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Shining On The Quay, 2/4
The Yorktown came in a month after Chris graduated to the bio-mechanical braces that allowed him to at least give the appearance of walking on his own. He and Commander Parker were still working together twice a day, but he'd moved out of the rehab facility and into rooms on base. Still not his own apartment, but he was so bloody grateful to be out of a hospital environment it didn't matter that he was an admiral in the middle of the ensigns and junior lieutenants.
Number One dotted all the I's and crossed all the T's, as usual, but as soon as she was done with the Admiralty--and Chris had no doubt it was she who was done, not the converse--she was in the rehab center, in the middle of his afternoon session.
Commander Parker did not normally like, encourage, or otherwise permit guests during her sessions, but Number One was Number One and she wasn't going to let a little thing like that stop her. Chris expected at least some fireworks, but Parker only saluted sharply, and said, “Captain Robbins--it is very good to finally meet you in person.”
“Let me guess,” Chris said, watching the two of them confer. “Phil put you down as cleared for privileged information while he held my medical POA.”
“Of course,” Number One said. “Commander Parker would hardly share information otherwise, regardless of my rank or association with you.”
“Of course,” Chris echoed, and went to shower and change.
“Dinner?” Number One took his measure with a single, swift glance, the one that never missed anything. He must have passed, because she continued, “It's been so long since we've had anything not processed on-board, I think even I've been dreaming about food, and you know I never notice what I'm eating.”
“Your choice, then,” Chris answered, smiling, and when she arched an eyebrow in that familiar way, amended, “Or--you tell me what you want, and I'll pick the place where we get it.”
“That's probably better,” Number One laughed. “For a moment, I thought you'd forgotten the last time.”
“It would take more than a triple dose of neurotoxins to forget that incident,” Chris said, dryly. 'Disaster' was probably a more appropriate word, but there wasn't any need to rub it in. He checked in with Colt, signed off on the three things that couldn't wait, and ducked into the transport Number One had corralled. When pressed, she claimed she could happily eat anything, so Chris gave the driver the address of a place down by the water run by a retired quartermaster who treated anyone in a Starfleet uniform as his personal charges.
Number One hadn't been kidding; she demolished a good third of the menu without pausing for more than the most basic social pleasantries. Over coffee, she finally slowed down and they could compare notes about life in the post-Nero universe. The Romulans were still on edge; the Klingons were pushing every limit they could find; and even with the shipyards going full blast, it was going to take years to replace all the ships they'd lost over Vulcan.
“The only reason we came in was to upgrade the dilithium chambers,” Number One said, stirring her coffee slowly. “It's as bad as I've ever seen it out there, Christopher. And it's not going to get much better, not until we get more ships launched.”
Chris nodded; he got the daily aggregates from the surviving Fleet ships, and the reports were never anything less than tense. Frankly, he was surprised there hadn't been an upswing in mental health issues; it was difficult to keep crew morale stable under ongoing high alert conditions, and the longer this dragged out the more on edge everyone was going to be.
“Your boy is doing fine, though,” Number One added, almost as an aside. Chris half-choked on his coffee. “It's good to see the Enterprise on active duty.”
“My boy?”
“Kirk,” Number One said, looking at him as though he were insane. “Your hand-picked replacement for your ship.”
“I wasn't the only--Kirk's advancement was seconded by not only Commander Spock, but by half the admirals on the promotions board.” The other half had fought it viciously--but that was unsurprising, given the circumstances. Chris took a deep breath. “He's hardly my boy.”
Number One kept right on looking at him, one eyebrow arched in the way that meant things were not adding up in that cool, logical brain of hers. On the bridge, Chris valued that look: it meant his XO was on the job, looking for loopholes in whatever situation they found themselves embroiled in. It had saved his ass more than once. Sitting in a cheap diner five blocks off-base, somehow discussing his personal life, it meant the same thing--Number One was on the job--but Chris was fairly certain he wasn't going to like the outcome nearly as much. When she spoke, though, her voice was neutral.
“Dr. Boyce mentioned that the captain had spent considerable time visiting with you,” Number One said. “I'm sorry; I assumed that meant you'd forged a friendship.”
“So did I,” Chris muttered.
“Oh?” The eyebrow got higher.
“He kissed me.”
“And?” She made an impatient gesture at him and checked the time. “I have less than an hour before I need to be back for my shuttle, Christopher. I know perfectly well that you've dealt with at least a half-dozen junior officers, male and female, who've had crushes on you. You handle it far better than I'll ever manage to, so I'll repeat. And?”
“And nothing,” Chris growled. “I assumed we had one thing going; it would appear he thought differently, and he was gone before anything got resolved.”
“Oh,” she murmured. “Oh.” If it had been anyone else, Chris would have walked away from the look in her eyes, but they had been through things together that no one else understood. “Chris--” she started.
“Don't,” Chris said. “Just--don't.”
“All right,” she said, after a few seconds. “I won't, but … don't you, either.”
“Meaning?”
“You're very good at ignoring issues that can't be resolved; don't assign Captain Kirk to that category.”
“Don't you have a shuttle to catch?” Chris muttered.
“In fifty-three minutes,” she answered. “If we call for transport now and handle the bill at the same time, I'll have time for dessert, which I've been anticipating since the Yorktown came into space dock, but this is--”
“Thank you, Captain.” Chris braced his hands flat on the table and pushed himself to his feet to go get the check with what even he could recognize as poor grace; he couldn't seem to modulate it, though. “Heard and acknowledged; no further discussion needed.”
“Christopher,” she said, laying her hand on his wrist. For the first time in their long years together she sounded tired and strained, and Chris was ashamed that he was essentially throwing a tantrum with his most trusted friend. He turned his hand so he could squeeze hers in an apology and got a grip on himself.
“I'm fine,” he told her. “You don't need to spend your last bit of time arguing with me, especially when we both know you're right.”
“No,” she sighed. “Whether or not I'm right, I'm presuming on our friendship, overstepping--”
“No,” Chris said. “You're not. I'm... not dealing with things well these days.”
“You're here, and sane,” she said, her voice unexpectedly fierce. “I don't know many others who would be, and I am so grateful for that. The rest of it will work itself out.”
It was probably best that Chris didn't know exactly how to respond to that because he wasn't sure he trusted himself not to break down completely if he opened his mouth. Number One nodded once, as though she understood, and he pulled himself together enough to say, “I'm going to go personally put in the order for one Death By Chocolate, so they know we're on a deadline.”
“I'll deal with the transport.” Number One squeezed his hand one last time before letting it go. “Get whatever it is you're trying to kill me with to go so I can eat on the way if necessary.”
Chris ordered and paid, ignoring Number One's mutterings about ridiculously old-fashioned chivalry, and they did indeed take the seven layers of assorted chocolate confections with them in the cab, Number One blithely ignoring the No Food or Drink sign blinking at her in increasing lumens and frequency the entire way.
She hesitated for the briefest of moments before she got out of the cab. On anyone else it would have been meaningless, but Chris knew it was a sign of uncertainty for her; as uncharacteristic as it was unexpected. Her expression was calm when she turned back, though.
“I did mean what I said earlier, Christopher.” She was poised and self-possessed as always, her uniform as sharp as when she'd taken it out of the press that morning, every inch the captain of a starship. No one seeing her would have believed she'd just inhaled eighteen ounces of the finest chocolate available on any world with little more than her fingers and the occasional use of a spoon. “Don't put whatever it is that's happening in your personal life into stasis simply because you can't control it.” Her mouth twitched up into a half-smile. “And, yes, I am quite aware of the irony in my being the one to say that.”
“Heard and acknowledged, Number One,” Chris said, this time with all due respect and affection. “Safe skies, Captain.”
“Admiral.” She saluted him crisply and strode off toward the main concourse.
Whether or not Chris shoved Jim Kirk into the ignore-at-all-costs box in the back of his mind was very nearly moot. The final phases of re-learning to walk without the bio-braces, or exo-supports, or even so much as a cane, took physical effort like Chris couldn't remember ever having to exert--layered on top of a mental focus that left him as exhausted as being in command during a battle did. What little energy he had left went toward monitoring the delicate balancing act that was the impasse between the Federation, the Klingons, and the Romulans. It continued to waver on the knife's edge of outright warfare, the news grim enough to reach all the way into the gyms and natatoriums that Chris spent ninety percent of his waking hours in. Every Starfleet shipyard was working double-crewed shifts, 24/7, no downtime at all, and it was still not enough.
Given the gravity of the situation, Chris paused for nothing more than a token celebration when he was cleared to return to active duty, and that only because Ensign Colt took matters into her own hands and organized a small gathering at his new office. It wasn't a large suite, but it was well-located and while the view it boasted wasn't the Bay, it also wasn't the waste processing plant or a brick wall. Chris had no doubt that was due to Colt's attention to detail and stubborn perseverance in the face of the astounding number of forms that needed to be filed and cross-filed. If it had been up to him, he would have lost patience two rounds in, which was more than likely what the system was designed to promote. The system had yet to meet the likes of Ensign Colt.
“It's important, sir,” Colt said as she went over final details with him. “It puts the right face on your tenure; makes it apparent that you're recovered and ready to contribute.” Chris couldn't argue with that, and it wasn't her fault he was back at the Academy. “Plus,” she continued, “it's not every day I can comm my parents with proof of me working with a professor emeritus, even if I do leave out the part where I know you'd rather be almost anywhere else.”
Chris surveyed the tastefully decorated rooms with some bemusement, especially the discreet grouping of images of him from every ship he'd served on, including the Enterprise. It projected a aura of distinction that he was sure more than a few of those pictured would be happy to dispute. There was nothing untrue about any of what was on display, but it was heavily... curated. To say the least.
“What was your concentration at the Academy again, Ensign?”
“Diplomatic relations, sir!”
Moving out of base housing and back into his own apartment was more worthy of celebration, Chris thought, but even that seemed cavalier. He settled for more of the bourbon Dr. McCoy had sent and a night of doing nothing but sitting in his own study and carefully reviewing the contracts on the land he'd managed to buy just before the Fleet had deployed to Vulcan and the universe had changed irrevocably.
The first mention of the anniversary of the attacks caught Chris completely off guard; he found himself frozen in front of the giant vid screen on campus, unable to look away from the images flashing quickly across it. That was only a teaser for the coverage planned to last the entire day of the attack on Earth, so it ended quickly and Chris managed to get himself moving again. He got all the way back to his office before the first flashback hit. It slammed through him, so vivid and intense that he was retching from the dense metallic smell of the ores the Narada had been built to mine.
Ensign Colt was gone for the day so there was no one to comment on Chris leaving a little earlier than normal, and Chris was curt enough with the cadet assigned to drive him that the trip home was accomplished in utter silence. Bay Area traffic being what it was, it was dark by the time they arrived; Chris was grateful. He could take the long flight of steps up to his door at a crawl, moving slowly enough that he made it without throwing up from the nausea and disorientation and--equally important--without any of his neighbors noticing. He spent the night unpacking and cataloging the books Jim Kirk had bought and Colt had shipped to his apartment, and managed to resist the siren call of the bourbon. He finally sank into his bed a little before dawn, and if he was more than a little short with his seminar students later that morning, he was still perfectly rational and that would have to be enough.
After that, the lead-up to the day itself ground on interminably. Chris avoided all newsfeeds and thought he was handling it reasonably well--no further flashbacks, at least in public; never mind the nightmares that he'd thought he'd gotten under control months earlier, before he ever left the Fleet hospitals--until he came upon Ensign Colt deep in a furiously whispered confrontation with Admiral Komack's aide, a tall Andorian, the tone of which was so glacial that Chris was surprised there wasn't a localized weather front.
“This is not negotiable,” the aide hissed, shooting Chris a venomous look as ze swept out of the office. Ensign Colt looked very nearly ready to follow and commit violence upon hir; Chris cleared his throat and caught her attention before things escalated and Ushaan could be invoked. The last thing her career needed was an Andorian duel to deal with.
“If it's not negotiable, you'd best brief me now.”
“Of course it's negotiable, sir; everything is. I can--”
“Ensign Colt,” Chris said, letting a little of the command tone slip into his voice. “Fill me in.”
It wasn't all that dire, Chris thought, as she bit her lip and complied. There would--of course--be a day full of official ceremonies honoring those who lost their lives over Vulcan, and Chris, as sole surviving captain of the fleet of Academy-crewed ships, would be required to be in attendance. Silent attendance, as Starfleet still wasn't quite sure what to do about the part where it had been Chris who'd given up the satellite defense codes, but attendance nonetheless.
“It's an insult, sir,” Ensign Colt was saying. “They're playing both ends against the middle and they don't care who they trample--”
“Well, yes, Ensign,” Chris said, dryly. “They've been known to do that.” He moved slowly past her and into his office, more tired than he wanted to admit. If he wasn't reliving his time on the Narada in his dreams, he was trapped in that endless few seconds of the Enterprise dropping out of warp speed over Vulcan, right into the carnage of very nearly the entire Academy upper class. Either way, he wasn't getting much sleep.
“I know that, sir,” Ensign Colt said. “That doesn't make it right.”
“I appreciate your advocacy, Ensign--” Chris truly did; support from his junior officers was never something he took lightly, no matter whether he was on the bridge of a starship or walking the Academy halls. “But we may as well see what the schedule looks like.”
She hesitated long enough that Chris thought he might have to make it a direct order, but then she nodded and tapped her PADD, forwarding the file and leaving Chris to review it alone. It was predictably crammed full of events, with every political figure on the planet angling to be seen. Just thinking about the pontifications and posturings, the complete lack of understanding of the sacrifices made on so many levels, made the walls close in on him.
It wasn't a full-blown flashback or fugue state, but enough of a gray area that he wasn't surprised to find Ensign Colt eyeing him with concern when he came out of it. She didn't say anything, though, only disappeared back into her work area. Chris could hear her working the replicator, and when she reappeared she had a tray of food in her hands.
“It occurs to me that I haven't seen you eat on campus in.... longer than I can remember.” She didn't say that she didn't trust him to be eating off-campus, but her tone rendered the omission moot. “High nutrition, but no overt flavorings or odors,” she added, sliding the tray onto the small conference table next to his desk. ”Some texture.”
“Boring, you mean.”
“Less likely to trigger a reaction,” Ensign Colt corrected, almost primly. “I realize that the notes Lt. Andrews passed along to me only scratch the surface of mitigating strategies, but since my mother's reaction to anything like this involved tea and toast, I'm taking it that bland and soothing is the way to go.” She smoothed the cuffs of her uniform, her tell that she was uncomfortable but forging ahead nonetheless. “I'm probably overstepping my bounds, sir, but... “
“No,” Chris sighed, pushing himself to his feet. “You're right.” He could hear Phil's voice in the back of his head, a tirade about idiots not taking care of what they could control and letting that make what they couldn't control worse. Chris surveyed the contents of the tray without enthusiasm, but settled himself in the small chair and began working his way through the plates methodically. “We might as well go through that schedule while I do this,” Chris said. “I'm not eating for enjoyment at this point, and there's no sense in you having to sit around and wait until I'm finished.” Once she'd settled herself across the table, Chris added, “Besides, this way you don't have to pretend not to be checking to see how much I'm actually eating.”
“There is that,” Ensign Colt agreed, and began to review the logistics of how Chris could get from one event to the next, and where they might stash the bio-braces should he need them during the day.
Not that Chris had any question as to Ensign Colt's efficiency--or ability to run the world, if it came to that--but it was proven beyond all doubt in the run-up to, and the actual day of, the anniversary of the attacks. Once he had communicated his intent to go along with whatever the Admiralty wanted, no one got through her to Chris in any way, shape, or form. No one. She fielded all inquiries, made all the arrangements, and, as far as Chris could tell, slept at her office the entire week before to make sure all risks were mitigated before they became issues.
That left Chris with nothing to do but teach his classes and figure out how to make it through the day itself. Once they got over their somewhat unflattering surprise that he was contacting them--a reaction he supposed he deserved, given his less-than-cooperative attitude while hospitalized--the psych team offered a full array of pharmaceutical options, of which Chris accepted only sleeping aids. They at least meant he'd be physically functional. He was counting on his ability to dissociate himself from the rest of it--he hadn't risen through the Starfleet ranks as quickly as he had without being able to turn off the all-too-frequent urge to throttle an idiot or two, and he didn't see that this was much different.
On the anniversary morning, Ensign Colt arrived at Chris's apartment long before dawn and eyed his appearance critically. Her uniform was, of course, perfectly pressedl; and she had twisted her hair into a sedate knot, not a single strand of red out of place. She was strictly regulation except for the wisp of white under her sleeve at the wrist. Chris's grandmother had done that, tucked a tissue or a handkerchief away for when she knew she might need them.
“It's going to be a long day, sir,” Ensign Colt said, as she saw him looking. “I have full supplies with Petty Officer Chang, who'll be driving us, but I thought I should be prepared.”
“Of course,” Chris said. He'd been between surgeries when she'd been assigned as his aide, but he thought he remembered that she'd been in an Honors program at the Academy, an accelerated track, and he wondered how many friends she'd lost over Vulcan. It wasn't something that could be discussed, certainly not on this of all days, but Chris resolved to look back over her file soon.
Petty Officer Chang was also perfectly put together, and the salutes he snapped out to both Chris and Ensign Colt were crisp and sharp. Once Chris and Colt were settled, he eased into the street and hovered at the crossing.
“Where to, ma'am?”
If Chris was mildly surprised Colt hadn't ensured that Chang had the entire schedule memorized, he was somewhat shocked when she hesitated before answering, and very nearly floored when she turned to him, biting her lip.
“Sir,” she said, quietly. “There is an unofficial... gathering on campus at dawn. It's not on your schedule--this time was supposed to be a final briefing and a chance for you to eat, before the official memorials begin, but...”
“Mia--Ensign Colt--and I were hoping to attend.” Petty Officer Chang met Chris's eyes in the rear-view mirror, and Chris wondered who he'd lost. “I can drive you to your office if that's where you'd rather be; we'll be back in plenty of--”
“No. I can go,” Chris said. “There's no sense in the two of you zig-zagging back and forth. This day is going to be enough of a clusterfuck as it is.”
“Sir, are you sure--this is already an ambitious schedule; adding something that's not strictly necessary--”
“I have the feeling this might be the one thing that is necessary today,” Chris said. When she opened her mouth to argue further, he added, “Unless I wouldn't be welcome.”
“No, sir,” Chang said, looking at Colt. “That's not it at all.”
“It's that we--were here, sir,” Colt finally said. “We lost people, but... we weren't directly involved. We haven't spent the last year learning how to walk again.”
“All the more reason to be there, Mia,” Chris said. He nodded to Chang and then settled back into the car and let his mind go blank.
As they came over the campus, Chris could see people clustered down by the water--a quiet mass that grew steadily even as they watched. Chang brought them in as close as was practical, which was still a fair distance. Chris knew he'd probably regret it before the end of the day, but he found the silent walk in the chilly darkness nearly perfect and was grateful he could make it. Colt and Chang flanked him, though he didn't think anyone noticed him in the crush. He accepted a candle from a painfully young cadet and, a few minutes later, tilted it into the one Colt carried to transfer the flame from hers. The crowd remained silent, the small, flickering lights spreading slowly from candle to candle even as the night faded above them.
There were no speeches or organized events. They just stood next to the water, amid the trees on campus, holding candles and watching the sun rise. Chris supposed there was someone in charge, someone who took the initiative to blow out the candles once the sun was fully up and visible, but he couldn't see who that might have been. As the sunlight spread across the campus, the candles were extinguished. It wasn't completely quiet--people moved to greet friends, and there was a low undercurrent of quiet weeping--but the near-total silence was as affecting as it was effective.
Chris pretended not to see Ensign Colt wiping tears away; Chang was stoical but not unaffected, and Chris himself didn't have the faintest idea what was crashing through him, only that it had been a good idea to come.
“My suitemates,” Colt said, tucking her tissue back up under her sleeve. “They were all assigned to different ships, and--when the first casualty lists were posted, I remember thinking that at least they all weren't together, but... it didn't matter, in the end, did it? It took the Academy a couple of days to re-situate everyone who was left, and it was very... quiet until then.”
Chris nodded and spared a brief thought for how empty the dorms must have been. Petty Officer Chang collected both their candles and handed them off to another baby-faced cadet.
“My sister was on the Farragut,” he said. “Engineering.”
“She would have been serving under Commander Ivanov,” Chris said, remembering the booming laugh and impressively vulgar vocabulary. “Learning not just how to run a ship, but how to brew possibly the most foul rotgut ever known.”
“She did say the section parties were pretty lively,” Chang answered.
“I can believe it,” Chris said, letting the crowd slowly sweep him along. Colt wasn't obsessively checking the time, so he wasn't running late yet and could take the time to let the better memories see the light of day.
Caught up in those memories, Chris at first didn't recognize the Vulcan standing in front of him. It wasn't until the Vulcan said, “Greetings, Admiral. My son has nothing but the highest praise at serving on your staff,” that Chris realized it was Sarek, Spock's father, and that he'd clearly sought Chris out. That was surprising enough, but nothing could have prepared Chris for the invitation Sarek personally issued to tour the new Vulcan colony as part of a delegation from the Academy.
“We will, of course, make all arrangements with the Admiralty and make it perfectly clear that you are our choice.”
“You're sure about that,” Chris said, after a few seconds. He kept his voice down, low and even, but even so, Ensign Colt was watching them with narrowed eyes, for all the world like she was expecting Sarek, respected member of the Vulcan High Council, to attack Chris. “I'm not exactly who the politicians would want to see on that delegation.”
“While I understand that human politics are fraught with emotion, I do not believe that anyone would begrudge the Vulcan High Council this express request. I would merely have to mention how poor it might look if word was spread that the wishes of a people struggling to rebuild their world were denied.”
“Very Machiavellian of you,” Chris said, dryly. “I didn't think Vulcans went in for that sort of thing.”
“I would merely be pointing out the obvious, Admiral.” Sarek arched an eyebrow; Chris could see where Spock got the expression from. “It was not my idea, however; I must give credit to my colleague for the notion.” He nodded toward the fringe of the crowd where another, older Vulcan stood. Sarek didn't name him, but he didn't need to. “He felt the request would best come from me, as he is a stranger to you, for all that he served with your counterpart in his world.”
“I see,” Chris said. Before he could ask more, Sarek inclined his head, still watching Chris with that special Vulcan expression that passed for curiosity.
“If you would rather not travel just yet, I can assure you it will not cause a diplomatic incident.”
“No,” Chris said, slowly. “I'd be honored to visit.”
“We would be honored to host you,” Sarek said. “Our embassy will be in contact.” He strode off toward the other Spock, who inclined his head to Chris before they disappeared into the crowd.
“Sir?” Ensign Colt was practically wringing her hands. “Sir, I'm so sorry, but we have to leave now or you'll be late to the invocation. Petty Officer Chang went on ahead to warm up the engines.”
“I'm with you, Ensign,” Chris said. They made their way as quickly as possible back to where Chang was waiting for them, and Chris very deliberately did not think about how much slower top speed was now. He kept his mind firmly on the fact that he was indeed walking under his own power; no braces, and no goddamn chair. He might not end the day that way, but he at least started it on his own two feet.
The day ground on, every bit as enervating as Chris had thought it would be. He stood in the background at the opening of the new memorial, accepted the salutes of the honor guard at the eternal flame that burned for all who never came home, and laid a ceremonial wreath on the steps of the Academy. Chang got him from one place to the next with time to spare, and Colt had more things stashed in the transport than Chris would have believed possible; everything from food and drink to drops for their eyes. When he caught the sleeve of his uniform on the jagged edge of a makeshift stage, she actually produced a needle and thread and re-sewed the small tear on the way to the next event.
Somehow, though, a small bit of the peace of the morning stayed with him, and he was profoundly grateful for that. It was late in the day, only one ceremony to go, when Chris caught sight of Sarek again, and was pleased to find that they were seated next to each other on one end of the enormous stage that had been erected in the city.
“Always good to see a friendly face,” Chris murmured as they took their places. Sarek murmured something that sounded like he agreed, but the introductions had begun, so Chris moved into deliberate dissociation to get through it all. It wasn't the worst of the day's events, but it was one more drop in the bucket of everything Chris disliked about Starfleet; everything he actively worked to counteract in his own commands.
Afterwards, Sarek deliberately waited for Chris to make his slow, and moving on toward painful, way down the stairs at the side of the stage, his expression betraying no impatience or restlessness.
“You're done for the day?” Chris asked, as he finally navigated the last steps and reached solid ground. The assorted officials clustered around melted away as Chris drew near, but he was ground down enough by the day to simply be grateful not to have to speak to them. “Or have you been press-ganged into more official appearances?”
“I have indeed been the recipient of a fair number of invitations for the evening,” Sarek said, as they moved off toward where the drivers and transports were staged and waiting. “However, since I do not often have the chance to see Spock, I declined them all in favor of a more familial end to this day.”
It said a fair amount about how well Chris had shut out the official world that he'd missed the news of the Enterprise being Earthside, but before he could formulate any kind of a polite answer, Spock himself had materialized out of the crowd and was greeting his father.
And, of course, Jim Kirk was right behind him.
Given that it had been an extraordinarily long and difficult day for everyone, Chris took everything that stormed through him at the sight of Kirk and slammed it down and away from the surface. He accepted the salutes from both Spock and Kirk and managed to inquire about their latest missions with something close to professional courtesy. He didn't hear a word of what Spock told him in reply, but he didn't think Kirk was listening either.
As they moved slowly toward the waiting transports, Chris heard himself carrying on a not particularly significant conversation with Spock and Sarek. If they had been anyone but Vulcans, Chris would have classified it as small talk, but Vulcans didn't do that. It was still as inconsequential as possible. The entire time, he remained acutely conscious of Jim Kirk following along silently.
“I am most pleased to see you, Admiral,” Spock said, hanging back as Sarek strode off to his transport. “I had not thought our paths would cross so easily today.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “I offer my congratulations on your recovery thus far, and most sincere good wishes for a continuance of the same--though I am quite aware that it is primarily due to your own nature and determination.”
“Thank you, Spock.” Chris managed to refrain from smiling. “It was good to see you, too.”
Chris could see Colt and Chang not far down the line, close enough that he didn't need to wait for them to pull forward, but before he could make his escape--and yes, he acknowledged, if only to himself, he was looking to escape--Kirk finally spoke up.
“A moment of your time, sir?”
Intellectually, Chris knew it was probably better to get whatever it was out in the open, but that still didn't mean he had any desire to have the conversation right then.
“Is it entirely necessary, Captain?”
“We're here for seventy-two hours, sir. I just need two minutes of your time, but it doesn't have to be right now.”
“Fine,” Chris sighed.
“About last time, sir,” Kirk started, and Chris felt his patience snap.
“I do actually value leaping before looking, Kirk. I just tend to value it a lot more if it's not followed by a no-holds-barred retreat.”
Kirk flushed at the words. Chris hadn't actually meant for them to come out as harshly as they had, but it was too late to do anything about that.
“Sir, Chang is waiting--oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt,” Colt said, belatedly looking up from her PADD. “I can--”
“That's fine, Colt,” Chris said. “Captain Kirk was just leaving.”
“Admiral,” Kirk said, snapping out a salute and barely waiting for Chris to return it before he spun on his heel and stalked off. Colt blinked a couple of times, but otherwise didn't mention the somewhat strained atmosphere.
“You were saying?”
“Oh--yes,” Colt said, tapping at her PADD. “Admiral Barnett asked if you could drop by his office, and then we're done for the day.”
“Small mercies, Ensign,” Chris sighed. “And on that topic, you can cut out now.”
“Sir--”
“Ensign, this has been quite the day, and you've performed admirably. I wouldn't have gotten through it without you--at least not without punching someone--so you are done and dismissed, with my thanks. Chang can get me where I need to be.”
For a second, Colt looked like she was about to argue, so he added, “Trust me, Mia. Some days you don't have a choice--but when you do, it's better to figure out how to stop and process, rather than go until you drop.”
“Yes, sir,” Colt finally said. “But you should take your own advice.”
“I... will try,” Chris said. “Thank you.”
Barnett didn't have an official reason for seeing Chris, only personal; they drank a shot in memory of everyone they'd lost, and then Chris made his excuses before one shot could turn into twenty. Chang drove him home, a long and tedious journey with traffic snarled hopelessly, but it was quiet and relatively peaceful with just the two of them, and Chris thought Chang appreciated the silence as much as Chris did.
“Do you need me to stop on the way, sir? Something for dinner?”
“No, Mr. Chang. I do have a functioning replicator,” Chris said. “Please assure Ensign Colt that I have managed over the years without her.”
“Yes, sir,” Chang answered, grinning. “She takes her job very seriously.”
“I appreciate that.” Chris smiled back. “Be sure to let her know that, too, when you check in with her.” Chang made the last turn onto Chris's street, which was quiet and empty except for the flashy cycle parked at the foot of Chris's steps and the man lounging against the retaining wall, carriers at his feet.
“Looks like your dinner's here anyway, sir,” Chang said, pulling up.
“Yes, it does,” Chris said, sighing. He thought about mentioning that Chang didn't need to relay the information that the captain of the Enterprise had apparently taken a second job as a takeout delivery boy in his spare time, but that would only send it out on the gossip line with even greater urgency, so he just thanked Chang and got out to deal with whatever the hell Kirk had in mind this time.
“Yeah, so, I couldn't really tell if that last thing you said was an invitation or a dare,” Kirk said, straightening up and crossing his arms. “But then I figured it didn't really matter either way.” He'd ditched his uniform somewhere and wore an old, faded Academy T-shirt and equally faded jeans, with a leather bomber jacket over everything in deference to the ever-mercurial Bay Area weather. Chris's own uniform might have given him a psychological boost in whatever game Kirk was running now, but mostly Chris wanted to be out of the high collar and heavy cloth.
“At least you brought food,” Chris said, and Kirk shrugged.
“It's nothing great, but I haven't eaten since... I don't remember when. My body clock's fucked to hell and back.”
“Well, then you better bring it inside,” Chris said, and started the long climb up the steps to his front door.
“So, is this some condition of your PT?” Kirk kept pace with Chris easily, not at all like he could be bounding up the endless expanse. “They let you out of a session a day just for walking up this?”
“It's my place, Kirk,” Chris said. “It's... mine.” He bit back everything else that he was almost too tired and overwhelmed to keep inside, everything that he'd shut down from the second he realized the codes were gone, in Nero's hands, and there was nothing to do but wait to die. Kirk slanted a look at him, a Jim Kirk special, one that spoke volumes without a word.
“I know you're a stubborn bastard,” Kirk muttered as they paced up the steps, “but this is a little much even for you.” Chris had a sudden vision of all the nights when he had literally crawled the final few steps and couldn't help laughing at the aggrieved tone in Kirk's voice.
“Don't pass out from the shock, but I think I have to agree with you,” Chris said. He was slowing down, his legs almost gone. He shouldn't have thought about the times he hadn't been able to make it up these stairs; the power of suggestion was the last thing he needed after the day he'd had.
“Yeah, well, don't deck me for this,” Kirk said, shifting the carriers to one hand. “Or court-martial me; or, God, for real don't sic that ensign of yours on me--Uhura will love her and I'll die under all the paperwork they'll dump on me--but...” He got one shoulder under Chris's arm and his arm around Chris's waist, and they made the last ten steps that way.
Chris expected him to let go when they reached the front door, but Kirk only ducked his head down, so he could study the ground, and said, “I cut and ran the last time because it wasn't just about me, and I should have thought about that before I...”
Chris hadn't had the lights around the house re-programmed off of the motion sensors, but they were small, low-level solar-powered bulbs that cast only enough light for Chris to see a profile, nothing of the eyes or smile or attitude Kirk used to so much success.
“Before you...” Chris prompted, not thinking about how he hadn't stepped away from the arm still semi-supporting him, no matter that he'd been known to blast would-be assistance into the next galaxy during this last year.
“Yeah, well, I really should have been thinking about how it wasn't just about me from the first time I got Bones to get me on your floor. There was the Enterprise and the crew and everything else that was happening.” Kirk half-shrugged. “But, y'know, I didn't, and there we were.”
“And it didn't occur to you that I might have had something to add to the conversation?” Chris slapped his hand on the lock to get the front door open and didn't press for an answer until they'd maneuvered themselves and the food inside, and even then he only arched an eyebrow at Kirk and waited in pointed silence.
“No,” Kirk sighed, after a few seconds. “Or, well, it did, but I was pretty sure whatever you'd add was going to point out what a stupendously bad idea it was.”
“It needed to be said,” Chris replied. Something dimmed in the blue eyes watching him, just a flash and then the shutters came down, so Chris might have been looking at a stranger for all that Kirk still had an arm around him. “But that doesn't mean it would have been the final answer.”
“And now?” Kirk didn't so much ask the question as breathe it, but there was no space between them, and Chris thought he might have heard it even if Kirk just thought it.
“It's still a spectacularly bad idea,” Chris said, just as quietly. It was still easier than he'd imagined to add, “And that's still not where it ends.”
“Good,” Kirk said, tilting his head slightly, enough that it was simple for Chris to lean in a little more and meet him straight up in a kiss that was careful and hesitant and tentative, none of the things Jim Kirk was known for. Chris would have left it like that, had left it like that, had eased back a fraction, but then Jim's breath caught, all but imperceptible, as though he'd stopped everything but the first stutter in his breathing, and Chris had to have more. Jim didn't seem to object.
It was still a careful kiss, though, but Chris thought that was less because neither of them wanted to make another misstep and more because both of them were determined not to miss a thing, not the way Jim's breath hissed in when Chris nipped at his bottom lip, nor the shudder Chris had no hope of containing from the second Jim found the spot under Chris's jaw.
“Is this where it ends?” Jim said, some indeterminate amount of time later, when they stopped to breathe, Chris's back to the wall and his hands digging hard into slim hips, fingers splayed up under the loose T-shirt Jim wore, skin to skin like an electric circuit being completed. Jim said it as though it was a joke, and Chris would have answered it that way but for the thread of something needy and wanting that was running under every touch, every breath.
“No,” Chris said, instead. “Still not a good idea, but...”
“Yeah.” Jim leaned in so Chris could get his mouth on him again, tilting his head back in a clear invitation that Chris had no intention of ignoring. “Yeah,” Jim repeated, more a groan than a word, and Chris could acknowledge that this was something he wanted, something he'd been wanting, and he wasn't going to let it go this time.
“One thing,” Chris managed to say, for once not caring how he sounded, not giving a damn that he was breathless and nearly shaking. Jim made an inquisitive sound, one that was just as strung-out as Chris felt himself, and that was why Chris didn't care. Whatever the hell this was, it wasn't just him teetering on the edge of control, and that was enough to disrupt the fine balance he was clinging to. Jim met him halfway, and, God, Chris couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted something as much as he wanted this, wanted Jim.
“What?” Jim asked, tearing his mouth away from Chris's, and gasping in air like he'd forgotten he needed it to live. He didn't give Chris a chance to answer, though, only came back for more, like he needed Chris's mouth, too. “What one thing?”
“We are not doing this on the floor,” Chris said in a rush, in the brief split-second when his mouth wasn't actively engaged.
“Classy.” Jim hissed as Chris bit down on the curve of his jaw.
“Not on the floor,” Chris repeated. He mouthed over the mark he'd left, tasted that small bit of skin, and Jim shivered against him. “Bed. Now.”
“Not arguing,” Jim breathed, maneuvering carefully away from the wall and out of the kitchen. Chris murmured a few brief directions, but otherwise trusted that they'd get to his bedroom eventually, and allowed himself to indulge in the taste and feel of the body hard against him, a luxury he hadn't enjoyed in longer than he cared to remember.
It was a simple trip down a hall; even moving as slowly as they were, with every step forward countered by one that staggered sideways, or backwards as they lost their momentum, it didn't take long before they were in the bedroom. Jim's coat hit the floor one step inside the room, and Chris's tunic was unbuttoned and half off before they took another. Chris managed to make it to the bed before his legs finally gave out, but it wasn't until they got to Jim's boots that they really hit a snag.
“I'm not exactly up on the latest trends, but those would appear to be poor planning on your part,” Chris said, arching an eyebrow in response to Jim's muttered curses as he fought with the laces. “I thought Command Track at the Academy was all about assessing the situation.”
“Hey,” Jim said. “These are classics, and I had a plan, but anybody who tells you he was planning for this“--he gestured around the room, and then went back to the boots--”to happen based on where we started is such a liar.”
“I'm fairly sure I don't really want to know,” Chris said, “but... you actually had a plan?”
“Well, okay, I had a vague idea that you might not shoot me if I had food when I showed up, and then I could maybe salvage some shred of a working relationship--yes,” Jim hissed, as he finally got the laces unknotted and toed the boots off. “You know, the one I'd convinced myself was the only thing you had in mind before I was an idiot and read more into you making sure I didn't trash your girl--” He stopped with his shirt halfway over his head. “I, uh, never really thanked you for pushing the idea of me getting the Enterprise, but yeah, I know you had a lot to do with it.” He pulled the shirt the rest of the way over his head and then held it bunched up in front of him. “I know she was yours--I swear I get that, and--we appreciate her every single day we're out there.”
“You're welcome,” Chris said, not a little bemused at how easily they were sliding between making out like a couple of horny teenagers and casual conversation like an old, married couple. “You earned her. And,” he sighed, “it's been pointed out to me on occasion that my default strategy in life is to ignore what I can't resolve, but I don't generally spend quite that much time with my junior officers.”
“Logically--” Jim stopped and rolled his eyes, as though he'd heard that word a thousand times already, which, knowing Spock, Chris didn't doubt. “Yeah, I mean, I did know that, but half the Admiralty still wants my head, so I wasn't sure if you weren't just doing damage control. It wouldn't take much for them to blow.”
“No,” Chris admitted. “It wouldn't.” He looked at Jim standing there in front of him, no shirt, only jeans, bare feet curling a little at the cool wood floor. “You're sure about this?” Chris made himself ask. “Like you said, it wouldn't take much to set them off.”
“Hell, yeah, I'm sure.” Jim thumbed open the button on his jeans, pushing them over his hips with a quick, decisive motion, and then he was naked and crawling up onto the bed to stretch out next to where Chris was sitting on the edge. “And you're falling behind here.”
Chris had draped his tunic over the chair next to the bed, and he'd taken care of his own boots and socks, which just left him his regulation pants and T-shirt to go. He reached back and pulled the shirt over his head, but then froze as a light, sure touch traced down his back, not quite over his spine, but along where they'd started the incisions in the first rough-and-ready surgeries that had taken place on the Enterprise.
“Bones said they had to practically cut you in half to get at the actual slugs,” Jim said quietly. Chris heard a lot of things in his voice, but not pity. He was an expert in hearing that, and it was the one thing he hadn't figured out how to deal with.
“Dermal regen got most of the scarring,” Chris said. “The rest of it is fading.” He didn't add that he almost didn't mind carrying the physical evidence of those days; it made it so he couldn't forget that there were things out there that were beyond his control, things that nobody could control. It made his own lack a little more bearable.
Jim moved closer and replaced the light touch of his fingertips with an equally light brush of his mouth, and Chris might as well have forgotten how to breathe. He fumbled at the buttons on his uniform pants for a ridiculous length of time, until Jim snaked an arm around his waist to help, and they somehow managed to get the pants, the last of their clothing, out of the way.
Jim pressed close behind him, his mouth on the curve of Chris's neck, his hands roaming freely, tracing long, lazy patterns over Chris's thighs and chest and belly, until Chris was almost light-headed from the touches.
“Fuck,” Jim whispered into Chris's skin. “I can't--you don't know how much I want this.”
“Show me,” Chris said, leaning back so he could find Jim's mouth. The angle was awkward and difficult, and it didn't matter at all. Chris skimmed his hands over any part of Jim he could reach, greedy and demanding, wanting to know every place that made Jim catch his breath, every place that made him shudder.
“Fuck,” Jim groaned as Chris took his time and worked a bruise into his collarbone, just low enough to be covered by a T-shirt, but dark enough that they both knew it would be there for a week. Every time he showered, every time he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he'd see where Chris had marked him. “More,” he said, and Chris was happy to oblige.
If Chris had ever thought of this, he would have assumed they'd be tearing at each other like animals, but this--this was slow and unhurried, each of them taking their time and finding what made the other crazy. Chris added bruises along the smooth skin of Jim's hip and high on the inside of his thigh. Jim spent an unconscionably long time teasing Chris's nipples to hypersensitive points of pleasure-pain, and then an equally long time tongue-fucking his navel. When they finally gave in and pressed together, not a whisper of space between them from shoulders to thighs, Chris could barely breathe for the pleasure. He worked a hand between them, circled both their cocks and stroked them roughly; Jim left bruises of his own, greedy grasping marks from his hands refusing to let go of Chris's hips, his thighs, his ass. He rocked them together in a frantic rhythm, groaning into Chris's mouth as his hold tightened at the base of their cocks and forced their climaxes back so they could start again.
He did it that way again, and once more, but the third time through Jim rolled them and forced the issue, grinding down on Chris with a punishing rhythm, and then they were tearing at each other like animals, teeth and nails and back to teeth again, until Jim was begging, words flying out of him with a wild ferocity that set Chris off, too.
“Do it,” Jim gasped. “Do it, fuck, please. Fuck, I want to come on you, don't make me wait--”
“Come on,” Chris growled, but not letting up on the pressure. “Come through it, give it to me, come for me.”
He tightened his hand deliberately, almost cruelly, and bit once more at the bruise he'd already left, worrying at it, and Jim went rigid on top of him, bucking and grinding and almost sobbing with his release. At the first slick of hot fluid, Chris followed, coming hard, every nerve tightening and his vision whiting out around the edges so that all he could see was the blue of Jim's eyes right there with him.
Epilogue