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)
2013 by Djinn. This story is Rated R.
The Island
by
Djinn
The
island is a place of turquoise water and endless sandy beaches. There is vegetation once off the beach,
but some of it leaves little splinters in skin, like old-time glass fibers. Chapel braved the horrible little
daggers when she and her captain first washed up here and they needed shelter.
He
didnÕt have to brave them. He was
barely conscious.
She
found water and splinter-free leaves to carry it back in. When the leaves proved less then optimum,
she hollowed out a fallen coconut—or this worldÕs version of one—and
looked for more of the pods when the first one proved useful for transport and storage. She has a series of pods buried in the
sand with leaves wrapped tightly over them for water storage. Another line of pods is sitting in the
open, no leaves on top, waiting for the rain showers that come frequently.
She
has no tricorder to test their food or water, so sheÕs watched the birds and
monkey-like creatures in the forest, taking the fruit they take—knowing
they might have different tolerances than humans but willing to risk it.
She
and Kirk will be dead if they eat the wrong thing, but theyÕll also be dead if
they eat nothing. And Kirk needs
food. HeÕs sick and weak, and he
sleeps most of the time.
ItÕs
a good thing she hasnÕt been able to catch any fish, because she has yet to
master fire and she doesnÕt like sashimi.
But sheÕs working at it, and last night she managed to get the first
tendril of smoke to show up when she rubbed her sticks together, trying to
remember the survival courses she was forced to take when she first signed up
for Starfleet. She was a snob back
then, so sure she wouldnÕt be in Starfleet very long, that sheÕd find Roger and
be done.
She
let someone else make the fire during the course. Stupid.
And
now here she is, back on the ship sheÕs already left once, still in
Starfleet. No fiancŽ to make her
life different. Everything the same
as it was right down to Kirk and Spock and Len being back.
ÒChris.Ó Kirk is sitting up, and she hurries to
him, pushing him down, back into the shade of the enclosure sheÕs made from
limbs she foraged, the top a canopy of the wide leaves that are useful for many
things, the whole thing held together by vines.
SheÕs
amazingly proud of her little construction project.
ÒWhere
are we?Ó This is the first time
heÕs been lucid enough to ask.
ÒNot
sure. Our raft broke in two during
the storm. You were out—feverish. We floated to this island.Ó
ÒAnyone
looking for us?Ó
ÒNot
that I can tell.Ó She was afraid
when they found the raft and threw it over the side of the ship they were being
held on, that their captors would realize they were escaping.
If
they did, they didnÕt bother to chase them, and judging from the islandÕs
rather hazardous vegetation, she can understand why. They also knew Kirk was sick—maybe
they thought sheÕd catch whatever he has, too. That theyÕre both dying.
Or
it may not have been either of those.
There is no moon on this world.
The night is black as pitch, and she and Kirk waited until dark to make
a break for it. Their captors might
have wanted to find them but couldnÕt.
What
worries her more is that the Enterprise
has not found them, either. The
world has strong interference in certain sectors. They may be in one of those sensor dead
zones. The transdermal
communicators arenÕt working, which is a bad sign. She canÕt raise the ship or the other
teams.
They
may never be found.
Kirk
tries to get up again, and she helps him sit upright. ÒHow long have I been out?Ó
ÒThree
days.Ó She checks his pulse, then
runs him through some standard tests that require no instruments. He seems fine. His fever feels like itÕs down. HeÕs talking like the man she has
followed for years.
The
idea that he might be able to do more than lie and moan is very appealing. SheÕs tired of fending for them, tired
of being unsure of everything.
HeÕll know what to do. He
would never have let someone else make fire in survival class.
ÒI
feel like shit.Ó Then he grins at
her. ÒWhich is actually an
improvement, isnÕt it?Ó
ÒArticulating
it is new. YouÕve been delirious.Ó
ÒDid
I say anything interesting?Ó
She
smiles. ÒThat you were going to
give me much bigger quarters and credits galore.Ó
He
laughs, gingerly but still a laugh.
Then he looks up at her structure.
ÒWell, this is definitely smaller than the quarters you have. Unless we count the beach, then itÕs
bigger.Ó
ÒDid
I forget the nicer part? The lavishly
civilized part? Bigger alone wonÕt
cut it.Ó She lies down under the
enclosure and sighs.
He
lies back, too. ÒYou made this?Ó
ÒYep. IÕm going to open my own home-building
business.Ó She turns to him and
smiles.
ÒItÕs
nice work.Ó
ÒIÕm
unduly proud of it. I yell at birds
who come to roost.Ó
He
smiles. Then his eyes start to
close. ÒFat lot of use I am.Ó
ÒSleep. WeÕre fine.Ó
ÒIÕm
thirsty.Ó
She
reaches over for one of the half-submerged water pods. Pulls it out and hands it to him. The sand is cool under the surface, and
the water stays a nice temperature.
ÒLook
at you. Quite the survival queen.Ó He drinks, shallow sips without her
having to tell him to go slow.
ÒI
never have been before. Indoor
girl, not outdoors. IÕm pretty damn
proud of my water system, too.
He
hands her back the pod and she finishes the water off, then takes it out to
plant with the others waiting for rain.
HeÕs
watching her, claps softly as she walks back. ÒA rainwater collection system. Impressive.Ó
ÒWeÕll
die without water. Much faster than
without food.Ó
He
nods.
ÒThen
again it may not be safe. We have
no instruments to test it.Ó
ÒOh,
well. Live on the edge,
right?Ó
ÒWe
donÕt have much choice.Ó
ÒNot
to criticize this lovely shade, but why did you build the enclosure in such an
exposed place? If our captors do
happen by...Ó
ÒBelieve
me, I thought of that. But a good
bit of vegetation on this island is hazardous. And by hazardous, I mean it took me
hours to get all the splinters out from the nasty leaves.Ó
ÒOuch.Ó He smiles. ÒBut you did get them out? Nothing festering under your skin?Ó
ÒAll
good.Ó
He
smiles, but it is broken by a huge yawn.
ÒSleep,
sir.Ó
ÒWeÕre
alone on this island, Chris. Stuff
the sir.Ó
SheÕs
not sure she likes that she finally gets to call him by his first name just
because thereÕs no one else around, but she doesnÕt argue, just says, ÒOkay. Sleep, Jim.Ó
ÒMuch
better.Ó He closes his eyes and is
out in moments.
She
watches him for a bit, then curls up next to him and lets herself sleep, too.
##
Kirk
wakes before Chapel and spends some time watching her sleep. SheÕs lying curled on her side, facing
him, and she has one hand buried in the sand as if itÕs a pillow. He smiles as he watches her, then rolls
to his back and looks up at the ceiling of the enclosure she made.
Pretty
damn good for someone who claims not to know what sheÕs doing.
He
would kill for some coffee, but knows heÕs lucky she found a way to get them water. He drinks some, then gets up and walks
out to the surf, surprised at how weak he feels.
Whatever
sickness he picked up hit full force a few hours before their dash for
freedom. He hopes she doesnÕt get
whatever it was, but if she isnÕt sick by now, maybe sheÕs safe. Or maybe itÕs not transmitted through
casual contact.
He
hears her coming, the soft shift of sand being moved as she walks.
ÒGood
to see you on your feet.Ó
ÒI
feel really shaky.Ó
ÒI
donÕt doubt it. I probably wouldnÕt
have recommended this little stroll, but when do you ever listen to a doctor?Ó
He
grins.
She
takes his elbow and turns him.
ÒWait
a second. There are some nice
looking fish in there.Ó
ÒI
know. IÕve tried to catch
some. No dice.Ó She walks him back to the shelter.
ÒCan
you find me a branch? Straight,
about one and half to two meters long?Ó
ÒI
have some extra, from the home-building exercise.Ó She looks in the bushes, where sheÕs apparently
stashed her extra material, then holds up a couple of branches and hands him
the one he points to.
ÒAnd
a rock with a sharp edge—I want to sharpen the end to make a spear.Ó
ÒIÕve
only seen rounded rocks, but there are these.Ó She walks down to the waters edge, heads
in the opposite direction from where he was and picks up a couple of
shells. ÒWill these work?Ó
ÒI
think so. LetÕs give them a try.Ó
ÒSo
you think youÕll have more luck with the fishies than
I did?Ó
He
nods.
ÒProbably
will.Ó She digs up another of her pods;
this one is filled with berries.
ÒThese are good. You need to
eat.Ó
He
tries one and says, ÒNot bad.Ó
ÒThey
may kill us over time, but I havenÕt dropped dead yet.Ó She grins at him and takes some of the
juicy little red caps. The taste
reminds him of something between blueberry and pomegranate.
She
leans back and watches him working on the spear. ÒYou really think you can just stab a
fish?Ó
ÒI
know I can.Ó He doesnÕt look up from
his work. ÒIÕve done it camping.Ó
ÒHow
often?Ó
He
smiles. ÒYou really donÕt have much
faith in me, do you?Ó
ÒOh,
I do. I think, for example, that
youÕll do a better job that I did on making us fire. So IÕm actually pulling for you to be
Jim the Impaler when it comes to the fish out
there. But theyÕre slippery
devils. IÕm just warning you.Ó
He
nods. ÒDuly noted. IÕm still gonna
catch us some. We canÕt live on
fruit alone, Chris.Ó
ÒI
know. I found some tubers, but they
smelled horrible, so I couldnÕt bring myself to taste them. I found the fruit by following the birds
and some monkey things around, took what they were eating.Ó
ÒNever
let it be said you arenÕt smart.Ó
ÒSmart
has never been my problem.
Impulsive, thatÕs my downfall.Ó
ÒSince
I can be the same way, I have no room to talk.Ó He rips off a bit of his shirt then
hands it to her. ÒCan you go get
this wet? I donÕt want to waste our
fresh water.Ó
She
takes the fabric to the waterÕs edge, bending over and letting it soak, then looks
back at him. ÒSopping?Ó
ÒYou
can wring it out a little.Ó
She
does that and takes it back to him.
He lays one side down on the ground, pressing it into the sand, then
picks it up and smiles. ÒPrimitive
sandpaper.Ó
She
laughs, then settles in to watch him smoothing out the branch. He periodically adds more sand, and his
invention works great.
ÒYou
realize,Ó she says, Òthat IÕm not going to let you go stand in the hot sun and
wait for fish to swim by.Ó
ÒI
still outrank you, Chris. I can
hunt for us if I feel like it. IÕm
hungry, and I donÕt want just fruit.Ó
She
sighs. ÒThirty minutes, then. If you canÕt catch one by the time I
think half an hour has gone by, IÕm putting an end to the fun.Ó
ÒFine.Ó He works on the point some more, says, ÒWe
never talked about your demotion.
Are you mad at me?Ó
ÒYou
werenÕt my favorite person in the whole world when you did it. But then you saved us from VÕger and I decided it was a wash.Ó She grins at him, as if to show she
means it, but there is something a little off in her expression.
ÒSo
weÕre okay?Ó
ÒWhy
wouldnÕt we be? Especially if you
catch us a fish that isnÕt full of poison.Ó
He
laughs and runs his hand down the spear, looking for rough spots. ÒAny reason we canÕt swim? Seen any sharks on this world?Ó
ÒIs
that your nice way of telling me I donÕt smell so good?Ó
He
makes a sheepish face. ÒHow could I
tell? All I can smell is my own
funk.Ó
ÒYou
were sick.Ó
ÒAnd
now IÕm getting well. Not stinking
will go a long way toward getting there.Ó
He looks around. ÒNo soap on
our island getaway. Sand will do, I
guess.Ó
ÒThereÕs
a fruit that smells sort of lemony.
Maybe we can use that in some way.
I can go get some later.Ó
He
nods. ÒI like to swim.Ó
She
stares out at the beautiful beach with the soft waves lapping at the sand. ÒI do, too.Ó She turns her gaze to him. ÒYou grew up in Iowa, right? Where did you swim?Ó
ÒPonds
mainly. Nasty places, looking back,
but back then they seemed like heaven.
You?Ó
ÒTrips
to the ocean—we lived close, in Los Angeles. A family of a friend of mine had a
summer house on Lake Michigan. I
used to go visit her there after she moved away from California.Ó
ÒI
feel free in the water.Ó He adds
more sand to the rag, rubs the stick more lightly than he has been, really just
fine tuning at this point, checking for any final rough spots.
ÒNice.Ó
ÒI
learned to do this when I was with Miramanee.Ó He smiles. ÒLearned a lot from that time,
actually.Ó
ÒShe
seemed like a nice woman.Ó
ÒShe
was.Ó He meets her eyes. ÒThe man who was Kirok
loved her more than anything.Ó
ÒThat
must be confusing.Ó She looks
down. ÒI felt that way after we
found Roger. After knowing I slept
with an android. Like that was
another me, but it wasnÕt. I didnÕt
have amnesia. I had no damn excuse.Ó
ÒSo,
you did sleep with him? I was never
sure.Ó
She
nods. ÒScrubbed myself raw for a
week.Ó She leans back on her
elbows. ÒHe was good, too. Much better than the real Roger ever
was. It niggled at me, you
know? How he got so much better
with only Brownie, Ruk, and the geisha around. I landed on the geisha being a good
teacher, not my fiancŽ being a machine.Ó
He
laughs, but sympathetically. ÒAh,
those halcyon memories we have.Ó He
throws down his makeshift sandpaper and gets to his feet. ÒReady to see me go native?Ó
She
laughs and gets up, following him down to the water. He tells her to stand very still and
wades into the water to his knees, then stands like a statue, the spear poised
to strike.
ÒThe
hard part is that things arenÕt exactly where you think and the fish move
fast. The trick is to strike where
you think the fish will go, not where they are when you see them. IÕm going to shut up now so theyÕll come
close.Ó
It
takes him three tries before he snags a fish. ItÕs a small one, so he keeps going
until he gets another one. Then he
carries them up. ÒI caught them,
you clean them.Ó
ÒRiiiiiight.Ó
She looks at the fish with disdain.
ÒYou think I have any idea how to do that?Ó
ÒWell,
then, prepare to learn. IÕm not
doing all the work here.Ó He is
smiling as he shows her, taking one of the shells she found and using it as a
knife and a scaler. Then he realizes she is watching him
with the expression of someone who is judging how he is doing, not learning. ÒWait a damn minute, woman. You know how to do this, donÕt you?Ó
She
laughs. ÒOkay, so I may have spent
many afternoons with my friend on Lake Michigan fishing—and having to
clean what we caught. But playing
dumb can get you out of all kinds of nasty tasks.Ó
ÒIÕll
remember youÕre tricky.Ó
She
just smirks, then she gets more of her leaves to wrap the fish in—without
him asking. ÒWhat? I saw it on a nature special.Ó
He
just shakes his head. ÒTotally
snookering me.Ó
She
nods. ÒBut catching them without a
pole is still outside my area of expertise. As is making a fire, so if you want to
eat these babies, you will get on that.Ó
She
has everything he needs piled up.
Dry wood. Some rushes to
catch quickly. She shows him her
technique, isnÕt quite getting the making of the spark part.
He
gets it going in no time. ÒAnother
gift from living with the tribe.Ó
ÒCan
I ask a question you may not want to answer?Ó
He
laughs. ÒI donÕt see anyone to stop
you.Ó
ÒIf
Miramanee hadnÕt been killed, if sheÕd carried your
baby to term, what would you have done?Ó
He
can feel himself shutting down, and she looks like she regrets asking.
ÒIÕm
sorry. Never mind. ItÕs none of my business.Ó
He
feeds wood to the fire, then turns to look at her. ÒI have a son. His mother...his mother keeps me out of
his life. IÕve wanted in, over the
years, but sheÕs not the kind to bend.
IÕm not sure what I would have done about Miramanee. I swore if I ever had another child, I
would be in his or her life.Ó
She
doesnÕt look away. ÒIÕm sorry. That you canÕt see your son.Ó
He
shrugs, but hopes it comes off as a helpless gesture, not an uncaring one. ÒIt is how it is. Carol wonÕt back down. SheÕs strong—itÕs why I fell for
her. DidnÕt think what that
strength would feel like coming back at me.Ó He takes the leaf-wrapped fish from her,
arranges the bundle in the fire on top of some rocks sheÕs found for him at the
edge of the forest. ÒOh, for some
salt.Ó
ÒSorry. That I donÕt have on hand. Although the seawater is salty. It would take a month to evaporate it
out, but now that we have Jim the Firestarter with
us, we could use one of the pods and boil the water off.Ó
He
smiles. ÒAlways the scientist.Ó
ÒAlways.Ó
He
lies down under the enclosure. ÒIÕm
going to let you tend the food, if itÕs all the same to you? IÕm bushed.Ó
ÒI
told you. That felt like more than
half an hour.Ó
ÒBarely.Ó He smiles. ÒWake me when itÕs done?Ó
ÒItÕll
be done in no time.Ó
ÒThatÕs
okay.Ó
She
smiles and lets him be, and he wakes up on and off to see her checking the
fish. She fills one of her spare pods
with seawater and puts it aside.
Always a scientist, readying to make them some salt, no doubt, once they
get eating out of the way.
She
wakes him when the fish is done.
They eat it off the leaf she cooked it in. It tastes bland as hell. But itÕs protein—or it should be
if this world works like Earth—and they need that. Fish oil wonÕt hurt either. Unless the fish is toxic, in which case
theyÕll be dead soon.
He
doesnÕt feel any cramping in his stomach the way he thinks poison would make
him feel. No creepy rash going
across his skin. He checked the
fish out carefully when he caught it: no spines, no beaks, and theyÕre nowhere
near a reef or lagoon. It is the
best he can do.
ÒDefinitely
needs salt,Ó she says. ÒTasteless,
IÕm afraid. But beggars canÕt be
choosers. Thank you for catching us
dinner.Ó
ÒNo
problem.Ó He smiles and closes his
eyes, drifting off for real.
##
She
wakes early, before the sun comes up, builds the fire back up, and watches the
water in the pod boil down. ItÕs a
slow process, even though she only filled the pod a quarter full, but she can
already see salt lining the side of the pod where water has boiled off. She smiles thinking about the fish with
some seasoning.
ÒDid
you sleep?Ó There is a shuffle of
sand as Jim moves over to her.
ÒHey, look, salt. YouÕre a
magician.Ó
She
laughs. ÒScientist, please.Ó She gives him her haughtiest voice and
hears him laugh. ÒAnd yes, I slept
some. IÕm a little keyed up. Used to staying awake to watch over
you.Ó
ÒWell,
you donÕt have to do that. IÕm
getting better. How about I take
care of you for a while?Ó
ÒThat
sounds great.Ó She yawns and then
laughs in embarrassment.
ÒYouÕre
not sick, are you?Ó
ÒNot
so far. I think the transmission
period would be over by now, but I suppose I could still get ill.Ó She turns to look at him. ÒYou do look better.Ó
ÒI
want to go swimming.Ó
ÒWait
until itÕs light. If there are any
sharks on this world, weÕll never see them coming in the dark.Ó
ÒFine. Although we probably wonÕt see them
coming in the light either—theyÕre not successful hunters because they
advertise their presence.Ó
ÒWhat? The tribe had sharks, too?Ó
He
laughs. ÒNature vids.Ó He shifts so heÕs lying on his stomach,
watching the fire, elbows in the sand, his chin propped on his hands. ÒIf I leave out the fact that nasty
people may be looking for us, I can almost imagine weÕre camping.Ó
She
smiles.
ÒWhich
from the sound of it, you donÕt do?Ó
ÒI
donÕt. But IÕm kind of good at it
so far, so maybe I should.Ó
ÒMaybe
you should.Ó He turns over on his
back, stares up at her, and she realizes that when he looks at a person—really
looks, like he is right now—heÕs damn near irresistible...and he probably
knows it. Probably practices that
look in the mirror. ÒI donÕt know
very much about you, Chris. Likes,
dislikes. What you do in your spare
time.Ó
ÒDid
it ever matter before?Ó
ÒWell,
technically it doesnÕt matter now.Ó
He grins, and she finds herself wondering how real the expression is. ÒBut I find myself wanting to know.Ó
She
adds a piece of wood to the fire.
ÒBecause youÕre bored?Ó
ÒNo,
not because IÕm bored. Because I
find you interesting.Ó
ÒWell,
yeah, weÕre on a deserted island.
Who else are you going to hit on?Ó
His
grin fades and he sits up slowly.
ÒThat wasnÕt what I was doing.Ó
She
realizes that once again sheÕs let impulsiveness rule the day—and sheÕs
gone way too far without entirely meaning to. ÒSir, IÕm sorry.Ó
He
doesnÕt tell her to call him Jim, just waves her off.
ÒNo,
really, I donÕt know why I said that.Ó
ÒMe
neither. But clearly I did
something to make you uncomfortable, and I apologize.Ó He pushes himself up and stalks off into
the dark.
ÒShit.Ó
She gets up and follows him,
actually runs into him because he hasnÕt gone far, probably stopped to let his
eyes adjust after the fire, which she should have done. ÒIÕm sorry, sir.Ó
ÒGo
back to the fire, Chapel.Ó
She
sighs and reaches for him, hoping sheÕll hit an arm and not his chest—arm
it is. ÒIÕm really sorry. I donÕt know why I said that.Ó
ÒYeah,
you said that already.Ó He takes a
step away from her, and her hand drops off. ÒIÕm not the man-slut everyone thinks I
am.Ó
ÒI
know, sir.Ó
ÒYou
clearly donÕt know or you wouldnÕt have said what you did. Go back to the goddamned fire. ThatÕs an order, lieutenant.Ó
She
can hear steel in his voice so she mutters, ÒYes, sir,Ó and goes back to the
fire.
When
itÕs light enough to finally see him, she spots him sitting far down the beach,
just outside the surf line, staring out at the ocean.
##
Kirk
hears footsteps in the sand, turns his eyes away from the sea, now lit by the full
light of morning, and sees Chapel walking toward him, two peach-like things in
her hands.
She
hands him one and sits down without asking. ÒYou need to eat. These are good. Juicy, though. Watch out for the first bite.Ó
He
puts his down in the sand.
ÒOh
for GodÕs sake, sir, canÕt you be a professional and listen to your doctor?Ó
ÒThatÕs
ironic, coming from you. See, I
woke up, a sick officer on a strange island with my doctor. I asked said doctor some simple
questions about her background to make some fucking small talk and immediately
IÕm guilty of coming on to her. So,
tell me, lieutenant, who is the goddamned professional here and who isnÕt?Ó
He
can sense her tensing up, and he has the feeling she is biting her tongue to
keep from saying what she wants to.
He turns so heÕs facing her.
ÒPlease, by all means, speak your mind, Chapel.Ó
ÒI
was out of line. But I also find it
hard to believe you would have asked McCoy those questions.Ó
ÒOf
course I wouldnÕt have. I know him. YouÕre on my senior staff and I donÕt
know you.Ó
ÒAnd
you know the background of everyone on your senior staff?Ó
ÒThe
ones I picked I do. The ones Decker
picked...?Ó He lets it trail off on
purpose. Wants her to get mad. Wants to know once and for all if his
suspicions are right about how she got the posting.
ÒAh. So thatÕs what this is about.Ó She bites into her fruit, chews it
slowly, and he thinks she is marshaling her thoughts as she eats.
He
decides he is being stupid in denying himself food, so he picks his up, brushes
off the sand, and bites into it. It
is juicy. ItÕs also tasty as hell.
ÒAre
you trying to say IÕm DeckerÕs person or his woman?Ó
ÒYou
tell me.Ó
ÒI
guess I donÕt have to ask why youÕd think that. My history with Roger.Ó She shakes her head. ÒI didnÕt sleep with Will.Ó
ÒA
CMO posting, especially aboard the flagship, is for lieutenant commanders and
above.Ó He watches her
expression. ÒAh, he promised you a
promotion.Ó
ÒNo
one can promise you a promotion. I
know that. I found it out my last
two years on the Enterprise when Len
told me IÕd make lieutenant. But
you never put me in for it, did you?Ó
ÒSpock
ran the eval panels for all but senior staff. But medical doesnÕt go through normal
panels. It goes directly through
Starfleet Medical. If you didnÕt
get promoted, itÕs because Bones didnÕt make a strong enough case for
you.Ó HeÕs never heard Bones
complain about Chapel not getting her rank, which is usually the section head song
of choice right after promotion announcements. He isnÕt going to tell Chapel that,
though. Knowing
Bones—Pollyanna that he is when it comes to misjudging the power of the
bureaucracy—he promised her something he thought he could deliver but
couldnÕt. And he wouldnÕt have bitched
about something that was his fault: heÕs smart enough to know that expectations
being set appropriately are a bossÕs job.
ÒFine. Whatever. Will may have implied heÕd push really
hard for me to get the appropriate rank for the position. Look, I met him a long time
ago—when his father died. I
went to see him, because I thought weÕd have some things in common, both losing
people to space.Ó
Kirk
nods grudgingly. This is his
fallback reason for her getting the slot—if she didnÕt sleep her way to
it.
ÒIf
we ever get off this godforsaken island, IÕll send you my request for
transfer. You can hire your own fucking
deputy CMO.Ó She pushes herself up. ÒOne whoÕs the right rank already. ItÕs a cinch IÕll never make lieutenant
commander under Len if he couldnÕt get me to lieutenant.Ó She stalks off.
He
watches her go, anger suddenly boiling inside him. Anger that hasnÕt gone away from when he
was on Earth, chained to a desk. He
thought getting his ship back would make everything better. He thought being in space and not
Earthbound would make him happy.
That this...tension would go away.
This rage that always seems to be bubbling right under the surface. The rage that Lori said was the reason
she didnÕt want to renew their marriage.
Not
that she was afraid of him. She
said she felt sorry for him.
She
said that right before he saw the reports on VÕger. Right before he hatched up his scheme.
Right
before he got back the one thing he really wanted: his ship.
And
got Spock and Bones back in the process.
He should be content. And
yet still thereÕs this restless feeling, the underlying anger that spills out
at the weirdest times, and the guilt.
The goddamn guilt.
Chapel
isnÕt the only person on his ship that Decker hand selected. Every time Kirk looks at them, he sees
Decker behind them, DeckerÕs formerly hopeful and excited face now wearing a
look of utter disappointment in the man who had recommended him for the Enterprise.
Kirk
turns back to the sea, bites into the fruit, and tries to find some modicum of
calm. He is also scanning the
horizon for any sign of a ship. Enemy
or friend—not that he is entirely sure he can tell the two apart on this planet. TheyÕd seen no evidence of high seas
piracy when theyÕd done scans, but the damn sensor holes apparently hid a world
of sin. He and Chapel were
shanghaied while they were scouting out the harbor area in the capital. Knocked unconscious before they could
contact the ship, they woke up on a boat in the middle of one of the dead zones
that makes their transdermal communicators useless.
He
looks away from the sea and turns his eyes upward. ÒDamn it, Spock. Where are you?Ó
He
sighs and finishes his fruit. HeÕs
going to bathe soon, but he has a doctor to go mollify. She did keep him alive. And he may have overreacted to her
question. ItÕs what he does now,
and he hates it.
The
Enterprise is his. He shouldnÕt feel guilty for taking what
was his to begin with. When he
tried to talk to Spock about his guilt, Spock laid out a logic trail that made
perfect sense as it arrived at this very conclusion: Kirk in charge of the ship
he should never have given up.
But
somehow it all feels like rationalizing after the fact. He wanted off Earth; he wanted back into
space. So he stole his ship back. And got Decker killed in the process.
He
sighs. Here he goes again:
spiraling around the same themes.
He gets up since this is getting him nowhere.
##
Chapel
is grinding up the best smelling of the fruits. She doesnÕt care what Kirk does, but
sheÕs going to take a bath. He can
watch, he can join in, he can drown, he can fucking stick his head in the sand
and take a deep breath for all she cares.
He
walks up, kicking the sand in a way that lets her know heÕs trying to make sure
he doesnÕt startle her. ÒHow much
apologizing am I going to have to do to get some of that? YouÕre making us something to wash with,
right?Ó
She
nods. ÒIf youÕre only apologizing
to get some of this, donÕt bother.
IÕll give it to you anyway.Ó
He
kneels down just behind her, and she has to crane her neck to see him. His eyes are closed, and he is shaking
his head. ÒIÕm sorry, Chris. This didnÕt have to go off the rails the
way it did. IÕm...IÕm not myself
these days.Ó
ÒSure. Okay.Ó She goes back to grinding the
fruit. When he starts to say more,
she turns to face him. ÒSir,
donÕt. All right? Just donÕt. You and I, weÕve never been
friends. Why the hell should we
start now? And the fact that we
canÕt have an innocent conversation without it devolving into something ugly—when
weÕre the only two people on this goddamned island—is pretty damn
sad. And also pretty indicative of
how not right I am for your senior staff.Ó
She looks down at the pod, has a sudden urge to tell him to go grind his
own damn fruit up, that this is hers.
But instead she hands him the thing and says, ÒDonÕt use it all. I didnÕt risk splinters to not get any
for myself.Ó
He
hands it back. ÒYou go first.Ó
She
stares at him and doesnÕt take it.
ÒReally? Just go use it.Ó
He
looks angry again. ÒIÕm not going
to go first.Ó
ÒWell,
neither am I.Ó She stares at him
and he stares back, and against her will she starts to laugh softly because
they are both being so fucking stupid.
ÒHowÕs this? We turn our
back to each other and do it at the same time? We can share it.Ó
ÒBrilliant
concept.Ó He starts to laugh softly,
too. ÒIÕm sure weÕll find a way to
mess up the execution.Ó
ÒOh,
on that weÕre agreed.Ó
They
walk down to the water, turn away from each other, and she says, ÒSand first,
then this?Ó
ÒYep. Just go easy on the sand. You want to leave some skin.Ó
ÒI
sort of figured that out on my own, sir.Ó
ÒJesus,
Chris, call me Jim. IÕm sick of the
formal shit.Ó
She
sighs. ÒFine. I sort of figured that out on my own, Jim.Ó If anything, it sounds even snottier with
his name replacing sir.
By
his sigh, he agrees.
She
slips her clothing off, hears him doing the same, and then they walk into the
water. She kneels down, scoops up a
handful of sand. Makes sure there
arenÕt any errant sea creatures in it, and begins to scrub. It feels good so long as she doesnÕt go
too hard. Like he said. SheÕs pretty sure sheÕd have figured
that out on her own.
She
goes deeper into the water to wash off the sand and feels a bump against her
back. When she turns, she finds
herself facing Kirk with a great deal of her breasts out of the water. She ducks quickly and knows her face is
flaming. ÒSorry.Ó
ÒIÕm
sorry. I slipped. DidnÕt mean to bump up against
you.Ó
ÒI
know.Ó She sighs. ÒYouÕve seen naked bodies before. IÕve seen them, too. This is ridiculous.Ó She swims to shore, grabs the pod, and
carries it back to the shallow spot she started in. ÒI draw the line at rubbing you down.Ó
ÒGood. Good to know thereÕs a line.Ó HeÕs clearly blushing and very obviously
trying to keep his eyes up as he dips his hand into the pod and smears the lemonish-smelling smashed fruit on himself. Then he holds it for her and she does
the same. ÒWell, looks like we can
both be professionals when we have to be.Ó
ÒLooks
like. Our clothes stink, too.Ó
ÒYeah. That thought occurred to me.Ó
ÒWe
can wash them, lay them out to dry, or hang them on some of our extra branches
in the sun.Ó
He
nods.
She
can feel her face turning red again.
ÒWhich leaves us rather...Ó
ÒNaked.Ó
ÒYep. But now that I know you werenÕt hitting
on me, itÕll be so much less embarrassing.Ó
He
closes his eyes and the sound that comes out, a short exhale of air, seems
halfway between amusement and annoyance.
ÒYou do know youÕre a bitch, right?Ó
ÒI
do. But thanks for telling me. I might not have realized it yet.Ó She starts to laugh. ÒYou done with this?Ó She lifts the almost empty gourd.
He
nods and she tosses the thing back to shore, near their clothes.
ÒWell,
IÕm going to swim, sir—Jim.Ó
And she does, dives under the water, no doubt giving him a quick but
excellent view of her rear, and swims as fast and far from him as she can get.
When
she pops back up to the surface, she sees that heÕs done something similar in
the other direction.
The
water feels like heaven, and she swims until sheÕs tired of it, and then she
just floats. HeÕs paddling not too
far away, and there is such a look of peace on his face that she feels like
trying to make things better between them.
ÒItÕs
nice,Ó she calls out to him.
He
turns to face her. ÒIt is.Ó He paddles closer. ÒDamn near perfect temperature.Ó
ÒYeah.Ó She swims a little closer to him. ÒDonÕt splash me. I hate that.Ó
ÒWasnÕt
going to. DidnÕt even cross my
mind, to be honest.Ó
ÒRoger
used to do that. He thought it was
funny.Ó
ÒWhy?Ó He seems to really want to know.
ÒProbably
because he had a shitty sense of humor.Ó
She laughs when he does.
ÒThe darker answer is that he wanted to make sure you always knew where
you stood. Being splashed did not
come with the right to splash back.
I did it anyway.
HeÕd...pout, I guess is the best word.Ó
Kirk
frowns. ÒWhy did you fall for him
if he was like that? I mean the
behavior clearly continued all the way to Exo III.Ó
ÒEgomaniac
to the end.Ó She sighs. Explaining why she fell for Roger is
never fun.
ÒHe
was your advisor, right?Ó
She
nods and meets his eyes. ÒThat kind
of says it all, doesnÕt it?Ó
ÒDoes
it? I can see two possible reasons for
that. Ambition or love.Ó
ÒOr
both. Or maybe one drives the
other.Ó
ÒWhich
came first?Ó
She
looks away. ÒAmbition probably.Ó
ÒWow. Okay. Not the answer I expected.Ó
ÒI
know. I donÕt know why IÕm being so
damn honest with you. IÕve already
ticked you off, I guess IÕm going for new lows.Ó She gives him a sad smile and then
paddles away.
A
moment later, heÕs caught up with her.
ÒI donÕt blame you.Ó
She
turns to look at him. ÒFor...?Ó
ÒFor
being with him for ambition.
Because it wasnÕt ambition that sent you off to find him, that made you
derail—in essence—your career just so you could look for him. Somewhere along the line loyalty and
love became more important to you than advancement.Ó
ÒYou
make me sound so noble.Ó She
studies him. ÒLoyalty—thatÕs
important to you, isnÕt it?Ó
ÒItÕs
none of my business what your motivation was for searching for Roger, but yeah,
loyalty is important to me.Ó He
starts to smile. ÒI guess I like to
think my senior staff are here for better reasons than just to get ahead.Ó
ÒYour senior staff? A while ago I was DeckerÕs.Ó
ÒYou
can be both.Ó He smiles. ÒCanÕt you?Ó
ÒI
can. But maybe I donÕt want to.Ó
ÒMaybe
you donÕt.Ó Something in his face
changes. Something that seems to
say, ÒNo skin off my nose if you donÕt.Ó
She
sighs and paddles away.
He
doesnÕt follow her this time.
##
Kirk
stares up at the sky as he floats, wondering when or even if Spock is going to
find them. ItÕs not in his nature
to give up, but thereÕs something so isolated about the island theyÕre on that
itÕs hard to keep thinking heÕll pull a win out of this.
Especially
when heÕs here, on his goddamn beach, with a quick-witted scientist who appears
to not like him. ItÕs like his
dream girl—in hell.
And
maybe the perfect punishment for stealing WillÕs ship out from under him? Stuck here with WillÕs officer while the
ship goes on without him.
Shit. This is getting him nowhere. He kicks in for shore, sees that Chapel
is still floating, decides to let her be.
He finds his clothing—clothes that were supposed to blend in, just
as the brow ridges Bones modified for them were supposed to. This was going to be a simple
observe-and-go type of thing. Five
teams of two, he hopes to God the other ones had better luck than he and Chapel
did.
And
he hopes theyÕre getting along better.
He chose her for his team on purpose. Wanted to find out where she stands. And now he knows. Although heÕs not sure he cares anymore. If she doesnÕt want to be on his ship,
on the best ship in the whole goddamned fleet, then thatÕs her loss.
He
soaks his clothing, scrubbing with sand and using half of whatÕs left of the
mashed up fruit to try to get the shirt and pants smelling clean. Then he hangs them from the branches he
sticks into the sand as she suggested.
ÒGood
idea.Ó Chapel seems to be trying to
keep her eyes anywhere but on him, and he appreciates that.
He
walks away, finds a place to sit and hugs his knees to his chest, facing the
ocean while she works on her own clothing.
The
silence between them is unnerving, especially given how nice it was to find her
caring for him when he woke up weak from being sick. They went from getting along to being
mad at each other in record time—heÕs not sure he could have ticked off
Lori as fast as he did Chris.
Although she ticked him off, first.
With her snotty comment about him hitting on her.
Have
they always had problems and he just didnÕt notice? He thinks back, remembers the woman who
was so grateful when he protected KorbyÕs reputation after his death. The woman who was so kind to his dying
wife.
When
did things go so wrong?
Maybe
when he demoted her and made Will tell her?
Maybe
when he didnÕt try to explain his reasons after Will was gone.
Maybe
when heÕs taken Bones on landing party after landing party, leaving her out
until this one.
Hell
of a mission to decide to include her on.
He
sighs and puts his chin on his knees, wishing he could shake the feelings that
have nagged him since he first fed Nogura the line
about being the only one who could take on VÕger. The shame that he had done that to a man
who considered him a mentor, vindication that he got to keep the ship, and fear
that Command would realize they were too hasty and take it all away from him.
These
feelings keep him up at night. He
used to sleep like a baby, the sound of his ship soothing, not a constant
reminder of everything he has to lose.
And
here he is stuck with the woman who knows first hand what he was willing to
do. Does he really have to wonder why
theyÕre having a hard time getting along?
HeÕs gone from being her patient to being the asshole who got her
captain killed and took her opportunity away.
He
closes his eyes, hating the spiraling self-doubt that started midway through
his marriage with Lori. When the
realization that he made a terrible mistake accepting a desk job hit. When the glow of being an admiral wore
off and he understood that he hated his job.
When
he and Lori stopped having sex.
When he started having problems—shit, he hates that most of
all. The Casanova of the Quadrant couldnÕt
fucking get it up with his own wife.
Ex-wife.
ItÕs
probably why he reacted so strongly to what Chapel said. HeÕs sure as shit not going to tell her
that, though.
##
They
are sitting hunched over on the beach waiting for their clothes to dry
out. There is nothing to do other
than maybe fish, but she imagines Kirk doesnÕt want to do that until he has his
pants back on.
Her
back is starting to hurt from trying to cover up all her naughty bits, and she
finally says, ÒOh, to hell with it,Ó and turns around, lying on her
stomach. He can stare at her ass if
he so desires, but she will, by God, be comfortable.
She
hears him moving around, glances over and sees heÕs chosen to lie on his
back. He turns his head, meets her
eyes, and smiles in a way she canÕt read.
ÒWhat?Ó
she asks.
ÒYou
liked me better sick and unconscious, didnÕt you?Ó
She
thinks about that. ÒNo, not
better. I think that was easier to
deal with. You were a patient. My duty was clear. I didnÕt have to like you or trust you
or anything else. I just had to
take care of you.Ó
ÒYou
donÕt trust me?Ó
ÒI
donÕt know, Jim.Ó She decides to
use his name—trust or no, theyÕre all theyÕve got on this miserable
little island. ÒI mean, yes, of
course, I trust you as my captain.
As the man who will rescue us from every bad thing that comes
along. But as a person—as my
boss—I honestly donÕt know.Ó
ÒI
understand that, actually. I trust
you with my life and my health.
But...I didnÕt want you as CMO, Chris. I wanted Bones in that role—itÕs
more than just being a doctor.Ó
ÒI
know.Ó She rolls to her side, sees
his eyes widen for a moment at the full frontal view she is giving him, then the
professional is back in place and he focuses on her face ÒAnd I wanted Will to be in charge. Will and Sonak
and me in medical. Not you and
Spock and Len. Not again.Ó
He
looks slightly defeated. ÒWhatever
you want to do when we get back to the ship is fine. IÕll write you a great recommendation if
thatÕs what you want.Ó
ÒOkay.Ó She rolls to her back, doesnÕt check to
see if heÕs looking at her. What the hell does it matter if he is? ÒAnd if I donÕt want to leave?Ó
ÒIÕd
like you to stay.Ó
She
laughs quietly. ÒYouÕre just saying
that because weÕre stuck on this island and you need me.Ó
ÒWell,
there is that.Ó
ÒWhy
would you want me to stay? After
this charming set of conversations weÕve had. I think IÕve proven I only open my mouth
to change feet.Ó
He
starts to laugh. ÒAnd my impulse
control is low when it comes to overreacting.Ó He glances at her. ÒWe can try a safer subject. Like, say, how I canÕt wait to try the
salt out.Ó
ÒWe
are going to get so sick of fish if weÕre here for long.Ó
ÒMaybe
we can find some shellfish. I donÕt
really want to eat a monkey.Ó
ÒNot
technically a monkey.Ó
He
laughs. ÒI know but still... The birds maybe. I could make a sling of some kind.Ó
ÒI
hope weÕre not here that long.Ó She
looks over at him.
HeÕs
staring up at the sky, his eyes narrowed.
ÒThey
would have been here by now if they knew where we were, wouldnÕt they?Ó
He
nods.
ÒOur
biosigns are significantly different. If Spock can find a way to scan the dead
zones, you know heÕll find us. And
if anyone can find a way...Ó
He
nods. But he doesnÕt look terribly
convinced.
She
gets up and walks back into the water, staying near the surf, letting the
gentle waves lap against her skin.
ÒI
used to dream of this,Ó he says, his voice carrying the distance between
them. ÒA beach to walk on.Ó
ÒYour
dream came true.Ó She looks back at
him and grins. ÒI somehow donÕt
think I figured in that dream.
Probably someone less bitchy would be in order.Ó Possibly someone Vulcan and male if the
rumors are to be believed. SheÕs
not sure if she thinks theyÕre together or not. She knows Ny poo-poos
the whole idea.
ÒA
bitchy scientist is actually something IÕm very used to.Ó
She
laughs. ÒThatÕs so sad for you.Ó
ÒIt
really is, isnÕt it?Ó
She
hears him getting up, then he says, ÒIÕm going to get some sleep under the
shelter. Can I just say how happy I
am that this beach doesnÕt have sand fleas?Ó
ÒYes,
in that, we are lucky.Ó She
splashes water over her shoulders and allows herself the rare luxury of sitting
and doing absolutely nothing.
She
thinks it would feel more precious if she actually had a choice.
##
Kirk
smiles as he takes a bite of the fish.
ÒThis is so much better with salt.Ó
ÒIt
really is. And your idea to add
some of the lemony fruit was a good one.Ó
HeÕs
feeling pretty proud of that idea.
He likes to cook and enjoys adding spices and flavoring in unexpected
ways. Lori was a huge fan of his
scrambled eggs with dill. ÒMaybe
the berries would be a new twist on it.
Now if we could just find something peppery.Ó
She
smiles. ÒEver the innovator. Sure you arenÕt an engineer or
scientist?Ó
ÒI
love science. And I know enough
about engineering to be dangerous.
You should see ScottyÕs face when I come up with a bright idea for his
engines.Ó
She
smiles, as if she can imagine just what Mister Scott might have to say about
dilettantes messing around in his domain.
ÒI
came up with things for MiramaneeÕs tribe, too. Better ways to do things. It was such a simple life.Ó
ÒBeing
married agreed with you.Ó
He
laughs and the sound is so bitter she gives him a funny look. ÒYou know I was married after I left the
ship, right? Term marriage to
another admiral. It went south
before the first year was out.Ó
ÒI
didnÕt know.Ó She looks down. ÒI was so busy with med school. I had a compressed schedule, barely saw
Ny and Jan.Ó
ÒLet
alone worry about what I was up to, huh?Ó
He doesnÕt like how that came out and hurries to say, ÒNot that you
should have. I mean...I was just
your captain.Ó And he realizes
sheÕs right. They have never really
been friends. The only reason he
knew her posting was CMO on the Enterprise was because he made it his business
to see who Will picked. If she had
gone anywhere else, he doubts he would have noticed or cared.
She
meets his eyes, the fearless gaze sheÕs always had, whether now or as a nurse,
telling him in no uncertain terms that he would get his inoculations and she didnÕt
care if they gave him a headache.
ÒIÕm sorry that IÕm such a bitch.
IÕm tired—really tired—from med school and then playing
catch-up on what CMOs do. And you
left me off every mission until this one.
I was nervous, to be honest.
I thought you were bringing me down here as a last hurrah before you
booted me off the ship.Ó
ÒSeriously?Ó
She
nods. ÒIf that wasnÕt what you were
doing, why am I here?Ó
ÒI
wanted to find out if I could trust you, where you stood.Ó
ÒCan
you trust me?Ó
ÒNot
if you canÕt trust me.Ó
She
nods as if this is the answer she expected. ÒThis little adventure may go a long way
in building trust.Ó
ÒEspecially
if we never get off this rock.Ó
Shit. Did he just say that
out loud?
But
she laughs. ÒYes, that is the worst
case scenario.Ó
ÒIÕm
sure there are other people youÕd rather be stuck here with.Ó Spock comes to mind, for instance, but
he doesnÕt say that, imagines itÕs rather a sore spot with her.
ÒYouÕre
all right to be stuck with. You do survive
the damnedest things.Ó She studies
him. ÒOr did you mean Spock? My hopeless crush and all?Ó
He
decides not to lie. ÒMaybe.Ó
She
takes a deep breath and pokes at the fire.
ÒIÕm going to tell you something—consider it a peace offering in
the form of truth and an embarrassing story. I went to Spock after VÕger. When he
was emotional. He still didnÕt want
me. Thank God, I approached it in a
logical fashion. I could walk away
with my head held semi high. It
wasnÕt like I threw myself at him.
But still...he didnÕt want me: he doesnÕt
want me. Never will.Ó She meets his eyes. ÒThere you go. Did Spock already tell you about it?Ó
ÒNo. Why would he?Ó He sees something in her face, something
heÕs seen in other peopleÕs faces.
ÒAh. The age-old rumor. No, IÕm not fucking my first officer.Ó
ÒAre
you in love with him?Ó
ÒNo. I love him, though. Like a brother.Ó
ÒOkay.Ó She nods thoughtfully and goes back to
her study of the fire.
ÒDo
you believe me?Ó
ÒYep.Ó
ÒYou
didnÕt have to tell me about Spock, Chris.Ó
ÒI
know. IÕm not always a bitch. Maybe I just wanted to make that clear.Ó
ÒSo
noted. And IÕm not
always...angry.Ó He decides to give
her his own truth. ÒWhen I was on
the ship—when you knew me before—I was happy. I mean I missed that beach I mentioned,
and someone to walk on it with, but the ship was everything to me. When I left it...Ó He looks down, plays in the sand, making
abstract designs. ÒI just got
angrier and angrier—inside, down deep, where itÕs hard to fight.Ó
ÒBut
you have your ship back now.Ó
ÒI
know. And yet the angerÕs still
there.Ó He meets her eyes. ÒI failed at my marriage. I donÕt fail at anything and I couldnÕt
even make it past the first year—the first six months if IÕm honest.Ó
ÒRelationships
are tricky.Ó
He
thinks of how Lori used to look at him when they were in bed. First, it had been all passion. Then as the months went by, as she got
tired of his moods, there were the angry fights followed by make-up sex. And then one day, the make-up sex turned
sour when he couldnÕt perform.
The
look in LoriÕs eyes—what she said to make it better. She did all the right things: it wasnÕt
her fault that all the right things just made him feel worse.
Just
made him angrier in that deep, dark place inside.
He
started to worry each time they had sex.
But sometimes it was good and that made it more difficult. It wasnÕt anything physically wrong with
him. It was in his head, in his
gut, in wherever his ambition and passion for space lived—his heart? Metaphorically speaking.
He
probably needed a shrink back then, but he was damned if he was going to let
one in. He probably still needs
one—not going to happen.
ÒDeep
thoughts?Ó
He
nods. ÒMy marriage had
problems. I had problems.Ó HeÕs not willing to give her more than
that. Waits to see if she gets it.
She
stretches out in the sand, her shirt riding up on her back, and he sees she is a
little bit sunburned. He probably
is, too.
ÒPerformance
problems?Ó she asks in a clinical way he thinks is her gift to him.
He
doesnÕt want to say yes. But he
nods quickly.
She
catches it. ÒIÕm not going to say
IÕm sorry and give you some platitude about when itÕs right, itÕs right. Because I understand that the more you
get too in your head about it, the more it becomes a problem. When Roger was getting ready to
leave—when he left me behind and I was mad about that—I
couldnÕt...relax.Ó
He
meets her eyes. ÒYou at least could
fake it.Ó
ÒDo
I strike you as someone who would do that?
I made things worse. Made
him angry. We stopped having sex.Ó She looks down. ÒThatÕs another reason I should have
known the Roger we found was off.
He was very diligent in making sure I came.Ó She looks down. ÒRoger told me IÕd become a frigid bitch
the night before he left. He
apologized the next morning. I
wanted to believe in him—to believe in us—so I let it go.Ó She lets out a deep breath. ÒSpock was wise to turn me down. What a mess IÕd be.Ó
ÒYou
havenÕt had sex since we found Roger?Ó
ÒI
have. Nothing serious. Nothing that mattered.Ó
ÒWas
it good sex?Ó
She
nods, but heÕs unsure what to make of her expression.
ÒGreat
good or just all right good?Ó
She
smiles. ÒThe latter. And you? Since your marriage?Ó
ÒHit
or miss.Ó
She
starts to laugh. At his look, she
touches his knee, just a fleeting tap, more a connection human to human than
anything else. ÒIÕm not laughing at
you: IÕm laughing at us. What a
pair. The romantic sap who canÕt
come and the great lover who canÕt always get it up.Ó
ÒWhen
you put it that way, we do sound pathetic.Ó
ÒI
donÕt talk about it. Normally.Ó
ÒYou
think I do? I have a reputation to
uphold.Ó He gives her a grin that
is probably sillier than his norm.
She
grins back, the smile especially endearing after a day of
misunderstandings. ÒIÕm tired. Truth is exhausting.Ó She puts her hand on his shoulder for a
moment, then crawls over to the enclosure and lies down on her side.
ÒTruth
is exhausting,Ó he says, as he stares
into the fire.
But
it occurs to him that heÕs finally getting what he asked for—heÕs finally
getting to know her.
##
Chapel
wakes to a morning rain shower. The
shelter leaks a little on her side so she moves toward Kirk. Otherwise, her craftsmanship is holding
up well.
As
the rain comes down, she studies her captain, this man she didnÕt want to serve
under again.
His
face in sleep is softer than when heÕs awake. Vulnerable. RogerÕs face wasnÕt. She imagines SpockÕs isnÕt either. TheyÕre
a lot alike. Emotionally
unavailable. Probably would have
got on famously.
ÒWhat
are you thinking about?Ó KirkÕs
eyes are open. He looks up at the
roof of their shelter, and she realizes he knows sheÕs moved closer to
him—and why.
ÒSpock. Roger. My need to pick men who wonÕt really
love me back.Ó
ÒHad
any epiphanies?Ó
ÒNope. But I might have if you hadnÕt woken up
and interrupted my big thoughts.Ó
She gives him a mock glare.
He
grins. ItÕs a lovely
expression. Open and free. Or so it seems, but she realized last
night during their impromptu confessional that there are two Jim Kirks. The one whoÕs in control—and the one
whoÕs not. And he works like hell
to hide the one whoÕs not. This
sunny grin is just one way.
ÒDo
I have something on my face?Ó HeÕs
still smiling, but itÕs a perplexed smile now.
ÒJust
thinking about you. How youÕre
maybe a little different than I thought.Ó
ÒI
gave away more than I normally would last night. And no scotch was involved.Ó He laughs, a nervous laugh, she thinks.
ÒI
did, too. And no tequila.Ó At his look, she smiles. ÒNot shots. I like to sip it. Learned that in L.A. The good stuff is really warm going
down.Ó
ÒI
know. IÕve had it that way in
Oaxaca.Ó
ÒRoger
was a wine snob. He wanted me to
love it the way he did, appreciate
it. I never got there. Always longed for my tequila. I was always just a little bit off.Ó
ÒWhat
do you mean?Ó
ÒHe
sailed and I grew up with motor boats.
I liked to go fast and water ski.
He liked to snow ski, but thought water skiing was for cretins.Ó She thinks of how she changed to please
Roger—trading in tequila for nouveau Beaujolais, a fast boat for a ship
she constantly had to watch out for getting hit by the boom or caught up in the
lines, freezing her ass off only to fall halfway down the ski slope.
Would
she have done that for Spock if he wanted her? Changed to please him?
Kirk—Jim
is watching her, his expression untroubled. He looks comfortable lying in the sand,
waiting for her to say more. Like
he has all day for her to talk, which technically he pretty much does.
She
decides to stop thinking about Roger and Spock. ÒSo what do you want to do today? Go shopping? Bowl?Ó
He
laughs. ÒOh, fine. But then IÕm going golfing like I wanted
to yesterday.Ó
ÒDo
you golf?Ó He doesnÕt strike her as
a golfer. Roger was always saying
he should take it up—that it was a good way to make contacts for
grants—but he never had time to learn.
He
makes a face. ÒNo. Never saw the appeal of chasing a ball
around when I could be climbing a mountain.Ó
ÒAlways
trying to reach the sky.Ó
He
looks surprised, like he never considered it that way. ÒSure, have epiphanies for me, why donÕt
you?Ó
She
smiles. ÒItÕs also dangerous. You like to test limits.Ó
ÒWhat,
are you profiling me now?Ó He leans
in. ÒGo ahead, I dare you.Ó
ÒI
know you. ItÕs not a fair
assessment.Ó
ÒBut
how well do you know me?Ó He looks
out at the rain. ÒWeÕve got plenty
of time.Ó
ÒOkay,
but you canÕt get mad.Ó
ÒDo
your worst.Ó
She
takes a deep breath. ÒWeÕve
established youÕre a thrill seeker, but it doesnÕt sound like you were on solid
ground when you were, well, on solid ground. The ship makes you brave. You think youÕre at your best there.Ó
ÒI
am at my best there.Ó
ÒAre
you? Did you try to be at your best
on Earth?Ó
He
doesnÕt answer quickly, seems to think about the question. ÒI did, at first. When I was a brand spanking new admiral and
convinced that I could make a difference.
On a ship, Chris, as captain, your destiny is yours. There are no hoops to jump through, no
bureaucrats making you sign a hundred authorizations to requisition a goddamned
shuttle. The ship is your whole
world and you own it. You serve it
and live it all the time, too, but itÕs liberating. You do what the mission calls for and explain
yourself later. Write up whatever
reports you need to, promise to be good, and then go on with life knowing you
wonÕt.Ó
She
smiles gently. ÒYouÕre a
rebel. And youÕre a lone wolf
outside of your family, arenÕt
you? Not really part of the pack
back at Command. Is that why you
married another admiral? To become
accepted? I imagine she was going
places, right? Fast track, golden
child?Ó
He
nods. ÒNoguraÕs
favorite. Hmmmm. She really wasnÕt my type now that you
mention it. Which is why it fell
apart so fast, probably.Ó
ÒI
think it probably fell apart because she didnÕt get you that acceptance—she
couldnÕt. Only you could by
following the group norms, but all you wanted was to be back on your
ship.Ó She stops even though he
nods at what sheÕs said, knows the next part may anger him. ÒWill looked up to you. He worshipped
you. And you stole the ship right
out from under him.Ó
ÒI
know.Ó ThereÕs something in his
expression—she realizes he feels guilty.
ÒYou
feel guilt, but not enough to give the ship back and let some other officer
have her. Maybe thatÕs part of your
anger. That you did it, that you
could do it, and that part of you thinks you donÕt deserve the ship, didnÕt
earn it.Ó
ÒI
saved the goddamned quadrant, maybe more.Ó
ÒWe
did. Not just you. All of us. And Will did.Ó
He
closes his eyes. ÒYes. Will did. I just manipulated. Pushed.Ó
ÒNo,
sir, you did not.Ó
He
looks at her in surprise. At her
tone, probably, and her choice of what to call him. SheÕs using sir for a reason. She wants him to understand her
fully.
ÒWill
couldnÕt have gotten us as far as you did.
And he wouldnÕt have been ready to make the sacrifice he did, if you
hadnÕt stolen the ship.Ó
He
looks away. ÒHe said he wanted
it—to merge with VÕger. As much as I wanted the Enterprise, he wanted that.Ó
ÒAnd
he did. And we got away. And now things are the way they are
because you betrayed him and saved us all.Ó
ÒYou
just said I didnÕt do it myself.Ó
ÒWords
are tricky. But youÕre a smart
boy. I know you followed that.Ó
He
smiles. ÒIÕve talked about this to
Spock, but he doesnÕt understand.
ItÕs logical, therefore itÕs fine.Ó
ÒThat
sounds like him. What about Len?Ó
ÒHe
gives me words about my best destiny on a ship.Ó
ÒMy
best destiny was probably in a lab, but I went another way. We can always go another way. The question is can we live with our second
best destiny.Ó
ÒHow
big is the gap between first and second?Ó
ÒWell,
thereÕs that question, too. I
thought it was going to be short term, my detour. Find Roger. Give him a piece of my mind. Go back to Earth with him. Marry. Have kids, maybe. Work together on groundbreaking
projects. The gap was huge. But I jumped it to get him back because
I thought it was the best course to find my way to the destiny I wanted.Ó
ÒYou
could have done it on your own.
YouÕre accomplished.Ó
ÒHe
gave me...gravitas, if you will. I
was young. I didnÕt want to jump
through the hoops, either. I wanted
to control my destiny my way. Oh,
my God. Roger was my Enterprise.Ó
ÒAnd
then Spock. The head of the science
department.Ó
She
closes her eyes. Nods slowly. ÒShit.Ó
ÒItÕs
okay. I donÕt want to be the only
fucked up person here.Ó
She
laughs. ÒNo danger of that.Ó Then her smile slips. ÒCan I stop profiling you now?Ó
ÒPlease,
God, yes.Ó He touches her face then
jerks his hand back. ÒIÕm
sorry. That was so inapp—Ó
ÒItÕs
okay. I didnÕt mind.Ó
He
meets her eyes for a moment, then rolls to his back and stares out at the rainy
beach. ÒI think youÕre right about
Lori. IÕve never been very well
liked by my peers. I moved up too
fast. Took chances and didnÕt have
to pay the price for that. Cheated
on a major test—anyone else would probably have been thrown out of the
Academy.Ó
ÒYou
cheated? That doesnÕt sound like
you.Ó
ÒOh,
I donÕt mean I cheated off someone elseÕs work. That isnÕt like me. I rigged a simulation so I could win a
no-win scenario.Ó
She
laughs. ÒSee, you really are so
innovative. I would have eventually
gotten to that in the profile.Ó
He
smiles. ÒYou donÕt think itÕs bad
to rig the game so you can win it?Ó
ÒNot
if you donÕt believe in the game to begin with.Ó She looks away. ÒRemember Andrea, the little geishadroid?Ó
He
laughs. ÒOh, yeah.Ó He looks like he is thinking about her
scandalously cut jumpsuit.
ÒShe
looked a lot like the women Roger dated before me. He liked curvy, small women with dark
hair. The woman right before me was
crazy about him. I...I stole him
from her. I didnÕt care if I hurt
her. I wanted him, therefore she
didnÕt matter—conventions didnÕt matter.Ó
ÒOkay,
but if you could steal him from her, then he wasnÕt hers.Ó
She
gives him a look. ÒYou just want me
to say that if you could rig the test, then it wasnÕt really much of a test.Ó
He
laughs. ÒNo, actually, I
donÕt. I worked really hard to rig
it. Not the easiest thing to hack
into. But I mean it. Men...men are different than women in a
lot of ways, but one of them is that we can be with someone to kill time a lot
more easily, in my opinion, than a woman can. WeÕre in a relationship but not
committed to it, and then the right person comes along and boom, weÕre done
with that other person. The other
person who probably wanted to have endless conversations about where the
relationship was going and how her friends were all getting engaged, or
married, or having babies. Because
she knew, deep down, that we werenÕt there. But she didnÕt want to say it.Ó
ÒSaying
it makes it real.Ó She smiles at
his nod. ÒI take it you speak from
experience?Ó
He
nods. ÒI was with someone when I
met Carol. This person—letÕs
call her Mary—wanted to spend every second with me. I avoided her when I got sick of it. I slipped away when a ÔtalkÕ was
looming. I did everything I could
to keep the sex going but not commit. And then I met Carol. And all that thought of not wanting to
commit went out the window. I was
gone on her. Just gone. We moved in together two weeks after we
met.Ó
ÒHow
long did you last?Ó
ÒToo
long. Not long enough. Both?Ó He touches her hand where it lies in the
sand, a quick stroke that feels good.
ÒSo my point really is: if you could steal Roger—and get him to
propose to you—itÕs because Roger wanted you.Ó
ÒThank
you.Ó
ÒItÕs
just the truth.Ó
ÒIt
hurt, though, to see her there on Exo III. The embodiment—only prettier than
any of them—of what came before me.
He didnÕt want me to be the model for his sex toy or whatever the hell
she was. I bet he never called her
a frigid bitch.Ó
ÒI
bet he never told her ÔI love you,Õ either.Ó
She
smiles. ÒI would have gotten to
sweet in your profile, too. So
sweet.Ó She realizes the rain has
finally let up. ÒIÕm going to
change the subject, if you donÕt mind?Ó
ÒI
donÕt mind. RainÕs let up.Ó
ÒI
know. You want breakfast?Ó
ÒFish
or fruit, I guess.Ó
She
nods.
ÒIÕm
going to make that sling I mentioned.
Get us some birds to add to the mix.Ó He stands up and holds out his hand to
pull her up.
She
lets him. ÒGo make tools. IÕll find us some fruit. The good thing about the rain is it
makes the splinters on the plants lie flat. They wonÕt pop back out until they dry,
so IÕm going to go forage like crazy.
IÕll look for vines or fibers, something you can use on your sling.Ó
ÒI
can go with you.Ó
ÒYou
can. And soon you will—in
fact, you may go instead of me. But
for now, rest. YouÕre still
recuperating, remember?Ó
He
laughs. ÒI have no intention of
arguing with you when you are in healer mode.Ó
She
smiles. ÒWise man.Ó
##
Kirk
stands on the beach, taking practice shots with his new sling. HeÕs getting closer to the stick targets
heÕs set up. They have shells on
the top heÕs trying to knock off.
Chris
is watching him from the sidelines.
ÒIÕd kill for a steak.Ó
ÒIs
that your idea of a vote of confidence?
I will get us some wild fowl
to eat.Ó
ÒI
donÕt know. Even the big birds
spook easily—like cardinals.Ó
ÒIÕm
still going to get one.Ó
ÒFine. But until you do, IÕm dreaming of filet
mignon drizzled with butter and—Ó
ÒCut
it out. YouÕre making me
hungry.Ó He glances over at
her. ÒBaked potato?Ó
ÒNot
my favorite. IÕm a sucker for
shoestring potatoes or sweet potatoes fries.Ó
ÒThoseÕll
work. My grandma used to grow
yams. Some sugar beets, too. I never took to farming, IÕll admit.Ó
ÒOf
course not. Your natural state is
looking up, not at the ground.Ó
He
laughs. ÒTrue. I like riding, though. But I guess you
look straight ahead more than up or down.Ó
ÒAnd
itÕs the thrill seeker thing. Also
control. Man over beast.Ó
ÒMan
with beast. Partnership works best.Ó She is suspiciously quiet, so he smiles
and asks, ÒYou have a comment you donÕt want to say because it will ruin the
mood?Ó
ÒIÕm
just thinking of how you get things done.
With Spock and Len and Scotty, partnership does work best for you. But other times, you kind of run off by
yourself and, well, tame the situation.Ó
He
shrugs; sheÕs not wrong. ÒSo, IÕm
an idiot on top of everything else?
At least IÕve got layers.Ó
ÒI
think your layers have layers, Jim.Ó
She giggles, as if pleased with her joke, and he finds the sound
charming. ÒFirst into the
fray. Not an idiot, necessarily. Just not really a team player. Unless itÕs your closest friends.Ó
ÒComing
from you, darling.Ó He makes sure
she catches the endearment is a joke, and sheÕs smiling, so he knows itÕs safe
to go on. ÒHow much of a team
player are you? I never saw you
with the other nurses. You were
with Nyota and Jan—and Sulu and Chekov. My bridge crew. You knew where the action was. You always do, I imagine.Ó
ÒThe
action. The power.Ó
He
nods. Yes, that is what he
meant. The power.
ÒI
got my fill of trying to be friends with my peers on RogerÕs team. There was some resentment. It made it hard to work with them.Ó SheÕs silent for a bit, and he glances over
at her, but she seems to be dissatisfied with what she said, so he waits. ÒActually, I made it hard to work with
them. I didnÕt care about
them. I saw where I wanted to go
and went that way. If they were
smart, they came along.Ó
He
smiles. HeÕs said that before, on
some of his less than stellar days.
ÒAnd if they werenÕt smart?Ó
ÒThey
didnÕt last very long working for Roger.Ó
ÒDid
you help that along?Ó
ÒHe
didnÕt care who I liked or not. As
long as he got what he needed from me.Ó
She sighs. ÒI think he liked
me isolated. I needed him more.Ó
ÒWould
fit the profile of the kind of man he turned out to be. Did he have many friends of his own?Ó
She
shakes her head. ÒYou have a lot
more. Even though you say you
donÕt.Ó
ÒActually,
you said I didnÕt.Ó He laughs at
her expression.
ÒRight. I did. Which wasnÕt fair. You do have friends. Loyal ones who would die for you. Roger used to say people were waiting to
stab him in the back. That people
lacked the proper respect for true science—that appreciation of progress
shouldnÕt hinge on someone playing nice.Ó
ÒNo
wonder he liked the android life.Ó
She
laughs, but only a little. He can
tell Roger is still a sore spot, even all these years later. But life-changing moments usually
are. He doesnÕt smile widely at Kodos jokes.
ÒAnd
youÕre not afraid to have people around you who will disagree with you. Spock and Len never sugarcoat their
opinions.Ó
ÒNo,
they certainly donÕt.Ó He studies
her. ÒIÕm getting the feeling you
donÕt, either. But IÕm also sensing
you didnÕt necessarily do that with Roger.
How were you with Will?Ó
ÒI
gave him a rash of shit when he needed it.
Mostly he didnÕt need it. He
liked to bounce ideas off me. I
think he would have been a good captain.Ó
The way she says it is matter of fact. Just a judgment, not a slap at Kirk.
ÒI
think he would have been, too. I
recommended him for a reason.
But...things changed.Ó He
gets another rock and tries the sling again.
Bingo. Finally, he knocks the shell off.
ÒBravo.Ó She is smiling. ÒNow show me some more of those and IÕll
lead you into the woods on our wild goose hunt.Ó She looks nostalgic. ÒI bet goose tastes really good.Ó
He
laughs and goes to reset the target.
##
Chapel
is hanging off a tree when Jim walks up.
ÒDo
I want to know what youÕre doing?Ó
She
nods to two branches already lying on the ground. Both are Y-shaped and the one she is
hanging off of is more substantial.
He
smiles as he watches her. ÒSomeone
is making a rotisserie?Ó
Of
course he would know what she has planned.
ÒYep. A little help here
would be nice.Ó
He
leaps up, grabs the branch and between the two of them making it bob and swing,
they break it off. ÒGood idea. You want me to work on the spit, here?Ó
ÒSure.
IÕll do the supports.Ó
They
walk out to the shelter, sit under it since the sun and humidity is sweltering,
and he starts to shave the bark off the branch as she whittles the end of her Y
branches into a point.
ÒDid
you break those off or find them on the ground?Ó
ÒI
broke them.Ó She pounds the first
one into the ground with a rock wrapped in leaves. ÒFresh wood wonÕt catch on fire as
easily.Ó
ÒThatÕs
why I asked.Ó He has finished with
the bark scraping—heÕs remarkably efficient with a shell and the
sandpaper he created—and begins to whittle one end into a point. ÒWeÕll need to soak this in water before
we use it or it will catch on fire.Ó
She
smiles. ÒI know that.Ó
ÒSmarty
pants.Ó He glances up at her. ÒSo I guess you have more faith in my
bird-catching ability than you appeared to, if you are making something to cook
it on.Ó
ÒI
guess I do.Ó She nods at his
sling. ÒHow many did you get in a
row before you quit?Ó
ÒTen.Ó
She
starts to laugh. ÒI thought youÕd
stop at five. YouÕre more anal than
I realized.Ó
ÒAnything
worth doing is worth doing right.Ó
ÒThat
sounds promising.Ó She looks down
quickly, going back to making the bottom of the second branch into a point. What she just said sounded way too
flirtatious.
ÒYou
donÕt agree?Ó His tone has changed,
too.
ÒI
guess it depends on the activity.Ó
ÒYouÕre
trying to say youÕre not a perfectionist.
I heard stories from Bones about the inventory.Ó
She
starts to laugh. ÒThey put
everything back in the wrong place.
I donÕt ask for the unreasonable, like all the labels facing out or even
the oldest meds in front. I just
ask that they learn the fucking alphabet.Ó
He
is laughing hard enough to make his shoulders shake a little as he works. ÒI agree, scarily. But then IÕm a neatnik. Lori used to drive me nuts, always
dropping her crap wherever. It
takes just as much time—Ó
ÒTo
put it away as to put it in the wrong place. I used to tell people that in the lab.Ó
ÒWell,
itÕs true.Ó
ÒAgreed.Ó
ÒWas
Roger neat?Ó
ÒAre
you kidding? The great Roger Korby
a slob? But...it didnÕt come
naturally to him. You can tell the
difference.Ó
ÒOh,
you mean he never moved something back where itÕs supposed to go if itÕs an
inch out of place.Ó
She
laughs. ÒYep, thatÕs what I
mean. Do you do that?Ó
ÒI
had a collection of antique weapons on the wall. The cleaning lady would dust them and
theyÕd be ever so off.Ó He makes a
face, silly and self deprecating.
ÒLori would mock me as IÕd straighten them back up.Ó
ÒYeah,
Roger hated it when IÕd bring out the coasters.Ó
ÒThey
exist for a reason.Ó
ÒThank
you.Ó She finishes the point and
holds out her hand. ÒCan I see the
spit for a sec?Ó
He
hands it to her and she measures how far the second branch should be from the
first, then hands the spit back.
ÒLeave
some extra room at one end. We have
to turn the thing. WeÕll want the
end to stay cool.Ó
ÒOh,
good point. See, you are an
engineer.Ó
ÒI
learned that from the tribe.Ó He
gets up and walks the branch down to the water, soaking it for a few minutes in
the sea. When he comes back, he
puts it in the shade of the shelter.
ÒWeÕll have to do it again, just before we cook the food, but this will
get it started.Ó
ÒOkay
then. We go hunting, I guess.Ó She leads him to the edge of the
forest. SheÕs shown him which
plants are ones to stay away from of those that line the beach, but deeper into
the forest there are others he doesnÕt know yet. ÒSee that plant, the one with the purple
veins on the leaf.Ó
He
nods.
ÒThose
are the worst. Took me hours to get
the splinters out. Whatever you do,
do not let our dinner fall into one of those or we wonÕt be able to handle it,
much less eat it.Ó
ÒGotcha.Ó
ÒThe
birds donÕt like that plant, either, so they wonÕt be in one, but they may fly
over one once we flush them out.Ó
They walk and she tells him more about the plants. Which ones have fruits they can
eat. Which ones the monkeys and
birds avoid. She is about to go on
when she sees a plant sheÕs missed before.
ÒHold on a moment.Ó
Kneeling,
she digs up what looks like a root vegetable. ÒThis is new. Maybe you will get your baked
potato.Ó She smells it, expecting
it to stink like the tuber she found before, but it smells okay. She gingerly scrapes a little peel off
and inspects the thing. No
bugs. Good, so itÕs not rotten. She holds the root to the inside of her
arm. No tingle, no burn. She digs some out with her nail, lets it
sit on her lip. This part she
remembers from survival class because it made sense: all the steps of the
process to see if something is edible or not are scientific, although to test
it for real, sheÕd need to allow more time between each step, so even if it
tests out, he wonÕt be having baked root tonight.
Her
lip starts to tingle and she pulls the thing away, wiping her mouth off with
the bottom of her shirt.
ÒNo?Ó
ÒNope.Ó She waits to make sure the tingle is
going away before she gets up.
ÒWeÕre going to need some vegetables and starch. I mean if we donÕt get off this island
soon.Ó
ÒI
know.Ó He meets her eyes and his
expression is bleaker than itÕs been.
ÒI keep listening for a shuttle, which is stupid. Spock would never risk that on a world
like this.Ó
ÒI
keep trying the communicator. It
hasnÕt worked since we floated onto this island, but hope springs eternal, I
guess.Ó
ÒWe
donÕt know that the dead zones are permanent. They may move over time.Ó
She
nods but doesnÕt think either of them really believes that.
ÒChris,
hold still.Ó
One
of the gray birds that are about the size of macaws is in a tree just ahead of
them.
ÒWhat
do I get if I hit it with the first shot,Ó he whispers.
ÒAnything
you goddamn want. Do you think
itÕll taste like chicken?Ó
ÒDunno. If weÕre
lucky.Ó He laughs softly and
reaches into a pocket for one of the rocks. ÒHere goes nothing.Ó
Nothing
proves to be amazing. The bird
isnÕt just hit, but falls down clear of any nasty bushes. She runs to it. ItÕs not dead, only stunned.
She
reaches for it gingerly and it pecks her.
Really goddamned hard. She
grabs it behind the head, puts her other hand on its chest, and twists. ÒYour biting days are over, mister.Ó
ÒRemind
me not to get you too angry.Ó HeÕs
smiling in approval despite his words.
ÒLetÕs get another. Not sure
how much meat is on these things.Ó
She
nods and picks the bird up by the feet.
ÒSeabirds taste fishy,Ó she says, remembering reading that somewhere.
ÒIÕve
never seen these birds fishing.
Think chicken, Chris. Until
we know for sure, just hope for the best.Ó
ÒThat
would be a good motto.Ó She turns
to him. ÒSo what do you want? You hit it in one. I wash the dishes? I take the lumpy side of the shelter?Ó
The
look he gives her is scorching, but then he dials it back so fast she knows he
regrets it.
And
she suddenly doesnÕt want him to regret it.
ÒI
know what might be nice...Ó She
walks over, grabs him before she can think better of it, and plants the best
kiss she can, considering sheÕs doing it while holding a dead bird, on
him. ÒIf that wasnÕt what you were
thinking, you can put me on report later.Ó
She tries to back away, in case she has misread him, but he pulls her
back and kisses her some more.
The
kiss is as tender as it is passionate.
When
they finally pull away, he strokes her hair for a moment, then the grin is back
and he says, ÒReady, bird slayer?Ó
She
laughs and nods. ÒHey, your lips
arenÕt tingling, are they?Ó
He
waggles his eyebrows and nods.
ÒI
mean from that stupid vegetable, not from kissing.Ó Although itÕs sort of the same
thing. She is the delivery
mechanism of the irritant if it has long-lasting effects. Shit, just like with Spock and that
virus. SheÕs some kind of Typhoid
Mary.
ÒTheyÕre
fine, Chris. Relax.Ó He strides past her into the bush, and
she has to hurry so she can stop him from brushing against one of the
purple-veined plants.
ÒJim,
what did I say?Ó
ÒI
may be still in the moment.Ó His
grin is a beautiful thing. ÒMaybe
you should lead.Ó
She
does, although sheÕs enjoying thinking about the moment. His lips. Those kisses.
She
understands the hype now. She
should have joined Jan in the ÒI love JimÓ fan club long ago and forgotten all
about Spock.
Chapel
is suddenly very glad Jan transferred off the ship once it was clear Jim was
staying.
Only,
she shouldnÕt assume. It was just a
kiss. Just a victory, ÒWe have
something other than fruit and fish to eatÓ kiss. It doesnÕt mean anything.
He
stops her with a hand on her shoulder.
ÒUp there,Ó he points, his breath on her hair, his chest against her
back. Then he moves her and pops
the bird.
She
dispatches this bird before it can bite her.
HeÕs
watching her with an insanely fond grin.
ÒThatÕs super sexy, did you know that?Ó
ÒYouÕre
disturbed.Ó She doesnÕt tell him
that watching him shoot the bird with the sling theyÕve both made was also
super sexy. But she does smile like
a goddamned idiot the whole way back to the shelter.
##
Kirk
watches Chris dish them up the last of the birds. HeÕs made them a salty berry-fruit sauce
to dip it in. It reminds him a
little of the way the tribe prepared their version of pheasant.
ÒIt
does taste like chicken. Only
dryer. Turkey maybe.Ó
ÒI
can make jerky. I mean if weÕre
stuck here for a while. ItÕll keep
longer.Ó
She
nods, but he can tell heÕs brought the happy mood down a bit. ÒSorry. DidnÕt mean to be a killjoy when the
dinner is so good.Ó
ÒIÕm
just worried about us. Our long
term health.Ó
ÒI
know. Hey, look on the bright
side. At least weÕre not
fighting.Ó He holds his pod of
water up and she clinks her pod against it.
ÒNo,
weÕre not.Ó She meets his eyes and
he feels the surprising rush of connection he felt when he kissed her.
HeÕs
never, ever thought of kissing her.
Why the hell hasnÕt he?
Only
he knows why he hasnÕt—because she liked Spock, and Kirk thought Spock
might like her back someday. But he
never did. And Kirk left it alone
because he has rules about sleeping with crew on his ship.
He
thinks he could amend that to not sleeping with anyone who canÕt relieve of him
command. That works nicely in this
situation.
Although
heÕs getting way ahead of himself.
They kissed. ThatÕs
all. Two kisses.
Two
really fucking good kisses, he can hear Jim Junior saying. Jim Junior clearly likes Chris a lot.
A
lot, a lot.
ÒWhat
are you thinking about? You have
the cutest expression?Ó Her smile
is sweet and mischievous, and he wants to forget about the chicken and push her
into the sand. ÒOh my. Well, never mind. I think I know.Ó She fans her face as if itÕs suddenly
gotten very hot, and he bursts out laughing.
ÒSorry. My mind might have gone some naughty
places.Ó
ÒIt
was the kiss. And thatÕs my fault
because maybe you did want me to sleep on the lumpy side of the shelter, not
take advantage of you that way in the forest.Ó
ÒIt
was fine. No report will be filed.Ó He hasnÕt smiled this much for a long
time.
He
wonders if she would say the same thing.
ÒWeÕre
a good pair, Chris. Glad I picked
you for this mission.Ó
ÒWe
are a good pair. But we havenÕt
been here that long.Ó Her look is
warm, at odds with the words. At
his frown, she says, ÒWeÕre the only two people here, Jim. And weÕre not fighting. It may just be relief at that making you
feel good about us—well, and our success hunting—rather than that
weÕre simpatico.Ó
ÒMaybe.Ó He studies her, wonders why sheÕs
backing up emotionally, decides to go with it and let her by changing the
subject. ÒI was thinking about what
you asked me. The hypothetical
question about Miramanee and my child.Ó
He
sees her come back to him, the emotional backpedaling seeming to halt when the
flirting is over. He thinks she got
in over her head for a moment and panicked. He understands how that could
happen.
ÒIÕd
have three options as I see it. First
would be to leave them behind forever.
Not something IÕd want to do, but the prime directive would be best
served by it.Ó
She
nods.
ÒThe
second option would be to take her away from the tribe and try to integrate her
and the child into my world.Ó
ÒWould
Jim Kirk love her the way Kirok did?Ó
ItÕs
a good question. HeÕs not sure he
would. ÒI donÕt know. And sheÕd be alone. No babies on a starship. So I take her from everything she knows
and then leave her on a planet she doesnÕt understand? Not a good option.Ó
ÒAgreed.Ó She watches him as he thinks. ÒOption three?Ó
ÒTo
pop in on them every so often. Like
the god they thought I was.Ó
ÒStarfleet
would love that.Ó
ÒIÕd
probably do it on leave. Not tell
them.Ó
She
nods. ÒBut the tribe might expect a
lot of the child. The son of a
god—but in truth, heÕs ordinary.
Unless you make him less ordinary.
Teach him things you know.
And then the Prime Directive comes into play again.Ó
He
nods and looks down.
ÒIÕm
sorry—it was a stupid question.
I shouldnÕt have asked it.Ó
ÒNo,
itÕs not a stupid question. ItÕs a
good one. The answers are just
unsatisfying. IÕd never see her
again if I did the right thing and left her. Never see my child born. Story of my life, I guess. No hearth and home. No family.Ó He finishes his chicken, thinking about
what heÕs missed.
She
seems to read his mood, eats her food in silence, too, and they pass the sauce
back and forth as if theyÕre an old married couple, who need no words to know
whatÕs needed.
##
Chapel
disposes of the parts of the birds they havenÕt eaten or saved for possible use
later, burying them away from the shelter, in the forest. She finishes and walks out to where Kirk
is sitting at the edge of the surf, his pants rolled up, as he cleans off the
bones they thought might be useful.
ÒCan
I help?Ó
ÒSure.Ó
She
sits next to him. Too close. She starts to move away and he murmurs,
ÒYouÕre fine.Ó He says it quietly,
probably so she can ignore it if she wants.
She
stays where she is, and he pushes the pile of bones between them. She starts to clean one off, studies the
shape. It might make a good
scraper. It was his idea to save
them. She kept some of the tendons
while they were prepping the bird and cleaned them off while the bird cooked. They might be useful and more durable
than the vines sheÕs been using to connect things.
ÒWaste
nothing,Ó she murmurs.
ÒThatÕs
how the tribe lived. Nothing taken
for granted. No stores. No synthesizers. Just what we could make or scavenge or
hunt.Ó
She
leans up against him, feels him push back.
ÒWeÕre lucky you were there.
That you learned what you did.Ó
ÒI
think youÕd have done all right on your own. YouÕd have gotten that fire going
eventually.Ó He looks at her and smiles
gently. ÒIÕm lucky youÕre
here. I might not have gotten well
without you.Ó
ÒI
guess IÕm a good doctor.Ó
ÒYou
graduated top of your class. You
damn well better be.Ó
She
stares at him. ÒYou know that?Ó
He
shrugs. ÒI may have checked your
record, trying to figure out why Will picked you.Ó
ÒAh.Ó That makes more sense than thinking he
gave a damn back then. ÒItÕs the
only way he got the posting by Starfleet Medical—made up for being the
wrong rank.Ó
ÒYep. CanÕt argue with excellence. But the CMO business aside, I knew youÕd
be a good doctor. You were a great
nurse. And because of that, youÕll
have the touch that a lot of doctors donÕt. The one that says you care.Ó
ÒDoes
Len have that?Ó
ÒNot
always. He can be brusque.Ó
ÒI
can, too.Ó She rinses off the bone,
sets it aside, and takes another from the pile. ÒI find myself in a hurry. When I was a nurse, I didnÕt have to
write all these reports. Hell, a
lot of the doctors donÕt, either.
Just Len and I. Monthly this
and weekly that.Ó
He
laughs. ÒWelcome to my world,
toots.Ó
ÒYour
world is not a happy place.Ó She
picks up sand to try to get some gristle off the bone sheÕs working on, rubs it
and finally gets the stuff off.
ÒIt
was happy not too long ago. I got
us dinner. Earned a kiss from fair
lady.Ó He is grinning, and she
smiles at the silly look. ÒThe
sunset is going to be gorgeous tonight.Ó
ÒIt
is. But then itÕll be so dark. This world needs a moon.Ó
ÒI
love moonlit walks on the beach.Ó
ÒSounds
nice.Ó
ÒYouÕve
never?Ó
ÒA
little too whimsical for Roger. Of
course IÕve been at the beach on a moonlit night, but never strolled down one
with someone.Ó
ÒThatÕs
a crime against humanity.Ó
ÒIt
is, isnÕt it? There are probably a
lot of things IÕve never done—romantic things. Well, spontaneous romantic. Roger was a traditionalist. Red roses. Nice candy. Champagne and strawberries.Ó
He
makes a mocking sound. ÒAmateur.Ó
ÒI
know. But what can you do? The man was brilliant. The pillow talk was scintillating.Ó
ÒGod,
I hate boring pillow talk.Ó He
sounds sincere.
ÒWas
Lori boring?Ó
ÒYes,
but not because she was dumb. She
wasnÕt—she was whip smart.
But all she wanted to talk about was Starfleet politics. Strategies for getting ahead after a
good orgasm—not really my cup of tea.Ó He tosses the bone he is working on
aside and grabs another. ÒAnd then
the orgasms werenÕt always there when Jim Junior refused to show up to the
game, and Lori and I eventually stopped talking at all because things were so
tense.Ó
ÒYeah. I know how that is. I used to get so caught up in whether I
would or wouldnÕt come that all the fun of the sex was gone. It should be fun, shouldnÕt it?Ó
ÒDamned
straight.Ó He turns to her, leans
in halfway, and meets her eyes.
She
knows without asking that he wants to kiss her but will let her decide if she
is going to close the distance. She
does, moving slowly, until their lips touch.
The
kiss is light, sweet; they donÕt grab at each other; they donÕt put down the
bones theyÕre working on. They just
kiss until he finally eases away, rubbing her nose with his before he pulls all
the way back.
ÒSee,
now that was fun.Ó She watches his
face, is happy to see him smile.
They
go back to work on their pile of bones.
##
Kirk
takes the newly cleaned bones up to where theyÕre storing their other salvage,
and then walks back down to where Chris is standing, watching the sky turn a
brilliant pinky orange. ÒFancy a
stroll? ItÕs not moonlit, but itÕs
as close as weÕre going to come.Ó
ÒWe
just have to be home before dark.Ó
ÒNo
kidding. I stubbed the hell out of
my toe last night.Ó He turns her so
they are facing where the sun will go down. ÒWe can just watch it, if that seems
safer.Ó
She
leans back against him and nods.
ÒYouÕve had a big day.
Hunting. Adding on to our
kitchen. Being a master sauce
maker.Ó
ÒAnd
there was kissing.Ó
ÒYes,
there was.Ó
He
puts his arms around her, feels her settle her hands over his, and sighs. It feels so good to be close like
this. Even if theyÕre trapped here. Even if they may never get found. She feels great in his arms. And thatÕs all heÕs going to focus on at
the moment.
ÒI
love it when the sun disappears into the sea,Ó she says. ÒItÕs so...elemental. So easy to see why the ancients gave it
so much import.Ó
ÒWell,
our ancients. We have no idea what
this planet does.Ó Hell, that was
the whole damn point of this mission.
Scope out this planet that the Klingons were so keen on nosing around and
find out why. And find out what
kind of civilization it was while they were at it.
Hell
of a job heÕs doing answering that question.
No. HeÕll concentrate on how she feels in
his arms.
ÒSomething
wrong?Ó She is laughing
softly. ÒÕCause youÕre squeezing me
kind of hard.Ó
ÒOh,
sorry.Ó He kisses her neck. ÒThinking about how stellar this mission
has been so far. Other than the
company of a certain woman IÕm getting to know.Ó
ÒGood
save.Ó
He
laughs and kisses her again, moving her hair out of the way so he can get to
the back of her neck. She sighs and
itÕs a happy sound.
ÒThis
is one of my favorite ways to be kissed,Ó she says softly. ÒI get chills, but the good kind.Ó
He
thinks that she has more to say and has stopped herself. ÒBut...?Ó
She
laughs, a soft puff of air. ÒHow do
you know thereÕs a but?Ó
ÒI
just do. But what?Ó
ÒBut
Roger didnÕt do it very often. He
wasnÕt...Ó She seems to be
searching for the right word so he lets her do that and alternates between
watching the sun and kissing her neck.
ÒThis is so intimate, you know?
I donÕt know why itÕs more intimate than face to face, but it is.Ó
ÒI
agree.Ó He moves his hands up,
carrying her own with him as he goes. He stops just under her breasts, pushes his
chest hard against her back. ÒHe
wasnÕt intimate?Ó
ÒI
donÕt think he was. I think he shut
me out the same way he did everyone.
I think I knew that.
Somehow. Maybe I shut him
out the only way I could.Ó
ÒBy
not coming? Maybe he just wasnÕt
that good.Ó
She
laughs. ÒMaybe so.Ó
ÒWatch
the sun. ItÕs about to
disappear.Ó He rests his chin on
her shoulder, sways a little as if thereÕs music.
She
moves with him perfectly, doesnÕt question, just relaxes into him, and says,
ÒItÕs especially pretty tonight.Ó
ÒIt
is.Ó
She
turns and puts her arms around him.
ÒWe should get back to the shelter before the light is gone.Ó
ÒAnd
why is that? Other than the
potential for stubbed toes?Ó
ÒBecause
I want to be able to see you the first time we make love.Ó
He
smiles and leads her up to the shelter.
They shed their clothes quickly—they really donÕt have much light
left.
He
looks, really looks at her, and smiles at what he sees. ÒI tried not to ogle when we were
swimming.Ó
She
bites back a smile. ÒMe, too. You can ogle now.Ó
ÒYes,
you too can ogle away.Ó He pulls
her to him, kisses her, then whispers in her ear, ÒIÕm so glad youÕre
here.Ó Then he eases her down to
the sand and gets to know her body.
Jim
Junior is happy as hell at this turn of events, gets even happier when she very
quickly begins to writhe under his tongue.
There
is no way in hell sheÕs faking it.
There is a rigidness in that moment just before an orgasm that a woman
really canÕt fake. The long climb
and then the fall. He knows that if
it were lighter, heÕd be able to see a flush growing on her chest.
ÒYouÕre
magnificent,Ó he says as he kisses his way back up to her lips.
ÒHoly
shit, youÕre good at that.Ó She
reaches down, begins to stroke him and then guides him into her.
It
feels like coming home. If heÕd
known it would be this good, he would have broken every rule he had for her the
first time around, kept her on the ship in whatever way she wanted so she
wouldnÕt leave to go to med school.
She
kisses him frantically, and he canÕt last, lets go, and finds bliss with a very
loud cry.
One
of the monkey things answers from the forest, and Chris starts to giggle. ÒAh, the musical accompaniment of our
first fuck.Ó
He
starts to laugh, too. ÒYouÕre just
jealous you didnÕt make the monkey complain.Ó
ÒIÕm
not sure he was complaining. I
think he wanted to know where the fun was at.Ó
ÒHe
can find his own female. YouÕre
mine.Ó He realizes thatÕs an
awfully strong statement for their first time together, but she just sighs in
what sounds like contentment and wraps her legs around him, keeping him inside
her.
He
kisses her until she lets him go, and they cuddle together, touching and
kissing, until he canÕt stand it and pulls her astride him. He makes sure she comes first; it is so
damn easy he wants to go back in time and strangle Korby.
Jim
Junior shows no sign that he was ever shy.
The
monkey doesnÕt cry out again. Not
this time.
Or
the next.
Or
the next.
##
Chapel
wakes to another rain shower. She
buries her face in JimÕs neck and sighs.
ÒGood
morning,Ó he says, his voice sounding like heÕs smiling.
She
pulls back to look at him. ÒGood
morning.Ó Then, with a grin that
matches his, she heads down to say hello to her new friend.
ÒChris,
damn, you are so good at that.Ó He
is moving helplessly underneath her, and she teases him a little, and then gets
serious. He is not quiet when he
comes and she starts to laugh and lets him go. ÒDo you come that loud when youÕre not
on a deserted island? Because I can
see problems back on the ship if you do.Ó
He
reaches up and strokes her cheek, his eyes tender, as he grins and says, ÒOh,
so you think you can take advantage of me on my ship?Ó
She
nods.
ÒBallsy
woman.Ó
ÒAs
if you mind.Ó She leans down to
kiss him. ÒI think I have sand
everywhere you can get sand.
Beaches, my dear, may be overrated.Ó
He
starts laughing. ÒYeah, thereÕs a
drawback. But still...no sand
fleas.Ó
ÒRight. Silver lining, that.Ó She looks out at the water. ÒI want to swim in the rain.Ó
ÒSounds
like the perfect thing to do today.Ó
He pulls her up with him, draws her down to the water, and then shallow
dives into the surf.
She
follows him, and they paddle around happily, kissing and touching, and soon he
has her stretched out in the surf next to him, his leg holding hers down, his
hand doing amazing things. The way
he touches her is nothing like what Roger used to do—although the android
Roger did pick up a thing or two, but still, nothing like this. Jim is with her as he gets her there; it
doesnÕt seem like an imposition.
As
she lies, breathing hard, he leans in and says, ÒTruly magnificent.Ó
She
smiles, knowing what heÕs saying.
She pulls him onto her, wriggling against him but thatÕs for her
benefit, not his—heÕs ready for her.
She decides she likes wet sand a lot better than dry for making love.
Afterward
they lie, both on their back, holding hands, letting the rain pelt down on
them.
He
stares up at the sky and says, ÒI canÕt wait to have sex with you on the ship.Ó
She
smiles, hearing something that she realizes was missing in his voice before: hope. ÒI canÕt wait, either.Ó She curls onto her side and he pulls her
in tightly.
ÒTheyÕll
come, Chris. Spock will find us.Ó
ÒI
know.Ó She didnÕt a few moments
ago. But now she does. His faith is that contagious.
And
thatÕs why his peers hate him. Why
his crew would die for him. And why
sheÕs falling in love with him.
ÒForgive
yourself, Jim. The ship is yours,
and she always has been.Ó
He
turns to look at her, meeting her eyes for a long time before he nods and
kisses her forehead. Then he starts
to grin. ÒI also want to have sex
in the conference room and the observation lounge and...Ó
She
laughs as he goes on, showing her just how innovative he really can be.
##
Kirk
is standing in the water, spear raised, waiting for fish to show up when he
senses movement in the distance and looks out to sea. A boat.
One
person in it. Too far away to make
out details.
He
doesnÕt wait, runs to the shelter where Chris is working on a tool she wonÕt
tell him about until itÕs done and says, ÒWeÕve got company.Ó
ÒBad?Ó
ÒI
donÕt know. I think so.Ó He grabs the spears, nods for her to
bring her stuff—is that a knife sheÕs making? And then he slips into the forest,
easing them past the worst of the splinter bushes, until they work their way
around to a spot where they can watch the boat.
The
boat that is definitely coming closer.
ÒItÕs
a native,Ó she says, and he wonders how she knows that. He canÕt make out the person yet. Then he sees the motion the person is
using on the paddle. The
boat—more a dugout than anything else—is going to the left for the
count of three strokes, then right, then left. SheÕs probably right. ItÕs not a rhythm he thinks anyone on
the ship would make.
The
native slips the dugout gracefully into the shallows and then it comes to rest
in the wet sand. He gets out and
pulls it up higher, doesnÕt seem to be particularly alert. He must not have seen Kirk in the
water. The position the sun is in
means there was probably glare if he was looking at the island.
The
man pulls a bow and arrow out of the dugout and strides right toward their
camp.
ÒShit.Ó Kirk tells her to stay where she is and
slips back through the forest, not to where they came in, but to a larger gap
that will put him behind the man, a spot where he can slip out with a minimum
of damage from the splinters.
The
man is gazing at their shelter, then he crouches down and inspects the fire,
picks up a water pod.
Kirk
knows it is glaringly obvious that someone has been here recently, and the
manÕs posture changes from the casual one to high alert. He looks around, his bow ready.
Kirk
grasps the spear harder. He doesnÕt
want to kill the man. Just wants to
subdue him. But the manÕs bow
trumps KirkÕs long stick with a sharp point. Kirk has gone bow hunting; he knows how
fast a man can fire and reload—and how deep an arrow can go, how lethal
they are.
ÒYou
canÕt take him with just a spear.Ó
Chris is apparently incapable of following orders, because she is right
behind him, her breath warm in his ear.
ÒYou need a diversion. Then
you can sneak around.Ó
ÒYou
are not going to be the diversion.Ó
ÒWhy
not? I look more like the natives
than you do.Ó
Which
was true. With her blue
eyes—and the brow ridges Bones made—she does look more native than
Kirk with his hazel eyes. Everyone
they saw before they were captured had blue eyes or a strange gray-green
color. Not a dark eye in sight.
She
doesnÕt wait, just slips onto the sand and calls out to the man. Kirk doesnÕt hang around to see what he
does, just moves, slipping around behind him.
ÒWho
are you?Ó the man asks her.
ÒI
fell overboard. Floated in
here. HavenÕt seen anyone for
days.Ó She sounds convincingly
happy to see the man, and isnÕt spilling details that might trip her up before
Kirk has a chance to get to him. ÒWhat
are you doing here? IÕm so glad to
see you.Ó
ÒHunting.Ó The man doesnÕt sound like he trusts
her. ÒAre you alone?Ó
ÒYes.Ó
ÒTracks
say otherwise.Ó
ÒI
walk a lot. IÕve had nothing to do
but walk.Ó
Kirk
steps out onto the sand, moving as quietly as he can, but the man hears
him. There is a hiss and then he is
turning on Kirk, reaching for—oh shit, reaching for another arrow. Chris.
Kirk
doesnÕt have time to see if sheÕs okay.
He charges and knocks the bow out of the manÕs grip with the spear. They grapple and not for the first time
Kirk wishes he could learn how to do SpockÕs nerve pinch—the man is not
going down from KirkÕs choke hold, seems made of pure muscle.
He
pushes Kirk off him and reaches for the spear. Suddenly Chris is there, the tool she
was making a white and gray blur as she gets behind the man and slices across
the front of his neck.
The
man grabs at his throat, light red blood oozing between his fingers. She stabs him again, in the back this
time, and there is a look of desperate intensity on her face.
As
the man falls, Kirk sees the side of her shirt is red—dark red, not
light. She falls to her knees on
the sand and pushes her shirt against the wound.
ÒThe
arrow?Ó
ÒWent
through me.Ó She looks up at
him. ÒI donÕt think it hit anything
major. But IÕm going to lose too
much blood if you donÕt get some pressure on this and the wound in the
back. ItÕs why I killed him. Well, that and he looked like he had the
jump on you.Ó
Kirk
pushes himself to his feet, tearing fabric off the manÕs shirt to make a
bandage, laying it over the wound in back—heÕs not sure Chris is right
that it didnÕt hit anything vital.
It looks really bad. He uses
the vines to wrap around her. ÒNice
knife, by the way.Ó HeÕs trying
desperately to sound normal, to not sound afraid for her.
She
smiles briefly. ÒThanks.Ó She pulls him around so she can see his
face. ÒShit. ItÕs bad, isnÕt it?Ó
He
nods. ÒGo get in the boat. WeÕre getting out of here.Ó
She
doesnÕt argue, doesnÕt ask questions, just goes and climbs into the back of the
dugout.
He
grabs everything he thinks theyÕll need.
Fruit, water, the manÕs bow, her knife, his spear. The rest of their supplies, as much as he
can fit. He rifles through the
manÕs clothes, finds a small knife, and tears off more strips of fabric from
his clothing to use as bandages.
Then he pushes the dugout into the water and jumps in.
He
uses the manÕs series of strokes once heÕs clear of the island, doesnÕt want
anyone who might see them to think theyÕre anything but native.
He
is paddling toward where the sun sets.
ItÕs a sentimental pick but they have to get in the clear at some point.
DonÕt
they?
All
his faith from the morning is fading away.
All the hope he felt when he made love to her.
Spock
isnÕt coming. Chris is going to
die. Just like Edith and Miramanee. And
heÕll be alone.
HeÕll
die alone.
He
hears her murmuring, ÒChapel to Enterprise,
come in. Medical emergency, please
come in.Ó She looks at him, nods as
he paddles faster. ÒChapel to Enterprise, please come in.Ó
They
go for hours. His arms are burning
and his hands are cramping on the paddle.
She makes him stop several times to drink water, to eat some fruit, to
fix her bandages so she doesnÕt bleed into the water—they donÕt need
frenzied sharks on top of everything else.
And
through it all, as heÕs putting everything he has into paddling them into a
clear sector, she calls the ship.
Her
voice grows weaker as the hours go by.
Until
finally, he hears Uhura answer back in his communicator, which suddenly sparks
back to life, the sound of home and safety. ÒEnterprise
to Chapel. We have you both. Stand by for beam up.Ó
He
looks at Chris and she smiles, but the smile fades as she lays her head
back.
ÒItÕs
bad, Jim. IÕve bled so much.Ó
ÒI
know. Hold on. YouÕre going to be
fine. Do you hear me, Chris? WeÕre going to be all right.Ó
The
transporter takes them before she can answer him.
##
She
wakes in sickbay. Jim is not there,
but when Len sees sheÕs awake, he grins at her and walks to the comm panel on the wall.
ÒMcCoy
to Kirk.Ó
ÒKirk
here.Ó
ÒSomeone
is no longer sleeping.Ó
ÒBe
right there.Ó
She
closes her eyes and smiles. ÒHow
bad was it? I know I bled a lot.Ó
ÒYou
did. Jim did a good job with the
pressure bandages, but the arrow nicked a few vital organs. I fixed you up, though.Ó
ÒIÕd
expect no less.Ó She looks at him
fondly, this man she didnÕt want to work for again, and who now looks so damn
good to her.
ÒJim
was mighty anxious over the state of your health. CanÕt remember him showing such an
interest in you before, Christine. You
want to tell me about it? Or should
I just look at the sappy, lovesick face IÕm hoping will replace the worried
sick face heÕs been sporting since we beamed you two up?Ó
ÒAsk
him. IÕm on pain meds.Ó She gives him a very big smirk.
He
nods as if he expected no less.
Jim
comes into sickbay, and he doesnÕt try to hide the fact that he got there in
triple time.
ÒIÕm
fine,Ó she says.
He
looks at Len. ÒIs she?Ó
ÒShe
is. And she can get out of
here. Mandatory bed rest for the
next day. Bed rest as in no major
activity in bed.Ó He looks sternly
at Jim, then at her. ÒI know neither
of you are saying jack shit, but I can read a damn room.Ó He winks at her and leaves them alone.
She
laughs and looks over at Jim. ÒDid
you remember to give someone the conn before you charged out of there?Ó
ÒSpock
is on the job.Ó He hurries to her,
sits on the stool next to her bed, and takes her hand, pulling it up gently so
he can kiss it. ÒI was very
worried.Ó
ÒSo
was I. But now IÕm not.Ó
ÒGood.
I like it when the doctor is not
worried.Ó
ÒWe
were lucky you picked the right direction.Ó
ÒWe
were very lucky.Ó
ÒI
was lucky I was with you. You donÕt
lose.Ó
ÒI
could have lost you. I have lost in
the past.Ó
She
thinks of how he was when he came back from the Guardian planet. The things Len let slip about someone
named Edith. She thinks of his
Indian wife lying on that cot, dying.
ÒYou have. We both have.Ó
ÒYes,
we have.Ó He holds her gaze for a
long time, a searching expression on his face, then his look changes, becomes
more tender—and calm. ÒI
think your bed rest should be in my bed.Ó
She
laughs. ÒYou heard what Len said,
right?Ó
ÒI
know. But I want you with me.Ó He frowns slightly. ÒDo you not want that? I assumed but maybe—Ó
She
shakes his hand. ÒYour bed will be
fine. More than fine. No goddamn sand. And a steak. Please tell me there is a steak in my
future.Ó
ÒWith
sweet potato fries, if youÕre very good.Ó
ÒMmmm. I like my
steak medium well.Ó
ÒThatÕs
heresy.Ó
ÒYou
can eat yours still bleeding on the plate if you have to, but I want mine
cooked through.Ó
He
leans down and kisses her. ÒYou can
have it burnt for all I care. So
long as youÕre here to eat it.Ó
She
pulls him back as he tries to draw away, kisses him some more. ÒItÕs really nice to be back on the
ship. But the air—I got used
to that sea air.Ó
ÒMe,
too.Ó His eyes are so wonderfully
gentle she thinks she could look at them all day. ÒThere are other beaches.Ó
ÒOn
planets with moons?Ó
ÒJust
exactly.Ó He helps her up. ÒLetÕs get you settled and
sleeping. IÕve got to get back up
to the bridge. WeÕre rendezvousing
with the California in a bit, and I
should put in an appearance.Ó
She
is glad to feel only the slightest tenderness on her side as she gets off the biobed. She
walks with Jim to the lift, leans against him as they ride it up. She is sleepy—she feels like she
could sleep for weeks. They get to
his quarters, and he lets her get into bed, and then tucks her in, kissing her
very thoroughly before he says, ÒIÕll see you later.Ó
ÒJim?Ó
He
turns back to look at her.
ÒIÕm
glad you wanted to see where I stood.
That you picked me for your team.Ó
He
smiles. ÒMe, too.Ó Then he turns and leaves her alone in
his quarters.
The
bedding smells of him, and she breathes it in. It feels great to be cozy in a soft and
welcoming bed.
His soft and welcoming
bed. A place she never thought of
being before.
She
closes her eyes and is out like a light.
##
Kirk
is working at his table while Chris sleeps. He has food waiting, sitting in a stasis
unit that will let him serve it whenever she wakes up, the food perfectly
cooked and ready for them.
Filet
mignon with drizzled butter. A
baked potato for him. Sweet potato
fries for her.
The
chime on his door goes off and he gets up to answer it rather than calling out
entry. Spock is on the other side
and he motions him in and says, ÒKeep your voice down. She needs sleep.Ó
SpockÕs
eyebrows nearly disappear into his hair as he turns to look at the bed, at
Chris sleeping on her side, one hand under the pillow the same way she buried
it in the sand on the island. ÒAh. You and Doctor Chapel have worked out
your issues.Ó
ÒIssues? I didnÕt have any issues with her.Ó
ÒNo,
of course not.Ó
ÒWhat
about you. Do you have any issues
with her I should know about?Ó
SpockÕs
eyes are very gentle as he says, ÒNo, Jim.
She and I have no issues.Ó
ÒExcellent. So youÕre happy for me.Ó
ÒHappy
is an emotion, my friend.Ó His lips
tick up, and Kirk smiles at the dichotomy of his protest and the endearment.
ÒWhat
do you need?Ó
Spock
hands him a padd. ÒAuthorizations
for these.Ó
ÒJim?Ó Chris is rousing; she sees Spock and
freezes. ÒOh. Hi.
IÕm here because...Ó She
looks at Kirk for help.
ÒI
am fully aware of why you are here, Christine. I promise I will keep my visit short. I
believe your dinner is waiting.Ó
His voice is uncharacteristically gentle and Kirk smiles.
ÒOh. Okay. Great.Ó She lies back down. Which is good because she has nothing on
and KirkÕs not keen on sharing that fact with Spock. Although SpockÕs probably figured out
that sheÕs naked by the way sheÕs clutching the blanket to her.
ÒThere
you go, Spock.Ó He hands the padd
back. ÒDid you really need to do
this now?Ó
SpockÕs
eyes are very light. ÒI ran into
Doctor McCoy in the mess.Ó He turns
to Chris. ÒEnjoy your evening. Oh and Doctor McCoy asked me to remind
you both that bed rest means just that.
Does that make sense to either of you?Ó His eyes are dancing as he nods and gets
the hell out of there.
Kirk
is laughing as he finds a shirt in his closet for her to put on.
ÒWow. Spock has a sense of humor. Who knew?Ó
ÒYouÕll
probably see that side of him. Now
that youÕre with me.Ó He watches
her put on his shirt, enjoys the process but doesnÕt interfere. Bed rest does mean exactly that. ÒYou believe in fate?Ó
She
moves closer to him, rubs up against him in a way that doesnÕt break the
Leonard McCoy the great Buzzkill rule. ÒI believe in you.Ó She pulls him to her, and he kisses her
as gently as he can.
ÒIÕm
not going to break.Ó
ÒLet
me take care of you. You took care
of me.Ó
ÒOkay.Ó But she pulls him back and kisses him
with more energy. Then she peeks
over his shoulder at the stasis unit.
ÒIs that what I think it is?Ó
ÒMmm hmmm.Ó He
laughs at the look on her face. ÒI
even got dessert. But itÕs a
surprise. One of my favorites, but
I have no idea if you like it or not.
I guess we can see how compatible we are.Ó
ÒOff
the island? Where choices abound?Ó
ÒYes. IÕm betting weÕll do just fine.Ó Even if she doesnÕt like the
dessert. Doing just fine doesnÕt
mean they have to love all the same things.
She
smiles as he pulls out a chair at his table, and sits, letting him take care of
her. ÒIÕm betting youÕre right.Ó
FIN