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) 2003 by Djinn. This
story is Rated PG-13.
Stardust
by Djinn
Her uniform is torn at the
arm, the fabric soaked with her blood.
Pike runs his hand down the soft golden velour, his fingers stop at the
scorch marks where the Vegan's weapon raked across her chest.
She comes out from her
bathroom. All better. All fixed up except a few more scars. A new uniform on, clean, regulation. The odd triangular collar, still too stiff,
sticks out in a funny way.
"Here, let me," he
says, and he reaches in to fix it. His
hands brush her neck as he works at the collar.
He wonders, not for the first time, why her uniform doesn't have the
easy knit collar of his own.
"Sir. Please."
He feels her tremble under
his touch. When did he move his hands to
her neck? He was fixing her collar. Wasn't he?
Her skin is soft, soft and pale as ivory. He can see her veins, light blue under her
delicate skin. He can feel her
pulse. Her pulse so strong, so alive.
"What's wrong, Number
One?"
Her eyes seem bluer than
normal. And her hair blacker,
shinier. He breathes deeply, moves his
hands under her hair, letting it brush over his skin like the finest Orion
silk.
"I have a
name." Her tone is hurt. It matches the look he's seen in her eyes
when he's made comments about having women on the bridge, as if she were
anything but. He's had to pretend that
she was anything but. Had to pretend
that he was immune to her lithe build, her ample breasts, and wonderfully
angular face. Had to act as if he was
unmoved by raven hair and sapphire eyes.
She is smarter than he is,
nearly taller than he is. And recently,
she proved she was braver than he is.
When she nearly died.
"Yes, you have a
name." He has never used it. Never called her anything but Lieutenant or
Number One. Sometimes he just calls her
Helm. As if she was a part of the ship.
He loves her like she was
part of the ship.
He has never used her
name. But he has called her a million
more names in his mind. He holds up her
uniform, touches the scorch mark. "A
little to the left..."
"Yes." Her voice shakes. He does not know if that is because she is
upset by how close death came. Or if she
trembles because he has moved closer to her, very close.
"Lorelei." He strokes her hair. It falls like a black river under his
hand. He tries out another of the names he
has given her. "Morgan."
She breathes out, the sound
loud and husky and he is immediately drawn to her mouth.
"Esmeralda."
She smiles at that. "I'm hardly a gypsy."
"You're exotic. You're beautiful."
She blushes. Her pale skin suffused with warmth, with
life. With her blood. Blood that ran out onto the Vegan dirt. Blood he did not think he would be able to
stop. He touches the sleeve of her
uniform again.
"That was just a flesh
wound." She smiles.
"Diana." He smiles too. She is a warrior. And an ice maiden. Impenetrable.
And impossible to resist.
She shakes her head.
She is wise. Intelligent beyond reason, clever and quick
with common sense to spare. He depends
on her. "Athena."
"Please." She blushes more. Seems to tremble more also but that may be
because he dropped the shirt and has moved his hands to her cheeks. Is stroking them. They are soft. Soft.
So soft.
"Juliet." Soft what light... Her eyes reflect the lights of her quarters
back to him. So blue, so wise. So troubled as he pulls her closer.
He has never kissed her. Has been afraid to wake her up with his
kiss. "Snow White."
"I have a name."
He nods. "And I have named you a million things
since we met."
"Sir--"
He puts his fingers on her lips,
is mesmerized by how soft they are.
"My name is Chris."
"Sir--"
He leans in, kisses her. Their lips barely touch. She moans.
Or maybe it was him.
"I have a name," he
says as he pulls away. He stares at
her. Knows he should turn now. Should turn and walk out.
There are rules. Rules and regulations that she could quote to
him word for word. If he wanted her
to. He does not.
He leans in, kisses her
again. This time they touch less
tentatively, and he lets his hands run over her uniform. It is snug and he follows it around her body,
lets his fingers run down the long fastener, then up. He has always wanted to do this. Has stared at her back for
days-weeks-months-years and longed to do this.
She trembles. "Chris."
"Yes. Chris."
He does not move, just holds her until she stops trembling. "I have loved you for a million
years..."
"That is an
exaggeration." She pulls away,
strokes his cheek and smiles. The sad,
half-smile she so often wears. But her
eyes are softer than he's ever seen them.
"Possibly." He laughs, pulls her close and kisses her
freely, with no caution.
She meets him more than
halfway.
"Through a million
uniforms then." He buries his face
in her hair.
Yes. It smells like strawberries. He always thought it would. "Through a million fantasies."
He points to her ruined
uniform. "Through a million
heartbeats."
She swallows hard.
"I almost lost you,
Gwen."
She closes her eyes, as if
finally hearing him say her name is painful, or just too much to be borne.
"Gwen," he says
again, as he forces his eyes away from her wrecked uniform. "My Gwen."
"The regs--"
He kisses her.
She tries again. "The regs--"
He kisses her again. "The regs, my Gwen, can go to
hell."
She takes a deep breath,
smiles. Then kisses him.
He reaches for the fastener
at the back of her uniform. It is new,
sticks. He fights with it, feels like a
teenager again.
He sighs in frustration. She actually giggles, a sound so rare that he
begins to laugh too.
"I love you." She says it softly. If he had not been holding her close, he
would have missed it.
"Say that
again."
She does.
The fastener finally moves,
and he pulls it open. Removes her
uniform top. She is as beautiful as he
has ever dreamed. "Aphrodite." He smiles at her.
She shakes her head
again. Lets him push her down onto her
bed. Her skin is warm and she slips
under him. Her bed is too small for them
but he doesn't care.
She pulls his uniform
off. They are both equal now. No way to tell who is higher ranking. Or who is male and who is female. He laughs at that whimsy. All he has to do is look at her to know she
is female. All she has to do is move a
few inches over to know that he is male.
Very male.
"I should nearly die
more often," she whispers.
"If you did that on
purpose, I'll bring you up on charges."
She kisses him.
"After we're done,"
he says with a laugh.
She laughs too. A throaty sound he could never have
imagined. Its echoes run through his
body, no part of him is immune.
He takes off the rest of her
uniform. Lets her take off his. They will steal this time. They will steal it and hoard every day they
are given from this moment on.
"Tomorrow, we'll try my quarters."
He sees her eyes widen. Did she really think this would only happen
once? That he would only want her once?
She looks about to quote a
regulation so he kisses her until she gives up, until she can only touch and
stroke and kiss and make the most amazing sounds he's ever heard.
"Don't throw the uniform
away, Gwen."
She smiles. "A memento?"
He nods. "Of the day I started living."
"Of the day we both
did."
He knows that they are being
reckless. But life is too short, too
dangerous in space, to wait any longer. He
has ignored her for as long as he can.
The next time she might not come back.
Or he might not. He does not want
their last words to be, "If only."
And now they will never have
to be.
FIN