Title: Anniversary Waltz
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Rating likely to go up to R in ensuing chapters
Characters/Pairing: Kirk/Uhura
Disclaimer: Characters and canon belong to Paramount, Roddenberry, Abrams and many others but not me. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is made by the author.
Summary: One year prior, the Enterprise had shipped out for its first mission under the official command of James T. Kirk and the young captain had deemed it a day worthy of recognition
Chapter One
Anniversaries come and they go.
Solemn speeches, music and tributes marked the one year commemoration of the destruction of Vulcan and the decimation of much of the Fleet's ships as well as a horrifically large number of its officers and cadets in the wake of the terror visited upon the Federation by Nero.
The Enterprise had been ordered back to Earth for the occasion. It was not lost on Starfleet that the crew's collective youth and strength of purpose – led by their golden, charismatic captain – could serve as walking, talking reminders of the resilience of the spirit of the Federation and they showed an uncommon grace at being paraded before the cameras as living symbols of hope at a time when all the grief and pain of the massive losses suffered came roaring back to life.
Three months later a different anniversary was being observed and this time it was a celebration. For one year prior, the Enterprise had shipped out for its first mission under the official command of James T. Kirk and the young captain had deemed it a day worthy of recognition.
Though he and most of the ship's senior officers had reported for extended duty, all other departments were staffed by rotating skeleton crews – each shift of short duration – allowing for all crew members to participate in the celebrations taking place on the observation decks and in the social rooms and mess halls. Kirk and other members of the senior staff made brief, token appearances throughout the day's celebrations between their duties. And when their duty shift came to an end, Kirk and his officers had made their way to the main observation deck to actively join in the celebration.
Now, hours later, Nyota Uhura left the party which was winding down and made her way along Deck D towards the captain's quarters. The pneumatic doors opened with a near silent swoosh to admit her and she took a moment to gaze fondly at its occupants before making her presence known.
Spock stood in one corner of the room conversing with an animated Scotty. The chief engineer was waving around a glass of some liquid and his voice rose and fell excitedly. In contrast, Spock stood with quiet attention, hands folded neatly at the small of his back. One who didn't know him well would think him uncomfortable, but Uhura could see by the looseness of his shoulders and the tilt of his head that he was relaxed and enjoying his exchange with the other man. He glanced her way and she flashed him a smile, grateful they could enjoy a lasting friendship despite the end of their fleeting romance shortly before the Enterprise had shipped out.
She made her way across the room to where Sulu and Chekov were bent over a small table intent on the game they were playing. She watched their play carefully and then leaning forward, she whispered something in the young navigator's ear. She had already turned away when she heard Sulu's mock-indignant howl as Chekov moved one of his white stones into place to effectively surround and capture one of the helmsman's black stones.
She shared a laugh with McCoy who had been watching her and dropped onto the sofa alongside him.
"Leonard," she said with a cheery grin.
"Nyota." He tipped his head towards her and met her smile with his own.
"We were beginning to think you weren't coming." The sound of the captain's lazily drawled words drifted toward her and she turned her head to greet the final occupant of the room. Though everyone else was still dressed in the attire they had worn to the celebration, it was obvious that Kirk had immediately opted for more comfortable clothing upon returning to his quarters.
An oft-washed t-shirt bearing the faded logo of the Planetary Baseball League was stretched across his broad chest, its once bright red color now softened to the hue of the old brick which could be found in the historic buildings still standing on Earth. Bare feet, propped on the edge of a low table peeped from beneath the frayed hems of jeans worn white at the seams. It was obvious that here – among the family he had created for himself among the stars – he felt comfortable enough to truly relax.
"Get you a drink?" he asked.
"Yes, please." Like the others in the room, she had nursed a drink or two all evening at the celebration but now she was ready to let her hair down a bit.
"What'll you have?" Kirk pushed to his feet.
"What have you got there?" She eyed the glass dangling loosely from his fingertips.
"A gift from Scotty." He rattled the ice against the sides of the glass. "The finest Scotch whiskey known tae man," he said in fair imitation of the engineer's lilting burr. "I am, however, a never-ending source of disappointment to him for drinking it on the rocks," he finished in his own voice.
She laughed and made a face. "What are my other options?"
"Well the good doctor is drinking Kentucky bourbon. Spock, of course, is abstaining. Sulu is drinking some very fine tequila and since it is a celebration, the doctor and I have consented to allow our young navigator a single glass of vodka."
Chekov turned in his seat and raised his glass high in salute. "Pej do dna," he beamed.
"Za zdorovie," Kirk replied as he drained his glass in response. Returning his attention to Uhura, he awaited her order.1
"I'll have the tequila," she decided.
"A fine choice." He wandered across the room to his desk which was serving as a makeshift bar, filled a tumbler with the pale gold liquid of her choice and refilled his own glass in the process.
Returning, he handed the drink to her. "Cheers." He tapped his glass against hers before flopping back into his seat. Slouching, he studied her and the doctor with blue eyes alert despite the languor of his posture.
"Anyone feel like a game of poker?" he asked at last. A few of the others readily agreed and gathered around a table.
"Y'all cheat," McCoy drawled, abstaining from the game.
"Of course," Kirk replied blithely as he rapidly shuffled a deck of cards. "It's more fun that way."
Spock too chose not to participate, though like the doctor, he took a seat at the table and the carefully modulated tone of his many remarks throughout the game drew smiles and outright chuckles from the players as his wry observances were intended to do.
Fickle fortune danced from one player to the next and though they played for chips only and not for credits, a great deal of moaning, groaning and good-natured insults accompanied the course of play. Drinks were poured with generous hands and with them the hilarity grew.
"It's a good thing none of us are on duty tomorrow," McCoy groused into his drink.
Shielding his cards against his chest, Kirk leaned back comfortably in his chair and tipped his head back to study the ceiling. "We worked hard today so that everyone else could have most of it free," he observed. "We're due."
"Here, here!" Scotty concurred as he folded and dropped out of the game. Sulu quickly followed suit. Abandoning poker, Kirk, Uhura and Chekov entered into a raucous game of slapjack.
"How about a new game?" Kirk asked at last. "Anyone ever hear of 'Fizzbin'?"
"Nyet," Chekov said. "What is 'Fizzbin'?"
Familiar with the ridiculous game, McCoy rolled his eyes. "Well, kids," he said as if he were decades older than they. "It's late." He stood and stretched. "I'm for bed."
Scotty and Sulu both rose.
"Aye," Scotty said. "I'll walk out with you."
"I don't want to hear about you mucking around in Engineering tomorrow, Mr. Scott," Kirk called out as he shuffled cards. "You're off duty."
The Scotsman frowned. "But…" He subsided beneath the arch look thrown his way by his captain. "Well, I do have a new technical manual I've been wantin' tae read." He brightened at the thought.
Sulu laughed and reached out to pull Chekov to his feet. "Come on, buddy." He smiled fondly at the tipsy-eyed look the young man gave him for he knew that the chief engineer had more than once steadily and stealthily prevented the navigator's glass from going empty that evening. "I'll walk you to your quarters."
Chekov staggered to his feet and gave everyone a blindingly cheerful smile.
"Good night," he chirped happily as he was led from the room.
"He's going to have a headache tomorrow," Uhura observed.
"And then there were three." Kirk smiled. "Mr. Spock? Interested in a game?"
Spock rose with characteristic grace. "I am afraid not, sir – Jim," he amended quickly at the captain's disapproving grunt. "I too am ready to… 'call it an evening'," he said, supplying the colloquialism readily.
"Fine, fine." Jim waved a dismissive hand. "Go." He shooed the Vulcan from the room and peered across the table at Nyota. "I assume you'll be abandoning me as well," he observed with a hangdog look.
She glanced into her nearly empty glass and knocked back its contents.
"Not if you give me a refill."
Kirk laughed and rose. "Deal!" Grabbing the bottle of tequila from the bar, he swept up the deck of cards in his other hand. "Let's go over here." Crossing the room, he flopped onto the carpeted floor and braced his back against the sofa.
"Don't forget to bring the glasses," he called out as he resumed shuffling the cards.
Uhura shook her head, wondering exactly what had possessed her to stay. But she obediently picked up their glasses and followed him. Settling onto the floor across from him, she fussed with her skirt until her legs were as modestly covered as possible. She glanced up to find her captain studiously studying a piece of art on the wall above her head while he continued to shuffle the cards but the slight quirk at the corner of his lips told her that he had likely snuck a peek at her legs before she had covered them.
"What are the rules?" she asked with a long-suffering sigh.
"First things, first." He uncapped the bottle and poured a measure of tequila into both their glasses.
"Of course. We must observe the niceties."
He smiled. "Fizzbin can be a little complicated so pay attention. It's better with more players but we'll make it work."
"Let's play."
"Okay," he said. "Everyone gets six cards – except for the player to the right of the dealer who gets seven." He patted the carpet next to him and gave her an expectant look. She grumbled under her breath and shifted into place.
"Now." He lifted his glass to his lips and took a drink. "Everyone gets six cards," he repeated as he began to deal. "And since you're seated to my right, you get an extra card." He looked up to make sure she was following him. "You turn the second card up, but not tonight."
"Why not?"
"Because it's Tuesday," he said matter-of-factly and took another sip of tequila.
She gave him a perplexed look.
"What does the day of the week have to do with anything?" she asked.
He breathed out a sigh that was long on patience. "Look. I don't make the rules," he said. "All I know is that you just don't turn the second card up on a Tuesday."
She reached for her own glass and drained half of it in one long gulp. "Let's just play and you can explain as we go."
"Sounds good."
He dealt a few more cards. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "You've got two jacks!"
She poured more tequila into their glasses and took another sip. "Is that good?"
"It's great!" he crowed. "You've got a half fizzbin already!" He held his hand up and she obligingly slapped her own palm to his in a time-honored high five.
"So, I need another jack?" she guessed as she waited for him to deal the next card.
He sat back and shot her a horrified look over the rim of his glass. "No! A third jack is a shralk."
"A shr… schla…" Her tongue thick with tequila, she stumbled over the unfamiliar word. "A what?"
"A shralk," he told her. "You'd be disqualified."
She narrowed her eyes at him and gestured for him to continue.
"What you want," he told her as he dealt out the next two cards, "is a king and a deuce."
"A king and a deuce," she repeated obediently.
"Right. But not at night," he amended.
She cradled her glass in one hand and tapped the nails of the other against it. Pursing her lips, she gave him a suspicious look.
"You're making this up as you go along," she accused.
A grin quivered at the edges of his mouth but he shook his head.
"At night you want a queen and a four."
"Why?"
"Who knows?"
"I would think that you should know since you are clearly just winging this whole game."
"Lieutenant!" He laid a hand over his heart, feigning insult. "I cannot believe you even think that."
She grinned at him good-naturedly. "All right. It's night-time so I want a queen and a four. What if a get a king?"
"Well…" He took another sip, allowing the tequila to roll smoothly over his tongue. "You get another card. Unless it's dark. Then you have to give it back."
She sniggered into her glass and drained it.
"How do I win?"
"You need a royal fizzbin."
"A royal…"
"Yes." He splashed a little more tequila into her glass.
"And then I win?"
"Yes."
"Okay. How do I do that?"
"Well, you… honestly I've never actually seen it happen."
"You've never seen a royal fizzbin?"
He shook his head and his face took on a mournful expression. "I've heard of it, of course," he assured her gravely. "But the odds of someone getting a royal fizzbin are… Well, I'd have to ask Spock what the calculations are, but believe me. They're astronomical." He stretched his arms out to either side of his body to indicate the vastness of the unlikelihood of anyone ever achieving the goal.
She stared at him, taking note of the carefully innocent expression on his face and the unholy glee shining in his eyes and tossed her cards down.
"I give!" She laughed and flopped onto her back. "This is a ridiculous game."
He smiled and leaned more comfortably against the sofa. "I guess it's an acquired taste."
She snorted and rolled her head against the carpet to look at him. Raising her head, she slurped a little tequila from her glass. "No more for me after this," she told him as she held her half full glass up for him to see. He nodded in agreement.
"Last one." He held out his pinky and they locked fingers in the age-old childhood pledge.
They sipped in companionable silence for a moment until he spoke again.
"So." He waggled his eyebrows at her wolfishly, drawing another snicker from her. "Alone at last."
"Oh boy."
"Come on, Uhura. After all this time – after everything we've been through – you can admit it."
"Admit what?"
"That I was getting to you in that bar in Riverside when we first met."
Despite her best efforts, her lips quivered into a smile and she pressed her fingers against them, forcing them into submission.
"You wish." She adopted a bored tone.
He gave her his most charming smile. "You and I both know that I was making headway. If it hadn't been for Cupcake and his buddies –"
"You mean your Chief of Security?" she interrupted with a raised brow.
"You're right. I'm sorry," he apologized. "If it wasn't for Lieutenant Cupcake –"
She burst out laughing. "Stop," she gasped.
He stretched out next to her and propped himself up on one elbow.
"It was when I said you had a talented tongue, wasn't it?" he pressed with a suggestive smile.
She shook her head. "Nope."
"You were softening. Come on. Admit it," he coaxed.
"Okay, fine," she cried out in mock capitulation. "It was when I realized that you knew what Xenolinguistics is," she purred, her sultry look ruined by the merriment dancing in her dark eyes.
"Morphology," he said in a low voice.
"More," she cried out with a fake shudder, drawing a delighted grin from him.
"Phrenology," he breathed and gave her an exaggerated leer.
She laughed again. "More please" she breathed between giggles.
He leaned close. "Synnnnntax," he sighed against her ear before collapsing onto the carpet with laughter. She clapped a hand over her mouth and a muffled snort escaped sending them both into further gales of merriment. She rolled over onto her stomach and pounded her open palm against the carpet.
"Stop," she gasped. "Stop."
They grinned fondly at one another and eventually got control over their laughter.
"So." She pushed herself up onto her elbows. "I'll bet you had a different cheesy pick-up line ready for every woman you ever met."
He gave her a sidelong glance and a regal nod. "Like any other self-respecting pickup artist."
She took a tiny sip from her glass. "Tell me."
"What? You want me to tell you my pickup lines?"
"Yes."
"Why would I waste them on you?"
"Come on," she insisted. "I want to know. Don't hold back. Give me your best stuff."
He shook his head gravely and executing a half sit-up, took a drink from his own glass. "I don't think so," he said holding his half curled position for a moment.
"Why not?"
"I'm afraid."
"Afraid," she repeated. "Of what?"
"I'm afraid my best stuff might be too much for you." He flopped back down onto the floor.
"Too much for me," she scoffed.
He gave her a pitying look. "Yeah. I mean… in the right hands –"
She laughed. "You mean in your hands."
He shrugged. "It's pretty powerful stuff," he warned.
"I can take it."
"I don't know," he grimaced. "Like I said, it's pretty –"
"Powerful," she parroted.
He nodded and shot her a look of deep concern.
"Potent," he clarified.
She hid her smile behind her hand.
"Let's just try one and if I'm overcome…"
He gave her a thoughtful look. "You'll tell me?"
"If I'm overcome?"
"Overcome, overwrought, overwhelmed. Take your pick."
She held up her right hand as if swearing an oath. "I promise," she pledged.
"Oookkkay." He tapped a thoughtful finger against his lips. "Let's see." He lay on his back – his lips moving silently – nodding, shrugging, shaking his head as if considering and rejecting line after line and she smiled into her drink at his playfulness.
"I've got one," he said at last.
"Finally!"
"Are you ready?"
She closed her eyes and smoothed her hands over her hair. Straightening her legs, she folded her hands demurely over her stomach. She drew in a deep, bracing breath and opened her eyes.
"Ready," she said as she looked at him.
He nodded and gave her a look of mock solemnity.
"Okay. Here it comes. Brace yourself." He cleared his throat. "Baby, somebody better call God, 'cause He's missing an angel."
He paused, allowing a beat or two to pass. "Are you okay?" The concerned look her gave her was nearly ruined by the quivering of his lips as he ruthlessly suppressed a smile.
"Mmm-hmmm," she choked. "I'm good."
"Didn't work?" He feigned shock.
"Maybe you should try another," she suggested helpfully.
"Hmmm. You're tougher than you look." He drew in a deep breath. "Here goes. Get ready. You must be a thief. Because you just stole my heart."
A snicker of laughter trembled past her lips. She peered up at him to see that his eyes were alight with merriment confirming to her that he was just randomly choosing from every bad pickup line he had ever heard to entertain her.
"How about this one?" He scooted across the floor. The warmth of his breath wafted across her ear and she felt a tingle race down her spine and with it a split-second of worry.
"What time is it?" he suddenly asked.
Surprised, she glanced at the timepiece strapped to her wrist.
"It's 23:55." She blinked at the lateness of the hour.
"Thanks," he replied. "I just wanted to remember the exact time I met you."
Her gaze whipped to his, a startled expression on her face before a shout of laughter escaped her. The line was all the funnier when she realized that he had spoken it in the language of the Kriosians.
"Oh my God." She wrapped her arms around her waist as if in pain. She glanced up to see that he was similarly stricken, his face contorted with laughter as he rolled back and forth on the carpeted floor.
At last she was able to gather herself and looking up, she said, "Another."
"This is going to be my best one," he warned.
"I'm ready."
"Dozens of women have succumbed to it before you," he told her. "Dozens."
"Tens of dozens," she guessed with a smirk.
"At least."
He levered himself up and reached for her hands. "You better sit up for this one."
She rolled into a sitting position and folded her hands in her lap.
"Ready."
"This has never failed," he told her.
"I understand."
"I don't know if you really do," he said with a falsely worried expression. "You're most likely going to want to jump me after you hear it."
She choked back a laugh. "I promise, I will not hold you accountable. It's on my head."
"All right." He rolled his head back and forth, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his hands out to his sides. "Here we go."
"If you were a phaser, you'd be set on stun."
She shrieked and doubled over with laughter, her forehead pressed against his knee. The sultry tone of his voice had been ruined by the guttural grunts of the Klingonese in which he had spoken.
"D'ya get it?" he asked in his normal voice between gasps of hilarity. "Because you're stunning."
They whooped with laughter, tears running down their faces. Long moments passed, for as one would regain some measure of control, the muffled giggles from the other would set them off in fresh gales of laughter.
At last their merriment leveled off until only the occasional snicker slipped past their lips. Uhura rubbed her hands against her cheeks which ached.
"Oh God," she sighed at last. She lay back and stared at the ceiling, concentrating on bringing her breathing back under control. When she finally recovered, she turned to look at him.
"You've never actually used any of those lines, have you?" she asked.
He gave her an enigmatic look.
She stared at him – the tousled blond hair and the long, rangy body – and she admitted to herself that he had been making headway with her in that bar in Iowa. He had used a line on her, yes, but it had been a good one and then, as now, his eyes had shone with humor and intelligence. She had just begun to enjoy their banter when he had gotten caught up in the brawl.
She saw the blue of his eyes sharpen suddenly with awareness and she hastily sat up. "I've had too much to drink." She emphatically set her glass aside.
Scraping a hand through her hair, she blew out a long breath. "What else should we talk about?"
An expression of startled delight crossed his face with the realization that she was going to stay.
"Whatever you want to talk about."
And they settled back companionably to talk about everything – and anything.
TBC
(Fizzbin is a deliberately confusing card game invented by Kirk in the TOS episode A Piece of the Action)
1 "Pej do dna" – "Bottom's up."/ "Za zdorovie" – "Here's to health."