Loire Valley, France
Monday 31st January 1994
"Mama, when is Vavoy coming home?"
That, Chrissie thought with some irritation, was something she would very much like to know as well. Unfortunately, she couldn't say that to her daughter. "He'll be home as soon as he can," she reassured the child. "He's probably just been kept late at work. We all had a wonderful holiday together but I bet everything piled up on his desk when he was gone and now he's busy sorting it all out."
"Oh!" Putting her thumb in her mouth, Fina thought about that for a moment. "But what about our story?"
The little girl's words were slightly muffled by her thumb, something for which Chrissie would normally have chastised her, but recognising her daughter's insecurity, she decided to let it slide for once. "Well, I'd offer to tell you a story instead," she said wryly, "but I know my storytelling skills aren't up to your Vavoy's standards. So how about we tell him that tomorrow night he has to give you a double instalment?"
Both children agreed enthusiastically to that idea and smiling to herself, Chrissie wished them goodnight and went to the door, stopping on the way to switch on the little nightlight that would ward off the total darkness they still found so scary.
Wandering downstairs and heading into the kitchen in search of something to keep her busy, Chrissie noticed that the washing machine had finished, so she took a few minutes to unload its contents and put them in the dryer. No doubt Krang would tell her to leave that sort of thing to the housekeeper, who was due to return to work the following day, but she felt the need to be busy. It was not so bad during the day when the children were awake and taking up her attention, but at times like this, when Krang was not home, she still felt like an intruder in this house. Loading up the washing machine again with a pile of the children's dirty clothes - of which, thanks to their holiday, there was plenty – she got on with cleaning the kitchen. There was little to be done and very quickly she found herself with no more work to do.
Not knowing what else to do, Chrissie settled herself in the living room, curling up on that lovely, comfortable sofa with her English language edition of 'Lord of the Rings'. There was no television to watch, since Krang had never needed one, and the only sound was the ticking of the antique clock on the mantlepiece as she focused on the familiar and much-loved story.
Boromir opened his eyes and strove to speak. At last slow words came. 'I tried to take the ring from Frodo,' he said. 'I have paid.' His glance strayed to his fallen enemies… Tick… Tick… Tick… 'Alas!' said Aragorn. 'Thus passes the heir of Denethor…' Tick… 'This is a bitter end…' Tick… Tick… Tick… Chrissie's eyes slid closed and sleep claimed her.
A faint, unfamiliar noise brought her awake. Disoriented and momentarily confused as to where she was, she blinked a couple of times and rubbed her eyes. The sound was louder and closer now and she recognised it as an approaching shuttle. Was it Krang coming home at last, she wondered? Or was it something else? Something more threatening? She could not help remembering the troop shuttle that had put down in the village, the soldiers surrounding her, pulling her arms behind her back and forcing her into the shuttle. Heart beating fast, she went to the window just in time to see the sleek, black vessel, barely visible in the darkness, coming down to land. As it banked, the security lighting illuminated the insignia and to her relief, she recognised it as Krang's.
The shuttle came to a halt, the engines disengaging and she watched from the window as the hatch opened and Krang stepped out. Her breath caught at the sight of him. He was magnificent and she could not help admiring the way his heavy winter cloak swirled around him as he strode across the garden towards the house. He disappeared from sight for a moment and then the front door came slamming open, and heavy footsteps entered, the door closing again with a loud bang. Chrissie cursed, all thoughts of his beauty gone; he was going to wake the children and then she'd never get them to settle down.
"VAVOY!"
Chrissie sighed at Fina's shriek. Right on cue, she thought; for such a small child, her daughter could be very loud. The child came running down the stairs so fast, she almost fell down them, her older brother not far behind her.
"Go back to bed!" Krang's tone was harsh enough to give both children pause, and about to launch themselves into his arms, they stopped, looking up at him uncertainly.
"But Vavoy…" Toni reached for his sister's hand as he spoke the name that still didn't feel quite right.
"What did I just tell you?" Krang snapped, his voice little more than a low, threatening growl. "You will return to your bed right now!"
Ignoring Chrissie's shock at his show of temper and brushing past her as though she were not there, Krang came to a halt at the door of the room he used as his private office, unlocked it and went in, slamming it shut behind him. Dismayed and not a little angry, she stared after him, wondering what was wrong. Was there a work-related problem – and bearing in mind his role, the thought of that was scary enough – or had she inadvertently done something to make him angry? Any confrontation would have to wait, though, right now she had crying children to deal with. Casting an angry glance at the closed door, she focussed her attention on her little ones and somehow, with a lot of hugs and reassurances, managed to dry their eyes and get them back upstairs and into bed. She stayed at their side, waiting for them to fall asleep and when they did, she sat a little longer watching them.
Eventually, Chrissie had no choice but to move, and after a quick trip to the bathroom, she made her way reluctantly downstairs to confront her errant mate. The office door was still closed and she hesitated, not sure whether in his current mood, it was safe for her to go in. When he was not present, the door was always locked and he'd made it very clear that the room was private. When he worked from home in the evenings, however, aware that since she understood only a few words of his language and could not read it, there was no security risk whatsoever, he'd developed the habit of leaving the door open so that if she wanted to, she could come in and talk to him. He'd even put a comfortable chair in there so she could sit and read and just keep him company as he worked. Tonight, though, the closed door loomed ominously, silently warning her to stay away.
Taking a deep breath, Chrissie placed her hand on the doorknob and turning it, she pushed the door open. Stepping into the office, she carefully closed the door behind her; if there was going to be shouting – and she really hoped there wasn't – she did not want the children waking up and getting scared.
Seated at his desk, her Klingon mate looked up, visibly annoyed at the disturbance. There was a glass in his hand and he knocked back its bright blue contents before slamming the glass down on the desk with enough force that Chrissie was surprised it didn't break. She could see the almost empty bottle nearby; Romulan ale she thought she remembered him calling it. She hadn't tasted it but she knew it was considered to be very strong, even by Klingon standards. Her nervousness increased as she wondered if he was drunk. He was not Diego, she told herself. Drunk or not, she had to trust that he would not harm her.
He growled and it was not the warm, passionate growl he usually offered her, the one that always sounded threatening but was actually a wordless vocalisation of his feelings for her. This one was a warning, a message to get out and leave him alone. "I told you, this office is private. I do not want you in here."
Chrissie's temper frayed. "Right now, I don't much care what you want," she snapped at him. "And I don't care what problems you've got at work, you don't come home and make my children cry!"
He got up, swaying slightly before recovering his balance, and with steps that were not quite steady, made his way around the desk, coming to a halt in front of her. "I made them cry?" He sounded surprised by that. "It was very late and they should be sleeping. I merely told them to go back to bed."
Chrissie let out a very convincing growl of her own, not realising just how Klingon it made her sound. "Well, if you hadn't made so much noise, slamming the door and stomping about, then they wouldn't have woken up! Those children adore you, Krang! All they needed was a hug from you and they'd have been happy to go back to bed."
He grunted. "I will try to be more understanding of their needs." For what little time remained to them as a family… but he did not say that. He could not tell her that what he must do would end their relationship permanently.
Satisfied with his answer, and unaware of the darkness of his thoughts, she nodded and for a moment, he thought he had got away with it, that she would leave him in peace. There was another bottle of Romulan Ale in the cabinet and he could hear it calling him. He wanted nothing more than for her to go away so he could have another drink and then another one and keep drinking until oblivion claimed him. No such luck!
"Krang, what is wrong?"
"I am fine!" he denied, stopping just of short of telling her again to go away.
All too aware that he was not all right, she had no intention of giving up. "Krang," she repeated, "what is wrong? Please tell me what's bothering you. Don't shut me out… talk to me!"
He growled again, this time less a warning and more a simple refusal to cooperate. "I do not wish to discuss it with you."
"Do you not remember?" Chrissie asked him, placing a hand on his arm as she looked up at him, "How we talked about how we must trust each other? Have I not proved my loyalty and my love for you?"
"It is not about that," he denied, trying to turn away from her but not succeeding, partly because she'd tightened her grip on his arm but mainly due to the amount of alcohol that he'd drunk leaving him just a little unbalanced.
"It's everything to do with love and trust," Chrissie insisted. "You call me your mate, your par'Mach'kai…" And she could only hope she had pronounced the alien word correctly as she continued. "…and so I am. Do you remember that story you told me, the one you said was part of your wedding ritual? It was a beautiful, romantic story… 'nothing can withstand the beating of two Klingon hearts' You are not alone anymore, Krang-oy. Whatever is worrying you, we'll get through it together."
"Very well, I will tell you." He almost snarled the words, moved by her appeal yet angry that she was forcing his hand and giving him no choice but to tell her something that he knew was going to cause her pain. There was no happy ending to this. If he obeyed this order, then she would hate him and rightly so. If he refused, then he would be executed. He could only wonder, was this how Kortar had felt when he had risen up against the gods and killed them, knowing the consequence would be eternal separation from his mate? With some bitterness, he shrugged off the thought; he was not the First Klingon and to compare himself to that mighty warrior was presumptuous.
He turned back to face her with a suddenness that combined with the cold expression on his face and his air of barely repressed anger, left her struggling to hide her nervousness. "I am required to find and arrest several hundred people whom my government have deemed a threat and have them put to death."
Notes and Credits: The passage Chrissie reads is an exact quote from The Two Towers by JRR Tolkien.
The reference to the story of the Klingon hearts is from the DS9 episode 'You are Cordially Invited'.
If you're wondering, no, Krang should very definitely NOT talking to Chrissie about his orders. But we all know what alcohol does to inhibitions and he's fairly quickly drunk almost a full bottle of Romulan ale on a mostly empty stomach. That will be made a bit clearer in the next chapter.
A big thank you to the usual suspects for their reviews and kind words... JDC0, Solasnagreine and RobertBruceScott. All three of them write in the Star Trek: Others category and I hightly recommend their work.