Loire Valley
Thursday 20th January 1994
"I cannot offer you forever," Krang warned Chrissie, "or even long term."
Wrapping up warm, Chrissie and the children had gone outside to explore the gardens and they had introduced her to the gardener, an elderly Frenchman named Jean-Pierre who spoke no English whatsoever but who did have a little Spanish. With the help of both those languages and a lot of gesturing, the two had managed to communicate well enough for the old man to discover that Chrissie was a keen and very knowledgeable gardener. The result was that while the children played, she'd passed a couple of very pleasant hours helping Jean-Pierre prune the apple trees that were espaliered along the old, drystone wall of the kitchen garden. He'd hovered over her warily at first as she had wielded the secateurs, but quickly satisfied that she did know what she was doing, had turned his attention to his own work.
It had been just starting to get dark when the old gardener had declared the work done for the day and after telling her, in broken Spanish, that she was always welcome in any garden of his, he'd advised her to go indoors and get warm before packing up his tools and heading off to his home in the nearby village.
It was good advice and she had followed it, getting hot drinks for herself and the children before chivvying them upstairs and into the bathroom to wash off the mud – and how they always managed to get so dirty was something Chrissie would never understand. Clean and in fresh cloths, Toni and Fina had gone racing downstairs into the kitchen where they'd begged Marie-Claire in almost perfect French, for galettes aux chocolat. With an indulgent smile, the housekeeper had obliged. The woman was good with the children, Chrissie noted; it was apparently only her that the housekeeper disliked. Dislike was probably too strong a word, she acknowledged, but there was definite disapproval when the housekeeper looked at her.
They had all been sitting around the table eating chocolate pancakes when a blast of frigid air heralded the opening of the kitchen door and Krang stepped inside. The Klingon looked tired and stressed as he approached them. He'd said that morning that he had urgent duties and Chrissie guessed that his day had not gone well.
She got to her feet to greet him and he moved closer to her, pulling her into his arms. Chrissie reached up on tiptoe to kiss him. Krang returned her kiss and she could feel his tension easing as he relaxed into her embrace. "It is good to see you, Chrissie-oy."
Not letting go of her, he'd had a brief conversation in French with Marie-Claire, both of them speaking a little too fast for Chrissie to understand, but which from the gestures towards the pot of hearty stew simmering on the stove, Chrissie assumed was about the evening meal. Shortly after that, Marie-Claire had retrieved her coat and offering Chrissie a polite 'Au Revoir, Madame', had left by the back door.
Wanting to talk privately with Chrissie, Krang had sent the children upstairs to play for a while before dinner and Chrissie had been impressed at how her normally rambunctious children obeyed him so quickly and without argument.
Chrissie knew that they had a lot to discuss. Their one night together had turned into something more, something unexpectedly special that neither of them wanted to end. As she'd hoped, Krang had told her that he wanted her to stay, and then, just as she'd opened her mouth to say yes, he'd spoiled it by making it clear that they had no future beyond a short affair.
His words brought her crashing back down to earth, back to reality and she backed away from him in an effort to keep what remained of her tattered pride. She should not be with him at all. She wanted him, but she had the wellbeing of her children to consider. They already adored him and the longer they stayed, the harder it would be for them when they did eventually have to leave. She was not asking for marriage but if she and the children were to stay, she wanted to at least be open to the possibility of something long term. It hurt that he would not even consider that. "You're married?"
The Klingon frowned. Did she think he had so little honour? "I would not have mated with you if I were married. No, Chrissie, I have no wife, or even a lover. There is no woman in my life other than you."
"Then why," she asked, "will you not even consider the possibility of something more?"
Krang sighed. If only she knew it, he wanted nothing more than to ask her… beg her if necessary… to stay with him. He did not want to let her go, but what choice did he have? "My work here is almost done. I have only a short time left on Earth before I must return to the homeworld."
"I suppose you have other wars to fight," she said sarcastically, "other planets to conquer and people to kill."
Krang growled. "You are not being reasonable."
"Reasonable?" What was left of her temper frayed completely. "What's reasonable about any of this? Your people speak of honour… But what's honourable about coming here and subjugating a technologically disadvantaged race? How many people died in the fighting? Are still dying? And for what?"
It was only what he had wondered himself, many times. How was it possible, he asked himself, that a Terran, who knew nothing of honour, could see how wrong this was, yet the Klingon High Council could not?
He started to speak but she was not done yet. "You haven't even asked me what happened to their father; shown no interest whatsoever. Well I will tell you anyway. He is dead. Your people had him executed."
"I have respected your obvious lack of desire to speak of him," Krang snapped. He stopped as the significance of her words hit him with all the force of a sledgehammer. His professional instincts awakening, he became the Klingon security captain again. "Executed? You will explain now."
Chrissie nodded, her anger turning to nervousness at the sudden change in his demeanour. She'd known she needed to tell him, but she had not intended to blurt it out quite like that. How had she dared to lose her temper with him and risk his anger? Would he become violent? Punch her as Diego had? Or worse? She remembered the state her brother had been in… was this where he would arrest her? "We lived in Spain. When… when you invad... when you came, he joined the resistance… and then…"
Krang frowned, putting two and two together. "He was involved in the Madrid bombing?"
"Yes," she admitted, "At least, that's what the soldiers told me when they came to question me afterwards. They said he was one of the ringleaders."
The Klingon was silent as he considered the implications. He remembered the bombing and the three men he had executed all too well. The resistance had hailed them as heroes and martyrs, but the truth was, her mate had been honourless scum, a criminal of the worst sort. "Tell me, Qis'ta…" Krang's use of her proper name was deliberate, putting her on notice that he was speaking not as her lover, but as a Klingon officer. "Are you involved with the resistance?"
Chrissie hesitated just a moment too long before she answered. "I… no…"
No, he did not think she worked for the resistance. At no point had he ever seen hate or resentment in her eyes and she had treated every Klingon she had met with respect, even showing concern for the welfare of his soldiers. But her pause had been telling. She knew more than she was admitting. "I believe you," he said and just as she relaxed fractionally, he added, "But you know someone who is, don't you?"
Her eyes wide and frightened, she nodded.
To be fair, half the population of the planet probably knew someone in the resistance. The people of Earth were stubborn and belligerent and the more the Klingons pushed, the more they pushed back. Krang's immediate instinct had been to demand names; he was a skilled interrogator and it would take very little effort to get the information out of her, but for the moment he would let it go and question her no further on that subject.
Chrissie's confession had caught him completely by surprise and that was entirely his own fault. Had he done his job properly and ran the background check, he would have already known all this. She was right, he could have asked her, but he hadn't been interested enough in her past to ask the question.
Krang clenched his fists, digging his nails into the palms of his hands and allowing the pain to steady him, to control his anger and calm his temper. As he did so, he was shocked to see her flinch away from him. Surely she did not think he would strike her? The last traces of his anger faded, to be replaced by depression. How had he failed so badly? Carefully, he unclenched his fists, and watched as she relaxed slightly.
His treatment of her, Krang realised uncomfortably, had been less than honourable. He was not handling this situation at all well and she had a right to be angry with him. He genuinely did not know how a long-term relationship would be possible but his refusal to even consider it had been insulting and degrading. Had she been a Klingon woman, he would at the very least, have got his face slapped for that.
"I will try to explain myself better," he said, going back to the beginning. "I have a little under four months left until my contract here is finished. It is expected that I return to my work on the homeworld at that time. Chrissie, I did not expect to meet you, or that I would feel this way about you and the truth is, I do not know what to do. I cannot imagine that you would want to leave Earth to live amongst my people.
Her eyes widened, but this time it was not with fear. Leave Earth and go into space? Live with him on another planet? "Is that actually a possibility?"
Kahless, was she really considering it? "Yes," he said, stunned. "It would not be easy, but if we prove compatible, then there is no reason why not." He hesitated, thinking for a moment, before adding, "It is also possible that I might be able to extend my contract here for another year or two."
Chrissie was silent for a long moment as she thought it through. It had been only one night and they barely knew each other, even if it somehow felt as though she had been with him all her life. The Klingons were a violent, warlike race who were known to kill at the slightest provocation. She knew that she had made him very angry, yet he had not struck her or harmed her in any way. This Klingon was nothing like her dead husband and she was beginning to understand and accept that. All her instincts told her that as long as they were together, he would protect her, keep her safe and more importantly, treat her with respect. And with that realisation, her decision was made. "I don't know what will happen. I don't know if we can make this work, but I'd like to try. If you want me, then I will stay."
"I want you," he confirmed quickly and moving closer to her, he slid his arms around her, savouring the feel of her body against his as he pressed his lips against hers in a searing kiss.
"Actually, I do need to go home at some point," she told him, drawing back just enough to speak. "Can it be arranged? I've had this dress on for two days now; I'm going to need some clean clothes."
He was not keen on the idea, but it was a reasonable request. "I will not be able to take you myself," he said reluctantly. "I must work, but I can arrange for a shuttle to take you after lunch tomorrow."
"Thank you." Her smile made it worth it. "Krang, I need to call home tonight and leave a message for my brother and my flatmate. They'll be worried about me."
"Yes of course," he said at once. "Come with me."
Getting up, he led her out of the kitchen and down the corridor, to the door that was locked. Opening it, he crossed the room, settling himself in front of the computer console and gesturing for her to join him. Obediently she moved to his side, watching curiously as he manipulated the computer, causing strange symbols that she guessed to be Klingon writing to flash across the screen. After a moment he looked up. "I will need the communications code."
Communications code? What did…? Oh, of course, the phone number. About to recite the number, she stopped. "There's something wrong with my phone. Your soldiers did something when they searched the flat. If you can access directory enquiries, I'll have to leave a message with the neighbour."
"Two of my officers visited your address in an attempt to contact you," Krang said. "They informed me that your communications system was broken but that they did not have the tools to repair it."
"Oh…" That made sense. "I wondered why nobody called. I kept checking and checking for messages and there was nothing."
No wonder she had been frantic, he acknowledged, turning his attention back to the computer. "I have the directory. What name am I looking for?"
"It's Barnes," she told him, giving him the address as well. The directory was in English and she looked over his shoulder as he worked. "There it is… Flat 1A."
"Connecting now. Do you require privacy?"
She shook her head. "No, it's fine. I…"
"Barnes residence. Who's calling?"
"Mr Barnes, it's Chrissie from Flat 3B.
"Are you all right, dear? You didn't come home last night. Everyone's been worried about you."
"I'm fine," she promised, "and so are the children. That's why I'm calling. My phone isn't working and I need a favour. Can you leave a message for David and Sarah? Tell them I'm staying with a friend and not to worry."
"They aren't home at the moment," the old man said, "but I'll leave a note through their door. When should I tell them you'll be back?"
Chrissie thought for a moment. "I'll be gone for a while. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon though, to pick up some of my things."
"Well you take care of yourself, young lady and enjoy your holiday."
"Thank you, Mr Barnes," Chrissie said, bringing the call to an end before he could ask any more questions that she did not want to answer. "Goodnight."