Rough Rider

It hadn't been against regs for something like this to happen, even as long ago as Rough Rider's return from Zorti; but when Grant's by then obvious pregnancy had caused the intimate relationship that had existed between captain and exec to become part of the exploratory starship's story as covered by the media, the brass at Guard Command had been embarrassed and they'd frowned even though they could not openly censure. Woodlawn was well aware that between unofficial but decided disapproval from her superiors and hysterics from Kirk Rogers's wealthy, widowed and possessive mother Joy Grant had had hell to pay for returning first to base and then to Earth pregnant with her dead captain's son. That was one good reason why he never pressed her for more than she was willing to give him now, despite the passage of almost two decades and despite the fact that he was a staff officer and therefore about the safest possible partner she could have chosen from a protect-the-chain-of-command standpoint.

Nevertheless he was disappointed at being asked to leave her now, when he'd waited so long and so patiently for tonight's invitation to come. To wake up beside a loved one again, after missing that every morning since Mae's death!

Oh, well, he'd done without that pleasure more mornings than not even while Mae had lived; he'd been serving on starships and she had been teaching school back home on Earth during most of their married life. As for waking up beside Joy Grant some morning, he still had confidence that it would happen sooner or later - provided that he was patient and cooperative now, provided that he didn't make her feel pushed for what she so plainly was not yet ready to give him.

So he got out of her bed now, dressed with the uncomfortable feeling that she wanted him gone so intensely that she'd have winked him out of existence if that had been within her power rather than tolerate the delay caused by his need to don his clothing, and bent to kiss her goodnight even though he wondered whether she really wanted him to do so. "Go back to sleep if you can, Joy," he said, and smoothed dark brown hair that was just showing its first silver threads back from her forehead. "You've still got the medicine I prescribed?"

"Yes, and I haven't taken it once and I don't intend to start tonight." She was feeling repentant, maybe even downright guilty; she put up a hand and caressed his cheek. He noticed that she was very careful to keep the bedclothes tucked securely and concealingly around her body, very careful indeed to avoid doing anything that might look like an invitation or just a reversal of her decision that he should leave. "I'll be fine, Woody. I need to think, that's all. You can understand that, can't you?"

"I never met a captain who didn't spend a lot of time alone, if that's what you mean," he answered her, and kissed her again. "It seems to go with the rank. Predisposition or consequence, I don't know - but I guess it means you're normal and I don't need to worry about you, as your physician or as your lover. Good night, darling. I'll see you tomorrow sometime, I hope."

"You know damned well you will, St. Pete's not that big a ship!" Grant laughed ruefully and took her hand away from her lover's face. "Good night, then."

When had she ever used an endearment to address him, even in their most private and intimate moments? Never, Woodlawn thought with astonishment as he let himself out of the captain's quarters and walked to the nearest lift. The ship's passageways were quiet at this hour; there were on-duty crews at work, of course, in every department that required 24-hour coverage, but generally there was little corridor traffic at 0200. Even though he would not have needed to be embarrassed, would not have dreamed of trying to explain himself if he'd encountered anyone, he was still somehow relieved to make it all the way down to sickbay and his own adjacent cabin without having to politely greet anyone on his way.

He wasn't feeling polite. He'd just got through telling his captain he wasn't worried about her, and now he was making himself a liar - and he had no more hope of going back to sleep than she'd had, so he made himself a hot brandy and he sat in a chair and stared out a viewport instead of undressing and lying down again.

He sat there and remembered Zorti as they'd discovered it nineteen years earlier; and he knew perfectly well that six decks above him in her own quarters, Captain Grant was doing exactly the same thing. The only problem was that although he'd "been there," just as she'd said, he had not physically or telepathically witnessed the most critical moments as she had done; had not been a command officer, had not been able to share fully in her pain and her responsibility. So he had no illusions that his recollections could bring him any clue as to what in hers could be causing that disquiet, could be making her dreams so disturbed and her waking hours so tense - ever more so, he thought as he mused, with each day that brought the St. Petersburg closer to Zorti and its newest mystery.

I just hope you can solve it this time, Joy, Woodlawn thought as he nursed his drink and his memories simultaneously and waited for the infuriatingly cheerful voice of his chrono-alarm to tell him that the night was over and he was free to start his day. I hope so for your sake, and for mine.