A/N: Response to a prompt by neverevered: "Blair/Kirk (Star Trek: 2008)When you pick me up in duty free/that's when I thought i'd be the cross in your T/or must see TV." It can sort of be seen as a companion fic to the fic she wrote from my prompt (because crazy shit like this comes up in my head too often), Infinite. Enjoy!
He pulled his collar a little straighter after he wiped the beard of shaving cream from his chin. It's her favorite shirt of his - it brought out the blue in his eyes, apparently. His first mate raised his eyebrows at him and without even saying a word, made him self-conscious all over again so he smoothed his hair down one last time.
A somewhat unstable landing left his efforts completely useless. Way to go, Sulu.
He was surprised when he felt a steady hand on his shoulder and heard Spock's voice. "I assure you that your paramour will be thrilled at your safe return regardless of your physical appearance."
Just the mention of her brought a smile to his face - smile he tried to cover with his hand over his mouth and his head ducked. Blair (Ms. Waldorf, if you're nasty - which he most certainly was on their first encounter) was seven years his junior but the most precocious little thing he'd ever set his sights on.
"You've met her over a dozen times, Spock. She's got a name and you're allowed to use it, in case you didn't know."
"Yes, but you turn the most interesting shade of red when I address your romantic interest in her."
And he said he didn't understand the nature of the human prank, the smug, sneaky little bastard.
He barked out his final orders and when he heard the hiss of the opening door, he took long strides toward the exit. He was captain of his own ship and he couldn't get out of there fast enough, not when he knew what was on the other side.
Homesickness was a strange feeling, probably for the sole reason that he'd never really had much of a home before. There were more people waiting for him to get back to the Enterprise than there were in his empty apartment, located in the heart of a city he never really knew.
But she made him sick.
She made his stomach turn when he had to turn his back and walk away from her and his throat always dried up when he kissed her goodbye. His hands shook like he was an old man as he cupped the soft curve of her face and getting close enough to another woman to even smell her perfume - forget about it.
God, she made him so sick.
He attempted to make himself presentable to his girl one last time (if anyone bumped into him on his way to her and messed this up, he/she is fired) and ran his fingers through the front of his hair, pushing it back from his forehead just the way she liked. He pulled down the hem of his jacket to straighten out the creases and passed by a mirror just to see how that bruise on his cheekbone was healing. Yea, she was not going to be thrilled about that.
She had her back to him and he took a second to just stare at the girl who made him the luckiest bastard in the entire universe. She was in a red dress - hell if he knew what they're called - but it accentuated the tiny waist and rounded hips he loved so much. Her hair was set in dark curls and her black heels - well, let's just say the girl knew how to get him going.
Then she turned and she had that dimpled smile on her face that pretty much ruined every other girl for him. He knew he wore the right shirt when he got up that morning.
It's moments like this that made him rue the day he ever met her. It made all his adventures seem so small because the entire galaxy narrowed down to her and her high heels. All the stars and planets swiveled down into her curves and her lips and she'd put everything into focus without even knowing it. She shrunk his entire world to a dot that was only her.
He felt the force of gravity more strongly than even the time he and Sulu fell from that fucking drill and that was some scary shit. But she was the sole presence in the galaxy of his existence and so the pull was undeniable - at least she always gave him a soft landing.
Well, that's not true, but even the rough ones were enjoyable.
She was an old-timer, he knew that much. It wasn't difficult to guess when he first spied her classic movies collection, and he likened himself to a Brando even if he knew she was more of a Clark Gable kind of girl. It turned out, though, that she didn't mind the smell of his leather jacket or the fact that he didn't shave everyday (she scrunched her nose against his stubble sometimes, but who could blame her?). He too, liked her for the things she were and he even began to look forward to her new tradition of picking him up from the station after every mission.
He dipped her slightly to get a laugh out of her (and, perhaps, to have a perfectly reasonable excuse to rest his hand on the small of her back) and kissed her face, everywhere but those laughing lips. "I have a little present for you." He always did.
"Oh?" And she always played surprised.
"You'll have to wait and see."
"Oh, I can be patient, Captain Kirk." They both knew she was anything but. "Now come on, the car's out front. I just had new leather seats put in and I want to try them out."
How could a guy not be homesick for something like that?