapped the windows.

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Picard tries his best to absorb himself in his work, but before long he feels something of a chill in the air. Strange. The atmospheric settings should be at optimum — ah, but then he recalls what Q had said about tampering with the ship's systems.

"Confound it all, Q, I thought I told you..." he begins, but he never finishes that sentence. He can see frost growing on his desk, up the legs of his chair; as he turns, it spreads inwards from his windows. It reminds him, however briefly, of winter nights spent with his mamé in France.

He rises from his seat, frowning at the spectacle. "What the devil?"

[frostedoverland]

"Oh c'mon, at least give me the credit," Jack snorted, jumping off the shelf and onto the windowsill, the frost only growing where he walked. "I can't make a blizzard without Wind, but you could at least lighten up. It's almost Christmas, after all!"

He grinned again and swirled his hand a little, a snowflake blossoming and twirling in the air until it fully formed. Then, with a soft wave of his hand and a gentle breath to get it going, he pushed it towards Picard.

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He cannot hear any of this, of course. He's blind to the Winter Sprite, the only curiosity he recognizes being the way the frost seems to grow in a pattern, tracking across the window. He reaches to his combadge, ready to call his Number One to his side, but before he can...

"Is it snowing?" he mutters aloud, recoiling as the flake begins to melt on his nose.

[frostedoverland]

"Not quite, but I can definitely get it there," Jack replied. He was actually impressed, why didn't he think of doing that before? With a much wider smile, he turned to his patterns and reached out, gently pulling them forward and off the windows so they could float in the air, fly about really. One by one, they burst with a soft "poof". Enough of them burst to cause snow to fall, almost endlessly.

This was just as fun as it was with Jamie.

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Picard steps back, shock written all over his features. He can do nothing but watch as the snow builds, its source unknown.

Blustering, he is about to get aggravated, call to Q once more—after all, who else could it be?—but as flakes drop on his head and shoulders and begin to melt, so does his tension. He can feel it easing from his bones, leaving him feeling ... well, quite like he did as a boy.

Once more, recollections of his grandmother's estate, of snowmen in the front garden and warm tea by a roaring fire, flood his mind, and the captain does something rather unexpected.

He laughs.

"What is this devilry?" he asks, though it is with amusement rather than annoyance, palms outstretched to catch the falling snow. Is it like this everywhere on the ship?

[frostedoverland]

Jack had the idea to perhaps spread this around the ship, but he hadn't been sure. However, it did sound like a good idea. Spread the fun and joy around, lighten some hearts. This time, he didn't answer Picard's question and opened the doors, the his staff pressed lightly against the frame to spread more frost.

He wasn't sure he could spread it to the whole ship, but maybe Ten Forward would be a good place to start.

"Merry Christmas, Captain."

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Beyond the feelings of good cheer and, well, fun currently occupying Picard's attention, he can hear the hiss of the doors opening. He turns around, looking out onto the bridge.

The snow appears to be mostly in his ready room, but it is beginning to accumulate. With a barely repressed skip in his step, he moves out onto the bridge, and smiles at his crew.

They, in turn, stare at him.

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Riker is the first to move forward.

"Captain?" he questions, looking quizzically between the man and the room filling with snow. He smiles crookedly. "Is everything all right?"

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"Hmm? Yes, quite, Number One," he replies, brushing the snow from his shoulders.

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"Is that — snow, captain?" Riker goes on, peering past the captain and looking a touch more alarmed than he had a few moments ago.

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With a twinkle in his eye, Picard merely smiles and turns to the room behind him, kneeling to gather a small handful of the soft powder.

"Why don't you tell me, commander?" he says, packing the snow into a small, round ball, and tossing it at his second in command.

The snow is so soft and fresh that it splinters in mid-flight, casting a spray across those at the comms after it tags Riker in the shoulder. They all appear shocked for a moment.

And then the laughter begins.

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"Have you lost your mind?" Riker guffaws, but shortly he is striding over to join the captain, admiring the snowfall with no short order of awe.

Those at the comms begin joking gaily, as the others on the bridge either stare in surprise or rush to join in. The frost is spreading, but not so much so that it will interfere with any of the systems.

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Soon enough, the bridge is light with laughter and mirth, confusion and joy. There is no telling how long it might have gone on for, if the captain had not made an observation once the snow on his person began to fade.

"Can anyone tell me why Lieutenant Worf is not at his post?" he says, voice carrying some of his natural authority.

The joy does not leave the room, but it does quiet some, as no one is able to satisfy the captain's question. Picard looks about, sensing that something is very amiss here.