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) 2006 by Djinn. This
story is Rated R.
Snowflakes
by Djinn
"What do you think? Exhilarating, isn't it?" The young guide plunged through the snow,
leaving Kirk in his wake.
"Exhilarating if you're
twenty," Kirk mumbled as he struggled to keep up. Why the hell had he wanted to come here on his
vacation? Cartwright had mentioned how
much weight he'd dropped at an ice spa in northern Sweden--all while enjoying
the company of some very lovely ladies--and Kirk had been hot to try it. Hot: an odd concept in his current
surroundings. He was sweating like a
pig, but his hands and feet felt cold despite the high tech boots and
gloves. His pack was getting heavier
with each passing step. "Is it much
farther?"
"No, sir."
"What's your definition
of far?"
"It's about another
mile."
Kirk repressed a groan. His nose was running from the cold, and he
was sure that whatever was dripping out was freezing the minute it hit the
air. Great, he'd be the snot king. Sure way to win the ladies.
"Captain, I want you to
know I'm a huge fan of yours."
"Thanks, Lars. That's nice."
"I have been since I was
a kid."
"That's not so
nice." At Lars' look, Kirk gave him
a tight smile. "Isn't one of your
rules to avoid making the guests feel ancient?"
"But you're not ancient.
You're James T. Kirk."
"And T stands for
timeless in your book?"
"Well, yes."
Kirk sighed and nodded, not wanting to burst the boy's bubble. He waited until Lars had forged ahead again
before he stopped for a second to catch his breath, and give his burning legs a
break.
In the distance, he heard a
noise--a low, consistent drone. Like an
engine. On a flying machine. A flying machine with heat and comfortable
chairs and probably things alcoholic if you asked really nicely.
A moment later an air car
passed over them. "Lars," Kirk
said, his voice dropping dangerously low, only the young hunk probably didn't
know that. "Was that thing going to
the lodge?"
"Sure. It leaves every two hours."
"So, I could have been
sitting in the lounge at the shuttle station, nursing a cognac and chatting up
the next Miss Sweden instead of trekking across this never-ending glacier with
you?" Hell, why hadn't he just
beamed over? He had the credits to
indulge himself. Why had he thought it
would be better to ease into his vacation gradually? Why had he listened to Cartwright when he'd
said that nobody ever transported up to the ice spa?
Lars turned to look at him,
walking backwards. He did it without
slipping. "Captain, really. That's for wimps."
"I'm a wimp. In the future, please remember I'm a
wimp."
Lars laughed. "You're so funny, sir." He turned, calling over his shoulder,
"Better quick-time it, Captain, if we want to make the lodge by
dark."
Cartwright was definitely
going to pay.
--------------
"Can I get you another
drink?" the young, very blonde--in a Nordic goddess way--server asked.
Chapel was beyond content in
the soaking tub that no one had asked to share yet. She looked up at the woman. "Nope, I'm good."
"Can I offer you anything
else?" The woman managed to load a
world of possibility into that question.
"I'm off duty in an hour.
And my name is Ilsa. You should
call me that."
"Is 'anything else' part
of the service, Ilsa?"
"Only if I like
you." The woman set down her
tray. "You've been here two days,
Christine. You'll be here five
more. I checked." She gave Chapel a beautiful smile. "Don't you want to make the time
memorable?"
Leaning in, Ilsa gave Chapel
an idea of just what memorable might mean.
Given the relative size of their respective boobs, Chapel wasn't sure
they'd be able to even make contact.
They'd be like giant boat bumpers, careening off each other every time
they tried to kiss.
"You're gorgeous,
Ilsa. Please believe that."
"Oh, I know." Ilsa gave her a guileless smile.
"And I'm very flattered. But..."
She shrugged helplessly.
"It's all right. Maybe you'll change your mind later. If so, you let me know, okay?"
As the living representation
of Freya walked away, Chapel wanted to bang her head against the back of the
Jacuzzi. How long had it been since
she'd had sex? With anyone--gorgeous
goddess or run-of-the-mill guy? She
started to count back, got to thirteen months and stopped. This was not the exercise to preserve her
peace of mind.
She heard crunchy
noises--someone was coming off the snowy trail onto the patio surface. Probably Lars, guide and poolboy--and Ilsa's fellow
godling. Leading some hardy tourist,
perhaps? Only the most rugged hiked in.
She turned to see who it was
and started to laugh. Kirk, very
red-faced, looked like he wanted to push Lars under the snow and suffocate him
in it.
As he passed her, breathing
heavily--but not actually as heavily as she expected--she said, "Forgot to
call ahead for the shuttle, sir?"
He glanced at her, then did a
double take.
She realized she had very
little on, even if what she was wearing covered everything crucial. She reverted back to the smartass persona
that she'd honed in Ops, that she'd first learned while serving on his
ship. "I mean, walking in is macho...very
macho. But maybe not so smart?"
His eyes seemed glued to her
chest, and she sank a little in the water, almost telling him to go look Ilsa
up if he wanted to see some truly amazing personal flotation devices. Then he seemed to force his gaze to her face,
and a grin started. "What the hell
are you doing here, Chris?"
"I'm on leave. I left Ops behind for a week. I wasn't expecting to see anyone I knew. This is pretty out of the way, or that's what
Admiral Cartwright led me to believe."
"Cartwright, huh?" Kirk smiled again, only this time he seemed
amused as if at some private joke.
"Care to share the
funny?"
"Not really."
Lars finally seemed to
realize Kirk wasn't following him and walked back to the tub. "Oh, hello, Christine."
"Hi, Lars."
He grinned, his cute,
innocent grin. "I can give your
pack to the bellman, sir."
Kirk swung the backpack off
his shoulder, groaning a little as he did it. He waited until Lars had hefted the pack and
moved away, then he stretched, grimacing the entire time. "I'll need one of those tubs."
"Why don't you get
changed and join me in this one."
She blinked, then blinked again.
What the hell was she doing? She
came to relax, not play footsie in the jacuzzi with her former C.O.
She expected him to turn her
down, but he said, "Does a drink come with that offer?"
"Yes. But it wasn't an offer. I mean, I'm a doctor."
"Only you're not
practicing right now."
"Okay, granted. But I can see you're tired, and your muscles
are going to be a mess if you don't soak.
And we can catch up as professional people do on occasions like this." Although maybe she should go change into
something a little less fig leafy?
"Good idea. I'll be right back. You stay there," he said.
She wondered if he'd added
mind reading to his list of talents. He
turned to leave and nearly collided with Ilsa, who had wandered over to take Chapel's
empty glass and put down a fresh drink even though she'd said she was
fine. Ilsa seemed to be comping her on
most of the drinks--Chapel's credit line with the spa didn't seem to be
dropping very fast in the bar department.
Ilsa had to lean over Chapel to switch the glasses; her boobs would have
pushed into Chapel's face if she hadn't leaned back.
Chapel saw Kirk's eyebrow go
way up.
Ilsa turned to Kirk. "Did you want something?"
Chapel would have bet money
he was thinking Ilsa might be a nice menu item.
Then he glanced at Chapel and grinned, and she revised her guess to
include an Ilsa-Chris sandwich as the treat du jour.
But he didn't voice any
fantasy, just ordered cognac.
"Sure." Ilsa gave him a sweet smile, but she gave
Chapel an even sweeter one. "I
guess you have your own ways of making things memorable?" Her smile turned heartbreakingly sad, then
she walked off slowly, her ass swaying in a way that made Chapel almost question
her choice of company.
"Jeeeeeee-sus,"
Kirk said. "I hate to get in the
way of that."
"I almost hate for you
to get in the way of that, too," Chapel said, forcing her gaze off Ilsa's
backside and back on her old captain.
"Maybe you should go get changed before I change my mind about
her."
He grinned. "Maybe I should." He looked over at reception; Lars was
watching him with an adoring look.
"I seem to have my own fan club here."
"He's a sweetie. Do you want to change your mind about
venues?" She let an eyebrow go up,
probably a perfect rendition of Spock's gesture, which might not be in the best
taste. She'd never been sure how many
ways Kirk swung, and he and the Vulcan of her old dreams were mighty tight buds.
Kirk looked more amused than offended. "Lars
is very much the young Aryan god, but I think I'll pass."
"Not your taste in
men?"
"Fishing for
information, Commander?" He leaned
in, his stare raking over her, seeming to sear right through the water.
"Of course not,
sir." She felt the need to cross
her arms over her chest. "I didn't
expect to see you."
"You're saying you'd have
covered up on my account? How
insulting." He winked at her, then
hurried off, presumably to check in and get changed.
She leaned back, sipping at
her fresh drink. It was very
strong. Ilsa didn't skimp on the booze.
"You have a new
friend?" Ilsa said, dropping off
Kirk's cognac.
"An old one
actually." Chapel shrugged.
"Someone you like."
"Yes, we've known each
other a long time."
"That's not what I
meant, Christine." Ilsa smiled and
walked away.
"Yeah, that's not really
what I meant, either," Chapel said, resisting the urge to down her drink
and ask for another one.
---------------
Kirk looked around at the
room, taking in the unique decorating scheme.
"This room is made of ice."
Each word sent a puff of air into the room.
"You asked for that,
sir." The bellboy handed Kirk his pack.
"No, I wanted to stay at
the ice spa. I didn't want to stay in
the ice room."
"But staying at the ice
spa is staying in an ice room. Everyone else
just asks for the regular spa package; we offer that year round. This is special because--well, it'll melt
eventually."
"In the next five
minutes, you suppose?" Kirk glared
at the man.
"Err, no,
sir." The bellboy sighed, clearly
abandoning any idea of seeing a tip added onto Kirk's credit reckoning. "This is a small place. The regular rooms are sold out. Only ice rooms are available." He nodded toward the bed. "You'll find the sheepskin very
warm. Just be sure to wear rubber soles
if you venture off the carpets."
"Fine." There was a cloud of visible breath.
"Good. Right.
Enjoy your stay." The bellboy
skidded a little in his haste to get out of the room.
Kirk looked around. Ice chair, ice vanity, were those ice
drawers? He tried to open them and damn
near froze his hands to the ice. Nope,
not real drawers.
He thought of Chapel in her
hot tub, steam rising up around her as she soaked in something only the very
drunk could call clothing. She'd gained
some weight over the years--hadn't they all?--but she'd looked damn good
sitting there like some dark-haired ice mermaid. He decided to get the hell out of his frozen
corner of hell and go join her, and dug into his pack, pulling out his bathing
suit and robe, and jamming in his clothes since there was no place to hang
them. He changed, then, trying not to
slip as he stepped off the rug in his non-rubber soled slippers, he made his
way to the door. Damn. Why hadn't Cartwright mentioned ice meant
ice?
"You look peeved,"
Chapel said when he emerged from the lodge.
She moved to the far side of the tub as he climbed in.
His cognac was waiting for
him and he dispensed with the usual sniffing and twirling and just downed the
sucker.
"Wow. Is that how you're supposed to drink that
stuff?" Chapel was grinning. "What's wrong? You've only been gone ten minutes."
"You were
counting?" He grinned, then the
grin faded. "I'm in an ice
room."
"Yeah, my room was a
little cold when I checked in, too. You
just have to fiddle with the buttons behind the curtains."
"No, not icy. Ice."
"As in made of
ice?"
He nodded, motioning for Ilsa
to bring him another drink.
"But the furniture's
not?"
"Everything. Except the bedding and the towels. It's like an ice sculptor went insane in my
room."
"That's not good. My room is made of more traditional
materials. Warm, cozy, with a lovely non-ice
bed. Very big." The smile she gave him was teasing.
"That's an invitation? Please God make that an invitation."
Her smile died. "It really wasn't one."
"What if I order you to
make it one?" He kept his tone
light.
"You can't order me to
invite you into my bed."
"Actually, I think I
can. General order 44-600."
"There's no such
order." She was grinning now. "Is that 600 for 600 thread
count?" When he laughed, she shook
her head. "You're a crazy
man."
"Chris, I've just hiked
across the plain of endless snow. I'm
cold and I'm tired and I don't want to live in a room made of ice." He gave her his best helpless look. Then he played his trump card. "You know I've been through hell
recently--everything I went through to get Spock back..."
"Oh, that's not even
fair." But she looked a lot more
sympathetic.
She must have heard about
David. From Bones, maybe? Or Uhura.
Kirk hadn't told her. It had been
a long time since they'd shared things the way they had when she'd been on his
ship after V'ger. Before she left to
come back to Earth.
"I'm too old for this,
but you're not," he said. "How
about you trade rooms with me, if you don't want to share?"
"I'm not the one who
didn't check the brochure before I booked." She sat up straight as she talked, bringing
her breasts into prominence. How did
something as skimpy as the bikini top she was wearing push them up like
that? The person who invented that
garment deserved a commendation.
"Are you looking at my
boobs again?"
"What? No."
He started to laugh. "Well,
dammit, yes. Yes, I am. And it's your fault. I'm a man who's going to freeze to death in
his hotel room when you could make it better.
So why can't I spend my last hours ogling your breasts?" He leaned in.
"I'm sure you'd let Ilsa ogle away if it were her last night."
"Hey, here's an
idea. Maybe she'll share her room with
you. Or Lars. I bet he will." She sipped at her drink, her expression
unreadable but somewhat shaky. As if she
wanted to laugh at him, but didn't think she should.
"After all I did for
you..." He saw her roll her
eyes. "Pushing forward that waiver
to get Starfleet Medical to look at your application despite the fact it was
weeks late."
"Demoting me in favor of
McCoy."
"You stayed
anyway." For a while--she'd stayed
for a while. "Recommending you to
Cartwright for Ops." He smiled at
her. "Bugging him constantly for
status reports in case you wanted to come back to me--to the fold."
"Oh, like you cared how
I was doing."
"I did. I figured it was you who didn't care about
us, anymore." They were heading
onto dangerous ground. More slippery
than the floor back in his sub-zero room.
"I care. It was just time for me to leave. I had...opportunities."
"I know." Where was that damn drink?
She leaned back and closed
her eyes, falling silent. He could hear
the bubbling of the air jets in the hot tub, the sound of a hawk high up on the
wintry sky. The snowfield lay out in
front of them, the setting sun turning it shades of rose and gold. It was beautiful here. Cartwright hadn't been pulling a fast one
when he'd said that.
"So how cold is it
really in that room?" she asked.
"Well, it's not melting,
so I'd say it's zero or lower. When
we're done here, you can drop by. Enjoy
the frosty ambiance. Freeze your ass to
one of my chairs." He grinned, knew
it was the one most women couldn't resist.
"And then, once I gallantly pry you free, we can go to
dinner."
"You know you could be
seriously cramping my style. Ilsa is one
attractive woman."
"I guess because of
Roger and Spock, that I haven't really considered you with a woman." He got a sudden nasty vision of her and Rand
consoling each other on the ship when he and Spock had been uncooperative in
the romance department. Or maybe Uhura
and her, getting over Platonius together.
"Come back from the naughty
place, sir." She was grinning.
"Sorry, I was just
imagining the possibilities."
"Well, stop
it." She looked over at where Ilsa
was taking another couple's orders.
"She is pretty."
"She is. Why haven't you been with her? Is it that she's a woman?"
"No." She pointed with her chin over at Lars. "Are you not working Lars for a room
'cause he's a guy?"
"He's not really my
type."
"So you do have a
type?" She grinned.
"We were talking about
you and the young beauty, Chris. Not
me. You've been here a few days I take
it?"
"Yes, and I'll be here a
few more. But it's not as if I can
promise her anything."
"I don't think she
cares." He gave her his best
leer. "Can I watch you two?" He waggled his eyebrows.
"No. There'll be nothing to watch, anyway. It's been a while since..." She didn't seem to want to finish.
"Since you've had
sex?"
"No, since I've engaged
in nude gardening. And, boy, do I miss
it."
He could sort of relate. He'd thought he and Carol were headed for a
reconciliation, but then David had died during his mission to get Spock, and
Carol hadn't forgiven Kirk. Not that it
had been his fault his boy had died, but Carol had not wanted to hear
that. She'd made it very clear whatever
rapprochement she and he had going was over.
And Gillian had been perky and cute, but he hadn't felt like pushing it,
especially not once she was running off to bring science to the galaxy--catch-up
learning, his ass. He'd seen the captain
of that ship. He was a pretty, pretty
man. He couldn't blame Gillian for
running after him. So before Carol,
then--God, had it been since Antonia?
What the hell was wrong with him?
"Either you're
embarrassed for me, or you're thinking very deep thoughts." She finished her drink.
A new one appeared a moment
later, along with Kirk's refill. Kirk
watched enthralled as Ilsa subjected Chris to another very good view of her
assets. When she walked away, he
whispered, "I'm not embarrassed for you.
Envious would be the better word.
Can I be you? Just while we're
here?"
"Yes. Go be me.
You have my permission to explore strange new worlds."
"Been there, done
that." He leaned back, stretching,
and his foot touched her leg.
"Sorry."
"That sorry would work
better if you actually moved your foot."
"And that would sound
more convincing if you pulled your leg away."
She stuck her tongue out at
him, but she didn't pull her leg away.
"Why has it been so
long?" he asked.
She seemed startled he would
be so direct. "I don't know. I guess work got in the way."
"It's not still Spock,
is it?"
"No. Long over him."
He wasn't entirely convinced,
although she sounded sincere. But he'd
probably sounded sincere each time he'd been grounded and someone had asked him
if he'd wanted to be back on his ship. He'd
have said, "No, I'm over that. I've
got important things to do here."
Right.
She sighed.
"I'm going to close my
eyes for a while," he said, sinking a little lower, resting his other foot
on her leg. She still didn't pull
away. "Don't let me drown, all
right?"
"Okay." If anything, her leg was pushing back hard
against his foot.
He closed his eyes and let
himself catnap. By the time she woke him,
he was feeling no pain thanks to the lovely hot water, the booze, and her.
------------------
Chapel stood in Kirk's room,
staring at the walls, then at the bed.
"It is made of ice."
"See. I told you."
"I know, but I thought
you were exaggerating. This is really
made of ice." She walked over to
the bed, gingerly sat. Tried bouncing up
and down, which of course didn't work--from the look on his face, he'd tried
it, too. "Wouldn't your body
temperature melt the ice somewhat and make this sheepskin all wet?"
"Spoken like a true
scientist."
"I'm serious." She sighed, and a frosty stream of breath
followed her words. "Holy crap,
it's cold in here." She rubbed the
arms of her thin robe.
"You see my
dilemma."
"Okay, we can share my
room. But one of us is sleeping on the
couch." She gave him the Chapel
stare o'death. "One of us who is
not me."
"Fine."
She grabbed his pack off the
bed. "Come on."
He wrestled it away. "I can carry
my own pack."
She let him have it, and led
him out of the ice structure and back into the main lodge. Her room seemed very cozy after the frigid
space he'd been assigned.
He sat down on the couch,
stretching and sighing as if in bliss.
"So about dinner?"
"I need to shower."
"Yes, I do, too. Would you let me finish?"
She held her hands up in mock
surrender.
"You've been here
longer. Do we need reservations for the
dining room?"
She nodded. "For the seatings. They're every hour and a half."
"Good, I'll take care of
getting us on the list, you go shower."
"You're awfully
bossy."
"Side effect of being
the boss." He grinned at her, and
she smiled in reaction--it wasn't fair that he had such a pretty, pretty
grin.
"There are spare drawers
if you want to unpack."
He laughed. "You're giving me my own drawers
already?" A glare stopped his
laughing. "I'll just unpack."
When she finished with her
shower, he was hanging up some clothes in the closet. She dug in her drawer, looking for her black
pants, when he suddenly handed her something--her bronze dress.
"Not the look I was
going for."
"Wear it anyway. It looks very sexy."
It was very sexy. A halter dress, cut down to there in the
front, and with virtually no back. She
still had no idea why she'd bought it.
Flashback to Platonius, maybe?
Kirk pushed past her. "You need anything out of the
bathroom?"
It was a surprisingly
sensitive thing for a single man to ask.
Then she remembered he'd been married.
And had lived with women before and after that. It was odd--she always thought of him as being
alone. "Yeah, let me grab my
stuff."
She heard the shower start up
and eyed the dress, holding it up to herself in the mirror. She let her robe drop, pulling the dress over
her head. It fit the way it had in the
store--like a second skin where it needed to be snug, falling away gently where
clinging was a bad thing for a woman her age.
Not that she needed to hide her body from him after he'd seen her in
that damned bikini. She never would have
worn it if she'd thought there'd be anyone she knew here.
She had her hair pinned back
and some makeup on when he came out of the bathroom. He smiled as he gave her a quick,
non-threatening, once over.
"Nice."
"Thanks."
He grabbed his clothes and
headed back into the bathroom. When he
came out again, he had on more formal clothes than the ones he'd hiked to the
spa in. He seemed embarrassed when she
gave him a dramatic once over and whistled.
"You must have come here
to pick up girls." She laughed,
feeling her nerves go away as she moved closer to him. "And here I am getting in your
way."
"You're not in my
way."
"Aren't I?"
"You're not. Do you still dance?" He grinned and pulled her close, his hand on
her back, warm. Strong. He took her hand.
"I'm a terrible dancer,
don't you remember?" She wasn't,
but she was suddenly sure that the road to sex with her former captain was
going to start with a waltz.
He led them out, a little
impromptu slow dance around the open spaces in her room. They were the same height; actually, with her
heels, she was a little taller. But it
felt good with him. It felt right.
They'd danced a few times on
the ship. Just before she'd decided to
leave.
She pulled away. "Okay, dancing it is. After dinner, right?"
He studied her.
"Or maybe you should hit
the bar. There are a lot of
unaccompanied people here. Attractive
people who are probably dying to get to know you."
"Because you
aren't?" His smile was gentle. "What are you so afraid of?"
She decided to go for light,
tapped him on the chest with an imaginary fan.
"Why, I'm afraid of you, sir."
Her southern accent was over the top and made him laugh.
But his eyes weren't as
amused. "Did something happen? I don't need details, but was there something
that put you off sex?"
She could feel her eyes going
wide. "Oh, no. That's not it." She sat down on the bed, stared down at the
floor.
He sat down next to her, then
he took her hand and squeezed in a way more supportive than romantic. "Just got out of practice?"
"Something like
that." She shook her head. "It's not that I don't have
offers." She sounded a little too
defensive on that one.
"I'm living witness to
that." Again the squeeze. "Is it Spock?"
"No. I really am over him." She squeezed his hand back, to show him she
meant it. "I don't know. Is it possible to just forget to have
sex? Then you realize it's been a while,
but you get in this rut. Of not reaching
out."
"Of not letting people
in?"
She nodded.
"Yeah, it's
possible."
She looked over at him, saw
that he was watching her with infinite tenderness. "I have missed you, sir."
"That would sound more
genuine if you'd call me Jim. You used
to. Remember?"
She remembered. Back when she'd been a doctor on board his
ship, toward the end of the mission, he'd told her to call him that. Then she'd left, and he'd never corrected her
again when she fell back into calling him sir.
He got up, pulling her after him.
"Come on or we'll miss our seating." He drew her in close as
they walked down the hall, her hand on his arm, his hand tucked over hers. "We don't have to dance if you don't
want to."
"Others might be better
partners for you."
"That's not what I
meant." He sighed, his hand
pressing down on hers even more.
"You do realize that Cartwright set us up?"
"He did?" Her C.O. had seemed awfully keen to get her
up here. "Can we kill him?"
He laughed. "I'm not that upset." He smiled at her. "Are you? Because I can go back home tomorrow. Blame it on the ice room." His eyes bored into her, as if he could see
through anything she might say to what she really meant.
"I don't
know." She stopped walking, pulling
him to the side so others could get past them.
"This probably isn't the best time to tell you this. But I left the ship for a reason that had
nothing to do with the opportunity Starfleet Medical was giving to me."
"I know." He didn't look mad; he looked hurt. "I kept waiting for you to tell me
that. But you never did. Then I decided I was imagining that you were
interested in me. Told myself you left because
of Spock."
"Hardly." She shook her head. "Damn Cartwright."
"I take it you told him
this?"
"It was after that whale
probe. We had a big party when the
repairs were all done. I got a little
drunk; I may have told him things I never could tell you."
He laughed.
"What?"
"When I brought the ship
back after the whole Sybok debacle, I may have had a bit too much to drink, as
well. It was funny how he kept bringing
the conversation back to you. I may have
mentioned that I was hurt you left."
"I didn't mean to hurt
you."
He nodded.
"It's just...that was
years ago, Jim. And I think it was just
a crush. I mean, who doesn't have a
crush on you?"
"Well, Ilsa comes to
mind." He gave her a grin that
wasn't as luminous as some of his others.
Had she hurt his feelings with the crush comment? "Come on, let's go eat. We can plan our revenge on Cartwright over
appetizers."
------------------------
"So how long has it
been?" Kirk knew he should find a
new theme, but the idea that she hadn't had sex in a while really interested
him.
"Long enough." She looked over the menu at him. "The snails are good, by the way."
"You know they call them
escargot for a reason, Chris. So you don't
know that you're eating a slug doused in garlic butter."
"I'm sorry. Shall I call them by their Latin
name?" She grinned.
"Yes, please." He leaned back. "You like Ops, don't you?"
"I do. Aside from working for Yenta Cartwright, it's
a blast. And I'm doing something
important. That not everyone can do--our
burn out rate is really high."
"I know it
is." He smiled. "I'm glad you're happy."
She nodded, but something in
her expression changed.
"You are happy?"
"Of course I'm
happy. Why wouldn't I be happy?"
"Which nicely segue ways
into the 'how long has it been' question?"
"You're not going to let
that go, are you?"
"I'm really
not." He laughed at her expression. "Do you mind if I order for us?"
"Okay." She put her menu down. "But there's no way you remember what I
like."
They'd eaten together a lot
in that last year before she'd left.
He'd enjoyed those meals.
The waiter came over. "You are ready?"
He nodded. "My friend here wants the escargot. I'll stick with the herring." He grinned at her. "And we'll both have the steak. She likes hers medium well, I'll take mine
medium rare. And rice for her--she
doesn't like potatoes."
The server didn't look like
he cared all that much what Chris liked or not, but he took the order with a
gracious smile. "Wine?"
Kirk looked at Chris, who
shook her head. "Scotch for me, and
the lady will have a highball."
"Very good, sir."
"Nicely done,
Jim." Chris smiled, leaning
forward, the candlelight gleaming on the skin her dress exposed between her
breasts. She seemed to realize where he was
looking and shook her head.
"One-track mind."
"The dress is
beautiful. You look beautiful." He thought she blushed.
"Thanks. I'm not sure why I bought it."
"Maybe you bought it for
me?" Then again, maybe she bought
it for whoever might catch her interest.
"Did you come up here to have sex?"
"You really need to find
a new subject."
He waited.
"Yes, I did. And it's not like a riding a bike."
"Yeah, it is." He laughed, waiting for the server to set
down their drinks before saying, "You just have to let go."
"Right. Because you're so good at doing
that." She immediately looked
down. "I'm sorry. That was harsh."
"Yes, it was. And I didn't deserve it."
"I could go back to
being just a smartass?"
"That might be
preferable." He studied her, she
seemed upset with herself. "Why
didn't you tell me why you were leaving, Chris?"
"I'd been Jan's friend
too long, Jim--I lived through her crush on you; I knew your rules."
"I was ready to break
them for you."
"You were?"
He nodded.
"You could have shared
that info with me. It might have changed
my mind." She took a long sip of
her drink. "I thought I had a
crush. I thought you were just being
nice to me." She didn't meet his
eyes. "You know my history with
Spock. Did you think I wanted to relive
that with you? After I'd seen my best
friend flee the ship twice to get away from what she couldn't have?"
Kirk felt stung. "I thought the second time was to go to
OCS?" Rand hadn't acted like she'd
still had a crush.
"Well, maybe that,
too. But partly you."
"All right, how about if
we just put it on the table that we both were interested back then but too damn
stupid to let the other one know?"
"That works." She smiled tentatively.
"Okay, then." He studied her. "We are going to dance tonight."
"Not if you have herring
breath, we're not." She laughed.
"And slug breath is such
an improvement." He grinned, glad
they'd just navigated what felt like a potential field of landmines. "You can't not dance in a dress like
that, Chris. It's criminal."
Her smile was pleased, and he
thought she blushed again. He remembered
that about her, that she was embarrassed by too much attention.
They lingered over the
excellent food, switching to water at some point, then to coffee--strong and
dark and guaranteed to keep him awake all night. When they finally made it into the lounge, it
was packed. He couldn't even see the
dance floor.
"Come on," he said,
pulling her outside, to the covered part of the patio, now warm thanks to the
many heaters scattered about on the roof.
He pulled her to him, started to dance to the music that came out the
windows of the lounge. She relaxed
against him.
There were couples scattered
about on the patio. Talking. Kissing.
One other pair was dancing, lost in each other. Chris shifted, and her back felt smooth and
warm against his hand.
"Not too cold?" he
asked.
"No." She rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But it had the potential to be very
embarrassing if you didn't feel the same."
"I know. And you weren't wrong, earlier. I don't let go. I don't reach out, either." He sighed.
"I thought you understood how I felt. We had such fun."
"Would it be really
self-pitying of me to say fun and romance aren't two things I'd have linked
back then? I was coming off Spock, and
then everything that happened with Roger..." She pressed against him. "I thought we were having fun because it
wasn't romantic."
He spun her gently, letting
the music fill him for a moment.
"I saw you with Antonia,
once," she said. "You two
didn't seem to be having much fun. It
sort of made the argument for me."
He pulled back so he could
see her face. "When was this?"
"I was at a seminar in
Seattle. I went to the ballet. Swan Lake.
You two were there; I saw you getting drinks. You looked like you'd had a fight."
He remembered that
night. "We hadn't had a fight. But Antonia was peeved at me because I was
leaving the next day for San Francisco.
To talk about Starfleet's offer for me to come back."
"She didn't want you
to?"
He shook his head. "She wanted me to stay with her."
"You loved her,
right? Why didn't you stay?"
"Space called."
"She couldn't share you
with the stars?"
"She never even
considered it. I was retired when I met
her. I was supposed to stay that
way."
"Sorry."
"Let's not talk about
the past, anymore." He rested his
mouth against her neck. "It's been
a while for me, too, if you must know."
She laughed softly. "I didn't ask."
"I know. I'm telling you, though."
He felt a tapping on his
shoulder. Lars and Ilsa stood behind
them, both looking young and beautiful.
"May we cut in?" Lars asked, holding his arms out to Kirk .
"The dance floor's all
yours," Kirk said, not letting go of Chris as he moved around the Teutonic
twins. "Dance with each other. You'll make beautiful babies."
"But we are
cousins," Ilsa said. "And I
like women. And he prefers men."
"No one ever said love
was easy," Kirk said, winking at them as he pulled Chris behind him.
"You're very
bad." She wasn't fighting him, was
keeping up nicely as they headed toward their room.
"So about that
couch?"
"Yes?" She sounded suddenly less amused.
"I'm still going to
sleep on it." He turned to look at
her. "I think that's best for
tonight."
"Okay."
He couldn't decide if she
sounded disappointed or relieved.
---------------------
Chapel listened to Jim toss
and turn on the couch that would more properly be called a love seat. "Why don't you take the bed?"
"No. No.
I'm fine."
"Really. We'll switch."
"You're as tall if not
taller than I am, Chris. I'm fine."
The rustling stilled, as if he was determined to make himself
comfortable by will alone.
She waited for him to start
fidgeting again, but he didn't, so she closed her eyes and tried to fall
asleep. Sleep laughed at her. Finally, she eased out of bed and went to sit
in the large window seat that looked out over the snowfield. The moon was shining down, making the snow
gleam.
She heard the rustle of the
blanket, then footsteps. Jim crawled
into the space behind her, his arms going around her, pulling her close, her
back to his chest. She relaxed against
him.
"My God," he
murmured, his breath warm on her ear, "it's beautiful here, isn't
it?"
"It is."
The gleam on the snow faded,
and then the moon disappeared under some clouds. It began to snow, a light fall, big
snowflakes coming down. She smiled and felt
him tighten his hold on her.
"Every one of those is
different," she murmured.
"I know. It's what I always thought of when Spock
spoke of infinite diversity in infinite combinations."
"I used to hope he meant
Vulcan and Humans could make like bunnies in the sack." She was glad to hear him laugh.
"You don't hope that
anymore?"
"Nope." She let her hands rest on top of his, felt
him nuzzle her neck. The sensation of
his lips on her skin made her shiver.
He moved his hands, taking
hers with them, as he found his way under her pajama top, his skin on hers now,
moving up, to settle under her breasts.
He kept kissing her neck, not saying anything, and when she tried to
turn to kiss him back, he held her still.
"Do you still want
me?" he finally asked.
"Yes." She moved her head, cocking it so he could
have more access. "Do you still
want me?"
"Yes."
He moved one hand up, the
other down, both playing, both making her moan.
It was not the action of a person who didn't want her. It was not the kind of thing she'd let a
person she didn't want do. She was about
to tell him that, when he intensified what he was doing, and she forgot how to
form words.
He was chuckling softly when
she finally came down from wherever very good girls go after he'd touched them
like that. "So how long has it
been?"
"Sixteen months."
"I have my work cut out
for me."
She turned, fighting his hold
and proving strong enough to break free--but she imagined that was only because
he let her. "How long has it been
for you?"
"Nine months."
She grinned, knew that if he
could see her eyes, they'd be sparkling.
"I have my work cut out for me, too. And what's this work crap?" She nuzzled his neck, the way he'd done to
her. "Sex is supposed to be
fun. At least, that's what I hear."
"Is it?" He was laughing and sort of jerking slightly
whenever she touched one spot in particular--someone was a little
ticklish. She filed that for future
knowledge.
He pushed her away, smiling
as he stared at her. "You're so
beautiful."
"It's dark in
here."
"You're so
beautiful."
"You're horny, you'll
say anything."
"You're so
beautiful."
"Thank you." She smiled.
Then he kissed her. He'd never kissed her, not on the ship when
they'd been having so much fun, although there'd been times she'd wanted to
kiss him. And he hadn't kissed her
goodbye. But he was kissing her
now. So she closed her eyes and enjoyed
it and kissed him back.
It took a very long time for
them to come up for air. He was grinning
when he finally pulled away. "About
that couch," he said, as he began to unbutton her pajama top.
"Yes?"
"I hate it. I think I need to sleep in the bed."
"I think you need to do
something in the bed." She grinned
at him. "Sleeping would not be my
first choice."
He laughed, and it was an
echo of his laughter when they'd been having so much fun and she'd worried
she'd ruin things between them if she told him how she felt.
"Why, Commander, whatever
do you mean?" He was putting on his
own fake southern accent, his tone one of shock. But the sentiment was ruined as he pulled her
shirt off her and got to work on her bottoms, sliding them off. He shot her a smug look when he saw she
wasn't wearing anything underneath them.
"Expecting this?"
"No. Maybe I have a condition. I can't wear underwear while I'm
sleeping." She realized he was
still in his pajamas. "I seem to be
suffering from a bad case of solitary nudity."
"I wouldn't call it a
bad case, Chris." He climbed out of
the window seat, began to take off his pajamas.
"Better?" he asked, when he was finally clothing free.
"Much." She took the hand he held out for her, let
him pull her to the bed. "I used to
fantasize about this on the ship."
"Used to? Who do you fantasize about now?"
She laughed. "You may still star in my
fantasies. But I don't want you to get a
big head." She reached down,
grinning when she realized other things were mighty big. "I didn't do you justice in my scenarios."
His smile was so sweet, as if
he'd been worried he might not please her.
"I'm getting older."
"Aren't we all?"
"I suppose. I've just...felt old, lately. Old and a bit lonely. Cartwright knew that."
"You know, it's funny,
but I don't feel like killing him anymore." She drew Jim to the bed, lay down and pulled
him down to her.
"What a
coincidence. Neither do I."
And then they were together,
and she felt something inside her let go finally. "Oh, God."
"You okay?"
"I'm way beyond okay,
Jim."
His laugh was a soft puff of
air, warm in her ear as he kissed her and moved and made her feel loved and
wanted in the way she'd always suspected he could but had been too afraid to
explore.
When they finally lay
quietly, he held her close and kissed her, and she decided that she could
probably kiss him forever and not get tired of the feeling.
"I wish..." She snuggled against him.
"You wish what?"
"That we'd done this
back then. How much time have we
wasted?"
He rubbed her back. "We're doing it now. That's all that matters." He laughed softly. "And we'll do it again in a little
while." He began to touch her in ways less comforting, more naughty. "And again."
"Promise?"
He nodded. "Sleeping is a low priority for me
tonight."
"For me, too." She looked out the window as he stroked her
skin, causing her to shiver from the light touches. "It's really snowing out there
now."
"Good. Maybe we'll get snowbound here and have to
stay in bed just to conserve warmth."
"Thank God you're not in
that ice bed."
"Thank God."
There was a long pause and
then she said, "You want to try it out, don't you?"
"It's still my room,
right?"
She laughed. "If I get frostbite on my ass because of
you..."
"I'll kiss it and make
it all better." He turned her,
proceeded to demonstrate.
She giggled--he'd found her
ticklish spot, right at the base of her spine where her butt started.
"Oh, now you're in
trouble." He kept going back to the
spot, making her jump. It hurt...and it
didn't.
She rolled, hiding her
vulnerable spot from him. He tried to
turn her again, but she pulled him to her, made him kiss her. He proved easily distracted, seemed to lose
himself in kissing her again.
When they pulled away, she
smiled lazily. "I think I'm going
to send Cartwright some flowers."
"I think they should be
from both of us." He traced her
lips, then moved lower, tracing other round things. "With a nice card."
"Dear Admiral Cartwright." She waited for Jim to do the next part.
"Ice spa a bust."
She frowned.
"Got no work done."
She laughed.
"Ran into an old
friend. With my pelvis."
"Repeatedly."
"Right." He smiled down at her, his expression
changing. "Can't thank you enough
for thinking of us."
She touched his cheek. "Love and kisses, Your Victims."
"Perfect. I think it should be red roses, don't
you?"
"There's a reason
they're a classic."
He pulled her to him, holding
her closely. "I'll be back in space
soon."
"I know."
"He may not have done
you any favors."
"I doubt
that." She nuzzled his neck, trying
to find the ticklish spot.
"Cut that out," he
said, reaching behind her to touch her sensitive spot, making her jump.
"Okay, truce. You don't if I don't."
"Or what?"
"I'll invite Ilsa and
Lars in here for a game of bridge."
He laughed. "Okay, fine. Truce."
He kissed her again. "Ilsa
will be one sad girl in the morning."
"I doubt it. She seems the kind to land on her feet. And she's not afraid to go for what she
wants. I could take a lesson from her on
that."
"We both could, I
think."
And then he pulled her on top
of him and demonstrated--to great effect--that neither of them was afraid to reach
out, anymore.
FIN