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) 2010 by Djinn. This story
is Rated R.
What Makes You Stay?
by Djinn
At the end of your rope
When you can't find any hope
You still look at him and say
"I just can't walk away"
Tell
me what makes you stay
— "What Makes You Stay"
by Deanna Carter
It's dark and the
beeping of the biobed keeps Number One awake even though she's supposed to be
sleeping. She'd be pacing if she could,
or better yet fighting her way out of this infirmary to get to Earth.
To get to Chris.
But she can't get
out because she's hurt, and she'll never get well if she doesn't lie very, very
still. They threatened her with a
medical coma if she didn't think she could lie very, very still all on her own.
She told them she
could.
She's doing it,
too. Her mind's racing, but she's
clamped down on her body, on her need to move, to do something, anything.
Chris is
hurt. Chris needs her. After the fight they had, after the words she
said, if she doesn't go to him, he'll think she won't ever come.
And she will, she
would. But she's hurt, too. His stupid fault that she's hurt because he
went and got captured, and she heard about it and was distracted when she
should have been focused.
The blaster hit
her square. Her body armor took most of
it, but the second hit got through. Some
new kind of weapon. Of course, now. Some new kind of goddamned weapon.
She would have
rescued him, only it was she who needed rescuing. And now she's heard that he's free, that the
Kirk kid and Spock rescued him. And she's lying here.
Lying here
useless. Lying very, very still.
"Gwen?" The whisper of sound fills the room but she
knows there's no one there, doesn't have to look. She always knows what's around her—except of
course when her lover is captured and her friend's planet is destroyed and she
zigs instead of zags.
"Gwen, are
you asleep?"
She almost laughs,
but that will move her body and she's keeping very, very still. "Chrissy?" She speaks as softly as she can, barely
moving her lips.
"I'm not five
anymore, big sister."
"You're not
thirty, either."
"Rumor is
thirty was almost all you were going to be." Her sister's voice is off, as if she's making
jokes so she won't cry.
"I'm all
right now. Just can't move."
"Must be
killing you, being inactive."
"It
is." She almost sighs, but is
afraid of that much movement. Even just
breathing is scary when she's made a promise to be careful. "Chris needs me and I can't get to
him."
"Chris needs
you and you can't see him. But you can
talk to him."
"I
can?" But talking is what gets them
into trouble. Talking is what she's bad
at and he's good at, as long as by good you mean hiding what you're really
feeling under a load of lofty sounding bullshit.
"Yes. Just promise me you two won't fight."
"Us,
fight?"
"Oh, this is
such a bad idea." There's a voice
in the background, male, southern.
Number One thinks he says, "Christine, hurry it up, the admiral's
waiting."
Admiral. Her Chris is an admiral now. She does sigh, and it doesn't hurt as much as
she feared.
"Gwen, my errr friend is in Chris's room. He's going to help us with this. So is my other friend who's really good at
using comm channels she shouldn't and not getting caught."
"You have a
lot of interesting friends."
"You have no
idea. You can thank them when you see
them." Chrissy sniffs. Always a sap her little sister. She's tried to teach Chrissy how to fight,
how to be tough. Her sister knows the
steps, but lacks the will.
Number One's never
lacked the will. Fighting is what she
does best. Being strong is second
nature.
It's why she's
always been alone. Even when she's
sitting next to Chris.
"Spock says
hello, by the way."
"You ever get
over your crush on him?"
In the background,
she hears the southern voice saying, "You had a crush on him?"
"Thanks so
much, Gwen." A beep sounds. "Okay, patching you through, we'll be
off as soon as we're sure you've got a good connection, so don't get all mushy
till you hear the clicks."
Mushy? When had she and Chris ever gotten mushy?
They'd had sex in
every position imaginable. They'd fought
side by side more times than she can count.
They'd risked censure, even court martial at times for each other.
But they'd never
been mushy.
She hears the
southern man say, "Okay, anytime, sir."
"Gwen?" His voice is strong. Oh, thank God, his voice is strong.
She isn't sure
what she'd do if he was weak and she was weak, too. They can't both be weak. It just won't work; one of them has to be
strong. Generally, both of them are,
whether it's called for or not, which is probably a good part of their problem.
"Chris." His name comes out breathy, scared even.
"I'll leave
you alone, sir," Chrissy's friend says.
"Thank you,
Leonard."
There are three
clicks and then she knows it's just Chris and she, alone.
"Your sister's as determined as you are, Gwen."
"Is
she?" That surprises her somehow,
that Chrissy might be stubborn. She's
been so busy being the tough one, taking care of her little sister, that she's
never noticed that.
"She survived
out there. She thrived out there. Fell in love, too, unless I miss my
guess."
"Oh? The southern guy?"
"You Chapel
girls have an astonishing propensity for falling for your boss."
That's supposed to
be a joke. She's glad she doesn't find
it funny since laughing is one of the things that isn't going to keep her very,
very still.
"Gwen?" He sighs.
"I guess you're still mad?"
"You were the
one who was mad."
"That's not
how I remember it."
"Well, your
memory's not what it used to be, then."
That's supposed to
be funny, but she's hit too deep, as usual.
"They stuck a
bug in my brain, Gwen. I'm not sure what
I remember and what I don't."
"I'm
sorry. Chris, I'm sorry." They do so much better when they can
touch. A kiss can ease the sting of
words said too fast. A soft caress can
help take back a joke that isn't funny.
Or maybe she just thinks it can.
But perception is everything—she's walked away from many an almost-fight
by being ballsy and acting badass.
But love isn't a
fight. Or at least it shouldn't be.
There's a long
silence, so long she thinks the connection might have dropped, but finally he
says, "I gave away the defense codes."
"I know. Spock told me." Spock told her a lot of other things, about
his mother, about his planet, about the friend Chrissy says is so clever with
comms. Her heart hurts for Spock, but
not as much as she's afraid it will hurt for Chris and her.
"Some mentor
I am. If you want to know how to fold in
a crisis, I'm your man."
"Spock didn't
see it that way. There was no censure in
his voice."
"Well, bully
for him. He's a bit off his game,
though. Lost his planet, his
mother. Met himself—an older version of
himself. Not his best time. I doubt he has much left to worry over what a
coward I am."
"You're not a
coward."
"Funny, you
told me I was. Isn't that what we were
fighting about?"
She feels the
sting of the well-timed hit. She doesn't
think he meant to set her up like that. It's
just what they do, how they work—or don't work.
"We were
fighting about being together." Or
rather not being together. With him
teaching, with her on someone else's ship, they can be together. They can finally be together. But he held her at arms' length until she
wanted to explode.
And then she did
explode, only without the noise or the fire, because she and Chris are like an
underwater detonation in the deep ocean.
They don't make a fuss when they draw blood. They don't cause a scene when they rip each
other to shreds.
"I am a coward, Gwen. I don't think we'd last if we were
together. I think you like what you
can't have. And you can't have me, so we
work. But once you have me, you'll
realize I'm an old man and you'll leave me, and right now I couldn't stand
that." He coughs, and it turns into
a coughing fit, and she has to wait, while the man she adores but who thinks
she doesn't finally coughs himself into silence.
"Drink some
water."
"Don't baby
me."
She hears water
being poured. He does what she says,
even if he hates it. She does what he
says, too, and she generally loves it.
But she hates it
when he tells her what she's feeling.
Like that she doesn't really love him.
When he says things like:
"Try someone else, Gwen, before it's too late." Too late for what? Like it almost was too late now, for both of
them? Or "Date other
people." As if what she and Chris
have could ever be called dating? As if
she would even want that after going this many rounds
with him.
"Look, I'm
feeling really, really old right now. I
love you. God help me, Gwen, I love you
with everything in me. But I can't stand
the thought of losing you when you look at me, when you realize that the man
you love broke. Let's just...let's just
leave it at this."
"At
what?" She almost sits up, but a
twinge in her chest reminds her to lie still.
Nothing can stop the pain deeper in her chest, though. A pain about where her heart is—the heart
most people would swear she doesn't have.
Nothing can make
this hurt less. She wishes it were not
such a familiar hurt.
"I have to
go." There is a long pause, as if
he expects her to protest. "Are you
all right? I know you were hurt."
"I'm
fine." Even if she can't move. Even if she hurts everywhere. Even if her heart is breaking—again.
He cuts the
connection before she can.
##
Pike wakes and
blinks against the bright sunshine flooding the room. Who the hell opened the blinds?
"Good
morning," a sarcastically cheery voice says.
"Shut the
damn blinds."
"Not a
chance." A slim body steps between
him and the window, becomes a silhouette, with sunshine playing on blonde hair.
"Christine,
close the damn blinds."
"Close them
yourself." She moves to the other
side of the bed, sits down in the guest chair, and smiles at him. But it's a dangerous smile. "I'm not happy with you, Chris."
"What did I
do?"
"I didn't
risk my Starfleet career by setting up an illicit comm line"—at his rolled
eyes she laughed softly; they both knew the comms were perfectly in order,
especially for an admiral—"to my sister to have you go and depress her
with whatever you said."
"She's
depressed, huh? Normally Gwen takes her
depression out on something big, tall, and ugly. She must really be injured if she's stuck
actually feeling something in her hospital bed."
He thinks
Christine might slap him. She looks
astoundingly like her sister, blue eyes nearly flashing as she leans forward
and says, "That is so unfair. You
know she's never had the luxury of wallowing.
She had to stop indulging herself the minute our parents died, and she
was saddled with me."
"You had your
aunt."
"When Aunt
Judy wasn't on deployment, sure. But how
often was that? Besides, Judy liked
Gwen but not me. I wasn't her idea of
what a Marine sergeant should be raising.
Too soft."
"But Gwen was what she liked. And that's my point. She can take care of herself, so you don't
need to worry about her—or lecture me."
"She can't
take care of herself, don't you get it, you complete idiot? She only knows how to take care of
others. She has no idea what to do when
it's just her at stake." She sighs
and reaches behind her, handing him some crutches. "You should start practicing with
these. I can help you or I can get
someone from P.T."
"My
wheelchair's fine for now, thanks."
She gets up and
takes a deep breath. "She'll
come. The talk you two had left her empty,
so she'll come. She'll come to give you
hell, if nothing else. Do you really
want to have to look up to her when she's giving you a piece of her mind?"
"She has to
get well first."
"She's Number
One. How long do you think it'll take
her to get well when she's this angry at you?"
Pike eyes the
crutches. It's true; long before his
lover became his X-O, she earned that nickname in the Academy for being the
best at everything she tried. No doubt
healing would be a walk in the park for her.
"You want me,
then, to help you, or you want the P.T. guy?
They call him The Great Sadistico behind his
back."
"You. I'll take you."
Christine pats him
and gives him the sweet smile that hides a backbone of steel. "That's my smart boy."
##
Number One waits
for the other passengers on the shuttle to get off before she grabs her
carryall and makes her slow way to the hatch.
Spock is waiting, with the cadet she's dubbed "Stud" when
she's joking around with Chris, but who's generally known as Kirk.
Captain. Captain Goddamned Kirk. What in the hell was Starfleet thinking?
There's no one
else in the waiting area, so she shoves her carryall at Kirk and gives Spock a
gentle hug. "I'm so sorry,
Spock."
He relaxes into
her for a moment, takes a deep breath, then pulls away and straightens up, the
picture of the perfect Vulcan.
Kirk stares at
them openmouthed.
"What?"
she asks. "You've never seen a
Vulcan hug someone?"
"Actually,
that's all I'm seeing. Who knew you were
such a lady's man, Spock?"
She decides she
likes Kirk; maybe she won't call him "Stud" to his face.
"Commander
Chapel was my mentor before Captain Pike."
She laughs. "That didn't last long." Chris intervened because he said between the
two of them she and Spock made maybe three quarters of a human, and she was
pretty sure he gave Spock the lion's share of the humanity.
"I have
missed you. You find the Lincoln a satisfactory vessel?"
"It's not the
Enterprise. Then again, I hear after your kids got done
with it, the Enterprise isn't the Enterprise anymore, either."
Spock looks down;
Kirk doesn't. He purses
his lips, as if he's trying to decide whether or not to reply.
"Out with it,
Captain." She can't help it; she
loads the title with more disdain than respect, and he definitely notices. She expects him to give her shit about it, to
be the cocky stud she's heard so much about, but he looks away, and she
realizes that, just like with Chris, she's gone too far again. "Sorry, sir. I'm old school."
He turns to
her. "Old school—when people
actually earned a posting like mine?"
He seems to want
the truth, so she gives it to him.
"Something like that, yeah."
"It's
occurred to me. Believe me."
"You should
call him Jim," Spock offers, and she realizes he's trying to break the
ice, playing Vulcan hostess for a man he should, by rights, hate if she got the
story accurately from the various sources she's cultivated—or that found her on
their own. "Jim, Commander Chapel
is known as Number One because—"
"Oh, believe
me, Spock, I know exactly why she's called that."
She thinks there
will be a veiled insult, but he looks at her with respect.
"I've seen
your scores on the beta tests for the Kobayashi Maru. They're still the highest anyone's ever
gotten."
"Well, until
you beat them."
He laughs, and
it's a self-deprecating laugh. "I
didn't beat them. I cheated. Ask the creator here."
"It is
true. He reprogrammed it so it was
possible to win."
"I don't
believe in the no-win scenario."
"This fact
did save us on the Narada. Although not without some lacerations."
"And bruises,
Spock." Jim grins, and it lights up
his face.
She watches the
two of them, and her smile grows. Does
Spock have any idea how easy he is with this young upstart,
how happy he seems? Even though she
knows his heart is breaking for his mother and his planet, somehow
he's happy.
She hears steps
approaching rapidly, the click-click of Starfleet-issued boots.
"Am I
late? I told you I wouldn't be
late." A young woman runs up, her
pony tail whipping around her head.
"Hello. I'm late. I'm sorry."
"You must be
Nyota." She smiles at the
girl. "You patched me through to
the admiral, didn't you?"
"Just found
an empty comm, ma'am. Christine makes it
sound a lot more exciting than it was."
"Christine
has a way of doing that when she wants to make her friends look
good." Or dangerous and wily. Aunt Judy approved of friends who could be
counted on when the going got tough.
She sees Spock
looking at Nyota, sees the regard even though she doubts anyone else would
notice it. He loves this girl. He's given her his heart and she knows it, because she moves closer, and Number One doesn't
think she even realizes she's done it.
"We can show
you to your quarters." Nyota smiles
at her and it's a beautiful expression, not unlike Amanda's in its
gentleness. Spock has always needed
gentleness, always seemed to cry out to be taken care of.
She hangs back to
walk with him while Nyota and Kirk fight over her carryall.
"Do you
approve?"
"I
do." She smiles at him. "What must Christine think?"
He shakes his
head. "Christine has not had a
crush on me since she was seventeen, and I think she would thank you to stop
teasing her about it."
She laughs. "So what's with her new beau? Some southern guy?"
"McCoy. Leonard.
Doctor."
"Do you like
him?"
Spock nods
slowly. "He is very good to
her. I would tell you if he were
not."
"Aww, are you
looking out for my little sis?"
The look he gives
her is as warm as she's ever seen.
"Yes. As you have always
looked out for me."
"You're going
to make me cry."
"You do not
cry."
She does, just
never in front of anyone, and never without a regen machine to fix her face so
no one can tell. Tears equal weakness.
She's weak much
more often than anyone would ever guess.
##
Pike hears her
before he sees her, arguing with Christine as they come down the hall.
Christine. His little guard dog despite her "come
to Jesus" pep talks.
"Gwen, I
don't know that he's ready right now."
He grabs the
crutches, stands and turns awkwardly to face the door as the two Chapels storm
in like twin hurricanes. Christine
looks at him and shrugs, and he gives her a forgiving grin—she's never been
able to stop Gwen, hell he's never been able to stop her, not when she's in a
mood.
And she's most
definitely in a mood.
But then she
clutches at her side and says, "Shit," and Christine turns instantly
from cowed little sister to extremely good nurse and pushes Gwen into the guest
chair. She pulls out a scanner,
frowning as she checks her sister.
"Sit
there. Don't pace. Don't throw things. Don't hit anything"—she glances at him,
teetering on his wooden helpers—"or anyone. You got it, big sis?"
"Got it. Now get out."
Christine leaves,
but she walks slowly, like she's not running the risk of getting her ass kicked
if she doesn't clear out fast enough.
He gives Gwen a
smile that ends up being tight, primarily because he stood up before he was
ready and the crutches are pinching. "Well, this is how I imagined our
reunion."
She's still
holding her side. "Shut up."
"If you're
going to sit, can I sit? These kill my
armpits."
He can tell she
wants to be mad at him, but she starts to laugh and nods. He sits back in the chair with relief, puts
the crutches on the bed and wheels his way over to her, stopping when he can
touch her without straining.
He runs his hands
over her face, stopping at her lips. She
feels good, but then she always does.
She smells good, looks good. Her voice
is like honey when she murmurs, "Chris, damn you."
He pulls her to
him, trying not to hurt whatever's already hurting. Their lips meet by reflex, by magnetic
pull. He loves this woman, wants this
woman, would die for this woman.
So why is he so damn
afraid of this woman?
"I've missed
you." He pushes her hair back,
kisses along the cheek that he can imagine bruised from her injuries. He knows she's assessing his damage just as
carefully.
"I've missed
you, too." She grabs him and kisses
him fiercely, then groans and pushes at her side again. "If we were goddamn together, we wouldn't have to miss each other."
"You'd still
be on the Lincoln. In another sector from where I was. Even together, we might not be there when it
matters."
"Don't be logical. I have Spock for that."
He sighs. "He's not being all that logical right
now, Gwen."
"I know. He's hurting.
But he has you and me and Chrissy.
He has Nyota and he has Jim, who I think I might actually like, by the
way, and get that self-satisfied look off your face right now or I will punch
an injured man."
"I told you
you'd like him." He pulls her to
him again because when she's this close and they're alone, he finds it
impossible not to kiss her. "I
wasn't very nice the other day."
"You were
hurting."
God, he loves that
about her. She can always see the other
side, even when it kills her.
"And no, you
weren't very nice. You were a prime
asshole."
And while seeing
the other side, she has no problem providing her take on it.
She pulls away,
and he sees how tired—how terribly, terribly tired she is. He's been pushing her away so hard it didn't
occur to him that she might not have been around for him to do that to. That she might have died. That they both might have.
"Everything's
so screwed up," she says, and for once, she doesn't sound like she can fix
it. And that's what he loves about her: she
can always fix things. Always wins.
Except with him.
"I love
you," he says.
She touches his
cheek. "And that's the most screwed
up thing of all, isn't it? What are we
doing? Why do I stay?"
"I don't
know. I've asked myself that a thousand
times." He pulls her close again,
holds her, burying his head in her neck, and she grips him almost frantically.
His cadets think
he's strong. Think he's wise. Think he's brave—well, at least they did
before that goddamned Nero put a bug in his mouth. His cadets think he's easy to know. But this woman, this woman is probably the
only person who knows the real Chris Pike.
Who understands that he's not strong, and he's not wise, and he's far
from brave. Especially where she's
concerned.
Because this—this
touching and kissing and just having her—it keeps him going. It keeps him alive. And he's desperately afraid that if he gives
in to her, if they make their stolen moments something more permanent, more
visible, she will tire of him and then she will leave him.
And he will be
alone. Truly alone, without his
rock. Without the love of his life.
It makes no sense
to his mind, but his heart understands perfectly.
"You should
go," he says. It's not what she
needs to hear. It's not what he wants to
say. It comes out, though.
"You're
tired," he tries again, trying to be noble. To think about her. "Get some rest and come back,
okay?"
She meets his eyes
and looks utterly defeated, but she nods and kisses him gently on the lips. Then she looks at the bed, big enough for
both of them if they cuddled. Christine
wouldn't mind. Leonard wouldn't mind.
For a moment, he
thinks he sees the shine of tears in her eyes, but that's impossible. She doesn't cry. Not ever.
Not even for him.
"I'll see you
soon." She gets up like she's an
old woman but pushes him away when he reaches for her. "No, I'm okay. I'll see you.
Chrissy knows where I'm staying if you need me."
In the past, she
would have told him where she was staying, would have had a glint in her eyes
as she did. In the past, he would have
asked, or would have seduced her into spilling the location if she was intent
on making him work for it.
This time, he just
lets her go.
##
Chrissy finds her
hiding out in her guest quarters.
"I thought you were going to dinner with us?"
Number One glances
in the mirror, as if she's primping, but she's really checking to make sure the
regen unit did the job. Chrissy's eyes
narrow, and she thinks how stupid she's being—she never primps and Chrissy
knows it.
"So, how'd it
go?"
"Fine. It was fine.
I'm just tired. Rushed the
recovery, you know." She tries to
appeal to the nurse, but her sister insists on staying in control, concerned in
a personal way and frowning. A
diversion, then. "So when am I
going to meet this mythical McCoy, hmm?"
It works, and she
sees just how in love Chrissy really is by the way she goes still for a moment
and then a slow smile spreads over her features, features so close to Number
One's that people always guess they are sisters. Only Number One has never looked that happy,
never ever. Not over a man. Not over the only man who's mattered for a
very long time now.
Shouldn't love
make you look like that? Shouldn't love
make you happy?
"He's just
outside. Do you want to meet him?"
"Of course I
want to meet him. Or wait. It's more like he better want to meet
me. We may not have a dad anymore for
him to impress, but he's going to have to get by me."
"Oh, Gwen, go
easy, okay? I really like this
one." She opens the door and
motions him in.
He gives her a
quick kiss, then turns to Number One, assessing her not as her sister's suitor
but as a goddamned doctor. "You're
in shit shape, young lady."
"Young
lady?"
He walks toward
her, scanner already out.
"I did not
say you could do that and—"
He's got his hand
over her mouth. His goddamned hand is
over her mouth and he leans in and says, "Shh."
And God help her,
she shhhs.
She looks over at
Chrissy, who shrugs in a "What can you do?" sort of way, and then
opens the door and beckons someone else in.
Kirk walks in,
sees what McCoy is doing, and shakes his head manically. "Oh, don't let him start. Soon he'll be lecturing you on nutrition and
proper breathing techniques. I roomed
with this guy for too many years, and I can tell you, he'll follow you into the
bathroom, if you let him, and inspect what you left in the toilet."
"That last
part is an exaggeration," McCoy says softly, then he backs off. "You really aren't in good shape. You need sleep. You need some food. And you're a little dehydrated."
"I'll eat.
I'll drink. I'll go to bed."
"I think
that's a hell of a plan." He smiles
gently. "You've also been
crying." He says this so quietly she's
sure the others can't possibly hear.
"I wish I could prescribe something for that."
"It's
okay." And she suddenly wants to
cry again and has to blink hard a few times, and he moves so he's in front of
her and there's no way the other two can see.
And then she wants to cry some more, because this man is a good man, and
he's a gentle man, and he's going to take care of her sister the way she should
be cared for.
More blinks,
desperate blinks, and McCoy is talking as if she's giving him lip about
vitamins, and he winks at her and she takes a deep breath and nods, and for a
moment envies Chrissy this softer, sweeter life.
Then she remembers
how hard she's worked for the one she has, and sits up straighter. "Thank you," she whispers.
"You're
welcome. And it's a pleasure finally
meeting you. Are you coming to dinner
with us? A little change of scene might
not be a bad thing. There's a good
restaurant just down the block."
"No. Thanks."
He nods and walks
back to Chrissy, bumping up against her in a sweet way, in a possessive
way. In a very open, aboveboard way.
God damn it. She's jealous of her little sister.
Jim studies her,
then walks over. "You all
right?" He sits and she's struck by
how young he is, by how little he's probably really seen of the world, this
boy-God who is all the rage at Starfleet.
"You seem..."
"Down?"
"Yeah."
"It's
just...I've never lost." She smiles
at the boy who still thinks there's no such thing as a no-win scenario. "Spock likes to say, for every thing there is a first time."
"You haven't
lost yet."
"You don't
even know what it is I've lost."
But as he meets
her eyes, as his become gentle and so knowing she wonders how she ever thought
him young, she realizes maybe he does know, maybe he absolutely knows.
"It's one
thing to lose hope when no one loves you, Gwen.
Believe me, I've been there. But it's
another thing to do it when you're surrounded by those who care. The esteemed admiral will come around."
"You don't
know him."
"A lot of
people would have said that about me being in Starfleet. But here I am." He turns to Leonard and Chrissy. "You two mind having a private night
out? The lady and I are going to play
chess." He's already requisitioning
a board from the guest services computer, the idea of asking her if she even
wants to play apparently not occurring to him.
She's about to protest,
to tell him to forget it, when she sees Chrissy's face. Her little sister looks rather happy at the
idea of being stuck alone with the man she loves. Number One smiles at her, the smile Aunt Judy
would never give her, the one that meant the world to her sister growing
up. "Go have fun." Then she looks at Jim. "I'm going to mop the floor with you,
boy."
"Uh
huh," he says as he sets up the board.
"We'll see about that."
##
Pike is startled
awake by the feeling of something soft but heavy being tossed on his
chest.
"Napping like
an old man, there, Admiral." Jim
looks insufferably pleased with himself.
"And don't thank me."
Pike stares down
at the pile of clothes Jim has thrown on him.
"Okay, I won't."
Jim whistles and
opens the blinds Christine opened earlier and Pike just closed a few hours
ago. "Wow, you're really wallowing,
sir."
"And you're
out of line, boy."
"Your girl
called me that. When I was playing chess
with her. She's really good." He turns and smiles in a way Pike isn't sure
he entirely understands.
"Who
won?"
"I'll never
tell." He grins at the look Pike
gives him, then gestures to the clothes.
"Don't you want to know what those are for?"
"I'm sure
you'll tell me."
"You aren't
making this any fun." Jim sits in
the chair and manages to lean it back on two legs despite the fact that it's
supposed to be sturdy and un-tippable.
"You're going on a date."
"I am?"
"Yep."
He lets the chair fall with a thud.
"With a very, very beautiful woman who for some unknown reason
thinks the world of you."
"Jim, I
appreciate the romance help, really, but I don't need it."
Jim's expression
changes. The lightness is gone, and
something dark and sad and scared is there for a moment. Something Pike thought he saw in the cadet
bar, the first time he talked to the kid.
Hurt—this kid has been hurt.
By someone he
loved.
Pike looks
down. "Jesus, did she send
you?"
"Why in God's
name would she send me? She loves you
but she's not desperate. Her heart's
goddamn breaking, but she's not going to crawl back to you. You need to go to her, and that's why you
have date clothes."
"She and I
don't date."
"And I would
suggest that may be the root of your problems, Christopher." Jim smiles, and Pike smiles too. Jim's never called him by his name
before. And it feels challenging and
annoying but also very, very right.
"I won't hold
her interest. It's just...some things
don't work in the light."
"Oh, is that
why you're hiding alone in the dark, then?" Jim stands up, smiles as he says, "My
father bought my mother one dozen red and one dozen white roses on their first
date. I dare you to do better." His grin is huge and infectious and full of
something that Pike realizes just might be love.
"You're a
good kid."
"You're the
only one who ever thought so, sir. And
I'm very grateful you helped me by kicking my ass the way you did that
night."
"I think the
cadets did the ass-kicking."
"You remember
it your way, and I'll remember it mine."
He winks and walks to the door.
"Since Leonard and Christine will kill me if you leave the
hospital, I took the liberty of getting a soon to be very good friend of mine
who works in administration to set you up a little private dining area in
conference room seven. Gwen's on her
way. I told her you took a turn for the
worse. Don't prove me right."
And with that he's
gone, leaving Pike to stare down at the clothes and wonder when Jim took
command of his life as well as his ship.
##
Number One
practically storms into Chris's room, out of breath from having rushed.
He's sitting in
his wheelchair, in clothes that are not hospital issued, looking very handsome
with a nervous grin on his face. He's
holding a huge bunch of flowers—roses, so dark a red they're almost purple.
She counts
quickly. Three dozen? "You haven't bought me flowers in a long
time."
"That's been
entirely wrong of me." He hands her
the flowers, then grabs his crutches and stands. "There's a conference room with our name
on it. I have no idea what's on the
menu, though."
"Kirk." She's going to wring his neck. Or maybe kiss him. It all depends on how this goes.
"Kirk. I wish I could take credit for it,
though. It's long overdue."
She doesn't
answer, because she's afraid to mess up what could be a first step. She's almost glad he has to work to walk with
the crutches, that maybe it'll keep him from thinking about what a scary first
step this is.
She opens the door
to the conference room he stops at, smiles as she looks inside. "Wow, your Cyrano did good."
"You don't
call him 'Stud' for nothing." He
grins at her and she laughs, and feels the nerves playing across her shoulders
relax a little.
There are
candles. A tablecloth. Even wine.
And a couple of orderlies that she imagines Jim is paying overtime to
act as waiters. They take the roses from
her and put them in a vase.
The food is
definitely not hospital fare. At first,
she's not sure what to say to Chris, so she digs in, and when he looks amused
says, "I'm hungry. Haven't been
eating much."
"I'm
sorry."
She reaches over,
and they hold onto each other for a long moment before she lets go and goes
back to eating.
"So Jim said you two played chess."
"Yeah. He's really good."
"That's what
he said about you. So who won?"
"I promised
him I wouldn't tell." She laughs
and feels something hard inside her break open and turn soft and warm. "He said it would drive you nuts not
knowing."
"He does know
me."
"He's a
little scary that way. He sees
things. So does McCoy."
"He's a good
man, too. If he gave you advice, you
should listen to it."
"That goes
for you, too."
"Yes,
sir." He grins and takes her hand
again. "I do love you, Gwen. I'm sorry."
"I've always
known you love me. It's...it's what we
do with you loving me that makes me crazy."
"It's what we
don't do."
"Yes."
He grins, and it's
sweet but slowly turns a bit wicked.
"We're in a semi-public place."
"Yes."
"And the
waiters could come back at any moment."
"Right."
"Come
here. Let me take our relationship into
the open."
She stands and
walks around. The chairs are straight,
no arms to get in the way, and she steps over him and eases down, checking to
see if he's in any shape for this before she even thinks about taking off
articles of clothing.
He's rubbing her
back, and her arms, running his hands under her full skirt as he smiles a
wonderful smile. "I won't break,
Gwen." His smile fades and he looks
like he's about to push her off.
"No, you
won't break. But you did, once, and
anyone would have. Except maybe
Spock. So quit beating yourself up for
that. I mean it." She kisses him fiercely, as if she can make
him believe in himself again through the power of her lips.
But he pushes her
away. His face goes hard. His eyes old and dead.
This is what
defeat feels like. This is how losing
feels.
She can hear her
Aunt Judy, yelling at her as they ran.
"Gwen, there's no one can make you cry, you hear me. Tears are nothing but a reason for them to
keep you down. Tears are
inexcusable. You're not some crybaby,
are you?"
"No. I'm.
Not." She'd said it in
cadence. Running forever to the words,
running until Aunt Judy deemed them done.
But Aunt Judy had
never been in love. Or if she had, it
wasn't with this man, with this heart, with this pain.
Turns out, she is
a crybaby. She's tired, and she's
aching, and her stomach hurts from eating so much after so long not
eating. The wine has gone to her head,
but in a bad way, already dizzy with no buzz.
And in her chest is this pain, a pain that beats in time with her
heart.
She buries her
face in her hands and cries, really fucking cries, and as she cries, she sobs
out "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you."
She's not sure who
she's talking to, though.
For a moment, even
though she's sitting on his lap, even though he's only inches from her, she's
alone. And she feels as if she might
freeze in the space he's giving her.
She starts to get
up, can't see and knows her makeup is running down her face.
"I love
you," she says as she swings her leg over him, hitting the edge of the
table, adding to her pain as her ankle joins in the throbbing.
And then she's
being pulled back down, and he's kissing her and saying, "Baby, baby, it's
all right."
And she's not a
baby, and she tells him that, only her words don't come out because he's
kissing her, his hands tangled in her hair, and she's pulling him closer, so
there's no air between them.
He's talking,
murmuring things she's never heard.
Things about how he was raised, how he felt unloved. How afraid he is that if he reaches out, that
if he really wants her, she'll leave.
She'll walk away. She won't love
him.
"What makes
you stay?" he asks, shaking against her as he holds her so tightly it
hurts. "Why don't you leave?"
"I love
you. I love exactly three people, Chris,
in this entire life. Chrissy. Spock.
And you. I don't know how to
walk away."
"I'm not sure
that's a good thing, sweetheart."
But he's smiling and he's kissing her, and then he pushes her up and
opens his pants and pulls her back astride him, and they go slow, because they
are both the walking wounded. They go
carefully, because too much too soon will break them.
And they go
lovingly, because that's all that's left.
They sit,
foreheads pressed together, his arms wrapped tightly, so tightly, and she's
playing with his hair, rubbing it. The
waiters come in and smile and clear the table and she and Chris don't move, and
her skirt covers them so there's nothing to see except two people in love.
And not afraid to
show it.
"So who did
win?" he asks her softly as he pulls away and kisses her slowly.
She smiles, kisses
him back, and says, "I did."
FIN