NOËL NOËL
James Kirk strode past the room where the Science Lab Christmas party
would later be held. He had much on his mind and not many
answers
as of yet. There would be fourteen crew replacements to make
during this overhaul, including a First Officer and CMO.
Piper's
resignation had taken him utterly by surprise. And who knew
what
other structural damage had been done to his ship during their contact
with the galactic barrier. That sort of energy field was a
complete unknown. Spock and his people would be analyzing the
data for weeks. If you asked him, none of his crew, or
potential
crew, had time for a Christmas party.
But Starbase 38's Science Lab's Christmas blowout was famous across
four sectors. Or was that 'infamous'? So most of
his people
would be there and he would have to put in an appearance, at least for
show. That was the farthest thing from his mind, however, at
that
moment when Admiral Y'Pareth stopped him in the hall.
"Talk to you a minute, Jim." It was not a question.
The Admiral had that way about him.
"Don't we have a meeting an hour?" Jim asked.
"I wanted to talk to you before then. Off the
record. About
why you won't be getting the First Officer you requested."
And Y'Pareth pulled him aside and into the nearest doorway.
It
was the ballroom. A few enlisted men milled around hanging
decorations. The party was to begin in just over two hours.
"Lieutenant Spock's report says that he advised you to consider
Mitchell a casualty while the situation was still containable."
"It was contained, " Jim lipped tightly
"Lieutenant Spock says that you put sentiment before responsibility."
"Sentiment *is* my responsibility, otherwise what are we out here for?"
Pause.
"You and Gary were...close, weren't you, Jim? For a very long
time."
Then Jim snapped. "What the hell are you implying? -- Sir."
Deep space was a different game from any other. There were
few
rules for both the players and the field were forever changing and
unknowable. But the one Starfleet constant was the discipline
of
the chain of command. And two key links could not share a
common
weakness. Intimacy between command crewmembers was
forbidden. Checks and balances must be maintained.
Every
captain, every commander understood and respected that. Or
else
he did not keep that position for long.
And Jim Kirk was the finest captain Starfleet had seen in a very long
time. And he intended to stay that way.
"What the hell are you implying?--Sir." Jim didn't even try
to subdue the scathing in his voice.
Y'Pareth didn't flinch. "That this could have been prevented."
Jim's voice was deadly soft. It was the voice he used staring
down the barrel of a disruptor. "If you have an accusation to
make, Admiral, I would just as soon that you made it on the
record. Court-martial me if you think I deserve it, so I can
answer it to our superiors. I have nothing to be ashamed of."
"Easy, Jim. I wasn't suggesting anything out of
line. No
one gets court-martialed for caring too much. I--We just want
to
prevent that in the future."
"How can someone--care too much?"
"He can't. And we want it to stay that way. That's
what
makes Starfleet the great humanistic force that it is. But it
can
be counterbalanced. By the right First Officer. And
we
don't feel that Pencarlton is the right one for you."
Perhaps his wounded pride had gotten in the way, but even then Kirk
hadn't seen it coming.
"Lieutenant Spock is long overdue for promotion. We think
he's
practically perfect for you. He knows you inside and out
already
and won't let emotion stand in his way of what's best for the
Enterprise. Or even the big picture."
It hit him out of the blue like a gut punch. But there was
nothing he could say. Y'Pareth was completely, absolutely and
utterly right. Spock was the best man for the
job.
Spock was the best man for him. And there was
nothing Jim
wanted more than what was best for the Enterprise.
Through it tore him almost in two.
But she won out. She always did.
He had gone to Spock's quarters right afterwards, already knowing how
the conversation would proceed. In a way it had seemed
senseless
to even have it. But some little part of him had had to try.
"So, you've been approached?" he had said.
"Indeed."
"Is that all you have to say?" Jim spat out bitterly.
"Unless you propose to place personal privilege above duty, obligation
and the greater weal, yes."
"You could decline. They can't force you to take on a second
position."
"In absence of providing a legitimate professional reason for refusing
an assignment, probability is 783 to 1 that I would be demoted to a
less desirable posting--off the Enterprise."
Jim made a face. "You could lie. Say the work load
would be unfeasible."
An eyebrow shot up.
"I know." Jim sighed. "But I don't have to like it."
"It is logical. And in very many ways, desirable.
There is
little more I could ask for than to serve at your side as your
protector, and as the one to whom you turn first."
Jim found a small smile somewhere. "Little else?"
Spock returned the look. "Indeed, only one thing that I can
think of."
And then they had kissed. For the last time.
***********
Watching the entrance to Spock's cabin from the corner of her eye,
Christine saw the captain go in again. In fact, she had seen
a
lot of little things recently. She didn't know what it meant,
but
she was certain that it could not be good. Something needed
to be
done. She just needed a little more time to get through
Spock's
thick Vulcan skull. Perhaps the captain needed a woman.
She entered her own cabin and sat down at the desk. She
removed
the computer diskette on advanced Vulcan language self-study and keyed
up the roster of crewwomen on base awaiting assignment. One
name
in particular caught her eye.
Doctor Helen Noël, MD: subspecialty, psychiatry. She
had met
her once at a conference once on Khyngyrts IX. She had been
just
Kirk's type. Blonde at the time--although those things
change--pretty, confident and not too tall. And most
interestingly, she had spent some time in penology. That
often
said interesting things about a person's psyche.
After all, Dr. Dehner was going to have to be replaced with
someone. Why not give it a try?
She hit a comm link. "Uhura, it's Christine. I need
a ship
to shore channel." She leaned on her elbow and filed her
nails
waiting for the line to open up. It did. She began
to talk.
"Starbase medical. Doctor Helen Noël,
please." Eventually a familiar voice answered.
"Doctor Noël? It's Christine Chapel. I
don't know if
you remember me. We met at a bioethics convention on
Khyngyrts
IX. I'm head nurse on the Enterprise now. I don't
know if
you've been informed, but we're in port to fill some positions
including CMO and psychiatry. Of course, there are any number
of
qualified candidates, but camaraderie is one of the key concerns on
deep-space assignments. I saw your name and just thought that
you
and our captain would hit it off so well that I was just wondering, how
would you like to come to a Christmas party?
"Good! I would really like for you two to hit it off, so I
was wondering, is there anything I can do to help?"
There was a little pause. Then she answered, "Apricot or
Saurian, usually."
And again. This time she wasn't sure she had heard
correctly. "Pardon me?
"No, he has no allergies. Why do you ask? Don't
tell me you're going to bring him flowers."
She listened, impressed with the woman's ingenuity.
"Okay, if there's anything else let me know. Believe me, I
want this to work as much as you do. Maybe even more."
Christine smiled and closed the channel. She pulled out her
advanced Vulcan study guide again and began to read with renewed
determination.
******
Helen Noël clicked off the computer psych profile of her
quarry
and reviewed her wardrobe choices. At first she looked at the
red
barely-there dress and the matching come-fuck-me heels, but she quickly
cast them aside. They would surely get her noticed, but they
wouldn't get her respect. And respect would be essential to
anything more than a fling.
Christine's call had had its points of interest. The
psychiatry
posting was certainly right up her alley and the power of the
possibilities in coupling with a starship captain were absolutely
staggering. Far more than in the penal system, at least since
all
the recent reforms.
No she needed to look at this for the long haul. She changed
into
a standard medical unitard and regarded herself in the
mirror.
Neat. Professional. Efficient.
She reached up and let one round, brown curl fall soft along the lines
of her neck. Feminine. Delicate. Vulnerable. Much
better.
With a smile and a swivel of her hips, she swung out of the room and
down the hall to the party.
**********
They all three converged by the punchbowl. Helen watched from
a
safe distance away as he lifted his cup, which Christine politely
refilled for him. As he turned back around to survey the
crowd,
she wandered over for a little punch for herself.
Unfortunately,
she bumped his arm, just a little.
He took in her medical uniform. "Excuse me, Nurse--?"
"It's Doctor, actually, but you can call me Helen." She
extended her hand.
He took it and kissed it graciously. "Doctor Helen--?"
She smiled artfully and rolled her eyes around at the lavish seasonal
decorations. "Oh, we'd best just make it 'Helen'.
You
wouldn't believe me if I tried to tell you my last name."
"Just Helen, then. I'm Jim Kirk."
"I know."
He looked at her oddly over the rim of his cup.
"You're quite famous, Captain."
"Not too famous to be trusted with a pretty lady, I hope."
"Quite the contrary, in fact." She smiled at him and swirled
her punch cup suggestively in her palm.
He took her by the arm. They laughed. They
danced. He talked about the stars.
And Christine served him several more cups of punch.
His movements became free and unguarded. His face flushed and
his
laughter became loose and effusive. He moved through the
crowd,
in love with the world. She clung tenaciously to his arm. Finally in a
quiet moment she took her chance and whispered, "Would you like to go
to my room?"
He stopped cold.
"I have a room upstairs," she repeated to his wooden form.
He worked his characteristic smile back onto his face and made his body
relax again. "So do I. Come on, let me show
you." He
took her by the elbow and maneuvered her out of the French doors, away
from the turbo lift and on to the flagstone balcony.
She stopped to pour him a last, large drink.
It was a beautiful temperate night in the local climate. Just
a
slight breeze blew pleasantly over their skin. The twin moons shone
down on the reflecting pond below and the tinkle of the water splashing
back down from the fountains played musically in the air.
She looked down from the balcony, as most people will do.
He looked up at the sky.
The Enterprise could be seen above, not quite in geosynchronous
orbit. He pointed up to her and swallowed half of his punch
in
one swallow.
"I'm taken," he said. "There is my room and my mistress all
in one. And I'm afraid she's the possessive type."
"But a little cold under the sheets, no doubt," said Helen.
"I hadn't noticed," said Jim. He polished off most of the
rest of his punch in a second gulp.
She sidled closer to him. Suddenly, he spoke. His
words ran
slurred together and he looked past her somewhere far beyond her
shoulder. If he hadn't used her name, she might have wondered
if
he spoke to someone else altogether.
"Doctor--Helen, you're a psychiatrist, right? So maybe you
can
tell me, why is it that two people who love each other so much can't be
together just because of some silly rule. Who is Starfleet to
say
who can and who can't be with who?" He looked back to her
helplessly and he blinked as if willing his eyes to focus.
But then he staggered against the railing. She reached out to
catch his arm, but he refused it and steadied himself against the cool
iron.
She studied him carefully, not entirely sure where this was
leading. "I don't know what you mean. The only rule
I know
of is the Balance of Command Power."
"That's exactly what I mean!" Jim pounded his free fist into the iron
for emphasis. "Love is the greatest power that there
is!
Who is Starfleet to try and regulate that?" He slipped again,
but
recovered his footing. The dregs of his punch sloshed over
his
dress uniform but he didn't seem to notice.
Helen rapidly tried to calculate how much he had had
altogether.
These doses weren't always predictable. Or maybe there were
other
factors. For now she would follow his lead and see where it
went.
"Well, Jim, oftentimes a First Officer must offer a contrary point of
view and frequently it must be accepted. That can be sticky
it
the two are so enmeshed that--"
"But what if that First Officer is unable to be swayed by
emotion? Even if--involved? What then?"
he challenged.
"Well, Jim, any normal human--"
"Ah-HA!" Jim slapped the rail triumphantly. "But not all
people are human, are they, Doctor?"
"Of course. Individual races are held to different standards
of
what constitutes Parlous Personal Involvement just as Deltans are held
to absolute celibacy in all Starfleet relations. Love by any
other name, and all that. But since you're Human, I thought
that
was where this discussion was heading. And the only
restriction
there is sexual intimacy between two senior officers."
"Different standards," Jim mused thoughtfully. His eyes
misted
over and he wobbled on his feet as he stared over the rail toward the
sky.
"Jim, is this a hypothetical discussion, isn't it? Or do I
need
to charge you my professional fee? I had it on good
authority that you were--looking."
He turned back around in her direction and blinked several times until
his eyes refocused on her. That trademark smile reappeared as
if
on autopilot. "Of course it is, Helen. And I'm
always--looking." He took a step towards her, his head still
reeling. He moved his mouth slowly down toward
hers. "But
as I said, she is a terribly possessive mistress."
Just then his communicator beeped. After some fumbling, Kirk
located the device. His hand was sluggish. His
mouth
worse. "Kirkhere."
Spock's clipped tones rang over the airwaves, "Captain, First Officer
Spock here. I have a disturbing incident to report.
It
appears that someone has adulterated at least your portion of the
signature beverage of tonight's festivities with an agent of
moderate CNS toxicity and disinhibition."
"What?" Jim's mind reeled. The stars were down and the
flagstone
was up. Or were they all sideways? Nothing made sense to his
addled brain.
"Come again, Mister Spock?"
An unfamiliar voice broke uninvited, gruff and determined.
"Leonard McCoy, acting CMO here, Captain. I think
that's
Vulcan for 'someone's spiked the damned punch.' Though how in
the
devil he knows that from up here, I can't figure."
Kirk grimaced, trying to make the world hold still. It was a
little easier now that he understood. But not much.
He
slumped against the balcony railing.
"First Officer Spock again, Captain. Unlike some acting
officers,
I would prefer not to discuss this over an open channel.
Permission to beam down?"
McCoy broke back in. "I'm coming too."
That was the last thing Jim heard. He didn't remember giving
his
assent, but soon he felt Spock's strong arm supporting him by the waist
as he reeled and a hypo burning into his deltoid.
He straightened into Spock's strength and slowly his mind began to
clear. The new doctor--McCoy?--was busy analyzing the punch.
"N-GABAcyetycycline. Now how in the blazes did that get in
there?" McCoy gave Jim a second hypo.
Helen took a sip from her cup. "I don't taste anything."
Jim said, "I should hope not. I have the best scientific
minds in
the Federation here under my command. If they decide to spike
a
drink, 'nothing' is exactly what you should notice." Feeling
much
better, he walked over and took the cup away.
McCoy took it away from him and scanned it. "No, Captain,
that's
not it. This cup is clean. And the rest of the
party seems
pretty quiet too." He gestured indoors and ran the scanner just to be
sure. "Someone wanted you under the influence. Now
why
would that be, I wonder?" He looked hard at Helen.
Jim blushed. "Mickies have been around as long as there have
been
glasses, Doctor. No harm, no foul. Let's just wrap
this up
and call it a night.
"Goodnight, Helen." He tipped his head to her.
"Doctor. Spock."
Helen watched as Jim draped one arm lightly around Spock's waist and
hustled them both off through the moonlight to the side of the patio to
beam up. They vanished in a golden shimmer.
As soon as she crossed back through the French doors alone, Christine
Chapel ambushed her from seemingly out of nowhere.
"So? How
did it go? You two seemed to be hitting it off pretty well in
here. What's it like making out with Captain Kirk?"
She
nudged her playfully in the side.
Helen stared thoughtfully through the glass panes at the spot where the
men had stood just moments before. "I don't know,
Christine. I think you're going to have to ask someone else."
*****
Back on the ship, it wasn't too difficult for Jim to convince McCoy to
let him go. He might even have hinted with a rueful quirk
that
had taken a little something himself to have a little more fun with the
ladies. In any event, his recovery seemed complete and
uneventful
and McCoy was far too overwhelmed with reviewing the 400 plus charts to
think much about such a rapidly resolved incident with a temporary
charge.
But Jim still had some questions. He shuffled Spock off to the briefing
room for some answers.
But the ones he got were like nothing he had anticipated.
"I felt it through our link," Spock explained.
"Our link?" Jim's face was baffled.
"Indeed. It seems that through the very intimacy of our
association we have formed a kal-i-qi mindbond spontaneously.
It
is not unheard of between--very close partners."
Jim's eyes widened. "Kal-i-qi? Isn't that the marriage bond?"
"That is not a precise translation, Captain, although the mistake is
understandable. The kal-i-qi is the first level of conjugal
union
on Vulcan, but as it was formed with neither your knowledge nor
consent, it would not be recognized as a marriage by Terran, Starfleet
or even Vulcan standards."
Jim rolled his tongue. "I see. I stand
corrected.
Well, in that case, what would the closest Standard translation from
the Vulcan word be?"
Spock conceded, "Marriage."
Jim's eyes twinkled in triumph. "Funny, I always thought that
I would be the one to do the proposing."
Spock's eyebrows disappeared into his scalp.
Jim grinned. "So you're saying that we have spontaneously
formed
a Vulcan marriage bond, but have accepted Starfleet postings that tie
us to a platonic, professional relationship? An interesting
development, wouldn't you say?"
Spock hedged. "Actually, Captain, by the letter of
the law,
we are held to Human intimacy standards. You are
entirely
Human, and I am half-Human. Thus, as a couple we are
three-quarters Human. Therefore--"
"You're saying that this is acceptable?" Jim asked incredulously.
"I am saying the issue was not raised when I was interviewed for
promotion, nor is there any reason it should be volunteered--by strict
interpretation of the regulations."
"A lie?"
"An omission. If command wishes it that way, so be it."
"So you're saying that we can be mentally--emotionally--bonded,
intimate in every way except physically and still stay within Fleet
criteria?"
"Yes, Sir."
"That's stupid."
"That's regulation."
"That might kill me," Jim said, not sure if he was entirely joking.
Spock raised his hand, fingers splayed in the middle. He
moved
eagerly over the fine bones and sinews of Jim's hand, up the arm, and
to the face and the meld points with a tenderness and a love that a
Vulcan was not supposed to feel. He touched the
meld points
reverently, almost as a benediction, a sacrifice to some part of
himself or themselves being forever left behind.
And then he entered.
Spock exploded into Jim's mind with a force that stunned him with its
sheer intensity. Would have driven him to his knees had he
not
been so loath to leave the joyous union of the meld. All
barriers
were dissolved. All burdens now shared, all troubles halved
and
all joys squared. If he had only known this before, how could
he
have ever lived without it?
So they just stood there, never and always touching and touched.
When Spock finally dropped his hand and Jim could breathe again, he
decided this might not be so bad after all.
For a while.