The BLTS Archive - Brothers In Deed
by Jeanita Danzik

---

Q left the Enterprise without a clear destination.  He wanted to plan
a singularly vicious revenge, but mostly he needed time to pull
himself together.  He was a god.  This was not supposed to happen to
him.  And Jean-Luc, damn him, had scoffed at his objections, pointing
to the Mabinogion, the Greek myths, and the Bible as evidence that
gods had certainly been consorting with mortals eons before he and Q
met.

He'd been right, of course, which made Q angry, but when Jean-Luc
demonstrated just how vulnerable he was to human emotion, Q became
enraged.  He'd betrayed himself, fawning after the promise of love,
proving by his willingness to endure Jean- Luc's tests and trials that
he was as weak as any mortal.  Well, no more.  He would show Jean-Luc
just who was the god here.

Q rolled back and forth through time, looking for something or someone
that would help him get back at Jean-Luc.  He sifted through billions
of people, looking for that telepathic stamp that would create just
the perfect touch.  It had to be exactly right:  crude torturers
weren't good enough for his Johnny.  But what?  What would knock
Jean-Luc sufficiently off balance to give Q the upper hand again?  He
was just deciding to reappear as Kamala, the beautiful metamorph that
sometimes haunted Jean-Luc's dreams, when a human voice, rich with
fiendish glee, caught his attention.

Q focused, honing in on that one impression.  He recognized a being
much like himself; as Picard had once termed it, another bad-boy god.
He was glad he'd watched and waited rather than acting on immediate
impulse, and he couldn't help but smile at the irony of it.  Jean-Luc
was the one who'd been teaching him patience.

---

Lestat was playing with David because at the moment he lacked anything
better to do.  David's little spirit friends still hung around him,
and they annoyed Lestat who teased them mercilessly.

"Dismiss them," he'd ordered.  "Shred them into bits, or at least send
them away."

But David wouldn't.  Loyalty was strong in him, even to these wispy
bits of air and memory, and it bothered him that Lestat tortured them.
Which was why Lestat did so, of course.

Now, David had taken his friends and gone far away.  Lestat was
following him, and Q followed Lestat, effortlessly reading his mind.

'A vampire,' he thought to himself wonderingly.  'Now why didn't I
think of that before? '  He searched through Lestat's memories,
looking for images that the vampire would find alluring.  That was
easy enough.  Lestat enjoyed male beauty, and Q's human form should be
quite attractive to him.  Q dressed himself in black leather boots,
and black, thin skin-tight leather pants and jacket.  He bulked his
body up slightly, so that the play of muscles under leather would be
all the more apparent, then he materialized in New Orleans where
Lestat was searching through the house he'd restored.

"He isn't here, you know." Q offered conversationally.

Lestat turned, startled.  "Who the hell are you?" He demanded.

"I think you're more concerned with how I got in without you knowing
it, aren't you?"  Q pushed himself away from the wall where he'd
struck a casual pose, and walked forward, his bootheels clicking
against the polished wood floor.

He could see Lestat's open appraisal, even as he felt the vampire's
growing rage.  Lestat was confident that he posed no threat, but he
never expected to be surprised in his own house.

"Did David send you here?" Lestat demanded.  He was trying and failing
to read Q telepathically.

Q shook his head, smiling a smug smile that was bound to give Lestat
fits.

"Well, Mr. Intruder, I don't know what you want, but you play a
dangerous game."  Out of instinct Lestat began to stalk him, then
stopped, confused.  It was beginning to dawn on him that this man
might be more than he seemed, even a possible threat.

"Oh, I assure you, I *am* a threat... Lelio.  I'm the most dangerous
thing you've ever met."

Fear galvanized Lestat, and he rushed at Q.  He would tear this
creature's head from his shoulders.  He was the most powerful vampire
in existence, and he would not allow himself to be frightened.

His hands met insubstantial air, even as his mind registered the fact
that this intruder was still standing in front of him.

"What are you, a ghost of some sort?"  Despite or because of his fear,
Lestat was grinning.  "Because if you are, I'm not very impressed.  In
my day ghosts didn't just stand around posing like fashion models."

Q perked up, smiling.  "You think I look like a fashion model?"

"Yes, I do," Lestat answered nastily, "a brainless pretty- boy with
nothing better to do than dress in black leather and pretend to be
tough."

"Oh, so you find me attractive, do you?"  Q lowered his eyelids and
gave Lestat a languid smile.  "I can make myself even more attractive.
Smell that?"

Lestat couldn't help but smell it, and the scent of it almost drove
him to his knees.  This man's blood called to him like nothing had
ever done before, and he started toward it helplessly before an uneasy
thought occurred to him.  "Are you an old one?"

"Oh, older than you can imagine."

"Well,"  Lestat decided not to give in to temptation.  "This has all
been very interesting, but I'm going to find my friend David now.  Au
revoir, Monsieur le Fashion Model."

He moved quickly enough that to a human he would have seemed to
vanish, but to his amazement, the intruder's voice followed him almost
as if he'd been standing still.  "Au bientot, Monsieur le Vampyre."

Lestat threw himself high into the air.  Old one or ghost, the being
should have a hard time following him.  He headed for Brazil, then
suddenly realized that if he *did* find David there, he would have led
the creature right to him.  He changed direction, moving towards the
Grand Canyon, mentally kicking himself for even thinking David's name,
much less saying it aloud.  Light flashed, and the being appeared
beside him, stretched out in midair with his legs crossed and his head
propped against his hand.

"Who are you?" Lestat asked in amazement.  When he didn't receive an
answer, he demanded, "Tell me!"

"You're so much like him."  The being shook his head in amazement.
"You think you can get anything from me just by giving an order."

As Lestat watched, a peculiarly vulnerable expression crossed the
man's face for an instant.  Lestat didn't have time to think about it,
however.  He was busy trying to force his mind away from thinking
about Louis and David.  If this being decided that he wanted them
instead...

"Oh, I don't want your friends," Q offered lazily.  "Louis is to timid
and David is too much the gentleman.  You, on the other hand, are
coming with me."

Before Lestat could object that he wasn't going anywhere with him,
that blinding light flashed again.  Lestat felt himself enveloped by
it, and for a moment he was aware of a rushing sensation that flowed
within, around and through his body.  Before he had time to analyze
it, however, he found himself in a dimly lit room that he didn't
recognize.  Lestat drew a shallow breath, scenting brandy, fresh-cut
flowers and a human male.  He looked around him.  A slight, baldheaded
man sat on a divan, staring past him at his abductor.

Lestat shot a glance at his fashion model ghost.  Anticipation played
across his features as he stared back at the smaller man, and Lestat
realized that this must be the 'him' referred to earlier.

The man stood, his features cold and composed, but Lestat could sense
wariness and anger, and winding through them both, a wholly consuming
lust.  'Well, this is going to be interesting,' he thought to himself.

"Q," the man spoke in a delicious English baritone, reminding Lestat
of David, "I don't know what you intend and I don't care.  Get out of
my quarters and take *him* with you."

The man had barely glanced at him, yet had already seen fit to dismiss
him.  Lestat felt a cold burn of anger, but the ghost -- named Queue,
apparently -- laid a restraining hand on his arm.

"Jean-Luc, I would like you to meet Monsieur Lestat de Lioncourt."  To
Lestat's complete amazement, Queue now spoke in impeccable French.
"Monsieur de Lioncourt, Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of the ship within
which we currently travel."

Lestat and Picard stared at one another, then Queue's odd phrasing
sank in.

"'Within'?"  He looked over at the bay windows, out into a night full
of stars he didn't recognize, then turned to Queue for guidance.

"Jean-Luc is Captain of a space vessel."  Q flicked an invisible bit
of dust from his leather sleeve.  He seemed utterly bored in the face
of Lestat's amazement.  "A starship."

Something of his momentary terror must have shown in his face, because
Picard reached out a hand to him, sympathy clear on his features.
"You are safe," the captain said quickly.  "You have nothing to fear."

"Ah, but *you* do, Johnny."  Q's voice insinuated itself between the
tiny moment of empathy the other two were sharing. "Lestat is a
vampire, you know."

"Oh, of course he is, Q."  Picard's voice held disbelief and a touch
of scorn, and despite himself Lestat began to grow angry again.

Q seemed unperturbed.  "Bite him, Lestat.  I want to see you take
him."

Scanning Picard's mind, Lestat almost found it in himself to feel
sorry for the captain, despite his arrogant dismissal.  Something in
Q's words had completely demoralized him for a moment.
'Helplessness,' Lestat realized, 'Picard is undone by it.'  For a
moment he felt protective.  Picard was only mortal, after all.

But then Picard stiffened, and his momentary weakness gave way to
resolve and determination.  He lifted his chin, staring into Lestat's
eyes.  "Do not play his game," he said urgently, flicking a glance at
Q.  He moved closer, and all the force of his will bore down on
Lestat.  "I know how easily he can force you, but do not yield."

Lestat was entranced.  "I understand why he loves you so helplessly,"
he said to Picard.  This was a guess, but Lestat understood the
mechanics of obsession, and it was obvious that Q was head over heels
for this mortal.  "You are more than a match for him.  But you know,"
he was talking to Queue, even though he and Picard had not let go of
each other's gaze, "it will never work between you.  One or the other
must yield or both be destroyed."

'Take that Mr. Fashion Ghost,' Lestat thought viciously.

//"Do you know what it feels like to burn, Lestat?"//  Queue's voice
rang in his head.  His tone was almost absentminded, but the threat
was unmistakable.  //And by the way, it's Q, you idiot, not Queue.//

"Q," Lestat repeated.  He heard the way his voice shook around that
one syllable, but he could do nothing about it.

Picard's eyes narrowed.  "He just threatened you, didn't he?"  He
looked at Q with an expression of absolute contempt.  "Very well, Q.
Since you can't win except by cheating."

He pulled at the collar of his tunic, tilting his head so that his
jugular was exposed.  "Do what he says," he said to Lestat,  "or he'll
just carry through on his threats and find someone else with whom to
torment me."

'How completely adorable you are,' Lestat thought fondly, 'a nobleman
to the last degree.'

"I have to tell you honestly," he said to Picard, "even if we weren't
being forced, I would still want to take you.  Flaws and all, you are
a beautiful expression of mortal manhood; very close to irresistible."

"Just get on with it," Picard answered coldly, but his face was very
pale.  Lestat could feel him battling fear and that strange,
debilitating hopelessness.  Protectiveness surged in him again.

"I promise this won't hurt," he whispered, and seized him.

Lestat sank his teeth into Picard's throat.  The Captain's blood
tasted no better or worse than any other mortal's and Lestat wasn't
very hungry.  He lifted his head after a very brief moment, but Q's
hand pressed against his hair, holding him in position.

"Drain him," Q ordered.

Lestat suppressed a surge of frustration and anger but he obediently
bent his head to the task.  Immediately behind him,  Q was gloating
over Picard's predicament.

"You should see yourself, Johnny," Q was saying.  "Your eyes are
glazed, your mouth is hanging open.  You're utterly helpless."

'Damnit man,' Lestat thought, 'will you please be quiet!?'

But Q continued in tones of malicious satisfaction, "I can feel what
you feel, you know.  Vampires have an adaptive mechanism that creates
a state of euphoria in their victims.  The ones that survive crave it
for the rest of their lives.  Can you imagine that?  *Wanting* to have
the life drained out of you?  How debauched."

Picard was weakening.  Lestat could feel his heart beating more and
more slowly, and he pulled away just in time, licking the blood from
his lips.

Picard sank to the floor, faint with blood loss, his fading
consciousness fixated on the overwhelming pleasure that had gripped
him the moment Lestat's teeth punctured his neck.

Lestat bent over him, knowing what he had to do next without being
told.  He brought his wrist up to his mouth and gashed it with his
fangs, then he held his arm over Picard's face, letting the drops fall
across the man's lips.

Picard sat bolt upright, fumbled for Lestat's wrist and fastened onto
it, nursing the blood like the lifeline it was.

Lestat cradled him as he drank.  Q had moved in closer, avid voyeur
that he was, but Lestat shut his eyes against him, relishing the total
communion between himself and Picard.  How beautiful it was.  Like
with David, and Claudia, and Louis, the power of the moment
overwhelmed him.  What other transubstantiation could compare to this
one?

Picard drank and drank, making little noises of satisfaction.  Lestat
steeled himself against the inevitable pain and weakness, but it
didn't happen.  //Courtesy of your local deity,// he heard in inside
his head.

Lestat opened his eyes, giving Q a look of gratitude.  Q bowed his
head regally then turned his attention back to Picard who knelt on the
floor between them, hunched over Lestat's arm as if to protect this
source of divine nourishment.

"Johnny," Q reached out to lay a gentle hand on Picard's shoulder.
"Give Lestat back his arm now."

Picard looked up.  As his eyes moved across their faces, his
expression transformed from dazed to beatific.  "What?" he asked, and
startled at the sound of his own voice.

Lestat smiled, recognizing his state of wonder.  "You're a vampire
now, Jean-Luc."

"I know," Picard whispered.  "I can feel it."  He raised a hand,
touching his fingers to the blood on his chin.  He stuck out his
tongue, tasted each fingertip, then closed his eyes and sighed in
ecstasy.

Lestat and Q watched him, transfixed.

"This... feels... wonderful..."  His own voice was suddenly
magnificent.  He could hear nuances of sound that hadn't been there
previously--or perhaps they had, but he'd simply been unaware of them.
He rose to his feet, feeling the play of every muscle fiber as they
propelled him upward.  His heartbeat sang to him as it pounded through
his body.  He wouldn't have been surprised to learn that it was
audible half a galaxy away.

Suddenly he gasped and doubled over in pain.  He reached out for help
and Lestat moved towards him, but Q was there first, holding him
close.

"I'll take care of it, Johnny."  Q ran a hand down his back, and
Picard sighed with relief, his features smoothing out once more.

"Monsieur le Fashion Model!" Lestat exclaimed.  "You removed his pain
so quickly?"

Q glanced up at him with a wry expression.  "Well," he shrugged in
self-deprecation, "anything for Johnny."

"Yes," Picard said.  He'd stood up and was moving slowly around the
room.  "Anything for Johnny."  He looked at Q and Lestat.  "I believe
I am going insane," he stated calmly.

"It just feels that way," Lestat offered.  He was staring baldly,
taking in every detail of Picard's transfiguration.  "Go look at
yourself in the mirror," he suggested.

Picard did so, and was instantly enamored of his own reflection.  His
skin, now eggshell white with a spot of color on each cheek, had
smoothed and tightened over his bones, bringing his features into high
relief.  He brought his hands up to his collar, effortlessly pulling
fabric away from his body, though he'd never been able to tear the
material before.  The soft rise and fall of his chest distracted him
for a moment, then he looked at his transformed body.  It gleamed like
porcelain, his chest hair and pubic hair forming a lovely abstract
pattern across it.  Flaccid genitals, like a now-abandoned toy.  He
touched them fondly for old times' sake then forgot about them.

"Look at me."  Q and Lestat had followed him into the bedroom, and he
turned to them, inviting them to share in the wonder of it.  His mind
was adjusting, and he no longer feared insanity.  He wanted to go
exploring.

"Come," he said to Lestat.  "I want to show you my ship."

The other two men exchanged a glance.  "Hadn't you better put clothes
on first?" Lestat asked.

"No."  He'd seen the desire in their eyes.  They found him as
beautiful as he knew himself to be.  What more natural thing than to
share this beauty with whoever cared to partake?

"I should let you go out just like that," Q said, "but the great
Captain would never be so immodest."

"But I'm not the great Captain anymore, am I?"  He moved towards Q,
revelling in the feeling of bare feet on carpet and the sensual tickle
of air on skin.  "Look."  He opened his mouth and stroked one finger
across a sharp incisor.  "I have fangs."

"I see them, Johnny.  And very pretty fangs they are, too."

"I want to stay this way," Picard declared.

"You know I won't let you," Q demurred.

Picard simply smiled.  He wound his arms around Q's neck then sniffed
at him, temporarily distracted.  "You smell of blood, Q."  He gave the
side of Q's neck an experimental swipe with his tongue, then
remembered what he was going to say.

"Poor Q."  Jean-Luc pressed his body close.  "You thought this would
break me, didn't you?  You wanted to laugh at my helplessness and hear
me demand to be put back to rights.  But you know what?  You'll win
this round when you finally restore me to normal, and I lose all
this."  He gave Q a gently mocking smile.  "You never though of that,
did you?"

Picard turned to where Lestat was standing, looking rather left out,
and smiled warmly.  "Merci, mon ami."

Lestat smiled back. "Anything for you, mon frere," he
consciously imitated Q's earlier words.

Picard reached out his hand.  "Come.  Q is going to take us outside."

"I am?" Q demanded.

"Yes," Picard was almost purring. "You're a god, aren't you?  You want
us to love you, don't you?  Well, you have to do what we say."

He turned to Lestat.  "Isn't that right, 'brother'?"

Lestat looked at Q and shrugged, laughter in his eyes.  "I think he's
correct, Monsieur le Fashion Model."

Q rolled his eyes.  "I can't believe I'm in charge of the two of
you..." he said with mock disgust.  "Two brat vampires."

Then he capitulated.  "But it isn't every day that I get to be the
grown-up around here."  He wagged a finger at them.  "Now hold your
brother's hand and look both ways before crossing."

"Yes, Daddy," Picard murmured wickedly, and was gratified to see Q
lose his composure, if only for a second.

Lestat laughed out loud.  These two were splendidly perverse.  He took
Picard's hand, and a moment later he drew a breath, staring about him
in wonder.  "Mon dieu!" he whispered.  "I've never seen anything so
beautiful."  He turned to Q, awestruck.  "Perhaps I should worship you
after all, Monsieur le Fashion Model.  How is this possible?"

"This is the hull of my ship," Jean-Luc announced proudly.  "Q and I
often go walking up here.  Isn't it splendid?"

"It is a lovely ship, to be sure, Jean-Luc, but the stars!  The
stars!"  Lestat craned his neck, trying to look in all directions at
once.  Picard looked at Q, grateful for Lestat's astonished pleasure.
Q didn't dare look back.  He had no defenses against Picard's
gratitude, and did not want to feel more responsible than he already
was.

Lestat finally turned his attention back to his two companions.
Jean-Luc had wandered off, his nude body glowing, beautifully outlined
against the star-flecked night.  Q sat on the hull, his arms wrapped
around his knees, watching him.

Lestat dropped down beside him.  "He's going to break your heart, you
know."  He spoke in a whisper though he suspected Jean-Luc might hear
him anyway.

"I'm fully well aware of what he's doing to my heart," Q answered
glumly.  This wasn't turning out at all like he'd thought it would.
Johnny had been right.  Q thought he'd fear this state and
automatically reject it.  Instead, Jean-Luc was reveling in it.

For some strange reason, Lestat didn't feel like teasing him about his
hopeless infatuation.  He rose to his feet, drifted over to Picard and
tapped him on the shoulder.  "Tag.  You're it."

Picard looked at him in mild confusion.  "It?"

"Don't tell me you've never played tag before?"  Lestat darted towards
him and quickly moved away again.  "Come get me."  He drifted a few
feet higher and cocked his head.  "You can do this too," he urged.
"Come play with me."

Picard took a hesitant step towards him, then shot into space.  He
drifted back down, light gleaming off his new fangs as he smiled.  "My
goodness," he said to Lestat.  "This is turning out be quite an
experience."

"For me as well," Lestat answered.  "This may be my only chance to
play tag in space, so be a good host and indulge me."

"Oh, I'm expected to be a good host, now?" Picard advanced on him.
"And tell me Monsieur Lestat, does that always include placing myself
as sole item on the dinner menu?"  His eyes were narrowed under drawn
brows, and for a moment Lestat thought Picard was angry with him.  He
was trying to think of an appropriate rejoinder when Picard slapped
his arm then rushed away from him.

"Got you!" Picard cried.  His voice faded as he shot across to the
other side of the hull, but even from that distance, Lestat imagined
he could see Jean-Luc's grin.

Q watched his little predator-fiends as they stalked and evaded one
another.  He would have joined them but he realized it was to his
advantage to hold himself aloof.  When *he'd* been a child, he and his
friends darted through star systems, hid in black holes, and disguised
themselves as nebulae when they played tag.  Jean-Luc and Lestat
confined themselves to the _Enterprise_ hull and nacelles, but it was
still entertaining to watch.

When Lestat screamed for help, Q felt a moment's pure isolation.  No
one ever screamed for him like Lestat was screaming for Johnny.  No
one *cared*.  Johnny did, of course, but when would Johnny ever be
able to do anything for him except seduce and debauch him?  Not that
he was complaining, mind, but sometimes he felt very lonely.

Q transported himself to stand next to Lestat.  "What is it?"

Lestat pointed.  Picard was falling through space, head lolling to one
side, his limbs slack and unmoving.  "We were just playing when his
eyes rolled up in his head and he started to fall."

"He's just hungry," Q answered.  He gave Lestat a confiding look.
"His first day out.  You know how that is."

"He should have fed."  Lestat was worried, and annoyed with himself
for being worried.  This was Q's game, and Q should have taken care of
things better than this.  He watched in relief as Q floated down and
scooped Jean-Luc in his arms.  Q didn't appear very concerned.  He
crooked a finger at Lestat.  "Playtime's over, boys."

The blinding light flashed, and they were back in Jean-Luc's quarters
again.  Q laid Picard on the bed and patted his cheek.  "Get up,
Johnny.  Time to eat."

"Mm?"  Picard drew a breath.  "Hungry," he murmured.

Q smiled to himself, realizing that Picard had just handed him the
perfect endgame.

"And I will feed you both," Q said, "if you but come to me, my
children."  He stood and backed away.  His leathers disappeared and
suddenly he was dressed in the flowing robes of an old testament
prophet.

"Take, eat."  His voice rolled through them, compelling them to obey.
"This is my body, given for you for the remission of sin."

Lestat took a step towards him, drawn as much by the pure audacious
blasphemy as by the beauty of the image Q presented.

Picard was on his feet as well, staggering a little in his weakened
state.  Unlike Lestat, the power of the image was lost on him--he
understood spirituality, but was unfamiliar with religion.  Q himself
was all the lure he needed.

Q watched them come towards him with the proud possessiveness of a
loving parent.  Allowing himself a vampire's urges, it was all he
could do to keep from consuming them; not out of malice or anything
silly like that, but from a loving desire to keep them with him
always.  He indulged himself a pair of tiny fangs, then aged his
blood, perfecting it into an elixir no undead could resist.

"Take, drink."  Blood rolled out of the wounds he'd opened on his
wrists, and he held his hands down at his sides, palms out.

Supplicants now, Lestat and Picard drew close and knelt at his feet.
The blood was a gift from on high, and they were privileged to partake
of it.  They locked their teeth into Q's wrists, joined in holy
communion, while above them Q's voice murmured comfortingly...  "This
is my blood, shed for you for the remission of sin..."

---

Lestat woke up to the familiar walls of his coffin, confused by the
remnants of a powerful memory.  "Depart in peace?" he repeated to
himself.  He'd been teasing David, then something had happened to him,
something miraculous, except Lestat didn't believe in miracles.  He
sat up, about to dismiss it as an impossibility when his eyes fell on
a pair of boots and a leather suit, neatly laid beside his coffin, and
a note that read, 'Since you seemed to like them so much...'

---

'Depart in peace,' Picard wondered blearily.  He'd been dreaming,
something about Q, and a friend who'd been like a brother to him, but
it was fading, even as he groped for the meaning of it.  He was
unusually tired this morning, and strangely distracted.  He'd been
with Q last night, he remembered that much.  And Q had gotten angry
and stormed off, and then... what?

Picard stumbled out of bed, showered and dressed in a daze.  He
checked his reflection in the mirror, then smiled and licked his lips
as it all came back to him.  He pushed his collar down.  Hidden
beneath it like two small garnets, a pair of tiny puncture wounds,
already healing.

---

The End