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.
NOTE: I think this may end up as part of a larger story at some point, but for now, this is it
When I think back on those first few weeks as Chief of Fleet Ops, I realize I was very much in shock at the turn my life had taken. It's just a blur of motion and frustration. I was aware of Suzanne wanting to help and trying not to hover, but there really wasn't anything she could do, and I didn't expect her to.
Except of course she did. She snapped me out of that funk and made it possible to keep going. It doesn't matter that she did it unintentionally and with the silliest of actions. She did it.
I'd been CFO for a few weeks, and every day, I was becoming more acutely aware of what a misery that job was. Yes, I commanded the entire fleet, but I did so from a desk. Without a ship of my own, without a crew to command and be guided by, it felt like playing with toy starships, as I had when I was a boy.
It was a Tuesday around mid-afternoon, when I abruptly told my aide to cancel my appointments and not to contact me unless it was an emergency. Feeling happy and wicked, I went over to the records building to see if Suzanne wanted to play hooky with me. But when I got there, the lieutenant at the desk told me she had signed out.
I glanced down at the sign-in padd and saw the letters CS after Suzanne's signature. Community Service. HQ's latest way of interfering with people's productivity was to pressure everyone to perform some form of community service. I was teaching swimming at the Y once a week. The last time I'd asked her about it, Suzanne had told me she hadn't decided on anything yet. Apparently, she'd found something.
"Admiral, I can page her, if you--"
I turned to leave, feeling dejected. Suddenly playing hooky didn't sound like much fun after all.
That's when Commander Wallis, Suzanne's first officer, came in. I asked him if he knew where she was. He looked uncomfortable. I asked again, more insistently.
"All right," he said, pulling me into a corner. "But you didn't hear this from me."
"She's at the Community Fellowship Center on Divisadero." Then he grinned and said, "And, Admiral, you can rip my fingernails out, but that's as much as I'll tell you."
I heard him laughing as I left. I double-timed it over to the shiny new community center on Divisadero Street. When I asked the woman at the front desk for Captain Brandt, she looked puzzled.
"Captain Suzanne Brandt," I repeated.
"I don't think--Oh! You mean Miss Suzanne!"
"Yes. Miss Suzanne." I was starting to get an inkling of why Wallis had been so amused.
"She's in the small studio, but the class won't be over for another ten minutes. Are you her boyfriend, the admiral?"
Her boyfriend, the admiral. Sure, why not?
"I thought so. I have to tell you, the children just *adore* Miss Suzanne. My little boy has a terrible crush on her. And you should have heard them cheering when she told them they wouldn't have to wear those fussy costumes!"
Children? Crushes? Costumes? I had to see this.
I asked if I could observe the class. Without being seen, of course. I wouldn't want to distract the children. The chatty receptionist directed me to an observation room on the second floor.
"If you don't turn on the lights, I doubt they'll even know you're there."
I ran up the stairs and crept into the room marked "Observation." Looking down through the plexiglass partition, I saw Suzanne leading have a dozen small children through a bouncy dance routine.
"*And* suzy-q, suzy-q, suzy-q, BREAK! Again! Suzy-q, suzy-q--"
I fell into a chair, choking with laughter. So *this* was the Brat's community service. Teaching a dance class that could best be described as stumble and fumble. No wonder she'd kept quiet about it.
The receptionist had been right. The children obviously adored her. The two little boys were too busy jockeying for position next to her to even attempt any of the steps. To my disappointment, though, the receptionist had been right about something else--no fussy costumes. The children were all in street clothes, and Suzanne wore a tank top, running shorts, and little black shoes I'd never seen before.
As entertaining as the children were with their inept movements, watching Suzanne bounce around the room, pushing them into line, counting the beats, and shouting encouragement was the most comical display I'd seen in years. After just a few minutes, my sides ached from silent laughter. I was about to leave and find a place where I could howl to my heart's content when she stopped them and said, "All right! Last week, you promised me you would know all the words to the song, right?"
She counted off the beats and they launched into some garbled nonsense at the top of their lungs. And Suzanne--who by her own admission couldn't carry a tune in a stasis container--was singing louder than any of them.
Gasping for air and with tears in my eyes, I truly believed it couldn't get any funnier. And then a little girl dressed head to toe in pink waved her hand and screamed, "MISS SUZANNE! MISS SUZANNE!"
"HOLD IT!" Suzanne shouted. "What is it, Melinda?"
Suzanne gave her a look that would have caused a midshipman to throw himself out the airlock. Luckily, Melinda wasn't that sensitive.
"All right, Melinda," Suzanne said evenly. "I won't sing."
Drawing a deep breath, she instructed them to take it from the top. As they began, a woman came into the observation room and sat down next to me. I straightened up and tried to act as if there was nothing unusual about what we were witnessing.
The woman leaned over and whispered, "That's my little girl, Melinda. The one in pink."
"The big one teaching the class," said her boyfriend, the admiral.
After two more choruses of whatever it was, the class ended and Melinda's mother left. I watched the children straggle out, some still singing and others hanging around Suzanne as she ushered them to the door. When she was finally alone, she went to the middle of the room and faced the mirror on the opposite wall. Then she bent over, pulled down her shorts, and shot a perfect moon in my direction. And without a backward glance, she pranced out of the room. I laughed very long and very loud.
I've thought about that afternoon many times. What exactly had I been fleeing when I left my office?
I think it was the barrier that all that extra braid put between me and everyone else. It made me intimidating to the young officers and an annoyance to the more seasoned ones. I was one of the people I had always scorned as desk jockeys or paper pushers. In the eyes of the line officers, I was now out of touch with the reality of space exploration. No one looked at me and saw Jim. They saw Rear Admiral James T. Kirk, Chief of Fleet Operations.
Except Suzanne. To her, I was a guy she could moon. I don't know what I would have done without her.
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