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.
Lots of acknowledgments on this one: JWinter for his encouragement and generosity in allowing me the temporary use of TJ Durant; jonk, who has waited almost patiently for this, even though s/he knew it would ruin both our reputations as garrulous cranks; and the two friends whose talent and personalities I confiscated for Breju. Here are a few words from them:
He drifted to a level just below consciousness, feeling the warm glow of surprise. It had been a long time since he'd been awakened by a loving hand fondling his cock.
Let's see, we've been married for sixteen years ... the last time she did this was...
Deciding that history was really irrelevant at the moment, he groaned contentedly, reached down and cupped her breast. He heard a delicate intake of breath, followed by a sleepy murmur.
He inhaled deeply and wrinkled his nose. Not her usual shampoo. Familiar, though. In fact, it smelled like--
Commander Wallis' eyes flew open as every other part of his body froze.
Looking up, he saw Li, the smaller of Liutha's two moons, beaming down at him, which meant that he wasn't at home.
Looking down, he saw that the head resting on his chest did not have dark hair, which meant that the busy hand in his crotch did not belong to his wife.
Looking across the glen, he saw the shadowy figure of Lieutenant k'Vor standing watch, which meant...
Withering both inwardly and outwardly, he cleared his throat and whispered, "Captain Brandt?"
For a fraction of a second, Suzanne wondered why Jim was calling her 'Captain Brandt.' In the next fraction of that second, she came fully awake and realized that she was not in bed in the apartment she shared with Jim. And in the final fraction of that second, she realized where she was, who she was with, and what she was doing, and she shot away from her companion so sharply that she slammed her forehead into a nearby tree trunk. Momentarily stunned, she barely heard Wallis' voice over the ringing in her ears.
She felt a warm blush rising in her face as he crawled over to her. She put her hand to her forehead, then held it close to her face and squinted at it. No blood.
"Yes, I'm fine." She glanced at him uncomfortably. "What about you?"
She heard the mischievous smile under his tone and felt even more embarrassed.
"I'm sorry, Jack," she said. "I guess I was dreaming that--"
"No need to explain, Captain." He sat back on his haunches and grinned at her. "Unless you were dreaming about someone other than Admiral Kirk."
Brandt clicked her tongue. "You have an even dirtier mind than I do."
"With all due respect, Captain, I doubt it."
Wallis moved back to where they had been lying and re-scrunched his jacket into a pillow. Brandt looked around and saw her own jacket lying four feet away from him.
She shivered, although the night was nearly as warm and balmy as the day had been. She had moved all that way in her sleep, just to get close to--
She looked up and saw a solitary moon hanging in an almost starless sky. If the larger Ut had already set, it would be dawn soon. She should try to go back to sleep.
She crawled over to her jacket and lay down, tucking it under her head. But her eyes refused to shut, and as she watched a thin cloud sneak across Li's face, she wondered what was happening to her.
She'd spent nearly an entire year earthbound, awaiting the outcome of Komack's trial, and thinking she'd go insane if she didn't get back into action soon. If it hadn't been for Jim, she probably would have gone insane. And now she was back in action--well, if you could call an assignment where everything went exactly as planned action. Was that why she was thinking about Jim so often? It seemed that he had crept into her thoughts during every quiet moment since she'd left Earth eight days ago. And there had been more than the usual number of quiet moments. The assignment was almost maddeningly stress-free. Tomorrow they would sneak into the city, grab the little weasel who had stolen the Sacred Kelna of the Yuldi, and squeeze its location out of him. Piece of cake.
Shit! We should just go now! All three of us are awake.
She looked across the clearing and, yes, there was k'Vor, standing to stretch her long legs.
Li's craggy face looked as if it was frowning in disapproval.
...and run the chance of turning this nice, calm assignment into a fiasco.
She sat up, rolled her jacket into a ball and pounded it with her fist, but the act did not mitigate her aggravation.
What's wrong with me? Maybe I should go bash my head against that tree again. Knock some sense into me.
A year ago, she wouldn't have considered changing the plan just to avoid the possibility of another embarrassing lapse in conduct. But a year ago, she wouldn't have cuddled up to her first officer and groped him.
She shuddered at the memory. It was simply unbelievable. They'd lain together in close quarters on dozens of assignments, and never--never had either one of them made the smallest of moves that could be misconstrued. Thank god he hadn't thought she was coming on to him. Something like that could have destroyed their relationship beyond repair.
But what was he thinking? The idea that he might be lying there pitying her was almost unbearable. 'Poor Suzanne. Doesn't get any for a week, and she's like a junkie looking for a fix.'
No. Jack understood. Waking up next to someone warm and masculine was just a habit she'd fallen into.
Bullshit, Brandt, scolded an inner voice that sounded remarkably like Jim's.
She sighed and rested her elbows on her knees. Yes, Jim definitely would have called her bluff on that, just as he'd done nearly a year ago...
"What time is it?" she muttered sleepily against Jim's shoulder."It's Saturday," he replied, pulling the blanket up around them. "It doesn't matter what time it is."
"Oh, good." She hooked one knee over his thigh, nestled closer to him, and began tracing the pattern of sunlight on his chest.
"You know, Brat," Jim said as he lazily ran his hand over her shoulders, "I used to think we woke up in a knot like this because my bunk on the Enterprise was so small. But now that we've been living together for a few weeks, I realize something--you're a snuggler."
"Just who has his arms around who?"
"Immaterial and irrelevant. The pertinent fact is that we're both on my side of the bed, which makes me the snugglee. Now if we were like this--"
He rolled her onto the unoccupied portion of the bed, trapping her in a bear hug.
"Agh!" She struggled against him, but he countered her every move, pressing her against the chilled sheet. "It's cold!"
"That's because no one has slept on your side of the bed all night, which further proves my point."
"That's--uhf!--that's because--Jim! Get off me, you--" She pitched from side to side, trying to push him away. "I can't breathe!"
"You talk an awful lot for someone who can't breathe." He lifted up and took his weight onto his knees and elbows. "Better? Good. You were saying?"
"I was saying that no one sleeps on my side of the bed because my side changes nightly, depending on where the wet spot is."
"Well, it's your wet spot. You made it."
"That doesn't mean I want to sleep in it."
"Sleep in it? JT, if I had my way, you'd be swimming in it."
"You mean there's more? God help us."
She gave him a sultry smile. "Let me up, and I'll show you."
"Not likely. I'm on to you, Suzanne. All this chatter about the wet spot is just a diversion so that you won't have to admit that you're a 'hold me, squeeze me, wrap yourself around me and don't let go' snuggler. Right?"
"Well..." Finding she had no will to protest against being held, squeezed, and wrapped in his arms, she said, "If I am, I caught it from you."
He chuckled as he turned onto his back and pulled her on top of him. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
Then he kissed her and she curled snugly around him, very glad that it was Saturday...
Brandt caught herself hugging her knees and smiling in an embarrassingly silly way.
Damn you, Jim! What have you done to me?
With an abrupt shake of her head, she assumed a stern countenance that she hoped would banish all non-mission-specific musings. Overhead, a night bird gave a short, sharp screech that sounded very much like derision.
"Who asked you?" she muttered as she stood and brushed the dirt off her clothes. As she was pulling on her jacket, Wallis' low voice crept across the distance separating them.
She walked over and squatted on the ground next to him.
"I'm going to relieve Shelley," she said.
"Do you think that's wise? You've already stood your watch--"
For a long moment, the only sound was the breeze whispering through the trees.
"Has it been difficult all these years?" she asked.
"To be away from Gail. To... Well, I mean..."
Wallis sat up and said, "You mean has it been difficult to lie next to you, wishing it was her in your place?"
"Sometimes. You never lived with anyone before Admiral Kirk, did you?"
"Not for a significant amount of time."
"It's funny how that nearness alters things. Just the everyday business of being together. You think nothing's really changed, you're just seeing each other more often. Then you're separated, and suddenly--"
"Suddenly you're breaking the fraternization rules in your sleep."
"I remember when I was first assigned to the Wozniak. Gail and I had been married for nearly three years. After a couple of days aboard ship, everywhere I looked, I saw people who reminded me of her, but none of them were enough like her to make it worth it."
"That's funny. I've never seen anyone who reminds me of Jim."
"Maybe that's why you reached out for him."
Startled, Brandt fell back onto her butt and blinked at him.
"Why, Jack! That's almost profound!"
He shrugged modestly. "I manage a little profundity every now and then."
"How is it you've never made captain?"
"If I made captain, I'd get my own team. And you wouldn't survive ten minutes without me."
"And come back in little pieces more often than not."
"Hmph. Go to sleep, Commander." She stood and straightened her clothing. "The inability to distinguish dreams from reality is one of the early signs of sleep deprivation."
"What about you?" he asked pointedly.
"Touche." She smiled sardonically. "I'll try to get some sleep, too."
She removed her jacket and began rolling it up.
"I'm sure Admiral Kirk misses you, too. I'll bet he's even letting the dog sleep in the bed."
Brandt smiled. "I hope so. Good night, Jack."
As she moved away from him, she heard him humming softly. She stopped and listened until she recognized the tune.
"Very funny," she said dryly. "Go to sleep, before I put you on report."
Wallis chuckled. "Aye aye, Captain."
Brandt lay down near the tree she had encountered earlier and rested her head against an above-ground root. Soon she could hear Wallis snoring, but sleep was a long time in claiming her. And even in her dreams, she could still hear the melody he'd been humming and the simple words of longing that accompanied it.
I left my heart in San Francisco.
High on a hill, it calls to me...
A cold wind flailed at Kirk as he stood at the top of the hill and pulled impatiently on the dog's leash.
"Come on, Luke! One tree's as good as another!"
Ignoring him, Luke continued a careful investigation of the territory, finally squatting near a clump of bushes. When the dog moved away and began pawing at the ground, Kirk looked around surreptitiously. Satisfied that they were unobserved, he extracted a personal phaser from his pocket and fired quickly, obliterating the dog's droppings.
Luke cocked his head curiously.
"What do you want from me?" Kirk muttered. "I forgot to pick up more Pick-Em-Ups."
He turned and started down the hill, pulled by Luke running ahead and pushed by the steady wind at his back. It had been blustery the last time he'd come to the top of this hill, on the night before Suzanne went on assignment...
Safely inside the leash-free zone of the park, Suzanne released Luke, turned back to Jim and called, "Come on! I'll race you to the--HEY! I didn't say 'Go!'" she cried as she scrambled to catch up."GO!" he shouted as he pounded up the grassy incline.
Fighting enthusiastically against wind, gravity, and the urge to laugh, Jim won. Well, actually, the dog won, but Jim made it to the top a few steps ahead of Suzanne. And when he was bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air, she tackled him. Then she sat up and turned her face skyward. The wind gusted around her, tangling her short curls and whipping her sweatshirt against her body. She arched into the wind, threw her hands in the air, and shouted, "I love wild weather! Don't you?"
Laughing, he pulled her down into a kiss.
"Yes," he said. "Wild weather. Wild women. I love them both."
They kissed again, and again, and again, until she pulled away, saying, "Jim, it's raining."
He lifted his head and looked up. The rosy-gold remnants of sunset had almost completely disappeared into a deep, twilight indigo that was unmarred by clouds or haze.
"It's perfectly clear," he said.
"Well, I'm getting wet and not in the way you're thinking."
He held up his hand and felt several drops of moisture spatter against his palm. The raindrops were too substantial to be mistaken for simple condensation, and they had definitely fallen against his hand. Hell, they felt like they'd been thrown.
Examining the sky more closely, he said, "This doesn't make any sense."
"I'll tell you what doesn't make any sense. Rolling around out here in the rain. I'm going home."
He pulled her back down and muffled her words with his mouth, wondering how far to take this action in a public park. Deciding to push the envelope just a little, he slid his hand under her sweatshirt. She uttered a surprised "Mm!" against his lips but didn't push his hand away. Pleased with that development, he murmured a reciprocal sound of pleasure and rolled a hardening nipple between his fingertips. She wiggled against him happily and--
It started raining again, this time in earnest.
They clambered to their feet, looking up in puzzlement. The sky was still inexplicably free of clouds, but they were nonetheless being rained on.
"Luke! Luke!" Suzanne called. "C'mon, boy! Time to go home!"
The dog bounded toward her and when he was nearly at her feet, he stopped and shook himself, looking deeply offended that she had called him into a shower.
"What, it wasn't raining where you were?" she asked as she snapped on his leash.
"It probably wasn't. Brat, it's the sprinklers! We're standing in the sprinklers!"
"Oh, that makes perfect sense," she grumbled as they hastened out of range. "After all, it hasn't rained in almost twenty-four hours."
When they reached the bottom of the hill, they stopped and kissed away the moisture on each other's faces. Her skin was water-slicked and cool against his lips, and he nuzzled her ear as she turned her head and commanded softly, "Luke, stay."
Jim heard the leash clatter to the ground and then he felt her hands in his hair, pulling his head downward. She pressed her mouth to his forehead, and he closed his eyes as she kissed her way across his brow and down his cheek. Then he leaned into her, felt her drawing him closer and heard her sigh quietly as their mouths met in a deep, lingering kiss.
"It's getting dark. We should head home," he said.
"Yes, let's--Oh, look at the moon!"
He looked up and saw a silver-white crescent poised against a backdrop that was slowly deepening to a purple so profound and fathomless that he could almost believe it was as solid as the ground beneath his feet. He turned to Suzanne, intending to share his observation, and was silenced by the look of unmistakable joy on her face.
A cold emptiness seized him as he watched her, knowing that soon, too soon, she would be somewhere on the other side of the beckoning night...
Kirk almost fell over as Luke pulled anxiously on the leash that he had wrapped around his master's legs. Jerked out of his musing, Kirk realized that the wind had died down to a half-hearted draft, and the sky under which he stood was not the richly colored vista he had been remembering. This sky was uniformly and wretchedly gray and it was now indulging in a mean-spirited drizzle.
He untangled the leash and, turning his collar up, started homeward.
Wild weather. Wild woman. He missed them both.
As they neared their block, Luke, who had been walking obediently at Kirk's side, bounded forward. The unrelenting tug on the leash left Kirk no choice but to pick up his pace. As he rounded the corner, he saw a slender woman under the small awning that marked the entrance to Swampback's. In the six months since the jazz club's opening, Suzanne's enthusiastic appreciation of its offerings had resulted in a friendship with the star attraction, who was now kneeling down to let Luke lick her cheek.
"Hello there, Luke! Oh, those are sweet kisses! My, my! You are way too glad to see me! Guess what I have for you tonight? A pretzel! Yes, sir! Oh, you like that, do you? Mmmmmm. Stale pretzel. That's the ticket."
As Luke munched his treat, she stood and swept a voluminous cape over her shoulder in a wildly dramatic gesture. Kirk smiled, thinking that nearly everything about Breju was dramatic, from the array of corkscrew curls that tumbled down her back to the husky voice with which she seduced her audience five nights a week.
She waved her long fingers in a saucy greeting. "Evening, Jim."
"Evening, Breju. What are you doing out here in the rain?"
"The club doesn't open for another ten minutes, and I like the rain. Don't you?"
"You're from somewhere midwestern, aren't you?"
"Just a guess. I knew you weren't local. If you go back more years than I care to admit to, I'm from Virginia myself. Native San Franciscans--or those foolish souls who've been here long enough to delude themselves that they're natives--think this is weather." She rolled her eyes contemptuously. "If they only knew."
"It is different," Kirk said diplomatically. "And the drizzle gets a little tedious, don't you think?"
"Sometimes. But mostly I don't mind the gray. When there's nothing to see outside, it forces you to look inward. Plenty of colors there."
Impressed, Kirk cocked his head. "I didn't know you were a philosopher."
"Shows how much you know. Any singer worth her salt is a philosopher. You look like you're missing something, and my guess is that it's a big, booming thunderstorm, complete with stand-your-hair-on-end lightning."
Luke prodded Breju with his snout, and she knelt down and scolded him. "You've had enough pretzels, my friend. But I will give you a good scratch." As she worked her fingers up and down his back, she looked up at Jim and said, "Where's Suzanne these days? Haven't seen her lately."
"Ah! So I was wrong." She stopped scratching Luke and thoughtfully tapped her finger against her chin. "Or maybe not. Maybe she's the thunderstorm you're missing."
As he thought of the times that Suzanne's lovemaking had sent a bolt of lightning up his spine and left him feeling scorched, a telling half-smile played across his face. Breju shook her head sympathetically.
"Why don't you come into the club? I'll sing something just for you."
"I don't usually do requests, Jim," she said sternly.
"I appreciate the offer, but I've already made plans for tonight."
"Plans? That doesn't sound good. Maybe you better tell me about these 'plans,' so I can talk you out of them."
"I doubt that you can talk me out of a poker game."
"You're turning down a chance to hear me sing the blues to play poker? Didn't your mama teach you any manners?"
She looked down at the dog, whose eager face had been turning from one human to the other during the exchange.
"Luke, did you hear that? The man thinks I give out rain checks. You're going to come to my defense, aren't you? Sic 'em, boy!" She raised her arm and pointed at Kirk as she commanded, "Attack! Go for the throat!"
Luke ambled over to Kirk and licked his hand. As Kirk gave Luke a good-natured pat, Breju crossed her arms and admonished the dog.
"I can see that your mama didn't teach you any manners, either. And after I gave you a pretzel."
Eagerly wagging his tail, Luke abandoned Kirk and invaded Breju's cape.
Pushing him away, she said disdainfully, "Oh, now I'm your friend 'cause you think you're getting a pretzel."
Luke raised his ears hopefully.
"Well, I'm on to you, Mr. Luke, so just take this man home so he can fritter away his evening playing poker. It's clear to me that neither one of you knows how to treat a lady."
Kirk took her hand and smiled his most disarming smile.
"Don't you try that on me, Jim Kirk." She snatched her hand away--slowly--and eyed him warily. "I'll forgive you this time, because I know that the next time you come into the club, you're going to lay all your poker winnings at my feet and say, 'Miss Breju, pleeeese sing one itty-bitty song for me.'"
"Good. Now, Luke, don't you let him make any foolish bets, because that money is mine."
With an extravagant twirl of her cape, she swooped into the club.
Chuckling at her grandiose exit, Kirk said, "Come on, Luke, let's go."
As they passed under the maple tree in front of the apartment building, Luke stopped and sniffed at the base. Kirk clicked his tongue in resignation, knowing that neither rain nor sleet nor dark of night could stay the doggishly thorough investigation of the tree that guarded the doorway. As Luke hunted for the telltale signs of trespassers, the wind ripped a leaf off the tree and whipped it past Kirk's nose. He looked up and noted that the maple still sported an almost full complement of bright yellow leaves. Pleasing as the sight was, it was one more indication of a climate that couldn't drum up a decent storm to save its soul.
He turned and saw Breju standing once more under the awning, her cape flapping wildly around her.
"You better win big tonight!" she shouted, holding both hands high.
He laughed and waved. After watching her sashay back into the club, he looked down at Luke and felt a large, cold raindrop plop onto the back of his neck and slide under his collar. Deciding that enough was enough, he called Luke away from the maple with a no-nonsense "C'mon, boy! That's it!"
As they hurried into the building, the wind tore a few sodden leaves from the tree and plastered them to the closing door.
"Captain?" Commander Wallis prompted. "Don't you want to question Broder?"
Brandt continued staring up at Li and Ut a moment longer, then she turned from the window and looked across the nearly-empty warehouse where they'd cornered Aramand Broder. The scrawny thief was sitting on a crate, his eyes nervously moving back and forth between the doorway and Lieutenant k'Vor, who was standing guard over him. Brandt chuckled. The amazonian young woman towered above Broder, her face screwed up in a threatening scowl, and he twitched every time her finger tickled the trigger of her phaser. Brandt knew k'Vor's attitude and behavior were an act--she'd coached the lieutenant herself--but it was a good one.
"Captain, I should remind you that we haven't retrieved the Kelna yet."
"I know, Jack. But we'll get it faster if we don't look too eager. Let him wonder how much we know. Didn't you say you were going to rehydrate a coffee pack?"
As her first officer went to prepare what would have to pass for refreshments, Brandt turned back to the grimy window and peered out. When was the last time she'd had a real cup of coffee? Nine days ago? The morning she left? One swallow. That hardly counted. The night before?
No. She'd thought about making some when she and Jim had returned to the apartment after walking Luke in an invigorating wind. But there were other ways to deal with a chill, and her favored method didn't involve caffeine...
They kissed as they undressed, peeling off the layers of clothing. Jackets, shirts, shoes, pants, socks, underwear... All fell to the floor, leaving a trail from the living room to the bedroom.Who pushed who onto the bed? Who started out on top? Who was the first to give in to the urge to moan? She couldn't remember. All she remembered was a rising panic as Jim kissed her.
You're leaving tomorrow, she thought. An assignment at last--you've been earthbound for nearly a year, and suddenly you don't want to go, do you? You should stop thinking about it because you can't even enjoy this, you can't even feel it--
She realized he had stopped kissing her, probably some moments ago. His face was above hers, and his brow was furrowed with concern.
"What are you thinking?" he asked. "And don't say you're wondering if the tomatoes on the counter have gone bad."
"You're never going to forgive me for that, are you?"
"I'll consider it, if you give me an honest answer now."
She looked away, and there was a tense silence. Finally, she turned to him, knowing it was easier to admit to a humbling truth if she was looking into his eyes.
"I'm wondering how I'll ever manage to leave tomorrow. It's not like it was before. I've never left you easily, but this... I think I don't want to go."
"But how can I miss you if you won't go away?" he responded playfully.
She laughed despite herself, and then said shrewdly, "I know what you're up to, JT. You're going to make it easy for me, aren't you?"
The roguish glint in his eyes faded and, for a moment, she saw her own distress reflected there.
"Not if I can help it," he said.
Then he lowered his head and pressed his lips to her shoulder. She closed her eyes and tried to give herself to the moment without thinking about tomorrow.
"I don't ever want it to be easy," he said, and she felt his mouth against her ear. "For either of us." Cheekbone. "But I'll tell you something--" Eyelid. "--that will make it easy for you--" Tip of her nose. "--to enjoy this." And then on the lips, softly, briefly. "Open your eyes."
She obeyed and saw...Jim. Just Jim. Just as always. Strong and confident, and--
"This is not the last time," he said sternly.
--still believing the universe was his oyster.
"You don't know that," she replied.
"Yes, I do," he said, his voice brimming with happy conceit. "I set the alarm for 0500, and that will be the last time until you come back. But at that hour, we'll both be too sleepy to think about good-bye. So relax, sweetheart. It's not the last time. It's just this time."
He settled against her, and her legs moved of their own volition, opening to him readily. And at that moment, she realized that he had made it easy for her, smoothly seducing her with the simple fact that he knew just what she was thinking and exactly what to do about it.
Then they'd made love slowly, as if time and duty could never touch them...
"Here's your coffee, Captain," Wallis said as he handed her a chipped mug.
She took a swallow and grimaced, trying not to think about where he'd found the mug. Another swallow, another grimace, and then she was on her feet, energized by the realization that the sooner she interrogated Broder, the sooner they could retrieve the Kelna and return to the comforts of home, caffeinated and otherwise.
Kirk was putting the extra chairs in place around the table when the comm buzzed.
"Yes?" he said as he flicked the switch on the desk unit.
"Hi, Jim." The voice of his old Academy buddy boomed out of the speaker. "It's TJ."
"Listen, Jim, I don't have much time. The Cygnus is pulling into Spacedock for personnel changes. I'll have eight hours in San Francisco. So I thought the two of us could go prowling for women."
"I don't 'prowl' for women, TJ. In fact, I don't think I ever did. But in any case, I don't now."
"Then you and Brandt are still going strong, I take it?"
"I guess that means she's out of bounds, too."
"Yes." Kirk let just a little edge creep into his voice.
"Does she know that?" Durant's voice rose hopefully.
He weighted that one, knowing that Durant wouldn't give up that easily. After a week of unrelieved "yes sirs" from nearly everyone he encountered, Kirk found he was enjoying the exchange of friendly barbs.
Durant rose to the occasion with a wry, "Maybe I should ask her."
"Damn. She and I keep missing each other."
"Funny. She doesn't seem bothered by that."
"Say, TJ, how'd you like to take her place tonight?"
"Uh, Jim, I don't know what you've heard, but--"
"There will be two very lovely, very unattached ladies there."
"Oh! Well, I'd hate to leave you a player short. Count me in."
Brandt cocked her head toward Broder.
"What do you make of him, Jack?"
"To be honest, I'm puzzled. He doesn't seem bright enough to have engineered the theft. But I can't imagine anyone who is bright enough also being stupid enough to use him."
"That's what I'm thinking. The Klingons wouldn't even consider working with him."
"Are you sure the Klingons are involved?"
"They would benefit if the treaty between the Yuldi and the Liuthans doesn't go through."
"Interesting that he hasn't turned the Kelna over to them already."
"I know. I'm wondering about that myself. But regardless of who's behind it, the Yuldi won't regard any agreement as binding if it isn't signed in the presence of the Sacred Kelna. And if we don't find it by sunset tomorrow, the Prime Minister is going to return to Yul and declare war." Stepping briskly away from the window, she said, "Let's see what our young friend has to say about it."
He matched her pace as he took his place next to her. "Good cop, bad cop?"
"No, cop who wants to wrap this up quickly and cop who goes along with everything she says."
Durant glanced around the table. Kirk was raking in another pile of chips to muttered curses from Admiral deMarc, Commodore Morrow, Captain Figueroa, and Admiral Ciani.
Two very lovely, very unattached ladies. I'll get you for this, Kirk.
Yes, Figueroa and Ciani were undeniably attractive and apparently unattached, but Ciani outranked him to a degree that he found unnerving, and Fig had turned him down at the Academy and gave no indication that she regretted that decision.
"No offense, Jim," Fig was saying as she gathered the cards, "but I think I like playing here better when Suzanne's around. Once she's lost all her money--the first hour--and accepted that you aren't going to stake her--the next thirty minutes--she's very good about food and drinks."
"All right, I can take a hint." Kirk finished stacking his chips and stood. "What'll it be?"
"Abayan pretzels. And another beer," Fig replied.
"Beer I've got. But Abayan pretzels..."
"You've got a synthesizer," she said with a backhanded wave of her hand. "So hop to it. Sir."
"Wait a minute," deMarc snarled. "How are we going to win our money back if you don't play?"
"Which would you prefer, Rob?" Kirk asked. "To lose more of your money to me, or food?"
"FOOD!" the other players yelled.
Kirk headed to the kitchen, thinking that Fig wasn't the only one who wished Suzanne was here. Among other things, she knew the synthesizer code for every damn snack food ever invented.
Brandt nodded to k'Vor, who gave Broder one last menacing look before taking up a new position guarding the doorway.
Brandt studied the whip-thin delinquent for several long moments. He was young--his ID said he was a drama student at Liutha University--and he was scared. She almost felt sorry for him. Why the hell was he mixed up in this? Only one way to find out.
"All right, Broder. Let's have some answers."
He pulled himself up straight in a pitiful show of false bravado. "I don't have to tell you anything."
Brandt snorted derisively and turned to Wallis.
"Isn't that cute, Jack? He doesn't have to tell me anything. Amazing that someone so naive got this far."
Wallis shook his head disdainfully. "The mind boggles."
Brandt pulled up a crate and sat down across from Broder, smiling with false warmth.
"Who put you up to it, Broder? Who planned it for you? I know you weren't working alone--"
His eyes opened wide as he realized he shouldn't have said that.
"Really? Prove it. Where's the Kelna? If you stole it, then you must know where it is. Be smart, Broder. The game's over. Tell me what I want to know, and I'll go easy on you." Her eyes narrowed to two sinister slits. "But if you don't, I'm going to--"
She rocked back on the crate, laughing.
"Oh, better and better! He's got rights."
Wallis chuckled as Brandt stood and rested one foot on the edge of the crate. She leaned in to Broder, who fidgeted nervously as she began speaking in a low, even tone.
"Now, listen to me, you worthless piece of warp wash. You've got nothing. I'm in the business of producing results, and no one is going to question how I got them. So I'll make this short and simple. There are some big events going on that an insignificant nobody like you couldn't possibly understand, but I'm not going let you screw them up. Who did you steal it for? The Klingons?"
"The K-k-klingons? I don't know any Kl--"
"You're wasting my time," she snapped. "And I don't like it when people waste my time. So shut up and listen."
She stood and walked around Broder until she was standing behind him. Then she leaned over and hissed into his ear.
"Have you ever heard of sodium corbomite?"
Wallis covered a snort of laughter with a cough.
Durant leaned back in his chair, admiring the way Fig's hands flew as she shuffled the cards. During their years at the Academy, her room had been the site of the hottest game on campus, despite her roommate's notorious lack of skill at any game more complicated than "Crazy Eights."
"Sounds like Brandt is still the worst poker player ever to come out of the Academy," he remarked.
"It never ceases to amaze me that a Starfleet officer can be that bad at poker," deMarc said.
"Pitiful, isn't it?" Fig chimed in. "I tried to coach her when we were roommates, but she was hopeless. She said she couldn't see the point of bluffing, when it was 'only a game.'"
"Sacrilege!" Ciani shook her head. "Did you ever play with her, Durant?"
"You could hardly call it playing. But, yes, I took her money once or twice."
"Ha!" Fig crowed. "You're too modest, TJ. I was there, remember? You whupped her ass, beat her out of her allowance for an entire month, and then asked if there was some sort of religious edict forbidding Kyrosians to play cards."
"And what did she say?" Morrow asked.
"We'll never know. Gary Mitchell got there first. He said, 'Of course they're allowed to play cards. They're just not allowed to be any good at it.'"
Over the laughter, deMarc rapped impatiently on the table and demanded, "Fig, are you going to deal or not?"
"I'm waiting for the ante. Are you in, Lori?"
"No, I'm out. I haven't won a hand yet. I need a break." Ciani stood, stretched, and headed toward the kitchen. "Jim, do you need any help?" she called sweetly.
"Maybe she'll have better luck out there," Morrow said with a meaningful glance toward the kitchen.
"Ha!" scoffed deMarc. "Ten credits say she doesn't get to first base."
"Twenty says he falls in line like a good little soldier," countered Morrow.
"Gentlemen, the game is five-card draw, jacks or higher to open." Fig began briskly dealing the cards. "And a hundred says they're both found dead within a week of Brandt's return."
"And Brandt will have an air-tight alibi," said deMarc.
"She won't need one. It will look like suicide," Morrow replied.
"Nah. Too predictable," Durant said. "I give her credit for a little more style than that."
"So what's your take on it?" deMarc asked.
"Admiral Ciani will definitely look like a suicide, but Jim... Hmmm..." Durant scooped up his cards and began arranging them. "It will look like Jim died of natural causes."
He took a beat to slide the jack of hearts into place next to two of its brothers. Then he looked around the table with a devilish gleam in his eye.
"While wearing a French maid's outfit."
"S-s-sodium cor--cor--" Broder choked.
"Sodium corbomite," Brandt repeated. "It's a truth serum."
"Truth serums are illegal," he whimpered, shrinking away from her.
"I'm getting very tired of your irrelevant comments. Next you'll be telling me that a chemically-induced confession is inadmissible. So I'll just point out that it all depends on what authority I eventually turn you over to. Now, sodium corbomite is tricky stuff. It always works, of course--at least long enough for you to answer a few key questions. But then--well, it's hard to say. Any history of heart trouble? No? You might survive. But you might not want to. You see--"
She paused, watching him nervously clench his fingers.
"--if I have to use sodium corbomite to get what I want out of you, I'll do it. And then--if you're still alive--I'll dump you where the Klingons will be sure to find you."
"And they won't care that it took a truth serum to get you to talk--they'll only be interested in the fact that you did talk. And they don't look kindly on that sort of behavior."
She moved in close and noted the beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. Upper lip, too. Scared, yes, but still trying to tough it out.
"You know, Broder, every time I use sodium corbomite, I have to fill out a KB-69, and I don't like filling out forms. And putting you into the Klingons' path will be a lot of extra work, and I don't like that, either. So how about if you and I come to an agreement? You tell me what I want to know, and I'll turn you over to Federation Security, where the nice people in red shirts will trip all over themselves respecting your rights."
She rested her hand on his shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze that had the effect of pushing him into an even deeper slump.
"I'll even tell them what a fine, cooperative boy you were, and you can spend the next three to five years in a cozy, comfy rehab facility, from which you will emerge such a model citizen that you won't even jaywalk."
She moved around to the front of the crate and gazed at him coolly.
After a long silence, she sighed and said, "Have it your way. Jack, give me the hypospray."
Wallis opened the med kit and removed the hypospray, surreptitiously making sure it was set to neutral. He handed it to Brandt, who covered the setting as she held it up and squinted at it.
"What do you weigh, Broder? About one-fifty?" When he didn't reply, she shrugged and said, "It's your funeral."
She shoved the dosage control up to maximum, said, "That ought to do it," and positioned the hypo against Broder's arm.
A burst of uproarious laughter carried into the kitchen where Lori had just located the synthesizer code book under the cutlery tray.
"Sounds like we're missing all the fun," Kirk said as she handed it to him.
He looked up from the book just in time to be pulled into an insistent kiss.
"Lori, this isn't a good idea," he said as he stepped away.
Somehow she managed to block his path and wrap her arms around his neck.
"How do you know until you've tried it?" she purred wickedly.
She leaned in and kissed him again, and for just a moment, he let it happen. But when he caught himself dropping the book onto the counter and thinking, 'One kiss won't hurt,' he knew he was in trouble, and gently pushed her away.
"Jim, if you're worried about Suzanne, she'll never know."
Kirk chuckled softly as he moved out of range of the hands that were reaching for him again.
"You don't know her very well, do you?" He retrieved the book and began flipping through it.
Ciani studied him briefly and gave a sigh of resignation.
"I guess this isn't my night, in or out of the poker game. Oh, well."
"Lori, you should probably take a few beers out with you. So it won't look like--"
"Of course." She went to the chiller and removed three bottles.
She glanced down at Kirk's crotch. "Liar."
With an embarrassed grin, Kirk turned to the synthesizer and punched in the code for Abayan pretzels. After a moment, he heard cries of approval from the other room, in response to Ciani's beer-laden return. They were immediately followed by indistinct grumblings, undoubtedly due to the non-deliverance of food.
Then one voice cut through sharply.
"HEY! WHAT'S HOLDING UP THE PRETZELS, FIFI?"
Kirk went to the doorway and saw Durant merrily waving his beer as he continued shouting orders.
"HAUL 'EM ON OUT HERE..." Seeing Kirk glaring at him, Durant stopped and smiled ingratiatingly. "...sir."
"I don't do last requests," Brandt said and pressed her thumb against the plunger.
The soft hsst! was drowned out by Broder's sobbing plea.
"I'LL TALK! I'll TALK! PLEASE! I'LL TELL YOU EVERYTHING!"
Brandt stepped back and waited.
"I don't know anything about the Klingons or a war!" he babbled desperately. "I just--I just did it because--because--"
He kept his eyes fixed on his shoes as he confessed, "My girlfriend broke up with me. She said I was...boring. Now she's dating a pilot. She said I would never do anything daring, so I stole the Kelna. But when I showed it to her, she just laughed and said, 'Who cares about that old thing?'"
He hunched his shoulders and glanced up at Brandt.
She turned and slowly walked past her first officer. She stopped, her back to both men, and stood perfectly still for a long minute. Then she raised her hand and carefully ran her fingers through her hair.
Broder turned to Wallis, his eyes pleading for reassurance. But Wallis never looked away from Brandt, and his intent expression resonated with Broder's terror. The cowering thief peeked at Brandt sideways, unwilling to look directly at the silent figure who was rigidly lowering her hand to her side. As he watched it tighten into a fist, his violent quaking set the crate rattling. Then her hand opened slowly, joint by joint, until her fingers were fully extended, and the uncompromising deliberation of that action was the most terrifying of all. He grabbed the crate's edges and braced for the worst.
Finally, he heard her voice, icy and quiet.
"You put this entire sector on the brink of war so you could impress your girlfriend?"
She spun toward him and snapped, "Yes, w-w-WAR!"
"I--I'm sorry!" he squeaked. "I didn't know--I didn't mean--"
Panic-stricken, he lurched off the crate and scuttled across the floor. Brandt pursued him hotly, her boots heels clicking an ominous staccato. As he bumped into Wallis' legs, he looked up at the first officer and whimpered pitifully.
"My girlfriend's very pretty."
Brandt stopped abruptly, teeth gritted and nostrils flaring. Broder closed his eyes and pressed his chin to his knees, trying to present as small and inoffensive a target as possible.
After a tortured eternity, he heard footfalls. Quick, sharp, and ... moving away from him. He opened one eye and saw Brandt advancing on the medkit. Without breaking her stride, she angrily chucked the hypospray into the medkit, turned on her heel, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Broder swallowed a hot, dry lump of fear and asked in a small voice, "Does that mean she's not going to kill me?"
Wallis knelt down and asked, "Broder, where is the Kelna?"
Kirk surveyed the living room. Most of the poker players had left, after mumbling perfunctory offers to help clean up. Like a good host, Kirk had refused all hands, and, remembering the aftermath of the New Year's party, he decided the current disorder wasn't bad at all. He scooped several beer bottles off the table and took them to the kitchen, where he found Durant crouched on the floor, feeding Luke out of his hand.
"This dog really loves doughnuts, doesn't he?"
Kirk sighed. "TJ, that was my breakfast tomorrow."
"Then I've done you a favor. If Suzanne has to come home to find that someone has gained weight, I'm sure she'd prefer that it was Luke."
"You don't know how she is about that dog."
Durant stood and frowned at him.
"She'll call me when the mission's over and she's been debriefed at HQ."
Kirk dropped the bottles into the recycler. "She's Special Ops."
"So? You're the Chief of Fleet Operations." Acknowledging Luke's persistent nudging, he sank to the floor and began scratching the dog's haunches. "You could easily trace her, just by checking which ships she's been on."
"Look, Jim, I know we're supposed to play by the rules, but--"
"It's not just playing by the rules. It could change the whole game."
Kirk pulled two beers out of the chiller and held one out to Durant, who shook his head. Replacing the one TJ had refused, Kirk opened the other and took a swig. Swallowing, he leaned back against the counter and pointed the long-necked bottle at Durant.
"Intelligence personnel never used to travel on Fleet vessels. Do you remember that?"
"They didn't trust regular Starfleet, and the feeling was strongly reciprocated. They never worked together unless the circumstances demanded it. But about ten years ago, certain situations escalated to a dangerous level because Special Ops couldn't get their operatives into place quickly enough. And they lost some key people because they couldn't get them out in time. That's why they now use the Fleet for transportation."
"The only reason it works is because everybody pretends it's not going on. Special Ops isn't mentioned in the ship's logs--just some innocuous entry about changing course to transport equipment or medical supplies. Half the people you carry as diplomats and consultants are Special Ops."
"I know that, but they can't expect you not to know where she is. What are they afraid of? It's not like you're going to sell her out to the Klingons. You're practically married to her!"
"So we have to be even more careful."
"Why? You're not breaking any rules."
"Some people are afraid we might. If I were to use my position to find out anything beyond what I need to know officially, it would prove that Starfleet can't be trusted with something sensitive. I'd probably get off with a reprimand, but they'd make Suzanne choose between our relationship and her command."
"TJ, we're talking about Special Ops. They don't play by our rules. If she wanted to stay with me after that, she'd have to accept a permanent ground assignment. And Intelligence would go back to using any form of transportation other than Starfleet, which would make it more dangerous for everyone."
Pushing himself to his feet, Durant announced, "I stand by my original statement. That sucks."
"Thanks for the comforting words, pal."
Durant gave him a shrewd look.
"I thought that winning the biggest pot of the night on a bluff would have been enough for you. Guess I was wrong."
"All this stuff about playing by the rules is just a smokescreen. If you really wanted to know where she is, you'd find out in a minute, and you wouldn't get caught, either. But you still wouldn't know whether she's fighting off a Klingon brute squad or getting a pedicure. And that's what bothers you, isn't it?"
Kirk dismissed the notion with a firm "No." Then, seeing TJ's dubious expression, he added, "She can take care of herself."
"I'm sure she can, but it's not a crime to worry about someone, Jim."
Kirk downed the last of his beer and tossed the bottle into the recycler.
"Well, I'm sure she'll be back soon, and none the worse for wear," Durant said, heartily clapping Kirk on the shoulder. "You know what they say."
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder?"
Durant made a sour face. "I thought you shook off all that Iowa corn years ago. I was thinking 'Tough as old Shoes.'"
"I believe the expression is 'Tough as old boots.'" Kirk's voice took on an irritable tone. "And why do you call her Shoes anyway?"
"You don't know? Well, ah, it's kind of funny actually--"
"TJ." Fig stole into the kitchen and slipped her arm into his. "Are you ready to go?"
"Sure, Fig." He grinned ruefully at Kirk. "Sorry, Jim, that story will have to wait for another time."
Brandt came out of the Yuldi Embassy with a grim expression on her face.
"They're letting him go," she snapped as Wallis and k'Vor fell into step beside her. "They want to keep the whole thing quiet. They're relying on our 'discretion.' As if we're going to brag about this."
"Well, Captain," Wallis said sympathetically. "They can't all be genetically-enhanced Klingon warriors."
"But they could at least put up some kind of fight! Show a little originality! He kept the Kelna in his gym locker, for god's sake! And used his girlfriend's birthday as the password!"
"Yes, Captain, but on the bright side, he almost started a war."
Brandt pulled up abruptly and gave him a sidelong glance. After a thoughtful moment, she clasped her hands behind her back and spoke in a deadpan parody of her "command voice."
"You're right, Commander. Thanks to us--" She nodded smartly at each of them. "--the galaxy is once again safe from the romantic intrigues of drama students."
She started off at a brisk pace, which was quickly matched by her two smiling officers. Turning the corner, they reached the abandoned construction site that would serve as their beam-up point.
Picking her way through the debris, she continued, "And I'm sure next time we'll be up against a mad scientist with a mind-control device."
"Or a visitor from the future with cataclysmic plans for the present," said Wallis.
"Or an evil twin with a diabolical plot to take her sister's place as High Mucky-Muck of Trantor," k'Vor added.
"Or maybe..." Wallis winked conspiratorially at k'Vor as they reached the center of the site. "Maybe someone will actually invent corbomite."
Brandt raised an eyebrow as she gave Wallis a cool stare. Then she turned to k'Vor and said, "Lieutenant, do you remember our discussion about the art of the bluff?"
"Would you care to enlighten Commander Wallis?"
"Of course, sir." k'Vor snapped to attention and barked in her best military cadence, "Sir! If you're going to steal, steal the good stuff!"
Brandt nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Any questions, Mr. Wallis?"
"Just one, sir. May I share this with Admiral Kirk?"
"No, Mr. Wallis, you may not," Brandt replied starchily. Then she added with a gleeful smirk, "I'll tell him myself." She flipped open her communicator. "Sunburst to Carrier."
"Three to beam up." As they stepped into formation, she said, "Let's try to figure out a way to make this sound not quite so half-assed at the de-briefing."
She felt a familiar tingle and saw the construction site morph into a transporter room. As they stepped off the platform, the technician at the board muffed his intended greeting as he attempted to stifle an unexpected yawn.
"My thoughts exactly," Brandt said. As Wallis and k'Vor followed her out of the transporter room, she grumbled, "I think Nancy Drew had more exciting adventures than this."
Kirk turned his chair toward the mist-streaked window and sighed wearily at the sight that greeted him. In the early morning hours, only the topmost peak of the Golden Gate's near tower was visible, rising ghostlike from a boundless gray fog. The far tower and the humpbacked headlands of Marin were completely hidden. Disgusted, Kirk turned away, wishing for the bright, sparkling days when the bridge proudly flaunted its magnificence. Or a thunderstorm, dark and angry, just as Breju had described. Or sleet or hail or even a tornado would be welcome. Anything but this interminable gray.
Scowling, he accessed his calendar for the day. As he read the entry for that evening, he groaned and hit the comm button.
"Riley, did I agree to go to the reception for the Gwillan ambassador?"
"Do you happen to remember why?"
"I believe you intended it to be a surprise for Captain Brandt, sir."
Kirk put his hand to his forehead and rubbed fretfully. "Right. Who's the band again?"
"Halfway to the Stars. Shall I send your regrets, Admiral?"
"No, Kevin, not at this late date. Kirk out."
He slumped in his chair. A roomful of people in full dress, dancing to San Francisco's most popular band. Suzanne would have loved it. And he would have loved it with her. But alone, it was An Official Function.
How many evenings would he spend among strangers, wishing she was there, winking at him over someone's shoulder? How many mornings must he wake to realize that the soft weight against his back was the dog? How many times would he remember the night before she left and wish...
'How will I ever manage to leave tomorrow?' she'd asked.
'How can I let you go?' he hadn't responded. 'How can I stand by and watch when you square your shoulders and walk out the door, knowing that the galaxy isn't going to appreciate you giving it a kick in the pants? How can I hold you tonight--my Suzanne, my Brat--knowing that tomorrow you'll turn into Captain Brandt again? How can I smile and kiss you goodbye when I don't know where you're going or what you'll have to do when you get there? All I know is that you'll go and you'll do it.'
He hadn't said any of it. And she wouldn't have thanked him if he did.
'You're going to make it easy for me, aren't you?' she'd said.
No, not easy. But not more difficult...
His reverie was broken by the buzzing of the intercom.
"Admiral, the monthlies are in."
"Thank you, Riley. Send them through."
He pressed a button on the computer console, and the monitor colors swirled and settled into the words that began every monthly summary report.
Summary of Ships' Logs
Attention: Admiral James T. Kirk, Fleet Operations
He glanced down the list of ship names. None of them were blinking red, which meant that nothing unusual had happened that he didn't already know about. Reassured, he accessed the first report. The USS Cygnus. He smiled ruefully. Too bad the report wouldn't tell him what happened after the poker game ended and TJ accepted Fig's offer of a lift.
Skimming the report, he noted that Commodore Gearhardt had once again managed to politely point out that the Cygnus had drawn more than her share of neutral zone patrol in the past months.
"Too bad, Hans," he muttered. "I have to use my resources where they can do the most good."
He looked up in surprise. Where had that response come from? When had he started thinking like a bureaucrat, instead of sympathizing with the line officers? When had his life turned into one big neutral zone?
On the morning Suzanne had gone offworld, of course. When he watched her dissolve in the transporter beam and realized that he was left with nothing but being Admiral James T. Kirk, Chief of Fleet Operations. When it dawned on him that he was now in the unhappy position he'd sworn he would never ask another to occupy.
Staying at home, waiting and hoping.
In the observation lounge of the Cygnus, Brandt put her hand to the clearsteel and gazed out at the stars drifting by. Despite the streaming trails of light, she felt motionless, no closer to Earth than when she'd left Liutha a day and a half ago. The intense frustration that had almost disappeared at the prospect of going home had soared to a new high when she was presented with the most inconvenient itinerary she'd ever seen. Twelve hours on the Lafayette, twenty on the Serenity, three so far on the Cygnus with another five to go before hopping to the Republic for the sixteen-hour voyage to Earth. Wincing at the dull ache in her neck, she rolled her head and wondered if there was any truth to the old spacer's myth of beam-lag.
Picking out one star to track, she tapped her fingertips against the smooth surface, matching the rhythmic pulse of the warp engines. Then she flattened her hand and lightly slapped a faster beat, but the star dawdled along, refusing to be driven by her demand. She stilled her hands and dropped them to the railing, wishing that time was not quite so exasperatingly relative.
What sick albeit divine intelligence had conceived of the monumental joke commonly referred to as time? At that very moment, the Great Bird was probably snickering at the homesick traveler gnashing her teeth at the maddening slowness of warp 6. And how he must have howled as her last twelve minutes on Earth had hurtled forward at full throttle...
"Suzanne! Wake up! You've got twelve minutes to beam-up!"She shot straight up, glanced at the chron--"SHIT!"--and ran to the bathroom.
"What happened to the alarm?" she yelled as she turned on the shower.
"I don't know! One of us must have acknowledged it!"
Shit shit shit! She stepped into the shower and turned quickly under the spray.
"Call Jack"--soap--"and tell him to pick up the briefing kit from my office!"--scrub--"Then call Skorheim"--rinse--"and tell him I'll have to beam up from here!"
Shit! What a way to start the mission!
Out of the shower--towel off--where's the toothbrush?
"Set my comm to auto-respond."--brush--rinse--spit--"My password is--"
"Remind me"--comb hair--"to change it when I get back."
Kirk stuck his head through the doorway and said graciously, "I appreciate the vote of confidence."
"Out of my way! Move move MOVE!"
She shoved past him and ran to her dresser.
Panties--yes! Bra--no! Bra bra bra--where the hell--
She hopped across the room trying to step into her panties on her way to the fresher.
Bra--yes--bra bra bra--SHIT! The strap was tangled!--Calm down calm down calmdowncalmdowncalmdown--socks--right--left!
To the closet! Pants--right leg--left leg--zip! Now tunic--over the head--arm--arm--Wait a minute, what's wrong, this doesn't--
"Why the hell was your shirt in my closet?"
Tunic off! Tunic tunic tunic--Tunic on! Right boot--come on, damn it!--left boot! All right, all right--
All right! Ready to go with one minute to spare!
She ran to the living room and snatched her communicator off the counter. Kirk came out of the kitchen and held out a cup of coffee. She stopped and stared at him over the steam. His hair was tousled, his robe hung loosely from his shoulders, and he smiled easily as he pressed the cup into her hand. She swallowed hard, suddenly realizing that the moment was upon them and it was not at all what she had planned.
Taking the cup from him, she nodded sadly and said, "Thank you."
"Jim, I'm sorry about the password."
"No need to apologize. I know the rules." His voice light, he frowned disapprovingly as he added, "And I'm sure there must be one against going on duty looking like you tumbled out of the bed and onto the bus."
"Is it that bad?" She set the coffee cup on the table and tugged on the bottom of her tunic.
"No," he said, tenderly pushing away the damp curl that had fallen over her forehead. "You look very..."
His mouth tensed as his eyes darkened. She waited silently, feeling her heart pounding and wondering what he saw when he looked at her that way. Finally, he smiled. A warm, familiar smile that put them back on firmer ground.
"Very military," he said with gentle correctness.
She matched his offering with a crisp "Thank you," and suddenly she knew how wrong this was. There had been a time when she could say goodbye to him in that artfully careless way, but not anymore. The jesting tone, the playful sparring, the easy flippancy... It was all wrong. She drew a deep breath and her voice was almost soundless as she said, "Jim, this isn't how I wanted to--"
He shook his head, a small, reassuring movement.
"It's all right. I'll give you a rain check."
He put his fingers under her chin and kissed her softly.
Her communicator beeped. After an uncomfortable beat, she flipped it open and cleared her throat.
"Commander Maron, USS Carolina. We're ready to beam you up, Captain."
For a long moment, she and Kirk gazed at each other in silence. Then she turned away, walked to the middle of the room, and raised the communicator. But before she could speak, she was spun around and swept into an eloquent kiss. The communicator slipped from her fingers as she returned the kiss with equal amounts of longing and regret.
"Captain? Captain, are you there?"
They broke from the kiss, but not the embrace. She threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him hard, praying for the moment to last just a little longer, just long enough for him to know that the ache of parting ran even deeper than she had feared it would.
Kirk gently pushed her away. Then he knelt down, picked up the communicator, and handed it to her.
"Go on," he said, with an encouraging smile. "I'll be here when you get back."
"Captain Brandt?" the commander prompted again. "I think we lost her."
Staring into clouded hazel eyes, she reached for Jim's hand. A final squeeze and then their fingertips reluctantly slipped apart. After a steadying breath, she spoke into the communicator.
"Anytime you're ready, Commander."
When she materialized aboard the Carolina, she was met by Wallis, k'Vor, and the transporter chief, all smirking at her.
She leaned in and pressed her palms flat against the clearsteel. That same star was still visible, lazily crawling across the endless blackness.
"Move, damn you," she muttered.
"There you are!" an exasperated voice cried as the doors to the observation deck whooshed open. "Damn, you're hard to find. The personnel locator keeps denying you're aboard."
"Why do you think we're called spooks?" Brandt replied and held out her hand. "And hello to you, TJ."
"Oh, right, hi." Durant slung his arm around her shoulders and gave her an affectionate jostle. "Look, I don't have time for a lot of chit-chat. The poker game is in my quarters tonight. Do you and your officers want to join in? I'd like to win back some of what Jim took off of me the other night."
All wide-eyed innocence, TJ said, "Oh, did I forget to mention that? Yeah, I was in San Francisco two days ago."
"I think he misses you, Shoes." He was pleased to see that this pronouncement brought a faint blush to her face. Then he added darkly, "He lost three hands to deMarc."
"He said he was thrown by not having to worry that you're going to bet the flitter on a pair of threes."
"Hmmmmm. I never thought of betting the flitter. I'll be sure to tell him who gave me the idea."
"You'll be too busy explaining why I call you Shoes."
She declined the challenge with an dismissive gesture. "I've managed to keep him guessing on that for twenty years. I think I can hold out a little longer. So when is this poker game?"
"Five minutes. Better move." He started to the door.
"I'll round up Jack and Shelley and meet you there," she said as she followed him into the corridor. "And, TJ, I'm not as bad as I used to be. You'll have to get your own pretzels."
He watched her strut down the corridor, her stride buoyant and confident. Remembering the gloomy mood she had hastily concealed when he entered the observation lounge, he congratulated himself on successfully lifting her spirits. After all, he didn't want to take money from someone who was already feeling low. He took two steps in the opposite direction, then turned and looked back to see Brandt disappearing around the corner.
'You saw Jim?' she'd asked. Her too-casual tone had exactly matched Kirk's when he'd said, 'She can take care of herself.'
He cocked his head thoughtfully.
Well, Shoes, you and Jim may have to play by the rules, but I'm a horse of a different color.
He went back into the observation lounge and recorded a brief message. After sending it off, he slapped his hands together smartly and started toward his quarters, determined to once again relieve Brandt of her allowance. After all, she owed him, whether she knew it or not.
Lieutenant Commander Riley pressed the comm switch and waited.
"Kevin," Kirk's voice said irritably, "I thought I told you to go home. It's nearly 1900."
"Yes, sir, I know, but I was trying to clear up your message backlog, and there's a strange one that came in a few hours ago. It's from the Cygnus and it's not priority, but I think it must be in code. I thought you might want to--"
"All right, send it through. And then go home."
Riley pressed a button, forwarding the message to the admiral. Moments later, he heard a shout of laughter from the other side of the door.
His curiosity piqued, he returned to his desk and recalled the message. The words made no more sense than they had the first time.
The shoes are on their way, good as new.
Pulling on his raincoat, he left the office, wondering how long the admiral could laugh like that without hurting himself.
Breju stepped out of the club, and a sharp gust of wind forced her back indoors.
"It's picking up out there, Breju. Cold, too."
Ignoring the club owner's admonition, Breju reached for her cloak. Her hand stopped in mid-air as she noticed the heavier cloak next to hers, hanging elegantly in dark blue folds. It screamed of luxury and comfort, and Breju heard the call.
"You mind?" she asked as she lifted it off the hook and slung it over her shoulders.
"No," he sighed. "But you're on in five minutes, and I'm not kicking the mike up just because you're too foolish to treat your voice the way it deserves."
"I'm more than a voice, Danny." She looked in the mirror next to the hooks and set the collar at a jaunty angle. "And the rest of me needs some fresh air."
She approached the doorway once more and defiantly pushed her way out against a wind that seemed dead set on keeping her inside.
"I'm coming OUT HERE whether you want me to OR NOT!" she growled as she flung herself out onto the street.
The wind grabbed at the cloak and almost succeeded in making off with it.
"I'm only going to be here a few minutes! Then you'll have the whole damn street to yourself again!"
Suddenly the wind died down and then rushed up from a different direction, twirling the cloak around her until she was fully wrapped in its sumptuous warmth.
"Well, that's very considerate of you. Thank you kindly. But don't stop blowing on my account. I won't mind a bit if you sing your song while I take five."
Obligingly, the wind began a long, fierce blow, and Breju's eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she snuggled into the cloak.
"Ooooo, that's it! Sell it, sister! But you're too good to sing alone. Where's your man?"
As if on cue, a hard, sharp rain began pounding a steady rhythm against the sidewalk.
Damn, I'm good, Breju thought. Better not mention earthquakes.
Pulling the hood up over her head, she said, "But don't mess my hair. Nobody tips a scraggly-haired chanteuse."
The wind howled around her, and she laughed as she watched a passerby struggle to raise his umbrella.
"Yeah, this is weather! Bring it on home, girl!"
To her delight, her new friend overturned a dainty potted plant and sent it hurtling along the sidewalk.
"Could you do something about the silly sculpted shrub across the street? Woo!"
She pressed up against the building as the wind snapped at her face.
"Oh, you like that shrub? Okay, it stays. But maybe you could--" Farther up the street, she saw Jim step out of his apartment building. "Hey, Jim! Is this what you wanted?"
Raising a large umbrella over his head, he grinned and shouted, "It's close!"
"When I do requests, I do requests!" she crowed.
But Jim didn't hear her, for he had turned away, his attention now focused in the other direction. Silent and watchful, he stood on the steps, unheeding of the wind and rain playing grab-ass with him.
And a damn fine ass it is, too, Breju thought. Suzanne, girl, you better get home soon, or I'll be tempted to--
A hovercab came into sight, swinging around from the far side of the tallest building in the neighborhood. Kirk followed its motion, tipping the umbrella back as he looked skyward. The cab lowered itself to the street, and Suzanne sprang out of the passenger door, her feet touching the ground almost before the cab did.
Breju shook her head in disbelief and paced a small circle under the awning, muttering to herself.
"Damn! I'm getting out of the music business and going into conjuring. First the rain, and now this!"
When she looked down the street again, the hovercab had taken off, and Suzanne had made it to the middle of the steps where Jim was trying to give her a proper welcome without dropping the umbrella. Breju was certain that his awkward fumbling was not part of his usual technique, because even with the wind and rain challenging his every move, that kiss would have stopped traffic, had there been any traffic to stop.
Suzanne had both arms around his waist and her face tilted up to his. She leaned into him longingly and as he carefully balanced the umbrella above them and wrapped one arm around her--
"Use both hands, dummy!" Breju grumbled.
--the wind took advantage of his distraction, whisked the umbrella from his hand, and sent it soaring. Breju cackled with delight as the umbrella tore on tree branches and crashed to the ground. When the wind turned its attention back to Jim and Suzanne, the umbrella limped along for a few feet and finally came to rest in the gutter, bent and pathetic.
"Never saw an umbrella sulk before." Breju ambled over to it and scolded, "But you were messing things up!"
She looked down the street and saw that things were indeed better without the encumbrance of the umbrella. Assaulted by rain and cold, Jim and Suzanne were oblivious to everything except each other. The water poured down, soaking the lovers and rendering the scene in hazy watercolors. Watching an embrace that made her ache with longing, Breju decide to accept a few more out-of-town gigs.
Mack can really turn it on when he's a mind to. And it would be worth being away to come home to a welcome like that.
Jim and Suzanne broke from the kiss, and Breju couldn't hear what they said, but she was pretty sure it was "I've missed you" and probably "I love you," too. But then they just stood there, gazing at each other.
The rain eased up, the wind died down, and Breju tapped her foot impatiently.
Well, don't stop now, children. Either keep vamping, or finish the verse and go upstairs for the chorus.
Suzanne tenderly touched Jim's face, and when he returned the gesture, the wind gusted sharply and pushed her up against him. Then they kissed, and kissed some more, oblivious to the wind picking up and cavorting around them.
Waving her hands with fluid grace, Breju half-closed her eyes and began crooning in a low, rich voice. Even with the wind carrying her words, she doubted that Jim and Suzanne would hear her. But she was a singer and a philosopher, and she knew what was needed to complete the moment. Two lines from the song that had been a cliche for over three hundred years and still rang true. It was the song that the tourists always requested, and when they did, Breju always demanded an extra-large tip, because sometimes it hurt to sing something that beautiful.
"When I come home to you, San Francisco--"
Getting into the spirit, the wind dipped for a moment, and then, with a mighty huff, it blew every last one of the yellow leaves off the maple tree and sent them dancing around the lovers. Jim and Suzanne didn't even notice, but Breju did, and the magic of the moment filled her beyond her capacity to contain it. Lifting her hands to the sky, she poured her joy out full voice, filling the street with her song.
"Your golden sun will shine for me."
Jim and Suzanne hurried into the apartment building, and the wind withdrew discreetly, allowing the leaves to flutter to the ground and settle gracefully on the steps.
Alone on the street, Breju slowly lowered her hands and folded them across her stomach. Then she closed her eyes and murmured, "Yes, yes. Yes indeed."
The doors to the club whooshed open, and Danny shouted, "Breju, that's five!"
After one last look up and down the empty street, she nodded her head, just once, and re-entered the building. After giving the cloak a vigorous shake to remove some of the 'weather,' she hung it on a hook and smoothed its heavy folds. Then she cocked an ear toward the back of the club and listened to the low buzz of the crowd.
"Danny, what kind of house is it?"
He shrugged. "It's full, but it's all tourists. The regulars must be staying home because of the weather."
"Tell them I'm taking requests."
Note: If you want to know why Durant calls Brandt "Shoes," read JWinter's Falling Into Destiny.
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