iamjunglekitty@yahoo.com
02-26-2008, 12:53 AM
Title: By Some Other Sea
Author: Jungle Kitty http://www.invisibleplanets.com
Posted: 2/25/08
Archive: ASC yes, others please ask
Series: TOS (pre-TMP)
Part: 3/3
Codes: Kirk/Brandt, others
Rating: [PG-13]
Summary: Brandt responds rashly to a discovery about Kirk's
past. This story is set in the time between the end of the
5YM and TMP.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to Wildcat for the countless betas
and insights, Jonk for supplying one of my favorite lines
and J Winter for early feedback and suggestions on a crucial
scene.
The Star Trek characters and universe are the property of
Paramount and Viacom. This not-for-profit piece of fan
fiction is not intended to infringe upon that. The copyright
applies only to the author's original characters and
creative content.
Feedback is welcome.
***
BY SOME OTHER SEA, part 3
COPYRIGHT Jungle Kitty 2008
At the sound of the buzzer, Brandt shook herself alert and
checked the clock. Almost 2000 hours. She'd been sitting on
the sofa, mindlessly stroking the dog's ears for over an
hour.
The dog leaped off the sofa and she followed him to the
door.
Jim? she thought, her heart in her throat. No, Jim wouldn't
ring. Would he? She checked the ID panel. Dennis. She
sighed. Why did her brother always pick the worst time to
drop in?
"Open," she muttered.
The door slid open and her brother stepped into the room,
his face partially hidden behind a huge bouquet of Kyrosian
daisies. He crushed her in a hug and handed her the flowers.
"For you, o wandering one." Then he bent to the dog and
scratched his back. "Hey, Luke! How ya been, boy?"
"Why the flowers?" she asked.
Turning on his neediest expression, he said, "I want you to
make me some soup."
"You're a two-star chef. Why would you want my soup?"
"Because everyone else is afraid to cook for me. Except the
three-star chefs and they're afraid I'll steal their
recipes." Removing his jacket, he yelled in the direction of
the bedroom, "Hey, Jim! Want some soup?"
"Jim's not here," she said and went to the kitchen, leaving
him to puzzle out the meaning of her curt response.
***
With the dog at his heels, he joined her in the kitchen and
watched her noiselessly gather the cooking utensils. Too
noiselessly, he thought.
"What kind of soup do you want?" she asked.
"Cream of anything." He took a dog treat out of his pocket
and offered it to Luke, who gobbled it eagerly. "Sorry, boy,
that's it," he said as the dog stared at him, looking as
pathetically humble as Oliver Twist. Settling onto the
kitchen stool, Dennis asked, "What's going on here?"
"I'm making soup." She began collecting the ingredients from
the chiller.
"Forget the soup. Jim's not here and you're in a snit. I
assume the two are connected. So why don't you tell me about
it, I'll make you see how silly the whole thing is, and then
I'll duck out before he comes back so you can make up with
him."
"I'd rather make soup."
"All right. Make soup."
He watched in silence as she prepped the vegetables, mixed
the roux, combined the two and began stirring. After nearly
a full minute of listening to the gentle swish of the ladle,
he heard her say quietly, "I went to the moon last night."
"Is that a metaphor for something I'd rather not know about
my sister?"
"No. I visited Dr. Brandt."
He nearly fell off the stool. "You saw Dad? Voluntarily?"
Eyes flashing, she snapped, "I hate it when you call him
that."
"Sorry. What did you and 'Dr. Brandt' talk about?"
She went back to stirring the soup.
"It may be over between Jim and me and I thought it had
something to do with Dr. Brandt. He said it wasn't his fault
so I broke his nose and left."
"You broke his nose?" Dennis repeated, unable to contain his
delight.
"I'm not proud of that, Dennis."
"You should be."
"It was a childish thing to do."
"You're his child. I think you're entitled." He slid off the
stool, put his hands on her shoulders and shook her
affectionately. "Anyway, I meant you should be proud of your
self-control. I don't think I could have stopped at his
nose."
A ghost of a smile crept across her face.
"It felt good, didn't it?" he asked. "Tell me it felt good."
She pressed her lips together, holding back her response
until he defeated her by wagging his eyebrows.
"Yes, it felt good," she conceded.
Rubbing his palms together, he returned to the stool.
"So what does punching the old man's lights out have to do
with you and Jim?"
Another long swishing of the soup spoon.
"Dennis, why haven't you ever been in a serious
relationship?"
"Oh, we're up to that, are we? Dad--I mean Dr. Brandt and
Mom weren't around so you and I are doomed to sad, lonely,
bitter lives, relieved only by soup and the occasional nose-
breaking. Is that it?"
"More or less."
"You don't have to play it that way, Suzanne."
"Don't I? Dennis, I did something terrible and--"
"What did you do?"
Swiiiiiiiiiish...
"I cheated. And Jim found out."
"I don't suppose there's any chance you're talking about a
poker game."
She shook her head.
"****, Suzanne," he muttered.
"Yes. ****, Suzanne."
"Why?"
"I've been asking myself that ever since it happened. I was
so angry at Jim and confused and--I just acted without
thinking. Well, no, I did think but I didn't really and--"
She stopped abruptly. "I thought he had acted like Dr.
Brandt. I thought I wanted out because of it."
"Do you?"
"No."
"Maybe Jim feels the same way."
"And maybe he's already decided it's over."
"There's only one way to find out. Tell him what you just
told me--you realize you were actually trying to hurt the
old man and now that you've broken his nose, it'll never
happen again." He watched her mull that over. "It's the
truth, isn't it?"
She nodded.
"I think Jim respects the truth. And if he did something
that made you that angry, he's probably figured out that he
isn't entirely blameless. By the way, what did he do?"
"He has a son. The boy is fourteen and Jim has never met
him."
He let out a low whistle. "I have to admit that on the
surface, it does sound like--"
"Jim stays away because the mother wants it that way but I
didn't know that until it was too late."
Dennis threw his arms open wide in exasperation. "Are the
lives of everyone in Starfleet this complicated? Is it the
space travel or the food or--"
"Please don't joke about it."
"All right." He flopped down on the floor and addressed the
dog. "What do you think, Luke? Hmmm? Yes, I think you're
right." He looked up at Suzanne. "The way we see it, Jim's a
dope and you're a slut. Sounds like a match made in heaven."
"Dennis--"
"It is! You each have something to forgive and something to
be forgiven."
Scrape, scrape, scrape went the ladle.
"If you're so smart, why haven't you settled down in the
perfect relationship?" she asked.
Smiling, he got up and as he closed his arms around her, he
felt her lean wearily into his embrace.
"Because I want a girl just like the girl who punched out
dear old dad." When he heard a snort of reluctant laughter,
he lifted himself onto the counter and grinned malevolently.
"Now tell me--was there blood? Did you hear it crunch?"
***
A few hours after midnight, no closer to sleep than she'd
been an hour earlier or an hour before that, Brandt decided
that maybe some fresh air would help. As she was pulling on
the warm clothes she usually wore for a morning run, she
felt the dog's snout anxiously nudging the back of her knee.
She knelt down and answered his quizzical expression in a
soothing voice.
"I know it's too early. You stay here. This is one of those
dopey human things."
After sharing a cheek-to-cheek snuffle, Luke crawled up onto
the bed and claimed the space she'd vacated. Then she left
the apartment, wishing that her own priorities were as
easily sorted out.
The night was chilly and she stopped at the top of the
steps. Maybe she should go back inside and make a cup of tea
instead. Down the street, a couple came out of the jazz
club, linked arms and laughed softly as they strolled away.
She walked toward the club, imagining herself sitting at the
bar and listening to Breju sing. A lullaby? Doubtful.
She hesitated outside the door. The few times she'd gone
into Swampback's alone, the bartender had always asked about
Jim. The door swung open and she stepped aside to let
another couple pass. Breju's voice, low and yearning,
followed them out onto the street.
"...So the poor love of fools and blind I've proved you,
For, foul or lovely, it was a fool that loved you..."
Brandt walked away quickly. Drunken wallowing set to a
gentle syncopation was one dopey human thing she wasn't
going to do that night. Rounding the corner, she saw the
crosstown metro setting down at the curb. She ran and jumped
aboard just as it lifted a few inches into the air to
continue its frictionless journey to the Outer Sunset
district. She settled into a seat near the back, noting that
the four other passengers were all dozing. She leaned her
head against the window and watched the buildings zoom by,
barely aware of the bus starting and stopping as it
zigzagged through the streets, making its way to the ocean.
When it set down with a sigh of particular finality, she
shook herself back to life as a mechanized voice announced,
"Ulloa and Great Highway. Last stop."
She stepped down to the pavement and found herself alone on
the street that marked the westernmost extent of the city.
She hadn't been to this part of town very often and usually
there was too much noise to hear anything but traffic, but
now she could hear the ocean crashing against the shore.
Gazing across the deserted street, she remembered the first
time she'd seen what lay just over the modest ridge on the
other side.
When the Enterprise had returned to Earth, Uhura had rented
a house within a few blocks of where Brandt now stood.
Accompanying Jim to the housewarming party, she had wondered
why Nyota had chosen to live somewhere so remote.
The neighborhood was characteristic of San Francisco's
fascination with its own past. Short, stuccoed houses lined
the eastern side of the street, cozying up against each
other and crowding the sidewalk. The colors varied wildly
from building to building, as did the hodgepodge of foliage,
doorways, shutters and awnings. Brandt would have found the
street rather charming if not for the aura of cheerful
smugness. But almost every house had one undeniably enviable
feature--a floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall window fronting
the second story.
She and Jim had arrived just as the setting sun was turning
the line of windows into a multi-faceted, golden looking-
glass. She had imagined that the view from within would be
beautiful, for each of those outmoded, conceited little
houses faced the ocean.
Once inside, they'd added their coats to the pile on a bench
near the doorway and after moving through the crowded
downstairs rooms in which neither of them recognized anyone,
she began to wonder if they were at the wrong party.
Although they were wearing civvies, something must have
given them away, because a man emerging from the kitchen
took one look at them and said, "I think all the Enterprise
people are upstairs."
"I guess I'm an Enterprise person tonight," she said to Jim.
"Honorary," he replied.
At the top of the stairs, she scanned the room and saw
several other officers who were presumably also passing for
'Enterprise people.' As she turned toward the window, she
expected to be blinded by the sun but it had dipped behind
the fog layer. She heard Leonard McCoy call, "Jim! Suzanne!"
and was aware of Jim returning the greeting but she moved
right past the doctor, almost hypnotized by the vista.
Across the street, the citizens of San Francisco had wisely
decided to let nature have her way. There were no houses,
stores or office buildings, no artificially neat rows of
trees, no paved squares sprouting brightly colored
recreational apparatus. In short, at the edge of one of the
most civilized cities on the planet, there was no sign of
civilization at all.
The noise of the party seemed to fade as she stared at the
tall grasses flapping lazily in the wind, the fat ribbon of
cottony fog marking the horizon, and the graceful lavender
and rose sky above. Shining between the grass and the fog,
the Pacific Ocean was nearly at rest, for once in accord
with its name. Its dark waters were flecked with gold and
the white-capped waves appeared to have abandoned their
usual daredevil pastimes for a frisky game of hide-and-seek.
"That's why I took this place," Nyota said quietly as she
came up beside her. "After all these years on the
Enterprise, I wanted a view. I think it's downright criminal
to send people into space and not let them see the beauty of
it."
"Didn't the early Terran astronauts say something similar?"
"Yes. They said they felt like spam in a can and they kept
on saying it until someone gave them a porthole. They had a
view. Now so do I."
"Is it always this peaceful?"
Nyota's throaty chuckle had seemed to ripple with the
playful roll of the waves. "Hardly ever. To be honest, it's
fogged in more often than not. And it can get pretty wild
out there. But it's always *something.*"
Thinking back, Brandt was startled to realize that less than
three years had passed since that night. She remembered her
surprise as the evening wore on and she realized that,
despite the company of Starfleet personnel, neither she nor
Jim was exhibiting the usual careful awareness of the
presence of their superiors or subordinates. For once, they
were outside the org chart. That freedom had been more
intoxicating than the lethal punch that Nyota had served
with a cheerful "Sugar, you don't want to know. Just drink
up and take a detox when you get home."
That had been a time to savor, with the past behind them,
the future unhurried and unthreatening, and the present a
comfortable limbo. Jim hadn't yet been promoted, they were
living in an apartment that both of them still regarded as
hers, and each was momentarily satisfied to wait, she for
the end of Komack's trial and he for a cue from Nogura. It
had been quite unlike their earlier encounters in which
goodbye had always come hard on the heels of hello. In their
newfound togetherness, each tomorrow flowed smoothly into
the next and neither had thought that a casual decision to
live together until everything was sorted out would stretch
into a long-term arrangement that would eventually need some
sorting out of its own. They'd relaxed into a happy oblivion
in which every event, from the reassuring kiss at the
Enterprise's homecoming reception to the simple intimacy of
an evening walk with the dog, seemed to encourage them to
expect a forever filled with such moments. Even the view
from Nyota's window had been a conspirator in the seduction
that had lulled Suzanne into a false sense of security about
so many things.
Crossing the street, she told herself that such fanciful
thinking was just, well, fanciful. She couldn't have been
foolish enough to think that a calm sea held a special
promise, could she? It was simply her imagination taking
advantage of her momentary muddle-headedness. Just one more
dopey human thing.
As she started up the slope, the tall grass whipped against
her legs and she heard the ocean rumbling ominously.
Fanciful or not, as she leaned into the stinging wind, she
couldn't help wondering what she would find on the downward
side.
For one thing, very loose sand. She more or less slid down
the few feet to the beach. For another, darkness. When a
glance upward revealed no stars and only a ghost of a moon
glimmering faintly through the clouds, she wished she had
brought a light. Without one, she wasn't likely to have any
view of the ocean at all unless she stumbled into it or a
sleeper wave grabbed her and--
This was by far the dopiest human thing she'd done all
night.
She clambered back up the ridge, her feet slipping in the
sand. When she reached the top, she stopped and looked at
the row of houses.
All the upper windows were dark but here and there, a light
shone through a small doorway window. There was a lamp
glowing on a porch up the street and she wondered about the
person who had left it on. She imagined a woman on the other
side of town, dancing to the all-night music at the pier,
too warm in her lover's arms to feel the cold. Perhaps they
weren't lovers yet. Perhaps later they would stand under the
porch light deciding if that was going to change tonight. Or
perhaps it already had. Even now, they might be upstairs
tugging at each other's clothing, the porch light forgotten
in a flurry of hungry kisses. They could be making love at
this very moment, crying out with delight at the newness of
each other's bodies.
Or maybe they weren't new to each other at all, maybe they'd
been together for years. Maybe the light was left on for a
teenager who was going to catch hell in the morning but for
now, his parents were sleeping side by side, too used to
each other to mind the snoring and the shared blanket and
the fact that the mister couldn't sleep with the window
closed, which was absolutely ridiculous, how had he slept
all those nights in the recycled air of a starship?
Or maybe there was no mister and the house's sole occupant
had left the light on because she knew she could expect no
other welcome.
Brandt turned away from the houses that seemed to grow more
self-satisfied with each moment. She sank to the ground,
letting the sharp blades of grass stab at her face. Staring
out toward the unseen ocean, she remembered Dennis's words.
'You don't have to play it that way, Suzanne.'
Could it really be as simple as he had proposed? How would
Jim react if she said, "I'm sorry you got in the way of my
anger. I know now that it wasn't directed at you"?
***
She didn't realize how long she had sat playing various
scenarios in her head until she saw her own shadow on the
sand before her. Had she slept at all? The grass beside her
was crushed as if she'd lain there. The beach was completely
fogged in, just as Nyota had said. A few misty tendrils
reached towards her and she brushed them away. The gesture
was as ineffectual as her cold vigil had been. She'd found
no answers although she'd examined every possibility she
could think of. She simply had no idea how Jim would respond
to any explanation, no matter how painfully honest. It
wasn't because she didn't know him--she was sharply aware of
the constancy she'd forgotten while blinded by hurt and
anger--but she was beginning to understand how little she
knew of herself.
She stood, groaning against the stiffness in her joints. As
she turned her back on the sea, she saw the sun barely
visible over the rooftops and realized there was one
possibility she hadn't yet considered.
What if Jim refused to hear anything she had to say? What if
her last chance had come and gone? What if--
With the sound of the ocean at her back, she stared into the
deepening fog and tried to imagine what it would be like to
hear him say, "Goodbye."
[The End]
Note: The lyrics Brandt hears coming from the jazz club are
from the following sonnet by Rupert Brooke.
He Wonders Whether to Praise or to Blame Her
I have peace to weigh your worth, now all is over,
But if to praise or blame you, cannot say.
For, who decries the loved, decries the lover;
Yet what man lauds the thing he's thrown away?
Be you, in truth, this dull, slight, cloudy naught,
The more fool I, so great a fool to adore;
But if you're that high goddess once I thought,
The more your godhead is, I lose the more.
Dear fool, pity the fool who thought you clever!
Dear wisdom, do not mock the fool that missed you!
Most fair, -- the blind has lost your face for ever!
Most foul, -- how could I see you while I kissed you?
So...the poor love of fools and blind I've proved you,
For, foul or lovely, 'twas a fool that loved you.
Rupert Brooke, 1913
Author: Jungle Kitty http://www.invisibleplanets.com
Posted: 2/25/08
Archive: ASC yes, others please ask
Series: TOS (pre-TMP)
Part: 3/3
Codes: Kirk/Brandt, others
Rating: [PG-13]
Summary: Brandt responds rashly to a discovery about Kirk's
past. This story is set in the time between the end of the
5YM and TMP.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to Wildcat for the countless betas
and insights, Jonk for supplying one of my favorite lines
and J Winter for early feedback and suggestions on a crucial
scene.
The Star Trek characters and universe are the property of
Paramount and Viacom. This not-for-profit piece of fan
fiction is not intended to infringe upon that. The copyright
applies only to the author's original characters and
creative content.
Feedback is welcome.
***
BY SOME OTHER SEA, part 3
COPYRIGHT Jungle Kitty 2008
At the sound of the buzzer, Brandt shook herself alert and
checked the clock. Almost 2000 hours. She'd been sitting on
the sofa, mindlessly stroking the dog's ears for over an
hour.
The dog leaped off the sofa and she followed him to the
door.
Jim? she thought, her heart in her throat. No, Jim wouldn't
ring. Would he? She checked the ID panel. Dennis. She
sighed. Why did her brother always pick the worst time to
drop in?
"Open," she muttered.
The door slid open and her brother stepped into the room,
his face partially hidden behind a huge bouquet of Kyrosian
daisies. He crushed her in a hug and handed her the flowers.
"For you, o wandering one." Then he bent to the dog and
scratched his back. "Hey, Luke! How ya been, boy?"
"Why the flowers?" she asked.
Turning on his neediest expression, he said, "I want you to
make me some soup."
"You're a two-star chef. Why would you want my soup?"
"Because everyone else is afraid to cook for me. Except the
three-star chefs and they're afraid I'll steal their
recipes." Removing his jacket, he yelled in the direction of
the bedroom, "Hey, Jim! Want some soup?"
"Jim's not here," she said and went to the kitchen, leaving
him to puzzle out the meaning of her curt response.
***
With the dog at his heels, he joined her in the kitchen and
watched her noiselessly gather the cooking utensils. Too
noiselessly, he thought.
"What kind of soup do you want?" she asked.
"Cream of anything." He took a dog treat out of his pocket
and offered it to Luke, who gobbled it eagerly. "Sorry, boy,
that's it," he said as the dog stared at him, looking as
pathetically humble as Oliver Twist. Settling onto the
kitchen stool, Dennis asked, "What's going on here?"
"I'm making soup." She began collecting the ingredients from
the chiller.
"Forget the soup. Jim's not here and you're in a snit. I
assume the two are connected. So why don't you tell me about
it, I'll make you see how silly the whole thing is, and then
I'll duck out before he comes back so you can make up with
him."
"I'd rather make soup."
"All right. Make soup."
He watched in silence as she prepped the vegetables, mixed
the roux, combined the two and began stirring. After nearly
a full minute of listening to the gentle swish of the ladle,
he heard her say quietly, "I went to the moon last night."
"Is that a metaphor for something I'd rather not know about
my sister?"
"No. I visited Dr. Brandt."
He nearly fell off the stool. "You saw Dad? Voluntarily?"
Eyes flashing, she snapped, "I hate it when you call him
that."
"Sorry. What did you and 'Dr. Brandt' talk about?"
She went back to stirring the soup.
"It may be over between Jim and me and I thought it had
something to do with Dr. Brandt. He said it wasn't his fault
so I broke his nose and left."
"You broke his nose?" Dennis repeated, unable to contain his
delight.
"I'm not proud of that, Dennis."
"You should be."
"It was a childish thing to do."
"You're his child. I think you're entitled." He slid off the
stool, put his hands on her shoulders and shook her
affectionately. "Anyway, I meant you should be proud of your
self-control. I don't think I could have stopped at his
nose."
A ghost of a smile crept across her face.
"It felt good, didn't it?" he asked. "Tell me it felt good."
She pressed her lips together, holding back her response
until he defeated her by wagging his eyebrows.
"Yes, it felt good," she conceded.
Rubbing his palms together, he returned to the stool.
"So what does punching the old man's lights out have to do
with you and Jim?"
Another long swishing of the soup spoon.
"Dennis, why haven't you ever been in a serious
relationship?"
"Oh, we're up to that, are we? Dad--I mean Dr. Brandt and
Mom weren't around so you and I are doomed to sad, lonely,
bitter lives, relieved only by soup and the occasional nose-
breaking. Is that it?"
"More or less."
"You don't have to play it that way, Suzanne."
"Don't I? Dennis, I did something terrible and--"
"What did you do?"
Swiiiiiiiiiish...
"I cheated. And Jim found out."
"I don't suppose there's any chance you're talking about a
poker game."
She shook her head.
"****, Suzanne," he muttered.
"Yes. ****, Suzanne."
"Why?"
"I've been asking myself that ever since it happened. I was
so angry at Jim and confused and--I just acted without
thinking. Well, no, I did think but I didn't really and--"
She stopped abruptly. "I thought he had acted like Dr.
Brandt. I thought I wanted out because of it."
"Do you?"
"No."
"Maybe Jim feels the same way."
"And maybe he's already decided it's over."
"There's only one way to find out. Tell him what you just
told me--you realize you were actually trying to hurt the
old man and now that you've broken his nose, it'll never
happen again." He watched her mull that over. "It's the
truth, isn't it?"
She nodded.
"I think Jim respects the truth. And if he did something
that made you that angry, he's probably figured out that he
isn't entirely blameless. By the way, what did he do?"
"He has a son. The boy is fourteen and Jim has never met
him."
He let out a low whistle. "I have to admit that on the
surface, it does sound like--"
"Jim stays away because the mother wants it that way but I
didn't know that until it was too late."
Dennis threw his arms open wide in exasperation. "Are the
lives of everyone in Starfleet this complicated? Is it the
space travel or the food or--"
"Please don't joke about it."
"All right." He flopped down on the floor and addressed the
dog. "What do you think, Luke? Hmmm? Yes, I think you're
right." He looked up at Suzanne. "The way we see it, Jim's a
dope and you're a slut. Sounds like a match made in heaven."
"Dennis--"
"It is! You each have something to forgive and something to
be forgiven."
Scrape, scrape, scrape went the ladle.
"If you're so smart, why haven't you settled down in the
perfect relationship?" she asked.
Smiling, he got up and as he closed his arms around her, he
felt her lean wearily into his embrace.
"Because I want a girl just like the girl who punched out
dear old dad." When he heard a snort of reluctant laughter,
he lifted himself onto the counter and grinned malevolently.
"Now tell me--was there blood? Did you hear it crunch?"
***
A few hours after midnight, no closer to sleep than she'd
been an hour earlier or an hour before that, Brandt decided
that maybe some fresh air would help. As she was pulling on
the warm clothes she usually wore for a morning run, she
felt the dog's snout anxiously nudging the back of her knee.
She knelt down and answered his quizzical expression in a
soothing voice.
"I know it's too early. You stay here. This is one of those
dopey human things."
After sharing a cheek-to-cheek snuffle, Luke crawled up onto
the bed and claimed the space she'd vacated. Then she left
the apartment, wishing that her own priorities were as
easily sorted out.
The night was chilly and she stopped at the top of the
steps. Maybe she should go back inside and make a cup of tea
instead. Down the street, a couple came out of the jazz
club, linked arms and laughed softly as they strolled away.
She walked toward the club, imagining herself sitting at the
bar and listening to Breju sing. A lullaby? Doubtful.
She hesitated outside the door. The few times she'd gone
into Swampback's alone, the bartender had always asked about
Jim. The door swung open and she stepped aside to let
another couple pass. Breju's voice, low and yearning,
followed them out onto the street.
"...So the poor love of fools and blind I've proved you,
For, foul or lovely, it was a fool that loved you..."
Brandt walked away quickly. Drunken wallowing set to a
gentle syncopation was one dopey human thing she wasn't
going to do that night. Rounding the corner, she saw the
crosstown metro setting down at the curb. She ran and jumped
aboard just as it lifted a few inches into the air to
continue its frictionless journey to the Outer Sunset
district. She settled into a seat near the back, noting that
the four other passengers were all dozing. She leaned her
head against the window and watched the buildings zoom by,
barely aware of the bus starting and stopping as it
zigzagged through the streets, making its way to the ocean.
When it set down with a sigh of particular finality, she
shook herself back to life as a mechanized voice announced,
"Ulloa and Great Highway. Last stop."
She stepped down to the pavement and found herself alone on
the street that marked the westernmost extent of the city.
She hadn't been to this part of town very often and usually
there was too much noise to hear anything but traffic, but
now she could hear the ocean crashing against the shore.
Gazing across the deserted street, she remembered the first
time she'd seen what lay just over the modest ridge on the
other side.
When the Enterprise had returned to Earth, Uhura had rented
a house within a few blocks of where Brandt now stood.
Accompanying Jim to the housewarming party, she had wondered
why Nyota had chosen to live somewhere so remote.
The neighborhood was characteristic of San Francisco's
fascination with its own past. Short, stuccoed houses lined
the eastern side of the street, cozying up against each
other and crowding the sidewalk. The colors varied wildly
from building to building, as did the hodgepodge of foliage,
doorways, shutters and awnings. Brandt would have found the
street rather charming if not for the aura of cheerful
smugness. But almost every house had one undeniably enviable
feature--a floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall window fronting
the second story.
She and Jim had arrived just as the setting sun was turning
the line of windows into a multi-faceted, golden looking-
glass. She had imagined that the view from within would be
beautiful, for each of those outmoded, conceited little
houses faced the ocean.
Once inside, they'd added their coats to the pile on a bench
near the doorway and after moving through the crowded
downstairs rooms in which neither of them recognized anyone,
she began to wonder if they were at the wrong party.
Although they were wearing civvies, something must have
given them away, because a man emerging from the kitchen
took one look at them and said, "I think all the Enterprise
people are upstairs."
"I guess I'm an Enterprise person tonight," she said to Jim.
"Honorary," he replied.
At the top of the stairs, she scanned the room and saw
several other officers who were presumably also passing for
'Enterprise people.' As she turned toward the window, she
expected to be blinded by the sun but it had dipped behind
the fog layer. She heard Leonard McCoy call, "Jim! Suzanne!"
and was aware of Jim returning the greeting but she moved
right past the doctor, almost hypnotized by the vista.
Across the street, the citizens of San Francisco had wisely
decided to let nature have her way. There were no houses,
stores or office buildings, no artificially neat rows of
trees, no paved squares sprouting brightly colored
recreational apparatus. In short, at the edge of one of the
most civilized cities on the planet, there was no sign of
civilization at all.
The noise of the party seemed to fade as she stared at the
tall grasses flapping lazily in the wind, the fat ribbon of
cottony fog marking the horizon, and the graceful lavender
and rose sky above. Shining between the grass and the fog,
the Pacific Ocean was nearly at rest, for once in accord
with its name. Its dark waters were flecked with gold and
the white-capped waves appeared to have abandoned their
usual daredevil pastimes for a frisky game of hide-and-seek.
"That's why I took this place," Nyota said quietly as she
came up beside her. "After all these years on the
Enterprise, I wanted a view. I think it's downright criminal
to send people into space and not let them see the beauty of
it."
"Didn't the early Terran astronauts say something similar?"
"Yes. They said they felt like spam in a can and they kept
on saying it until someone gave them a porthole. They had a
view. Now so do I."
"Is it always this peaceful?"
Nyota's throaty chuckle had seemed to ripple with the
playful roll of the waves. "Hardly ever. To be honest, it's
fogged in more often than not. And it can get pretty wild
out there. But it's always *something.*"
Thinking back, Brandt was startled to realize that less than
three years had passed since that night. She remembered her
surprise as the evening wore on and she realized that,
despite the company of Starfleet personnel, neither she nor
Jim was exhibiting the usual careful awareness of the
presence of their superiors or subordinates. For once, they
were outside the org chart. That freedom had been more
intoxicating than the lethal punch that Nyota had served
with a cheerful "Sugar, you don't want to know. Just drink
up and take a detox when you get home."
That had been a time to savor, with the past behind them,
the future unhurried and unthreatening, and the present a
comfortable limbo. Jim hadn't yet been promoted, they were
living in an apartment that both of them still regarded as
hers, and each was momentarily satisfied to wait, she for
the end of Komack's trial and he for a cue from Nogura. It
had been quite unlike their earlier encounters in which
goodbye had always come hard on the heels of hello. In their
newfound togetherness, each tomorrow flowed smoothly into
the next and neither had thought that a casual decision to
live together until everything was sorted out would stretch
into a long-term arrangement that would eventually need some
sorting out of its own. They'd relaxed into a happy oblivion
in which every event, from the reassuring kiss at the
Enterprise's homecoming reception to the simple intimacy of
an evening walk with the dog, seemed to encourage them to
expect a forever filled with such moments. Even the view
from Nyota's window had been a conspirator in the seduction
that had lulled Suzanne into a false sense of security about
so many things.
Crossing the street, she told herself that such fanciful
thinking was just, well, fanciful. She couldn't have been
foolish enough to think that a calm sea held a special
promise, could she? It was simply her imagination taking
advantage of her momentary muddle-headedness. Just one more
dopey human thing.
As she started up the slope, the tall grass whipped against
her legs and she heard the ocean rumbling ominously.
Fanciful or not, as she leaned into the stinging wind, she
couldn't help wondering what she would find on the downward
side.
For one thing, very loose sand. She more or less slid down
the few feet to the beach. For another, darkness. When a
glance upward revealed no stars and only a ghost of a moon
glimmering faintly through the clouds, she wished she had
brought a light. Without one, she wasn't likely to have any
view of the ocean at all unless she stumbled into it or a
sleeper wave grabbed her and--
This was by far the dopiest human thing she'd done all
night.
She clambered back up the ridge, her feet slipping in the
sand. When she reached the top, she stopped and looked at
the row of houses.
All the upper windows were dark but here and there, a light
shone through a small doorway window. There was a lamp
glowing on a porch up the street and she wondered about the
person who had left it on. She imagined a woman on the other
side of town, dancing to the all-night music at the pier,
too warm in her lover's arms to feel the cold. Perhaps they
weren't lovers yet. Perhaps later they would stand under the
porch light deciding if that was going to change tonight. Or
perhaps it already had. Even now, they might be upstairs
tugging at each other's clothing, the porch light forgotten
in a flurry of hungry kisses. They could be making love at
this very moment, crying out with delight at the newness of
each other's bodies.
Or maybe they weren't new to each other at all, maybe they'd
been together for years. Maybe the light was left on for a
teenager who was going to catch hell in the morning but for
now, his parents were sleeping side by side, too used to
each other to mind the snoring and the shared blanket and
the fact that the mister couldn't sleep with the window
closed, which was absolutely ridiculous, how had he slept
all those nights in the recycled air of a starship?
Or maybe there was no mister and the house's sole occupant
had left the light on because she knew she could expect no
other welcome.
Brandt turned away from the houses that seemed to grow more
self-satisfied with each moment. She sank to the ground,
letting the sharp blades of grass stab at her face. Staring
out toward the unseen ocean, she remembered Dennis's words.
'You don't have to play it that way, Suzanne.'
Could it really be as simple as he had proposed? How would
Jim react if she said, "I'm sorry you got in the way of my
anger. I know now that it wasn't directed at you"?
***
She didn't realize how long she had sat playing various
scenarios in her head until she saw her own shadow on the
sand before her. Had she slept at all? The grass beside her
was crushed as if she'd lain there. The beach was completely
fogged in, just as Nyota had said. A few misty tendrils
reached towards her and she brushed them away. The gesture
was as ineffectual as her cold vigil had been. She'd found
no answers although she'd examined every possibility she
could think of. She simply had no idea how Jim would respond
to any explanation, no matter how painfully honest. It
wasn't because she didn't know him--she was sharply aware of
the constancy she'd forgotten while blinded by hurt and
anger--but she was beginning to understand how little she
knew of herself.
She stood, groaning against the stiffness in her joints. As
she turned her back on the sea, she saw the sun barely
visible over the rooftops and realized there was one
possibility she hadn't yet considered.
What if Jim refused to hear anything she had to say? What if
her last chance had come and gone? What if--
With the sound of the ocean at her back, she stared into the
deepening fog and tried to imagine what it would be like to
hear him say, "Goodbye."
[The End]
Note: The lyrics Brandt hears coming from the jazz club are
from the following sonnet by Rupert Brooke.
He Wonders Whether to Praise or to Blame Her
I have peace to weigh your worth, now all is over,
But if to praise or blame you, cannot say.
For, who decries the loved, decries the lover;
Yet what man lauds the thing he's thrown away?
Be you, in truth, this dull, slight, cloudy naught,
The more fool I, so great a fool to adore;
But if you're that high goddess once I thought,
The more your godhead is, I lose the more.
Dear fool, pity the fool who thought you clever!
Dear wisdom, do not mock the fool that missed you!
Most fair, -- the blind has lost your face for ever!
Most foul, -- how could I see you while I kissed you?
So...the poor love of fools and blind I've proved you,
For, foul or lovely, 'twas a fool that loved you.
Rupert Brooke, 1913