Acting Out
By Djinn
Part 2
Him:
You're in the middle of your second scotch when Chris comes into the lounge. She sees you—appears to be looking for you and doesn't seem surprised to find you looking back. Her smile is sweet and sad and loving—you shouldn't think that word when you think of her, but it's true and you do.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," you say to the young ensigns you were talking to and make your way to the bar, where she has come to roost. You don't like to admit you're trying to stake a claim before any other Freeman types get ideas, but you know that's exactly what you're doing.
Even if she's not yours. Even if you can't have her—won't let yourself have her.
"Sir." Her grin is playful, and it's been so long since you've seen that look on her face that you almost don't know what to do with it.
But you rally and say, "Doctor," in the same voice. Because this is what friends do. They tease. This isn't flirting, necessarily.
"Buy me a drink?"
"God knows I owe you." You signal the crewman playing barkeep to come over, and you order her top-shelf vodka for her vodka tonic.
You know what she likes, not just her drink of choice, but how she fixes her coffee in the morning, how she likes her eggs done, her meat cooked, her toothpaste squeezed.
You hated every minute of being on Earth and loved every moment of being with her. It was one of the more schizophrenic times of your life. But she stayed with you—even seemed to like you no matter what mood you came home to her in.
Home. Her apartment was home. Far more than your place with Lori ever was. You would have had to find your own place but for V'ger. If Nogura kicks you off the ship, you won't have a home to go back to.
"You're quiet. Do you want me to somewhere else now that I have my drink?" Her voice is uncertain, so you turn back to her and try to give her the most tender smile in your repertoire.
"No, Chris, I don't want you to go somewhere else. I wouldn't mind us going somewhere else." You gesture with your chin toward an empty table and with a smile of understanding, she leads you toward it.
You hate the new uniforms from a practical standpoint, but you like how they accentuate her rear end. Almost as nice as what those minidresses did for her legs.
You force your eyes up. You shouldn't be ogling. Friends don't ogle. Do they?
Maybe they do. It's safe to admire a friend's body, right?
She turns and you nearly crash into her. Laughing, she steadies you. "How many have you had?"
"It's you, not the drink."
She looks surprised that you'd be this honest. But you've been lying to her since you took command and you're sick of it. Truth feels better.
"I miss you. So, so much," you say, and she smiles and slips into a chair. You take the one next to her. "I'm sorry I was an ass."
"It's okay. You're my ass." She shakes her head, turning a little red. "Sorry, I'm not supposed to say that."
"Why not? It's true."
Her expression changes instantly, to one of hurt and anger. "You haven't exactly been alone, Jim. Mine and how many others?"
"I was trying to forget you."
"Did it work?"
You shake your head and purse your lips, the code you two have for "Big fat 'No' to that." You had a lot of codes. You weren't together that long but you found a way to forge a secret language, to learn what the other liked, to make the evenings and weekends fun even when your workdays were shitty's snotty cousins.
She smiles, and you think maybe she's thinking the same thing. What you two share. Which is dangerous, because there's a line in the sand on how much you can backtrack with her. You don't want to end up back at a desk, at Command, surrounded by men and women who willingly gave up the stars and seem fine with the loss.
"I want to say something." You stop and consider if this is smart—it's right but you're not sure it's what you really want. But she needs to know. "You can date whoever you want. I'm not going to interfere. It was wrong of me and I'm sorry."
"Okay. Although for the record, I don't really need your permission to date people."
"Then why didn't you?"
She laughs, the bitter expulsion of air that you didn't hear that much on Earth but have on the ship. "And have you imply to some poor junior officer that I'm the queen of STDs? No thanks."
You're not sure what to say, so you settle for sipping your scotch.
"You were an asshole, and your story was out of context."
"Guilty as charged." You still can't believe you did that to her.
She shrugs and looks away, and you think she's letting it go. You're owning that you were wrong. What more is there to say?
Music starts up, a song you remember dancing with her to. Slow and sexy in a little bistro in Berkeley. She was wearing a black halter dress that left her back very bare, and you let your fingers dance over her skin.
You glance up from your drink and see her looking at you with an expression of such longing it stops you cold. And you want nothing more than to let her know you're there, too. In the memory. The good memory. "Mario's. Black dress. Lots of skin. I may be moving away, but I'll never forget, Chris."
"Neither will I." She holds her glass up to you. "To...friends."
You clink your glass against hers and resist the urge to add, "And more."
Her:
You're sitting in the upper lounge with Spock. He's reading a paper you're working on, and it's surprisingly nice to be just relaxing as he makes notes on your padd.
You hear footsteps behind you, recognize Jim's step, his happy step. He hands you a vodka tonic, and you imagine it's full of yummy top-shelf hooch. "Thanks."
"You seemed like you were out."
You almost laugh at this. He was at the bar in the main lounge and you're facing the wall in the far corner of the upper lounge. There is no way he could even see your glass. Did he want to see you or is he still jealous of Spock?
He hands Spock a glass of water with a grin. "Didn't want to leave you out."
"Thank you, Jim." Spock's eyes are warm, and then he goes back to the padd.
"Scintillating reading?" Jim sits down next to you. Not too close, but before he'd have probably sat across from you.
"The Ilia..." You struggle with what to call it. It wasn't entirely a robot. "Android, for lack of a better word, was advanced. I've had lots of spare time"—you shoot him a wry look, glad that you can say this without being so angry—"so I've been analyzing the scans we took. The analysis has morphed into a paper. Which he's now editing."
Jim makes a face, a funny one that makes you laugh, and you know it means he thinks Spock will be a hard editor. Then he leans back and you realize he doesn't have a drink. "Is there a reason you're not drinking?"
"I've got a headache."
"Do you want to go to sickbay?"
He turns his head to look at you, and his expression is the one he used to give you when he wanted you to massage his head and neck. Then he seems to realize he's doing it and sits up. "I'm okay."
"I can go and bring something back."
"It's fine, Chris. Leave it." He doesn't sound mad, just leans back again and closes his eyes.
"You had headaches on Earth, but I didn't know you had them on the ship."
"Sometimes. Not often. There's been—it's been hectic."
You don't think that's really true. "I'd like to check you out. Or Len can do it, if you'd rather have him. Headaches are out of the ordinary for you." You glance at Spock to see if he's going to chime in, but he appears focused on your paper.
"I'll be by tomorrow. You can do it." He gives you a smile then gets up and leaves.
"His headache is not normal—you are correct." Spock raises his eyes to meet yours. "Perhaps the first flush of getting the ship back is over. Perhaps he is missing other things."
"Other things?"
He nods. "You, for instance." He hands the padd back.
"Better?"
"It was quite good to begin with, but yes." He seems to be studying you.
"Just say it."
"You and Jim have reached some kind of understanding. Things were quite tense before and now they are not."
"Détente." You take a sip of your drink. "Friends. That's all we'll be."
"I do not believe that." He sips his water calmly as if he has not dropped a huge conversational bomb.
You laugh and say, "Elaboration would be appreciated." It amazes you how easily the two of you converse, how few words it takes. Maybe being in love with his best friend was the magic recipe for improving your relationship.
"Jim had strong feelings for other crewmembers. Rand. Noel. Moreau, after his experience in the mirror universe."
You knew about Jan, of course. But the other two are news to you. "This is not making me feel special."
"It should. He sent them away. Or more accurately let them go. You he keeps."
"I never asked for a transfer."
"You never requested one in the system or I would probably have seen it. But I am relatively certain that you asked him for one in private. And he said no, did he not?"
You nod.
"As I said. He wants you around, Christine." He leans back. "Do you want my advice?"
You laugh. This is such a strange conversation. Especially since Spock has seemed to go out of his way not to bring Jim up with you. "Sure."
"Just wait. When Jim first got the ship back, he was nearly paralyzed with fear that he would lose it. I saw him questioning decisions, taking longer than he would have previously. As if afraid to make a mistake. This tendency has faded the longer he has been in the center seat."
"Well, he didn't refit the ship. Decker knew it better than he did."
"Admittedly, but this was more than that. This went to the core of who he is and what he wants and what he is willing to risk. Being with you is something that right now he cannot entertain. But I predict that the more he makes this ship his, the longer he's in command, the less he will care about the risk. His fear will fade. And I think unconsciously he knows this. It is why he wants you here. Why he brings you a drink on a whim."
You smile. "A really good drink. Expensive."
His expression is light as he nods.
"Do you want me with him?"
"We are friends, Christine. I enjoy spending time with you—that might not be true of other women he could choose."
You laugh. "Ahhhh, so altruism goes out the window as a motive for you being a big yenta."
"I never claimed to be altruistic. This is most assuredly personal. If I am honest—and I see no reason not to be with you—his leaving the ship was one of the last things that sent me to Gol. It is, I have come to realize, my nature to run from emotionally laden situations—when I feel overwhelmed. My father and I could not get along, so I went to Starfleet. I felt as if Jim was abandoning me, so I went to Gol. I do not wish to find myself in that state again. Jim happy with you would be one way to help guarantee that."
"I never thought of you as someone who runs from your problems. But at least you go to challenging places. Not like you run off to join the circus or laze on a beach."
He almost smiles, and you grin back.
"Can I ask you something, Spock? Why did you give me the padd for Jim? Why have me deliver the message that you were leaving?"
"I was highly emotional at the time. I felt betrayed by him and yet I knew that my leaving would be a far greater betrayal—of him and all things human. I did not know if the two of you would become involved, but if you did, it would be the last emotional gesture I thought I would ever make. My last gift to you both."
You lean in and touch his hand briefly. "Thank you for that."
"Should you not wait to see if I am right before you thank me?"
"Pfff. Jim will come around or he won't. But it's still nice what you did."
"Are you really so sanguine?"
You laugh. He has become better at reading you since his meld with V'ger. "No. I've been a mess."
He nods toward the padd. "But a productive one."
"Yes. But a productive one." You smile. "So just wait, huh?"
"That is my best advice."
You like his advice. You like that someone else is thinking there's a chance for you and Jim. You've thought about it—especially lately, now that you and Jim are friends again, and he's finding all sorts of reasons to be near you—but you don't know if you're reading things correctly or just engaging in a dangerous game of wish fulfillment that may never happen.
"And if I am wrong, is there someone else you would rather be with?" Spock's look is light again.
"Nope. And nowhere else I want to be."
"Then wait and see."
You nod. "Okay. Wait and see."
Him:
You're walking on a beach and the water is a stormy gray. Rain is pounding down on you, but you don't care. You have your pants rolled up and are carrying your shoes and by God, you will walk on this beach.
Alone, but at least you got the beach.
You hear laughter, and you look back to see Chris running toward you with an umbrella. You smile, even though you shouldn't, but it's as if the universe has a terrible sense of humor or a very strange sense of whimsy.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" She moves close enough to open the umbrella and cover you both—well, as much as any umbrella ever covers two people. "It's pouring, dipshit."
You laugh, because while she may have thought you were a dipshit lately, that name was always reserved for when she was amused, not angry at you. It's a name from the old times, when she found you appealing even when you were cranky and never failed to find ways to turn you into happy-Jim and not asshole-Jim.
You take the umbrella from her and toss it aside. "We'll both get wet."
"Why?" But she lets you take her arm and lead her down the beach.
The storm picks up, and even though the sand is wet, it's not immune to the blasting wind and it pelts you unmercifully.
"Gee, this is wonderful, because I wanted to spend my one day of leave getting sandblasted." She has moved closer, and you put your arm around her and pull her even closer, letting her hide her face in your shirt as some sort of reprieve from the sand.
"It's a shitty day for a walk on the beach." But you love the way it feels to hold her like this, to feel her warmth even through layers of wet clothes.
"No? Really?" She looks at you, her hair sopping, her makeup running a little, and you're not sure she's ever looked more appealing.
You smile and rub the make-up off, and she goes very still. Then you go still, too, and the two of you just stand and stare into each other's eyes like lovesick teens.
"What are we doing?" she asks, her grin sweet and amused.
"Getting into trouble."
"Sweetie, if you think this is trouble, you've been doing it all wrong." With a grin, she takes your arm and gets you moving again, only in the opposite direction, with the wind at your backs. Smart women are so sexy—except you're headed back to town and you wanted to walk and walk. She lifts her face to the sky, safe now from pelting sand, and says, "I love beaches in the rain."
You look at her: this is news to you.
She makes an expression of mock frustration. "I grew up in the Pacific Northwest. And I like beachcombing. And it rains a lot. Ergo..."
You touch her hair, pushing it back behind her ear. You've been very free with your hands, touching her too much lately, and you know it. But she never complains or tries to make you take it further. This time she leans into your hand, but when you let go, she says, "Maybe there's beach glass."
You don't think there is, but if you could make it materialize just for her, you would. You spend the next hour looking for it to no avail, but she manages to find shells, and you spend some time skipping rocks—she's surprisingly good at it.
"I'm freezing, Jim." She moves back from the surf. "I'm going back up to the ship."
You want to tell her not to. Or to take you with her so you can warm up together. You want that more than anything.
"I have a room." It comes out as if your mouth is operating independently from your brain, but once it's out, you don't try to call it back. Even if you know you should.
She moves closer. "I want that so much. But I can see in your eyes that it's a bad idea." She leans in and kisses your cheek, lingering a moment, her lips soft on your skin. "This was fun," she murmurs, then turns and walks away.
You could stop her. You watch her and know that one word would probably stop her. But you let her go.
You turn back to the ocean and even though you're cold, you keep walking, trying not to think of how she'll look in the shower, or curled up in a chair in her plaid robe as she combs out her hair, or lying under the covers, naked preferably. Your body responds to those images, and you're glad you're alone out here.
Trying not to think of her—all the lovely versions of her that you've known—is definitely a great big bust.
Her:
You hear someone cough and turn to see Admiral Nogura standing at the door to sickbay. "Sir?"
He's here because the ship was in the right place to give him a ride to Starbase Fourteen for a summit. He's been monopolizing Jim, although Jim invited you to dinner with them last night. A dinner that included Spock and the department heads, so you felt safe, disappearing in the noise.
"Chapel, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
He gestures toward your office and you lead him in, then hit the privacy switch when he nods at it. He doesn't sit, so you don't, either. "I need you to be completely candid, Doctor."
"Okay." Your voice squeaks a little—shit, does he know about you and Jim?
"You're one of Decker's people. Tell me how you think Captain Kirk is doing."
You know the surprise is showing on your face. "With all due respect, Admiral, I'm also one of Kirk's people. I was on this ship before."
"Ah. That's why you're still here, then."
"That's part of the reason." You can't believe you're talking to him like this. The man who holds Jim's future in his hands. But you don't see the point of not being as blunt as you usually are—let him see why Jim wants you on his ship. "I'm here because even as deputy, this is an excellent posting." Jim would smile to see you parrot the party line so effortlessly. "And, sir, Captain Kirk is an outstanding commanding officer. I have no complaints."
"At ease, Doctor, before you break something."
You realize you're standing very stiffly, and try to relax, sitting when he finally does.
"You were involved with Kirk on Earth."
You aren't sure what to say, and you swallow harder and more visibly than you mean to.
He starts to smile. "It's not in a record somewhere. I saw the two of you in Sausalito one weekend. It was very clear you were together. Are you now?"
"Sir?"
"Are you together now?"
"We're friends. Nothing more." You meet his eyes. Let him know this is the truth, even if you hate it.
"I see. And yet you were at dinner last night. It was...interesting that he chose to have you there. I realize you were a department head but you're not anymore, and I didn't see any other deputies there. What message do you think Jim was trying to send me?"
"I have no idea, sir. The refits are still being worked out in some areas. Food service is one of them." True, unfortunately. Everything will be fine and then suddenly the replicators are spitting out half-done items that might or might not resemble what you actually ordered. "Perhaps he wanted two doctors in case of mass indigestion."
He laughs. "I doubt that was why." He stands and you start to get up, but he motions for you to stay seated. "He pulled a fast one on me. Getting this ship back." He shakes his head. "He thinks I'm mad."
"Are you?"
"I was. But the secret to getting ahead in any big bureaucracy is to be flexible. And to recognize that talent and the future don't always conform to one's expectations."
You aren't sure what to say. Is he giving you permission to see Jim? Why isn't he having this discussion with him, then?
He takes a deep breath. "I came down here for more than just this little talk." He suddenly steadies himself on the back of the chair and grimaces as if in pain.
"Sir?" You're up and around to him, scanning him even before you get him back into the chair. "Oh. Oh, sir, I'm so sorry." Medicine has advanced so much but there are still diseases you can't cure, and he has one of them.
"Picked it up years ago, according to my doctor. It sits dormant, until enough of your cells age and degrade, and then boom. But I don't have to tell you that, do I? You recognized it right away."
You nod. You saw a case at Starfleet Medical. An officer around Nogura's age. Probably, if you checked, serving on the same ship—the same landing party even.
He moves and groans. "It's worse right now. The pain meds my doctor gave me aren't doing the trick."
"You hid it well." You had no idea during dinner that he was in pain.
"You don't get to where I am without developing a poker face. Something Jim could learn." He moves again, clearly trying to find a comfortable way to sit. His joints—all of them—must be killing him.
"Let me get something stronger." You hurry out to sickbay, fill a hypo, and grab some extra vials of the medicine, enough to hold him over until he's back on Earth.
He closes his eyes as you inject him. "My wife and I divorced years ago. No kids. Married to my job, you might say. It's all I have. So I'm keeping this quiet. Do you understand, Doctor?"
You nod, then you hand him the extra vials. "These should tide you over till your regular doctor can give you something stronger."
"Thank you. I can see why Jim loves you." He leans back and closes his eyes, and you can tell the medicine is working. "Damn near flaunted you in my face last night, Chapel. He's getting tired of being well behaved."
"I don't think that's what he was doing."
"Then you aren't as smart as I think you are." He opens his eyes. "I've been hard on him. Was disappointed when he didn't work out on Earth. He was my protégé, and I had a route planned out for him. But he wanted to be back among the stars. And now he's here. By a goddamned fluke and one big killing machine that ran off with his successor." He laughs. "He's always made his own luck."
"Yes, he has."
"Life is short and you never know when it's going to change forever. I've found that out in the worst way possible. I had plans, still. New heights to reach."
"I'm sorry."
"I came to you because I looked up your file when I saw you at dinner. You know what it is to have your life derailed by something outside of your control. First your academic career and now your CMO position."
You nod because he's right: having your future torn away is your steady state.
"I know you'll be discreet. I'm not retiring until they escort me out on a gurney—or possibly in a body bag."
You smile, but you know it's a half-hearted attempt. Nogura reminds you of Roger in so many ways. "I understand, sir."
"And I'll talk to Jim. Let him know I'm fine with this." He waves toward you with a gesture that clearly means you being with Jim.
"Don't, sir."
He lets out a bark of laughter that makes you grin: it's so spontaneous and sweet. You can see how Jim might have looked up to this man, might have called him a friend before he became his personal bogey man. "Don't tell him you two can be together?"
You shake your head. "Let him get there on his own."
"What if he doesn't? He loves this ship."
"I know. But let him get there on his own. For me?" You can't believe you're saying this to the man who can make all your problems go away. But you've fought so long—since Roger disappeared—and you don't want the easy way now.
You want to know that Jim loves you enough to risk the ship.
"I like you, Chapel." He nods, as if he wasn't sure about that before. "You should consider Command if you get tired of medicine."
"Me? At Command? At Starfleet Medical maybe, but real Command? I didn't go to the academy, sir. I'm not regular Starfleet."
"You may not have started out that way, but I think you are now. Keep it in mind. There are plenty of billets that need someone like you."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." You scan him again and see that his readings are no longer those of someone in extreme pain. "I wish I could do more for you."
"So do I, Doctor. So do I."
Him:
You're watching Chris as she talks to the delegation from Kretala. She's charming one of the Kretalan doctors, and he's flirting in a way you don't really like. You turn away but then you remember Nogura, what he said to you as you walked him to the transporter room.
"You're doing a good job, Jim." It was something the old man would have said before you went and fucked up all his plans for you. Before you stole your ship back and tied his hands. "I'm proud of you."
There was something off in his expression, but it didn't read as dishonesty. He meant what he was saying. He just seemed a little sad.
But he was proud of you. He didn't ask you why Chris was at a dinner she had no business being at other than as your guest. And he said you were doing a good job.
You turn around and walk over to Chris. "Doctor, can I have a word?"
She smiles at the doctor and leaves him with no particular trace of sadness over being pulled away. "What is it?"
"He likes you."
"He does." She's grinning up at you, the way she used to tease you when other men flirted with her back on Earth. "Wants to show me the city. I think he may want me to go back to his apartment afterwards. He keeps saying how nice it is."
You grin back. "I'm sure he does want all that. I know I said you could date whoever you want, but...don't, okay?"
She lifts her eyebrows. "No?"
You laugh, and you realize you feel free. It's not just that Nogura told you that you're doing a great job: you know you are. You're on the Enterprise because you deserve to be. Being a captain is what you do best. This mission—it was looking like it was going to go tits up before you got here. The Kretalans have reserves of some very strategic minerals—especially after V'ger destroyed some of the Federation's sources—and it was vital to get a trade agreement hammered out. Which you have—well, technically Spock did, but you were the one who went out and played the local equivalent of golf with the prime minister while the scientists worked out the agreement.
An agreement that needed the prime minister's signature. And he was on the fence even if he was allowing his people to go through the motions. Until you got done with him. It's not just women you can charm, and it's not just sex that gets the job done.
Chris is waiting for you to answer, and she has a gently amused expression on her face. "He's looking better and better, Jim. Just saying..."
You laugh and lean in and whisper, "I love you. Don't go with him. Stay with me."
"Define 'with.'" Her look is mischievous and sensual and it's all you can do not to grab her and hightail it to the nearest room with a bed. Or at least a nice sturdy wall.
"With. Like we used to be. I don't want to not be with you anymore."
Her smile is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, and she reaches up and touches your cheek, and says, "I love you. And yes, fine, I'll resist the overwhelming urge to dump your sorry ass for him." She gives you a grin that's loaded with just a little bit of payback, and you nod because it's not like you don't deserve it. "But the doctor you're so jealous of also has a procedure I want to see. It's for a disease similar to one in which I have a personal interest." She gives you a strange smile. "So you can wait, yes?"
"Well, we'll be stuck here for a while, so yes. And we have time. I just wanted to—"
"Make sure I knew I was yours? Well, you did, so let me go pick this guy's brains. I'll be gone for a while if we go to the hospital."
"I trust you."
And you realize you do. You never really trusted Lori, which is probably why she hit "Do Not Renew" on the term marriage agreement when your year was up. But Chris you trust, not least because she's still here after all the shit you've put her through. She's still talking to you and the last few months she's been so sweet, but she could get her back up when she needed to. She's not your doormat, and you love her for it.
It's hours before she comes back and you're sitting with the prime minister, watching the suns set, the color like nothing you've ever seen. When she walks over to you, she looks...elated, and you wonder what this disease is she's so bent on curing.
You pull a chair close and say, "Join us. You don't mind, do you, Temel?"
The prime minister smiles. "Not at all. I would have one of my women join us, but I am currently out of favor with my wives."
Chris laughs softly as she sits. "What did you do?"
"I forgot an anniversary. Offend one, offend all. I should really have stopped with one wife."
"I'll remember that." You wink at Chris. "Just one wife at a time."
She actually blushes. Just when you think there's nothing she can do to charm you more than she already has, she goes and tops it.
Her:
You're busy sending the info you got from the Kretalan doctor to Starfleet Medical when your comm unit goes off. You put it on visual and see Admiral Nogura on the other end. "Hello, sir."
He's beaming. You sent him the procedure and specs for the medicines that the Kretalans used in conjunction with the therapy for a disease very similar to his. "Chapel, I owe you."
"No, sir. It's my job. The Kretalans had cures for three diseases we've had little luck treating, and protocols for some we've never seen. This one was very similar to what you have. I can't guarantee it'll work, though."
He waves that off. "It's better than what I had, which was Jack Goddamned Shit."
"True. I'd have sent it to your doctor, but I wasn't sure who it was, and you did ask me to be discreet. I didn't think prying would be very stealthy."
"Good instincts. Like I said. Command needs you, Chapel."
You laugh and shake your head.
His look changes. "Has Jim come around? Because if he hasn't I might want to ask you out the next time you're on Earth."
"That's transference, sir. It happened all the time when I was a nurse." You smile, and you can feel the true joy in your expression. It's been a while since you've felt this hopeful about anything, much less Jim and you. "As far as Jim, well, a girl never tells. He'd want me to be discreet, too. But I wouldn't get your heart set on anything."
He laughs. And it's a laugh with a lot more gusto than when he thought he had no options. "Go have fun. And I'm serious. If you ever need anything, Christine, you just ask."
"I will." Favors from higher ups are good to collect. "I hope it goes well."
"Me, too. Nogura out." The screen goes dead.
You hear a soft cough behind you and turn to see Jim.
"Something I should know? You dating my boss?" There's a soft smile on his face, but then it fades. "I knew something was wrong with him. His energy was all off and he looked so sad when he said goodbye."
"I'm not dating him. And I can't talk about the other thing—medical stuff, you know." You pretend to zip your lip.
He doesn't look upset with you. In fact, he looks happy.
"I can be discreet, Jim. Very."
"I know you can. Let's be discreet right now." He hits the privacy button and the doors close, the window darkens, and he walks to you and pulls you out of your chair and onto the desk. "So me coming around...am I to understand that he's okay with this?" He's pulling your top up as he asks, pushing your pants off, and you know that he'd already made up his mind. That it doesn't matter what Nogura thinks anymore. But he'll like it even better if he doesn't have to worry at all.
"He's fine with it. He cares about you, Jim."
"And I care about him. And now, so do you." He brushes your hair back, then stops and just stares at you. "I've wanted to do this for so long."
"Then by all means let me help." You undo his pants, slip them down, and pull him to you, wrapping your legs around him. As he slides into you, you close your eyes, murmuring, "I've missed this, Jim."
"God, so have I."
And then there's no more talking, and you're both trying to be quiet, laughing as you cover each other's mouths to try to reduce the noise. These offices are private, but they are not soundproof.
As he finishes and leans against you, held inside you by your legs wrapped so tightly around him, he murmurs, "Did you wait for me?"
"That would make me pretty pathetic, wouldn't it?" Even if it's perfectly in character given your track record with Roger and Spock.
"Did you wait for me, Chris?" He cups your cheek, and you smile and lean into his hand, craving his touch after so long away.
"I guess I did."
"Did you know we'd get here?"
You shake your head, not wanting to say out loud that you doubted. You'd rather be a woman who had faith. But you may have been nothing more than a woman under the influence of a broken heart, inertia, and a tiny bit of hope—thanks to a certain Vulcan.
"I love you," he says as you release him. He pulls your clothes up and gets you settled back in your chair, then does his own. "Are you going to be done with that soon? I'd like to be discreet somewhere we can make more noise. Like my nicely soundproofed quarters."
You laugh. "Just a few minutes."
"You mind if I wait here?" He starts rubbing your back and neck as you work.
"That's slightly counterproductive," you say as you try to type and not moan in pleasure. He knows how much you love this.
"Don't care." There is such a lightness in his voice that you look up and he kisses you on the forehead. "And by discreet I don't mean I'm going to sneak around. You're mine."
"That was never in doubt, Jim." You pull him down to kiss you on the mouth, happy to hear that you won't have to hide the way you and Roger did at first, then you push him away. "Go sit. I need to finish this and then we can play."
"I like the sound of that." He sits in your chair, humming a song you recognize as the one you danced to at Mario's. You glance over, and he's grinning and staring at you like you're the sacrifice and he's the horny dragon.
"You're distracting me."
He shrugs. A big, expansive, sure-of-himself James T. Kirk shrug. And you realize Spock was right. The man who broke up with you wasn't the man you fell in love with. Then again this man might not be the man you fell in love with either because he's actually happy. How much better will the two of you be together if you're both happy?
You'll think about that later. Jim's tapping his fingers and this report isn't going to write itself.
FIN