T'Beth felt as grim and gloomy as the layer of fog obscuring the high-rises of San Francisco. As Aunt Doris dropped her off at the main entrance to Starfleet Medical Center, T'Beth hesitated, remembering the first day her father had dragged her here to her appointed punishment. Later, she had learned to enjoy the volunteer work, but just now she was inclined to despise anything that made her think of Spock…and the new bride monopolizing his attention a few miles down the coast.
She had not seen him since the wedding, and she did not particularly care if she ever saw him again—him and that two-faced Lauren. Oh, it's alright, T'Beth, you can tell me anything you're thinking, just make sure it's something I agree with, okay?
Okay. At least now she knew exactly where Lady Fielding-S'chn T'gai stood—right squarely next to Spock, a matched pair of critical, superior bastards. But no. T'Beth was the only bastard around here. "Krenath", the Vulcans called it. Just another word for a social misfit.
A honk roused her and she turned to find Aunt Doris watching her from the car.
"Are you going to be alright?" Doris called out.
T'Beth forced a smile. "Sure."
She went inside and got to work. It was almost noon before she made it up to the third floor to check on her new friend. Anxious to visit Lelia, she hurried into the hospital room and stopped short, just inside the door. Lelia Chan was gone, her bed stripped bare. For a horrible instant T'Beth thought her friend had died. Then the patient in the next bed spoke.
"If you're looking for that Chinese girl, they released her late yesterday."
T'Beth slumped against the doorframe and fought down an aching thickness in her throat. Lelia gone. Gone where? Back to her unit? A hundred thousand light years away?
The patient in the second bed stared at her. Swallowing hard, she went out and wandered aimlessly past the nurses' station. What was the matter with her? She had known this would happen soon. Lelia would keep in touch. Lelia wouldn't forget her—she had promised.
Though T'Beth tried to pull herself together, all during her shift she kept messing up. The staff made jokes about it being "one of those Fridays". A nurse put her hand on T'Beth's forehead and pretended to test the temperature that was always a bit warm by human standards.
Annoyed, T'Beth snapped, "I'm fine!"
Why couldn't she just shake things off? She had been better at hiding her feelings when she lived among the Vulcans. Here, everyone expressed emotions and it made her even freer with her own.
The miserable day was nearing its end when she took a break and headed down to the lobby where there was always a lot of activity. She had a crazy hope that maybe Jim Kirk would come by—she had actually run into him here once. But as she scanned the area she found something so much more improbable that her heart squeezed a burst of adrenaline through every cell of her body. Frozen to the spot, she stared at the tour group by the central desk, at the dark-haired young man casually studying his surroundings.
And then he looked at her.
His brown eyes paused for an instant before moving on. A second later they were back, wide with a shock of recognition that clearly equaled her own. With slow steps he ventured toward her, his handsome face full of unspoken questions. "T'Beth…?" he said in a deeper voice than she remembered.
"Matt!" she cried. Matt Perlman! How long had it been? Three years? That would make him twenty now, and he looked it. Tall, muscular, fit. His rapt expression made her heart hammer wildly. There was no mistaking it—he was thrilled to see her, too.
He said, "I thought you were still on Vulcan. Hey, this is great! I can't believe it! You're beautiful!"
Flattered by his attention, she blushed. "I've only been on Earth a little while. What about you? Are your parents still making you go to medical school?"
He shrugged. "It's not so bad. I'm slated for Stanford in the fall. Thought I'd come over and check out Starfleet, but I never expected anything like this." His eager gaze took in her volunteer's uniform. "You work here?"
"Uh-huh. Come on," she found herself saying, "let's go to the atrium."
Afternoon sun poured into the sky-lit courtyard, spreading warmth over the graceful trees and flowering plants. Water splashed from a fountain, its sound mingling with birdcalls from an aviary. T'Beth and Matt found an empty bench and sat down. As they spoke it was clear that he could scarcely take his eyes off her—those same warm brown eyes that had melted her insides before Matt's parents broke them up and sent him to live with relatives on Earth. She had thought she would never see him again, and now here they were, side by side. Only this time there was something more—something she had been feeling around Jim—a warm, delightful yearning deep inside her. Each time she looked into Matt's eyes she was aware of it building, and the more room she allowed it, the more she could sense it taking effect on him, too. The realization was both scary and exhilarating.
"It's nice here," Matt said, "but can we go someplace else? Someplace…where there aren't so many people?"
The day's work was almost finished; maybe no one would miss her if she sneaked out a little early. But Aunt Doris would be coming to pick her up. T'Beth hesitated. Doris had been good to her, but Matt filled her with such reckless excitement that nothing else seemed to matter.
"Okay," she said at last. "I know a place…but it's a ways off."
Matt smiled. "I have an Airbike."
T'Beth jotted a brief message for Aunt Doris—"I'll find my own way home today."—and left it at the front desk. Quickly she changed into her street clothes, grabbed her purse, and got on the back of Matt's bike, arms snuggled around his waist. Then they were off. The wind blew through her hair as she bent close to his ear, speaking directions. Since coming to Earth, she had found little to attract her in human boys her own age. Her relationship with Kevin Morrow had evolved gradually and remained on the simple level of friendship. With Matt it was different—it always had been. Even so, the intensity of her emotions astonished her as they flew along.
They reached a canyon near Doris' house and landed in a secluded spot. Matt smiled at her, teeth white against his tanned skin, his brown eyes alight with velvety fire. T'Beth returned his gaze, and the sounds of nature seemed to fade. Her hand lifted, brushing his. Matt reached out clumsily and pulled her into a long, deep kiss.
The contact left them both breathless.
T'Beth said, "Remember the cave? On Vulcan?"
He nodded.
It had been their secret rendezvous point in the northern encampment at Pashir. How innocent those times seemed now—the shy touching and gentle kisses of childhood. But T'Beth's childhood had been cut short, her innocence cruelly wrested from her by Klingon hands. Oh yes, Torlath had taught her more than she ever wanted to know. But now, suddenly, it seemed she was the one controlling things. This time the choice was hers and she sensed that whatever direction she went, Matt would gladly follow.
Is this what it meant to be Sy?
Wordlessly she led Matt to the hideaway she had discovered while roaming the hills one day. From a distance it looked like a dark indentation in the rock, but with care one could squeeze through. After a few feet the hole opened into a sizeable cavern. It was cool inside.
Matt came in after her. He straightened and his dark hair almost brushed the rock overhead. In the dim light from the opening, their eyes locked. A faint stirring of conscience made T'Beth hesitate—but only for a brief moment. Then the feelings sweeping over her seemed too powerful even for her to control.
oooo
T'Beth awoke shivering and disoriented. Sitting up, she peered around the dusky interior of the cavern and saw that she was alone.
"Matt…?" she called out uneasily.
No one answered.
She threw on her clothes and found her purse, but one of her shoes was missing. It was twilight when she emerged from the cave. Matt's bike was nowhere to be seen. He had left her.
T'Beth no longer felt powerful. She felt frightened. Hugging herself, she watched the first stars appear in the sky. What was she going to do? Sudden tears welled up and slipped down her cheeks. She started walking toward the canyon road—slowly at first, then faster in an effort of ward off a rising chill. But as her bare foot grew tender, her pace slackened. By the time she reached the highway, she was limping.
A couple of men in cars slowed to the ground and offered her a ride, but she kept moving. Finally a third car stopped and a woman in a Starfleet uniform looked out through the window.
"Need a ride?" the woman asked.
It was almost annoying—the trust inspired by that maroon uniform. T'Beth climbed in gratefully and sank her sore foot into the carpeting. The woman offered to drive her home.
Several possibilities flashed through T'Beth's mind. Aunt Doris was nearby and would be worried, but T'Beth was not ready to face her. That left her father, Sarek and Amanda at the Vulcan embassy, and Doctor McCoy. Every one of them would be angry. Maybe Jim would, too, but she found herself naming an upscale apartment complex near the starbase, and before long she was there.
Nervousness overtook her as she rode the elevator to Captain Kirk's floor. Why had she come here? He was probably aboard ship or out on the town. The silence outside his apartment seemed to confirm her fear, but gathering her courage, she rang the bell. Twice.
She was turning away when the door slid open. Jim appeared, book in hand, and stared at her.
T'Beth sighed in relief, then blushed to realize how bedraggled she must look. She pushed at her disheveled hair. Thinking of her soiled, wrinkled clothes and her missing shoe, her blush deepened.
"T'Beth," he said.
Repressing a shiver, she asked, "Can…I come in?"
Kirk roused himself from a state of shock and stepped aside. "Yes…yes, of course."
As T'Beth slipped into his apartment, he glanced around the hallway and shut the door. He was setting down his book when the antique clock on the shelf chimed eleven. What was the kid doing here at this hour? He knew she staying out of town with Spock's aunt.
He turned, expecting to meet her provocative eyes head-on, but she stood staring out the glass wall at the lights surrounding San Francisco Bay. It gave him a chance to get a firm grip on himself. A chance to remember that no matter how she made him feel, she was strictly off-limits, and he had better keep remembering it.
"So," he said carefully, "what's going on?"
She turned toward him, and in the light of the living room he could clearly see what he had already suspected. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. The dirty clothes, the mussed hair, and the missing shoe were all troubling in someone who took pride in being well groomed. But it was her shamefaced expression that alarmed him even more.
"Don't tell me you've run away again," he guessed.
Eyes downcast, she shook her head. "Not really."
"Not really? Then Doris knows where you are?"
"No. She doesn't." A single tear rolled down her dirty cheek. "I shouldn't have come here, but…"
"But what?" Kirk pressed. "T'Beth, you have to tell me what's happened."
She walked over to the couch, sank down, and buried her face in her arms…but not before Kirk glimpsed suspicious-looking bruises. A sick feeling sidled through the pit of his stomach. Heedless of the temptations involved, he sat next to her and pushed the hair off her neck. She jerked away.
"Those are love bites!" he exclaimed. "What the hell have you been up to?"
She straightened, her lips trembling with the hint of a bitter smile. "I ran into an old friend. Don't worry," she added, seeing the anger flash in his eyes, "he's long gone, the coward. But it was kind of fun while it lasted."
"Fun?" Kirk shot to his feet. "Fun? Just let me get my hands on him. And as for you—"
"As for me, what?" she cut in. "You're not my father!"
Kirk clamped down against the pain and embarrassment her words inflicted. No, he was not her father. They had both been extremely aware of that fact ever since they kissed at Yosemite. But he had stopped it right there, with that one unfortunate kiss, and had told her it could never happen again. By the look of things, T'Beth may have gone well beyond the kissing stage, this time.
Very quietly he said, "Just tell me one thing. How far did you and this punk go?"
She met his eyes with a cool, blatant sensuality that was a culmination of every girlish wile she had ever tried on him. "Maybe you'd like me to show you," she suggested in a way that actually made him blush.
He blinked, backed a step, and then started for the phone. "I'm calling your aunt," he said firmly.
He heard her moving fast. Suddenly she was standing between him and the phone.
"Wait," she said. "Jim, I'm sorry."
He should have pushed her out of the way. Against all reason he stood there looking at her. What was her height now—5'8"? Tall for a girl. Her eyes were almost on a level with his own, and the very same color. He remembered that her mother's eyes had been amber. If Adrianna could use them half as well as T'Beth, no wonder Spock fell for her.
"Please don't," she begged, almost childlike once again. "I need your help."
"My help," he said. "What kind of help?"
She pushed at her hair with a lost, weary gesture. "You care about me," she said low, "don't you?"
He swallowed hard. "You know I do."
"Then let me stay here with you—just for tonight. I can't go back looking like this."
"No," he said adamantly. "You're going home—even if I have to bring in your father." It was a hollow threat. He had no intention of disturbing Spock during his week of bonding. Perhaps she knew it, too.
"It's only a few hours," she persisted. "I can sleep on the couch—get cleaned up. In the morning you can buy me shoes."
Tears rose in her eyes and he felt his resolve weakening. He never could stay angry with her for long. She had made a bad choice, he told himself. She had made a mistake, that was all. After the terrible way the Klingons abused her, no wonder she was mixed up. Why make matters worse than they had to be? Relenting, he said, "Alright. Alright, I ought to have my head examined, but you can stay till morning—but only if your aunt agrees."
He headed for the phone, and this time she did not try to stop him.
oooo
It was almost midnight when Kirk went into his bedroom and locked the door. To shut himself in or to keep T'Beth out? He could hear the shower starting up across the hall, and he felt powerless against the thoughts and emotions coursing through him. He forced himself to think of something else. T'Beth and that boy—or was it a grown man? Who the hell was he? How could she have been so reckless? What if she ended up pregnant? She was only sixteen, as Doctor McCoy was so fond of reminding him. Just a kid. But a kid who had been tortured and sexually abused at fourteen. A kid who knew far too much and valued herself too little.
Kirk undressed in near darkness and got into bed. The sound of the shower broke into his consciousness again. Turning onto his side, he put a pillow over his ear. How could he teach T'Beth about restraint when he could barely control himself around her?
oooo
Alone in Jim's apartment, T'Beth dawdled over her breakfast. Somewhere out there in the morning fog, he was hunting down shoes. Soon the whole incident would be nothing more than a memory—a not altogether unpleasant one, despite a few shaky moments last night. She had run her clothes through Jim's fresher and carefully applied makeup to her neck. Now all that remained was Aunt Doris.
Pushing aside her plate, she went to Jim's phone and called up the appropriate code. A moment later a kind-faced matron appeared on the screen. "Hello Aunt Doris," T'Beth said meekly. Last night Jim had done all the talking, but now T'Beth needed to smooth things over.
"T'Beth," Doris said in a reproachful tone. "Where did you disappear to yesterday? Why didn't you wait for me at the medical center?"
"I'm sorry," T'Beth answered. "I ran into a friend from Vulcan. We went out together."
At the mention of Vulcan, Doris visibly relaxed. She probably thought T'Beth's nameless friend was Vulcan, and not likely to be a danger. "Well, even so…you can't just take off like that. You had me and your grandmother worried to death."
"I just didn't think," T'Beth said contritely. "I feel terrible about it." Before Doris could order her home, she added, "Since it's Saturday…and I'm already here…is it okay if I spend the weekend with Captain Kirk?"
"After what you did?"
If only you knew the half of it, T'Beth thought. "But Jim is talking about taking me out of the city, to some farm in Iowa. He has family there." The truth was, she had been pestering him about it all morning. "He's not here right now, but he can come by and talk to you. We'd need to pick up some of my things, anyway." She gave a hopeful smile. "Please, Aunt Doris?"
Doris let out a sigh. "Alright, I'll talk to him. Some time on a farm might do you good."
When the call ended, T'Beth jumped up and danced her way around the room.
oooo
Fresh from shopping, Kirk paused at the front door of Doctor McCoy's house. The damp morning air penetrated his jeans and sweatshirt, but the shiver that went through him was more from nervousness than the fog. He had a bad feeling about the message McCoy had left on his phone overnight. What could possibly be so urgent that it needed to be discussed face to face, and right now?
His finger was still on the ringer when the door swung open. One look at McCoy shattered any lingering hope that this was only a social call. The doctor was clearly upset as he ushered Kirk inside.
Kirk considered making some inane comment about the weather, but sensing the uselessness of small talk, he went straight to the heart of the matter. "Hey…what's going on?"
McCoy walked over to a window and gazed out at his fog-shrouded yard. "Doris Breskin called here last night. She was looking for T'Beth."
T'Beth. Of course. Kirk felt himself going on the defensive. "So I guess you know where Doris found her," he said bitingly. "You probably know T'Beth spent the night at my apartment, too."
McCoy swung around, his eyes spitting blue fire. "Yes, I know! Have you lost your cotton-pickin' mind?"
"Bones," Kirk protested, "if you think for one second that I'd—" But he could see that he was getting nowhere. McCoy had reached his own conclusions. Frustrated, he started for the door. "Nevermind. I didn't come here for a lecture."
McCoy stepped in front of him. "She really has you running in circles. Doesn't she?"
Now Kirk was angry.
"I sincerely hope you've taken her home. And if you have one iota of sense, you'll stay clear of her from now on."
Kirk's temper heated. "McCoy, I'm sick and tired of your insinuations. What kind of man do you think I am?"
"It isn't only you, Jim. I know that. There are things about her—"
"That I don't know. Yes. You've told me that before. What the hell does it mean?"
McCoy seemed to struggle with himself and come to a decision. Finally he said, "Remember her mother?"
"A little."
"She was half Sydok, Jim. Half Sy."
"Sy…?" Kirk repeated, thinking hard. And then it hit him—no, staggered him as he realized why Spock had lost himself to those alluring amber eyes—what it was, perhaps, that he himself found so irresistible about Adrianna's daughter. In that wrenching instant he recalled another woman he had encountered years ago. Her name was Elaan. For a time the mere touch of her alien tears had captivated him so completely that he almost forgot everything else, including his command. Though it was not a very pleasant memory, he experienced a flood of relief. If the stories about Sy-jeeras were true, his attraction to T'Beth was something other than an unsavory interest in his best friend's daughter. And her sexual escapade might have arisen from powers she did not fully understand.
As Kirk broke into a lopsided grin, McCoy's face reddened. The doctor looked ready to explode. "Bones," Kirk said quickly, "don't worry. Nothing's happened between us, I swear it." But it could have happened, and he knew it. So easily. "I tell you what. T'Beth has been begging for a trip to the farm and it's not a bad idea. She needs to get away. Why don't you come along with us?"
"Get away?" McCoy questioned. "From who, Jim? From what?"
"Maybe from what you just told me." Kirk decided right then and there. "Bones, you're welcome to come along, but if it's okay with Doris, T'Beth and I are going—regardless."
McCoy appraised him through narrowed eyes. "Okay. I will."
oooo
Because of the distance involved, they beamed in to Iowa. As the transporter released them, T'Beth shook off the tingling aftereffects and slowly turned around, trying to take in all the sights and sounds and smells of the farmyard. Their abrupt appearance alerted a couple of dogs that charged toward them, barking with a vigor that set off a squawking stampede of chickens and ducks. T'Beth had never before witnessed such a wonderful scene of confusion, or seen land so flat and abundantly fertile.
She pointed at the vast fields of green waving in the warm breeze beyond the farm buildings. "Jim—what is it? Grass?"
"Quadrotriticale," he replied. "A cross between wheat and rye. They used to grow corn when I was a boy."
T'Beth gaped at him. "You lived here?"
"A lot of the time." Kirk bent down and patted the dogs. They wagged their tails and nosed him in recognition. "Back then it belonged to Grandma and Grandpa Howard, and since my dad was usually off in Space…"
T'Beth continued to stare. "Off in Space? What did he do?"
Kirk played with the dogs.
"George Kirk,' McCoy answered for him, "was a career officer in Starfleet. So you see," he told her pointedly, "you aren't the only Space orphan around here."
Kirk straightened with a wry smile. "I believe the term is 'Space brat'."
"I was being nice," McCoy said.
Just then a stocky middle-aged farmer emerged from the main barn and raised his arm in greeting. "Jimbo! You made it!"
"Jimbo?" McCoy muttered under his breath, and T'Beth snorted.
Kirk gave them both a fierce glance and led them across the yard. They met halfway. Close up, it was easy to spot the family resemblance, even though the farmer's skin was tanned and weathered from too many years in the sun. His brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he clapped "Jimbo" on the back and smiled a welcome at his other guests.
"This is my cousin, Lucas Howard," Kirk said, and introduced them to Lucas.
While they talked, T'Beth noticed McCoy's eyes straying to her, and it made her want to squirm. She kept telling herself that the marks on her neck were well covered. Putting on her best smile, she determined to meet the day headlong and enjoy it. After all, there weren't too many like this, and if her nose wasn't mistaken—she sniffed in the general direction of the barn—"Mister Howard, Jim said you have horses."
"Oh, we keep a few nags," Lucas answered. His perceptive eyes narrowed at her. "Young lady, you sure do remind me of somebody."
"Spock," Kirk volunteered. "He's her father."
"Well, I'll be," Lucas mused, scrutinizing her so closely that she felt uncomfortable. "Yes, that's it. I see it now. The mouth's a little fuller, though, and she's one heck of a lot prettier."
Rather abruptly McCoy said, "You know Spock?"
"Jim's brought him here a time or two," replied the farmer. His gaze shifted back to T'Beth.
Unnerved, she touched Kirk's hand and said, "Do you suppose we could go riding?"
In a matter of minutes their luggage was stowed and they were heading out on horseback. T'Beth and Kirk rode along a tree-lined track, leaving McCoy to trail behind on his horse, grumbling.
"Bones!" Kirk called over his shoulder. "No one said you had to ride."
"Oh, right," McCoy said tartly.
T'Beth sent her horse into an easy canter, and Kirk kept pace. A cloud of dust rose behind them. Hearing McCoy cough and sputter, T'Beth broke into a mischievous grin and glanced behind her. She urged her horse faster.
"Watch out!" shouted Kirk.
She turned her head, but before she could react, a low tree limb caught her at shoulder level. An instant later she was flat on her back in the road. A flurry of hooves thundered by as McCoy's horse came close to trampling her. Then the dust settled and Kirk and McCoy were off their horses, bending over her, white to the lips.
"Don't move," the doctor ordered.
T'Beth sucked in a breath—the first since she had fallen—and grimaced at the pain it brought to her chest. Frightened, she gasped for air.
"Great," McCoy said, "I don't even have a medscanner." His hands trembled slightly as they roamed over her extremities, her ribs, her collarbones. Questions tumbled out. "Where does it hurt?" "Do you feel this?" "Can you move that?"
Cautiously she tried her arms and legs. It was hurting less now. Breathing came easier.
"Maybe she just got the wind knocked out of her," Kirk said hopefully. Oh, the anxious look on his face—he did love her!
Then she felt McCoy probing at her neck and stiffened. "It's okay," she said, shrinking away. "I think I'm alright. I feel so stupid—I never fell off a horse before."
"Tearing around like a maniac," McCoy muttered, fingers back at her neck. Suddenly his frown deepened and he began to rub at the makeup. "What the heck—"
Flushing, T'Beth put a hand to her throat and sat up. McCoy's face grew harder than she had never seen before. Somewhere at the edge of her perception she was aware of Kirk rising, but McCoy's eyes held her—so cold, so enraged, that she just knew he was going to strike her. Instead, he got to his feet and confronted Kirk. Hands clenched at his sides, he stepped up to the captain.
"You goddam lying son-of-a-bitch!" he growled and swung hard, throwing all his fury against Kirk's jaw.
Kirk landed on his back in the dirt. Blood spilled from his mouth.
McCoy whirled back to T'Beth and seized her by the arm. "You're coming with me, young lady!"
She jerked free with a strength that clearly surprised him. "No! I won't! Leave us alone!"
"The hell I will!"
Kirk was working his way into a sitting position, one hand clutching the lower half of his face. McCoy stood over him a moment, pointing his finger as if he was about to say something more, but then he turned on his heel and stalked back down the road, muttering, "To hell with you, to hell with the both of you!"
T'Beth swallowed a sob. Scrambling up, she yelled after him, "He didn't do it! He didn't do anything! Dammit, do you hear me? It wasn't him!"
A hand touched her from behind. She spun, and there was Jim back on his feet, blood dripping down his shirt.
"Let it go," he said, staunching the flow of blood with his sleeve. "Just let it go—it doesn't matter."
"But he's your friend!" she objected. "And…and what if he tells my father?'
Gingerly Kirk wiggled his jaw and explored his damaged lip with his fingertips. "He…packs quite a wallop for a skinny old guy." He made a halfhearted attempt to smile, but grimaced instead. "Remind me not to rile him. As for your father…only time will tell."
Kirk's horse remained standing where he had left it, reins hanging to the ground. Mounting, he pulled T'Beth up behind him. Riding double involved a great deal of touching, but the pain in his jaw helped keep his mind from any ungentlemanly thoughts. They rode slowly to the farmyard in silence. The other horses had already found their way back. Lucas was unsaddling them when Kirk and T'Beth dismounted at the barn door.
"Your friend left," Lucas said, eyeing them speculatively. "Was he ever steamed. Looks like you got the worst of it, Jim."
Kirk took his cousin's ribbing without a word. Lucas was a couple of years older than him, the same as Jim's late brother Sam. Growing up, Sam and Lucas had often ganged up on Jim, teasing him mercilessly. But it was always Lucas who had come back and tried to ease any hurt feelings.
Hiding his embarrassment, Kirk changed clothes, borrowed a groundcar, and took T'Beth into town to find a doctor. As it turned out, she had only added to her collection of bruises, but the devilish throbbing in Kirk's jaw stemmed from a minor fracture. That, together with his torn lip and loosened teeth, took a good part of the afternoon to repair. By the time they made it back to the farm, Kirk was feeling a good deal better.
As they entered the farmhouse, a friendly collection of Kirk's cousins descended on the two of them. After the introductions, Lucas took Kirk aside. Crossing his big arms over his middle, Lucas said, "Mind telling me what happened out there?"
Kirk shrugged. "I wasn't looking where I was going. A branch hit me right in the face."
His cousin's eyebrows climbed. "Two branches in a single day. Why, that's downright amazing."
It had never occurred to Kirk that McCoy might have mentioned T'Beth's accident to Lucas, but he was not about to admit the lie. Smiling as widely as his lip permitted, he said, "Yes. It is amazing, isn't it? Lucas, don't you ever trim your trees?"
"This is a farm, Jim, not a park. Space isn't the only hostile environment, you know."
Kirk spoke the rest of it by heart. "…And while I'm out there playing Space cowboy, you're down here doing a man's job, growing the food that goes into our bellies."
"Real food," Lucas predictably corrected, "not that synthetic slop people suck out of replicators."
Kirk shook his head. Oh yes, Lucas still liked to tease, but these days Jim found something warm, something almost comforting beneath the sharp edges of his cousin's humor. If the food here was half as nourishing as the company, the day might yet be salvaged—provided an enraged Vulcan father didn't tear down the door and finish the job McCoy had begun.
oooo
A strange cry awoke T'Beth. Opening her eyes, she found herself in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room decorated with flowered wallpaper. The cry sounded again, full and strident on the cool dawn air flowing in from outside.
Getting up, she padded over to an open window and looked down in time to catch the rooster crowing on a fencepost. A faint pink blush touched the eastern sky, and despite last night's tournament of poker, people were already up and moving around. Footsteps crunched in the farmyard. Low voices and men's laughter. Jim and Lucas?
Hurriedly T'Beth dressed and found her way downstairs. There was activity in the kitchen, too. What was the wife's name? Helen? T'Beth passed her by with a mumbled greeting and went out on the front porch. The serenity of the country morning made the happenings of the previous day seem like nothing more than a bad dream, but the sore spot where the branch had struck her was very real. If only she had been paying attention, instead of showing off, McCoy would never have found the marks on her neck…would never have blamed Jim. At least her father hadn't come after the two of them—yet. Jim had not lifted a finger to defend himself from McCoy's attack. She shuddered to think what would happen in a head-on confrontation with her father. Jim was carrying around such a load of guilt. Worried, she left the porch and went looking for him.
After breakfast they all piled into two groundcars and drove into town. Both the Howards and the Kirks were churchgoing people, of a Christian denomination unfamiliar to T'Beth. As she sat beside Jim in a pew, her mind wandered repeatedly. More than once she found her leg pressing his, her emotions projecting. Later, she felt guilty for distracting him during the service. Hadn't that kind of behavior already stirred up enough trouble? Yesterday, when she saw Jim bleeding in the dirt and suffered McCoy's anger, she had vowed never to use the Sy power again. But how could she stop it? The power was a natural part of her, intrinsically tied up with her feelings.
Later that day, when they went riding again, T'Beth burst out and said, "Jim…I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."
He pulled back on his reins. T'Beth brought her horse to a stop and they looked at one another. The bruise on his face appeared fresh and painful, but it was his eyes that drew her, troubled but affectionate, and full of understanding.
"I know, kiddo," he said. "I know."
"I…I didn't mean to cause any problems. It's just that…"
"I know," he repeated. Then, out of the blue, "You're part Sy. I understand what that means."
He knew? Dismayed, T'Beth felt her face reddening and turned aside. "McCoy told you…or was it my father?"
"It's not important who told me," he said gently. "T'Beth, I'm glad I found out. It…explains so much."
All at once she felt naked before him. Bringing her horse around, she took off galloping. Jim followed at a distance, making no effort to catch up as she pounded between the fields of swaying grain. But there was no running away from him, or from the truth. Finally she pulled up. Leaning over the saddle horn, she struggled for composure. In a moment Kirk was beside her, his horse fighting the constraint of the bit. For a moment neither of them said anything.
Then Kirk spoke, a hint of humor in his voice. "Well, at least you didn't fall off, this time."
"Maybe it would be better if I did," she anguished. "Maybe it would be better if I broke my neck."
"T'Beth."
She was too bitterly ashamed to look at him. With Matt it had been different—her own secret power trip. But now Jim knew the whole story. He realized exactly what she felt for him because he felt it working on him, too. And knowing that made her want to crawl into a hole so deep that no one would ever find her.
Nudging his horse nearer, he reached out and touched her arm. "T'Beth," he reassured her, "it's alright. Really."
Wiping at her tears, she stared down at his hand. It felt so good and comforting. "I…I can just imagine what you're thinking. Stupid, silly teenage crush…"
"Did I say that?" His horse shifted, pulling his hand away. "Have I ever said that? I may have called you a lot of things over the years, but never stupid or silly. Oh, no. You're smart. Smart enough to know that I mean exactly what I'm saying. T'Beth, I'm flattered that you have feelings for me. Being around you makes me feel…young."
She found the courage to glance up. The warm intensity of his eyes held her.
"But T'Beth," he said, "I'm not young—not nearly young enough for someone your age."
"Father is lots older than Lauren," she pointed out.
Jim nodded. "Yes, but it's different for Spock. He has a much longer lifespan and ages more slowly. You know how young he looks."
T'Beth knew there was some sense in what he was saying, but just now she didn't care. Jim was the only man for her.
"This may sound trite," he continued, "but I'm old enough to be your father. And now I'm going to talk to you like one." He turned to the subject of promiscuity, and why she should never risk herself like that again. "Maybe you did it to get back at Spock, or even to get back at me, but if you keep it up, sooner or later you'll be the one getting hurt."
She would have promised to behave, if only she could have him. The best she could offer was a nod. For a second time he reached out. T'Beth leaned over and could not resist kissing him just once, very lightly, at the corner of his bruised mouth. Then the horses moved away, and it was probably a good thing.
oooo
The stillness of a ship in Spacedock always seemed a bit eerie to Kirk. No subtle vibration, no sense of power and movement and life. The Enterprise felt dead around him as he settled into his office to confront the mounting backlog of work in his computer.
There was very little swelling left on his face, and few people around to notice. His lip felt tender and itchy, a constant reminder of that day in Iowa—the painful shock of McCoy's fist connecting, the condemnation in the doctor's eyes, the anger and disgust in his voice. Kirk had told T'Beth that it didn't matter—but it did. He could hardly remember a time when he and Leonard McCoy had not been friends. Sure they'd had their share of conflicts over the years, but nothing like this, nothing that ever made the straight-talking doctor lash out at him with physical violence—at least not in his right mind.
Kirk was still brooding over the situation when his office door slid open and McCoy himself appeared. Startled, Kirk took in the doctor's cold, unyielding expression and realized that any overture of reconciliation was doomed. Gesturing at the computer console, he said, "Well, Doctor, I suppose your request for reassignment had already been logged?"
Looking stiff in his uniform, McCoy stepped a little closer. "I considered it—but then I realized it would be far better than you deserve. I thought how much better it would be to hang around here, peering over your shoulder, making every single day of your life purely miserable." His hand cut an angry path through the air. "Jim, I don't understand you anymore! Standing up as Spock's best man one day, messing around with his daughter the next. Acting as if everything is fine, just fine."
Kirk's jaw tightened, sending a shaft of pain across his face. "But Spock—you understand him, right?"
"God help me, I think I do. And that's the only reason I haven't gone to him with this. I shudder to think what he might come of it."
"Go ahead," Kirk challenged, "drag Spock into the middle of this and have him probe my mind for the truth. Find out what a jackass you've been. All I ever did was kiss her—once, at Yosemite. I did it without even thinking, and I'm never doing it again. But if that's all it takes to damn me, then I guess I'll be meeting you in hell. As my grandmother used to say, it 'ain't half full'."
McCoy looked as if he was itching to throw another punch. With a scornful shake of his head, he drawled, "Yes siree, I'm goin' to hang around here, alright. Just you wait and see, Jim boy—I'm goin' to hang onto your neck like a friggin' Belsarian monkey."
Kirk pushed back his chair and stood, rigid with suppressed anger. "We're not in Iowa anymore. It's 'Captain' to you, Doctor, as long as you are serving under my command. And the only thing you might hope to hang onto is your position as Chief Medical Officer. Now unless you have some official business to discuss, I strongly suggest that you go tend to your department."
McCoy gave him a murderous look. All but twitching with the effort, he turned and strode out of the office.
With a leaden heart, Kirk sank into his chair. Blows. Threats. How had it come down to this? Couldn't McCoy see that he would never do anything to hurt Spock? To hurt Spock's daughter?
Opening a lower desk drawer, he began to reach for the flask of Saurian brandy he kept there, but stopped himself. A little early in the day to start that, and anyway, it would take more than liquor to kill the pain. He felt like a cornered chess piece on a playing board—isolated, trapped, with nowhere left to go. One friend alienated, and another he dared not approach. And right in the middle, always in the middle—T'Beth.
Absently he touched his face, remembering her gentle kiss, the soft warm feel of her lips, the yearning of her love reaching into his heart, seeking out a response…and finding one.
There was no longer any use asking how it had begun—at what hour, or why. There was no longer any use tearing himself apart wondering what, if anything, he should have done differently at the farm, or at Yosemite. Now, it seemed, there remained only one question that mattered…to any of them. How would it all end?