...USS Enterprise...Tuesday...

...7:49 AM...

Knock,knock,knock.

"Come in!" I said, making a painting.

The doors whoosh open and there are some squeaky boots entering.

"Professor Quarty," Came a enraged older voice.

Oh,that's Jea--John-Luc Picard.

"Good morning, officer," I said.

"Professor Quarty,where in heavens name am I?" Picard asked.

I turn away from the painting toward Picard.

"The Enterprise, obviously," I said.

Picard had pointy ears, so very much Vulcan.

"I am not on the Enterprise," Picard said.

I laughed.

"You are aboard the original Enterprise, my parallel capitaine," I said.

Picard frowned.

"I am not your captain," Picard said.

"Ah, so you know a bit of french," I said, grinning.

"So you did intend that!" Picard said. "You used the word improperly. That is language butchering and it should be called a crime for doing that!"

My grin grew wider.

"Of course," I said. "Oh, what about bonjour."

"Improper use," Picard said.

"And I still can get on your nerves!" I said.

"Tell me, how can I get back to my own time?" Picard said.

My grin faded.

"Didn't he tell you?" I asked.

"Tell me what?" Picard asked.

"There is no going back," I said. "Trelane brought you here, and for that I am deeply sorry." I put the painting related items on the table. "You are never going to see your crew again. If you ever get to see them again you will be an old Vulcan or better yet, dead! There cannot be two Picard's in one room."

"But...But..." Picard said, at a loss for words.

"It is not logical," I said. I put my hands on the sides of the Vulcan's shoulder. "Nothing is for now, Picard."

"This is illogical for someone of my experience to live their lives in a era of peace!" Picard declared, getting up making my hands slide off his arms.

"You will have to adjust," I said. "Your future has ceased to exist."

"Why do I exist?" Picard asked.

"I don't know," I said. "But one of these days...We will know."

"No," Picard said. "I will know."

"Look on the bright side," I said. "You get to serve with Captain James T Kirk." I turned back toward the pointing then picked up the paint brush and wooden circle with color on it. "Not many people find themselves in the position you have."

Picard remained silent.

"What to know what I am painting?" I asked.

"No," Picard denied.

"It is your microbrain friend," I said.

"Who?" Picard asked.

I sighed, lowering the brush.

"Look closer and tell me if you recognize him," I said.

Picard squinted at the painting.

"...Captain Worf," Picard said.

"Yes, him!" I said.

"Paint someone else," Picar said.

"Ah hahaha," I said. "No," I shook my head. "You see I am going to give him the worst Romulan retcon,EVER!" I applied the brush to the paper sliding it up and down. "In 101 so years he'll be able to see it."

"Are you saying this painting will fall into Klingon hands?" Picard asked.

"No," I said. "It will fall into a Art Gallery where anyone including Klingons can see."

"Klingons joining the Federation?" Picard repeated, walking over to the side lowering his head toward the floor. "I feel so out of date."

"Why yes they do join!" I said. "And there is a possibility you may be able to see the historic event happen!"

"I...I..." Picard said, at a loss for words.

"Fascinated?" I asked. "Intrigued? Confused? Speechless?"

"I have been part of this war so long I...I can't believe it," Picard said.

"Currently Klingons share a bad history with humans," I said. "Right up your street. Talk about peace for so long and when it happens; you don't know what to do."

"How do you know so much?" Picard asked.

"I have seen transitioning," I said. "It takes time but the hate for the next generation goes away. But the hate, for Kirk, will never leave. A Klingon will kill his son. And he will never forgive them for that."

"I did not know Kirk had a son," Picard said.

"Nor does he," I said, I had a short laugh. "As I was saying about the transitioning of hate: There was once a entire race blinded by hate that they killed each other because of their skin colors. White and black on different sides of their face."

Picard stared at me.

I didn't need to see but I can regardless feel eyes staring through my head.

"Tell me you had no part in it," Picard asked.

I turned toward Picard.

"Why would I bother meddling with them?" I asked. "There is no fun in them! They were consumed by hate, like I said, very undesirable company."

"Hmmm...Good point," Picard said.

"Do you have a mate?" I asked.

"That is a personal question," Picard said.

"But did you?" I asked.

"She was a Doctor," Picard said.

I smiled.

"Doctor Beverly," I said.

"Yes," Picard said.

"That is a very rich choice," I said.

"You are speaking in a present tense," Picard said.

I snickered.

"My Jean-Luc was perhaps unlucky," I said, turning back toward the painting. "He wasn't married to her."

"Why?" Picard asked.

"She was married to a man who died aboard a ship with Jean-Luc," I said, doing some brush strokes on the canvas.

Picard left my quarters.

I had a little smile.

"I wonder what the next round will be," I thought out loud.