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) 2009 by Djinn. This story
is Rated PG-13.
Tough Love
by Djinn
Pike sat in his
lonely Starfleet Medical VIP room, in the wheelchair his attendant said he
didn't need anymore, with no company but a full bottle of Kentucky bourbon,
thanks to McCoy and Kirk. He poured out a finger, then another, and held the
glass up to the window, an impromptu toast to what he wasn't sure.
"Bit
dramatic, don't you think?" Number One said from behind him.
He would have
whirled, but the damn chair maneuvered like a freighter, so he didn't even try
to turn it, just sat staring forward, then downed the glass before he said,
"You came."
"Of course I came." Her voice was the same, honeyed,
calm. But he knew she was pissed as hell at him. "Why wouldn't I
come?"
He couldn't answer
because she was still talking. "Oh, yes, that would be because you didn't
tell me what happened to you. I had to find it out via the grapevine."
"You always
had the best tendrils to the grapevine."
"Shut up,
Chris."
"That's
Admiral Chris to you now, Commander." He held up his sleeve for her to see
the stripes. "Brand spanking new."
"Are they
handing those out now for nearly getting yourself killed?"
He poured out
another finger of bourbon. "You want some of this? You'll have to get a
glass from the bathroom."
"Answer my
question." She walked to where he could see her. She'd taken some extra
pains with her appearance—not that she needed to do that to look stunning—and
he knew he was in for a first-class chewing out. She always dressed for an ass-kicking.
"Yes, they
are, apparently, giving them out for that. Also for
giving away the defense codes. Here's to me. Brave, brave Captain Pike." He
threw back the bourbon.
She grabbed the
glass from him, poured out two fingers, slammed the stuff, then placed the
glass midway between them. "I should catch up."
"We should
catch up."
"I didn't
come here to catch up."
"Why did you
come?" But he knew. He saw her staring at the chair, then over at the
crutches, still rosy and new. He saw by her expression that she knew he was
afraid of those damned crutches.
"I came,
Admiral, because I'm in the unfortunate position of being in love with an
idiot." She walked over and grabbed the crutches. "Let's take a
walk."
"I'm
drunk."
"You can
drink anyone under a table anywhere, Chris. Don't give me that crap. Up and at
'em." She handed him the crutches.
"Gwen, no. I'm
good here."
"You're not
good here. You're not good here at all. Get the hell up or I'll drag you
up." She had her hands on her hips, her "I mean business"
stance. Her voice had risen, her face was red, and he saw her clench her fists.
"Damn
you."
"Damn you. For
being stupid enough to blame yourself for not being superhuman. You had a...thing inside your brain. You probably fought as long and
hard as anyone has ever fought. And then you couldn't fight anymore because
that's what those things do. They wear you down, and they penetrate your
defenses, and they make you tell truths you'd rather not." She crouched
down. "Chris, you didn't sell out. But now, you're giving up and I hate
that. So get the fuck up."
"Who asked
you for forgiveness?" He knocked her down with the crutches, saw her gasp
and then come up with rage in her eyes. "Did I ask you for expiation,
Gwen? I'm fine here. I didn't call you because I don't need you." He
reached for the bourbon.
She kicked the
table away, the bottle of fine, fine hooch going flying, crashing on the floor,
glass shattering, the smell of whiskey filling the room. "Get. Up."
He glared at her
and she glared back. "You weren't there. You don't know."
"I don't
care. What I care about is that the man I love is letting himself sink into a
wheelchair when he can still walk." She reached down and hit the lock on
the wheels of the chair. "Now, Chris. It's time to walk. Just a
little."
He took a deep
breath and wasn't surprised to find it shaky, rattling around in a chest that
he could imagine sinking in on itself. Where his heart once was. Where his
courage once was.
Where his honor
once was. "I gave the codes away, Gwen."
"I would have
done the same thing."
"No. You
wouldn't have."
"Do you want
me to go get one of those things so we can test it out?"
He imagined her
suffering the penetration of that bug in her brain, reached out as if he could
stop it. The crutch fell away from him, but she caught it and handed it back.
"Come on. Get
up." There was a hint of pain, of disappointment. And he knew it was in
herself. She'd probably thought she'd have had him on his feet by now.
She should know to
never underestimate the stubbornness of Christopher Pike.
"Baby,
please." It was her bedroom voice. Her shore leave voice. Her voice of
sadness and openness and finally letting him in and touching him and—
He stood up but
had to move the crutches quickly as he swayed and his legs shook. He took a
step, then another. She was walking backwards, away from the chair and the
booze and the broken, cutting glass. Toward the bed. He limped his way to her,
walking like an old man, the crutches pinching his armpits.
She hit the bed,
slid onto it, then to the far side. "Not much farther."
He made it to the
bed in four more steps, carefully set the crutches where he could get them
again. "That wasn't much of a stroll."
"It was the
first step that mattered." She pulled him gently down to her, wrapped him
in her arms, and then cried.
In all the time
he'd known her, she'd never cried in front of him. He'd seen evidence of tears
but never the real thing. "It's okay."
She nodded,
quickly—as if telling him she was okay, that it would be over soon. And it was.
They lay curled together as she dried her eyes and kissed him, and he felt like
he was finally safe. The nightmare was over.
"Why didn't
you call me?" She ran her hands over his arms, down his back. "Why?"
"I was
ashamed." He pulled at the braid. "These...these shouldn't be mine. Not
for this."
"Shhh."
"You're not
disagreeing."
She met his eyes. "You
will earn them. I know you. And you know yourself. But you're right. You don't
deserve them. Not yet." She put a finger on his lips as he started to
speak. "But you also don't deserve castigation. Or demotion. I wouldn't
have promoted you yet." She punctuated the cold truth with a kiss that was
sweeter than her norm. "But you didn't dishonor yourself or your
uniform."
"Are you
sure?"
"Do you think
I'd be here if I thought you were a traitor. Or a coward. Or weak?"
No. No, he didn't
think that. Couldn't. He knew her too well. She judged harshly and saw straight
to the heart of things.
Straight to the
heart of him.
"You broke,
Chris. Now, let's move on. Let's pick up the pieces and move on."
He nodded and
pulled her to him, kissing her the way he did in the sweet dreams that
occasionally interrupted the nightmares. "I love you."
"I love you,
too. Later we'll walk to the end of the hall."
"I can think
of better ways to exercise." Even if he wasn't sure his body would
cooperate just yet. Although one part of him certainly seconded the plan.
Her smile was so
sweet it made his breath catch. "Well, as long as you're getting some sort
of physical activity, I guess that'll be all right."
She crawled on top
of him, careful at first, until he finally said, "I'm okay. I'm not in any
pain." She eased off his pajamas and slid down her uniform pants. And then
they were together again, and he closed his eyes and sighed.
It was quick. It
was gentle. Neither of them seemed to want to wait; they both seemed to need to
find completion, connection. Communion.
"I'm sorry I
didn't call," he murmured into her hair.
"Promise me
you'll never do that to me again."
"I
promise." He breathed in the scent of her. She smelled of spring. Of
better times, when he'd thought he was invincible. He swallowed and fought back
the bitterness—he wouldn't let it win. "But now we have nothing to seal
that deal. You broke my nice present from the boys."
She laughed. "I'll
replace it with something better."
He touched her
hair and kissed her softly. "You already have."
FIN