Author's Note: This is my reboot version of the TOS episode, The Paradise Syndrome, in which Kirk is separated from the away team during a mission. He loses his memory and joins the descendants of American Indians, falling in love in the process. For some time now I've wanted to write this bittersweet story. It is, in a roundabout way, a chance for me to write in my most absolute favorite time period, or at least fill a story with things I am utterly passionate about from my favorite time period. Needless to say, this story is purely indulgent. Purely. And I am crossing my fingers someone out there will enjoy this piece of writing. One thing about the rating - it's definitely a more mellow "M." However, for the suggested adult themes and the fact that this is a romance between Kirk and Miramanee, I feel much better placing it here than at "T."

I am changing a few main points of the TOS episode. First, there is no planet named Amerind. I am calling it Hozhoni. This Navajo word has several meanings and I'll throw out a few I discovered: beautiful, peace, and one with the universe. Secondly, the people on Hozhoni do not consider Kirk a god (and neither does he). They also do not make him a medicine man. In the TOS episode, Spock states the people are a mixture of Navajo, Mohican, and Delaware. I am taking the liberty of adding Sioux into the mix. Also, my story will not begin in the same place that the original episode does. Please don't let that throw you. There is a reason for that: I want to make more of an impact when Spock and McCoy appear on the scene. The 'hows' and 'whys' of Kirk's predicament will become clear.

A big disclaimer about the "cultural elements" in this story as a whole: they are not a representation of any single American Indian tribe. To be completely up front, anthropology is my passion and because of that, I in no way wish to do a disservice to anyone by failing to make this disclaimer. This is a fictional story based on a TOS episode. That is all.

Finally...although this story can stand alone, it also serves as a companion piece or prequel for a story I am writing called Wanted. Wanted takes the triumvirate through a portal and into an Old West world. It is not published yet but I will begin posting in the next couple of weeks. My version of The Paradise Syndrome will end sadly as the original did. I really can't see it ending any other way, and it may be good for you to know this up front. Wanted will try to right things for Jim...its ending will be happy-ish...He may even see Miramanee once again...and what else? You will have wait and see...

But I digress. On to chapter one. Updates will probably be irregular because I am still working on Indigenous! But this story and Wanted hit me by storm and I could not ignore it! Notes will not normally be this long! FYI, near the end of the story, Spock and McCoy will finally appear. Thank you so much for reading - and please, feel free to review!

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek.

You can't wake a person who is pretending to be asleep.

American Indian Proverb, Navajo

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He awakens to the face of an angel.

He gazes into her eyes, eyes he thinks he saw in his dreams. He isn't certain that angels even exist, but she looks like one as she sits in this dark place where a fire is the only light illuminating her flawless skin. Fearing she isn't real, he lifts weary fingers to her cheek. When she doesn't pull back but leans into the touch of his hand, he allows his fingers to linger.

"Beautiful," he whispers. He knows this before he sees anything else of this woman and he is captured by the thought that he was placed here for a purpose. Maybe even for her. He doesn't think on much else. He doesn't know much else other than she is what he says her to be - beautiful.

She wears only a curious and simple skirt made of animal skin, with an array of beads in rows and symbols he does not understand. Her shoulders are bare and strong, her lines and curves perfection. He peers at the animal claw resting in the center of her beaded necklace which nestles between her full, rounded breasts. She is about his age, he considers. Her skin becomes creamier there, her nipples supple. A few years younger than he, he amends.

He cannot think of much else as his heart flutters. For a moment, she is close to him, almost too close. She is too close for his mind has gone numb of anything else but her. Aroused, he shifts uncomfortably under his blanket and realizes he is wearing much less than the young woman before him. He wonders who, indeed, removed all of his clothing. He lifts his gaze from her breasts to the pulsing of her neck and finally to her face before his mind stops thinking altogether and his body takes over.

When she tilts her head, shying away her face, the ends of her hair brush his arm and elicit a surge through his body he does not comprehend. He fingers a strand of her hair tenderly as if it is made of rare and priceless streams of silk. Her eyes peek from under her curtain and smolder. He is tempted to wrap the hair around his fingers and more tempted to pull her towards him. If she was willing, he would crush her breasts into his chest and keep her close so he could touch what he so desired. She is a stranger, but he longs to be with her already. His fingers dig into his palms. He does not do those things. He is...He is...in control of himself, and she wisely takes to her feet, swift as a deer, and the luxurious dark curtain slips through his fingers.

She stands, stoic and eyes piercing. He watches her, wide-eyed and disappointed.

"Who are you?" Her velvet voice slips over him, mesmerizing him more than her beauty.

"I don't know." He speaks as if he's unsure, and he is uncertain. He feels strange. This place is strange. He winces at the unevenness of his words but he is testing the language on his lips. It wasn't the language that he was using to think, so he knows it isn't his own. He understands her, but his tongue fumbles in his attempt to speak this woman's language. "Where am I?"

"Hozhoni."

"Hoz...honi," he repeats, questions burgeoning in his mind. What lies outside of this quaint abode? Did he fall to get here? Where were his people? Who were his people? But she is in front of him and he thinks she has cared for him while he was here. He should not be rude, so he asks, "What is your name?"

He pushes himself up on his elbows, leaving the warmth of the fur underneath him. He's eager for her name but the world suddenly swims before his eyes. He groans and puts a hand to his head. A warm hand touches his shoulders and another slips around his back, urging him to sit.

"You must sit, and wait."

"Wait?" He murmurs while the stars in his eyes disappears. He blinks, his vision now clear, and finds her through the darkness. She sits back on her heels, hand withdrawing from his skin slowly. His fists clench to keep himself from reaching out again to her, but he does not bother to stop his imagination. Her beauty teases him.

"You have been sick. You are better now, but...you need time. Maybe one day - and food. I will be back."

His heart thuds in his ears as she rises to her feet and turns. "Wait," he pleads.

She pauses, her lips forming a sultry frown he wants to kiss and turn into lips that are pleased and sated. "I cannot wait. The food will burn."

"No, please..." He drinks in the sight of his angel. "What is your name?"

Her eyes dance. She is laughing - at him. Warmth seeps into his belly. "You risk burning my food for my name, Man from the Rock?"

"I..." He is almost undone by the compassion she is showing him, a stranger. Was that his name? "Yes. Learning the name of a woman is an achievement far greater and more noble than eating a good meal."

Her eyes flickers with amusement. He can't help but feel satisfied that he provoked her reaction after she unknowingly provoked his.

"My name is Miramanee."

It's a name as beautiful as the stars, and he thinks it as if he truly knows it for a fact. "Miramanee, you have been taking care of me?"

"Yes," she nods. "My mother and I."

"Thank you."

Her back is to him, but she twists herself around to face him in a fluid movement. Her breasts rise and fall as if she's anxious. Her eyes flash as if she is angry. He blinks, his own heart thudding in his ears as he waits for this now formidable woman to speak. "What is your name?"

"I don't..."

"Man from the Rock must have his own name apart from the one we have given you," she says firmly. "My people will demand to know."

He stalls. It's easy to do. "Man from the Rock?"

"My brother and sister were swimming in the lake. They saw you stumble from an ancient temple. My brother...he is foolish," she frowns. "He goes too deep, forgets to swim, but you saved him. You brought breath back to him, but you succumbed to a sickness from the water. Your name, Man from the Rock, must be one of strength and of knowledge. You are wise and brave, are you not?"

"I would hope to be." His mind is devoid of this event and anything else that is his past.

"I should not be asking these questions," she whispers. "You have only awoken. My father will come soon."

"Wait! My name...it's...Kir...Kir..." His angel stares at him concerned. He can't worry her. He wants to please her, to know her. Surely he has a name, but he will use this one. "Kirok."

"Kirok," her voice softens to what it was before. "What does it mean?"

He thinks on what it means to him and supplies her with an answer that confuses him in the end. He does not know why he says what he does - only that it fits. "From...the sky."

"I will return, Kirok."

She flits out of the abode through a small flap before he can say another word. He catches a glimpse of her world as the brilliant sunlight finds its way inside. The light curls and weaves its way in and out through the smoke in a comforting dance. It reaches him as Miramanee turns her head and her alluring eyes find him one last time. He wants to stay forever.