There’s an occasional trope in fiction where mortal enemies take a break from their eternal conflict and sit, converse, interact, as… if not friends, at least cordial colleagues. Usually at such a time, it’s almost as if they’ve called a truce. They’re bonding over something that is either far larger than their conflict, or so small as to be not worthy of the strength of their animosity. Perhaps it’s because such a long relationship—even on opposing sides—means they have many shared experiences. Such opponents would know far more about each other—have far more in common—than typical friends

Two examples spring to my mind:

The Star Trek: The Next Generation episode “Tapestry,” in which Picard is dead and Q is showing him all the things in his earlier life that led up to that point, that might have been avoided. At the end, we learn that indeed, Picard had made all the right choices all along (even when in retrospect they appeared to be mistakes), and Q was showing him the error of ruing his ways. But before that point, there is a scene when they’re sitting in a bar watching the much-younger Picard and his friend interacting with some bad guys. He’s explaining to Q what happened, and what will happen, while Q is expressing surprise and interest. It’s a wonderful moment that—if we didn’t know the back-story of Picard and Q—might seem like two friends reminiscing.

The movie The Greatest Showman, the musical about P.T. Barnum becoming the showman and impresario we remember. After the fire, Barnum is sitting on the steps of the circus, and Bennett—the critic who has never had anything good to say about Barnum or his show—sits with him, regretting with Barnum the destruction of the building. He says, “I never liked your show, but I always thought the people did,” and offers Barnum a drink from his flask.

I’m not sure what got me thinking about these brief moments of friendship in the midst of long, lingering animosities (after the episode, Picard and Q return to their old ways; in the movie, that’s the last we see of Bennett), but there’s something comforting about the thought that they are possible.

Then again, it’s got me thinking about my own life. I’m not sure I have any blood-enemies of such stature as Q to Picard. At best, I’d say I have antagonists. And as much as I write fiction, and am enamored of those examples I’ve listed, I just can’t see anything ever cropping up that would cause me to declare a truce and sit collegially with any of my antagonists. Is it a lack of my imagination? Or those other writers being too idealistic and hopeful? Or do I simply not have sufficiently grand antagonists? If it’s that last, I can be satisfied with those I have, because I don’t need stronger, smarter, nastier ones in my life.

What do you think? Could you share a cup of coffee with the villain in your life to comment on something much greater than your conflict, or something so petty as to be beneath the energy it asks?