Breadcrumbs
by Nancy Brown (nancy@rat.org)
copyright 1997

Paramount owns the characters, situations, universe, loaf, and
sesame seeds.  I and my various creativity demons own the tale,
although we're happy to share it with whomever would care to read.

To Skippy.  Because.


     "Would you ... like some more to drink?"  His eyes met hers in
shyness, and darted away again.  Before she could even answer, he'd
waved over their waiter, who appeared with a bottle and a barely-
disguised smirk.
     She held her hand over her glass.  "No, Thank you."  His face
fell, disappointed in his own failure to read her mind.  She almost
called the waiter back, simply to make him feel better, but stopped
herself.  She'd already downed three glasses of the sweet, bubbly
liquid.  She enjoyed it, but enough was enough.
     "What about some more desert?  Have you ever tried an ice
cream float?  They're very good."
     "I'm full.  Really."  She tried to think of something to say
that *didn't* involve food, while he fidgeted with his napkin.
     "Well, if you're done, I'll walk you back to your quarters." 
He made to stand up.  She placed her hand on his, felt the electric
shock go through him as she did.
     "Why don't we stay here a little longer?  Please?"
     He sat down again, too quickly, and almost knocked over his
glass.  She felt eyes on them both from around the room.  When
they'd first arrived, together, tonight's patrons had affected not
to notice them.  By this point, the last shreds of politeness had
evaporated, leaving them the center of attention, darkened corner
table or not.
     "So ...  What do you want to talk about?"  He radiated tense
agitation, putting her shoulderblades on edge.
     "I don't know," she said, and again, his face fell.  It was so
odd; a week ago, they could have and did talk about everything,
constantly.  The friendship they'd built had been strong,
beautiful, abiding.  As time had gone by, she'd imagined what it
might have been like to change that friendship, transform her
already strong feelings for him into those not only of a close
friend, but of a lover.
     In her imaginings, she had not considered how that change
might also steal from her the friendship she so treasured, costing
her a potential love, which she could face, and a close companion,
which she wasn't so certain she could.
     They'd already spoken the words.  In retrospect, telling him
that she loved him had been one of the easiest things she'd ever
done.  It had slipped from her lips like a song, a spell, a sacred
chant she'd known from her childhood and had been waiting her
entire life to repeat.  Of course she'd been in love before, as had
he, and of course she'd spoken the words to others, had meant them
at the time as surely as she meant these.  He'd done the same, more
than once, and many of their long chats had been commiserations on
loves gone sour.  Those times had been wrong to tell, to say the
truth as she'd come to know it.
     When the time had been right, it had been almost too late,
only a last breath of hope saving them both from the fierce beasts
inside themselves.  They'd spoken, and they'd touched, and his
breath in her mouth had been sweeter than nectar on her tongue, a
wild, strange flavour like wood smoke and ginger.
     They'd spent that first night in wonder, discovering one
another over and again, with touches made nervous by long
anticipation, and more passionate for all their having waited this
long to dare them.  The years were long since either had first
taken someone to bed; nevertheless, at the time, she'd felt like a
skittish young virgin again, saw the same uncertainty in his eyes
as he'd bent to taste her throat.
     When they'd drifted off to sleep, it was with the knowledge it
could have been better.  She'd eased herself thinking that it would
be, that he was the right one, that this was the right time, that
their lives would work out as they should.
     Now it seemed things might not be so right after all, as he
watched her and she watched him across the remains of their silent
meal.
     Maybe they should have hidden it, she mused, not let everyone
find out till they'd sorted it out themselves better.  That idea
quelled itself momentarily.  In a place like this, there were no
secrets for long.  When someone was in love, when someone had a
broken heart, when a second-cousin died in a freak transporter
accident, everyone knew.  Everyone.
     She turned her head slightly.  The bartender stared back at
her.  What should she read in that face?  Friendship?  Perhaps. 
Jealousy?  More than a little, which didn't surprise her,
considering everything she knew and didn't know about her lover's
past.  Acceptance?  Not much, but enough.  The eyes moved away from
her, to someone else coming for a drink or an ear or both.
     "What are we going to do?"
     "What?"
     She gestured around the dim room.  "What are we going to do
about all this?"
     "About all what?  I love you."
     He spoke with such gentle earnestness her heart wanted to
break.
     "I know."  A silly, adorable grin spread on his face.  "But
that's not enough."
     "Is there something you want?  Name it, and I can get it for
you."
     "I don't want presents," she said, and regretted it, as she
recalled the gifts he'd bestowed on her already: the gorgeous
necklace she'd found on her pillow the morning she'd wakened to
find him already on duty, the heady-scented flowers in her quarters
when she'd returned to them later that evening after her own shift.
     "You didn't like the flowers."
     "I loved the flowers, and the necklace, and the candy, and the
statue, and the program."  She flushed slightly at the last, saw
his matching look of slight embarrassment.  It had been an
*extraordinary* program.  "Those things mean very much to me,
because they're from you.  But you don't need to give me presents
to make me love you.  I love *you*, not what you can give me."
     "I like giving things to you."
     "You don't have to."
     "I want to."
     Arguing with him wasn't going to solve anything.  She dropped
it, reminding herself to bring it up again later.  "Anyway, that's
not what I meant.  We need to talk about what happens next."
     "I walk you back to your quarters, you kiss me goodnight, and
I see you tomorrow."
     "With us."  She emphasized the words, willing him to
understand what she meant.  After a moment, he did.  "Where are we
going to go from here?  This doesn't involve just us.  There are a
lot of people who are going to be affected by our being together."
     "Starfleet?"
     She chuckled.  "Not that many people.  Actually, I was
thinking of someone in particular who might take this very badly,
a certain young man of our acquaintance."
     It took him a moment to realize which young man she meant.  "I
thought about that," he said.
     "We need to talk to him, let him know he's not going to lose
his family just because you and I are together now."
     "As soon as he comes back, we'll tell him.  I don't think
he'll have a problem with it, and if he does, I'll talk to him."
     "Good," she said.  She'd been worrying herself into a frenzy
over that since she'd first entertained thoughts of starting a
relationship with him.
     How long ago had it been when they'd first met?  Had it been
a day or a lifetime ago?  Had he dreamed of her then, when she'd
slept in the embrace of one of his friends?  She'd dreamed such
things, far more than once, though she'd kept the thoughts to
herself.  When that stage of her life had ended, she'd been
frightened of those dreams, as she strongly suspected he had also
been frightened.  She was suddenly amazed how they'd managed to
work past those fears, at just the right moment, and thus gone from
being two frightened and lonely people to where they were tonight,
sitting across from each other.
     Frightened and lonely still.
     When she'd been young, her grandmother had told her countless
fables of young girls who found the great loves of their lives, and
lived on in joy.  She'd spent her youth looking for that kind of
happiness, only to discover over and again that life didn't work
that way.  The princes she'd known in her day had always turned
into little green creatures in the end, except for one, and he had
been more of a bird, for her to hold for a brief moment before
watching him soar beyond where she could go.
     The prince before her was hardly charming.  When she'd first
met him, she'd thought him fairly unattractive, not her type at
all.  Only when she'd gotten to know him as a friend had she been
able to see the beauty within him, radiating outward until she
could not imagine anyone finding him less than sublime.  And hadn't
that been one of the stories, as well?
     They stood at the edge of a deep dark wood, filled with
strange faces, and people afraid of what they represented who would
do anything to pull them apart.  They were certain to be drawn from
their path by the lure of sweeter things, and maybe when they
finally exited the forest, they would no longer be together.
     If she had any sense, she should stand up and walk away right
now.  He would understand, might even be relieved.  Relationships
weren't safe.  They were painful things, better left untouched lest
they prick and draw blood.  What had she been thinking, telling him
she loved him?  Sleeping with him was one thing; offering him her
heart was entirely something else.
     "I think we should call it a night," she said.  He got to his
feet quickly.  He took her arm in an absurdly gallant fashion, and
with a nod to the bar, they left among stares.
     A deep silence yawned between them again as they headed
towards her quarters.  How could she tell him that there was no
way, that although she did love him, being together was simply not
going to be possible?  How would she be able to face him in the
corridors afterwards, see his face and his soulful eyes, and know
what could never be?
     She pulled her arm from his and took his hand.  "This way,"
she said.
     "Where are we going?" he asked, as she led him in a direction
away from her quarters, to neutral ground.
     With a turn, they were before one of the rooms set aside as an
observation lounge.  She opened the door and led him inside, where
it was thankfully empty.  "Here."  With a few keypunches, the door
slid shut and a hatch slid open.
     They stood amidst stars.  Vertigo washed through her quickly,
as her mind told her stomach that she was standing on a forcefield
and was perfectly safe.  Nevertheless, she clutched his hand
convulsively until she oriented herself.
     She heard his sharp breath, saw the wonder on his face.  He'd
been in space his entire adult life, and still, seeing the spill of
stars surrounding them was enough to return him to the awe of
childhood.  Her heart ached with love for him, as he stared around
them happily.
     "Why did you want to come here?" he asked her after a long
time.
     Because it was safe, because I wanted to tell you I couldn't
be with you in the one place where we were both equals.  Because
here it doesn't matter who you are, or who I am.  Here we're just
two lost children trying to find our way.
     Together.
     "I heard a story once when I was a little girl.  It was about
two children whose parents couldn't take care of them.  Instead of
giving them away, or killing them, or anything else, the parents
led their children out into a dark forest and left them there to
find their own way.  One of the children suspected what was going
to happen, and dropped bits of a piece of bread onto their path, so
they could find their way home again."
     "Did they?"
     "No.  Birds came and ate the crumbs, leaving the children
lost."
     "What happened to them?"
     "After many adventures, they found their way out of the woods
again, and went back to where they had once lived.  Their parents
were long dead, which made the children sad, because they'd loved
their parents.  Together, they made a huge tapestry, big enough to
cover the whole world, and on it they put a map, so that other lost
children would be able to find their way home.  They set it high
into the sky, so high that it became the night, and their map of
little breadcrumbs became the stars.
     "You know what my life was like when I was young.  There were
times I felt like those children, lost in the woods with no one to
find me, and no way to get home.  Whenever I felt that way, I
waited for night, and for the stars.  As soon as I saw them, no
matter what else happened, I knew I would be okay."
     "If you were ever lost in the woods, I'd always come looking
for you."
     "You would, wouldn't you?"  He nodded solemnly.
     "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
     "I can say it again."
     She laughed, and he smiled.  She loved his smile.  Whatever
anyone said, he would always be a handsome prince to her.  Perhaps
that was enough for anyone.  Maybe they weren't destined for a
"happily ever after."  Who was?  Life didn't promise an abundance
of joy to anyone.  She'd known people who had seemed like
exceptions to that rule, but when she thought about it, they had
problems like everyone else.  The forest lay before her, whether
she was with him or not.  Given her options, she'd rather face it
with a friend.  It would be dark, and it would be dangerous, but if
they held hands and kept their eyes on the stars, they'd find their
path some way.
     She kissed his cheek.  He turned his head, and their lips met
in a gentle dance.  After a long time, they pulled apart, their
breath quicker than it had been.  He held her tightly against his
body.  She expected him to continue caressing her, to pull her to
the invisible floor and make love to her among the stars.
     He did indeed tug her gently to the floor, then positioned
them both so their backs were against the door, his arm encircling
her.  She found it to be quite comfortable resting her head against
his.
     "I love you, too, Rom," she said, and settled into the snuggle
while twinkling breadcrumbs kept quiet watch around them.

The End