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.
Note This story was written as a response to "Trust," Kaki's story about Admiral Kirk and Lori Ciani. A multitude of thanks to Kaki, first for "Trust" and all the disturbing thoughts it provoked, and second, for giving me permission to post her story on my website.
It is strongly recommended that you read Trust before reading "Dear Lori."
You're probably so angry that you'll toss this without even reading it. But I just want to say that I'm sorry.
I do love you, Lori, and I never meant to hurt you.
Dear Lori, I don't know why I did what I did. Dear Lori, I married you with the best of intentions. Dear Lori, you're everything I ever wanted in a woman and I thought I would make you happy. Dear Lori, you deserve so much better than me.
I thought we had it all. And I thought that was enough. Dear Lori, you're so bright and lovely, so full of life, so strong and proud. And I'm not just realizing that now that you're gone. I knew it all along, even when I was running around with women who aren't half the person you are.
You knew my reputation. We even joked about it. But when I promised to be faithful, I meant it. I never doubted that I would keep my vows.
I thought about the women in my past, the shore leave flings, and the ones I've callously used as a means to an end. I thought all that tomcatting around was just an outlet, a necessary evil, like an occasional brawl or a few drinks too many. I was just letting off steam, to compensate for always having to be in control. But I thought I would be different with you. We would be together and I wouldn't need anyone else.
Looking back, we never had a chance. How could I expect you to know and understand the man you married when I didn't know him myself?
I've loved other women before you, and I don't know what would have happened with any of them. I have a horrible feeling that I wouldn't have acted any differently. But there was never time to find out.
Until I met you, Carol lasted the longest and she walked out on me. She's never fully explained why, but I'm starting to understand. She doesn't want me to contaminate David, to win his love and then abandon him. That was fifteen years ago, and I don't know how she knew, but it's been my pattern. She just caught on quicker than I did.
And with the others, it always ended too soon, usually with me beaming back to the Enterprise, feeling miserable, sometimes for as long as a week. I thought it was a survival skill--I even congratulated myself on my resilience. A commander can't let his personal unhappiness affect his performance, so straighten up, mister. But if I recovered that easily, was it ever really love? Or did I just tell myself that it was love because I needed to feel something more than just desire?
I fell in love with Rayna in *less than two hours*. And I loved her as much as I've ever loved anyone. That says a lot about me, and none of it attractive.
I think I'm incapable of returning love, of truly feeling anything beyond the most superficial affection. I just never stayed around long enough to learn that.
Until I married you. Until I found myself cheating for absolutely no reason. Those women meant nothing. And I realize now that they were exactly like all the others. None of them meant anything. No one has been allowed to really touch me, or hurt me, or be anything except exactly what I needed them to be. I've given as little of myself as possible, met no one's needs but my own, and smugly told myself that it wasn't the real me. I would do better, with the right person and the time to make it work.
You were the right person, Lori, and we had the time. And you see what I made of it. I gave you as much as I could, and it's pathetic how little that was.
I remember courting you, Lori. We went so slowly because we didn't have to rush. You deserved to be complimented and respected and wooed, and I thought that's why I was doing it. Now I know it was just another challenge--I needed to prove that I could do it. I loved the novelty of it, and that was all. I'm sorry, Lori. I know it must hurt to hear that. It hurts to have to admit it.
Mom says that my father's charm was passed on undiluted to Sam and doubled to me. Is that why there's no room for anything else?
Yes, I deceived you, Lori, and in more ways than you think. I finally realize how I've deceived myself, and I can't tell you how much I regret making you teach me that lesson. It's not what you bargained for, it's not what I promised, and it's certainly not what you deserve.
You're not the first woman I've hurt. But you're the first who's made me see exactly how shallow I am. I put on a good show, and that's all. I have no idea how to do anything else. It's all a sham, a facade, and I will always need someone new to believe it, just for a short time.
I realize that none of this excuses my behavior. But I didn't know, Lori. I honestly didn't know.
Hang on to your anger. You're right to hate me.
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