Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.
This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. The Kirk-Brandt Chronology lists all the stories, both in order of occurrence and order of creation.
Captain Kirk leaned against the bar and surveyed the room. When Harb Tanzer had asked permission to hold parties in the rec hall on a regular basis, Kirk had allowed it without much thought or great enthusiasm. But he had to admit that morale had risen as each department sought to make theirs the most memorable event. Tonight the cavernous room had been transformed into an elegant nightclub, courtesy of the medical department and mostly due to the efforts of Christine Chapel.
But it wasn't the music, the food, or the decorations that was making Kirk smile.
The Enterprise had arrived at Tinnabula Research Station two days ago to pull an agent out of a volatile situation. Captain Suzanne Brandt had beamed aboard with three scientists in handcuffs. She asked for security officers to escort them to the brig, then joined Kirk on the bridge and advised him to pull back. Less than a minute later, the now unmanned space station exploded.
Kirk turned to her questioningly.
"Sometimes you're losing so badly, the only thing you can do is kick over the table," she said wearily.
She filed her report, asked him to wake her for the court martial, and slept for sixteen hours.
When she awoke, she found that, instead of a court martial, she was getting a commendation. After a "careful analysis of the situation"--not for the first time, Kirk wondered how HQ could make a careful analysis of anything from the other side of the galaxy--FleetCom had concluded that Brandt's action had been the only way of shutting down the illegal research.
So tonight they were celebrating. Another victory over the pencil-pushers.
From where Kirk stood, he could see Suzanne and McCoy on the dance floor. He laughed to himself. When it came to dancing, Brandt was like a firehorse hearing the alarm. At the start of the evening, she had asked him to identify the most capable dance partners.
"Well, Mr. Sulu is reputed to be an excellent dancer. And Dr. McCoy has been known to indulge on occasion."
She'd already danced twice with Sulu and declared him "more than excellent."
Kirk retrieved their drinks from the bar and joined Spock at a round table. The Vulcan was watching the dancers and frowning in a way that was usually reserved for inconsistent sensor data.
"Mr. Spock, you look puzzled," he commented.
"I admit to some confusion, captain."
"Captain Brandt's marked propensity for dancing. I am of course aware of the role of dancing in rituals among primitive cultures. And I believe I have correctly deduced its purpose in human social activities."
"Initially, courtship. And, ultimately, mating," the science officer explained, "which would explain Captain Brandt's desire to dance with *you*--"
"Spock," Kirk cut him off quickly. "Humans dance with each other for reasons other than--mating. It's fun."
"That statement is contradicted by your actions, Captain. Twenty-six-point-three minutes ago, Captain Brandt invited you to be her partner, at which time you expressed reluctance to participate in what you have just categorized as a pleasurable pursuit. However, I believe this can be attributed to the present lack of alcohol in your system." He discreetly glanced at the drinks Kirk had set on the table.
Kirk's hand came up to his mouth as he nodded thoughtfully. "That's quite a statement, Mr. Spock."
"I assure you, Captain, it is based on scientific analysis. On previous occasions when I have observed humans under recreational conditions, I noted that their enthusiasm for dancing increased proportionately with the amount of alcohol consumed, which also caused its resemblance to a mating ritual to become more pronounced."
"I have no intention of getting drunk tonight, Mr. Spock, simply to prove or disprove this highly questionable hypothesis."
"I did not expect that you would."
"In any case, any conclusions drawn from your behavior after this point would be of questionable validity, since your awareness of an observer would almost certainly affect your actions. However, I believe that the original subject of my analysis, Captain Brandt, is unaware of my scrutiny. I have been observing her quite closely for some time, and she does not appear inebriated, nor has she displayed any discernable interest in mating with Mr. Sulu or Dr. McCoy. I can therefore find no logical reason for her zealous participation in this apparently pointless endeavor."
Kirk stared silently at his first officer, more than slightly taken aback at the thought of his interactions with Captain Brandt being analyzed according to the tenets of Vulcan logic. After a thoughtful moment, he cleared his throat and said quietly, "Spock, I suggest you give up on this one. I've known the captain for over fifteen years, and I still don't understand it. She usually goes in for more--competitive pastimes."
"Captain, perhaps if you would specify--"
At that moment, they were joined by Brandt and McCoy, and Kirk silently thanked whatever god had saved him from having to explain human variations on competitive activities, specifically his and Suzanne's.
"Thank you, Doctor. That was wonderful," she said as she sat down next to Kirk.
"My pleasure, Captain." The doctor was grinning from ear to ear as he took the empty seat between Brandt and Spock.
Suzanne looked at Kirk and shook her head. "Really, Jim, I'll never understand why you refuse to learn anything beyond a basic box step," she chided. "Don't you care about being a well-rounded officer?"
"I feel sorry for the people serving under you," he retorted affectionately. "I hear the tango requirement is hell."
"Captain Brandt," Spock began. "Captain Kirk and I are curious--"
"No, we aren't," Kirk interrupted firmly.
Brandt eyed them suspiciously. "I'll let that pass. For now." She picked up her drink and sipped appreciatively. "Mmm. Just the way I like it. Thanks, JT."
"JT." McCoy repeated pointedly.
Brandt turned to the doctor, slightly surprised. "It's one of the captain's nicknames. I've always liked it. And it's one of the few he allows to be used in public."
McCoy grinned. "There are others?"
"Oh, yes. My personal favorite--"
"Brandt," Kirk touched her hand in quiet warning. "You are one step away from being pushed out the airlock."
She rolled her eyes, turned to McCoy, and mouthed 'Later.'
To cover his delight, McCoy asked her, "So do you have a nickname?"
"Brat," Kirk said, watching Suzanne for a reaction. "Short for Brat-I-mean-Brandt. Gary Mitchell gave it to her when we were cadets. She hates it."
"No, actually, I think it's cute," she said. "But back then, they rarely let women into command school. I couldn't afford to have a cute nickname."
An hour later, to McCoy's delight and Spock's edification, Kirk and Brandt were engaged in their second-favorite pastime.
"Let's see," Suzanne was saying as she pointed a swizzle stick at Kirk, "you're a better pilot. I'm a better navigator. You have a lovely tenor voice--"
McCoy choked on his drink, and Spock raised an eyebrow. Kirk wished he'd been quicker to kick her under the table.
"Ow! Sorry, JT, I forgot." She stage-whispered to Spock and McCoy, "He doesn't like people to know that." She cleared her throat and continued brightly, "I, on the other hand, can't carry a tune in a stasis container."
"And for some reason," Kirk interrupted, "she loves people to know that."
Suzanne shrugged. "You excel at hand-to-hand combat. I could sell an olive branch to a Klingon. History--yours. Languages--mine."
She studied Kirk for a moment. "I think we're pretty evenly matched."
"Yes, I do. We just have different styles." She tapped his hand lightly with the swizzle stick. "*You* would allow yourself to be backed into a corner just to prove you could bluff or fight your way out of it. *I* would use any devious, dirty means available to stay out of that corner."
"Captain, her analysis of your character is most insightful," Spock commented solemnly.
Suzanne choked back a laugh while McCoy kept his expression carefully neutral. Kirk eyed his first officer narrowly.
"I"m not sure if I've been insulted."
"Let us know what you decide." Brandt winked at Spock, who gave her a puzzled frown.
Kirk pulled her head close to his and whispered, "It's times like these that I wonder why I love you."
"Captain Kirk." She spoke in a low voice that she knew could be heard by Spock and McCoy. "It's impolite to discuss a topic that can't be shared with the others at the table."
"Of course. Gentlemen, my apologies."
"Fortunately," Brandt continued in her normal tone, "this is not such a topic. So I will explain *exactly* why you love me."
Kirk groaned inwardly. Naturally, his senior officers were aware of his relationship with Captain Brandt--after all, he'd spent several leaves with her, and they had long since given up any pretense about where she slept when onboard the Enterprise. But, even so, a public acknowledgement was just a little discomfiting.
He looked across the table. Spock was as cool and unreadable as ever. McCoy, on the other hand, looked like a man who'd just won a bet.
He turned to Brandt, who folded her hands as she began her discourse.
"You command a starship on a five-year exploratory mission," she explained. "That means you spend most of your time well out of the reach of FleetCom, the admiralty, or anyone else who's likely to say 'no' to you. You have the finest officers and the best crew in the fleet wrapped around your little finger." She leaned in as a cheshire smile crept across her face. "You get your own way far too often *not* to love someone like me."
She smiled knowingly as she raised her glass in a toast, her every move daring him to dispute her.
McCoy laughed. "She's also a better psychologist than you are, Jim."
Kirk's eyes moved slowly from the doctor to the first officer, finally settling narrowly on Suzanne, who was trying very hard not to look smug. He sighed, stood purposefully, and extended his hand.
They glided slowly around the dance floor, Brandt politely following Kirk's basic box step.
"Would you like to hear my analysis of why you love me?" he asked.
He fixed her with a steady look that would brook no denial or interruption.
"Your relationships with men have fallen into two categories. First, there are the ones who are intimidated by you. You enjoy walking all over them until you realize they're not going to fight back. So you leave. Then there are those who find you challenging. They fight back, perhaps even want to dominate *you*--and you enjoy that, too--until it becomes obvious that what they really want is to break you. And again, it's right out the door.
"Now. When you walk all over me, we both know that I'm letting you, and I can and will fight back. But when I do, I'm not trying to break you."
He waited for her response. Finally, she nodded and said, "I'd say we know each other pretty well."
He grinned. "Maybe. But I still have a few surprises left."
Over her shoulder, Kirk caught Mr. Sulu's eye and nodded. He saw the helmsman approach Mr. Tanzer and speak to him briefly. Tanzer moved to the music console.
"And speaking of surprises--I have a birthday present for you, Brat."
"My birthday isn't for two months."
"It's not the kind of present you can send."
"Oooo." Her eyes widened in delight.
"And it's not what you're thinking."
A syncopated swing tune began playing. Disappointed, Brandt turned and headed for the table.
"Where are you going?" he asked as he stopped her.
"It's 'Warp 9.' You can't do this."
"Like hell I can't." He pulled her close. "Happy birthday."
And then he spun her out, drew her back in, and turned her elegantly, as her bright, sparkling laughter rang in his ears.
Three songs later, a lazy ballad began playing, and she rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. She was glistening with perspiration, short of breath, and utterly, blissfully happy.
"Brandt," he whispered, "I don't think dancing is supposed to have an afterglow."
She chuckled. "Maybe we haven't been dancing long enough. Believe me, *everything* good in life has an afterglow."
She closed her eyes, shutting out everything but the music and his touch as he guided her around the floor. He held her very close and soon there was no sensation except his body against hers, no sound except their hearts beating. It was gloriously intoxicating and reassuringly cozy, all at the same time.
She murmured, "Thank you for my birthday gift, JT."
"You're welcome. Actually, I'm enjoying it too."
"I wasn't thanking you for the dancing."
She looked up at him, her eyes soft and warm. "For knowing how much it would mean to me." She wished they were alone so she could kiss him. "Dr. McCoy doesn't give you enough credit."
He decided he didn't care if they were alone and kissed her anyway. She turned faintly pink and said, "I'll have to come up with something very special for your birthday."
He felt vaguely alarmed, remembering the last time she'd surprised him with something 'very special.' "Why don't I just tell you what I'd like?"
"Name it. I'm feeling generous."
He held her out slightly and said, "Promise me you'll never tell anyone that nickname." She looked up at him in wide-eyed innocence. "You know the one I mean," he added sternly. "Your 'personal favorite.'"
After a brief hesitation, she chuckled and said, "I promise."
Then she stood on tiptoe, whispered it in his ear, and watched in delight as the captain of the Enterprise blushed deep scarlet.
Spock and McCoy had risen to their feet in order to better observe the two captains' surprisingly skillful navigation of the dance floor. The doctor spotted Mr. Sulu across the room and flagged him over.
"Mr. Sulu. I couldn't help noticing the captain's recent interest in--fencing. How often have the two of you been working out?"
"Twice a week, sir. For the past three months."
The two humans chuckled knowingly as Spock raised a puzzled eyebrow.
"Gentlemen. I fail to find the humor in the captain's desire to improve himself."
"You thick-headed Vulcan," the doctor explained impatiently. "They haven't been *fencing.*"
The Vulcan turned his quizzical gaze to Mr. Sulu.
"Well, Mr. Spock, the captain didn't want anyone to know but--I guess the cat's out of the bag now. He said if he was going to continue seeing the best dancer in the fleet, he'd better try to keep up."
"Mr. Sulu, am I to understand that you have been giving the captain--dance lessons?"
Spock frowned as he digested this newest bit of unexpected information.
McCoy's eyes danced with mischief. "Sulu, is it too much to hope that there's a visual recording of these sessions?"
"As a matter of fact, there is, Doctor." Sulu grinned wickedly. "I told him it would help if he could see his mistakes."
Spock nodded approvingly as McCoy guffawed.
"But it's not as entertaining as you might think," the helmsman continued. "He actually learned very quickly--once I pointed out that dancing is exactly like hand-to-hand combat. But without the fighting."
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