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Chris listened intently to the Minister of Culture, smiled, and nodded in all the appropriate places. All of this had become so ingrained – the state dinners and the lengthy meetings and the polite listening to everything that was said, just so he could get what he needed. He could play the role of charming millionaire in his sleep. And right now, he was seeking the Minister’s agreement for their dig. He needed it for the Pike Museum, but mostly he needed it for Len -- Len of the closed-off heart, the broken dreams, the lost potential.
Christopher Pike was not a sentimental man, but Leonard McCoy was more than a colleague, more than his head curator, and could be more than he was; Chris was determined to do something to make that happen. So, here he was, back in Sumatra, in Medan, on the island where he spent his rebellious teen years, the place where he left his heart.
From that time, so long ago, he could never look at Medan, at Sumatra, the same way again. After his father died, his mother had returned here from the States. He had visited on occasion, but kept the time spent on the island short. Later, it was only business; only his desire to build the Pike into something lasting brought him back. Over the years, he had procured so many pieces and had turned his father’s haphazard collection of ancient and contemporary artifacts into a preeminent research museum. He had traded in the warm tropical clime – the first place he called home – and only true love, for San Francisco, for creating a legacy in antiquities and, although he’d never admit it aloud, a quiet refutation of the family business in retaliation for agreeing to walk away from his heart.
And now, as he stood there in Medan, in the home of the Minister of Culture, listening politely and agreeing to every word, sipping a glass of wine, he was suddenly taken back to those years, to his carefree youth when he spent his days surfing and his nights around bonfires, sleeping under the stars.
Chris froze as she entered the room. She was as beautiful as ever. Time had done nothing to diminish the wave in her long blonde hair, had not weakened the tall, lithe body. And could not erase the hole in his heart one glimpse of those laser bright blue eyes re-opened. He swallowed, not hearing the minister’s query, and found himself drawn to her, the attraction as strong and visceral as ever.
Chris took a last swallow of the wine, thankful for the light, fruity drink, set the glass on a passing servant’s tray and licked his lips. “Winona,” he said, his voice less smooth than usual, but he heard no tremor, gave away nothing of his racing pulse and the sweat that slid down his spine.
She turned, her eyes widening in surprise before they narrowed for the briefest of moments, then all hint of any emotion was gone, blotted out by a winning smile, a polite interest that was not her, not the Winona he knew and remembered. “Chris Pike?” she asked, her voice was as lilting as ever, the years had done nothing to roughen the dulcet tones he remembered.
He nodded and, instead of taking his outstretched hand, she hugged him, her smile never faltering, though he wanted to know what was hiding behind that clear blue gaze.
Chris wrapped his arms around her, holding on a little too long, gripping a bit too hard as he inhaled her scent, still exotic, yet fresh and winsome. No woman had ever smelt like Winona Wallace Williams. He smiled when he thought of her full, maiden name, when he remembered how he had loved to tease her for it.
They parted, both pairs of eyes too bright, the whole scene incredibly awkward as Chris fumbled for something to say besides speaking of the elephant between them.
Winona stepped into the breach, as graceful as ever. “How are your parents, Chris?”
“Long passed, sadly,” he supplied, grateful for the opening as he relaxed into the genial small talk and tried not to lose himself in her blue eyes and soft smile. The moments passed swiftly until the conversation waned, stretched, and Chris swallowed. He wanted to say more, to tell her so much… his eyes darted around the room as the silence grew more awkward.
Finally Winona, ever the blithe spirit, chuckled and shook her head, blonde tendrils caressing her cheek bones. “This is ridiculous. Fetch me a drink, Christopher, and we can talk on the terrace.” The warmth in her words and smile soothed him, the slight teasing in using his full given name hinted at so much more. But he nodded and smiled, watched her step away, moving quickly and gracefully through the room, still able to make heads turn and draw all eyes.
Chris gathered two glasses of wine, noted that Winona was happily chatting with the minister’s wife, that she was animated and bright, no hint of pain or darkness touching her. He sighed and stepped onto the terrace, gazed out to the sea, watched the bright sails dip and bob, lifted his face to the sun, and allowed himself a moment of reverie.
He started from a light touch on his forearm, but could not stop the smile at her soft, “Is that one mine?”
He nodded and handed her the glass of wine. “I hope white is fine with you. Didn’t seem like a day for red.”
She sipped the drink delicately, her grin mischievous, as she shook her head. “There’s been enough blood between us.”
She did not look at him; instead she focused on the horizon and gave him a chance to study her profile, to will the stone in his gut away, to gather his courage and find his voice. “I-I... I’m sorry, Winnie.” He sighed and leaned against the railing, their shoulders brushing, though neither turned to look at the other.
She shook her head. “It was a long time ago, Chris.” Her words were hushed, quiet, but she turned and looked at him, and he met her eyes. Fearless now as he never was then.
“But I never forgot, never could...”
Winona frowned, her soft chuckle humorless. “Why? Because I was the only one not in awe of your money?”
“No, because I loved you...with everything I had.” His admission was low, barely audible above the gulls and the harsh chattering of the macaws.
She inhaled sharply and turned away, and took a sip of her wine. Chris watched her free hand grip the rail tightly. “And you needed to tell me this now?” She turned, her eyes so intense he had to bite back a soft gasp. “It was a very long time ago, Chris. We both moved on. Just forget it.”
“I don’t want to forget, I never did. I want you to know the truth, know what happened. You deserve that.”
Winona blinked and slumped a little, the light caught a few strands of silver in her hair as Chris looked at her. He reached out and covered her hand on the railing with his. She turned her hand and intertwined their fingers before turning to him. “Then tell me, but not because you owe me anything.”
“Can I take you to dinner? The shack’s still on the beach,” he offered, turning his smile up to its full wattage.
Winona’s lip curled at the corner, revealing a dimple as she nodded. “All right. I haven’t eaten Nasi Bungkus while strolling on the beach in ages. Let me make my excuses.”
“I’ll wait,” he breathed, still enchanted by Winona even though his head knew that she was not the young, beautiful free spirit that he had walked away from. Neither of them could be considered young and Winona had seen too much, lost too many to be the carefree soul that she had been then. Still, something about her called to a piece of himself that he had kept long buried.
~~*~~
So it was that Chris found himself sitting on the beach next to Winona, a blazing bonfire behind them, the restless sea lapping at their bare feet, and the endless night stretching above them. The hours had passed quickly, as they conversed and laughed, sharing a meal and tuak, as they strolled along the beach. So much had changed, but they still connected and felt so right together.
He was the moth circling the flame, knew this was suicide, that he was diving headfirst into the fire, but he couldn’t stop himself, didn’t want to, had to finally, finally after all these years explain. She deserved no less and his aching heart wanted the chance to hear her voice, to gain atonement, a chance to heal, and maybe the possibility of more.
Winona was leaning back on her elbows, her eyes closed, and the stars shining down on her face. She was beautiful in the flickering light from the fire, still the first woman that he’d ever loved, the only one that he could not forget. His resistance lowered by the native palm flower beer, he leaned over and pressed his lips to Winona’s.
She started and sat up quickly, pulling away. “Chris,” she breathed, rough and low, as she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She rested her chin on her knees, but wouldn’t look at him.
“Winnie. I still cannot resist you; even after all these years that has not changed.”
She said nothing, hunched further into herself, resolutely kept her face turned to the sea.
Chris reached for her shoulder and shifted, forced her to look at him. Her eyes were shining, too bright, and she was biting her lip, gnawing away at the soft flesh whose small taste was like coming home. “I just...” he inhaled deeply and flopped back onto his butt beside her, wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “You are so beautiful...”
Winona tilted her head, rested her cheek on her knee and regarded him suspiciously. “Chris. I don’t understand it... how... after all these years...” her voice trailed off, her eyes unfocused before she returned, looked at him once again. “After George I swore I’d never marry again, never let another too close, and here you waltz in, try to make a liar out of me in just a few hours?” She shook her head. “You left me, Chris. Dumped me. Explain just what the hell is going on in your head.” There was no venom in her voice, but she expected to be answered.
“I was young... stupid. Easily manipulated. Convinced by my parents that I needed an education, that I had to go to Harvard, that it was expected. Like any of that mattered.” He shook his head. “I was perfectly content to live my life in the surf and sand, but Mother had other ideas.”
Winona snorted. “Other ideas?” She managed a smile, lifted her hand to Chris’ cheek. “You mean she convinced you that it’d kill her if you married ‘that Peace Corps hippie’.” She turned away, stared off into the waves. “You’ve done good work, Chris... I wondered... I worried about you for awhile...”
“You kept track of me?” Chris was touched and briefly ashamed. There had been a long period in his life he was not overly proud of.
“Of course and Jimmy works for you, after all,” she shrugged.
“Jimmy? Wait... As in Jim Kirk, the archaeologist? Oh, hell no! It’s not possible. You’re James T. Kirk’s mother?” Chris straightened before beginning to laugh hysterically.
Winona turned and looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise, but her lips parted around a confused smile. “What? What’s so funny?” She poked Chris in the ribs. “Chris! Tell me!” she demanded.
“Leonard McCoy and your son are the whole reason I’m here. We’re planning a dig.” He shook his head, astounded that he had not made that connection. Their eyes were the same. How could he have forgotten Winona’s eyes?
Winona frowned. “What?” She held up her hand to forestall his answer. She blinked a few times and then took a deep breath. “Leonard McCoy works for you? At the museum?”
Chris nodded slowly, wondering where this was going, especially when Winona had that look in her eye.
“Is he a good man?”
“Who? Leonard?” Chris’ thoughts were completely derailed at this point.
“Yes, Leonard. If he works for you, I would assume you’d know what kind of man he is.”
Winona’s voice held a different tenor than it had all night. It was harder, demanding, and Chris scrambled to answer. “Len’s a fabulous guy. Best curator in the business…” Chris’ voice trailed off, unsure what exactly Winona wanted to know.
“And?”
“And what?” he asked, eyes wide.
“He’s not married or straight or an axe-murderer is he?”
Oh. Chris didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to understand where the questions were coming from. “Len is divorced. He has a daughter that his ex doesn’t let him see nearly enough. He’s honest to a fault, a good friend, and a genuinely nice guy. And, I have it on good authority that he’s bi. Is that what you wanted to know?”
He gave Winona a cheeky grin and she nudged him with her shoulder, smiling back at him as she ducked her head. Her smile warmed him.
“That’s enough… for now.” She cocked her head and gave Chris a look that had his blood buzzing in his ears. He didn’t know whether to be instantly aroused or fearful.
“You said Jim’s going to be here?”
Chris nodded and sat up, sensing that he needed to be alert. “I was getting the final signatures lined up, making sure that everything was in order and that nothing could go wrong. They’re scheduled to arrive in two weeks.”
Winona’s eyes narrowed and her lips pressed close. “Dammit!”
“Whoa. Just... wait a sec. He didn’t tell you he was coming?”
Winona closed her eyes, took several deep steadying breaths and then opened her eyes. She shook her head. “Jim and I don’t always see eye to eye on things. He...” she sighed and pressed her cheek to her knee once again. “He was a bit of a hell-raiser and more than I could handle alone. I thought he needed a father figure, so I moved us to Iowa when he was sixteen so he could be near George’s family. Problem was, I couldn’t stand the place…” She let out a pained sigh. “He stayed and moved in with the Kirks, while I returned here -- came home. Took an active interest in the Foundation again and didn’t see him until his high school graduation. We still have trouble communicating.”
Chris looked at Winona and smiled gently. She was more beautiful than ever, especially now, vulnerable and bare, her heart in her eyes. “Then maybe, we can work on that, too.”
“Too?”
“You and Jim... and you and me...” he hesitated, unsure. “I’d like the chance to get to know you again. I’d say you haven’t changed a bit, but we both know that’s not true.”
Winona smiled, her eyes bright in the firelight. “You think I’ve changed because I’m no longer wearing hemp skirts, twine bracelets and flowers in my hair?”
Chris shook his head. “No. I think you’ve changed and grown more beautiful because of the losses you’ve suffered. I did mean to call, always wanted to, but I was never brave enough. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you had sent me packing.” He leaned close, their noses were almost touching, silently offering.
Winona leaned the rest of the way, pressed their lips together and then wrapped her arms around his neck. It was a tender kiss, tentative and uncertain, but there was the promise of more, bright hope like the dawn on the horizon and Chris smiled when she pulled away. “I wouldn’t have sent you away, Chris,” she breathed.
“Let me earn that, Winnie. Please?”
She just nodded and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before turning and snuggling in his arms, her head on his shoulder. They sat like that, talking quietly, until the bonfire burned itself out.