The Promised LandPart Fifteen> For the Christmas holidays, Q bought a big tree for their living room and expensive decorations. Then they had their pictures made and sent to their fan club. And the night before Christmas they put all the presents underneath the tree and then opened them the next morning, petrified of each other's judgement. They didn't need to worry. Geordi and Data bought everyone the same thing -- computers and computer lessons. Q bought clothes for all of them, which, because of his exquisite taste, they actually ended up wearing. Worf and Will bought everyone pieces of exotic art they'd seen in a catalogue that had come to the house one day. Jean-Luc's gift was a trip for all of them to the Taj Mahal. No particular reason, he just knew it was someplace far away and very special, and he wanted to go exploring after Europe. They even had a beautifully-catered Christmas day reception -- with the roadies, Kira with some of the cult, Guinan and her family, and Quark in a Santa Claus hat bearing presents (which turned out to be mostly Boys merchandise). Will held Modyed, "Christmas is for children," he told everyone. They were proud of themselves afterwards, because they'd crossed another milestone into respectability. They'd successfully pulled off Christmas. Q was the happiest he had been a while. In his lackluster childhood, only Christmas ever held any promise of treasure and change. His two older sisters would turn up with their families (in true hillbilly fashion, Q had nephews and nieces older than he was), and filled the house with rare liveliness and laughter. On these occasions, for once, his family felt like a family in magazine with pretty food and decorations. Even now he liked to sit by the tree, hardly moving his eyes from its starry white lights. And then they went to Europe. London, Paris, Amsterdam, Madrid, Berlin. Everywhere they went their raw American masculinity titillated and shocked, but it unquestionably drew the eye. The subjects, prison love, love between men, heartbreak, were surprising, yet intimately familiar. They did not complain about the rough touring schedule. Tommy Quark took good care of his egg-laying goose and scheduled long breaks between cities so they could rest and sightsee. Jean-Luc was in heaven. Pretty boys, ruins and museums to explore. Everything. He tried to explain to Q why this was important, but Q already knew. Q had been on Fajo's island, had seen things that knocked the hillbilly breath out of his lungs. In Paris, late at night, Will got a phone call from Eileen Farralon. He was very pale and sweaty as he listened. Eileen Farralon was going to turn fifty in July and she was beginning to realize that a lot of pretty young dreams were not going to come true for her, despite the cute young husband and the six-figure-law-firm income. She wanted something else, a little happiness. Maybe if she made these intense talented queer lovers happy, that would add a few particles of happiness to the world. So she had not looked in her usual sources, which were brokers who fed unwed mothers from the Midwest to wealthy couples who wanted a healthy white male baby. Instead, she looked in infants in the city's homes for abandoned babies. She even went to women's prisons, and there she caught a break. A young lady, busted with her crack dealer boyfriend, was serving three to five years. The girl wanted to give up the child for adoption because her boyfriend had refused to marry her. Then he disappeared. Ultrasound reported a baby girl. The adoption lady spread some of Will and Worf's money around. The nice young lady got vitamins every day. She was escorted to the interrogation room once a day where wonderfully prepared meals waited for her with lots of fat and protein to keep the baby healthy, and lots of calcium, too. Would she consent to taking these extra vitamin pills? Flattered, she said yes. It was the most attention she'd gotten in her life. Eileen Farralon was nothing if not thorough. The girl was taken in handcuffs to a hospital for another ultrasound and an amniocentesis. The baby was healthy. "They're rich?" the girl said, for reassurance. "Very rich, and they specifically asked for a mixed-race baby." Eileen fixed honest eyes on the young girl. "And they might be persuaded to send you to night school -- or even junior college -- after prison." All Will and Worf had to do was wait until they were back in America. In Europe, Geordi was hearing new and interesting music everywhere he went. He became more obsessive than Data about collecting this music, and together the two of them went on a musical discovery jaunt, buying anything and everything new they could get their hands on. Yanamamo Indian music, Tuvan throat-singing music (it blew their minds), eerie Celtic music, Tunisian music, Israeli music, Slavic, Norwegian, Indian, you name it. Geordi bought exotic new instruments in every city and talked to musicians all over Europe about studying with them on their next break. The other Boys were a bit upset. "No," they told him. "You can't stay here studying this stuff when we have an album to prepare." Geordi sighed and acquiesced, but not before trying to explain the dimensions of music that were opening up before his ears. "But our music is great right now," the other Boys protested. "We think so. Everyone thinks so." Geordi gave up, but his frustration was evident. This was big. This was important. Worth much more than a postponed CD. He didn't understand why they couldn't see it. Data was amazed. His respect for Geordi's abilities soared higher than ever. Then in Bonn, Geordi met a young Dane who had gone to Kerala to study the tampura. He did not claim to be very good (the opposite in fact), but by the time he finished explaining about the evolution of Syrian Orthodox Christianity and its subsequent influence on this particular style of traditional Indian music, Geordi was entranced. They jammed with each other, and Geordi's guitar was imitating the tampura's distinctive sound within an hour. He insisted that Hugh teach him what he could in the short time they would be in Germany, and Hugh was happy to comply. He would sit very close to Geordi, or put his arms around him in order to demonstrate the fingering techniques. Sometimes, when Geordi immediately picked up Hugh's example, Hugh would tighten his arms in exuberant triumph, and once he kissed Geordi's cheek in happiness. Geordi would not have cared to admit it but he enjoyed the closeness of Hugh. He had heard Will laugh and murmur to Worf and Q about how to "get some of that Hugh." He'd listened to Jean-Luc's slowing footsteps he entered a room Hugh was in, and he felt the heat from Jean-Luc's body as he looked over at Hugh and asked him how he was doing. He would never know how beautiful Hugh was (huge eyes and lips, a soft and small gracefulness), but he could feel it. But Hugh was interested only in Geordi. He would touch Geordi on the thigh or the butt as if helping Geordi find a direction he couldn't see. And then one evening Hugh kissed him a long, unmistakable kiss, a kiss that said he wanted it and wanted it now. So they went into the bedroom and lay on the soft European flannel sheets and Hugh gave Geordi a tender, loving blow job, and loved it when Geordi told him to keep his eyes closed so they would be equal. Geordi did not try to hide what they were doing, and Data caught on quickly. "I do not care to have Hugh keep visiting because I do not like for you to have sex with him." "Well, I understand, Data, but it doesn't change my feelings for you one bit. I hate to say it, but it's sort of like with you and Jean-Luc." Geordi was always reasonable. Data was shocked by his own jealousy and fury. "I do not believe the two situations are comparable. I did not have the luxury of choice." Geordi's mouth dropped open. "You threw yourself at him! You practically bent over with a 'fuck me' sign pasted to your butt." "Your perception is inaccurate." "Data!" Geordi was shocked. Then he sighed: "Oh, forget it. We'll be in London tomorrow. I'll probably never see Hugh again." He sounded frustrated. For their two-week stay in London, Quark had rented for all of them a beautiful old British home in Mayfair. The windows alone were worth the rent – ten feet high, five feet wide, inset with beautiful leaded panes. And the soft February light of London made everyone look younger and lovelier. Jean-Luc and Q had some very nice fuck sessions in London. "Let's play like I'm Hugh," Q whispered. "Oh, what is that big thing there, sir?" His Danish accent was most amusing. "Something nice for Daddy's little Hugh." Q caressed Jean-Luc, he was straddling Jean-Luc's thigh with his legs and rubbing himself against Jean-Luc. Then he stood up and turned his back on Jean-Luc, posing. "See something nice, Daddy?" Jean-Luc liked fucking Q when Q was bending over. Jean-Luc liked the whole concept of men bending over for him. Lots of them. Acres of asses, his the only dick. Afterwards, they took baths in the funny old British bath and talked, Q naked, using the toilet as a chair while he dried himself and Jean-Luc in the tub watching his pretty naked lover. "Put your fingers in your ass, Q," Jean-Luc said. "Why?" Q smiled. "Because it's there." Jean-Luc soaked in the scented water and watched Q's little show. Which was mostly stretching and caressing, gently erotic. The phone rang. The operator had been instructed to let only certain persons ring through. Jean-Luc and Q looked at each other. Then Jean-Luc got out of the tub. "Yes." "Yes! Yes! Yes!" Jean-Luc said nothing. "Boy, oh, no, I'm sorry. I'm sorry a thousand times. You're with someone, aren't you? Oh, weep weep, I'm the Anti-Christ. I didn't mean to interrupt. I just missed you so much but I'll ring off now –- I'm just a bad girl." "No, no, Melinda, it's fine. Q and I were just . . ." "Fucking like there's no tomorrow! I know. Damn, I wish I were there. I've been totally unplugged lately, and us modern a-go-go girls want our plugs. I'll let you get back to Q. When's a good time to call?" "Just call when you want to, Melinda." She rang off. A soft February rain started to fall. "Melinda is so nice," Q said without irony. "Let me dry you off and let's get in the warm bed. We can take a little nap. I love sleeping in the rain." Outside it was just getting dark, hazy. The gentle street lights were coming on. Jean-Luc stood looking out the window for the longest time and Q came and held him from behind. Eventually Jean-Luc let himself relax, leaning into Q's arms. They said nothing. In London, Will and Worf spent time walking in pretty little jewel-like parks. They often struck up conversations with craggy-looking British mothers pushing round-headed babies in shabby prams. The women were always making sure the babies were warm. Europe was sure cold in February! After one of the London shows, Hugh showed up backstage, beaming. Kurn recognized him from the other country and let him in. "Hugh! Thank you for coming." "Thank you for letting me in, Geordi. I wanted to see you." Geordi reached out and Hugh pulled Geordi's arms wide and stepped into an embrace. "I love you, Geordi." Geordi was courteous and polite. "I'm glad to hear you say that, Hugh, but I'm in a pretty good relationship right now. I don't know that I could be fair to you if we let this continue." "I know. But I don't care if you're fair to me or not. You're special, Geordi. Please don't send me away." All the Boys were napping except one. For the last hour, Data had lingered outside the room he and Geordi shared, blatantly eavesdropping as his lover made love to the interloper Hugh. Data could imagine perfectly what Hugh and Geordi looked like, earth and snow, fucking each other in the stately old room. After they'd finished, there had been a long silence; then Data clearly heard Geordi ask Hugh to tell him some more about his adventures in India. In moments their voices got sleepy and trailed off, and all the while Data just stood there, listening to them talk, listening to them sleep, imagining he could hear their deep, even breaths. Earlier that day he'd taken Geordi out walking so that Geordi could listen to the traffic going backwards. But, when Hugh stepped out of a cab a few hours later, Data had excused himself, going out to wander those same streets, isolated and bereft. Now he realized he should have not allowed the two of them any time alone. What would Jean-Luc do? And with that thought, Data pushed the bedroom door open and stepped in, the unexpected boldness of the move shocking him into momentary stillness. He had to fight the instinct to excuse himself and leave because Geordi and Hugh were, as he expected, sleeping gently amid the fluffy white covers. His eye was drawn to the beauty of their combined colors of skin, their different textures of hair. But he especially loved Geordi's full lips, his wide nostrils, the relaxed expression on his face as he slept. He wasn't giving any of that up to Hugh. Not again. Data pulled off his clothes and defiantly slid into bed next to Geordi. Hugh and Geordi lay face to face, holding each other loosely, but Data spooned up behind Geordi and wrapped his arms around him tightly. He threw his leg over Geordi's thigh, obviously, and somewhat gleefully, displacing Hugh. Who woke up. "Am I intruding?" Hugh asked in his polite, accented voice. "Not at all," Data answered with tight courtesy, "but this is my bed. Since I wish to sleep now, this is naturally where I would come." "Perhaps I should leave." "If you wish. Please don't mind if I don't see you out." "Of course not." Hugh's tone was never less than civil. He enraged Data by bending over and gently shaking Geordi awake. "Geordi, I'm going now." He leaned over him and kissed his lips. Geordi lifted his head. "Hugh?" He asked sleepily. He was obviously disoriented by the fact that one body was wrapped around his back while a voice came from somewhere near his face. "Data?" "I am here, Geordi." He snuggled a bit closer, settling into his pillow. "What are you doing, Data?" "Sleeping with you." Geordi was silent. "Okay." He finally responded. "Hugh ... I..." "It's okay, Geordi." Hugh slid out of bed. "I let myself out. Maybe we see each other again sometime." He nodded courteously to Data, dressed and left. Geordi slid over and nestled a bit too comfortably in the warm spot Hugh had just vacated. So it wasn't quite over. That night, at dinner, Will put his foot in it by asking Geordi where Hugh was. Data took note of how quickly Q and Worf looked up, obviously interested in the answer. "He's at a hotel, I think." Geordi sounded very calm. "When's he coming back?" Will pressed. He had a thing for little blonds. Data was seething. "Never, if I have anything to say about it." The words were out before Data had a chance to stop them, and he was just sullen enough to be pleased with everyone's astonished reaction. Geordi turned to Data. "If you have anything to say about it? Just why would you have anything to say about it?" Data sounded hurt. "I thought my feelings meant something to you. I thought our relationship meant something to you." "I thought I meant something to you, too, but I didn't mean much when it came time to fuck Jean-Luc." "Why are we back on that subject again?" Their voices were rising against each other. "I told you, I did not have any choice. Q was gone. What was I supposed to do?" "Maybe not throw yourself at Jean-Luc like the flavor-of-the-month before Q was gone?" Jean-Luc sat up very straight. Astonished. "I didn't throw myself at him!" Will and Worf scoffed simultaneously. "You stay out of it," Data snarled. Jean-Luc sat back. "I fuck anybody I like. I guess that's what this is about." "It's about Data acting like an asshole." Geordi corrected. "It is about Geordi fucking around as if I did not count." "You fucked around on me and I never said a word." "That was only with Jean-Luc!" "Bullshit. You took what you wanted." "Jean-Luc does what he wants. Was I supposed to say no?" "BULLSHIT!!" Geordi was breathless with fury. He. Had. Witnesses. "Will, Worf. You both saw Data throw himself at Jean-Luc." "We sure did!" Will answered promptly, alive with the rich dark pleasure of watching Little Mister-Know-It-All fuck up. "We're not in it," Worf said. "But, yes." Data's chair screeched backwards on the polished oak floor. He stood up and stomped off. Then they heard the door, and he was gone. Everyone sat silent. "He doesn't want me to sleep with Hugh." Geordi ventured. "So I gathered." Jean-Luc's voice was dry. "I'll sleep with Hugh," Will volunteered. "Shhhh," Worf admonished with a small smile. Data came in very late that night, and Geordi got out of bed and came towards him. Data automatically stepped forward to guide him. They ended up on the settee at the foot of the bed. "Data, what was that shit this afternoon? And tonight at dinner?" Data didn't answer. "Hugh is my friend. I love him." Data clutched him frantically. "No." "Listen to me, Data. I love him. Not like I love you. Not deep enough, not strong enough, not wide enough to be anything like my love for you, but I do love him. I'm not asking you to love him, but I am asking you to understand. I enjoyed him. I love you." "I don't want to understand. I want it to be as it was. You and me. " "I know." Geordi put his arms around Data's drooping shoulders. "It is a hard thing, and it's hard no matter who it happens to. You know how hard it is for Q. And you know how hard it was for Worf. Remember when this happened to Worf and Will?" Worf had angrily dragged Will away from several sex scenes before simply giving up and setting out strict rules. Everyone wore a condom every single time, and, if Worf found out otherwise, he would beat Will severely. If Will touched anyone under the age of 18, Worf would beat Will until he died. And Worf had had his share of sweet pussy, so it wasn't like one was cheating and the other wasn't. Eventually they both made their peace with it. Will obeyed the rules. Worf settled down. Will always came back; Worf owned Will. "This is different somehow." But it was a feeble objection and they both knew it. "It's different when it happens to you." Data hesitated for a long time. Then, "Yes." "You're gonna have to get over it, Data, just like all the rest of us." "I do not want to 'get over it.'" "I don't care. Come get in bed." Data got in bed, but he tossed and turned. During their next concert, Data played mechanically. Jean-Luc glared at him, and even Q gave him a look. Will smirked. 'Data's-in-trouble,' his look singsonged. That did it. If even Will could laugh at him, he must truly be pathetic. He resolved to do something. But what? This was not the type of problem Data was good at solving. This called for the soft, intuitive intelligence that he'd never quite been able to grasp. But he knew someone who did. Every day Data saw Q preening himself like a geisha, and every day Data saw Jean-Luc try to control the way his eyes followed Q across the room and finally give in. Q's purpose in life was to keep Jean-Luc's roving attention, and he had more tricks up his sleeve than any man had a right to. Interesting food, places to visit, tight new clothes, sexy poses, eyeliner, lip gloss, new songs, devastating kisses, irresistible vulnerability -- it worked more often than not, especially considering the length of Jean-Luc's attention span. Once in America, on the bus, Data had been reading something and he looked up to rest his eyes and he saw Jean-Luc talking with Q; Jean-Luc looked irritable and bored, and Q's expression had never changed but he quietly opened his satiny shirt to his sternum and spread the shirt open so his nipples showed, the skin around them brown and round as pennies. Jean-Luc smiled. Their low conversation continued uninterrupted, but Jean-Luc was back into Q's love. He should be able to successfully modify Q's techniques to work with Geordi. Geordi had been the first of them to get bored with the nonstop parade of new bodies, followed quickly by Data himself. If he could make himself more interesting to Geordi, perhaps Geordi would cease to find other men attractive, especially Nordic tampura playing types. "Geordi, I want us to have sex again." They had not fucked since England, nearly three weeks ago. 'I'm right here, Data." "I have been a fool, and I regret it, but what I regret most is that it has been so long since I've touched you." He put his hand on Geordi's shoulder and drew him in and kissed him deeply. Geordi opened his mouth pliantly beneath him, and Data kissed him and ground against him for a long time before coming up for air. "I love you, Geordi." "I love you, Data. Let's not fight anymore." "I will try very hard never to fight with you again." But that was not all Data intended to try. "What's that?" Geordi didn't recognize the sound of this particular bottle. "It is for our sexual gratification," Data whispered and was pleased to see Geordi wiggle excitedly as he lay on his back. Data covered his hand with lube and stuck two fingers in Geordi. He played with his prostate until Geordi groaned and started to pull at his erection. "No," Data pushed his hand away. "Not yet." He stuck another finger in, and Geordi groaned. He began to thrust back excitedly. Data started moving his hand around and around, widening the circle until it was time to ease the fourth finger in, which he did with no problem. By now Geordi was sighing, calling his name. He obviously knew what was going to happen next. He pushed against Data's hand, helping as best he could through his delirious excitement. Data kept twisting his fingers. "Breathe, Geordi. Are you ready for all of it? " Geordi pushed himself harder against Data's hand, groaning steadily now, breathing deep and rhythmically, and Data folded his hand into a wedge and suddenly his fist was in him. They paused. Data felt Geordi's pulse beating against his flesh. Oh, he loved the way this looked – his own sallow hand swallowed up by Geordi's gleaming dark skin, so beautiful and pneumatic. Then, like music, they set up a rhythm. Breathing. Fisting. Pulsing. And faster and harder, yet gentle, and Geordi was going crazy, just like Data hoped and planned. "Oh fuck fuck fuck Data I want all of you in me!" Data paused, and, with his fist up inside Geordi's ass, he carefully leaned over until he could take Geordi's dick into his mouth. He set up his rhythm again, just as he knew Geordi liked, a moderate, steady, unwavering beat; pumping short hard strokes that never wavered, that drove Geordi like a throbbing bass backbeat until he screamed and twisted into Data's mouth and gave up all that he had. Data felt the contractions around his hand and knew without having to have it explained to him that Geordi had never come like that in his life. He was very proud of what he'd done. And he waited patiently until Geordi was still again. Finally Geordi turned his head towards Data. "Don't you want to come?" "I had mine." It was true, Data had ground himself against the bed, almost unconsciously, until an orgasm annoyed him by tugging at his concentration; a minor thing, quickly dismissed in light of the reaction he was wringing from Geordi. He instructed Geordi to bear down as he pulled his fist out, and then went to the bathroom and washed his hand very carefully. When he got back to the bed, Geordi lay like a man in a coma, utterly overcome by what had just happened to him. Data wiped his bottom as tenderly as if he were a baby, and then crawled in bed next to him. "Did you like that?" "Oh, God, Data. It was like your fist was pushing me deeper and deeper into your mouth. It was like I could feel you forcing me to be inside you. Every time your fist moved it was like you were taking a part of me, more and more of me. I was totally yours, Data. Totally yours." The normally serene guitarist was nearly incoherent with amazement. He turned to Data and ran his fingers reverently over his face. "I can't close my legs," he murmured in astonishment. "I can't stand for this feeling to go away." He pulled Data against his side and held him tightly for a long time. "I can't believe how that felt." He said that time and time again. Data was ecstatic. He resolved to fist Geordi as often as he could, 'til death they did part. He chanced saying what he felt. "You belong to me, Geordi." Geordi's answer was a dreamy sigh. "Yes, Data, I belong to you." Three weeks for Geordi and Data. Three weeks for Melinda. Jean-Luc had tried to call her – she never answered or picked up. He had Quark's office trace her; she was in Tunisia and Monte Carlo and Ottawa. Then Brazil. He didn't own her, he didn't feel that he owned her, but it would have been nice if she were a bit more convenient. And so Jean-Luc was not in a good mood when she finally called. "Where have you been?" was all he could say. "Canada. Rio. Those kinds of places." She sounded surprised at his brusqueness. "I'd like to be able to reach you easily." There was a puzzled silence. "Boy? I'm right here. But I felt bad. I felt I was crowding you. I think both of us like a lot of love room. That's one of the things I love about you." Love. He had a quick image of what Melinda would have looked like in that beautiful London hotel room. Gentle, fragrant, a wide mouth, his hands splayed on her titties. The light gray and soft and wrapped around them like fur. "Boy, I like Q. I don't want to hurt him." "Q doesn't matter to us." Another silence. Then: "I think he does." "You know, Melinda, Q wants to be fucked over. He was born a soft piece of puss and that's how he'll die. I enjoy fucking him over. That's what we do to each other, Q and myself." "Q's mighty nice, mighty cute." "Melinda, I want to see what you and I can get going on." Jean-Luc drew a deep breath. "What the fuck are these sudden scruples, Melinda?" "They're not scruples. I just feel . . ." "Sorry for that whore Q? I don't think so. He likes it up the ass. And he's good at that." "All right. Fine. I'm hanging up now." "Wait, wait just a goddamn minute. Where are you going?" "This conversation is unsettling, Jean-Luc. I mean, I think we're talking about at least four different relationships. Yours with me. Mine with you. Q and you. And Q and you and me. None of which really exist." And she hung up. Jean-Luc tried to ring her again, but she had disconnected. Q walked in the room; he had been showering. He was naked. He felt the sudden chill roll off Jean-Luc. He barely had time to hold his long hands against his chest before Jean-Luc was hitting him. "Saw Herself at a party last night, Jean-Luc." Jean-Luc wanted to kill Quark more than ever. Good thing Quark was still in LA and Jean-Luc was in a airport hotel just outside Rome. "I've got a date with the Taj Mahal, Tommy. No time to be tied to somebody's apron strings." "We talked over margarita after margarita. After margarita." What was this rat motherfucker implying? "I know she's pissed with me. I'm pissed with her, and, if you don't stay out of it, Quark, I'm going to disembowel you." "Jean-Luc, she's not pissed. Actually, she has a infinite amount of hots for you. I should know. Listen, twice this week I've visited topless psychics – it's the latest thing in California - and both of them said the same thing!" Jean-Luc was stunned. "They said I was a woman in a previous life! And that's why I'm so good with girls. So I know what's happening with Melinda. She's got it bad for you and that's good!" Will called Eileen Farralon. "How's it going?" he said, his voice full of timid hope. "The baby is due on April 25," she said. Their smiles were perfectly audible on the phone lines. Jean-Luc had said they were going to India, and so they were by God going to India. All bets were off in India. "Who's foreign, us or them?" Will whispered as they walked through the airport. No one had an answer. At first the Boys were intimidated by the wealth of difference their eyes beheld. How could food and people and clothes and streets be so different from Kentucky? They relaxed a little over their rice and dal after they realized they were simply eating beans and rice. Jean-Luc wanted someplace far away, as far as he could get, and in spite of a careful preparation by their private tour guide, the shock of the place overwhelmed him. He remembered something Data had heard: "Rule number one," Data quoted, "This is not America. Rule numbers two through a thousand: see rule number one." It helped a little. Jean-Luc looked at the women and smiled at their kohl-lined eyes and their saris. Q saw Jean-Luc's softness and relaxed. He loved the way the men wrapped their loins. He began to dress like that, and Data followed him and then they dressed Geordi dress that way as well. They looked a bit odd because the clothes fell differently on their thick American bodies, but they didn't care. All of them loved the temples with all the dancing, serene, smiling Goddesses. Jean-Luc, in particular, was very attentive to the tour guides, listening politely to their cosmology, nodding, saying in his dark brown voice, "This makes as much sense as anything I've heard back home," and they all described things to Geordi, things that stunned them. Animals walking around the streets. The colors of the sky and the night. The things for sale. Worf, Will and Jean-Luc were definitely foreigners; they kept their hats on and ever so slightly reared back when one of the sloe-eyed Indians addressed them. But they liked getting the royal treatment, first class all the way (not that that precluded finding a deeply weird bug in one of their rooms, but they all were polite about it.) Then they were amazed and delighted at how the people and the food completely changed when they went to another region. They met a saintly guru who treated them like all the other Yanks and Europeans who come to visit him. They saw an Indian movie (Q thought of the clothes Fajo made him wear). They bought tons of souvenirs, so many that they finally hit souvenir overload, even Q. And Jean-Luc realized how much he loved traveling. He was becoming a citizen of the world He had his passport to prove it. It stayed with him always. When he slept. When he bathed. What a wonder. Q had a passport too. Jean-Luc's passport photo was identical to his Kentucky mug shots, but Q -- that sonofabitch Q – Q looked like an angel-movie-star in his passport. Q understood exactly how Jean-Luc felt about passports. He wished he had passports to give his little raggedy boys and, although he laughed at the idea of his kids ever needing passports, he still wished they would one day. Jean-Luc laughed with him. Jean-Luc was at peace. These alien, exotic people were simply that -- people. They saw him in his cowboy hat and his cowboy boots with his little band of friends, and they smiled and nodded, as friendly as if he were in Barbour County, Kentucky. Friendlier really. Q made them travel to one special place. He didn't say why. And then he did. Sort of. "There's this Consolata Sisters orphanage there and . . . " How could he explain that he'd given Fajo a blowjob so Fajo would send the orphanage thousands of dollars? Q just wanted to see if the orphanage was working. It was working okay. Jean-Luc had no interest in the orphanage. He walked out onto the bare soil of the village streets. He saw a woman driving sheep. She was copper and upright and maybe seventeen, on the high road. Clay and bushes stood in tufts around her. It seemed an almost Biblical vision. She was Dravidian, with broadly boned cheeks and long slender fingers, with obsidian eyes, unclouded, austere. Q saw Jean-Luc's new peacefulness and was hopeful. For the first time, Jean-Luc seemed to want to give in a little. Then, at the first chance he had, Jean-Luc called Melinda: "Are you ready to see me again? Or are you going to put me in some doghouse in Tierra del Fuego?" "That'd be okay, Boy. They don't wear clothes in Tierra del Fuego. Things are always coming to a head in Tierra del Fuego." Jean-Luc swallowed. She really had a way with her. He was instantly aroused. "What are you wearing?" "Never you mind about that. I just want to get one thing straight. You're wrong: I don't have scruples. I have no fuck scruples. I have no love scruples. I have no scruples at all. I'm just not interested in your fucking over Q. It holds no interest for me. None. De Nada. Zero. Zilch. My sole interest is in what you will do to me. Now you have five seconds to repair our relationship." "I want to stick it in you so bad." "Okey doke, you bought five seconds." He felt the heat rise in him. "Five hot seconds." She whispered some more preposterous things to him until he was quite beside him. Then there was a knock on his door. He hung up. He hoped it was Q. It was, and Q was able to suck him so lovingly and tenderly and carefully that the force of his orgasm astonished them both. "I felt as if we were in another dimension," Q said on the plane home to L.A. Jean-Luc was very quiet. He too felt he was in another dimension. All the airports of the world treated him like a king when he showed his passport. He was no longer an outsider looking in, nor a refugee in his own country. And as for Melinda. He could not wait to see her. Before, she had had a certain queenliness in her relationship with him. But now he was her equal in some mysterious way. With his passport which let him both in and out, he could conceive of them together. Himself with her, married to her, able to honor her with a beautiful mansion that was worthy of her great value, racing to a vast future together. Something like that time in the grocery store. But Melinda was back in Ottawa! On a film shoot. The windy wilds of Canada standing in for Mississippi in her idiotic prison film. Okay, later for that noise. Jean-Luc just wanted a little fun. So he bought himself a present, something he'd always wanted. A 1975 Plymouth Gold Duster in mint condition! (He was sick of little pussy foreign cars.) He showed it to Worf. "Nice car," Worf said. "Want a ride?" said Jean-Luc. He felt expansive, and he wanted to be with one of his Boys. "Good idea." In the car, Worf took Jean-Luc's hand and put it on his thigh. Jean-Luc relaxed noticeably. "Something's come up," Worf said. Jean-Luc removed his hand. "Will and I." Worf stopped, thinking. Hesitant. "What is it?" Jean-Luc said sharply. "We want a baby." Jean-Luc looked at him. "We found one too." There was a pause. "She's due April 25. It's a baby girl. She needs a family. Her mother," he breathed out. "Is in prison. That's no life for a baby. And there's no father in the picture." Jean-Luc looked in the rear view mirror. My God. My God. My God. "Worf, I have some reservations about this. It could lead to trouble. In a lot of ways. I trust you. But Will has problems. He has the kind of problems that make it a bad idea for him to be around . . . and everybody knows this." "If something happened, I would pull his head off. I did it once, and he knows it." Worf looked down. "We have a lawyer. It's a done deal." Everything was getting complicated. |
