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 PG-13.
Heart, We Will Forget Him
by Djinn
Heart, we will forget him.
You and I, to-night.
You may forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget
the light.
When you have done, pray tell me,
That I my
thoughts may dim;
Haste, lest while you’re lagging,
I may remember
him.
Emily Dickinson
Rand knew she shouldn't be
following him. It wasn't in her job
description to track where he went, what he did, who he saw. She was his yeoman: the captain's personal aide. Not his keeper. Not his guardian.
Not his lover. Never that.
He turned down a side
corridor, and she realized he was heading for the rec lounge. Was he meeting someone? Could he be?
They were between missions. If he
met someone, it would be crew—and he never dated crew.
Patting her hair, she made a
quick check for loose strands, then worried that her makeup might not be
perfect.
Not that he'd notice.
But she knew he noticed
everything, and she was part of everything, so he had to notice her.
He had to notice her
legs. She had great legs, and these uniforms
were very kind to those with great legs and a shapely derriere...and good
breasts...and a tiny waist. She knew her
body could stop men in their tracks. Her
face was good, too, but it wasn't her face men tended to look at. They got caught up in the hair, in the
body. She knew her assets; she was
honest in assessing them. They'd been
all she had for so long.
But he valued her for more
than that. He talked to her—really
talked to her. As if she had a
brain. As if she was worth getting to
know.
It was probably what made her
want him so. It didn't seem to make him
want her.
She followed him into the
lounge. He was on the far side, talking
to Mister Spock. She'd work her way
around eventually. This had to be played
delicately.
He could never know how much
she wanted him.
##
She thought Kirk was
following her. Glancing back, she saw
that he was, indeed, behind her. Her
heart beat crazily, and she remembered how it felt to have him finally come to
her quarters.
To finally want her.
To nearly rape her.
She ran for the lift. Heard him call, "Janice, wait," but
the doors closed before he could get to them.
She got to her quarters—he
wouldn't follow her there. The only time
he'd come to her quarters had been that time, and that hadn't been him. Not all of him. She'd only gotten the mean Kirk. The one who wanted, but never loved.
She'd been terrified of that
Kirk.
She never called him
Jim. Not to his face. Only in her fantasies. Which now were colored with the feeling of
her nails on his face. The feeling of
being held too tightly.
Her chime went off, scaring
her. She backed away from the door. It chimed again, and again.
He was out there.
"Come," she finally
whispered.
He walked in slowly, holding
his hands out as if she was a frightened animal. But then, she was a frightened animal, just
like he'd been a horrible animal. A
predator.
"I wanted to tell you
how sorry I am...for what happened."
"For what almost
happened."
"Right." He sighed.
"It wasn't
you." But if it wasn't him, why was
she sweating? Why was the room spinning?
"But it was me. A...part of me."
"Not the nice
part."
"No. Not the nice part." He stood in her quarters—finally—and all she
could do was stand frozen across the room, praying he wouldn't come any closer.
"Captain, I just need
some time."
He nodded.
"Don't follow me
anymore."
Again the nod. A
tortured expression on his face. Then he
left.
##
She packed slowly, nervous
about her decision.
It was time to get off the
ship. She knew it was time. But to leave him? To never see him again?
Only he'd be on Earth from
time to time. She'd pass him in the hallways
of Starfleet Command. They'd nod and
smile and keep on walking. Kirk and
Rand: two old...what?
Not lovers. Never lovers.
It had been seeing him with
Lenore Karidian that had made Rand request the
transfer. It had hurt too much: he could get close to someone, just never to
her.
Her chime rang.
"Come." She turned, expecting Nyota. Maybe Christine. But it was him. "Sir."
He smiled sadly and nodded as
if at her progress—was he glad she was leaving?
And was that glad as in losing a pest?
Or glad as in relieved the temptation would end?
"You're getting
there," he said, gesturing to her bags.
"It's easy. Take all you have and put it somewhere. Then run like hell." She hadn't meant to say the last part.
His head shot up. "Are you running away?"
"Would you care if I
was?"
His voice was very soft. "I care that you're leaving."
"Will you miss me?"
"Of course." He was staring at her.
"Me, your yeoman? Or me, Janice?"
"Both."
She turned, not wanting to meet
those hazel eyes. "This is so
hard."
She felt his hands on her
arms, and he turned her.
"Saying goodbye is
always hard," he said, and then he kissed her.
It wasn't a short kiss. It wasn't chaste, either. But he stopped it too soon.
"Good-bye,
Jan." He smiled at her—that
beautiful, wonderful smile—and then he was gone.
"Goodbye, Jim," she
said to the now-closed doors.
##
She paced her quarters. Five steps across, turn, five steps
back. Relief warred with anger: V'Ger was gone, but
why had Kirk treated her like she hadn't known what she was doing? Like she was a novice at the transporter
controls? She hadn't ended up back on
the flagship by being a goddamned novice.
He'd said, "It wasn't
your fault, Rand." You bet it
hadn't been her fault.
Her chime rang; it was him.
She kept pacing.
"I was out of
line."
"You were." She couldn't stop walking, couldn't look at
him. If she looked at him, she'd be
lost.
"I'm sorry." He sat on her bed. "It was my fault they died."
She stopped pacing, sat on
the bed next to him. "That was your
wife on the pad."
"Ex-wife."
She'd known that. Wanted to hear if he sounded upset. He did.
And...he didn't. "Real nice."
"It's been over for a
while. She works—worked for Nogura. That's the reason she was coming
aboard." He met her eyes, and she
realized he looked haunted.
"It wasn't your fault,
either, sir. It wasn't anybody's
fault. It was an accident."
"Just because it's an
accident, doesn't mean someone's not at fault.
It just means they didn't intend to do it." There was an uncomfortable silence in the
room.
"You weren't supposed to
be here."
"Things changed. With Decker gone..."
"They gave you back the
ship."
He nodded.
"I'll be transferring
off as soon as I can."
"Do you have to?"
She laughed, too loud, too
quickly. "You don't love me, and
you don't trust me to do my job. I hate
to think what's coming next."
"Jan..."
"As soon as I can,
Jim."
He didn't seem to notice what
she'd called him, just nodded and got up, leaving her alone.
##
Rand followed Jim as he
walked with Carol Marcus into the spacedock
transporter room.
Jim touched Carol's arm, and
she smiled at him, but not in a way that a lover would. She wasn't his lover, was she? Not like Antonia, that dark-haired beauty
who'd made Rand feel brassy and hard.
Jim stayed with Carol until
it was her turn to beam out. Then he
gave her a kiss on the cheek and handed her the bag he'd been carrying.
She disappeared, and all
energy seemed to go out of him as he made his way to the exit.
Rand stepped forward, and he
stopped walking. She covered the rest of
the distance to him. "You aren't
going with her?"
He could still follow Carol
down—maybe he had reports to finish?
He'd always had reports to finish.
"No." Such a simple answer. Such a world of pain behind it.
"I saw the ship come
in."
He made a sound. Not quite a sigh. More a muted cry for the beautiful ship he
loved so much more than he ever had Rand.
"I'm sorry about
Spock."
He nodded but made no sound
this time. Too painful to let it
out? He'd always loved Spock more than
he had her, too.
"Why are you here,
Jan?"
"I followed you. I do that, sometimes." Why she was telling him that? Did she want to hurt him? Or did she think that would comfort him?
"Oh." He frowned, like a man who'd gone too long
with no food or sleep. She'd lectured
him about that in the old days.
"Do you need
company?"
For a moment, she thought he
might say yes. But then he shook his
head. "I have to get down to
Bones."
It was always someone else
with him. Never her.
##
Rand rang the chime of Jim's
VIP guest quarters. He'd saved them from
the whale probe: Starfleet had upgraded him from brig to carte blanche.
He answered the door
immediately. His smile was radiant—and
very surprised.
"I saw that another one
got away," she said.
"I was hoping no one
noticed how fast Gillian was running."
"I noticed."
"You always do, don't
you?"
She nodded, then took a deep
breath and pushed her way past him.
"Come on in." He was laughing.
"You'll be in space
soon."
"I will." He poured something golden—Scotch, she
supposed—from his well-stocked bar and handed her a glass. "To the new Enterprise."
She drank to her rival. "Since you'll be in space
soon..." She let her voice drop
into a purr.
He looked surprised again,
but he didn't look away. "Since
I'll be in space...?"
"Three months on
Vulcan. Must have been boring?"
"I've had more exciting
layovers."
"In the past"—her
heart was hammering—"circumstances have always seemed...wrong for
us."
"Wrong?"
She nodded.
"And they're right,
now?"
"I'm not asking for
anything enduring, Jim. I'm just asking
for now."
He played with the golden
curls she'd spent her life hiding.
"This is the real you, isn't it?"
She nodded.
"I like her."
"Enough to...?"
"I can't promise—"
She kissed him, not
interested in what he couldn't promise as she pushed him toward his bedroom.
"Jan, are you sure about
this?"
"I'm sure."
He stripped off their clothes
and took her to bed.
Morning came too soon. He lay next to her, rubbing her arm. "You okay?"
"Yes."
"When I come
back....maybe?"
"Sure." But she knew he wouldn't look her up. It had been good between them, but it hadn't
had the feel of forever—or even for a while.
##
Rand sat by Christine and
Nyota at Jim's memorial service. She
wasn't crying. She'd shed so many tears
over him, maybe there were none left.
He'd died a hero. Saving the lady he loved: that great silver
ship who hated to share.
Closing her eyes, Rand tried
to knock away the years to get to the one night when he'd loved her—or at least
made love to her. She'd seen him
since. Not that way, not that
close. But at parties. Or in the hallways. He'd always been gentle with her. Too gentle.
She wanted passion. She knew he had it in him.
Just not for her.
She glanced at
Christine. Rand had comforted her when
Spock had died. Now it was Christine who
cried for their captain. Christine who probably
had been closer to him than Rand had at the end. A woman he'd look up for dinner when he was
back on Earth.
Christine hadn't slept with
him. Had looked shocked when Rand had
asked if she had. "We're just
friends," she'd said in her quiet way.
Rand had never been his
friend.
She looked at Nyota, who had
her eyes closed tightly, as if she was damming up the tears. Nyota was the one he'd trusted to go with
them to Vulcan. The only one of the
three of them who'd never left him when she'd had the opportunity to go.
Rand knew Nyota loved
Jim. She'd just never been sure what
that meant. Nyota held her cards close.
The chaplain opened the
service up to anyone who wanted to remember Jim.
What would Rand say about
him?
I loved him.
He didn't love me.
I loved him, anyway.
She thought it best to keep
that to herself.
She knew Jim would no doubt
agree.
FIN