by ASCEM Noone and AdmiralTAG

//Meggie and Bevy?// Q asked himself in disbelief.  For one of the rare times in his existance he was at a loss for words.  He'd decided to go torture Picard but when he arrived on the Enterprise, what should greet his eyes but the sight of his stodgy old starship captain sitting on the floor of Beverly's living room crying his eyes out.  Q extended his senses only to discover that Jean-Luc was pretending to be a little girl crying because he'd lost his dolly.

Except he wasn't pretending.  He was dressed in a fluffy little outfit that looked insanely stupid on him, but he actually felt quite griefstricken.  Red was with him, //Naturally// Q grimaced, and she was just as wrapped up in this strange illusion as Picard was, anxious and worried about 'her' little girl's
obsession with a doll.

//Now really, you two,// he started to say.  //I know life on the Enterprise is boring, but this?//
 
He tore through their minds, discovering the extent of their weird games, and now he didn't quite know how to react to it.  He could, of course, expose them both in the most embarrassing and
humiliating way possible, but there was something kind of touching about the way they played together so nicely.  Even the horrible demon child from hell had her good points because she gave Q all sorts of new ideas about how to get under Jean-Luc's skin...

Q suddenly had an idea.  He conjured up the "Old MacDonald Theme Park" and snapped his fingers...
 
"Now Sweetheart, Mommy wants you to learn to play by yourself." Meggie's mommy had taken her little girl to the theme park hoping that Meggie would want to go exploring on her own. Meggie, shy and quiet, had only clung more tightly to her mother's hand.  Now mommy was gently encouraging her to let go a little bit.

Megan didn't know how to approach the other children, and she didn't really want to, but she'd spied a creek that looked secluded and interesting...

"Bevy, stay right here and don't wander off.  I'm going to see if I can schedule you for the four o'clock pony rides and I'll be right back."  Bevy's mom fixed her daughter with a look that said "I mean it, stay right where you are.  Please."

Bevy cocked her head as she watched her mommy disappear.  As soon as her mother was engaged with the pony park attendant she slid off the bench.  She'd spied a creek that looked deep and interesting...

Gleefully Bevy raced down the bank towards the water.  She was just about to wade in when she looked across to the other bank and saw that she was being watched by a little brownhaired girl with a
doll in her arms.  The girl stared at Bevy without expression, her eyes wide.  Bevy stared back at the girl defiantly...
 
And Q snapped his fingers and stopped time.  He had no real idea why he'd done this, but it amused him to create bodies for Bevy, Meggie and their mommies that reflected their personas.  Then he'd filled the shells with the personalities they'd created, sat back and let them roll.  He was, quite frankly, flabbergasted.  He would not have imagined Meggie would be such a sweet little girl, but she was--shy, gentle, dreamy.  Was *that* the personality locked beneath the captain's pips?  If so, Q regretted everything he'd done to this little person.  On the other hand, there was Bevy, an obnoxious, evil demon-girl, but with good reason.  She was filled with anger at the hand she'd been dealt and Q couldn't blame her.  He'd raided her mind to find her helplessness at being trapped under a bodies that were so much bigger than hers; her fear and pain when she was penetrated, only half-understanding what was happening to her; the way she left her body for hours at a time, coming back to find it bruised and battered... Q did not rape other Q. There was no mechanism for it.  He took a moment to feel sorry for her overworked foster mother, but for now he really wanted to see what would happen when these two little ones met for the first time.  He was betting on Bevy to win.
 
Q snapped his fingers and time started forward again...
 "Nice doll," Bevy called across the creek.

The dark haired girl cuddled her baby against her cheek. "Thanks." In the age-old game of acceptance, it was her turn to say something nice to the other. "Pretty hair."

The taller girl touched her hand to her red curls. "That’s what they say."

Q watched, fascinated. It was obvious that the woman he had always considered bitchy, shrewish, and provocative in the oddest way had received her training early in life, and just as obvious that the twisted lessons she had learned were nothing she could stop reliving. With some help, she could probably even be molded into something of interest to a Q.

Bevy continued twirling her hair, one hip jutted out in the way she had been taught to stand when she had to impress. The other girl was still staring at the red curls. "Wanna touch it?" Bevy asked.

Meggie looked around for her mother. The other girl looked like an angel, true, but she scared Meggie. She could feel her heart beating faster, both wanting the bigger girl to like her and terrified of what that would mean.

The other girl’s voice pulled her out of her musings. "What’s your name?"

"Meggie."

"I’m Bevy. So, Meggie, do you want to touch my hair? You can, you know."

Meggie nodded. She wanted to touch the other girl’s hair, though she knew something was wrong, very wrong. She wanted to know what it was that was wrong, why the other girl kept staring at her. She hugged her doll tighter, waiting for the redhead’s instructions.

"Come over here, Meggie. Come on and touch my hair."

Meggie’s dark hair flew back and forth as she looked around for her mommy. Surely this wasn’t what she had meant when she sent her daughter off to play? The creek, which had looked so inviting before, now looked dark and deep.

"Are you scared of the water, Meggie? I’m not. I’m a big girl."

Meggie was a big girl, too. As big as Bevy. She started for the water, determined to prove to the other girl that she was no baby. At the water’s edge she stopped—who was she kidding? She was a baby. She was scared. She wanted her mommy. And she wanted to touch Bevy’s hair.

On the other bank, Bevy placed little fists against her hips, exhaling sharply, and Meggie was almost certain she heard that most horrid of accusations, "Baby..." Then Bevy was splashing through the water towards her. Her first instinct was to take a step back, away, out of danger. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she did. Bevy was dangerous. Bevy would make her do things she didn’t want to do. Bevy would make her do things she wasn’t allowed to do. And she’d love every minute of it. Meggie forgot about her mommy, and if she hadn’t been clutching her doll, she would have forgotten it, too. All she wanted, right now, was for Bevy to like her.

Q stopped time again, with Bevy in midsplash, with Meggie’s horror struck face wearing an expression of pure longing.  The girls were fascinating precursors of the adults Jean-Luc and Beverly—he with his fears and longing, with his desires and guilt, and Beverly the scapegoat of them all, she with her repressed memories and personality surfacing only long enough to bring her harm and drag all those who loved her along. But what was more fascinating yet was that Q had known none of this, not a thing. //Omnipotent?// The Humans might buy that trash because he was so much more than they could ever hope to be, but he knew better. His little pets and their lives fascinating him precisely because he couldn’t tell how they would turn out or what surprises, like Meggie and Bevy, they would throw in his way. He snapped his fingers, allowing Bevy to continue her splashing and Meggie her fascinated fear.

The redhead stopped a few steps from Meggie. "Come on."

Walk into the water? Meggie couldn’t, she knew she wouldn’t dare. But Bevy had an arm extended toward her, and she knew she had to. She couldn’t say no to this new friend, to her angel-like face or bright blue eyes, to her confidence, to her authority. Bevy terrified Meggie, but Meggie resolved not to be frightened, or at least not much, or at least not to show it. Mommy wanted her to play with other children, and here was another child.

Carefully, she took off her shoes and anklets. She considered placing her doll on the creekbank, but needed a friend to give her courage. One step, and Meggie’s feet were wet. Another, and another, until the water was over her ankles, over her calves, and she was standing next to Bevy.

Neither spoke. Silently, Bevy leaned forward, touching her forehead to Meggie’s, the coveted red hair brushing Meggie’s shoulders. Meggie reached up a hand and raked it through the curls, patting the soft hair as though it were a separate being. "Pretty," Meggie whispered.

Bevy smiled and ran two steps backwards, confusing her newfound friend. What had she done wrong? Was Bevy angry at her? Would she never again get to touch that pretty, pretty hair? She thought she might break out into tears, but promised herself she wouldn’t. Bevy wouldn’t like that.

And then Bevy stopped, hitting her hands against the creek water, splashing Meggie’s doll. The little girl clutched her baby to her chest protectively and almost protested, but Bevy was speaking to her again. "Wanna play a game?"
 
Meggie liked games.  She would have agreed instantly if it hadn't been for the expression in Bevy's eyes.  Calculating and amused in equal measure, her eyes promised things Meggie had no words for,
and she tried to hedge as best she could against her sense of certain danger.

"Jacks?"  Meggie hazarded.

"No, not like jacks."  The eyes were feral.  "Come here."

Slowly, mesmerised, Meggie crossed the creek behind her new friend.  They ducked under the canopy of some wildly overgrown willow trees; the kind of hiding place only a child could access,
or even see for that matter.  It was cozy and secret, and now Bevy had Meggie in her clutches.

"This game is called kissing.  Now you have to lie down."

Crawling and holding Jolie had been difficult.  Meggie clutched her doll more tightly as she obediently lay on the cool ground and stared up in fascination at the pattern of the softly
undulating willows.

"Ready?"

Meggie nodded.  Every instinct was telling her to be careful, but she didn't understand why.  She'd kissed before.  She'd crawled into wonderful hidey-holes like this one before.  She rarely played
with other little girls, but her mommy had told her to do this, so it should be alright.  Why, then, did her throat feel dry, and why did her stomach feel fluttery?  Nervously she scraped one foot
against another, scratching an itch.

"Now close your eyes."  Bevy knelt to one side of her.

Ooh, this was shivery.  Meggie closed her eyes nervously, ready to scream or burst into a fit of hysterical giggles at whatever this dangerous new friend did next.  All that happened,
however, was that Beverly's lips came down on hers--once, twice, and then an extended pressing together.  After a moment Meggie imitated it.  She liked this game.  This was how grown-ups kissed,
and she liked to be like a grown-up.

They kissed a lot.  Bevy showed her things she hadn't known, like how nice it was to have somebody run their hands up and down her arms and legs.  Bevy showed her about kissing tongues, and how to push her narrow little hips up to meet Bevy's grinding pelvis. Oh, this was fun!  She let Beverly roll her on her side, but when Bevy grasped her behind, Meggie objected.

"You can't.  Farts come from there."

That made obvious good sense to Bevy who left Meggie's butt alone from then on.

They played at kissing some more.  Every once in a while one or the other of them would open her eyes and look at her enraptured playmate.  Sometimes their eyes met, but they didn't know what to
do with the things they saw in each other's gazes, so, being children, they pretended not to see.  Bevy start moaning, so Meggie started making 'mmm, mmm' noises in imitation.

Finally Bevy pulled away, her expression calculating once more.  "You have to pull your panties down now."

Meggie shook her head.  She didn't mind doing what Bevy said, but she didn't want to be made to feel even more vulnerable in front of this strange new friend.

"Don't you want me to kiss you some more?"

Meggie nodded.

"Then pull your panties off."

Meggie still refused.  She didn't want to.

"Okay,  I'll do it."  Bevy reached under Meggie's dress and started to pull on her underwear, but Meggie scooted backwards.

"Just one leg," Bevy coaxed.

One leg?  What did that mean?  Curious, Meggie let Bevy back under her dress.  Bevy expertly maneuvered her legs so that the panties were half on and half off, dangling near her right knee.

"That's what you do when you're in a hurry," she explained. "Now open your legs."  The feral expression was back, and Meggie almost called a halt, but all the other things they'd done had felt
so good.  She opened her legs.

"You have to close your eyes again,"

Meggie did so without hesitation.  After all, the last time she'd closed her eyes she'd liked the results.

"Now don't be a chicken," Bevy challenged.  She draped herself against Meggie's body, stuck two fingers into her mouth to get them wet, then reached down between Meggie's legs and pushed forward.

'She's raping her,' Q thought with horror.  He'd set himself to watch what they did, and he wouldn't interfere, but that didn't mean he had to like it.  He froze time everywhere, then went back and reviewed Beverly Howard Crusher's childhood, searching out the source of this pint-sized perversity.

He found things that shocked him.  He'd known, of course, about the thousand endless acts of violence humans visited upon each other, but he'd never bothered to place himself into the minds of
either perpetrator or victim.  Now he did both, experiencing the illicit pleasure of a child's pliant body beneath his own as well as the confusion and helplessness of a young creature trying to earn her grandmother's approval by doing what she was told.  He sampled her terror and pain.  He felt it when her soul died at the hands of a man who, surprisingly, was actually rather nice when he wasn't raping young girls.  The man didn't want to hurt them, not at all.  He just had a weakness that way, and little Beverly was a vision of smooth skin and red curls.  And after a while she didn't cry.  He didn't like the way she lay with her eyes shut or stared beyond him at the ceiling, but he forgot his discomfort as he
blissfully sank into her young body.  This was so *good*.  He shouldn't love it so much, but he couldn't help himself.  He resolved to bring her something nice next time--make her smile.

The thing that lay on the bed after he went away was no longer a little girl.  It didn't know what it was, but at least it knew it's function.  It reached down to touch it's sore and hurting vagina, and when it drew it's hand away there was blood.  Numb with shock, it stared at it's carmine fingertips, thinking of nothing. Years would pass before it understood how completely it's existance had been wiped out that day.  Meanwhile it would listen to the gloating triumph in it's grandmother's voice as she came upstairs to share the good news that they were three hundred credits richer.

And all the times after that, after she learned to smile and vamp and make men feel comfortable about the depradations they visited on her body, and after she learned what the word 'whore' meant, she would sometimes lay beneath the sweating, grunting customers and think, 'This is what I am.  This is what I'm for.' And she would feel a kind of peace.

Mostly though, she just disappeared.  It became easier and easier to send herself so far away that when she came back to find herself lying bruised and stinking of someone elses sweat, she genuinely didn't know what had transpired.

Q sent a thought out to Felisa Howard's grave, obliterating every trace of the mouldering body.  Then he found the first man who'd ever raped her.  He was ancient now, too old to do anything
but dream, but Q had no mercy on him.  He gave him excruciatingly detailed nightmares of burning in a fire, screaming helplessly as he watched his own flesh bubble and melt off his arms and legs.

But that did not change the present.  If he was going to see this through, he should let things take their ugly course.  He focused on Bevy again.  She was vindictively happy because she finally had the opportunity to teach what she'd learned.  She lay on top of Meggie and forced her tiny fingers up inside her victim's body.

It hurt dreadfully, but Meggie didn't want Bevy to think she was chicken.  Tears welled up and dripped into her ears and her hair, but she was silent, shuddering against the pain.  She bore it
up stoutly.  This would get better.  It had to get better.  The other part had been so nice.

But it kept feeling awful, and finally she burst into a struggle that pushed Bevy off of her and out of her body.

Bevy sat back with an expression of satisfaction.  "That's what grown-ups do."

Meggie just stared.  She could feel her bottom lip starting to quiver, and she didn't want Bevy to see her cry.

Bevy could see her new companion starting to wilt.  "Now don't tell," she ordered fiercely.  "*Promise* not to tell."

Meggie nodded, then it all became too much.  She turned and fled, abandoning her doll and her panties on the muddy creek bank.

Q had seen enough.  He was at his most malicious as he  hightailed it over to the Enterprise and into Beverly's quarters. Beverly turned around when she saw his characteristic flash of light, but he didn't give her a chance to say anything.  Leaning against the bulkhead, he pointed his finger at her.  "You know, you two really have something here, but you're ruining it with that little lunatic girl act.  And if you break up, I'll be around to help Jean-Luc pick up the pieces."  He leered insinuatingly.  "Now, are we going to talk or are you going to give me just the break I've been looking for?"
 
Q had picked the wrong night to start with Beverly Crusher. She was in full mommy mode, and no one, nothing, and certainly not some insane alien who thought he was god was going to threaten her baby. "You stay away from him," she snarled, and Q thought, momentarily, of the feral expression in little Bevy’s eyes.

"Or...?" he prompted.

"He isn’t interested in you. He never would be. The only way you could ‘pick up the pieces’ is if you forced him."

"Like you do?" Q asked in his best smarmy voice.

"What?"

"Do you enjoy raping him, night after night? Is it even him you’re fucking, or is he just the first man with authority over you whom you could get to bend over and take it?"

Beverly returned to the dinner she was preparing, trying to look busy. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Q sat, made himself at home by picking at the salad she had placed on the table. He decided to try again. "Why do you think he’s with you? Besides monumental bad taste."

"I give him what he needs."

"Like this?" A flash of bright light, and one of Beverly’s special dildos was in Q’s hand, the one she called "the stretcher." Standing there on his open palm, slightly glistening with lube, it looked like an obscene Christmas tree and not a toy or an object of love. She tried to grab it from him, but he snatched it out of her reach.

Beverly took the high road. "What Jean-Luc and I do is none of your concern. What any two consenting adults do is none of anyone’s business, Q."

"Oh, please, I do have more important things to worry about than the rather pathetic sight of Jean-Luc Picard in a frilly dress and size 12 Mary-Janes."

"Well, then, please feel free to go and do them," Beverly taunted. She had never liked Q, never cared for the way he bullied Jean-Luc around, but now Jean-Luc was hers to protect, and she would do whatever it took.

"When I’m ready," Q responded easily, picking at the food she had set out for her daughter. "But I wasn’t talking about his obsession with being—how does he put it?--your ‘little fuckhole.’ No, I have bigger concerns...Bevy."

Beverly crossed her arms around herself, trying to ward off the sudden chill. That name brought up memories she didn’t want to deal with, the lost weekends since she and Jean-Luc had started their games, nights of waking up in his arms and not remembering how she got there, of suddenly coming conscious to the feel of him on top of her and not liking it, of Monday mornings filled with treating scratches on her arms, her chest, not remembering how they got there, but knowing that the only genetic traces on her wounds were her own. It brought up thoughts of Jean-Luc and his recent questions about her medical history, and the look on Troi’s face some days. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"No, of course you don’t, Bevy," said Q. "Do you know the first time you had sex?"

"That’s none of your business."

Q continued pounding her with questions. "Do you remember what life was like on Arvadda? Did you ever wonder how your grandmother got the money to get the two of you to Caldos? Why there are years missing from your Nana’s journals?"

She put her hands over her ears, not wanting to hear all the questions she, from time to time, tortured herself with.

"Did you ever wonder why you can’t remember being six, seven—why you can’t remember much of your childhood?"

For this she had an answer, the one provided by Starfleet psychologists when she had applied to the Academy. "Arvadda was very traumatic. Many..."

Q was right beside her, breathing into her ear. "You’re lying, Bevy. But then, what else should I expect from a sweet little whore like you?"

She turned away from him. He was lying. She knew it. He had to be. He always did.

Q stayed with her. "Nana Howard bought her bread/with money earned in Bevy’s bed..."

Beverly covered her ears again, sinking into her seat at the table. She wanted to run away, but something was keeping her there. Whether it was Q or herself she couldn’t say.

Q knelt down beside her. "Bevy."

"Don’t call me that."

He put his hand on her thigh. "Little Bevy Howard, best lay of the under-twelve set."

Beverly scooted her chair back, throwing his hand off of her. Why wouldn’t he stop with his filthy lies?

Q smiled, kneeling there where her chair had been. "Oh, those herbs your grandmother gave you worked well, didn’t they? You don’t remember a thing, just flashes here and there, which make no sense. Would you like to know, Bevy? Would you like to see why you have such a pathetic, screwed-up excuse for a life? Would you like to know why you have to force your ‘little girl’ night after night, teach her she’s a dirty, filthy little thing, a—what is it you say to her?--a ‘nasty little cunny’?"

Beverly stood up. She had to go, had to get out. Q made everything sound so obscene. It wasn’t like that, it wasn’t. She wasn’t making Jean-Luc do anything he didn’t want to. He liked the games they played. He asked for them. He loved them. He loved her. He loved being her nasty, dirty little girl; he loved her punishments. He loved her. He loved her.

Q grabbed her arm. "I think it’s time for a trip."

Just then, the doors opened. Jean-Luc looked at Beverly, looked at Q, looked at that horrible green dildo on the table amongst the half-eaten meal. His voice wavered between a captain’s authority and a little girl’s bewilderment. "What’s going on here?"
 Calculation crossed Beverly's countenance, there and gone in instants.  "You realize," she said to Q, "that if you hurt me he'll never forgive you.  No matter what you think of our sex life, you can't change our feelings for each other."

She reached her arms out towards her baby.  Picard responded to both the authority in her pose as well as his own need.  They came together instantly, and over his head her expression hardened as she
stared Q down.

Q stared back at them with barely hidden rage.  They were clutching at one another, each one trying to comfort and protect the other, shutting him out without even realizing they were doing so.  He realized then that he had no chance with Picard at all.

'Where did that thought come from?' he wondered.  He didn't want Picard.  Not when it was so much fun to torture them in tandem.
 
"Isn't that charming?" He drawled mockingly.  "Pervert One and Pervert Two.  Oh, but I forgot."  He clapped his hand against his cheek in a caricature of surprise.  "You have to change into your
playclothes, don't you?"

He snapped his fingers and Picard was suddenly wearing one of his favorite dresses--green velvet with black trim, matching green tights and the ubiquitous mary janes.
 
"Don't we look sweet," Q drawled, raking his eyes up and down Picard's body.  He advanced menacingly.  "Don't we look just like something Mommy wants to bend over and defile?"
 
"Q..."  Beverly's voice held a note of warning that utterly amused him.  He could hear the tension beneath her bravado, and the panic.
 
"Look at yourself," he stalked around to hiss into Picard's ear from behind.  "Is there some requisite aberration they build into Starship captains," he demanded, "or are you just sick?"
 
Trust Q to ask the very questions he'd worried at over and over again.  He'd never come up with an answer--never really needed one because Beverly's acceptance had always been enough to sooth any
doubts.

Picard straightened as well as he could while still protectively clinging to his mommy.  "What do you want with us, Q?"

"Why nothing, except an answer to this one question:  why are you contributing to her sickness?  This woman is a rapist and a pedophile. Has been for quite some time.  Do you think you're doing her any
favors letting her abuse you night after night?"
 
This was the very nightmare Picard had been afraid of—the very issue he hadn't wanted to face.

"What do you mean?" He hedged.

"So damned obtuse.  Sometimes I don't know why I bother," Q muttered disgustedly.  "I suppose I'll have to show you.  Remember, you asked."
 
He snapped his fingers and all three were standing above the creek at Old McDonald's Farm Park.  A little girl was running up the opposite bank.  Another child with long red curls stared after her before shrugging and going back to splash in the water.

Picard immediately identified Jolie, abandoned by the creek bed.  Butterflies filled his chest and stomach, and his overwhelming anxiety made him weak and disconcerted.  He needed to think.  He needed to go after the doll and scoop her up but he couldn't seem to move.
 
Q glanced at him sidelong, taking in his discomfiture.  When he didn't offer to help Picard retrieve his doll, Picard vainly tried to still himself.
 
"Now what would make Meggie abandon Jolie of all things?  Why don't we just go see."

"Q, take us back where we belong," Beverly said, mastery in her tone.
 
"Of course you'd say that," Q was frankly gloating as he turned to Picard.  "Red here is about to get caught flagrante delicto.  But don't let me spoil the surprise."

In a process they could never describe, even if they'd been inclined to, Jean-Luc and Beverly felt time rewind itself.  They were standing in the water now, and this time, somehow, they were inside the two girls.  Jean-Luc recognized Meggie and relaxed, feeling immediately at home.
 
On the other creek bank, Beverly kept herself from screaming only by force of will.  She recognized Bevy inside and out, and it was torture.  Panicked, she struggled to get out, but she was forced to
see herself and feel all those ancient memories as she stared at the brown-haired child who watched her from across the creek.  To Bevy, the other girl's purity and innocence shone from her like a beacon.  She was everything Bevy wished she could be, but wasn't.  It made Bevy angry that she could never be like Meggie, but there was something she could do to even the score.
 
Beverly Crusher watched her younger self vamping and teasing, luring Megggie in.  She watched the hesitance and temptation in the girl's eyes, and she felt the hostility, strong but unacknowledged,
well up inside Bevy's mind.  She wanted to be accepted and loved, not feared, yet she moved inexorably through the act that would soon have Meggie running away from her in terror.
 
By the time Bevy had her fingers up inside Meggie's body Picard was roaring at Q to end this now.  The little girl's panic was overwhelming, and Picard was afraid along with her, too caught up in
the trauma of the assault to separate his selves.
 
"I told you she was a rapist."  Q appeared inside Meggie's mind alongside him.  "Look at her.  Look at what she's doing to you."
 
"This can't be right.  There's something wrong.  You're making this up."
 
"Oh, no, Jean-Luc, you can't let her off the hook that easily."
 
Beverly was screaming too, not in denial, Q realized with surprise, but in near-hysterical defiance.  She was fighting him, Q acknowledged in admiration, and rather effectively at that. Beverly
was raging at Q, distilling her memories of herself and Jean-Luc in the throes of passion and pushing them to the forefront of her thoughts.  The oppressive weight of her resurging memories fueled her
current terror, so she came at Q with everything she had.  She threw the especially potent image of Jean-Luc's desire to be in her clutches.  Q was bombarded by pictures of her lover's palpable gratification; the sound of his voice, moaning; the way he eagerly opened his legs to her touch or his own.

//See,// she raged at Q.  //He likes it.  He likes it!//

That was obvious to Q, but Beverly had more memories in her arsenal.  She hit Q with Jean-Luc's need for her love and protectiveness.  She bombarded him with the fact that games or no games, the feelings between them were real, and valuable to both of them.  She buffeted him with the fact that their relationship had great meaning to both of them.  She struck him with the way Jean-Luc loved how she cared for him and pampered him.  She pounded him with the fact that Jean-Luc didn't have to be 'on' for her, that he could be weak or soft as he chose and that she didn't judge him for it, but
rather wanted him that way.

//And you hate it that I can give him that and you can't.// She taunted.  //Whatever you do to us, it's because you're a lazy, pathetic excuse for an immortal who has to steal from others because he doesn't have what it takes to get out and find a real relationship of his own.  Cannibal!//
 
Q took a moment to marvel that Beverly instinctively knew to assault him with spite and memories.  He was almost proud of her for affirming his belief that humans were a worthy little race after all,
because she shouldn't have known how to hurt him.  It wasn't very harmful by Q standards, but for an ape, she was doing a damned find job of it, even if she was only motivated by fear of losing the one
she loved.

'I am so stupid,' Q thought.  He froze time again.  Little Meggie was running up the hill.  Bevy was watching her bemusedly. Picard was in shock.  Beverly was in the process of cursing at Q, her
mouth open in mid-imprecation.

He stalked around the four participants.  Insane Bevy and sociopath Beverly were immensely more interesting than vapid Meggie and self-oppressed Jean-Luc.  Why hadn't he realized?  He could hold
them both hostage, each to the other.  Oh, this was tasty.

He snapped his fingers and the children went on their ways. Picard and Crusher were again standing next to him on the creek bank. They rushed into each others' arms and held on tightly.
 
Q discovered that he hated it when they expressed affection for one another in front of him.
 
"Let go of each other," he demanded roughly, and they flinched apart.
 
But as he watched them he had another revelation about parents and their children.  Jean-Luc was Beverly's child.  She would do anything to protect him, even defy a Q.  He'd known this about humans, but his own cultural biases had gotten in his way.  Q did not forge personal connections to vulnerable progeny--or any progeny for that matter.
 
'I've been going about this humanity thing all wrong,' he realized.  'Defaulting to Picard's worldview because he held himself responsible for the lives of thousands.'  But all the responsibility in the world was no match for Beverly's simple, visceral need to protect.  She would trade the Enterprise and
everyone on it for her baby's safety.  Oh, this was going to be wonderful.  In the name of parenthood, Beverly would dance to his tune forevermore.
 
But not until they both realized what the stakes were.  Q didn't bother to ask himself why he was pursuing Red so vengefully. He simply transported them to the sight of that first rape on Arvadda,
then played out Beverly's childhood side by side with her current life with Jean-Luc.  He showed them each and every one of the hundreds of sordid encounters, and with every one he superimposed another image of Beverly driving into Jean-Luc.  He focused on her expressions, and all three of them could see the madness lurking in her face.  But was there retribution?  Even Q didn't know, so, typically, he focussed his attention elsewhere.
 
"Isn't it terrible to have to live that nightmare over and over again.  To defile innocence night after night like you were defiled.  You love him so tenderly, yet at the same time you need to torture him and hurt him and *rape* him.  And now you know why. Dear Nana pimped you like the whore she knew you to be.  And that's what you'll always be.  Bevy the whore." He started to singsong. "Bevy the
who-ore, Bevy the who-ore..."
 
The words were still echoing in their ears as light flashed all around them and they found themselves back in Beverly's quarters.
 
"Q!"  Starship captains didn't panic.  Therefore Picard was not panicking.  He was just a little uncertain of what to do next. Bevy the whore was staring at him and he couldn't help himself--he
despised her for the lie she'd put between them.  He'd loved little Bevy so much, had tried to take care of her, had worn himself out in the process, had felt himself a failure, and flayed himself with guilt
when he couldn't cope.  And all because Beverly...  No.  That wasn't right.  He couldn't blame her for not being able to endure any better than he could.  Still, she could have given him some warning.  After all, she'd been astute enough to destroy her medical records (Q had generously shown him how she'd done it. "Just so there won't be any secrets among friends.")  Jean-Luc struggled for equanimity, but apparently some of his revulsion and anger showed anyway.
 
"Jean-Luc I'm sorry," she began, but he cut her off.  He had to think.  He wouldn't let Q pollute his relationship, even if it turned out that his mommy was an ex-whore pedophile rapist.  He wouldn't ask
what that said about his taste in women, or his predilection for their games.
 
"I still love you, Beverly."

"But?"

"But nothing.  We'll see each other through this.  Somehow."

But Beverly knew better..  She turned away from him and walked into their bedroom.  "Alright, Q." She demanded wearily.  "What do you want from me?"
 "You? Nothing." Despite his words, Q reached out for her hair. "You hold no interest for me. It’s Jean-Luc I want."

"You can’t have him."

"I could, you know." Both of them knew he wasn’t idly boasting, yet both heard the desperate pleading in his voice, the need to be believed.

"Only if you changed who he is, Q, and then he wouldn’t be the man you want."

//Damn, she’s good.// How did she managed to pierce his defenses so effectively, considering what she was? Maybe this was what a man like Jean-Luc saw in her, the unforgiving reflection of himself, the same vain attraction that led people to check themselves in any mirror they passed. "If you know me so well, Red, you tell me what I want from you."

"If you’re so omnipotent, tell me what the most I’m willing to give you is."

If Q had any idea, he might have said and saved himself endless negotiating, but her unpredictability was what made this otherwise unremarkable woman interesting. That, and her instability; Q was dying to see how far she’d have to be pushed before she went overboard, and whether she’d manage to drag her lover along with her or whether he’d fall into Q’s ever so willing arms.
 

He sat down on her bed, leaning back on his arms, looking around her room. "Looks pretty normal, considering what you do in here. Did your room on Arvada look this normal?"

"I don’t remember."

"Oh, that’s right, your convenient memory block. Think Counselor Cow could help you with that?" Q raised his hands, ready to snap his fingers and bring the Betazoid bovine in on the little game.

Beverly grabbed his hand and he stared at her, astonished and angry. How dare she? Didn’t she know who she was dealing with? And then he realized that there were lines which should not be crossed. Beverly was willing to deal with him only to keep her secret and Jean-Luc’s safe. If he revealed either, she’d have nothing left to lose and no reason to give into his desires.

Desires. Until he had seen Bevy’s life, he’d never thought he’d have those sort of feelings for anyone but Picard. The only women he’d chased, in recent years, had the mutual distinction of having slept with his true object of desire, but Crusher was just too shrill to be desirable, no matter how many times she’d invaded Jean-Luc’s lovely ass or how many times he’d been inside of her. But Bevy—defiled innocence, precocious, brittle, an object of pity who’d learn to trust no one and nothing—something about her fascinated Q, brought her back into his thoughts over and over again. He had to master her, defend her, protect her from everyone who would use her or reject her, including Jean-Luc and Beverly.

He could force the issue. He could turn back the clock and do what he wished to little Bevy Howard. He could be anyone he wanted to be, anywhere he wanted to be, but that would be no fun. In helping Bevy, he could hurt Beverly. He could break her like a horse, trapping her between the carrot and the stick. Hold out the promise of normality while pushing her over the edge of a cliff. And in the end, he’d be there, ready to pick up the pieces. And if he wasn’t, or nothing went according to plan, he could start it all over again.

He brought his free hand up to cover hers, which still grasped his own.  "We don’t have to fight, Beverly. I know you have him and I never will." It was a large concession, but one necessary if he were to gain access to what he now wanted.

Q could see the protective walls around her drop. Foolish woman... "That’s good," she said tentatively.

"But that doesn’t mean I won’t stop trying, and I’ve an eternity to woo him, and a multiverse in which to do it," Q warned. Beverly’s shields went back online, and Q almost laughed It was just too easy to manipulate her.

"If you really did love him, you’d accept his decision," she challenged.

"Who said it had anything to do with love?" Q answered, insolent, and he actually slid back a bit on the bed, anticipating her attack on him, though the threat was not realized. Instead, quick study that she was, she repeated an earlier attack, throwing at him image after image of Jean-Luc declaring his love, receiving hers so gratefully.

He wanted to destroy the bitch. Annihilate her. Scatter her atoms back and forth from the beginning of time, wipe out the squalid family that had bred her. How dare she have what a Q wanted, how dare she refuse to cede everything to his greater power and need? He could so easily remove her from Jean-Luc’s life, but then Jean-Luc would grieve. And, no matter what Q had said about love, he never wanted Jean-Luc to have cause to grieve. In his own way, Q wanted to protect Picard as fiercely as Beverly did. It was odd to see her as an ally of sorts, odd and uncomfortable. But if one had to sleep with the enemy...

"I am not an unreasonable god, Doctor."

Beverly scoffed, and Q allowed her this small blasphemy.

"If you can prove that Jean-Luc really does love you, really does enjoy the games you play, I will leave your daughter alone." The distinction was not lost on Beverly. //Score one for the apes.//

"And Jean-Luc," she insisted.

"His personal life," Q offered. "I will not stop using the Enterprise as my playground. I’ve grown quite fond of its monkey bars. And monkeys."

Beverly nodded. It meant a return to the status quo, and that she could accept, as long as Jean-Luc was safe.

Q smiled, pleased he had accurately predicted how much Beverly would bargain away to keep her lover safe. "And how are you going to prove all this to me, Beverly?"

"If you’re really omnipotent, you can just go into there," she waved at the next room where Jean-Luc waited, she hoped, in some sort of Q-induced stasis, "and find out. Actually, you already know, don’t you?"

It was nice, once in a while, to deal with creatures who didn’t completely buy his godhood act. It kept him on his toes, allowed him a little—god help him—humanity. "I know it. Here," Q pointed to his head, "but not here," he pointed to his heart. "Prove it to me. Let me see it."

"You’re crazy."

"Possibly. Falling for a mortal? Definitely. Indulge me, Red. Be a gracious winner." He could tell she was at least considering it. "Every baby needs a mommy and a daddy, or who knows? They might turn into pint-sized whores." //Brilliant. She’s going to love that one. Can’t even keep your foot out of your mouth. Some god you are.//

"He’d never agree," Beverly said, slowly. Q noted that she didn’t object on her own behalf.

"I think he might," Q answered. "Did you know he thinks of me when your little games aren’t enough, wonders what it would be like if I were watching?"

"Of course I know." She hadn’t, not really, but it made sense. Jean-Luc needed to be degraded, humiliated, and how long could the same imprecations work? How long could her inane chatter and the same cruel names sting him? Everyone gave in to mental fantasies during sex, and what would be more humiliating for Jean-Luc than the thought of being discovered, and what more exciting? She remembered his reaction at being discovered by her, and it made her want to be rid of this omnipresent idiot and go back to the business of claiming her little girl, body and soul.

"So why don’t we give him his fantasy?" Q breathed into her ear. She’d been so busy thinking of all the deliciously wicked things she would do to Jean-Luc when Q was gone that she hadn’t noticed him leave the bed and come up behind her.

She balanced on her hands, not allowing Q to force her down on the bed beneath him. "No. The whole point of this is that he shouldn’t know anything, so how would I explain your presence?"

Q snaked out his tongue, catching her earlobe. He’d caught her. "He doesn’t have to know. You share the present, or I go back in there," with his chin he pointed to the day room, "and share your sordid past. And then do you think he’ll ever trust you again?"

"He’d never know?"

"No."

"How can I trust you?"

Q frown. Just the type of stupid question she’d ask. "You can’t. But what other choice do you have? Either I let him remember now, or you hope I never let him remember." He could feel her resolve weakening. "Of course, you can buy my promise. And I never go back on a promise."

She laughed. He always went back on his word. Didn’t he? No—he didn’t. He tried to sneak out of doing what he promised, but in the end, for all his faults, he never broke his promises. "What do you want?"

"Nothing really. Something you don’t even want." He slid his hands around her, holding her close.

"What?" She was scared of him, at last. Too late.

"Bevy."

Somehow she managed to turn in his embrace, bent awkwardly as she was. "What?"

He was too close to her, and she could almost feel his lips on her. The thought of that horrid face touching Jean-Luc’s... She’d do whatever it took to protect her baby. How could she ever have thought she might not?

"Let me help you retrieve those lost years. Help you understand who you are," Q whispered.

Beverly pushed back, away from him, falling on the bed with an ungraceful plop. "No. I don’t want to know."

"But you already do." Q bent over her again. "Are you going to be able to ignore it? Are you going to be able to give your baby what she wants anymore? ‘Bitch, cunt, whore, slut’." He quoted her lust-crazed croonings. " ‘Take it.  Take it like you know I like it.’ Take it like I used to? Is that what you’re going to say to him?"

"Shut up."

"And I’ll be there watching, and I’ll know exactly what it is you used to do, Bevy the whore."

"Shut up."

"You won’t be able to stand it. you’ll have to know, and I won’t tell you a thing. And then, when you finally do go round the bend, I’ll still be here to pick up the pieces. And Jean-Luc will weep with gratitude at finally having a mommy who knows how to love him, not just defile him."

The attack he’d expected earlier finally materialized, with all the lack of finesse he’d anticipated. He held her down on the bed, invaded her mind, touching her intimately and all over with his power. It was nothing like Ronin; he was everywhere, past and present, physical, mental, loosening her self-identity, tearing her away from place and time, from Jean-Luc. She growled beneath him, sweating, foaming at the mouth, trying to fight him off, trying to slip away to someplace in her mind where this wasn’t happening, trying to prolong the pain until it blossomed, as it must, into pleasure, and trying desperately not to let Q know any of this. If he should do this, even once, to Jean-Luc, he’d never come back to her.

"Yes," she screamed at Q. "Yes."

But Q was gone, and Jean-Luc was standing at the foot of her bed, confused. "Mommy?"

He looked so adorable. So innocent. So willing. Time to relieve the painful arousal, to find oblivion, to regain her lost power. "Come here, Meggie."

Meggie sat next to her on the bed.

"Are you Mommy’s own little girl?"

"Yes, Mommy."

"Do you love Mommy?"

"Yes, Mommy." Q had obviously kept his end of the bargain. It was time to keep her own, to start proving a thing or two to Q.

She reached down to rub Meggie’s crotch, smiling to find out he was already erect. "What do you want, baby?"

"Please fuck me, Mommy." Mommy didn’t answer, so Meggie tried to force the issue by pulling off her panties and kneeling beside the bed.

"Oh, baby. Look how much she wants it.  That's my little slut. My little fuck-hole.  Does mommy's little whore want to take it for mommy?"

"Yes, please, Mommy."

But mommy didn’t take her, and when Meggie looked up, Mommy was still lying on the bed. She climbed up there, too, and began kissing Mommy, trying to force her to start. When that didn’t work, she began to parrot the phrases which always made her open up for Mommy, which always made her penis so achingly hard that she’d accept anything for the momentary oblivion of his climax. "Please, mommy," he moaned, "fuck your whore.  Fuck me good mommy, please."

"Shut up." Mommy rarely hit him anymore, but now she did, over and over, slapping anything she could reach, yelling at him to hush, be quiet, shut up. The longer she kept at it the more Meggie cried and begged to be fucked, and the harder Meggie’s cock grew until Mommy finally, finally took pity on her and gave her what she wanted. Oh, it was that horrible green thing, but Meggie didn’t care, because she was so afraid that Mommy didn’t love her anymore, but now she knew she had been wrong; she had just been a bad girl, and Mommy loved her enough to make her good again.

Afterwards, Meggie snuggled drowsily into Mommy’s embrace and noticed the tears falling down Mommy’s cheeks. She squirmed upwards to kiss the tears away and begged, "Don’t cry, Mommy. You make me sad when you cry."

But nothing she said could make Mommy’s smile that night, and Meggie eventually had to turn to Jolie for solace, which made Mommy cry all that much harder.

 Watching silently, Q smiled to himself.  He was winning, at least for now.  He send Jean-Luc into a deep sleep and materialized by the side of the bed.

Beverly eyed his crotch with open derision.  "Get what you wanted?"

'Pig,' Q thought.  He tried not to let her see that the question rattled him.  He certainly wasn't going to admit that he wanted more.  "You don't get off the hook that easily.  One fuck does not a proof make."

"No, of course not."  She let him hear that she was sneering, that she was bitter.  "You'll come back to the well every night, won't you?"

"Not unlike a certain redhaired witch I could name," Q scoffed. "We both use him in our various ways, don't we?  Of course," he changed tactics slightly, "if I felt like it I could just kill you. He'd never know what I'd done, and then I *would* have him."

Beverly rose, and came towards him.  Q noticed that she apparently trusted him to keep Jean-Luc asleep.  He spared a second to gaze at the object of his desire, securing to memory the sight of him slumbering soundly in his rumpled dress, his dolly clutched protectively to his chest.  Sublime.

Beverly deliberately moved into his line of sight, her naked body displayed freely.  "You won't hurt me because Jean-Luc has been here."  She picked up his hand and brought it to her pubic hair. "And while there's the remotest chance that you can go where he's been, I'm perfectly safe.  Isn't that right?"

Caught.  Q snatched his hand back from where his fingers had involuntarily begun to graze.  He hated this woman, and while he might not be as all-powerful as he liked to pretend, there were lots of thing that were still under his control.

"Time for another little adventure, wouldn't you say?" He snapped his fingers and just like that they were back at the creek.  Like last time, Beverly was inside Bevy's head.  She had access to all Bevy's memories but she had no control over them, and she had no control over Bevy's behavior.

Helplessly, Beverly watched as the girl trolled the rides and grounds.  THe child didn't know what she was looking for, and she was too young to understand her own feelings, but Beverly wasn't. Meggie's soft whimpers seemed to echo in their ears.  Beverly felt Bevy's triumph and her hunger for more, and knew with sick certainty that the child was searching for another victim.

"No, Q."

"Yes, my dear.  This is Bevy's world.  I can't tell her what to do."

"It isn't right to let her victimize other children."

"I have no power to stop her.  I'm not her mommy."

"Then you're sicker than she'll ever be."  Beverly answered dully. She had access to all the memories that flowed so casually through Bevy's head, and they were uniformly horrible.  Here in the park the girl felt liberated but the woman was trapped.  She watched as Bevy tried approaching other little girls, but they were apparently more savvy than Meggie was.  The child was gently but firmly rebuffed  by the children or their mothers.

Beverly felt relieved when Q finally let her go for the night, but her sense of reprieve did not last long.  The next night, and for many nights after that, Q came and got her and took her to relive some element of Bevy's sordid existance.  The game quickly took it's toll.  Beverly tried to ignore the memories but they rattled around her skull, intruding at at inopportune moments, disturbing every single part of her life.  Sickened by her behavior, she tried to tell herself that her increasing savagery towards Jean-Luc had nothing to do with the reemergence of a little girl she'd buried long ago.

Her baby didn't mind, and her lover didn't mind, but Beverly felt horribly guilty.  She should have more self-control.  Some nights, by the time she was done with him he was bruised, bleeding and crying.  Some nights, when she had to sedate him and repair the damage she'd done she wanted to turn her equipment on herself, inflicting equal pain.  If only he'd objected.  But he didn't, and Meggie didn't either.  Now they were both a little frightened of her, but when had she not frightened them?  They still loved her and trusted her, and it broke her heart that she dealt so dishonestly.

And behind it all Q watched, taking it all in, feeding on the strange combination of love and eroding control.  Beverly was losing her grip on reality, but Bevy was having a field day.  Finally allowed to exist, she ran rampant through Doctor Crusher's mind.  Her presence was everywhere, and Q encouraged her as much as possible.  Even when Beverly stupidly spilled the beans to Jean-Luc and he left her, Q wasn't too upset.  Beverly was relieved, thinking that now her little girl would be safe from both monster and madwoman, but Picard only lasted a few weeks before he came crawling back.

When Meggie crept into her old home and woke Bevy for a longed-for reunion, the two girls held each other and cried.

Eavesdropping as he usually did these days, Q tried to convince himself that he was amused by the pain he caused.  He hated Beverly enough that he wasn't bothered by the thought of her impending
breakdown.  Counselor Bunny was actually frightened of her now, a fact that caused Q no end of entertainment, but he had to work hard not to think of Jean-Luc's pain, and Meggie's.

He'd broken down the barriers between Beverly and Bevy, liberating the child from invisibility.  It hadn't occurred to him, however, that as Beverly went, so would go Jean-Luc.  And Meggie.  She and
Jean-Luc were both on the bed crying, as were Bevy and Beverly.  Something curdled as he watched.  Little girls were interesting, but they broke so easily.

Q felt cheap, like some cut-rate Shiva who could only destroy that which had already been made vulnerable.  Advanced being that he was, he immediately thought of a way to even the playing field.  He could do it easily.

'You are truly pathetic,' he accused himself.  That didn't stop him from carrying out his plan.  He snapped his fingers and they were all back at the creek again.

Meggie and Bevy looked up from the middle of the water, sensing they weren't alone.  Another little  girl was staring at them—a dark-haired, darkeyed child with a puckish quirk to her lips.

Bevy recovered first.  "Who are you?" She demanded.

"Quiana," the girl answered.  "Let me play..."

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