The BLTS Archive - By Some Other Sea
by Jungle Kitty (jkitty@comcast.net)

---

Posted: 2/25/08

Archive: ASC yes, others please ask

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.

COPYRIGHT Jungle Kitty 2008

---
... And I recall, lose, grasp, forget again,
And still remember, a tale I have heard, or known,
An empty tale, of idleness and pain,
Of two that loved--or did not love--and one
Whose perplexed heart did evil, foolishly,
A long while since, and by some other sea.

- Rupert Brooke, "Waikiki"
---

"Ma'am? Ma'am? Are you all right?"

Brandt lifted her head and looked around. A concert hall.
How did she end up in a concert hall? Then she remembered.
She had wanted someplace quiet to sit and wait for the world
to re-balance itself. She'd wandered around until she had
come in here, to sit and...not-think.

She looked up at the young man leaning over her, his brow
furrowed with concern.

All right, not-thinking time is over, she thought. Right
now, it's time to duck the kindness of strangers.

"Yes, I'm fine. I just came in to sit down for a while."

She stood and started to step around him.

"There's no reason to rush off," he said.

She glanced down at the hand resting on her forearm. Broad
and long-fingered, it appeared strong despite its light
touch.

With an apologetic smile, he withdrew his hand. "I'm just
here to practice."

Following his glance, she turned toward the stage where a
grand piano stood gleaming in a circle of light. It must
have been there all along but she didn't remember seeing it
earlier.

"You're giving a concert?"

He dug his hands into his pockets and sighed. "I knew it was
too much to hope that you were here early to make sure you
got a seat. I'm the extremely talented but pathetically
unknown Jeffrey Rowan." When she didn't respond, he said,
"My friends call me Jeff." He waited a few beats longer.
"What do your friends call you?"

She took him in with a quick look. Young. Probably mid-
twenties. Only three or four inches taller than she was.
Dark hair, a little shaggy. Warm, brown eyes. A smile that
stopped just short of being toothy. Nice build, although
probably not muscular. Hard to tell what was under that
baggy sweater. But in general, he looked...promising.

Why was she thinking like this?

"Is that the latest in formal concert wear?" she asked.

"The concert's not until tomorrow. But you're welcome to
listen to me practice."

"No, I'm sorry. I have to go."

"At least listen to me warm up. Then if you don't want to
stay--"

"Why does it matter if I stay?"

"I play better with an audience."

"An audience of one?"

"I've played to houses that weren't much more."

"Are you that pathetically unknown?"

"Yes, but extremely talented." His eyes gleamed an
invitation.

This is trouble, she thought. Leave now.

"What kind of music do you play?" she heard herself ask.

"Wait."

He turned, ran down the aisle and hoisted himself up onto
the stage. Assuming a stern expression, he bowed solemnly in
her direction and approached the piano. He sat down on the
bench, pantomiming an arrogant flip of coat tails as he did
so. Then after several moments of farcical hand flexing, he
screwed his face into an expression of transported
haughtiness and began to play.

Less than ten seconds into the piece, she shook her head in
disbelief. Her brother, who had been the prize pupil of
their school's music instructor, still couldn't pass a
keyboard without playing at least the first few bars of his
"signature piece"--Mozart's Sonata in C Major.

But under this young man's expert fingers, it
sounded...different. Busier, more raffish. Had Dennis been
playing a dumbed-down version all these years? Or was Jeff
embellishing? Surely Mozart hadn't penned that agitated bass
or the jazz-flavored flourishes enlivening the scales.

As if in answer to her question, Jeff threw her a
conspiratorial wink and tossed Mozart's intentions to the
wind as he segued into a pounding boogie-woogie.

She stood motionless as she was slowly enveloped by the
sound of carefree abandon. The music and the joyous energy
behind it were more tangible than she would have thought
possible. A thrill shivered up her spine as she responded to
the drumming of his fingers and when he turned the melody
inside out, something inside of her stretched as taut as the
strings that quivered under the pounding hammers.

She began moving down the aisle.

*Don't do this. It's a mistake and you know it.*

She was conscious of each footfall as she stepped softly to
his rhythm, moving closer to the stage. She reached the edge
and stared at him, a little breathless. He was completely
caught up in the music, eyes flashing and hair flying. He
was so young, so alive, so sure of himself.

"Hey," she whispered.

He didn't hear her.

"Hey!" she shouted.

He suddenly dropped to a lower volume and the rumbling vamp
seemed to intensify.

"What?"

She said nothing as she weighed her response. She felt a
gentle tug, like an insistent tide coaxing an unwary swimmer
into deeper waters. But she wasn't a naive innocent. She
knew the peril of being drawn in by the earnest brown of his
eyes, the sheen of perspiration on his forehead, the self-
assurance of the hands dancing over the keys. Young, brash,
unaware and--God!--so confident! He would have it all. He
would never make the wrong decision. He would never lie,
never mislead anyone, never--

"What?" he repeated with a puzzled smile as his hands
continued moving unerringly.

Was he really ignorant of what the music was doing to her?
Didn't he hear the thunder in the bass or feel the dangerous
charge in the air?

She closed her eyes, conscious of him watching her as he
waited for an answer. Resting her hands on the stage, she
felt the vibrations under her fingertips. Tickling and
teasing, the music moved through her and soon the steady
beat was no longer a playful pulse. It became the
irresistible drag of a tide that didn't seek or need her
consent. The bass line repeating insistently, the glittering
runs over the high notes, the catch-breath stops and
mischievous false starts, the daredevil thrust and parry as
he assaulted the melody--she almost cried out as the
stunning torrent of sound crashed over her. Wild, free and
far from safe, the impetuous music carried her along,
washing away the gritty despair of her not-think.

She opened her eyes and said, "You're going to be very
famous, aren't you?"

"Any day now!" he yelled and rose to his feet as he kicked
up the volume and the beat and the energy.

Any day now. The cry of impatient youth. You see the prize
and know it will be yours as surely as the sun will rise.
Then any day turns into someday and suddenly the universe is
no longer dancing to your tune, if indeed it ever was...

A sudden glissando, bright and crackling as lightning,
tumbled down the keyboard into a resounding crash. Then he
slammed down a succession of gloriously haphazard elbow
chords that left her breathless.

With a triumphant "Ha!" he flung himself away from the
piano. The sound of his breathing punctuated the ringing of
the final notes. She realized she was straining to hear both
sounds, to memorize them before they faded completely. But
they slipped away, and in the silence, she felt an eerily
familiar sensation.

She'd been told there was no such thing and if there was, it
was over too quickly to be discernible, but she had
experienced it too many times to believe that. She thought
of it as the disconnect--the brief instant of non-existence
between dissolving in the transporter beam and coming back
to herself somewhere else. Now, suspended between her past
and whatever was to come, she wondered where she would find
herself in the next moment.

Suddenly he ran back to the piano and pounded both fists
against the keys repeatedly, until he had traveled from
treble to bass and back again.

"Now *that* is a piano!"

He pivoted and grinned at her, obviously certain she would
approve and just waiting to hear her say so.

The disconnect faded and she smiled slowly, recognizing this
place, this time, this woman she had become. No need for a
briefing. She knew her role and stepped into it easily.

Her voice wry and teasing, she asked, "That's your warm-up?"

"Oh yeah. You should hear me when I get going." He sauntered
over to her and flopped down, letting his legs dangle over
the edge of the stage. "So will you stay?"

"No. I'm leaving." Savoring his disappointment, she stepped
between his legs and leaned into him. "And so are you." She
pulled his head down and kissed him.

It took him only a moment to get over his surprise and then
his fingers closed on her shoulders. She thought of the
music they had drawn out of the piano.

Make me sing like that, she thought. Make me that happy and
uncaring and reckless.

"What's your name?" he whispered.

"Suzanne."

"You move pretty fast, Suzanne."

"You look like you can keep up."

She started up the aisle. He slid off the stage and quickly
caught up with her. He took her hand and stopped.

"Wait a minute. I'd like to know a little bit more about
you."

She sighed wearily. "Such as?"

"Do you have a last name? Do you have a husband? A
boyfriend? Someone who's going to break my hands if he finds
out about this? And why are you doing this?"

"Yes, I have a last name." She twined her fingers in his,
slowly lifted his hand and pressed it to her cheek. Holding
his gaze in hers, she continued, "No, I do not have a
husband. Yes, I have a boyfriend. No, he won't break your
hands because he's not going to find out." She led his hand
down her throat, over her breast, to her waist. "I'm doing
this because--" She left his hand resting at the small of
her back and leaned into him. "Maybe I find you
irresistible. Maybe I want to sleep with you before you're
famous so I can say 'I knew him when.'" She put her
fingertip to his lips and whispered, "Maybe I'm just horny."

Holding his chin between thumb and forefinger, she kissed
him again, her tongue coaxing a response.

Drawing away, she saw that his eyes were closed and his lips
were slightly parted. He was still feeling her kiss and that
knowledge warmed her.

Opening his eyes at last, he ran his hand through his hair
and chuckled softly. "You do that very well."

"I do many things well. Shall we go?"

He looked her up and down. "What's with the uniform?"

Startled, she scrutinized his expression. Open, curious,
wanting answers but not trouble. Yes, he was young but he
was past the age of eager puppy dog. She should just stop
now.

I can still walk away, she thought but she said, "I was on
my way to a costume party. No more questions."

---

Outside the concert hall, she pushed her way through a small
crowd to the edge of the canal. Earlier, the waterway had
been nearly empty but now it was crowded with skimmers and
water taxis skirting the sidewalk and large party rafts
drifting lazily in the current. The air was filled with
laughter and music as people clustered outside the
restaurants and theaters. She remembered the tingle of
anticipation that always accompanied an evening on the town
and squeezed Jeff's hand.

"Hey, Admiral?" he said.

She felt his arm curve around her waist and smiled, somehow
pleased that he had overestimated the significance of two
and a half stripes.

"Yes?"

"Where are we going?"

She thought of her sleeping compartment on Starbase 7. Only
forty minutes away but in that time, she could change her
mind. She didn't want to change her mind.

"My place isn't an option," she said. "Where's yours?"

"About fifteen minutes from here."

"Walking?"

"Yes."

"Then it's five by cab."

She stuck her hand out as she put her other hand at the back
of his neck and pulled him into a kiss that didn't end until
an impatient honk told her that she'd successfully hailed a
taxi.

---

Jeff fumbled with the openings on her uniform until he
figured them out. He didn't wrestle with her when she pushed
him to the bed and straddled him. He didn't whisper
endearments in her ear. He was new and different and he did
nothing that reminded her of Jim. But as she felt herself
being filled in a way that was both fresh and familiar, she
thought of Jim.

The second time, she thought of nothing.

The third time, she turned her face away from the pre-dawn
light and cried out as she climaxed. It started with "J-"
and ended in a groan.

As she was leaving, Jeff winked and said, "Goodbye,
Starfleet." She realized that he was smarter than she'd
thought. She also realized that he didn't remember her name.

She was glad about both those things.

---

The glow of satisfaction faded fast once she returned to the
base. The glare of the artificial light in the corridor
seemed to intensify her feeling of grubbiness. Wrinkled
uniform, pillow-hair, a sour taste in her mouth--she hoped
she could get to her compartment without running into
anyone. Then a shower, breakfast and maybe another not-think
until it was time to beam out.

She rounded the final corner and saw Jim leaning against the
bulkhead, his arms folded across his chest. He turned to
her, his expression frighteningly neutral. Her heart pounded
as if trying to punch its way out of her chest.

He knows, she thought. He knows. I can't pretend I've been
in an all-night bull session--*

His expression darkened and her apprehension turned to
anger.

*Why the hell should I pretend?*

She pulled herself up straight and walked the ten steps to
meet him.

"Good morning," he said quietly.

"Good morning."

She pressed her palm to the ID panel. The door slid open
with a soft hiss.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as she crossed the
threshold, aware of him following her.

"Waiting for you."

"I meant what are you doing on Starbase 7?"

"I'm a last-minute replacement at the exploration symposium.
I got in yesterday and thought I'd have dinner at the
Cultural Center. But I just wasn't hungry after I saw you
kissing that boy and don't try to tell me it wasn't what I
think--"

"I wasn't going to."

"I watched you get into a water-taxi with him and I came
back here."

She said nothing. They were standing close to each other and
she wasn't quite sure how to proceed. Their arguments
usually built up to the point where they were in each
other's faces but the room was too small to allow a gradual
escalation. There were no neutral corners.

"So who is he?" Jim asked. "What's his name?"

"Does it matter?"

"Do you *know* his name?"

"Yes," she snapped. "His name is Jeff."

"Jeff. What does Jeff do? Other than fuck women old enough
to--"

"Stop it."

"Stop it? I think I'm entitled to it. Is this why you were
so eager to get back into off-world assignments? Is there a
Jeff in every port?"

"No."

"Of course not. It's more exciting this way, isn't it? You
just pick up some lucky guy. You're probably hungry for a
little adventure after coming home to me all this time."

"Back off, Jim!"

He eyed her curiously. "I wouldn't think I would have to
point this out but you're not the injured party here."

"Funny, I feel like the injured party," she shot back. "We
had this discussion once before, remember? On the
Enterprise? After Nevaris? Somehow your inability to keep it
in your pants was *my* fault. Because I 'wouldn't let you
in.' That's what you said. You had to fuck everything in a
skirt because you wanted to get a reaction out of me. Well,
now the shoe is on the other foot. I fucked another man and
it's your fault. Same discussion."

"We had another discussion when we moved in together. Do you
remember that one? The one where we decided we were going to
have a real relationship? Commitment? Fidelity? Do any of
those words ring a bell?"

"Yes, I remember but I'm surprised you do since it obviously
didn't mean a goddamn thing to you."

"What are you talking about? I've never--"

"I'm talking about David Marcus!"

"What?" He stared at her as if she'd spoken in an unfamiliar
language. "David?"

"Yes, David!" she mocked. "Carol Marcus's son! *Your* son!"

The color drained from his face and she was pleased to have
taken the wind out of his sails.

"How do you know about him?" he asked.

At those words, her anger fled, leaving only the crushed
hopes it had been concealing. She realized she had been
hoping he would deny it, that somehow Carol had been wrong
or had lied to her. It took her several seconds to compose
herself.

"I ran into Carol yesterday. He was with her," she said.

"Did she tell you I'm his father?"

"She didn't have to. He's like you. You've never even seen
him, have you?"

"No."

"Jesus Christ, Jim, I wouldn't have believed it."

"Look. I didn't tell you about him because he's not part of
my life. I don't--"

"Well, my father isn't part of my life and I told you what a
shit he was!"

"And I waited for you to tell me that! I waited until you
were ready! And when you did, I didn't try to make you feel
guilty because you hadn't told me sooner!"

"But you let me believe that you'd told me everything! No
more secrets, right? That's what we said. So when were you
going to tell me about David--when he shows up on our
doorstep and calls you 'Dad'?"

"He's not going to show up on--" He shook his head to clear
it. "What the hell does this have to do with you and the boy
wonder you've been screwing all night?"

It was all she could do to keep from striking him.

"Goddamn it, Jim, I trusted you! I believed the promises you
made. I let you in, you son of a bitch! I used to be as bad
as you were about meaningless scores and I loved it. I
wanted that back! I fucked that guy because I wanted to be
the woman I used to be! I didn't want to be the galaxy-class
sucker who fell for your line!"

She waited for a response, her body singing with alertness
as she prepared herself for his rebuttal. She decided that a
resounding "HA!" would serve no matter what he said. Then
she realized he hadn't said anything. He was simply staring
at her, his eyes hollow and tired. Noticing for the first
time the stubble on his chin and the weary set of his
shoulders, she realized that he'd had at least as bad a
surprise as she had.

"Jim," she sighed, "how did you feel standing out there in
the corridor all night?"

"Hurt. Foolish. Betrayed." His tone was cold, his eyes
opaque and guarded.

"That's how I felt when I looked at David. It's probably how
Carol felt when you walked out on her."

She felt a moment's satisfaction at having driven the self-
righteousness from his expression until she saw it replaced
by incredulity.

"I didn't walk out on Carol! Is that what she told you? I
didn't even know about David until he was two years old."

He sounded sincere but whether it was a smooth lie or a
long-hidden truth, she couldn't tell. She felt something
like panic as she realized she wasn't ready to find out.

"I have to take a shower."

She took one step and then felt his tight grip on her arm.

"No," he said sharply.

She stared at his hand until he let go.

"Don't touch me," she warned.

"You want to lay down rules? Fine. Here's mine. You're not
going anywhere until you hear what I have to say. You're
angry that I didn't tell you before so now you're going to
listen to it."

"Make it quick."

He clenched his fists, grasping at the space between them.
"I don't know why I even bother! I--" He made an angry,
incoherent sound. "All right. I'll keep it short. Carol and
I broke up right before I left for the Farragut. I didn't
know she was pregnant. I don't think she knew. But she
didn't tell me about it, not even when David was born. A
couple of years later, I heard she'd had a child. The age
sounded right and I got suspicious so I contacted her. She
said that David was better off with no father than with one
who popped in whenever he happened to be in the sector. She
asked me to stay away." His voice had grown softer, his
expression more pained. "Now what did she tell you?"

It was the first question he'd asked that was free of anger
or wounded pride. She knew she had to answer in  kind.

"She told me that you knew about David but he didn't know
about you. She wanted to keep it that way. She thought that
you had sent me to talk to her. Why did she think that,
Jim?"

"I called her last week and told her I was assigned to
Earth. I asked her to reconsider her decision."

"What did she say?"

"We argued. I said she couldn't use my career as an excuse
anymore. She felt she didn't need an excuse to keep David
away from me after fifteen years."

Brandt ran her fingers through her hair, twisting it at the
crown. She knew there was one more question she had to ask.
Tired and sick at heart, she whispered, "Why didn't you tell
me any of this?"

"When could I have told you? There was no point before we
were serious and once we were..."

"Yes?"

He paced the length of the small room twice before speaking.

"I was twenty-four years old when I found out about David.
Do you remember how young that is? What were you doing when
you were twenty-four?"

"Serving aboard the Evolution."

"And trying to figure out how to get off a science vessel
and onto a starship, right?"

She nodded.

"The Farragut was about to start her five-year mission," he
continued. "When I learned about David, I wanted to do the
right thing. But when Carol said, 'Stay away,' it was..." He
swallowed hard. "...easy to believe that she really meant
it. So I agreed to do as she asked. It was years before I
realized that I should have fought her on it. If I'd shown
any indication that I genuinely wanted to be a father to
David, I think she would have backed down. When I realized
that, I was ashamed of myself. I still am. I'm ashamed that
I fumbled my one chance to do right by my son."

The last two words almost broke him, almost broke both of
them.

"That's why I didn't tell you," he said. "I couldn't. I
didn't want you to be ashamed of me, too." His eyes met
hers. "The way you are now."

She felt the last of her armor fall away. The words "I'm
sorry" caught in her throat. She was sorry about too many
things for that paltry expression. I'm sorry Carol shut you
out, I'm sorry you couldn't tell me, I'm sorry for what I
did, I'm sorry for whatever comes next, I'm sorry, I'm
sorry...

She covered her eyes with her hand and drew a shuddering
breath. "I have to take a shower," she said as she stumbled
from the room.

---

Three days later, Brandt was finding the short trip back to
Earth more exhausting than the six-week mission that had
preceded it. After being welcomed aboard by Captain
Westerville, she had smiled her way through a tour of the
USS Carolina's refurbished facilities, glad that Westerville
was so proud of his ship that he never got around to asking
"How's Admiral Kirk?" With the preliminary courtesies out of
the way, she spent her daytime hours sorting her message
logs, composing her mission report and doing her best to
appear relaxed and natural to everyone she encountered.  

Difficult as the "all's well" daytime pretense was, the
lonely honesty of the nights was far worse. Each moment
spent in painful self-recrimination scraped away another
layer of surety. She began to wonder if she would eventually
be worn down to her essential self, whoever that was.
Perhaps that woman might be able to understand the impulsive
lunatic who had so easily betrayed the man she loved.

Now, with only a few hours until the scheduled arrival on
Earth, she lay awake once more, listening to the quiet hum
of ship's night. It seemed that nothing could dispel
thoughts of the hidden history that had been revealed by her
unexpected encounter with Carol Marcus. With little hope of
sleep, she let the memory run its course once more.

Starbase 7 had always been a welcome changeover point and
she had expected this time to be no different. With nearly
twenty-four hours to herself, she'd turned down an
invitation to join her team on a hydrofoil trip to the outer
islands, opting instead for a day on her own.

She caught the ferry at mid-morning and went up to the top
deck where her only companions were the wind and sun. The
small boat glided through the canals, taking on more
passengers at each stop. By the time it reached the cultural
center, Brandt was no longer alone up top. She struggled
down the stairs, reaching the gate just after the ramp had
been retracted.

"Please step back," the guard droned and she did. Then she
sprinted forward, vaulted the gate and threw herself onto
the dock. She waved at the departing ferry as the guard
yelled, "Hey! You're not supposed to--"

"I'm not?" she called. "Sorry!"

Feeling extremely pleased with herself, she wandered through
the Fragan art collection and had lunch in a cafe
overlooking a sculpture garden. She was on her way to an
outdoor jazz concert when she saw a familiar face in the
courtyard outside the natural history museum.

"Carol? Do you remember me? Suzanne Brandt."

She held out her hand. The cool blonde ignored it.

"Yes, I remember you. What are you doing here?"

"I'm on a stopover. I was--"

"I meant why are you here? Did Jim send you?" Before Brandt
could answer, Carol pointed an angry finger. "You tell him
that I have nothing more to say to him. If the two of you
want a child, have one of your own. You can't have mine."

"What are you talking about--"

She was interrupted by a boy approaching them, calling
"Mom!"

Brandt judged him to be about thirteen years old. He moved
with the lanky awkwardness of someone outgrowing childhood
and still unused to his new height. As he drew closer, she
noticed that his sharply etched features matched Carol's
bone for bone. His hair was unruly where Carol's was tidy
but it was the same soft blond. His eyes--no, the eyes
weren't Carol's, nor was the way he carried himself or the
silent beat he took before he spoke.

"Sorry I'm late, Mom but listen to this! Dr. Hays says if I
come back tomorrow, she'll show me the dinosaur stuff that's
not on exhibit."

"David, I'm talking to someone."

"But is it okay? Can I tell her I'll be back?"

"I don't know, David. Ask me later."

"But Mom--"

"Later."

"I need to know *now.*"

The familiarity of his stubbornness hit Brandt like a body
blow. She sank down on a nearby bench.

"Mom, is your friend all right?"

"I'm fine," Brandt whispered, then raised her voice. "Fine.
Thank you."

"Can I get you something? Some water or--"

"No, thank you." Brandt realized her tone was too sharp but
the boy was unwittingly torturing her with his too-
recognizable kindness.

"David, go tell Dr. Hays you'll be back tomorrow," Carol
said.

"Really?"

"You better go quickly before she changes her mind."

"Thanks, Mom!"

Brandt heard his happy steps fade into the distance as Carol
joined her on the bench. Her own voice sounded far away when
she asked, "Who is that boy?"

"My son, David."

"How old is he?"

"He'll be fourteen next month."

She drew a deep breath and forced out her next question.
"Does Jim know about him?"

Carol gave her a curious look. "Yes, he does. But it looks
like you don't."

Dazed, Brandt shook her head. *Jim has a son? With Carol?
How? Why? A son...*

"Suzanne, I'm sorry I was rude to you." Brandt realized that
Carol was still speaking and had to strain to hear her over
the roaring in her ears. "I thought Jim had sent you to--It
doesn't matter. What does matter is David has no need to
know anything about his father. We've gotten along just fine
without him and I'm not going to disrupt my son's life just
because Jim's finished playing with his starship and needs a
new toy."

"I don't understand..."

"Then I suggest you ask Jim for an explanation. I still--"

Carol's chilly mask was gone and despite the confusion in
her own head, Brandt clearly saw the other woman's unhealed
hurt.

"Carol--"

She extended her hand but Carol stood abruptly, walked a few
steps and then turned back, once again under control.

"I still don't understand how anyone can value their own
ambition that highly. Do you?"

The two women had gazed at each other for a long time.
Finally, Carol had left, heading in the same direction David
had taken. Brandt didn't know how long she'd remained on the
bench or how she'd gotten to the concert hall.

The ship's bell sounded, bringing her back to the present
and the realization that she was less than three hours away
from Earth, HQ and people who knew her too well to be fooled
into believing nothing was wrong. She didn't dare show up
reeling from lack of sleep.

She groaned and decided to give the relaxation exercises one
more try. She tensed every muscle, held for a count of three
and then released with a loud exhalation. Tense, hold-two-
three, release. Tense, hold-two-three, release. Inhale for
six, hold for three, exhale for one, two, three, four...

The next thing she knew, the chron was sounding her wakeup
call. She was surprised and relieved she had slept but she
soon wondered if she was worse off than before. Even after a
shower and breakfast, she felt groggy, disoriented and more
than anything else, guilty about those few hours of sleep.
It felt like she'd ducked a much-deserved scolding, as
though she didn't care enough about her threatened
relationship to sit up all night worrying about it.

---

Upon arrival at HQ, the first thing she did was turn down a
lunch invitation from Fig. Luckily it had come by text--she
could have never withstood a face-to-face conversation with
her too-perceptive friend.

Two hours later, she was staring at her computer screen
and rubbing her face when the other overly intuitive
person in her life caught up with her.

"Captain, are you all right?"

Her first officer. Damn. Let your guard down for one
minute...

"I'm fine, Jack. My eyes are just tired from reading all
these reports." She gestured toward the disks scattered
across her desk.

She inserted a flimsy into the computer and began scanning
the screen.

"Captain, are you going to the briefing this afternoon on
the Wethian situation?"

"Isn't Captain Moore running that network?"

"Yes but since we set it up, I thought--"

"All right, Commander," she said a little too sharply. "I'll
go to the briefing. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, sir, as a matter of fact, there is." Stunned by his
sharp tone, she stood and glared at him. But he kept going.
"If you're going to that briefing, I suggest you find a
quiet spot and get some sleep first. I watched you the whole
trip home and if Admiral Skorheim sees you like this, he'll
pack you off on a forced leave. Sir."

After a long stare-down, Brandt turned away, humiliatingly
aware that she should have put him in his place after his
first sentence. Hell, she should have never walked into
something as obvious as his question about the briefing.

With a bitter half-smile, she said, "You really snookered me
on that one, Wallis."

"I never could have done it if you weren't so tired."

"Your recommendation has been noted."

"Suzanne, is there anything I can--"

"No, Jack. If you leave now, I promise I'll lock the door
and rest until lunch."

---

Unfortunately, the briefing was moved up. She sat in the
back and contributed nothing beyond her presence and well-
timed nods of agreement. As the meeting broke up, her CO
commented that she was looking a bit pale.

"I'm coming down with a cold, sir."

He looked at her askance and said, "Walk with me, will you,
Captain?"

"Of course, sir."

The walk to his office was short and silent. When they
arrived, he offered her the chair opposite his desk.

"Thank you, sir."

Aware of him studying her, she tried to ignore the throbbing
pain that extended all the way into her cheekbones. He
leaned against the edge of his desk, frowned and said,
"What's wrong?"

How could she answer that? The thought of describing the
events on Starbase 7 made her want to scream or cry or
vomit. She had no intention of excising any of those options
in front of Admiral Skorheim.

"Did something happen on the mission that you haven't
disclosed?" he continued.

"No, sir."

"I didn't think so. And I don't believe you're getting a
cold. So what is it?"

"It's personal, sir."

"Personal. Well, as your CO, I guess I have to respect that
unless I find it's interfering with your duties, which it
isn't. Yet. But I'd like to think that I'm also your friend.
If there's something you need to talk about--"

"No, sir."

"--it will be off the record and confidential."

"I appreciate the offer, sir, but it's...personal."

He scratched the back of his head, ruffling his unruly red
hair.

"All right. Dismissed, Captain. Get some rest."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

She was nearly out of the room when he asked, "Did you
happen to see Admiral Kirk on Starbase 7?"

She turned slowly, feeling that the air was clinging to her
like glue.

"Sir?"

"Commodore Goldman and I play poker together on Tuesdays. He
mentioned that he'd managed to snag the admiral for the
panel on Starbase 7. I was pretty sure that coincided with
your itinerary."

"Yes, sir, it did."

He went to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry,
Brandt. I'm not sure what I'm sorry about but I am sorry."

"Thank you, sir."

---

As the doors to the turbolift closed, Brandt dropped her
head to her hands and muttered, "Oh, fuck."

"Please repeat your destina--"

"Level one, you stupid machine!"

As the lift began moving, she slumped against the wall,
tears of humiliation stinging at her eyes. Skorheim knew or
knew enough and it didn't matter that he didn't really know
anything, he'd *pitied* her!

"SHIT!" she roared, hoping that anger was the antidote to
despair.

*I am not going to cry. I am not going to get off the lift
with red eyes. I am not going to have the entire building
gossiping about Captain Brandt boo-hooing after a meeting
with her CO.*

Desperate for distraction, she ordered, "Computer! Current
events summary!"

"Working." The flat voice of the computer was replaced by
the smooth articulation of a news reader. "--the mayor had
no comment on the allegations. Turning to news off-planet,
it looks like the plans to colonize the dark side of the
moon may not be dead after all. Geoform Technologies has
announced their intention to pursue the long-delayed
terraforming project. In a speech today at the Lunar
Technical Institute, renowned terraforming engineer Dr.
Theodore Brandt expressed his belief that--"

"Halt turbolift!"

After listening to the report three times, Brandt ordered
the lift to the fifth level, where she sped to her office
and began hacking into the files of Geoform Technologies'
travel department.

---

Wishing she could reach through the monitor and shake her
friend by the shoulders, Brandt implored, "Fig, please! Just
delay the shuttle for twenty minutes until I get there!"

Captain Figueroa remained unmoved. "Suzanne, it's unfair to
ask favors based on our friendship--"

"This is important!"

"There's another shuttle in the morning--"

"It can't wait until morning! He won't be there!"

"Who won't?"

"Fig, I've never asked you for anything--"

"Yes, you have--"

"All right but I'll never ask again. Can't you just take my
word that it's important?"

"Suzanne, the Commissioner of Federation Infrastructure is
aboard that shuttle and I'm not going to piss him off
without knowing why."

Brandt thought for a moment and then put a coy expression on
her face. "Are the two of you still arguing over air
transport routes?"

"Yes." Fig drew the word out warily.

"Well, if I were you, I'd delay the shuttle just to show him
who controls the routes in Sol sector."

"Brandt--"

"Look, you're the sector commander because you're so good at
smoothing ruffled feathers. If there aren't any feathers to
smooth, you don't have a job."

After a long, stony stare, Fig tapped her desktop comm and
said, "Hold the lunar shuttle on my authority. Send all
complaints directly to me."

"Yes, sir!" came the startled reply.

"Thank you, Fig," Brandt said, going limp with relief.

"Twenty minutes. Figueroa out."

---

2761.

Brandt stared at the room number as she gathered her
thoughts. She'd managed to sleep during the shuttle trip and
although she hadn't shaken off all her tension, she no
longer felt like the woman who'd almost gone on a crying jag
in the turbolift. She drew a slow, even breath, reassuring
herself that the hurried trip from the lunar spaceport to
the hotel hadn't marred her composure. She pressed the bell
and heard a brusque response from the other side.

"Open!"

The doors parted silently, revealing a man in a dark travel
suit closing a briefcase.

"Just the large suitcase in the corner," he said without
looking up.

"I haven't come to pick up your bags," she replied.

Surprised, he turned to her. Although he topped her by at
least six inches, he was smaller than she remembered but
that could have been due to the distortion of memory. The
last time she'd seen him, she'd been fourteen years old. He
was now almost completely bald except for a salt-and-pepper
fringe just above his ears. The top of his head shone as if
it had been polished.

"May I come in?" she asked.

He nodded and then went to the mirror and straightened his
collar. She stepped into the room and waited until she felt
the soft rush of air as the doors closed behind her.

"Do you know who I am?"

He turned away from the mirror and looked at her with eyes
the color of steel.

"Yes, of course. You're Suzanne. You look quite a bit like
your mother."

Brandt stiffened. Was he trying to flatter her? Or was he
searching for common ground? In either case, mentioning the
mother she'd lost at age seven had been a poor choice.

"How old are you now?" he asked.

"Thirty-eight."

"And still in Starfleet, I see."

"Yes."

"You're what, a lieutenant?"

"A captain."

"Ah! Commanding a ship, I presume?"

"I didn't come here to discuss my career."

"Well, what do you want to talk about? Whatever it is, it
will have to be quick." He picked up his briefcase and
headed for the suitcase.

"You never did have time for me, did you? Well, now you're
going to make time."

He picked up the large bag, grunting slightly. "I'm afraid
not. I have a transport to catch--"

She stepped into his path and drew her phaser. "You're going
to miss it."

Staring at the weapon, he set the bag down slowly. "We can
talk until the attendant comes for my luggage." He went to
the bedside stand and picked up a cup. "It will give me a
chance to finish my coffee."

While Suzanne uncomfortably considered that she might not
have inherited her cool head from her mother, he sipped and
made a face.

"Cold." He started toward the synthesizer. "Shall I make a
cup for you as well?"

Putting herself between him and the synthesizer, she
fingered the trigger on the phaser and made sure he saw her
do so.

His mouth puckered in amusement. "Suzanne, you're not going
to shoot me."

"I'd suggest you get to know me a little better before you
jump to any conclusions."

"Isn't this a bit melodramatic?"

"It's what I do best. Now why don't you sit down?" She
nodded toward an armchair on the far side of the room.

"I don't seem to have much choice, do I?" He went to the
chair and sat.

"No, you don't. Interesting reversal, isn't it?"

He sighed impatiently. "What do you want?"

She dragged the desk chair over and positioned it opposite
him. Sitting down, she said, "I'd like to tell you the story
of my life."

He settled back and gestured obligingly. "Go ahead."

"Do you know what kind of child I was? I was the kind who
listened at doors. I heard a lot of things that weren't
meant for my ears and usually I ended up feeling hurt so
eventually I stopped. But before that I heard things that I
still remember. After my mother died, I listened in on the
Starfleet officer who rescued Dennis and me when the Annika
was drifting. He was dictating a communication to his wife.
He talked a lot about his sons and it was obvious even to a
seven-year-old how unhappy he was to be so far away from
them. After he turned us over to you, I listened when you
made the funeral arrangements for my mother, a funeral that
you were too busy to attend. I listened when you arranged
for Dennis and me to go to boarding school. I listened as
you spent the entire trip to Kyros talking to your
assistants, trying to keep your project on track from
halfway across the galaxy. I listened when you paid the
purser to keep us out of your way. I listened and I
remembered that Starfleet officer. You did not do well in
the comparison. I finally forgot about him because it hurt
too much to want a father like him."

She stopped, feeling almost giddy at having confronted him,
despite the fact that he'd shown no reaction. When his
response came, it was as curt and impatient as anything else
he'd ever said to her.

"Suzanne, this is ridiculous. I didn't expect you to
understand when you were a child but surely now you can see
how important my work is. The Federation that you military
types protect wouldn't even exist if not for what I made
possible. It's unfortunate that every time you decided you
needed a father, I was busy elsewhere but--"

"Oh, so it was just bad timing? Well, maybe you're right.
Mom should have waited ten or fifteen years before she died.
How inconsiderate of her."

"You were a child," he snapped. Was he finally showing
emotion? She felt a thrill of pride at having drawn him into
the argument she wanted. "You know nothing of your mother
and you know nothing of me."

"Whose fault is that?"

"Do you have children, Suzanne? Are you married?"

"No."

"Then you have no idea how other people can drag on you, how
they conspire to keep you from doing anything other than
cater to their needs. Frankly, you're in no position to
judge me."

"Yes, I am. I'm your daughter." She laughed mirthlessly.
"I've spent my entire life trying not to be your daughter
but the truth is you made me what I am. For years, I turned
away from everything that's actually meaningful and it was
because I'm your daughter. I thought my career was more
important than anything because yours was and I've kept
everyone at a distance because of that. I thought that
letting other people be important to you was a sign of
weakness. And now--"

A lump rose in her throat.

"Yes?" he prompted. "And now?"

She fired her accusation. "And now I've fucked up the best
thing that ever happened to me. I've hurt the one person who
cared enough to cut through all the crap I've been carrying
around and I did it because I thought he was acting like
you. I didn't stop to think about who he really is or all
the reasons he could never be like you. I responded in the
only way I could, the worst way possible, because *I'm your
daughter.*"

Riding the high of unleashed hurt and anger, it took her a
moment to realize that he was completely untouched by her
words.

"Don't you have anything to say?" she demanded.

"To someone who's holding a phaser on me? No."

She opened the back of the weapon and tossed it to him. He
caught it and examined the empty slot that should have held
the power pack.

He shook his head. "Nice bluff. Is the uniform also a fake,
'Captain'?"

"No. I'm the real thing. I only used the phaser to get your
attention. Too bad I didn't think of that when I was seven."

"Yes, too bad." He tossed the phaser back to her and went
into the bathroom, muttering, "If that attendant doesn't get
here soon, I'll have to--"

The rest of his words were lost to her as the door closed
behind him. She went to the window and looked out at Selene
Natural Park. She wondered if he realized that his room
overlooked one of the few parts of the lunar colony on which
he and his machines had not left their mark.

"Oh, you're still here?"

She turned at the sound of his voice.

"Yes. I'm not holding a phaser on you now. I'd like to
finish our conversation."

"About the miraculous, crap-cutting boyfriend? Very well. It
occurs to me to question your certainty that he could never
be like me. I believe most women choose men who remind them
of their fathers."

"I didn't. For a moment I thought I had but I was wrong."

"Well, good for you." He strode past her and picked up his
suitcase. "Now if I hurry, I can still--"

Moving with pitched intensity, she grabbed the suitcase out
of his hand and threw it across the room. Pleased that her
sudden violence had startled him, she locked eyes with him
and said, "I told you, I'm the real thing. I don't need a
phaser to keep you here."

"What do you want?"

She was almost sorry that there was no tremor in his voice
but maybe it was better this way. If he had no fear, there
was no reason he wouldn't answer her honestly.

"Do you ever look back and wish you'd done anything
differently?"

In the space of a heartbeat, the long-imagined Suzanne who
might have been crept to the forefront of her thoughts,
waited breathlessly--

"No."

--and disappeared.

She nodded in acceptance. If there were no other
possibilities for her, if there never had been, then at
least she'd lost nothing by hearing him say so.

"That's how Jim is different from you," she said. "He
regrets his mistakes." She returned to the window, speaking
more to herself than to him. "And now it looks like I'm one
of them."

"May I go now?"

That crisp, indifferent tone. She thought of how he had
molded her life with the uncaring efficiency of one of the
machines he commanded. He *was* a terraforming machine,
always moving forward, making the world around him conform
to his design.

She continued staring out the window, feeling as empty and
lifeless as the stark landscape below. She heard him
breathing a little heavily as he gathered his luggage. She
wished he would move faster.

*Never hurry away from a tough negotiation; there is no
greater or more damaging concession.*

So many of the harsh lessons she'd learned from him had been
given a different shape by Starfleet.

"Suzanne, I'd like to explain something to you. If you--Are
you listening to me, Suzanne?"

His question sliced through the fog of her contemplation.

*Are you listening to me, Suzanne?*

He'd asked her that once before, right before he threatened
to cut her off from everything she treasured--her brother,
her home, her hopes for the future.

I'm not fourteen anymore, she thought angrily. Whatever he
says to me, I don't have to swallow my response.

Masking her emotions, she faced him.

"Yes, I'm listening."

"If you've screwed up your life, it's no one's fault but
your own. I did what I had to do. I suggest you do the same.
Figure out what it is you want and then do whatever it takes
to get it."

She smiled, even tilted her head. "An actual piece of
fatherly advice. And it lets you off the hook so neatly. But
I do appreciate it. So please understand--I'm just doing
what I have to do."

She drew back and slammed the heel of her hand into his
face. She watched him slide down the door and lay crumpled
on the floor with blood streaming from his nose. She bent
down and checked his pulse. He groaned and looked up at her
blearily. She dropped his hand and went to the comm.

"This is room 2761. Dr. Brandt needs some ice."

She stepped over him and left.

---

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.

"Shit, Suzanne," he muttered.

"Yes. Shit, 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