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. It contains references to The Uneasy Dancers. The Kirk-Brandt Chronology lists all the stories, both in order of occurrence and order of creation.
Note
Thanks to Wildcat for beta-reading and allowing Milele, an original character of hers, to appear in this story. The occasional intersection of my Kirk/Brandt and Wildcat's Spock/Uhura universes should not be construed to mean that everything that happened in one also happened in the other. Specifically, Spock of Wildcat's S/U stories didn't experience the events of my story, "The Uneasy Dancers," despite Milele's appearance in this story or Brandt's appearance in Wildcat's "A Woman's Touch."
* Personal Log, Lieutenant Sophie Niven *
I got a picture today, no, I got *the* picture. The best I've ever taken. The lighting, the focus, the perspective, the depth, the way everyone is turning to look at them--God, it says it all. If this isn't on the front page of the Banner tomorrow--*above* the scrolldown--I'll turn in my camera.
I sure didn't think it was going to be my lucky day when I went to pick up Marco Riccio this afternoon. Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing when I recommended him to Captain Radovich to freelance for the Banner. He's a good writer but he has absolutely no discipline. Starfleet doesn't like that, and it gets a little tiresome covering for him.
I had to lean on the horn four times before he came stumbling out and fell into the flitter.
"You couldn't even shave?" I asked as I tossed him a temporary press badge.
"Do it on the way over," he mumbled. "So what am I writing about?"
I started explaining about the Enterprise and the end of her five-year-mission--
"Right, I got it. Proud captain, stalwart crew, tearful family reunions, bunch of old fart admirals flapping their lips--could write it in my sleep."
"That's not what we're paying you for."
"Don't worry, sweetie, I won't let you down. Take your pictures and I'll write the story that only the great Marco Riccio could tell."
"No, Marco. We're not looking for keen irony or bitter cynicism or--"
"Or a hard-hitting story exposing the dark underside of Starfleet. Yeah, I know. One hack job, coming right up."
* Personal Log, Captain Suzanne Brandt *
My invitation to the Enterprise's homecoming reception showed up a few days ago. Fig has had hers for at least two weeks. Why did mine arrive at the last minute? Does Jim actually want me there, or is this a final favor tossed my way, like buying someone dinner before you break up? I don't know. I don't know what he's thinking. I've had several messages from him, but they were rather stilted. Recorded messages usually are, but these were almost like reports.
One night, I listened to one of his over and over. He described some tension with the Romulans that hadn't really gone anywhere. His voice had a false amiability to it and I sat there drinking glass after glass of wine and thinking, "Talk to me, Jim. Really talk to me." But except for a brief sentence at the end, he didn't. The first time I listened to it, I thought the message was over but it kept playing, and then his voice came back on, sounding tired.
I was reaching for the wine bottle and I froze, completely taken by surprise. It was a long time before I found my voice and was able to initiate a replay.
I got very drunk that night and recorded several long, rambling messages. I know I talked about Spock and what had happened between us, how guilty I felt, how I couldn't help feeling that Spock had left because of me, or us, or whatever it was that was excluding him. I told him how I'd gone to Spock's quarters to try to invoke the last shred of the link and bring him back. I told him I knew it was selfish and wrong, but I'd come to rely on Spock being at his side, keeping him safe. I told him how afraid I was for him during the last weeks of the mission. And I told him that, more than anything, I was afraid that he already knew these things and hated me for them.
Recording drunken messages in the middle of the night may be good for the soul, but I wasn't fool enough to send them. But as I watched the Enterprise pull into spacedock, I felt every one of those unsent messages gnawing at my gut.
* Personal Log, Captain James Kirk *
For the past several weeks, I've tried to see the Enterprise as just a ship, thinking it would make it easier to leave her. But she's no more just a ship than Suzanne is just a woman or Spock was just a friend.
As we pulled into spacedock, there was a harsh clank as each of the moorings was attached to her hull and the echoes rang for much longer than I would have expected. This ship--my ship--these years as her captain have so filled my life, but the cold, hollow sound of metal against metal made me wonder if that fulfillment was just an illusion, one more shield between me and the void beyond.
She shivered at the first pull, almost as if she were reluctant to ride peacefully into port. I saw Scotty put a hand to one of the bulkheads. It was an strangely tender gesture, almost as if he were soothing a skittish animal. He didn't whisper, "Shhh, lassie, we're home now," but I wouldn't have been a bit surprised if he had.
I glanced to my right before I could stop myself. The man I wanted to share this moment with wasn't there and I wish to god I could stop expecting to see him.
I turned back to the screen and then I felt a hand on my shoulder, my left shoulder. Bones. Reminding me without saying anything. The bridge of a starship is no place to dwell on personal problems.
The ground technician's voice was warm and friendly, yet I almost gripped the arms of my chair as we entered the brightly lit cavern that will be the Enterprise's home for at least the next two years.
Homecoming. That implies that you have a home to return to. But for all these years, the ship has been my home. She's scheduled for a refit and I don't know what Nogura has planned for me, but Earth hasn't been home to me for many years. After Nevaris, I started thinking about a future with Suzanne. I didn't picture a specific place, just Suzanne and a sense of belonging. I imagined something that felt like home and that made thinking about the end of the five-year mission more bearable. And maybe the future I envisioned is still a possibility. Or maybe I'll see Suzanne and feel more homeless than ever.
I've been avoiding any real contact with her for weeks. Recorded messages have been all I could manage, and luckily, we've been so far out that a live two-way communication has been out of the question. It isn't that I don't want to talk to her. I think of her during meals, in the gym, and at night as I lay sleepless. Sometimes the pictures I played in my head brought comfort, but more often, they made me restless and apprehensive.
When she left the Enterprise seven weeks ago, there was a distance between us, which wasn't surprising, considering all we'd been through and how little time we'd had to recover. I think our heads were still spinning, like partners unexpectedly facing each other at the end of a dizzying and complicated dance. It made us tentative with each other as if we were afraid of the words we might speak. That left touch as our only connection and once she was gone, we didn't even have that.
The night before she left, we made love, and afterwards, I lay beside her, molding my body to hers, inhaling the warm scent of her skin and listening to her breathing. On the surface, it was like so many other nights. But after she fell asleep, I got up and headed to the lower decks. When I reached engineering, I went to the auxiliary access where it was unlikely I'd be seen. I didn't want to give the crew a reason to wonder why the captain was staring at the matter/anti-matter chamber in the middle of the night. They were perplexed enough since Spock's sudden departure.
As I watched the swirling lights and colors, I thought about balance and synergy and volatile mixtures that they didn't warn you about at the Academy. I leaned against the grillwork, feeling the strength and power of the ship all around me. But the carefully controlled equilibrium at her heart, the regularity of the engines' hum, the indicators blinking safe-safe-safe were no comfort. They couldn't dispel the confusion that had driven me from Suzanne and the emotions our lovemaking had aroused in me that night--relief, sadness, love, doubt, jealousy. And anger. I don't know if I was angry at Suzanne or myself or... Maybe she was just the nearest target.
Finding no answers in engineering, I finally returned to my quarters, lay down beside her once more and shut down all the questions, telling myself I would sort them out later. How could a seasoned spacer be so blind to the dangers of drifting?
One night about a month later, I started suddenly out of a dream I couldn't remember, not even in that first moment of waking. But I knew I had to tell her that the distance I'd felt had nothing to do with the way I felt about her. I wanted to say, I'm sorry, I was still numb from the shock of Spock's departure, I didn't know what I was doing, I'm all right now, I love you, that hasn't changed...
But by the time I got to the computer, that clarity of purpose had faded and I stared at the screen, unable to look away from the abstract shape twisting and turning on itself. When the computer prompted me, I described a minor run-in with the Romulans and finally managed to say, "I miss you."
I tried to imagine her voice, to hear her saying, "I miss you, too." But it wouldn't come. All I could hear was the question she asked me after I came back from Vulcan alone.
I never asked if she forgave me.
There's so much I need to say to her, but I don't know what it is. I only know I don't want to say it without being able to touch her. I want the reality of her to replace this uncertainty. I want--
I want, I want. God! Is that all there is to me? I wanted Spock's friendship and when I lost that, I told Suzanne I wanted her to make me forget how much that hurt.
She gave and I took and I brushed her question aside by saying, "You didn't do anything that needs forgiving."
Is that all she wanted? Is it too late to ask that question? How far have I drifted from the homecoming I'd imagined?
* Personal Log, Dr. Leonard McCoy *
I wish Jim would just let go and punch a bulkhead or something. Not that it would do any good. The person he really wants to fight with is busy trying to purge himself of everything he's ever felt.
He lost the right to refuse his emotions when he let Jim creep past all that Vulcan reserve and be his friend.
And as for Jim... I saw him turn toward the science station when we entered spacedock. He was smiling over Scotty soothing the Enterprise and he expected to see Spock raise an amused eyebrow in response. Hell, I'd like to see that myself. When Jim turned back, I caught a glimpse of his face, looking worn and much older than his thirty-six years. I put my hand on his shoulder and started to say something, but he straightened briskly and before I could get a word out, ground control cut me off with "Welcome home, Enterprise." Seems like I've been getting cut off a lot lately, mostly by Jim every time I try to approach him on anything except the medical status of the crew.
I wonder what Spock would think of all this. Would he get some satisfaction out of knowing what he took with him when he disappeared into the desert? Is he getting just the tiniest bit fed up with perfect logic and wishing he hadn't been so quick to turn his back on what he had here? Does he feel at all responsible for the uneasy tension on this ship or what's going to happen or not happen between Jim and Suzanne? Or is all that just another part of his life that isn't allowed to enter the fortress of Gol?
Jim seems to be trying to find a Gol of his own. I've never seen him keeping himself so close. On duty, he's the perfect command machine, guiding Sulu in his new position of first officer, handling each crisis, giving time and attention to the crew. But off duty, he's just not there. And this afternoon, as I was putting on my dress uniform, I had the awful feeling that it was going to get worse. I figured I had one last chance to knock some sense into him before we docked. So I went to his quarters and we walked to the shuttle deck together.
I said, "Jim, Abraham Lincoln is one of your heroes, isn't he?"
He nodded, and I didn't give him a chance to ask me why I was bringing up Lincoln.
"I believe he said, 'Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.' You've made up your mind to be miserable, and you're succeeding. You're too good a commander to take it out on the crew, but I can't stand by and watch you take it out on yourself. Or Suzanne."
As I spoke, I saw him going cold--shutting himself off, just like he's done ever since Spock beamed off the Enterprise and out of our lives.
"I have no intention of 'taking this out' on Suzanne."
"No? Three days ago, I checked the guest list for the reception to make sure Joanna's name was on it. It was. And Suzanne's wasn't."
"It's better if I see her afterwards."
"Why? What's the point in excluding her from this?"
"There are things she and I need to talk about--"
"And you'll have plenty of time to talk about them. But if she's at the reception, you might actually enjoy yourself. And you've decided that's not allowed. Jim, this is the most successful five-year-mission Starfleet has ever had, by any estimation. Can't you take some pride in that?"
"No, Bones, I can't. I can't help thinking about the losses."
"And you should. We should honor our dead. But you're thinking of one loss in particular, aren't you? Jim, Spock chose a new path--*his* path. He'd been walking along yours for a very long time. So respect his decision. And make one of your own. Oh, by the way, you haven't got much time. I had Suzanne added to the guest list."
I can be a real bastard, but with Jim, sometimes that's the only way to be his friend.
* Personal Log, Commander Aubrelia Figueroa *
I've known Suzanne since our first day at the Academy when I met her as my roommate. I'm ashamed to say that my first thought was disappointment at her height--short--and her feet--small. It meant I wouldn't be borrowing any of her clothes, something I had enjoyed at home with my sisters. Still, I ended up being grateful that I hadn't been housed with the only other woman in my class near my size. Miska Rufkin was one of the most dour people I've ever encountered, and although Brandt was no slouch when it came to contentiousness, she's been a good friend and I wouldn't trade her for someone with a whole closet full of shoes that fit me. She was always there for me, and even though I did practically nothing, I'm glad I was there for her on the day the Enterprise returned.
Over the years, I thought I had seen every side of her, so I could hardly believe what I was witnessing in the ladies room.
I came out of the head and saw her standing at the mirror, examining her reflection with a critical frown. She turned and greeted me with a relieved, "Oh, thank god it's you. Is it too much?"
"Is what too much?" I asked as I put my hands under the faucet.
"The lipstick! Fig, look at me!"
I pulled a towel out of the dispenser and studied her as I dried my hands.
"Too much? It's barely noticeable."
Was she whining? No, not quite, but she was frustrated as hell and I was certain it had nothing to do with lipstick. But if she wanted to fuss with her appearance, I was more than willing to assist.
"Let me fluff your hair--" I reached for her.
"No! You'll make me look like a shitzu."
I watched her pace back and forth and finally put myself in her path and cut to the chase.
"Suzanne, how long has it been since you've seen Jim?"
A strange expression clouded her face and when she answered, her voice had a chill to it--always a sign that she'd decided to soldier on despite whatever was bugging her.
"Seven weeks." She laid a tissue on the floor and dropped to one knee. "But a lot happened the last time--"
She began rubbing her thumb against a smudge on her boot. I pulled her to her feet.
"No matter what happened, I'm positive he won't want to conduct a white-glove inspection. Now let's go. We'll be late."
After a moment, she nodded and gave me a cheery smile.
"You're right. I'm being ridiculous."
I didn't believe her for an instant, but she started for the door. I followed and we almost collided when she stopped just as it opened. She turned and pushed me back into the lounge.
After a long tense look at the floor, she looked at me, her eyes vulnerable and scared in a way I'd never seen before.
* Personal Log, Lieutenant Sophie Niven *
Thanks to Marco, we missed seeing the Enterprise dock. Naturally, that won't affect his job at all. I'm the one who's going to have to explain why I don't have my CO's favorite shot--the stars visible through the doors closing behind a ship entering space dock.
"Don't worry about it," Marco said as we hurried to the reception. "The people are much more interesting than a hunk of metal."
We stood near the side of the platform as everyone settled into place.
"So who are these people?" Marco asked.
"The senior officers of the Enterprise. That's the captain, James T. Kirk. K-I-R-K. The man next to him is Dr. Leonard McCoy, ship's surgeon. M-C-C-O-Y. The first officer's name is Sulu--S-U-L-U--I'll get you his first name from the records--"
"Sophie, I'm not taking attendance. I need a *story.* Tell me something I can use. Start with the woman with the big eyes. Yeah, I'd like to interview her."
"That's Lieutenant Nyota Uhura--U-H-U-R-A--but if you're going to write about an individual, it should be the captain."
"Him? I'm not sure there's much of a story there. He looks pretty grim."
Marco was right. I've seen lots of pictures of Captain Kirk and I've taken a few myself. The last time I saw him looking like that, he was being court-martialed. I was wondering about it when Marco said, "Did you say Kirk? Is that the guy with all the women?"
"Now there's a story. How many of the women here think he's coming home to them? Any chance of a cat-fight?"
"Marco, from all reports, he's pretty much focused on just one for a while now."
"Yeah? Is she here? Point her out."
I looked around and it took me a while to find her, mostly because I thought she'd be sitting near the front.
"There, in the back, just sitting down. Captain Suzanne Brandt. B-R-A-N-D-T."
"The tall one who looks like she might let me suck her toes if I ask nicely?"
"No, that's Sector Commander Figueroa. Brandt's the one next to her."
"Actually, she's kind of cute."
"In a 'don't fuck with me' sort of way."
"That's right. Don't fuck with her, Marco. She's Special Ops."
"Okay, that's the story!" He rubbed his hands together and chortled. "Stick-up-his-butt captain comes home to undercover cutie."
"You can't mention Special Ops," I said. "Officially, she works in Records."
He dropped his head to his hands and moaned. "Right, that'll get a million hits. Stick-up-his-butt captain comes home to hair-challenged file clerk."
"Shut up and start recording. That's the Commander in Chief getting up to speak. Admiral Robert Henry. H-E-N--"
I took a couple of pictures of the C-in-C, but I kept looking back and forth between Kirk and Brandt. When word went around the Fleet that our most renowned ladykiller was in something that remotely resembled a steady relationship, a lot of people were stunned and almost as many were disappointed. I did a little digging on Brandt just to keep current. They'd been together at the Academy but nothing ever took off between them until a few years ago. Up until recently, "No strings" had been her motto just as much as his. And considering their lines of work, that made sense. Still, I wasn't the only one who had noticed the Enterprise's frequent assignment to Special Ops' taxi runs. I asked Fleet Captain Wesley about it once on Starbase 9. After making it clear that his remarks were off the record, he said, "You could say I'm exercising my prerogative to allocate my resources as I see fit. Or you could say that I'm playing cupid. Or you could say that I understand what people give up to serve on a starship and I like seeing someone have it both ways."
Or you could say that Kirk's pipeline to Romulan ale has been kept pretty busy supplying Bob Wesley with thank-you gifts.
Regardless, it's been an interesting romance to follow, even though I don't believe half of what I've heard. I was smiling to myself over some of the juicier rumors when Marco nudged me.
"Are you sure the shitzu's the girlfriend?"
"Because he's only looked at her once and didn't even crack a smile, and she looks like she's trying to be brave as the firing squad marches in."
Marco was right. From the way they looked this afternoon, I didn't believe a single one of the stories I'd heard.
* Personal Log, Captain James Kirk *
I looked around for Suzanne as we trooped up onto the platform, but everyone was on their feet applauding. She wasn't in the front and past that, I had no chance of picking her out among so many. As they sat down, I saw her in the very back, next to Fig. Did she stay on her feet a moment longer than everyone else, letting me know that she was there? Or did I imagine it?
Admiral Henry began speaking and after that, I didn't dare look in her direction. It would be too easy to telegraph my anxiety. So I focused on a spot on the back wall, unwilling to search her eyes for a welcome that might not be there.
* Personal Log, Lieutenant Nyota Uhura *
There were several speakers at the reception and they all sounded like they were trying to turn the Enterprise's return to their political advantage. All of the senior officers were seated on the platform behind the speaker's podium and I was sitting at the end with Sulu on my right. Every now and then, he'd make a quiet snoring sound and I'd have to suppress a smile. Sulu was one of my first friends on the Enterprise and I've always loved him for making me laugh at the strangest times. But I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of the admiralty, so I concentrated on ignoring his antics.
I scanned the crowd and was happy to see my sister Milele and her husband there. The last time we'd spoken, she wasn't sure if they'd be able to make the trip to San Francisco and when I caught her eye, she smiled a face-bursting welcome. I realized that if I kept watching her, I'd soon find myself grinning as well, so after nodding and hoping she understood that I was saying, "Later," I looked for other familiar faces. One in the very back row caught my attention and I found I couldn't look away.
Captain Brandt. Suzanne, actually, but the dress uniform and the stoic expression on her face made it impossible for me to think of her as the bawdy friend I'd shared a couple of memorable bull sessions with.
I found myself wondering what had happened the last time she'd been aboard the Enterprise. I usually knew every damn thing that happened on that ship, but what little I knew about the events on Beta-Chorea and the subsequent dash to Vulcan made no sense at all. I thought of Spock resigning his commission rather than leave his home planet. The captain never explained it and he shut down all questions about it in a way that wasn't rude but was extremely firm.
We've all missed Spock, the reassurance of his calm strength, the warmth of his friendship. I'm sure some people wouldn't understand that. A Vulcan warm? But he was. Despite his correct manner, we all knew he cared for us as much as the captain did. It was rare for him to seek the company of others for social purposes, but he never rejected a hand offered in friendship and I've known plenty of humans who've never gotten the hang of that. Soon after I came aboard the Enterprise, I asked him to teach me to play the Vulcan lyre and I'll admit that my motives didn't have that much to do with music. Well, that never went anywhere, but I did learn to play the lyre and I enjoyed the lessons. I think he did, too. I've missed that.
And lately, I've missed the captain as well, although he's been there the whole time. You can't fault his performance or criticize the way he's treated anyone. But ever since we left Vulcan, he's been different. Whenever I've talked to him off-duty, he's been friendly and interested, but there's been something missing. One night, I challenged him to a chess game. Lord knows I'm no chess player and maybe I was just missing Spock, but I challenged and he accepted. He won easily and because defeating me took so little effort and I didn't really care about the game, we kept a conversation going throughout. We didn't speak of anything important, but every time it lagged, he picked it up again. I began to wonder if he was giving his attention to me and the game and everything else that was required of him to avoid thinking about something else.
That doesn't sound a bit like the captain, but the more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that I was right. I'd thought the something else he was trying not to think about was Spock, but today, as I looked across the room at Suzanne, I began to question that assumption. I've been present on several occasions when they've greeted each other after long separations. Under the composure that both wore as part of the uniform, there had always been a joy and an eagerness that I'd envied. I saw none of that this afternoon.
I thought of my chess game with the captain and the interest he'd faked. Looking at Suzanne, I wondered how many trivial conversations and activities it had taken to fill these last few weeks for her.
* Personal Log, Captain Suzanne Brandt *
I sat next to Fig through the interminable speeches that dragged on and on and went absolutely nowhere. When it was finally Jim's turn, his remarks were very brief, mostly crediting the officers and crew. Then we stood at attention as they read the names of those who had died over the course of the mission. Gary's was among the first.
I felt as if I'd been slugged.
When was the last time I'd really thought about Gary? At every Memorial Day ceremony, of course. But there were so many to remember, too many fallen in the line of duty. I couldn't really concentrate on any one person. The last time I'd really thought about Gary and felt that loss had been...
It was the first time I was on the Enterprise. I'd known for months how Gary had died, but being there with Jim, knowing it would never be the three of us again... Well, I actually cried a little. Jim teared up as well and I remember thinking that neither of us was likely to do that with anyone else. A couple of nights later, we slept together for the first time. I wonder what Gary would think about that. He'd probably laugh. And then ask when it was going to be his turn.
Oh, Gary. There won't be any more turns for you. And I wondered if Jim and I had used up all of ours.
Fig pulled on my sleeve to sit down when it was over. I saw that the receiving line was forming and as we waited our turn, Fig whispered, "Why do you think Jim didn't mention Commander Spock?"
"He wasn't on the memorial list because he didn't die. And the rest of the speeches were to honor those who *completed* the mission." I was shocked at the bitterness in my voice and Fig stared at me in disbelief.
"Suzanne! What are you so mad at him about?"
But I was. I am. I'm sure some people were surprised that Jim didn't even refer to him, but I wasn't. I kept remembering Jim's face when he came back from Vulcan without him. The line between friend and fellow officer was so muddied between them that I don't think Jim could have acknowledged Spock's part in the mission without displaying the pain of his loss.
Spock promised me he would bring Jim home, and only a few weeks later, he left, because a Vulcan can't be in love with a human. I wonder how he would feel about the way Jim looked today. Cold, unfeeling, controlled. Vulcan.
I'm sure that Jim wanted to say something about Spock, but he didn't. He kept his composure, and although I understood the reasons, I was worried. If he could shut off his feelings about Spock that way, what did he feel about me?
I clung to those words as I moved numbly through the receiving line.
* Personal Log, Dr. Leonard McCoy *
I didn't stop hugging Joanna until she said, "Daddy!" in an exasperated tone. I guess we were past the stage where a hug from her father could light up a little girl's eyes. I suddenly felt the tug of all I'd missed when I'd let Jim con me into exchanging my comfortable life on earth for one of adventure among the stars. I decided he more than deserved the sucker punch I'd delivered earlier and I'd give him another if he didn't straighten up and fly right.
Joanna moved on and I couldn't help smiling when she took Sulu's hand and said, "Welcome home, Lieutenant." Watching my little girl--sorry, the very grownup young lady who is my pride and joy, I realized that I had a lot of missed time to make up. I was trying to figure out what activity I could suggest that wouldn't cause a twelve-year-old to turn up her nose as I shook hands with a lovely woman who introduced herself as Uhura's sister, Milele. That woke me up. Although I knew Uhura had family on earth, they never seemed quite real to me. Uhura probably felt the same way about Joanna. I'd venture to say that none of us had given much thought to the others' lives outside of the Enterprise.
Except I'd given quite a bit of thought to Jim's. He has a way of grabbing my attention, even when he doesn't want it.
As I was greeted by Milele's husband--can't remember his name but he seemed like a nice enough fellow--Uhura nudged me and nodded her head in the direction of the line.
Suzanne was shaking hands with Chekov.
I didn't mean to be rude, but at least half my attention was on her instead of the subsequent people who welcomed me home.
* Personal Log, Commander Aubrelia Figueroa *
When it was finally our turn to greet the Enterprise's senior officers, I wanted to slap Suzanne. She knew every one of those people and they were glad to see her. They weren't just Jim's officers to her as they were to me. But for some reason, she was unable to make any conversation other than, "Welcome home, Ensign or Lieutenant or whatever they were."
Why didn't she joke with them or ask them about their plans for the future?
It wasn't like her and I resolved to corner her later and get a few answers. Except of course I didn't, because we finally made it to the front of the line. I introduced myself to Dr. McCoy, watching the action ahead out of the corner of my eye. Suzanne was doing her canned routine with Lieutenant Sulu as Commodore Jenkins spoke with Jim. Then he moved on and we all moved up one. As I shook hands with Sulu, I found myself almost holding my breath as I tried to watch Jim and Suzanne without being obvious about it. It was very rude of me but Sulu was doing the exact same thing, and I'm fairly certain that a lot of other people were, too. That romance has been the talk of the Fleet for some time and a good number of people at the reception wanted to see them in action, up close and personal.
She put her hand in his and neither said anything. They just stared at each other, like two actors who have forgotten their lines. Finally, Suzanne said, "Welcome home, Captain."
Was she nuts? I was so stunned that I gave up on trying not to be obvious. I turned and stared at her and saw an uncertain smile trying to become more sure of itself. I looked at Jim and he was frowning. I recognized his expression--I'd seen Captain Garrovick with that exact same look when Jim and I were junior officers on the Farragut. We learned a lot from him and looking like you were considering all the angles when you were actually wondering what the hell was going on was part of his legacy.
Jim opened his mouth but didn't say anything for a moment. He didn't learn that from Garrovick--he's done it for as long as I've known him. I've decided that it means he hasn't any idea what's going to come out but opening his mouth gets it going.
I really thought I was going to have to slap them both.
* Personal Log, Captain James Kirk *
She took my hand, formal and correct, her face betraying nothing.
"Welcome home, Captain," she said.
I started to reply and suddenly I remembered the first time she came aboard the Enterprise, giving a smart salute and saying, "Permission to come aboard, Captain Kirk."
I remembered holding her as we silently mourned Gary, feeling that loss casting a shadow over my memories of the three of us and comforted to know that she felt it, too.
I remembered how she pushed us forward into the future a few days later by kissing me and then pulling away, excusing her action with "It was a terrible idea."
* Personal Log, Commander Aubrelia Figueroa *
Jim cocked his head and eyed Suzanne, his expression going from dubious to curious to sardonic. Finally he laughed and said, "'Welcome home, Captain?' I ought to deck you for that."
And suddenly the strange, frightened Suzanne who'd been marching through the proceedings like a zombie disappeared. She jerked her chin and said, "I'd like to see you try."
I've seen it in a hundred tri-vees. It always makes me roll my eyes and if the person I'm with has a sense of humor, I say, "Wake me when the killing starts." But damn, I'm glad I didn't sleep through this, because when you see it in real life--
He kissed her. Actually swept her into his arms, bent her back, and planted one on her that left me breathless. I can only imagine what it did to her.
I heard the whir of a holocam and saw a short guy with a press badge and a recorder moving toward them. I don't think Jim and Suzanne will mind the picture--in fact, I'm sure they won't--but being interrupted to chat with a reporter?
I stepped in front of him, giving him the forbidding smile that says, "Back off, buddy." I learned that one from Garrovick, too.
* Personal Log, Captain James Kirk *
She kissed me back, shattering my doubts with the intensity of her response, and when I straightened, she pressed even closer to me, not letting go. I could feel her heart pounding as she whispered, "You're home." And suddenly, I was.
Home. It wasn't everything, but it was something I didn't have a few moments earlier.
* Personal Log, Captain Suzanne Brandt *
I'm not naive enough to believe that all I needed was Jim's arms around me and a very public display of affection, but I'm honest enough to admit that I did need some kind of reassurance. And when he kissed me like that with Nogura and the C-in-C standing not ten feet away, I was reassured and then some.
The fairy tales are full of princes solving everything with a kiss and I don't believe in fairy tales. But most of those stories have some truth at the core, and it *was* a hell of a kiss.
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