DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters
are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc and Viacom. The story contents are the
creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2005 by Djinn. This story
is Rated R.
Collide on Dry Land
by Djinn
There'll
be a storm one night,
but
you will find my place of hiding.
We'll
watch the lights like children,
leave
the fortress hand in hand.
I'll
be thunder;
you'll
be lightning,
and
we'll collide on dry land.
—
"I'll Be Thunder" by Rupert Hine & Jeannette Obstoj
Kirk put his book down, the
pages ruffling in the soft breeze that blew across the inlet. One of the benefits
of being an admiral was being able to afford living right on the water. He
closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the back of his chaise as he
tried to think of other bennies. Having his apartment in town for when he was
on duty was pleasant. Unlimited transporter credits were handy. The "brass
groupies" were nice, too. Nice...until he'd started noticing that the
lovely young things seemed to be less interested in him as a person than in him
as a way of getting to the finer things in life—like those unlimited
transporter credits. Or the lovely view from his house on the water.
"You're very
serious," the latest of the lovely young things said as she walked onto
the deck and sat down in the lounger next to him.
"Mmmm."
He turned to look at her.
He'd been with her for five
weeks. She was lithe, tanned. Her strawberry blonde hair gleamed in the sun. Her
green eyes barely showed a crease around them as she squinted in the bright
light before slipping on sunshades.
He enjoyed her beauty,
relished showing her off to his peers. And he enjoyed having sex with her. But
over the last few weeks, he'd decided he liked little else about her. Then
again, up to now, her beauty and the sex had been enough.
"What's my favorite
color, Marian?" he asked.
"Blonde," she said
laughing.
"What's my favorite type
of music?"
"What's the most boring
game on the planet?" She sighed, leaning back and staring out at the
water. "Twenty questions, that's what."
"What's my favorite
wine?"
She frowned a little. "You
seemed awfully fond of that cabernet you sucked down last night at Morrow's
party."
He laughed in surprise. Was
that a crack in her beautifully tended presentation? Although, she wasn't wrong—he
was drinking more than he used to.
"Jim, what's
wrong?"
"What are my hopes and
dreams?" He leaned toward her and touched her arm—her soft, supple skin. "What
do I miss most?"
"Sex, if you don't shut
up." She laughed, then her smiled faded as she saw the look in his eyes. "That
was a joke."
"Not a funny one. Not
today." He took a deep breath. Not today and not tomorrow. And not the
next day, when he turned fifty.
Fifty. When had he gotten so
damned old?
"I know you miss your
ship. It—"
"She."
"What?"
"She. The ship's a she,
not an it."
Her look clearly said she
didn't see the difference—or why it should matter.
"Do you understand how
much I miss her? Or do you just soak up what I say like a little sponge and
give it back to me when I'm cranky?"
She'd called him that when
he'd been in one of his moods. As if having your life pass you by was something
that made you just a little cranky.
"What's wrong with
you?" She got up, the movement simple and elegant. Only the young can get
up that way. Without thought. Without effort.
He certainly couldn't get up
that way anymore. "I'm tired."
"Tired of me?" She
looked a little shocked at the thought.
"Tired of life." He
met her eyes. "And...maybe...of you."
She didn't look hurt, just
surprised again. "Do you love me, Jim?"
Did he love her? What did
that even mean anymore? "I don't know."
"Well, at least you're
honest." She leaned down, kissing his forehead. "You're not tired,
Jim. You're old. And I don't want to be with an old man."
Her words stung—but not as
much as they should. What the hell was wrong with him? "Then don't be with
an old man."
"Not a problem." She
walked away. No backward glance. No sigh or hesitation. He could imagine her
inside, calmly collecting her personal items. He could picture the easy way
she'd move as she filled up her little bag with the things she'd scattered
around his bedroom and his bathroom. Things that meant he wasn't alone.
"Goodbye," he
murmured as he heard the front door close about ten minutes later.
It was a short walk to the
transporter station, and he imagined she wouldn't cry as she covered it. But
then he heard a flitter come in, and he couldn't resist the urge to get up. Walking
quickly to the back window, he saw her close the door of the flitter, caught a
glimpse of the thick, blonde hair and tanned, young skin of the man sitting
next to her. Some kid she'd met at the marina, maybe? Or at the gym. Or at the
store. Or just walking down the hall at work. A woman like Marian could meet a
young man like that anywhere. A young man who would rescue her from her aging
lover, with his cranky ways and stupid, female ship.
Kirk sat down heavily in the
nearest chair. Had she been sleeping with this young buck? Had she even cared
at all about Kirk? Had he cared about her? He hadn't liked her the way he'd
liked the women he'd been with when he was younger. Marian had aroused him. She'd
made him proud when he'd walked into a room with her on his arm. But he hadn't
known her any better than she'd known him. She'd been using him, he'd been
using her, and until today that had been fine with both of them.
He could feel the pang of
loneliness. The cold, empty feel of a house that sheltered only him and his broken
dreams. He was glad he was going out on the inspection cruise with Spock and
his cadets. Normally, being around the cadets, back on the ship that wasn't his
anymore—even if he'd always think of her as his—was a little depressing. Now...now
it would be less depressing than his life.
Sighing, he went back out to
the sunshine. To the lovely deck of his lovely house with the lovely view. His
lovely—lonely—view.
##
"Captain, nice to see
you." Chapel smiled at Spock as he walked into Emergency Operations. Her
heart beat a little faster—something she hated, but had long ago resigned
herself to.
"Commander." His
eyes were warm, but it was the warmth of long association, not of any sort of
tender feeling.
"How are you?" The
question came out professional, not giddy. She'd learned over the years to
temper her feelings. To present herself better.
"I am well. You appear
to be thriving in this environment."
She grinned at him. He seemed
to like that, even if he never smiled back. "I am."
"Then you made the right
decision to come here." That settled, Spock began to scan the room.
"You're looking for the
Admiral?" She nodded back toward where Kirk sat with Cartwright. "Not
a happy fellow today."
"He has been moody of
late."
"Turning fifty does that
to a man." She imagined it did that to a gal, too. If she let it. Chapel
didn't intend to let it. "Go join them. Take his mind off getting
older."
Spock nodded and moved away.
"Should I be jealous?"
A soft touch on her neck caused shivers.
"No." She smiled as
Dan leaned down. He was the total opposite of Spock. Open and willing to show
emotion—sometimes too much.
"I hate it when he talks
to you. I know how you feel about him."
"It's ancient
history." She was going to kill Janice for spilling the beans about
Chapel's infatuation with Spock the night they'd taken her out to celebrate her
promotion. So what if they'd all been drunk? She could
have kept that little nugget to herself.
"Not so ancient. I see
how you light up around him. And he almost smiled at you."
"No. He did not." She
put her hand up quickly, touching him.
Her new beau was a little
younger than she was. He'd been a co-worker long before he'd become her lover. Blonde
and tan and handsome, he was sweet and just what the doctor ordered for someone
suffering from tall, dark Vulcans who never loved you back. Or what the doctor
would have ordered if doctors delivered boyfriends instead of meds and bad
news.
She'd gotten tired of
medicine. After pushing herself to get through med school in record time, she'd
gotten tired of the damned prize. Len had reamed her up one side and down the
other when she'd switched to emergency ops. Spock had been surprisingly
supportive, as had Kirk. And she hadn't regretted taking the assignment. She
was happy here. And she'd met Lieutenant Commander Dan Castello here. What more
proof did she need that she'd made the right decision?
"Sweetie?"
"Just pondering my extreme
luck in finding you." She felt him touch her neck again.
"Keep that line of
thought. I approve heartily."
"The old man wants a
report," Rand said under her breath, looking over at Chapel.
Chapel looked down and
realized her comm was blinking. "Crap. How long has he been pinging
me?"
"Long enough to know you
were monumentally distracted." Rand smiled at her, then up at Dan, winking
as she said, "And who can blame her?"
"At least someone
appreciates my charms," he said, letting go of Chapel.
"I never said I
didn't." Chapel got up. "Watch as I try to recover," she said, grabbing
the padd with the update on the outbreak at the shipyards on Mars. She may have
tired of being a doctor, but she'd never left medicine behind.
"Sirs," she said,
as she walked past Kirk and Spock.
"A trifle tardy,
Commander," Kirk said, his voice not the normal teasing he usually gave
her.
She looked up and saw that
his eyes were puffy—he looked tired. "Apologies, sir." Although she
wasn't sure why she was apologizing to him.
"No apologies needed. Love
is a wonderful thing." His expression was hard. As if he believed anything
but.
"Yes, love is." She
could hear defiance in her voice and dialed it down. It was probably
hypocritical to defend love when she hadn't been able to bring herself to tell
Dan she loved him. "If you'll excuse me?"
"He'll break your heart.
I guarantee it."
She looked at Spock who
seemed to shrug a little.
"That's what they do. These
people we love." Kirk grinned at her, but it was a terribly bitter
expression.
She thought it was far more
likely she'd break Dan's heart. Maybe Kirk was talking about his own situation,
not hers? She'd seen him lately with some gorgeous, young thing. That seemed to
be all he dated anymore. Star fuckers, Janice called them, and Chapel didn't
disagree with her.
"Love doesn't always
sour." Although none of them stood as a testament to the enduring
happiness theory. She tried again. "It won't this time." There was
something almost pleading in her voice and she hated that it was there. She
believed in love. Didn't she?
Taking a deep breath, Kirk
touched her hand, surprising her. "I hope it doesn't sour. For your sake,
I hope it doesn't."
She let her hand rest on his.
"Maybe for both of us." She glanced at Spock. "Or all of
us?"
Spock shot her a look that
was clearly telling her not to include him in their romantic messes.
She laughed and turned back
to Kirk. "Well, for the two of us, anyway."
"Let's hope." He
pretended to lift a glass to her, probably in a toast to her optimism—she
decided not to tell him it was feigned. "Go on," he said. "Cartwright's
waiting."
She hurried into her boss's
office, ignoring his raised eyebrows as she launched into the situation report.
As it usually did, the mission absorbed him quickly, distracting him from
questions about what she was doing with a colleague—Ops folks tended not to
date within the fold.
Walking back out, she saw Dan
turn around, motioning her over as if he had an update to pass on. "Spock
was bad enough, but Kirk, too?"
Laughing, she waved his worry
away.
"He was holding your
hand."
"No, he was sort of
patting it. It was very former captainly." She
smiled down at him.
"You light up around him
the same way you do with Spock."
She leaned in. "You've
served on a starship. You know the kind of bonds people forge on those long
missions. I light up around him because he's a fine captain and a friend."
Which wasn't true. If he was her friend, how come he'd never told her to call
him by his first name? But Dan didn't need to know that. Or that it bothered
her that Kirk hadn't done it. "Trust me on this one."
"Why's
that? He's not your type? You don't find James 'T for Tomcat' Kirk attractive?"
"Honestly, I've never
even thought about it." She glanced over at Janice. "She, on the
other hand, had it bad for him. I lusted after Spock; she lusted after Kirk. It
was very, very simple."
He took a deep breath. "All
right, then. But nix the holding hands, okay?"
She saw Cartwright frowning
at her. "Old man alert."
Dan nodded as if she was
filling him in on the meeting. "Let's sneak away this weekend. Go up to
the mountains or something. I found a very rustic place. No amenities except a comfy
bed and a very big shower." Whenever things got uncomfortable for them,
they fell back on the easy stuff—like sex.
"Bad boy. Stealing me
away for your nefarious purposes."
He waggled his eyebrows. "Yes,
and you like me bad."
He wasn't wrong.
##
Done with his round of
pre-inspection cruise meetings, Kirk cut through ops, and saw Chapel with her
new beau. He regretted what he'd said to her the day before. It wasn't her
fault he couldn't make love work. Or that he'd been too raw from his own
break-up to want to see her happy.
And no one deserved to be
happy more than she did. After all the pain she'd known, it should be good to
see her with someone she cared about.
She intercepted him in the
middle of the room, smiling as she walked up, and he realized she wasn't
holding the previous day's interaction against him. "Sir?"
"Just passing
through."
She was about to answer, but
something distracted her. She glanced over to the main entrance to ops, her
smile dying. "God, I hate these damned tours."
He turned and was shocked to
see familiar reddish blonde hair and lithe, tan legs well displayed in a very
short, very tight, black dress. Marian glanced over at him, looking as shocked
as he did.
"Isn't she a friend of
yours?" Chapel asked, putting an interesting spin on the word
"friend."
Chapel never missed anything.
She rarely commented, though, so maybe she was paying him back for yesterday?
"Old girlfriend. As in
two day's ago, she was still my girlfriend."
"I'm sorry, sir."
Kirk saw Chapel's beau
glancing over at her. Then the man got up and seemed to be working his way
slowly over to them, looking very busy as he checked monitors along the way. "I
think your boyfriend has a problem with our conversation."
She was watching the tour
group. "He's fine with it."
The man looked up, his eyes
meeting Kirk's. His expression wasn't the look of "fine with it." Kirk
was about to say something when he realized Admiral Lovell had walked in and
made a beeline for Marian.
"Took her no time at all
to find a replacement," he muttered, wondering what had happened to the
young man who'd looked a little like Chapel's beau.
"I think she's gone down
in quality." An encouraging grin lit Chapel's face, and he laughed softly.
"Funny thing. I met her
on a tour, too." He could imagine how Marian had targeted Lovell. The
little stumble in the hall timed for when he'd been about to pass her. The
gallant admiral would have stopped to steady her, getting the full force of her
wide green eyes and sensual lips. He'd have been bowled over by her interest. By
her beauty and youth.
"She left me because I'm
old." He wasn't sure why he was sharing that with Chapel.
"Sir, with all due
respect, that's bull. Lovell's pushing sixty."
"He is, isn't he?" He
wondered why that hadn't been the first thing he'd thought. Was he so busy
leading his own pity parade, he couldn't see it? He wondered what other wisdom
she might impart. "You want to get some lunch?"
"Sure." She walked
over to her station, doing something that probably transferred her comms to
someone else during her break.
Rand wasn't at her station,
and Kirk felt a moment of guilty relief. Janice was over him, he thought...or
mostly so.
Chapel stopped where her beau
was standing—no longer trying very hard to look busy—and she said something to
him, leaning in. The man looked over at Kirk, then back at her, his expression more angry than understanding.
She didn't need this. She
didn't need Kirk mucking up her love life for no good reason other than she
seemed willing to hear him rant on about his own.
Sighing, he walked over to
them. "Commander, perhaps lunch isn't a good idea. I'm a little short on
time."
She didn't look grateful for
the out he was giving her. She looked damned pissed. "Then we'll eat fast,
sir." Walking past him, she headed for the back entrance, leaving Kirk,
her boyfriend, and the tour group behind.
Grimacing a little as if that
could make it up to Chapel's lover that he was stealing her for lunch, Kirk
hurried to catch up with her. "You sure that was a good idea?"
"What? Not letting him
dictate what I can and can't do?" She shot him a hard glance. "I had
enough of that with Roger."
"Okay."
"Dan's jealous. Of
Spock. Of you. Of any guy I talk to for more than ten seconds. He can learn to
get over it."
"Right."
"Don't humor me,
Admiral."
"Wouldn't dream of it,
Chris." He used the name that not many others did, and was glad to see her
smile. "He loves you. He doesn't want to share you. Is that so bad?" But
then he remembered Janice Lester. How paranoid she'd become during the last few
months they'd been together. She'd said she smelled perfume on his clothes,
that she'd found lipstick on his shirts. He'd never cheated on her—not even
when she'd been making his life a living hell. But she'd been convinced he had.
"Unless the jealousy is out of control. Is it?"
She sighed. "No. I'm
just...I've just..." She looked over at him. "I sort of got used to
being alone. To having my own time and my own way. To not having to answer to
anyone."
He nodded. He'd liked that,
too. But not enough to offset all the things he'd missed when he'd been alone. Seemed
like, once he got off his ship, the first thing he did was find himself a
woman.
Any woman, apparently. Maybe
it was time to be a little more selective.
"It's new, and I'm just a
little squirrelly." Laughing, she looked down. "I have a great guy
who loves me, and I'm squirrelly."
"We all have our
foibles."
"So how long were you
with her?" she asked as they turned into the mess.
"Not long." Or too
long. Depending on how he looked at it.
She grabbed a sandwich, saw
him looking at it and got one for him, too. "Very healthy. Lots of
veggies."
"I don't want a veggie
sandwich." He put it back in the cooler, dug around for something
supremely bad for him. "I'm turning fifty tomorrow. I should get to enjoy
my last meal in my forties." He was used to hiding the fifty part, but she
knew how old he was. Hell, this woman had seen him naked, sick, hurt, even dead—or
pretending to be. No sense in trying to hide the truth from her.
She handed him another
sandwich. Chicken salad. The kind with grapes and curry. And lots of
mayonnaise.
"Perfect," he said,
nabbing a large chocolate-chip cookie as they passed the dessert area.
They both seemed to head for
a less populated part of the mess, then they laughed at the synchronicity.
Sitting in a back booth, she
smiled at his look. "I have people at me all day. It's nice to have some
privacy. What's your excuse?"
He shrugged. At her stern
look, he said, "Okay, maybe I don't want anyone around to hear me share
things I should keep to myself."
"Why to yourself?" She
opened up her sandwich, biting into what seemed to be nothing but grilled, cold
vegetables on dry bread. It looked awful.
"Because I don't want
anyone feeling sorry for me. Or knowing I feel sorry for myself." He gave
her his version of the stern stare. "And if you tell anyone, I'll hunt you
down and make you sorry."
She held up a hand, nearly
losing the innards from that side of her sandwich. "I don't plan to tell. So...this is a hard birthday, huh?"
He nodded, biting into the
chicken salad instead of answering. It was a sinfully good sandwich.
"Why do you think that
is?" She was gazing at him placidly. Reminding him of all the times she'd
been in sickbay, tending him. So calm. Such a beacon
of "you'll be all right" with her gentle way of being.
"Because I hate that I'm
getting old."
"Why old? Why not just
older."
A number of answers came to
his mind. Because he had a son who was older than the cadets he had to try to
keep up with. Because his endurance—in the gym, and other places—wasn't what it
had been. Because his hair was thinner and his belly wasn't. Because when he
looked at his life, he looked backward, not forward.
"For what it's worth,
sir. You're not old." She smiled, then went back to her sandwich.
He decided to change the
subject. "I'm sorry, by the way. About how I acted yesterday. Breaking up
with Marian may have made me a little bitter."
"A little?" Her
grin took the sting out.
"A lot?" He shook
his head. "I'm glad you're happy." He saw something pass over her
face, a shadow in her expression. "You are happy?"
"I am." She sounded
like she was trying to convince them both.
"Is it Spock? I thought
you were over him."
"This isn't about Spock.
Only..." She sighed. "Do you ever feel like life was what happened on
the Enterprise? That everything after that is just...redux?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Dan's good and sweet. And
he loves me." She looked down.
"You left out a
part."
"And I love him."
"Good concept. Shaky on
the execution." His voice was meaner than he intended.
She met his eyes. "Did
you love her? Your young bimbo?"
He was surprised at her
sarcasm. "Bimbo?"
"I'm sorry. Was she not
that?"
He sighed. "I don't
think she was."
"You don't think she
was? Or you hope she wasn't?"
"Vegetables make you
presumptuous, Chapel."
She looked down.
He felt bad instantly, wanted
the rapport they'd been enjoying back. "I'm sorry. I—"
"No, sir, it's all
right. I was out of line." She took a deep breath, looking up at him. Her
eyes were like blue lasers. Hard. Harder than he expected. But she'd changed,
she'd grown. And gotten older, too. "It's not as if we're friends."
He answered before he could
think about it, before he could analyze why her words hurt him. "No, it's
not as if we are."
She looked away, and he
didn't say anything to make it better. They ate in silence—an awkward silence.
Unwrapping his cookie, he
held it out to her. "Truce?"
"Are we at war?" But
she tore off a piece.
"We shouldn't be." He
broke off some cookie for himself. "We could be friends."
"We could. Maybe we
shouldn't be, though. Maybe there's no reason to be." She reached over,
taking another bit of the sugary goodness. "This is good. Happy early
birthday."
"Thanks."
They finished off the cookie
in a silence that wasn't so awkward.
"Great." She was
looking toward the door.
Turning, he saw that her
lover had come in. The man seemed to be trying hard to look like he wasn't scanning
the mess for her.
"Love is
possession," she said softly. "Roger used to say that. I hated it
when he said that." She slid out of the booth.
"You're going to
go?"
"I have to get back. Enjoy
your inspection cruise."
"I will." That, at
least, was a given. Even if it was horrible, he'd be on his ship. On the only
girl who loved him. On the only girl he'd never abandon.
She turned away.
"Chris?"
She looked back.
"Are you over
Spock?"
"I don't know." She
gave him a sheepish grin. "But it's a cinch that he never cared enough
about me to have anything to get over. So if I'm not
over him, then I'm truly pathetic."
"No, you're not." He
still thought about Carol. Even now, decades later, he still wondered: What if?
"Godspeed, sir."
"Good luck in ops."
She turned and left him
alone. He saw her beau turn away, as if he wasn't looking for her, as if he
wasn't there to find her. She walked over, touching his arm gently. Her smile
was sweet—but maybe not quite all there. Her boyfriend looked down at her, then
nodded several times. Letting go of him, she walked out.
Kirk turned away from
watching her and saw that he was being watched now. And not in a friendly way. Feeling
surly, he lifted his water glass to Chapel's lover. The man turned away and
disappeared inside the food service area.
Kirk waited until he came
back out before he got up to leave. Deliberately going to a recycler near the
table the man had chosen, Kirk chose a path to the exit that would allow him to
meet the man's gaze, offering a cool, "Commander."
"Admiral," the man
said back, challenge in his eyes. But then he looked away. Looked down. The
challenge died.
Kirk walked on, feeling a
moment of satisfaction. He might be getting old, but he was still alpha.
##
Chapel sat in the back of
ops, head down, nursing her coffee as she tried not to cry. They'd been away,
she and Dan. Using leave. Off in the mountains. Off in the mountains while
Spock had died to save his ship and his cadets and possibly much, much more if
that madman Khan hadn't been contained.
Spock was dead. How could
Spock be dead?
How could she have been gone
when he was dying? When it was announced to all the worlds of the Federation,
but not to their cabin in the mountain that Dan had been so pleased was rustic
enough to not have any modern conveniences. And he'd kept her too busy to get to
the main building, where they did have the news on.
She'd seen the announcement
at breakfast as they'd prepared to come back to work. Seen it and felt her
world crumble. Now they were back in ops, and she'd read all the comms she
could find on the incident, and her world was still crumbling.
"Hon'?" Dan sat
down next to her.
"Not now."
"You don't even know
what I'm going to say."
She realized she didn't care
what he was going to say. But it wasn't good to admit that to him. "I'm
sorry."
She was sorry he was there,
bothering her, when all she wanted to do was try to absorb that Spock was dead.
And Dan seemed to realize it.
"Christine. Let me in. I know this hurts, but I
can share it with you."
She looked up at him slowly. "You
didn't know him. At all."
"But I know you. I can
be with you." He had been with her—she'd been screwing him as Spock
died.
"Christine. Please don't
shut me out." He sounded desperate. Love and fear coloring his voice. Making
it one she recognized. Her own voice when Spock hadn't wanted her. Her own
voice when Roger had left her alone with only her engagement ring.
She let Dan hug her. In the
middle of ops. Where it wasn't done, where you didn't advertise that you were
dating your coworker. But Spock was dead, and Dan wanted to help, and he loved
her, and Spock never had.
"I'm sorry," she
whispered, clutching at Dan. She wasn't sure if she was sorry
she'd shut him out, or only sorry that Spock had never wanted her the way this
other man did.
"It's okay." This
time he didn't seem to read between the lines. "I'm here."
She let him lead her back to
her station. She stayed there, working, burying herself in the reports that
came in.
"He's worried about you,"
Janice said softly as she leaned over, handing Chapel a padd.
"He's smothering
me." She hadn't meant to say that.
"We should all be so
cursed." Janice shook her head. "You finally have a man who loves you
without limit, and you hate it."
"Jan, not now,
okay?"
Janice sighed, but she
nodded, turning away.
Chapel read through the padd Janice
had given her, then went back to the comms, until she saw the notification that
the Enterprise would be in spacedock soon.
"I have to go see her
come in," she said, looking over at Rand. "We should both go."
Rand nodded. Taking command
of their leaving. Assigning their reports elsewhere.
"You're going up, aren't
you?" Dan asked—Chapel hadn't even heard him walk over.
"You can come with
us," Janice said, her voice very gentle.
"No." Chapel could
hear how harsh her voice was and tried to make it less cold, but failed as she
told him, "You didn't serve with him."
Dan sat back down; Chapel
didn't look at him.
"Christine, why did you
do that?" Janice asked as they left ops. "He loves you so."
"Jan, we don't have to
go together."
"Fine." Janice
didn't say anything as they walked to the transporter room. Beaming up, they
found their way to the lounge. Chapel was stopped by a nurse she'd served with
on the Enterprise; Janice moved on toward the viewports. From opposite
corners of the lounge, they watched the ship limp home, and Chapel was shocked
at the damage she'd taken.
They met back up by the door,
working their way to the transporter area, hovering around the pads like so
many others, watching as the crew beamed in. There was subdued clapping,
murmured condolences. Hands reaching out to touch cadets, to reassure the
youngsters who never should have gone through what they did.
Chapel felt her friend tense
next to her. "Oh, God," Janice said, turning away.
Looking at the transporter
pad, Chapel saw Kirk had beamed in with a blonde woman. "Isn't that Carol
Marcus?" She'd been a legend at Chapel's university even back then—a
prodigy obsessed with terraforming.
Janice nodded. "He was
with her. For a long time. Years ago." She glanced back. "And now,
too. From the look of it."
"How do you—"
"You obsessed over
Spock. You looked up every little thing you could about him. Well, I did that
for the Admiral. I know who he was with. I know that this one...she's not
casual." Janice took a last look at the couple and fled.
Chapel stood, torn between
going to comfort her friend and staying for the man who wasn't her friend but
could have been. She chose him and turned to wait for him.
He looked surprised to see
her, but pulled her into a hug almost without thought. "He's gone,
Chris."
"I know." She
started to cry. Tried to hold it in, her body shaking.
He whispered, "Let it
out. It hurts too much to keep it in."
She did what he told her. Finally
pulling away, she saw that she'd left his uniform damp where she'd hidden her
face against him. "Admiral, I'm so sorry."
"It's okay." He
turned her. "Carol. This is Commander Chapel. She served with us. With
Spock. He was...special to her."
The other woman touched her
hand. "I'm sorry. He was such a good man."
Chapel wasn't sure what to say,
so she just nodded. "I should get back to duty."
"Yes." He smiled at
her. His eyes seemed to convey a message of "I'm happy. In all this hell,
with all this death, I'm somehow happy."
Chapel suddenly knew Janice
had been right to flee. She leaned in again, near Kirk's ear. "If she can
make you happy, then I'm pleased for you."
He looked touched, then he
turned to Carol. "Ready?"
She nodded, her expression
gentle. The look of someone who's had something precious returned.
"Will there be a service
for Spock?" Chapel asked.
"We had one. On the
ship."
"Of course." She
straightened. "Good bye, sir. Doctor Marcus."
He nodded. "Take care,
Chris."
"Goodbye,
Commander," Carol murmured.
Chapel followed Janice's lead
and fled. But not back to ops. She found an out-of-the-way room in an
out-of-the-way section of Starfleet medical, and locked herself in.
And then she cried until she
ran out of tears.
##
"What do you mean you
have to go?" Carol looked at Kirk, her expression hard. The expression he
remembered from years ago. When she'd made him choose between her or space. Between his son or space.
"It's not something I
can talk about."
"Not this again. Not
this classified bullshit again."
"Carol. I swear to you
this is important. This is...this is the most important thing I may ever
do." McCoy was going insane, and Spock's spirit lived on inside him,
yearning to go home. And Kirk could do something to give them both peace.
"I won't do this
again." She turned, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
"It's for Spock. It's
for Bones. And...it's not really regulation."
She turned to look at him. "What
are you going to do?"
"I can't tell you."
If he mentioned Genesis, she'd want to come. She'd be in direct violation of
the order keeping them away. Keeping her away. Starfleet had, for whatever
reason, allowed David access, but not Carol.
It had killed her to leave
her planet behind. He'd thought she'd been all right, though, after they'd
spent the time back to Earth getting reacquainted in every way that mattered. He'd
thought she'd settled down a little. That the caustic energy that had always
driven her toward one day making Genesis a reality was gone now that it had
worked. Genesis had worked.
And no matter what else
happened—no matter how much they excluded her from this point on—she'd done it.
She'd made it. It was her baby. But, Genesis was her Enterprise,
and he knew if he told her that he was stealing his old ship to go to her new
planet, she'd never understand. Never forgive him for not including her. Even
once he got back, he was going to have a devil of a time getting her to forgive
him.
He accepted that, but he
hadn't expected her to not forgive him for simply being unable to tell her
where he was going. And he could see her closing down. Could feel it in the way
the air changed between them. The ease they'd found, the desire they'd
rekindled, was dying.
"Tell me where you're
going and why, or I'm leaving," she said.
So that was the choice this
time? Spock or her? "Then leave."
It hurt more than it had with
Marian. It hurt a lot, and if his heart hadn't been broken by the meld with
Sarek—by reliving Spock's death over and over, first in his mind, then on the
video—he might care more. But this mattered. This was for Spock. Carol had to
stand aside and let him do this. Or she had to get the hell out of his way
before he knocked her aside.
"I've missed you,"
he said. "Having you back in my life—it's been indescribable." He saw
her eyes soften. "But I won't be held hostage by the fear that you'll walk
away again. I won't have you dictate what I can and can't do." He thought
of Chapel's words, said them out loud. "Love is not possession."
Carol's eyes went hard. And
he knew she wasn't going to accept that. Because to her love was possession. David
had stayed in her world, because sharing him with Kirk had been something that
her love wouldn't allow. And now, she wouldn't share Kirk with Spock. Or with
his duty to his friends, with his need to take this one, last, desperate
chance.
He turned away from her. "Good-bye."
She moved close to him. "You
haven't changed a bit." Her voice was harsh, ugly.
And he suddenly knew she'd
try to poison David. That she'd win him back to her world. That Kirk was giving
up his son one more time.
Giving him up for a dead man
who was closer than a brother. And for a friend who might lose the best part of
himself if Kirk did nothing and stayed with Carol.
He touched Carol's face. "I
thought you'd changed, too. I guess we were both wrong." Then he turned
and walked out of the room, leaving her so he could make plans. So he could get this reckless, career-ending mission
started.
He knew she'd be gone by the
time he got back.
##
Chapel finished briefing the
officer taking her station while she was on leave. He was new, but he'd do
fine. Janice would look out for him.
Her friend looked over at
her, smiling sadly. "Good luck."
Chapel nodded. She wasn't
sure what either of them thought she'd need luck for. But it seemed to fit. It
seemed to be the thing to say.
"What are you going to
do about Dan?" Janice asked.
"He's not happy with my
decision to go away for a while. But he'll survive."
"Are you sure?" Janice
was staring hard at her—she knew where Chapel was going. It wasn't just leave, it was leave to Vulcan. Leave to see a no-longer-dead
Spock.
"I know you think I'm
making a mistake. I just..."
"I know. You have to do
this." Janice got up and hugged her. "Go do it, then."
Chapel headed for the main
door, where Cartwright was standing as if he was waiting for someone. As she
walked past, her travel bag slung over her shoulder, he murmured. "Tell
Jim hello for me."
She didn't acknowledge the
comment, didn't stop walking. She hadn't officially told Cartwright she was headed
for Vulcan. It was her leave; she could go where she wanted. But he'd guessed,
and she was a bit surprised he'd guessed.
Or had Dan told him? Would
Dan do that? Would he tell their boss so Cartwright would keep her from going?
Stopping, she turned and
walked back to Cartwright. "How did you know?"
"Dan told me," the
admiral said, his eyes hard. "I'm not happy with you."
She nodded, accepting that. "And
I'm not happy with him."
"No, I don't imagine you
are. I wouldn't be, if I were in your place." Was that a warning note in
Cartwright's voice?
"What would you do? If
you were in my place?"
"I'd go to Vulcan. And
I'd find myself a boyfriend I could trust."
"Maybe I'll do
that." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "While I'm at
it, do you want me to find another assignment when I get back?"
"No. I'm sure there will
be other times I'm not happy with you. Doesn't mean I want you to leave." Cartwright
smiled tightly.
She smiled back the same way.
"Okay."
"Maybe Dan should find a
new assignment, though?"
She felt a pang. This wasn't
supposed to go this way. She hadn't broken up with Dan, just left him angrier
at her than she'd ever seen him. He didn't understand why she had to go to
Vulcan. Why she needed to make her peace with a Spock resurrected.
She hadn't told him it was
really to see if a Spock resurrected loved her any better than the old one had.
"Dan shouldn't
leave" she told Cartwright. "Not if he doesn't want to."
The admiral took her arm, steering
her along the corridor, away from ops. "Christine, this isn't going to go
well. It's why we don't date in the group. Ops isn't a
starship. It's a room that gets smaller come crisis time. And you two are
falling apart, and it's going to get messy if you both stay in that small room.
And maybe that mess will cause you to make mistakes. Mistakes I can't afford. So one of you has to go."
"He didn't ask for this.
Make it me, then."
"Don't want to. You're
the better officer." He smiled grimly. "And I know that you wouldn't
have told me about him, if the situation were reversed."
"No, I wouldn't
have." She took a deep breath. "Can you do that? Can you find him a
new assignment?"
His smile grew grimmer. "I
can do just about anything I want."
"Make it something nice,
then? Something that won't look like what this is."
"That won't look like
banishment? Okay." Cartwright took a deep breath. "Just...keep a low
profile while you're on Vulcan, all right?"
"All right. Thank
you."
"Get out of here,
Chapel. Before I regret being stupid for my friends."
She obeyed him, hurrying down
the corridor to the transporter that would take her to spacedock
and the shuttle to Vulcan.
Dan was waiting outside the
transporter room. He still looked furious. "I knew he wouldn't stop you. He's
Spock's friend. Kirk's buddy."
"Don't blame the
admiral."
"I don't. I blame
you."
"That's fair. Blame me,
then." She pushed past him and felt his hand on her arm but shook it off.
"Christine, did you ever
love me?"
Turning, she studied him. She
felt a pain of sorts at leaving him. But it was warring with her resolve. With
her horrible grief turned to whiplash-inducing relief. With her need to see if
this time, maybe, Spock could love her.
"I'm not sure I know
what love is. But I know what it isn't. It's not possession. I don't belong to
you, and you don't belong to me."
"That's crap. Because
you belong to that Vulcan who will never, ever give a damn about you. And you
like it. Your sick, twisted little heart only has
room for him. And I knew that. I knew that, and I kept thinking I could slip
in. Could find room to carve out my own space. I was an idiot."
He turned and walked away. But
he wasn't walking in a very straight line, and Chapel felt a pang for him.
"I never loved you,
Dan," she whispered once he'd turned the corner. "I'm sorry." Entering
the transporter room, she took a deep breath.
"Where to, ma'am?"
"Spacedock."
She blinked back tears, surprised that she was crying.
"Are you all
right?" Another sweet young man. Why were they so plentiful? Why did they
care?
"No. But there's nothing
you can do about that." She stepped onto the pad. "Except send me the
hell away." She smiled and knew the expression was probably a little
scary.
"Godspeed,
Commander."
Starfleet Command disappeared
and spacedock materialized around her. Stepping off
the pad, Chapel began her journey.
##-
Kirk sat in the shade of the
bird-of-prey, staring up at the cliffs where Spock often stood. There was no
Spock today. No almost-friend. No shell of the man he'd once known. It was
comforting to look up and not see Spock there. It was nice to not be
disappointed. To not have to think that he'd thrown away everything he cared
about for this.
For nothing.
But...not nothing. Spock
lived. Bones was himself again. It was a miracle.
A miracle paid for in blood. In
his son's blood.
He turned so he wouldn't have
to look at the cliffs, and saw dust rising as someone walked toward him. He
could just make out a Starfleet uniform and dark hair. He thought it was
Chapel, so he got up and walked out to her. When she drew closer, he could tell
she was exhausted.
"Here. Sit down." He
eased her into the shade, onto the equipment carton he'd been sitting on.
She looked up at him, her
expression helpless. God...what had she given up to come here?
"He won't know
you," Kirk said. "He won't love you. He isn't himself." The
words came out in a rush, as if by tearing them into her, he could spare her
the later pain. The greater pain.
"I don't care. I have to
try." Her voice was scratchy, so he grabbed his water container and let
her drink.
"What about Dan?"
"It's over." She
reached up, touching his face, her expression wounded in a way that made him
fear a little for her sanity. "What about Doctor Marcus?"
"It's over, too." He
sat down next to her. "Cartwright knows you're here?"
"He says hi." She
leaned against him, and it felt normal. It felt right.
Putting his arm around her,
he pulled her closer, and she rested her head on his shoulder. "It's bad,
Chris. Everything...everything's gone." Everything but the two friends
he'd set out to save in the first place.
"You can tell me."
And he did, but he realized
she'd fallen asleep against him before he reached the end. He held her, keeping
her safe, until McCoy came up and said, "Good God, Jim, is she all right?"
McCoy didn't really want Kirk's
opinion, though. He was already hurrying into the bird-of-prey, reemerging with
his equipment. Chapel woke up as he scanned her.
"Len." She smiled. A
tired smile, but less the look of a woman on the edge of something bad.
"Christine. Nice of you
to pop in for a little visit." McCoy shot her full of something.
Tri-ox, Kirk realized. The
thin air had hit them all when they'd first arrived. But now, he was getting
used to it. Needing less of the compound to keep him going. He should have thought
of that for her. Hell, she was the doctor—she should have thought of that for
her.
"I told her, Bones. I
told her how he is."
McCoy's look turned tragic
for a moment, then he smiled—the expression light years from reaching his eyes.
"You'd think being in my head would have given him more personality, not
less."
Chapel didn't laugh. "Can
I see him?"
"Darlin', don't do this
to yourself. Whatever Jim told you, he's right. Spock's not the man any of us
remember." McCoy knelt down, forcing her to look at him. "If you came
here to see if he'll finally love you, he won't."
She moaned softly, as if his
words were fists punching into her, and Kirk glared at him. Couldn't Bones
leave her alone—at least for a while? She'd be hurting their way soon enough.
"I want to see
him."
Kirk started to get up.
"I'll take her,"
McCoy said. "Saavik is up there now."
"Be strong," Kirk
said, as he gave Chapel a final squeeze.
She turned and looked at him,
her eyes holding his. "Do we believe in love?"
It seemed the saddest
question in the world. Smoothing back her hair, he said very softly so only she
could hear, "Yes, we do. But I don't think it believes in us."
She nodded. "That's what
I'm afraid of." Then she got up and followed Bones up the path.
Kirk thought she looked like
she was walking to her death.
##
Chapel tried to breathe
normally as she climbed the path. Mercifully, after only a few minutes, McCoy
led them into a cave, where an inner staircase carved out of the rock waited. It
was still hard going from there, but it was much cooler.
"They took his katra out of me and put it back in his body." Len was
huffing a little as he tried to climb and talk. "He's confused now. We
think the synapses are growing back. That the connections that aren't there now
will return, and all these loose memories will organize themselves, and he'll
remember us. But right now, he doesn't seem to remember much that
matters."
She sighed, wasting breath. How
could Spock remember her when he'd never really thought about her to begin
with? Why had she come here?
They finally reached a
chamber with a few benches. Len indicated she should sit, so she did, trying to
get her breath back.
Amanda walked out of the far
chamber of the cave. "Christine? Oh, my dear, how good it is to see
you."
"Amanda." She'd
always thought Spock's mother would have been a great mother-in-law. Someone
she could have loved unreservedly.
Amanda took her hands,
staring down at her. "But why are you here?"
Chapel couldn't meet her
eyes.
"Oh, dearest. I think
you've made a mistake." Amanda sat down next to her. "Why don't you
go back down and keep the others company. Spock...Spock isn't the man you
remember." The man who never loved you, Chapel thought she heard in
Amanda's words.
"I'd still like to see
him."
Amanda looked over at Len.
He shrugged, his expression
hard. "She's determined," he said, his voice resigned. "Let her
do what she's so hell bent on doing."
Amanda rose. "Come with
me."
Chapel followed her into the
far room. As they walked in, a young Vulcan woman turned. It was Saavik. Chapel
had met her a few times, but didn't know her well.
"Commander Chapel."
Saavik nodded formally. "I am surprised to see you."
"Come, Saavik,"
Amanda said. "Christine wishes to speak to Spock."
"I am not sure that is a
good—"
"She doesn't care about
that," Amanda said, her tone firm.
Saavik nodded, following
Amanda out, throwing Chapel a look that seemed almost pitying. Chapel was left
alone, wondering where Spock was. Then she realized there was another form in
the shadows, hunched over a high desk where a computer sat.
"Spock?"
He turned slowly. His eyes didn't
change as he studied her; his lips didn't lift in the slightest. "Do I
know you?"
"Yes." That was
easier than she'd expected. Simple. Yes. Yes, you know me.
He tilted his head, as if she
was a sample in a lab he was having trouble
identifying. "I do not remember."
She felt something die
inside. "We served together on the Enterprise."
His head tilted the other
way. Chapel could feel sweat beading up on her forehead, her upper lip, under
her uniform in places that would chafe later probably. What in the hell had she
been doing coming here?
Why not go for broke? "I...I was interested in you. Romantically."
"It is illogical to
protest against our natures." He frowned, as if the memory of his Pon Farr had just erupted and forced itself out of his
mouth. "Were we intimate?"
Spock had nearly made them so
that day, but for her blurting out that they were headed to Vulcan. Then later,
the Platonians had almost made them so, but for
Kirk's fighting his way free of their power. "No."
He considered that, then he
turned back to the computer.
"I came a long way to
see you."
"I am unsure why." His
tone wasn't unkind. It wasn't anything.
She moved closer. "So
that I could believe you were really alive again."
He glanced at her. The
sentiment was clearly lost on him. "I am occupied here."
"I see that. Is my
presence a distraction?"
By his look, she could see
that her presence was an annoyance. But one with no baggage. One with no
emotions. He didn't remember her. She was inconsequential, and yet she stood
here for no purpose when he could be working. He didn't say it though, just
turned back to the computer.
She took a chance, moved near
enough to reach out and touch his hand.
He looked down at her hand,
then up at her. "Why do you do this?"
"Because I care. I
always have. Maybe I always will."
"Interesting." But
he turned back to the computer as if her declaration was anything but. Then he
frowned. And the look he gave her next was more the old Spock. Not the Spock of
a few weeks ago. But the Spock on the Enterprise, who viewed her as
something to avoid at all costs. "To care about someone who does not care
for you, is that logical?"
She felt the words hit home
this time. Like little knives carving out her heart. "Do you remember not
caring for me?"
"I remember you made
me...uncomfortable. Would I see you and walk the other way?"
She'd always thought he'd
been doing that. "Probably."
He barely considered it
before turning back to the computer, and she understood he hadn't cared about
her answer. He'd only been collecting information—perhaps to help him
categorize some errant memories. "I must finish this," he said, and
something in his tone told her it was past time for her to go.
"Of course." She
took a deep breath and went back into the other room.
Len and Amanda looked up;
Saavik had gone.
Somehow, Chapel kept her
expression even. "It's wonderful to see him doing so well. I know he'll be
fine, eventually." Fine. And not ever caring about her the way she needed
him to. He'd be a good Vulcan, eventually. But his human side. His loving side.
Where had that gone? Had the priestesses left it inside McCoy?
Although, to be fair, his
human side had never loved her, either. No side of him had ever loved her.
She felt like a teenaged girl
who finally wakes up and realizes the teacher she has a crush on isn't in love
with her and never will be.
Len started to get up, but
she waved him back into his seat. "I can find my own way."
"You don't have
to." Getting up, he moved toward her.
"I want to." Her
tone made him stop walking. Her tone made Amanda look at her with pity. "I'm
fine. I got what I needed here." Finally, like a bucket of cold water in
the face, she'd gotten what she needed to close the door on this.
She forced her steps to be
measured and calm. She took her time going down the stairs, then rested before
heading back into the sun.
This Spock didn't love her. The
old Spock hadn't loved her. Why had she thrown Dan away when it had been
doubtful from the start of this crazy journey that anything would have changed?
Dan might be gone from ops by
the time she got back. The thought should have filled her with sadness. Or with
guilt. All she felt was relief—relief that she wouldn't have to deal with him,
anymore. Or listen to him saying, "I told you so."
##
Kirk saw Chapel walking back
down the dusty path. He could tell how it had gone for her. Didn't have to ask
her or McCoy or anyone else to know how Spock had acted with her. Because Spock
was acting that way with him. Posing questions that tore his heart out for
their lack of emotion. Or staring at him with expressions so cold, so
mechanical, they made Kirk question everything he'd done—everything he'd lost.
He got up, waiting for Chapel
to get to him. She wasn't crying; she didn't stumble as she came toward him. But
he could tell by her expression that he wasn't wrong about how things had gone.
She met his eyes; hers were
dead. "I don't want to see the others."
"Come on." He
grabbed a bag he kept packed, and led her past the bird-of-prey, out into the
desert. The sun was going down, and he sighed in relief. "It'll get cold,
believe it or not. Not freezing, but not comfortable. It's never comfortable on
this damn planet."
She didn't seem to care. Probably
felt cold inside after her visit to the mortuary that was Spock's study room. Kirk
didn't think she'd notice any extra cold the planet might provide.
"He's dead," he
said. "The Spock we knew is dead."
"No, Jim, he's not. He's
just...confused."
He glanced at her. He'd never
told her she could call him that. But it sounded right from her. On this
planet, with this stabbing grief inside him, it seemed right that she'd finally
gone ahead and called him that.
"He never loved
me." She looked at him. "It was a fantasy. One I've held onto all
these years, and I don't know why. I lost Dan over him."
"Do you care?" It
was a harsh thing to say.
But she didn't seem to mind. "No.
I care more that I don't care. If that makes sense?"
It did. He wished he cared
more that he'd lost Carol over this.
He stopped walking when they
were well out of sight of the ship and the cliffs. Opening the bag, he pulled
out a nearly full bottle of vodka and handed it to her. She took it without
comment.
Then he grabbed a large
thermal blanket from the middle of the bag and spread it on the ground. "Sit."
She sat. A bit gracelessly,
as if she'd lost the power to control her body.
He pulled out a fuel sack
from the bottom of the bag and set fire-stones in a pile in front of the
blanket. He lit them with his phaser, and they glowed warm and comforting in
the Vulcan night.
"Do this a lot, do
you?" She stretched out on the blanket, studying the bottle of vodka as it
stood on her stomach, kept safely upright by her hands. "And where did you
get this?"
"Chekov's relatives sent
a case. Seems they have a history of exile, and vodka makes the hard time go
down easier."
"And the cold
warmer?"
"That too."
"I don't think I'll ever
be warm again." She sighed, staring up at the beautiful Vulcan night sky
that was the best part of this world.
"Wait till the sun comes
up. Then you'll wonder if you'll ever be cool."
"You know what I
mean."
"I do. But I'm not
wrong, either. You'll be freezing inside, boiling on the outside. It's not a
good mix." He took the bottle from her, opened it and sucked down some of
the clear fluid. "It's normally just me out here. I'm afraid there are no
glasses."
"Give me that." She
sat up and took the bottle, didn't even wipe it, just put it to her lips and
sucked down a respectable amount. She didn't cough, didn't choke. But then she
was part of ops now. Like unhappy ex-captains, ops officers tended to drink
more than they used to.
"Did I make a mistake,
Chris?"
"I don't know."
"You're not much
comfort."
She laughed. A sad little
sound. "And that's my role for you, isn't it? I've always stood for
comfort?"
He glanced at her. "Is
that so wrong?"
"It's not who I am
anymore. It may not be who I ever was." She handed him the bottle.
"It's who you were for
me. Sometimes I would look for you when I visited Bones in sickbay. You made me
feel...calm." He drank deeply then gave her back the bottle.
"When you came into
sickbay to visit, I usually felt better. I guess you stood for comfort, too. Especially
after Roger..."
What they'd shared. And she'd
been with Miramanee when she'd died. Chapel had seen
so much of his life that mattered. "My son died. I lost him saving Spock."
"Your...son?"
He nodded, felt her stick the
bottle back in his hands. "David Marcus was my son."
"Oh, Jim—" She
seemed to realize what she'd called him. "Sir, I'm sorry. You never said I
could—"
"Stow it, Chris. Call me
Jim. I need you to do that. I want you to do that." He took a long pull
from the bottle, could feel the woozy sensation of alcohol hitting his
bloodstream. "Carol took him away from me." He sighed. That wasn't
exactly right. "I had the choice—I chose space not my family."
She moved closer to the fire.
"Why did it have to be a choice?"
"With Carol it
was." He moved closer to the fire, too. And closer to her. "What did
you hope to find with Spock this time?"
"I don't know. Love, I
guess." She shook her head. "I feel as if someone ripped a film off
my eyes, and I can finally see what a fool I've been. He never wanted me the
way I needed him to. Why did I think dying would change that?"
"Because we're goddamned
romantics."
She took the bottle from him.
"Soon to be inebriated goddamned romantics."
"Damned straight." He
smiled at her and was relieved to see her smile back, even if he knew it was
the booze providing an uplift to their mood. "Your fellow back home? Did
you love him?"
"No." She leaned in, her arm pressed against him. "Your bimbo?"
"She wasn't a
bimbo."
"Good." Chapel's
smile was sweet.
"And I didn't love
her."
"Not so good."
"Well, considering I
pushed her away, it probably was." He put the lid back on the bottle and
set it down. They'd had enough, and he noticed she didn't ask for more.
Her hand stole into his.
He squeezed. "Warm."
"Human."
He moved closer to her, the scent
of her perfume—faint but still there—meeting him as he nuzzled her neck. "We
could be lovers."
"Yes, we could. It would
be easy to be lovers tonight, wouldn't it?"
"It would."
She turned, wrapping her arms
around him, her lips finding his. But it wasn't a lover's kiss. It was better. It
was sweet and warm and sad and full of the pain he was afraid would eat him
alive if he didn't let some of it out.
"Oh, God, Chris. What am
I going to do?"
She kissed his cheek, her
lips leaving some kind of calm in their wake. "What you always do. You'll
pull victory from the jaws of defeat. You're the master of that."
He pulled away enough to look
at her. She wasn't mocking him. Wasn't teasing him or trying to prod him into
resolve. She just believed it. She believed in him.
He kissed her, not pushing. Not
asking for sex. Just asking for some kind of connection under these cold stars
on this cold planet. "We are friends, Chris."
She nodded. "You were
the only one I wanted to see when I left Spock and the others. You were the
only one who I thought would understand." She ran her fingers across his
forehead, stopping at the corner of his eye, tracing what he called crinkles
but were more like sagging lines. "You're not old." Then she kissed
him, and this time the kiss was different.
And this time he was ready
for it. This time he pushed her down, following her. His hands traced her body—a
body he'd never fantasized about. This woman had never meant sex to him. He was
pretty sure he'd ever meant it to her, either.
She opened her mouth to him,
tasting of vodka. They kissed for a long time. When they finally pulled away,
she asked, "Do you want to make love?"
"Yes." He smiled
down at her, knowing why she'd phrased it that way. "Do you think either
of us is capable of that? Of having more than just sex tonight?"
"No."
He laughed, rolling off her. "Finally,
we're the wise ones."
"Finally."
He reached for her hand, somehow
knowing it was stealing toward him.
"Does it ever rain
here?" she asked, twining her fingers with his.
"I've never seen it
rain. But it must." He turned his head, wasn't surprised to see that she
was looking at him too. "Are you sorry you came to Vulcan?"
"No. It was time to grow
up." She smiled in what she probably thought was a game way. But it came
off as sad and tired.
He was tired, too. Exhausted
in mind and body. "The fire-stones will burn all night. We can sleep here
if we want?"
She let his hand go and
rolled to her side, snaking her arm over his stomach. For once, he didn't feel
the need to suck in his gut to impress the woman he was with. She sighed, as if
she too was relaxing. Pulling the blanket down, he wadded the part they weren't
lying on under their heads as a pillow, then pulled the sides over them for
warmth. It didn't work as well as when he was alone, but he didn't mind at all.
"Do you like sex?"
he asked, feeling as if he could ask her anything tonight.
"I used to think so. But
Dan and I had great sex, and I walked away from it."
He nodded. That's what he'd
been thinking of. How great sex with Marian had been. And how it hadn't been
enough.
"What do you like best? I
mean in sex?" Her words came out a little slurred. Friend vodka was making
her say things she probably shouldn't.
"You mean other than all
of it?"
She laughed and nodded
against his chest.
"The feeling of
connection when I'm inside a woman. But..."
"But what?"
"Have you ever been with
someone and looked at them, expecting to find a connection when your eyes
met?"
"And you find emptiness?
Or just not what you expected?" She sighed. "I used to do that to
Dan, I think. He'd stare down at me in this searching way, and I'd have to look
away."
"It was too much?"
"Way too much."
He stared down at her. "Look
at me."
She slowly tipped her face up
to him. Their eyes met—and held. He leaned down and kissed her.
"Was it like that?"
he asked her when they finally pulled away.
She was smiling. "You
know it wasn't." She pulled him back down to her. "You sure we
couldn't just have sex?"
He chuckled as he kissed her.
As her hands—strong hands he remembered from all those visits to sickbay—moved
across his body, leaving him shivering from the way she touched him, he began
to rethink the no sex thing.
He forced himself to pull
away. "How long can you stay?"
"A few days." She
cuddled up against him again. "You're going to be in so much trouble,
Jim."
"I know. My career's
almost certainly over. It's just a question of how big an example they want to
make of me. Will you visit me in the stockade?"
Her arm tightened around him.
"You've done so much. They can't—"
"They might. I destroyed
the Enterprise."
"She was going to be
mothballed."
He smiled. Chris knew the
ship was a she. Chris was pretty damned fierce in her defense of him, too. "Still."
"Still what? You saved a
friend, and a valuable member of Starfleet. You..." She sighed. "Your
ship, Jim. To know she's gone..." She nuzzled his neck. "You loved
her better than any woman."
"And I destroyed
her."
"Don't think of it like
that. Think of it that she gave her life for you." Chris's breath was warm
on his ear as she whispered, "Like an old-time cowboy whose horse runs and
runs until she can't run anymore. The Enterprise ran her heart out for
you. And she was happy to die for you."
He realized she was crying. "What
is it?"
"What are we going to
do?"
"Survive. It's what we
always do." And he knew it was true. They were so alike in that. Love
kicked them in the teeth, and life spit in their faces, but they kept going
anyway. Nothing—no loss, no matter how terrible—seemed to be able to stop them.
But there was a cost. Pretty soon, would anything be able to touch them?
"Len thinks I'm an idiot
for coming here," she said.
"You did what you had to
do." And if she hadn't come here, then she wouldn't be lying with him
under the stars, siphoning off some of his pain by giving him some of her own.
"Did I? Or did I just do
what I wanted to do?"
He pulled her closer. "Sometimes,
they're the same thing."
Yawning, she shifted, seemed
to be getting comfortable. He quit talking and settled for kissing her on the
forehead, feeling her arm tighten around him. Then, as they lay silently, her
breathing changed and she slipped into sleep. He found the feel of her
stretched against the length of him soothing, and closed his eyes. And, for the
first time since he'd landed on Vulcan, he slept through the night.
##
"So? How was it?" Janice
smiled at Chapel.
"It was...not what I
expected." She couldn't bring herself to tell Janice the truth. That she'd
been a fool to go. Or that, despite that, she hadn't wanted to leave Vulcan. Not
because of Spock, but because of the man Janice might still be in love with.
Chapel looked around ops. Dan
wasn't at his station—someone new sat in his chair. "Where did he
go?"
Janice followed her eyes, and
her expression hardened a little. "The Achilles. Did you get him
sent away?"
"Me? I don't have that
kind of power, Jan." Chapel wondered if Cartwright had picked that ship on
purpose. She'd been Dan's Achilles heel. Now he was free of her. Maybe he'd
find what he really wanted. True love. Someone to adore him. Someone who
wouldn't be afraid to make him promises.
"You seem
different," Janice said, as Chapel sat down.
"I am." Chapel
looked over at her friend. She knew she couldn't keep this from Janice, that it
would only get harder if she let it sit. "I found...wisdom"—she'd
been about to say "comfort" but decided that was too loaded a word—"in
an unlikely source. Admiral Kirk was good to me." She couldn't bring
herself to call him Jim in front of Janice. Not yet. Not during this first
foray into trying to explain how he might just have saved her life.
She suspected she might have
saved his as well. She was already trying to save his career. She'd visited
Sarek before she'd left Vulcan. He'd assured her that he'd come back for the
trial and testify on Jim's behalf. Jim had refused to ask him; she'd felt no
such compunction.
Jim. Closing her eyes for a moment, she remembered those
nights in the desert. Those nights of intimacy without sex.
"What do you mean?"
Janice asked, her voice brittle. "He was good to you how?"
"He was there for
me."
"There how?" When
Chapel didn't answer fast enough, Janice said, "In a naked way, you mean? Did
you sleep with him?"
"I didn't have sex with
him." But she had slept with him, curled up in his arms on the monstrously
hard and cold Vulcan ground that hadn't kept her awake that first night. They'd
brought a second blanket the next night, a mattress pad
the night after that.
Janice swallowed. "I
thought you went back to see Spock?"
"I did. Jan, I did. This...this
just happened. And it's not a thing. I mean he and I aren't together. We're
just friends." She looked down. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't entirely
true, either. She'd felt something she hadn't expected to under that glittering
Vulcan sky. And she thought Jim had, too. "But...but I needed to tell you.
Because, things changed between him and me, and I wanted you to hear it from
me. I didn't want you to see that we're closer and wonder why."
Janice took a deep breath. Then
she laughed and it was a strange sound. Angry, but also nervous. "Well. I
guess this is probably the time, then, to tell you that the night you left I
felt sorry for Dan because he was so devastated at your leaving. We had a few
drinks. I was there for him. And I'm afraid clothes did come off." She
stared up at Chapel. "You left a nice man behind. You hurt him
deeply."
Chapel stared at her. Not
sure if she was making this up or telling the truth. Sitting down, she put on
her comm headset. "We can talk about this later."
Janice put hers on too. "Fine."
They both busied themselves
with the comms coming in for a minute. Then Chapel tore off her headset.
Janice glanced over and
pushed hers back. "Something wrong?"
"You need to go to
Vulcan."
"Excuse me?"
"No, really. Meet up
with the man you've wanted all your life. Maybe it will work better for you
than it did for me." Chapel felt a pang at the idea that Janice and Jim
might start something. She pushed the pain away. "Go. Confront Jim."
She saw Janice blink at the
name. Probably at how easily it tripped off Chapel's tongue now.
"Go. See him. Ask him:
Do you love me? I can recommend shredding your soul as the fast track to
enlightenment." She was crying and brushed the tears away.
Janice looked down. "I
don't need to go to Vulcan. I already had my moment. A few years ago. He didn't
want me then, he won't want me now. I've always been a
bit better at knowing when to give up than you were." She took a deep
breath. "But that doesn't mean it's all right with me for you to take
him."
"I haven't taken
him." She held Janice's gaze with her own. "Did you and Dan
really...?"
"Yeah. We did. You were
done with him, remember?"
Chapel felt something tighten
in her. Something good was dying, and it was her relationship with her best
friend. Had it been her fault?
Janice had been fucking her
ex-boyfriend without knowing what she'd been up to. How was this Chapel's
fault? Why was it okay for Janice to do that, and not for her to find comfort
with a man who was in pain and needed her help. "Would you have told me
about Dan if I hadn't told you about Jim?"
"No."
That hurt, too. She'd been
naive enough to think she had no secrets from Janice. She suddenly wondered
what else her friend hadn't told her over the years. "Have you slept with
Dan before?"
Janice blinked in surprise. "No."
She sounded so hurt that Chapel believed her.
"Did you sleep with Jim,
Christine?" The name didn't fall so easily off Janice's lips.
"I slept with him. I
didn't fuck him." Chapel saw that Cartwright was pinging her. She stood
up. "But, in the future...who knows?" She saw Janice's face tighten. "I've
got to go."
"I'm leaving ops." The
declaration was thrown out like a dagger. I'm leaving you, was what
Janice was really saying.
Chapel turned back to look at
her.
"I have an opportunity,
and I wasn't sure if I was going to take it. I was going to talk it over with
you first." Janice laughed bitterly. "It's as communications officer
on one of the Fleet's new battle cruisers. Position's opening up in a few
months."
Chapel smiled. She could
guess which ship it was for. "Go to Dan, then. Maybe the two of you will
be happy. That'd be nice."
Cartwright pinged her again.
Chapel took a deep breath. "Just
so you know. Jim may never seek me out again, Jan."
"The mere fact that you
get to call him that..." Janice shook her head, and there was something
helpless in her eyes. "What if it was Spock I was
with instead of the boyfriend you threw away? Can you imagine wanting to be
around me?"
Chapel looked down.
"Chapel?" Cartwright
was at his door, and it wasn't a happy bellow when he yelled her name again.
"Take the assignment,
Jan. Find happiness." Chapel turned and left her friend.
"Trouble?"
Cartwright asked her. He sounded like he knew there was trouble and just wanted
her to admit that he'd been right.
"Nothing I can't handle,
sir." It was like Jim had said: Come what may, she'd survive.
##
Kirk stood watching people
file out from the tribunal, nodding to well wishers,
accepting handshakes and hugs from friends. He'd beaten the odds. He'd kept his
career—didn't even have to be a boring old admiral, anymore—and gotten back his
ship. Sort of. Some kind of ship. God knew what Fleet would saddle him with.
He saw Chris coming up with
Cartwright, and smiled at her. He'd had dreams about lying next to her out in
the desert. They hadn't always been the cleanest dreams, either.
She waited for Cartwright to
get done pounding him on the back, then she gave him a quick hug and a glancing
kiss on the neck. "Didn't I tell you?" she murmured. "Defeat
didn't stand a chance."
He laughed, hugging her
closer. "You were right."
"And you brought back
someone from the past. Trust it to be a good-looking woman. At least she's more
your type."
He glanced over at Gillian. "My
type?"
"Brainy scientist
instead of vacuous bimbo."
"They weren't bimbos and
they weren't vacuous."
She laughed. "You just
keep telling yourself that." Pulling away, she said, "I hope you're
happy together." It sounded like she'd been practicing that.
As she turned to go, he
caught her hand. "I don't think she's staying with me. I've heard that
she's being sent out on the scientific training vessel." He was trying to
let Chris know he wasn't broken up about the way things were working out. In
fact, he'd restrained himself around Gillian. Some of those dreams he'd had
about Chris had been when he'd been back in the past.
"I heard that,
too." Chris said, and he thought she looked relieved.
"Have you heard other
things? Like what kind of ship I'm really
getting?"
He could tell by the way her
eyes sparkled as she said, "Nope, sure haven't," that she knew precisely
what ship Command was going to unload on him. He also thought, by the size of
her smile, that he was going to like the surprise.
"Those nights...on
Vulcan. I think you saved me," he said softly, realizing he was still
holding onto her hand and reluctantly letting it drop.
"No, Jim. You saved
me." Her smile was so tender he wanted to pull her back into his arms. "Godspeed,
sir."
"Good luck in ops,
Chris."
Her smile was sad, and it
grew even sadder as Rand walked up. They barely acknowledged each other, and
Rand almost pushed past Chris to get to him.
Something in their
interaction told him that Chris had tried to let Janice know what had happened
between them. Obviously, Janice hadn't appreciated the honesty.
"Hello, Janice," he
said, putting a little less warmth than he normally would in the greeting.
"Congratulations,
sir." She hugged him almost gingerly.
He gave her a careful squeeze
back.
"I'm moving on, sir. To
the Achilles. It would be wonderful if they gave you that ship."
He shook his head. "Battle
cruisers are for the young."
She looked a little crushed. Like
he'd rejected her, not just the suggestion. Maybe he had?
He glanced over to where
Gillian was waiting for him to be free to talk, before he turned back to Rand. "Good
luck, Janice. Make me proud."
She shot a look at Gillian. It
wasn't a pleasant look.
So much for being over him. He
took a step back. "Fly true, Janice."
"You too, sir." Then
she turned and left.
He felt unaccountably
relieved.
There were a few more people
who cornered him before he could work his way over to Gillian.
"So
this is goodbye." She looked a little sheepish.
He analyzed his feelings as
he said all the right things to Gillian. He was sorry to say goodbye, but a
long way from heartbroken. Maybe it was because he saw Chris lingering in the
hall, saw her throw a glance at him. He tried to think of some hand signal that
would tell her he'd been right about Gillian leaving, but before he could come
up with one, Gillian was kissing him goodbye, and Chris was gone, too.
He smiled as he joined Spock.
It wasn't like he didn't know where Chris worked. In the meantime, he had a
ship to woo.
##
Chapel glanced around ops. It
was odd to see Janice's chair with someone new in it. It was also a relief. Janice
would ship out on the Achilles tomorrow. As she'd finished up at ops,
she hadn't been talking to Chapel except for business. No one could say she'd
been being hostile in that respect, but her coldness at other times had begun
to weigh on Chapel.
Manetti, the officer who'd replaced Janice, looked up,
smiling at Chapel. "Not the same without your friend?"
"Nope." Chapel gave
the woman her best grin. "But new friends are good, too."
Manetti smiled back. "Thanks. I'm finally starting to
feel like I'm getting the hang of it."
Chapel nodded. Manetti was good; Janice had been better.
She sighed. She did miss her
friend. But she'd been missing her for some time—ever since she'd come back
from Vulcan. Should she have not told Janice the truth?
Could Janice really be her
friend if Chapel had to hide something like this from her?
A message marked personal popped
into a side-list on her comms board. She opened it, smiling when she saw the
message.
"New horse not running
as well as old one. Will be back in two days for visit with vet at company
stables. Am told horse may require extensive rehab, so time in town may be
lengthy. Is this visit of any interest to you?"
She typed a reply. "Sorry
to hear horse is in need of check-up. Not sorry at all to hear that check-up
will be here or of an extended nature. Is that the answer you were looking
for?"
A little while later, Jim's
reply came through. All it said was, "Just exactly. See you then (if horse
doesn't go lame on the way)."
She smiled as she closed his
message. Jim would be back on Earth. And he wanted to see her. And she wanted
to see him.
It was completely unexpected.
Not that she was complaining. The last time her heart had beat this fast had
been for a certain Vulcan back on the Enterprise. This time, the man in
question's heart was probably beating just as fast on that wonderfully faulty
ship that was bringing him home.
Chapel realized someone was
standing by her chair. Looking up, she saw Janice. "Jan?"
"Let's take a walk. Manetti can take your comms."
Chapel routed her messages to
Manetti, then followed Janice out of ops. "What
are we doing?"
"We're getting out of
that damned fishbowl, is what." Janice sighed.
"Okay. Why?"
Janice shook her head. "I'm
tired of fighting."
"Me, too." But she
didn't think Janice was going to want to hear that Jim was coming home. Then
again, Janice would be gone before Jim got back, so why tell her? Just because
he wanted to spend time with Chapel didn't mean that there was anything serious
going on. Or that they would last.
Why tell Janice anything?
"I can't explain how I
feel about him." Janice looked at her. "I know I have no right to be
territorial, but I am."
Chapel wasn't sure what to
say, so she waited.
"You really hurt
me."
"And sleeping with Dan
was your way of making me feel good?"
Janice looked over at her. "You
were done with him. You were done with him practically from the moment you went
to bed with him."
Chapel looked away. She
wanted to argue, but Janice wasn't wrong. "Are you still with him?"
"I am. And...it's nice. He's such a sweet man."
Chapel resisted saying that
you couldn't make a meal off sweets.
Janice walked to a window
that looked out on the city. "I'm going to miss the view."
"You don't have to
go."
"Yes, I do. It's time. I'm
ready to do more." She looked over at Chapel. "And, to be honest, I
don't want to be here when you and the captain get together."
"Jan, I told you—"
"Christine, I saw you
after the tribunal. Do you have any idea how close you two were standing? My God,
he didn't want to let go of you."
"He was with Gillian."
"I thought that, too. Until
I saw her leave the room without him. She shipped off on some science vessel and
he walked out later with Spock. And he didn't look like a man who'd lost his
one true love." Janice sighed. "Look, I don't begrudge you or him any
happiness. But I can't stick around to watch it. And Dan's nice, and it won't
hurt my career to have the second officer looking out for me. We made sure he's
not in my chain of command."
Chapel had no doubt she'd
done that. Janice was good at arranging things the way she wanted them. Except
with Jim. She'd been no better at getting him to do what she wanted than Chapel
had been with Spock.
"I didn't mean to hurt
you." Chapel touched Janice's hand and saw her flinch. "But I have
hurt you, and I'm going to again, probably. So maybe it's best to just say
goodbye."
"I think you're right. I
just wanted to get things out in the open before we did that. I wanted to part
without all this baggage."
Chapel nodded.
With a strangled sound,
Janice pulled her into a hug. "I hate you. I love you. You're my best
friend. I'm sorry." The words came out in a rush, as if she was afraid she wouldn't be able to say what she wanted if she
didn't say it fast. "Maybe, someday, we'll look back on this and
laugh."
Chapel squeezed her. "Maybe
we will."
Janice backed away. "But
the odds aren't good, are they?"
Chapel thought of that Vulcan
sky and Jim's arms around her. "No, I don't think they are."
"Lucky girl." Janice
stood straight. "Fly true, Christine. It's what he told me."
"It's good advice. I'll
miss you, Janice."
With a nod, Janice turned on
her heel and walked away from Chapel. She didn't look back, but Chapel watched
her until she'd rounded the corner. Walking over to the window, Chapel stared
out on the view she wouldn't have to miss and whispered, "I'm sorry,
Jan."
##
Kirk roamed the bridge as the
Enterprise approached spacedock. He was antsy,
ready to get off the ship. He'd had meetings with all the crew chiefs who were
staying aboard for the repairs as early as was feasible. He'd talked to
Starfleet Command until he was blue in the face. All so he could leave the ship
in the first wave. He was looking forward to some downtime—with Chris.
Docking was uneventful, and he
waited as the bridge crew went through the protocols to prepare the ship for
repairs.
"Ready, sir?" Sulu
smiled at him.
"Ready." He watched
his crew file out, then went to Uhura's comm panel. He figured that he had
about five minutes before the repair crews started showing up and tearing out
boards.
Deciding that Chris had gone
home by now, he tried her apartment, pulling the number from the central
registry. She answered after a few rings. He smiled, wondering if she'd been
sitting by the comm unit and had forced herself to wait to pick up, not wanting
to appear too eager.
God help him, he hadn't
thought about things like that since he was young. He smiled broadly over the
audio-only channel. "Hi."
Her voice was breathy. "Hi."
"I'm here."
"Where is here?"
"Still on the ship. You
want me to come see you?"
"That would be
nice." She sounded like she thought it would be a lot more than just nice.
"I'll be there in a bit.
Tell me where you live." He took down the directions and signed off. Her
apartment was close to a transporter station, so it took him no time to get to
her door. His palms were sweaty, and he wiped them on his pants before he rang
her chime.
She opened the door, dressed
casually, but not sloppily—he imagined her standing in front of her closet
deciding what to wear. He still had his uniform on. He'd let his apartment
lease run out, but he still had his house, and most of his casual clothes were
there.
She pushed her hair back. "Hi."
Her grin was very big. Happy was a good look on her.
He liked the idea that he
made her happy. "Hi." He resisted the urge to wipe his hands again. He
couldn't remember the last time he'd had this mix of nerves and anticipation.
She moved out of his way. "Come
in."
"Thanks."
"No bag?"
"I have a house. My
stuff is there."
"In the city?"
"Up the coast a
bit." He wanted to forget the small talk; he wanted to grab her and pull
her to him and kiss her. But that was probably too forward, even if she'd slept
in his arms those nights on Vulcan. He moved farther into her living room.
"Do you want a
drink?"
"No, I want you."
She laughed.
"I didn't say that out
loud, did I?"
She moved toward him. "Fraid so, pardner. Got a little lonely on the road?"
"Well, that. And I had
my ship shanghaied."
She nodded, had no doubt seen
the reports. She stopped just short of being close enough to touch. "Tough
break for you. Kind of nice for me. I like that you're eager to see me."
Her eyes met his, and he
found he couldn't look away.
"It still works. Or is
just me feeling this connection?" she asked softly.
"It's not just
you."
She took another step, and he
pulled her to him, kissing her the way he'd wanted to in the middle of the
tribunal room. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against
his in a way that was a long way from just friendly. Pushing her up against the
wall, he ran his hands up and down her body. She moaned as she closed her eyes
and leaned back.
"Do you want to do this
now?" he asked softly.
She opened her eyes. "Don't
you?"
"Oh, I do. I'm just
trying to be a gentleman."
She laughed. "What the
hell for?"
"I have no idea." He
began to unbutton her shirt, pulling it away from the lacey black bra she wore.
The bra he decided to explore around. "Pretty. Picked that out for me, did
you?"
"Nope. Had it." She
laughed as he tickled her. "Well, maybe I went shopping. I wasn't sure
what you liked."
He worked his way back up to
her lips. "You. I like you."
"I like you, too." She
ran her fingers through his hair.
Her comm buzzed. Groaning,
she whispered, "I have to get that. I'm on call tonight. I traded so I
could get the next two days off."
"Go get the comm." He
walked around her living room, learning what she liked by what she put out on
her tables, what she hung on her walls.
When she came back into the
room, she was in her uniform. "I have to go in for a while."
He nodded as he walked toward
her. Lifting her uniform top, he checked to see if she'd changed her bra, too. She
hadn't.
"I'll take that as a
good sign." He put her uniform back to regulation, ruined the effect by
running his thumbs across her chest, causing her to groan.
"God, Jim. I want
you." She kissed him again. She was a great kisser. He hadn't just made
that up in the rosy afterglow of their time together.
"Hold that
thought." He let her go.
"I'm so sorry I have to
go in."
"Shhh."
He kissed her. "When do you get off duty?"
"I'm yours free and
clear at midnight."
"Midnight is officially
my favorite time of day." Winking, he led her to the door. "I have
some reports to file. I can walk you to Command, if you want." He didn't
want to be too demanding. Didn't want to be like Dan.
But she smiled. "I'd
like that."
"If you want, once
you're mine at midnight, we could go to my house. The view's beautiful."
"It's going to be
stormy."
"Well, staying in won't
be much of a hardship if you're there." He laughed. "You're
blushing."
"I do that. When I
really want someone. And when I like them."
"Did you do that with
Dan?"
"Not once."
He decided not to ask her if
she'd blushed around Spock. She probably had. But after their time on Vulcan,
he thought she was over Spock.
"If we're going to go
straight to your place," she said, "I'm going to need a few
things."
He prepared for a wait, but
she came out of her bedroom a few minutes later with a small bag slung over her
shoulder. At his look, she smiled. "We never get much notice when we have
to ship out. I keep my stuff ready to go."
"Smart." He liked
that about her.
"Well, I have to keep up
with you." At his grin, she laughed.
"Flattery will get you
everywhere, Commander." He pulled her to him for a quick but very thorough
kiss before they left the apartment and walked to the transporter station.
They beamed into Command, and
separated. He watched as she nodded to several officers before hurrying down to
ops. She'd come a long way from the nurse he'd always thought of as retiring.
Finding a free terminal in
the visiting officers' hospitality room, he worked on the more bureaucratic
aspects of his job. He'd hated this stuff when he'd been chained to a desk, but
if it involved his ship, he didn't mind doing up reports. Midnight came before
he was done.
His communicator sounded. "Kirk
here."
"I'm finished if you
are?"
"Give me another half
hour, and I won't have to think about any of this for the next two days."
"Comm me when you're
done." She didn't ask him what he had to do or why it couldn't wait. She
just accepted.
He finished in twenty
minutes. Comming her, he shut off the terminal and
started the walk to ops.
It took her a while to pick
up, and this time he knew it was most likely because she was busy, not trying
to look nonchalant. "Chapel."
"I'm all yours,
Chris."
"What a nice
thought." He could practically hear her smile. "Now, I'm the one who
needs more time. Ten more minutes?"
He saw that the mess was
still open. "I'll get us some coffee."
"Perfect. Cream and—"
"Two sugars. I
remember." During her stay on Vulcan, he'd eaten breakfast with her at
Amanda's. Spock's mother had given them a break from rations and Vulcan food by
making them an old-fashioned Midwest breakfast. Chris had lectured him on the
merits of oatmeal over bacon. He'd told her to put her sticky oats where the
sun didn't shine. She'd just laughed at him, had let him feed her a piece of
bacon, her eyes closing in pleasure as she chewed. Of course, Amanda had ruined
his fun by telling him the bacon was made from wheat gluten. Chris had winked
at him, in the know the whole time, apparently. Vegetarians.
"If you're going to get
coffee..." she said, her voice a little scratchy over the communicator.
"Yes...?"
"They have these cookies
I really like."
"I'm in the mood to
indulge you," he said. "What kind?"
"The ones with the white
chocolate chips."
"You know that's not
really chocolate, right?"
She laughed. "Yes."
"And that's it not
terribly healthy."
"I'm living on the edge,
Jim."
"Okay, as long as you're
aware of that. See you in ten." He cut the connection. Wandering around
the part of the mess still open, he found her cookies and filled a small bag
with them, slipping in a few with actual chocolate chips. Then he got their coffees,
taking his time preparing hers. By the time he headed down for ops, he saw her
coming toward him.
"Decided to flee while I
could." She took the coffee from him, sipping it. "Oh, this is
good."
"It's high test. Will
keep us up all night."
Her smile was evil. "You
say that like it's a bad thing."
Laughing, he handed her the
bag of cookies. "His and hers."
She smiled as she checked it
out, then she started to jam it into her bag.
"And now we have cookie
pieces," he said.
She glanced at him. "Who
knew you were so fussy?" Laughing, she eased up on the bag enough that
maybe a few of the cookies would survive intact. "Do you eat in bed?"
He shot her a look, his grin
probably way over on the wicked side of the scale.
"Let me rephrase that. Do
you eat cookies in bed?"
"What do you
think?" he asked.
"You're crumb phobic,
aren't you?"
This wasn't something they'd
covered during their tell-all sessions on Vulcan. "Guilty as
charged."
"So am I. Hate crumbs in
bed."
"What a relief. I
thought I was going to have to call this off before it began."
"That would be
tragic," she said as they walked into the Command transporter room. She
fell silent as they beamed over to the transporter station near his house.
There were no flitters
waiting. He could call for one, but this time of night, it took less time to
just go on foot. "It's a short walk," he said, as he took her bag and
slung it over his shoulder. With a grin, he said, "Chivalry isn't
dead."
"Oh, I knew that." She
looked up at the sky. "Storm's coming, though."
"We'll be inside by the
time it gets here."
As they walked along the path
that ran by the landward side of the beach houses, she sipped her coffee. "You
make this perfectly, by the way."
"I do a lot of things
perfectly." He meant it as a joke, but it came out as fact. Not a
boast...just truth.
"I know you do. It's not
a bad thing." She smiled at him. "I learned a lot about command from
watching you."
"You did?" He beamed.
Pleased that she'd say it, even if he'd heard similar things from others.
She nodded. "But I've
learned something else from trying to be like you."
"What's that?"
"That there's a hidden
cost for the grace under pressure." She sighed. "Hidden deep inside
us is the negative of that. The anger or loneliness or depression. No one ever
sees those things, though. The only one who experiences them is the random
carton that won't open and ends up against the wall."
"Don't do that with
anything that's made with tomato sauce. Devil to get off things."
"Now you tell me." She
touched his back, her hand running gently down, just enough for him to feel it
through his uniform.
"I do that less—give in
to the anger," he said. "But I do notice a raging disappointment at
minor setbacks."
"Yep. I take a lot of
things personally that I probably shouldn't." She looked over at him. "People
commend me for keeping my cool. But inside...I feel as if I'm a volcano."
"There are ways to let
off steam." He waggled his eyebrows, thinking of that lacey bra and
wondering if it came with matching panties. He loved the idea of lace under the
wool felt. Lace that was just for him.
"Sex is good. And there
are other ways. Ways that are harder sometimes to find. Talking. Laughing. Having
someone you trust enough to share the problems with. To let them know when
you're on the edge."
"Those are good, too. It's
great if you can work all that into one package."
"Or one person?"
"Or one person." He
glanced at her. "Think that can be done?"
She met his eyes and didn't
look away. "I'm hoping."
"Me, too." His
words came out breathy and rushed. Almost desperate—but she didn't seem to
mind.
"So how far is your
house, anyway?"
"Just ahead." He
took her hand and pulled her with him down the side path that led to his place.
It began to rain just as they got to the door, and he had to let go of her to
palm open the door.
She was laughing as she
hurried in after him. "Perfect timing, Captain Kirk."
He grabbed her hand again and
pulled her out to the living room. "The view from here is
phenomenal." Storms were rare, but when they came, they put on a great
show. He left the lights off and drew her with him to the couch that would let
them see the most sky. Putting his coffee down on the table, he set her bag on
the floor next to the couch, digging around for the cookies.
They were in surprisingly
good shape.
"Did you really think
I'd crush them?" She laughed as he sat down next to her.
"You were jamming them
in with such gusto." He broke off a piece of the kind she liked, and held
it out to her.
She took it from him, her
lips lingering on his fingers much longer than was necessary—not that he
minded.
She fed him a piece of the
kind he liked. He nipped at her fingers, and she smiled. Leaning back, he
pulled her to him, her head resting on his shoulder. They sat like that for a
while, waiting for the storm to start. He could feel his heart beating. He
could feel other parts of his body responding to her proximity. As he was about
to reach for her, the sky lit up. The lightning began as flashes that
illuminated large chunks of sky, but then the bolts started to fly, striking
down in jagged flares, thunder following immediately after.
"It's right on top of
us," she whispered.
"We're safe."
Turning to him, she smiled. "I
had no doubt of that." Then she leaned in, kissing him tenderly. "I
didn't think today would ever get here. I'm very happy to see you."
"I'm very happy to see
you, too." He knew by the way she was touching him that she'd soon be able
to tell that parts of him were extremely happy to see her. "Chris, I'm
going to be out in space. For long periods of time."
She frowned. "Uh
huh." Her hands didn't stop moving.
"No, I mean, if it's a
choice..." Why in God's name did he feel it necessary to bring this up
now?
She stopped. "You work
in space, Jim. I know that. You know that. It's not a problem. Now, find a new
theme." Laughing, she kissed him fiercely. "Or don't talk at all for
a bit?"
He laughed. "Sorry, I
had a paranoid moment."
"It's all right. I like
that you think this will go on long enough that where you work will be an
issue."
"I do think that. I
think we could be good together." He began to pull her uniform off. Lace
panties—good girl. "I dreamt about Vulcan."
She was stripping off his
uniform too. "So did I. I dreamt that we were
making love."
He nodded. "Me
too."
"In the dreams,"
she said, "it was good."
"In my dreams, it was
good too."
In real life, it was way
beyond good. As the lightning flashed around them and thunder crashed so loudly
it made the windows shake, he found out the reality of loving Chris was better
than his fantasies. He hadn't even come close to imagining how sweet she'd be
in his arms, or how well their bodies would fit. Or how passionate she could be—there
was something to be said for inner volcanoes.
As they finally lay together
on the couch, the storm moving off, she sighed and turned into him. The
movement was natural and easy, as if they had always shared this couch in this
way.
"So nice," she
said.
"Mmmm."
He was almost asleep, and he didn't want that yet. Kissing her, he eased off
the couch and went up to his bedroom, finding two bathrobes that he took back
down to the living room. Pulling her up, he helped her with the robe, then put
his own on before he took her hand and led her out to the deck. "I love
the air after a storm."
"So do I." She
stared up at the sky, where a half-moon was just starting to peek through the
dissipating clouds. "I love y—" She looked down. Seemed suddenly
nervous.
He smiled. "Don't want
to say it?"
"I would never tell Dan
I loved him." She turned to look at him. "With you, I'm afraid I'm
saying it too soon."
Thunder still crashed in the
distance, and he pulled her close. "Why don't you let me be the judge of
that, Chris?"
"Okay." She took a
deep breath. "I love you, Jim."
He pretended to be thinking
about it. "You're right. It's too soon. See ya."
She laughed and hit him
gently on the arms. "Jerk."
He captured her hands. "Probably
so. But your jerk." He eased her down onto one of the chaises and knew
that water was soaking into her back. Pulling open her robe, he said, "I
find I need you again."
"Right here? In the
biggest wet spot ever?"
He laughed. "Yes. Exactly
there." He untied his robe and felt her moving under him, her legs coming
around him, under his robe. Wet legs that were a little cold. "I may not
have thought this through."
She was grinning at him. "Think
so?" Her grin was incredibly sexy. So was the way she was using her legs
to pull him closer.
Cold legs be damned. He took
her, finding the connection he loved so much. Head thrown back, eyes closed, he
moved, and she moved too, meeting him, bodies coming together in a mini-storm
of their own making. Opening his eyes, he looked down, wondering if the
intimacy could survive this.
She had her eyes closed. But
she opened them, as if she could tell he was looking at her. She smiled at him,
the look sweet and mischievous and utterly sexy. He felt as if he was seeing a
Chris he'd never known. He imagined she was seeing a Jim that wasn't usually on
display. They didn't look away from each other, until she threw her head back,
leading the way down the pleasure trail.
"I love you too,
Chris," he said.
She opened her eyes, her
expression unfocused but with the sweetest smile on her face. He kissed her,
moving faster. Then he had to close his eyes, moaning as he came and hoping to
hell that none of his neighbors were insomniacs who liked the smell of ozone. If
they were, they were getting quite a show.
She was kissing him, her legs
still wrapped around him as he came down from where she'd sent him.
"Are we going to make a
habit of this?" she asked. "Because I'm going to have to demand
rights to the top at least half the time."
"Are you cold?"
Her grin was tender. "I'm
light years away from cold. But my backside is very wet."
He eased off her, closing his
robe, but leaving hers open for a moment so he could really look at her.
"Stop it. I'm blushing
again."
"It's too dark to
tell." He touched her cheek and could feel the heat. "You are. It's a
charming trait."
"Right." She did up
her robe, letting him pull her out of the chair. The back of her robe stuck to
her, nicely outlining her body.
"Why don't you go
first?" He traced parts the robe was already framing.
"Pervert."
"I don't think you
really mind."
Turning, she caught him up in
her arms. Her perfume, the same as she'd worn on Vulcan, wafted up around him. They
kissed for a long time, under the half-bright moon, with the departing storm to
keep them company.
Then she drew him inside. "So where's your bed?"
"Upstairs." He
grabbed her bag and led her up the stairs.
As he tossed her bag onto a
chair, she walked to the windows. "The view is spectacular here," she
said.
For a second he thought he
heard Marian's voice, the first time she'd been up here.
Chris turned around, giving
him a long once over. Walking to him, she undid his robe, and gave him another
long look.
He thought he was blushing.
"The view's even better
from here." She grinned at him.
Marian had never said that.
"What's my favorite
color?" he asked her.
"I don't know. But it'll
be interesting to find out."
It was the perfect answer.
FIN