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Title: Waltz 
Author: Hypatia Kosh 
Series: TOS 
Codes: K&Ch, (K/S implied) 
Beta: Farfalla 
Summary: Chris Chapel makes a new old friend. 
Note: Written for Djinn and for Farfalla. ChapelFest, Round 1. 

*%Waltz%* 


"Enjoying yourself?" 

Chapel looked up from the drink she had been nursing for the last half hour, 
slightly startled. She struggled for a few moments for an answer. This was 
Kirk, her former captain, and, she thought, something of a friend, and his 
voice had given no hint of how he expected her to reply. The truth? 

She chuckled nervously. "Well, actually . . ." 

"The evening's wearing on you?" he finished, smiling in a friendly way that 
made her feel included, drawn into his circle. He had always had the power to 
do that. Just as he had always been perceptive. 

"Yes . . . yes, I never quite seem to know what to do with myself at these 
functions." She smiled weakly. 

"I understand," he said gently. "What do you say we make the best of it, 
though?" 

Chapel blushed, feeling flustered. Most of the room was engaged in chatting 
over drinks, or waltzing on the dance floor; could Kirk really be asking her to 
accompany him? "Where's Spock?" she blurted out stupidly. 

Kirk smiled tightly at that and she instantly regretted her words. "He begged 
off. Cadet training at Jupiter station." The awkwardness was already gone from 
his face. "I would have thought you'd've noticed he wasn't here," he teased. 

"Yes, of course--I must be--must have forgot myse--forgotten myself," she 
stammered. She hated being reminded. 

"Dance with me?" Kirk asked. 

For an instant she almost refused. The air was too heavy; she felt 
light-headed, she was tired; she hated formal soirees like this anyway and 
didn't quite understand how she'd let herself be maneuvered into attending on a 
friend's behalf. 

But one look at Kirk's welcoming, playful expression and she couldn't refuse. 
It would be fun. It was for old times' sake. Former Enterprise crew didn't need 
any excuse. 

"Why certainly, Admiral," she said and offered her hand in a style of 
exaggerated elegance. Kirk graciously accepted. 

Chapel discreetly disposed of her glass and let her former captain lead her 
onto the dance floor. 

"Thanks," Chapel whispered to Kirk when they had slipped into the waltz. 

"The pleasure is all mine," Kirk said. 

Chapel couldn't accept the line; she knew what a good actor Kirk was. 

"No, really," she insisted. 

Kirk looked at her, drawn out of his concentration on the steps, the music, the 
people around him. 

"I don't really know anyone here--at least that I want to talk to--or that I 
haven't talked to already tonight," she explained. Drawn on by the attention 
Kirk was giving her, she added, "These things really go on too long." 

Kirk shrugged slightly. "Some people actually enjoy these sorts of occasions, 
strange as it seems. But I agree, I think they turn up the pressure too high . 
. . particularly if you're not very social. "He looked at her carefully, 
waiting to see if she'd accept this judgment. 

"I'm not antisocial," she confessed. "I just--these huge affairs, the 
wine--it's not . . ." 

Kirk tapped into her vibe immediately. "I don't understand why they have to go 
to such expense. I suppose to impress the ambassadorial guests, but think about 
the impression we're leaving?" They were dancing on the edge of the floor, 
simply and without much skill, but it didn't matter. Chapel remembered that 
they had something in common--they were both mid-westerners, raised in 
lower-middle-class suburbs in smallish cities, who had advanced to high 
position solely through their merits, and they shared the same mid-western 
distrust of pretense and airs and unneeded opulence. 

"Plain-spoken people," Chapel muttered as the waltz ended and they came to a 
stop. The music paused while the orchestra prepared for the next one. 

"Hm?" Kirk asked. 

"Oh, did I say that out loud? Sorry." 

"What? What was it?" 

"I was just thinking. We're plain-spoken people. Salt of the earth." 

"Jeff City, right?" Kirk asked, just as the music picked up again. It was a 
fast waltz, very lively. Kirk winked and grinned like a boy. "Let's show off." 

"Okay," she said, unable to conceive of any other response. 

They twirled into the crowd. Chapel did her best to keep up, but felt ready to 
stumble. There was something odd about the way they were dancing, and she had 
to count time in her head so as not to trip. It was weird--she felt mismatched, 
or maybe . . . they were doing it wrong, too democratically. Kirk was in 
charge, always the captain, but he wasn't really leading . . . . 

The music shifted into a slower bridge. Chapel stepped on Kirk's foot and they 
nearly both fell over. Then Kirk fell over himself apologizing. 

The slower part went more smoothly. Kirk seemed to remember his part in the 
dance again, and it was actually . . . fun. 

"I'm sorry I'm such a lousy partner," Chapel told him. 

"Oh no, not at all. I'm sorry--I seem to be out of practice." 

"Oh, but you go to these things all the time," she said. The music sped up 
again. They did almost all right. Kirk was very good about not bumping into 
other couples and strangely enough he managed to look good. But they kept 
stepping on each other's toes. Finally he leaned close to her head and 
whispered, "You lead." 

A question was written in Chapel's uncertain eyes, but at Kirk's nod she gave 
it a try. It had been a long time since she'd lead a dance--memories of dance 
classes as a teenager came back, when she'd taken the boys' role often because 
the boys in the class so frequently skipped class, and there had also been, 
more recently, dances with nieces and nephews and other young relatives at 
weddings since she'd been stationed at Starfleet on Earth. It came 
naturally--so much more naturally than following. How did he know? she 
wondered. And then she realized that Kirk was following her gracefully, 
smoothly. He started giving her directions, urging her to try more flamboyant 
moves. 

It worked! It was fun! A lot of fun! 

Chapel was terribly disappointed when the music stopped. 

"Let's stay for the next one," Kirk told her. "That was a practice run." 

Chapel glowed. 

After two more dances--and attracting a certain amount of positive 
attention--Chapel developed a stitch in her side and had to stop. Kirk kept 
going. He danced with an alien representative whose culture forbade 
opposite-sex dancing. Whatever Kirk had said earlier criticizing the affair, he 
certainly took to these things like a duck to water, Chapel reflected. Her 
ex-captain, the perfect diplomat. She couldn't help but feel fond. 

After that dance, Kirk introduced her to the ambassador he'd just danced with. 
They all exchanged a few pleasantries, and then the alien moved on. 

"Do you think he's homophobic?" Chapel asked when they were left alone. 

"I don't know." Kirk frowned in thought for a second, then smiled. "He may not 
even realize the connotations of same-sex dancing in our culture." Kirk sighed. 
"Everyone knows about their cultural preferences, so . . . There's a certain 
deference. So, to make a long story short--" 

"--you have no idea." They both smiled. Chapel felt convivial. "How did that 
end up happening? Me leading and you following?" 

Kirk slid his eyes away and smiled. "Well, it's a silly thing." 

"Yes?" 

"But it's just . . . you see . . . Spock always leads." 

Chapel laughed. 

"But you," Kirk continued, "you seemed more comfortable that way. Am I right, 
Chris?" 

Somehow the use of her given name seemed perfectly natural. For once she felt 
as comfortable around him as she felt around Leonard. "Yes," she said, awed at 
herself. "I always wondered why I had so much trouble dancing. You made me 
remember I learned how to dance leading." 

"Really?" 

"Yes. There was supposed to be the same number of boys and girls in the class, 
but some of the boys would always find a way to cut . . . and I was always 
unpopular . . . so I got stuck with the boy's part." She swallowed, stuck in 
the pain of the past and this self-revelation. "I wasn't really like the other 
girls. Something of a tomboy. Awkward. 

"I was in love with Clarence Brecht in seventh grade but I never got up the 
guts to say anything to him because I thought he'd laugh at me." Chapel felt 
slightly annoyed at herself for her need to assert her heterosexuality in the 
face of Kirk's relaxed bisexuality, but she needed so badly to tell someone 
these things. "Everyone said I acted like a boy. I wasn't feminine enough." 

Kirk put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. That's very prejudiced. I think 
where I grew up was a little more accepting. Still . . ." He squeezed her 
shoulder reassuringly. "Some of those kids had nothing better to do than 
criticize others and make you feel miserable. You feel so closed-in there. 
People are tormenting you and it's excruciating. But it ends. It's all over." 
He turned and took her hand. "We showed them, didn't we?" He smiled. "This kid 
who used to beat me up in second grade? I found out he installs fences for a 
living. I guess it's what they say--living well is the best revenge." Chapel 
knew she should be feeling the same joviality as Kirk, but instead she felt 
sad. 

"Chris . . . do you mind if I make a personal comment?" Chapel started. He 
could see how she was feeling. "Are you reading my thoughts?" she asked. 

"I think so. Chris, I think you sell yourself short. You're so sure no-one will 
like you, but you're really very attractive. 

"Now, rest assured, I'm taken, but if Spock weren't there, well . . . you're a 
lot like him in many ways. You know that, don't you? That's why you were drawn 
to him all those years ago. Because you understood him. You alone knew what he 
was going through." 

Chapel opened her mouth slightly but no words would come out. Kirk began to 
lead her towards the exit with his hand lightly on her arm. 

"It's hard . . . to think about that," she admitted. The alcohol must have gone 
to my head, she thought. 

"I know. I wish I could clone myself--" 

"Oh no, no, Captain, you don't have to be sorry for me and--" She realized she 
had said 'Captain,' and her face felt hot. 

"It's not 'Captain,' it's 'Jim,'" he said smoothly. "We're off-duty, remember?" 
he joked as he led her out of the ballroom door and into the hall. 

"Ah, yes, of course, sir," she joked back. 

"We're just friends here," he said. He jerked his head back towards the 
ballroom door. "They won't miss us, I think." 

"They might miss you," she said, feeling mismatched again. It was the truth, 
she thought. 

"At a party you live in the moment. You don't think about who's not there," he 
said knowingly. 

"If you say so." 

"Chris, just . . . have faith in yourself. Okay? You're very accomplished, 
you're kind and generous and diligent--and you're a great dancer." 

She smiled despite herself, but made a face anyway. "For the wrong sex." 

"Not at all. I'll tell you a secret: there are a lot of very eligible, fruity 
straight men in the world, waiting for a woman like you to sweep them off their 
feet. Someone steady, and sturdy--with good old-fashioned mid-western 
wholesomeness." 

Chapel felt the smile, a real smile, on her lips, matching the gentle warmth 
and elation she felt throughout her body. "You really know how to make a girl 
feel good," she said at last. 

"I'm glad," he said. "I'd better go now--0730 meeting tomorrow morning." 

"Oh, really? That's cruel." 

"Comes with the extra stripes, unfortunately. You?" 

"I have to stick around for the sake of the friend I got talked into going here 
for." 

"That's rough." 

"It's a long story. I won't bore you. But i have a ride set up already, though 
I appreciate the offer." 

"I hope you did . . . enjoy yourself?" 

"Yes, Jim. I did." 

THE END