Just Another Bedtime Story K/U, K/R [ PG-13]

Image courtesy of the Internet.  Thank you.

Disclaimer: I earn no riches from Trek other than my fantasies.

Summary: A coming to terms at the end of the first  five year mission. 

****

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Janice asked with just an edge to  her voice. 

"Tell you what, Jan? I don't know what you mean." Uhura asked in confusion, caught off guard by the seriousness of her friend's tone. The party was at an end and Uhura had believed herself all alone with her thoughts on the third floor Rec Deck. Perhaps the melancholy of tonight's farewell party for the crew and their families had struck too deep a chord in her former Enterprise shipmate.

"That you slept with the Captain." Rand clarified coldly, her eyes shiny--like winter ice in the sun. Her approach having been as silent as a panther stalking its prey. 

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Uhura stuttered, stunned by the direct accusation of a truth she had vowed to protect.

"I saw how you danced together tonight. Your bodies knew each other, danced their own dance. I know it when I see it, a lover's intimacy, and I saw it between you two." Janice continued, never wavering as she scrutinized Ny's face. 

"Jan-- I don't know what you saw-- " 

"It doesn't matter how long ago or how recent, the body always remembers." Rand interrupted matter-of-factly, "I'm not angry, Ny, just curious. Years ago it would have made me angry. Hell, it would have made me blind with jealousy. But now, even now, I wonder what it would be like…to be loved by him. I love Hikaru now, but there are--feelings--I still have to reckon with." Janice sighed softly and turned a distant stare toward the observation window.

"You know," she began haltingly, still staring into the void, "back during our first year, he came to me, came to my quarters and tried to rape me. A part of me didn't want to fight. A part of me wanted him, no matter the cost--" 

"Oh, Jan, you don't mean that!" Ny interjected as the rumors of who the *imposter* really was during that mission to Alpha 177 came rushing back to her.  Jan had never discussed the incident with Uhura and she had left it alone, never realizing the extent of what had happened between the Captain and Janice until now.  Her own memory of the confrontation on the Bridge between *both* Kirks--identical except for their behavior--rewound in her head.  If the vicious one had used Jan's feelings against her… .

"Yes, unfortunately, I do. Oh, I knew it wasn't about love, not even lust, so I fought him off and it turned out to not even be the Captain, or, at least not all of him. And you don't know how much it hurt to know that the one time he came to me, he wasn't whole--just half a man--and only his dark side wanted me." 

Rand cut her eyes toward Uhura, looking for judgement in her eyes and finding none, before continuing. "And I knew I had to leave. I had to get away from any man who could make me consider such a thought. It wasn't his fault; if anything, he was too nice. There were many times he should have called me on the carpet for unprofessional conduct because I often let my attraction to him interfere with my work--distract me. But no, he tolerated my idiocy and even encouraged me to make something more of myself." 

"Jan, Captain Kirk always wanted what was best for us. He saw such potential in you. Scotty did too; that's why they both recommended you for ADTech school." Uhura tried to soothe her friend and diffuse the situation that had opened such a quagmire of obsessions and secrets. 

"Perhaps. At the time, I just thought of it as a way out, a way to escape the dreams and the fantasies he awoke in me. However, the hesitancy in his eyes just grew stronger. I had admitted too much, made him nervous and uneasy in my presence. I couldn't stand it any longer. I left because I knew I could never have him--I thought no one from the crew could. And now, I see I was wrong again--*you* got to live the fairytale." She turned and focused her stare on Uhura and the other woman felt as cold as the space just beyond the window. 

Ny's heart came up into her throat as she looked into Jan's piercing eyes. How did she answer her? Lie? Deny the truth? Could she do that to one of her closest friends? Tell her to mind her own business and risk losing a deep friendship over something from the past? Or tell her the truth and betray another confidence? 

A part of her was angry for being called out on something that was clearly none of Jan's business.  But then, she remembered the doe-eyed yeoman who stood in the shadow of the woman before her now. An innocent who had confessed too many yearnings during late night sessions with a best friend. A friend who had listened and felt relief that she was not enamored with the man she served with on the Bridge. And then, in the blink of an eye, it *had* been her. And with that thought, all anger was gone. She sat down on the couch and reached out her hand to the woman who stood on the precipice of hurt and betrayal. 

"Jan, come sit with me and let me tell you a story." 

Rand looked at her as if she had sprouted wings, but moved to the chair and sat in front of Ny. 

"Once upon a time there was a fairy princess who lived in a big white castle, and one day, the princess went out into the market and was captured by foul bandits. They took her to their keep and planned to ransom her. 

"The princess' favorite knight gathered his army and scoured the land, looking for her, but he found the keep too late. The bandits had taken fright of the knight and his army, so they burned the keep and ravished the princess, leaving her behind to die. 

"The knight was distraught and called his physician and bade him save the princess. The physician used all his skill, but needed the help of the mage to turn the tide. The mage asked the knight for a piece of his soul--the only way to lure the princess back from the Dark. 

"The knight gave it gladly, for he could not bear to lose his princess, but later, the knight felt hollow and the princess cried bitter tears. She had no desire to rule her realm and the physician feared she would fade away. 

"One day the King called his knight and bade him go on a journey, to take the princess to a powerful psychic. The knight rode his great mount, the princess seated behind, across the plain. They rode for many days, to the Cathedral of Knowledge. There the psychic told the knight that the princess needed more of his soul; and only by kissing her and breaking chaste could he hope to return her spirit from Oblivion. 

"The knight grew angry. How could he hope to save the princess by breaking his vows? The psychic told him he would have to do both, at the cost of his honor. He must touch the princess and make her mortal once more, then stand by her side everlastingly--never again to feel her lips or breathe her breath. The knight battled all his demons: how to touch his princess and then show nothing but his jailed visor. He prayed to his Gods and asked for direction.

"In the thunderous nocturne, they led him to the princess and laid him down in the soft linens.  She took fright at first, for she had rarely seen the knight bereft of his cold armor, but his tender smile and gentle touch bespoke a trusted heart. He wiped a fell tear from her eye and banished her fears in the night. 

"The princess grew stronger upon the dawn--tho' the knight took a vile wound, but hid it from sight. The princess, radiant, smiled at her knight and begged to go home. The knight, wounded but proud, mounted his steed and bore her home. 

"And now, the princess is home and Queen of her realm. And the knight, her proud champion, still yet bears the scar...."

When Ny finished speaking and sat back on the couch, Jan shook herself, breaking the spell and blinking her eyes rapidly to ward off any tears. She studied Uhura's face quickly, assessing all the meanings of the story she had just been told. Bits and pieces of the past clicked into place; conversations she had shared with Ny and Sulu began to coalesce. How, years ago, Ny had been kidnapped by Orions and the Captain had nearly started a war to find her--how it had taken several months before she had made it back to full duty. The princess and the knight… no, not a fairytale after all. 

"I'm sorry Ny. You should have told me to mind my own business." She offered in quiet embarrassment. 

"For what, Jan?" Uhura asked sadly as she stood and moved to the door. "I just told you a bedtime story, one I tell myself on occasion." 

Unable to answer, Jan merely watched her leave. 

~ID'ic

Star Bright K/U [PG]

Image courtesy of  iddy

Disclaimer:  I earn no riches from Trek other than my fantasies.

A/N:  Another story in my Realizations series.  Time frame is Earth, the Christmas before TWOK. Words bracketed by // denote unspoken thoughts.  And yes, I know it's late but Ava can't have everything.

~~~

Nyota came into the dimly lit living room and found Kirk stretched out on the sofa in front of the fire. His closed eyes and regular breathing made it obvious a short break in party clean-up duty had gone horribly wrong. She smiled down at his sleeping visage, knowing he had to be extremely tired, or seriously drunk, to have crashed on her couch--her wide, overstuffed, comfy, inviting couch.  

Taking a moment to really look at him, Nyota noticed his face was tight around the eyes and jaw, as if, even in sleep he could not completely relax.  Coming to the party late and alone, with probably a few drinks under his belt already, Jim had danced, laughed and mingled.  However, Nyota had sensed an underlying restlessness in him--a brooding spirit he was fighting hard to keep in check.  Still, by the end of the evening he seemed to have won the round and cheerfully volunteered to stay and help clean up her only partially destroyed living room.  

Now, looking around to see most of the damage repaired, Nyota considered that perhaps he had the way of it.  Curling up next to him, she used his shoulder for a pillow and tucked her hands under his sweater. //Ahhh yes...this was much nicer than picking up fallen garland and stray Christmas bows//.  Sliding her knee between his legs and nestling against him for warmth--the fire was nothing but embers now, shedding faint light but little heat--she roused her last guest from his impromptu slumber.

"Oh, sorry.  Did I tap out?"  He asked in groggy guilt.

"I think you decided to take a break, yes."  She grinned up at him as he tried to wipe the sleep from his face.

"Well, you know it's hard to get good help nowadays." He laughed  at her joke but sobered as he realized just how cozy they were together on the couch.  "But really, I need to go so you can crash yourself."  

"I was thinking we could enjoy the sofa awhile longer; it's plenty big enough for the both of us," Nyota spoke softly, her hands roaming along his chest and down his flank, making it clear what she was willing to share.

"In the morning--" Kirk began in his 'father knows best' tone.

"In the morning," Nyota took control of the conversation, not interested in the lecture to come, "I will wake up to an empty sofa, or worse yet, *Admiral* Kirk, who will be terribly embarrassed he passed out on my couch." She leaned forward but stopped just short of brushing her lips to his, knowing he always had to come to terms with their liaisons before allowing such an intimacy.  Technically, as Communications Head on the Enterprise, she reported to Captain Spock, but as the Command-Track Supervising Admiral at Starfleet Academy, they all reported to Kirk.  "But tonight... perhaps tonight, I can spend with a slightly wasted Jim Kirk, who could blame his lapse on too much cheer."

Pulling away, only to place his forehead against hers in a much more vulnerable pose, he agreed in a tone that implied Nyota was closer to the truth than she realized, "Yes, slightly wasted definitely covers it." 

Not liking the bitter edge to Kirk's words, she chose to ignore the deeper meaning in them while running her hand along the inside of his thigh.  In spite of his manner, Nyota knew she had his attention by the hardness she felt beneath her hand.  She pulled back and looked deep into his solemn eyes, saying seductively, "I know you downed most of the eggnog tonight, but I certainly don't see or feel any wasting away here." 

He tensed at her touch, indecision warring with desire in his eyes. "Admiral Kirk should know better than to drink so much at your parties." 

"He does, but occasionally Jim Kirk wins out--especially if he talks the Admiral into coming dateless to my Christmas party."  She inched closer to his lips, teasing them with her warm breath.

"He didn't know his date was going to get shipped out early on the Potemkin," Kirk answered with just a hint of disgust in his voice.

"I'm sorry," Nyota whispered.  She could have meant she was sorry that he had lost his date at the last minute, but they both knew it wasn't.  Commander Svetlana Mirovaya was just one of the many transitory women in his life.  Instead, she was sorry that it was not Kirk who had shipped out--two years back from retirement in order to supervise Command School at the Academy were now noticeably beginning to chafe. No, frustration was at the core of his mood and why he had chosen to come alone.

"Don't be, I'm not," he murmured as he finally leaned in and made connection with Ny's waiting lips.  He would never admit his quiet  desperation to her--not in words--but his hands roaming up her thigh told Nyota volumes, his tongue seeking shelter with hers, betrayed him.

"Her loss."  Nyota grinned against his lips as she ground herself  against him.  She knew her attentions could not cure Jim's melancholy, only relieve it, but it was hers to give.

"Oh, definitely."  He chuckled deep in his throat as he moved to slide Nyota down and under him, pushing back her gossamer silver snowflake mantle to the sexy camisole she wore just beneath.  She had claimed herself to be the Snow Queen at the party, but her silver-against-black attire may have triggered an image of another mistress--the one now chained in orbit above to be nothing more than a training vessel.  

Kirk cradled Ny's head with one hand as the other cupped a breast, capturing her lips in a soft kiss as he eased himself between her legs.  He was slow and deliberate; Nyota did not know if it was an  effect of the liquor or just his mood. Their lovemaking of the past had been more passionate--often on the edge of rough--an outlet for the desperate emotions that called them to each other.  Instead, tonight, she savored his sweet caresses and tender-tinged kisses.  His touch was so gentle, like he still held one of the antique glass ornaments he had admired on her Christmas tree. 

Reaching down to grab the edge of Jim's sweater, Nyota encouraged him to take it off.  All night it had enticingly draped across his shoulders, but now it hampered her desire to feel the muscles outlined beneath.  Rising up on his knees, he sat back and pulled the offending garment off, allowing Nyota a moment to take in the sight of him.  

It always amazed her how much he had changed yet stayed the same.  Nyota had thought Jim glorious before, but now, with the kiss of maturity upon him, she knew it to be so.  The golden skin and hair had turned to bronze, only hinting at their brilliance beneath a rich patina.  His deliciously broad shoulders had gained new dimension as his muscles had evolved from boy-captain to alpha-admiral. 

She reached out, beckoning him closer so she could indulge herself by running fingers through the mass of chestnut curls that now covered  his pecs and firm belly.  No longer under the constant harangue of McCoy about perilous landing parties and dire injury, he had quit suppressing the hair from growing across his chest.  He had once joked that shaving his chest was better than allowing Bones to carve nasty  safety reminders across it after another close call. 

The open lust in her eyes buoyed his desire, pushing back the countless aches and pains he had acquired while achieving the maturity she obviously admired--war wounds that seemed to be more noticeable in the damp air of Earth.  She seemed ageless while he felt himself growing older every day he was locked in this gravity well. 

He reached down, slipping his hands under Ny's skirt and gently peeling off her panties.  Looking askance at the little wisp of lace he had captured, Kirk asked too casually, a subtle halt in the mood, "So, Penda, why didn't *you* have a date tonight?"

"It's hard to juggle a date and attend to my guests. I thought  I'd prefer to play hostess tonight."  Nyota knew she was busted, but answered  coyly in hopes of recapturing what she had started.  Did it matter she had known he would come alone, that his nameless dissatisfaction with life had bid her to seek him out?

"You knew Lana shipped out."  Jim sat back against the couch with the thud of realization.  "Damn, am I so predictable that you knew I'd pout and come alone?" 

Pushing herself up against the arm of the couch, Nyota reached out and rubbed Jim's shoulder, drawing his attention back to her.  "I know every name that ships out," she answered softly, and then continued in a much more knowing tone, "and Jim Kirk is never predictable.  I've  just had years of experience to study him--good days and bad.  Tonight is just the end of a very rough week."  She smiled at him, trying to coax one in return.

"Really?  So what has all that study taught you?" He asked guardedly, not sure if he wanted to hear her answer.

"That you're not happy with your life right now, but don't know exactly how to fix it."  

"Got any advice?" He pushed, startled by just how close to home she had nailed him.

"No, not really.  You're not one for listening to suggestions about your personal life anyway."  She knew by the roundness of his eyes that she had surprised him with her answer; he obviously had expected a lecture about getting back his command.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Jim grumbled, "Hasn't stopped McCoy all these years.  Even Spock gets his two cents in when it suits him." 

"We all care about you and hate to see you hurting.  We just show our love in different ways."  Nyota picked up his listless hand and squeezed  it for emphasis.

"That's true." Kirk finally smiled back, not the sultry one she craved, but now at least a glint of humor lit his eyes. "McCoy tries  to beat his opinion into my head while Spock tries to logic me to death."  

The humor faded from his eyes, replaced by something much more tender. "But you...well, Nyota...you're just like what your name means: Star.  You're my 'Northern Star'--my always constant and true--"  He caught himself, quickly banishing the vulnerability that had briefly escaped.  "I mean, after all, 'tis the season for following bright stars and finding one's way, isn't it?" He added in a mixture of embarrassment  and humor as he leaned over and gave her a soft kiss. 

"It is, isn't it?"  Nyota smiled up into his warm eyes, deeply touched by his sentiment but knew better than to comment upon it.  She had given  love and comfort when he had lost his ship, and later, when Lori had left him.  But she knew Jim felt guilty for accepting her attentions  then, worrying it bound her all the closer to him and his stagnant life on Earth.  It was not a fate he would share with her.  To him,  she still had access to the stars if she did not tie herself to his needs--his limitations. 

Settling himself back into his original pose on the couch, Jim pulled Nyota down against him as he wrapped her in his arms. His embrace was now  protective, his earlier passion restrained. "Well, tonight let's just lie here and watch that star," he suggested good-naturedly, tilting  his head toward the glowing amber-glassed ornament that perched at the top of the tree.

Nyota realized that by being cast forever as a symbol of what he missed most, Jim saw her just as unavailable as those stars were to him in  his currently grounded status.  Having little choice but to accept the limits he had placed on the rest of their night together, she sighed  in pouty resignation, "*Admiral* Kirk loves the stars."

"Both of us love *the* star," he whispered conspiratorially against her ear.

Still frustrated or not, Nyota could not help but smile.

~ID'ic

A Different Plane of Existence K/U/S [PG]

Image courtesy of ME!

Disclaimer: The characters are Paramount's, their actions are mine

Summary: When all things come to and end.  A fragment of a dream that would not go away until I put it to paper.

~~~

The gazelle was running for all it was worth but it knew it would not be enough. Separated from its herd, the hyenas were gaining, relentless in their pursuit of the nourishment it represented to them. The land was parched, drought was everywhere and blood was as good as water.

Lungs nearly bursting with effort, the doe changed course once again. It headed into the scrub-land, hoping the bramble and brush would slow its pursuers.  As it reached the first of the bushes, a hard  blow across its rear flank sent the doe reeling.  At the same moment, a loud roar and a flash of tawny gold burst from cover in the brush and pounced on the lead hyena, killing it with a single snap of heavy jaws before it could do any further harm.  The gazelle lay sprawled and mostly hidden in the high grass, unable to flee, its energy spent. Another blur, this time one of inky black, broke cover and attacked the next hyena in chase.

The doe could do nothing, frozen in instinctive paralysis, it watched the lion and black leopard slaughter the pack of hyenas that were too desperate to break off the hunt.  As the last hyena fell from a powerful slap of its paw, the lion tilted back his massive head and gave a chilling roar.  Their quarry defeated, the leopard sat down and calmly began to clean itself--as if it had not just helped in decimating a pack of ravenous hunters.

The young gazelle could not rise, could not gather its legs underneath itself even as the two felines turned their attention to its struggles.  It watched in horrid fascination as the lion lazily approached.  The beast was twice the size of the leopard, deeply muscled and sporting a full, brushy mane and ruff that covered its chest with rich reddish-brown fur.  The leopard, deigning to take notice of the lion's movement, chose to follow in casual grace.

Panicking anew, the doe struggled to gain its feet, but found itself too debilitated to flee.  Panting and trembling under the thunder of its own heart, the gazelle accepted that death was imminent.  The lion could break its neck more easily than it had the hyena's, while the leopard could kill it with a snap of its jaws.

The lion neared and the doe felt its hot breath as the huge cat panted in the heat, taking its time with the kill.  But the blow never came, the jaws never bit into fatigued flesh.  Instead the beast chuffed softly, butting its head gently against the doe's while being mindful of the short horns that could still do damage.  It then flopped itself down in a lazy sprawl next to the doe.  The leopard moved in and loomed over the still terrified gazelle, its hard yellow eyes showing little interest in the doe other than idle curiosity.  Once satisfied with whatever it sought, it too curled up beside the doe and promptly fell asleep.  Although still unsure if it had gotten a reprieve or merely a postponement, the gazelle collapsed in nervous exhaustion.

~~~

The heat beat down on them mercilessly; no rain had fallen and the waterholes were now little more than damp earth.  The doe did not understand how it had gained the companionship of the mismatched felines but accepted it with little choice.  It was never alone, if one or the other vanished into the night--presumably to hunt--the other remained nearby, vigilant in a different sort of way. They followed the doe as it, in turn, followed the instinctive  migration path of its kind.  It never found its herd.  In fact, they seldom saw any other animals, but those that saw them quickly took flight.

In the heat of the day they took whatever shelter that could be found from the hateful sun.  Often, now far out on the scorched plain, the scant trees burnt and bare, the best they could find were low tumbles of rock.  The lion would scrape out a hollow in the packed dirt and seek the meager shadow to be found at their base. Most of the time the doe took refuge in the shadow of the lion or the leopard rather than the rock.

Days moved into weeks and still the rains did not come.  The last of the grass was sere and gone, the waterholes nothing more than cracked dirt harder than stone.  The doe was exhausted, too weak to keep going its legs finally collapsed under its sparse weight.  The lion moved in, attempting to nudge the gazelle back onto its hooves.  The doe bleated plaintively, unable to rise.  The lion sat down, exhausted in its own right.  The drought had taken its toll on the big felines as well.  The lion's mane was patchy and ribs could be plainly seen along its flank.  The leopard's once sleek coat was now dull and lifeless, its tail furless in some places.

The doe looked up into the lion's eyes, recognizing a sense of death in them--not its, but theirs.  Even if the rains came now, the gazelle knew it would be too late to sustain it.  The water would be welcome but there was no grass on which to graze.  The days it would take for the land to bloom again were days the doe no longer had.  It would die regardless, but in doing so it could sustain the lion and the leopard. Its flesh could give them strength; its blood could keep them alive until the basins refilled.

The doe forced itself up and bumped its neck against the massive muzzle of the lion--urging it to bite and drink its blood.  The lion growled in annoyance and painfully pushed away, leaving the gazelle swaying on trembling legs.  Seeking another target, the doe took faltering steps toward the leopard.  It rubbed its neck along the black cat's jaws and tempted instinct to render a deadly bite.  The

leopard moved its head, looking to the lion as it faltered and sat down hard.  The doe bleated again, turning its neck upward and offering the more vulnerable underside to the smaller feline.  The leopard moved its hard eyes back from the lion to stare into the doe's for a fleeting moment before clamping down on the exposed throat.  The hardness in its eyes went away as the leopard acknowledged the sacrifice the gazelle made.  The doe heard a rumble in its ears and fleetingly wondered if it was the sound of far off thunder or its own heartbeat.  In a second it did not matter.

~~~

Nyota woke with a start, her heart pounding from the vividness of the dream.  It had seemed so real.  Her movement caused Jim's eyes to open sleepily, his face mere inches from hers.  She reached up and soothed his brow, whispering soft nothings to urge his lids to once again close, to cover the now all too familiar tawny eyes trying to focus. Here, curled up once again at her side, was her lion, her protector from danger.  A tender smile crept over his face as he drifted back into sleep.  

Turning her attention to the warmth snuggled against her back, Ny gently nudged Spock in the ribs to turn him just enough so his exhalations would not blow across her neck.  His warm, steady breath was tickling her skin, making Ny squirm as it assaulted her vulnerable nape.  Much nicer than the leopard, but the imagery was still there--his power over her still evident.  Refusing to focus on any more of the dream now, Ny contented herself with the fact that she was safe and secure between her two men as she drifted back to sleep.

~~~

The computer quietly warned her it was 0600--time to wake and get ready for duty.  Ny awoke with a start and immediately sat up, looking to the left and right of herself.  She was alone in her own bunk, a bunk certainly not large enough for three.  It had to all be a dream--the surreal gazelle, lion and leopard nightmare as well as the more realistic, or at least desirable, slumber party.

What had caused her to dream such fantasies?  They were mere weeks away from Earth now, their mission all but done.  Scores of crew were transferring out, eager to stay in space but leaving them very short-handed.  Kirk and Spock were rotating through the other shifts, attempting to oversee the countless tasks to be done in preparation of a prolonged dry-dock.  It was unsettling to have routine disrupted, and more still to realize it was all coming to an end.  

Nyota guessed she was feeling a bit lost and exposed. Her subconscious was obviously seeking to make sense of it all.  Old relationships, or the idea of new ones becoming a reality, were apparently trying to establish themselves in her brain.  That they would sacrifice themselves for each other was a given, that was not an epiphany in and of itself, but what else was her mind trying to tell her?  That she loved them both more than professionally? That she felt inter-connected in their relationship, but secondary at best in the layering of loyalties between them?  Scary thoughts, and ones Ny was not sure she wanted to look at too deeply.  She did not have time for a major freak-out session now--too much was at stake.  Her career path for years to come would be decided in a few short weeks.  Would it bring success or failure--figurative life or death?

But the last dream--the last dream--why did her subconscious place Nyota so intimately between the two men she trusted and respected most?  Security? Lust? Both?  The psychological implications of that image--a bed big enough to accommodate all three of them--was more than a little overwhelming in scope.  Or was she just making something out of nothing?  Was her over-tired mind just playing with tidbits it found attractive?  Maybe it was safer to consider that concept.  Yes--much safer.

"Computer, chime at 0645," Ny ordered as she scooted back under the covers.  Maybe, if she tried hard, she could pick that last dream back up where she had left off... .

~ID'ic

Crème Fraîche K,S,M,U [PG]

Image courtesy of Anki

Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek.  I only own my fantasies.

A/N:  Crème fraîche is the kind of cream you could happily eat off a spoon. Its texture is smoother, more velvety, and more like custard than sour cream.   In terms of taste, crème fraîche is tangy the way sour cream is tangy, but its tang is more subtle, more refined.

***

Kirk looked up wearily from his data padd, acknowledging the insistent buzzing of his door. Since only McCoy would be so bold as to practically lay on the button, Kirk was not surprised to see the good doctor bound into his quarters.  The CMO marched up to Kirk's desk and leaned over to ensure he had his captain's complete attention.

"Dammit Jim, you can't just change your mind like that!  Tell Spock to ease up and let the crew keep voting.  You know better than to back out on something like this--they're all counting on you. I mean, you know, once you're in, you're in; and anyways, it can't be so different from last year, except now we've got a title to retain," McCoy spluttered in rapid-fire indignation.

Kirk waited, nonplussed by McCoy's diatribe, but he knew the doctor would have to come up for air sooner or later.  As McCoy paused for effect, Kirk asked the inevitable question, "Bones, would you please tell me what you're ranting about?  I have no idea what you're accusing Spock or me of doing."

"The contest, Jim!  That damn pretty-boy--what's it called--crème de la crème--tom foolery.  I know it's risky to put yourself out there like that, but you did so you can't go and get cold feet now!"

Kirk felt the blood drain from his face and the bottom of his stomach drop out at McCoy's words.  A waking nightmare from a year ago took his memory hostage and tortured him with terrible déjà vu.  The Crème de la Crème was an unsanctioned *beefcake* contest where each ship, station, or installation could submit an image of their candidate to represent them in the unofficial "Mister Starfleet" competition.  Gary Mitchell had secretly entered a picture of Kirk in last year's contest--and to his horror--he had won!  

And to add to that horror, he had only found out about it when Admiral Nogura called to ream him out for participating in something that was considered 'inappropriate behavior for senior officers, much less the captain of Starfleet's flagship.'  Yes, he would never forget the dressing down that had accompanied his new title.  Kirk remembered how he had pled ignorance to Nogura's charges.  He had stared, dumbfounded, as the admiral flashed onscreen a picture of Kirk in his own shower, looking up with limpid eyes as he was caught in the act of running his hands through wet hair.  His biceps were wet and bulging, his smooth chest glistening in the spray and the hair below his navel obvious before airbrushing hid details even Gary felt needed to be hidden in the *steam*.  

At the look of disbelief on Kirk's face, Nogura had shook his head in disgust before resolving into something akin to pity.  "Dammit, Kirk, I can tell you didn't enter this thing voluntarily, but to be frank, I don't know what ticks me off more: you winning, or you winning while not even trying.  Nevertheless, I think we both know exactly who planted that 'corder in your shower.  Now the question is do I let *you* handle Mister Mitchell, or do I?  It's not like 

I'm feeling comfortable right now about who's really running that ship," Nogura finished with a very pointed look.

Kirk had assured Nogura that he had far more ammunition to achieve revenge--er, instill discipline--against Gary than slapping him with a fine or restrictions.  No, merely running him out of the service would not begin to pay him back for this little escapade.  The decision of who to send along as a Federation observer during a three-month expedition to the Verdactian mining colony of Geb Four, an ice planet similar to Andor, suddenly made itself known.  He had held off on accepting the request by the colony because of its harshness toward a crew not acclimated to such cold, but that was before he had a convincing reason.  Gary may not have excelled in Physics at the Academy, but he did know his Geology... .

"Jim--Jim!  Come back, son.  I don't know where you beamed out to just now, but I need you to call Spock and tell him you've changed your mind."  McCoy looked at Kirk suspiciously, snapping his fingers in front of Kirk's dazed face.

"The crew's morale is at an all-time low, Jim.  We've been banged up, shot up and stood up for months.  Honestly, their excitement about voting in this silly contest is about the only thing I've seen grab their attention.  I've tried to get us a medical shoreleave but HQ isn't listening right now, so I guess you get to be their diversion," McCoy tried for a kindly grin, but it came out more like a smirk.

"Bones, if you're telling me I'm entered in *this* year's contest, then you've been too close to the chemicals again,"  Kirk tossed back in confidence he hardly felt.

"Well, somebody entered you," McCoy bellowed.  Walking around and flipping on Jim's terminal, he called up a screen announcing the contestants for Crème de la Crème, 2267.  In bold print was Kirk's name, listing him as defending champion and the glorious representative of Enterprise, NCC-1701.  As Kirk shook his head in vehement, but silent, denial, McCoy called for the image submitted to be displayed.

A strangled "Oh My God!" escaped Kirk's lips as a picture of him ghosted onto screen.  He recognized the setting immediately; several months back they had taken shoreleave on Beta Aquataine and during the last night he had attended a luau with most of the others finishing their leave.  He had worn a pair of low cut khaki shorts and an unbuttoned tropical shirt in keeping with the spirit of the party.  However, the image before him showed a man with a deep, hungry look walking out of the darkness and into the orangy glow of the firepit to one side of him.  The flames burnished his cheek and brow with golden kisses while capturing his pecs and abs in stark relief.  He was immortalized in mid-stride, the long, lean movement evoking the essence of a stalking predator.

Who had been taking pictures that night?  Most of his memory regarding the luau was vague--rum had that effect on him.  Who had he been looking at like that?  That scared him more than being in the contest again.  Had he really been stalking someone or was it merely a play of the light as his eyes transitioned from the darkness?

"Oh My God is right.  So now do you believe me?" McCoy challenged as Kirk just sat there in silence. "And who in the Hell were you looking at?  If I could turn it on like that, I'd never be lonely," McCoy sighed in jealous dejection.

"What?  Well, I see my picture and my name, but I didn't enter the contest nor authorize anyone else to do so for me."  Kirk shook his head, studiously ignoring McCoy's second question while trying to recall that long ago night.

"Doesn't matter now; if you're in--win is all I can say! Hell, even Nogura will accept 'in for a penny in for a pound' logic," McCoy offered brightly.   "No, who we have to convince now is Spock.  If you didn't tell him to shut it down then he did it on his own in an effort to protect you--"

"Good, I'm glad he had sense enough to put a stop to this," Kirk replied as he attempted to gain control of the situation.

"No, Jim, it's not good.  I wasn't kidding about the crew needing a morale booster.  It might not be as wonderful as a signed peace treaty with the Klingons, but it's all we got.  Now call that pointy-eared wet blanket and tell him to back off.  Tell him it's for the sake of morale--something he doesn't understand--but I say needs rejuvenation,"  McCoy groused in his unique mixture of medical expert and hyperbole.

At Kirk's sigh of capitulation, McCoy grinned in victory.  He patted Jim on the shoulder as Kirk started to toggle the comm in an attempt to call Spock.  The captain stopped in mid-gesture, clearly annoyed as he looked up at the CMO who had just used Kirk's own weakness toward the crew as a bludgeon to get his way.

"Doctor, I can handle it from here.  Please don't make it any more painful for me than it has to be," Kirk bit out crisply.

McCoy started in surprise at being dismissed, but quickly realized Jim was not about to let him witness how he was going to convince Spock to change his mind.  

"Oh, gotcha' Jim, just let me skedaddle," he drawled in barely suppressed humor.  He hated missing *that* conversation but was ecstatic Jim had listened to reason.  Now, if only the Vulcan would.

***

Kirk asked Spock to come to his quarters, not wanting to have this discussion over the comm channel.  Now, as he waited, he sat in silence and stared at the damning image of himself.  If he pushed all thoughts of what the picture represented: the contest, Nogura's upcoming reprimand, the soon to be overflowing mailbox of crass humor headed his way from friends and colleagues--he had to admit to himself that it *was* a remarkable picture.  

Kirk's own eyes seemingly looked right through him, as if they could consume him and become the reality.  The play of light against shadow captured the detail of his physique while appearing surreal by their very contrast.  A ghost of a smile toyed with the corners of his mouth, screaming seduction for all who would glance his way.  Who *had* he been approaching with such an invitation?  He had come stag and stayed stag--as he demanded of himself at such crew functions--but the expression staring back at him was anything but captainly.  Further admiration was interrupted as his door chimed once again.  Kirk acknowledged the request and watched as Spock entered with quiet curiosity. 

"You require my assistance with something, Captain?" Spock asked in the beginnings of concern when Kirk did not immediately state his reason for asking Spock to come to his quarters.

"Ah, yes, Spock, I do.  Please come in and sit down."  Kirk stalled for time, trying to find the right words for such an embarrassing topic.  Finally, he decided there was no good way, so he just barreled right into it.

"Spock, Doctor McCoy has told me you have forbidden the crew to  vote in the Crème de la Crème contest," he began awkwardly.

"No sir, I have not.  I have merely put a block in the program tabulating votes for you. I have cancelled the ability for *anyone* to vote for you, thus effectively withdrawing you from the competition.  The crew is quite capable of voting for anyone else if they so choose," Spock clarified helpfully.

"You've blocked me...from all votes?" Kirk asked in disturbed confusion.  Wasn't he thankful to be out of it?  Wasn't that the answer to his prayers?  Then why did he suddenly feel like someone had stolen his candy?

"Yes, sir.  I knew you had not sanctioned your entry into the contest, just as you had not the previous year.  Last year I did not interfere because of Mister Mitchell's involvement. However, this year, in order to protect your dignity, I attempted to access the contest computers and withdraw all reference to you.  Unfortunately, the most I was able to accomplish was write an external block to the tabulation programs," Spock finished softly, his tone one of quiet pique at being bested.

Succumbing to a hint of gloat at Spock's admission of less than success, yet trying to stay above the pout he felt like having, Kirk chose his next words carefully.  "Yes, well, Spock I deeply appreciate that you would go to such lengths to protect my honor. Although, since I am still on display and seemingly still a participant, might I submit to you that it is far more humiliating once entered to then--lose?"

Spock quirked a brow at Kirk's view of the situation but tried to consider it within the realm of logic.  "Do you wish me to remove the block I installed on the tabulation program?"

"Yes, Spock, in this instance, I do.  I wholeheartedly agree it's undignified, but McCoy says the crew needs something to improve morale and he thinks this will do it," Kirk answered in quiet commiseration with the dismayed Vulcan.  Yet, why did he feel giddy all of a sudden?  Where did that tingle of competition come from?

Spock sighed just a bit, a sure sign he was at a loss to understand the situation.  "Very well, Captain, I shall go and make the necessary changes."

As Spock turned to walk out the door, Kirk stopped him with an apparently casual question, "Spock, just out of curiosity, do you know where I was ranked before you blocked the voting?" 

Spock turned back and faced Kirk, now answering with calm surety, "First, of course, your picture *is* the most aesthetically pleasing image submitted to the competition.  It is gratifying to discover Miz Uhura took my instruction on still photography seriously--"

Fade to black ;-)

~ID'ic

Of Love and Sunsets S/U [G]

Image created by Iddy

Disclaimer: The characters are Paramount's, their actions are mine.

Summary: Another story in my "Tokens" series about how Spock comes to realize his life is incomplete. A prequel to "Hallowed Blessings".

I'm not sure when I started looking at the sunset with a sense of beauty instead of meteorology.  That is no small admission coming from a Vulcan.  Since my death and rebirth I find such concerns--even those I used to espouse--of little consequence.

I used to watch Jim stop and take notice of the beginnings and endings of the day when he had a moment during our many missions.  I never understood it, but it was enough that it seemed to restore him.  It is with some interest I realize that it has taken me over fifty years to appreciate what is instinctive to any Human--beauty for the sake of beauty.

This evening I ostensibly sit in meditation.  However, the remnants of vibrant red, burnt orange and deep indigo send my senses outward to Vulcan rather than to any sort of inner reflection.  The deep and vivid colors bring a sense of warmth to my body that the ambient temperature can scarce explain.  On evenings such as these I am transported back to the harsh beauty of my homeworld, a connection unexplainable by any logical science, but is there nonetheless.

As the harsh colors begin to soften with the fading of the light, I consider how different the skies of Earth and Vulcan truly are.  Vulcan sunsets are vivid but limited in color, while Earth's spectral palette is as varied as her people.  Intellectually I understand the science for their differences but it matters little to me now.  From the honey gold of spring evenings to the harsh, blue cool winter endings, each earthly sunset is a work of art, no less deserving of admiration than any masterpiece in the Louvre.   The hazy yellow collapse of summer suns and the fiery infernos of autumn endings never cease to amaze me, opening my eyes to new levels of awe.

My body subtly relaxes in the fiery glow, letting down guards that can only uncoil in the security of home.  Yet I sit on the roof of Nyota's brownstone on Earth, not my own planet--not even my own home.  As the last dying embers drop below the horizon I consider that thought--my world--my home.  Has my body realized something my mind has failed to recognize?  Have I come to accept Earth as much my home as Vulcan?  Have these past months spent in Nyota's presence made me consider it such?

I find my temperament grows grim as I watch the last warm color fade into nothingness.  Just as fleeting as the sunset, so I find my time with Nyota, a Human whose lifespan is half my own.  Since Jim's death I feel each day keenly, recognizing each moment is a gift I still can share with those I love.  Yes, 'I love'--words I would have denied in the past--but now I know it is foolish to worry about such things. I love Nyota.  It is that simple now.  For many years it was not.  For most of those years it was wrapped in denial and our concern for another.  That is the pain of love for which Vulcans banish the joys of love.  I can no longer deny or avoid; I no longer wish to.

Nyota, who personifies all the sunsets I admire.  I find I desire the variety of such a spirit rather than the comfort of a pleasing but never changing hue.  The lilt of her laughter brings a smile to my lips that I refuse to banish.  Her tears can shred my heart just as easily.  Our minds are now one, our hearts beat in synchronicity.

It has taken decades to recognize these feelings--or more truthfully--to accept them.  But now time is no longer a friend, it heals old wounds only to cause greater injury with its passing.  Life is short; a cliché to some, but suddenly a profound statement to my mind.  I am no longer content to sit here and wax poetic over momentary splendor.  I must go downstairs and ask eternal beauty to spend the rest of forever with me.  The logic is inescapable.

~ID'ic