DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters
are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc and Viacom. The story contents are
the creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2007 by Djinn. This
story is Rated PG-13.
Nowhere to Go,
Nothing to Say by Djinn
by Djinn
The cave was dank and smelled
of things that Chapel decided she'd rather not spend time investigating.
"Stay here," the
guard said to Spock and her, as if they had a choice. The bars on the door definitely put a damper
on any thoughts of skedaddling.
She tried to catch the man's
eye. "Look, I--"
The guard held up a hand and
backed away slowly, as if she was the one with the scary weapon.
"Damn." She glanced at her companion; he was as
taciturn as ever. "Nice place you
have here, Spock."
"It was not necessary
for Emergency Operations to provide a representative for this mission." But
he'd gotten one anyway; this planet was in a perfect location to stage rescue
missions for disasters and other relief operations.
She just hadn't expected to
be the one chosen to come along. She was
a little surprised he'd allowed it.
"Tell that to the brass," she mumbled, as she tried to see
what the floor looked like, decided it was too dirty to risk sitting on. She might change her mind later, when she'd
been standing for hours. Or days--please
God, don't let them be stuck in here for days.
"I would not sit on that." He viewed the floor with distaste. Much the same way he'd looked at her over the
years.
"Not to worry." She walked over to the bars. "Force field?"
"I think not."
She wondered if he'd lie just
to shut her up, leaned down and grabbed a pebble. She tossed it toward the bars; it sailed
right through. "No force
field."
"As I said..."
"You're the smart one,
all right." And she was the smart
ass. Quite the pair. "So...I assume we're being
monitored?"
"It is likely. I suggest you not divulge anything
sensitive."
"No shit,
Sherlock." Did he think she was a
complete novice at this? She'd been in
Emergency Ops now for nearly a decade.
He moved closer and she
glanced at him. His eyes were serene, as
if he had nothing better to do with his day than hang out in a prison cell.
"We didn't do anything
wrong," she said.
"No, you did not do
anything wrong. I insulted the monarch's
youngest bride."
She loved that this was not
her fault. "That'll teach you to
turn away homemade meatloaf."
"I do not eat mea--"
"Uh
huh. Infinite diversity in
desperate situations, Spock."
He actually sighed.
"It wasn't bad meatloaf." She smiled at him in a way she was sure had
to be annoying. Eventually she'd tell
him that it wasn't even real meat. But...not yet. Served him right for not doing his homework. "I mean as meatloaf goes."
"I would not know."
"No? Zarabeth didn't
cook you up a prehistoric meatloaf to take the edge off?" The whole Zarabeth
thing was still a sore spot. As was Leila. And Droxine. It was one of the reasons she'd let her hair
go back to brown. Spock obviously had a
thing for blondes--it had hurt that Chapel hadn't been included in that sunny
pack despite her best efforts at platinum, champagne, and any other shade she'd
thought he might like.
"I do not intend to
discuss Zarabeth with you."
"Good." She started to rattle the bars a little,
looking for a weak spot. "You could help."
"You have the task well
in hand, Commander."
"That's what all the
boys say," she muttered, grinning at the idea of the men who might have
said it recently.
"So I have heard."
She turned to look at him--damn
his Vulcan hearing. "Miaow."
One slowly rising eyebrow was
her answer.
"Ooh, snarky Spock. I sort
of like him."
"I shall desist from
such comments, then."
She laughed and went back to
the bars. "So, how long has it been
since you were forced to endure my presence?"
"The
diplomatic crisis on Deneva last year."
"That's
right." And the time before that
had been right after Jim had died. She'd
been far gentler with Spock then, had known how badly he'd been hurting, even
if he hadn't shown it.
Spock seemed to become very
still, and she thought he might be thinking about Jim, so she left him in peace
while she finished determining that there was no way in hell they were breaking
out of their cell.
"Solid?" he asked
when she straightened up.
"'Fraid so."
"As I
suspected." He began to examine the rest of their
cell. Which didn't take him long because
their cell was tiny with no windows, only the light from the corridor spilling
in to keep it from being pitch black.
"Well?"
"We are not going
anywhere."
"I sort of knew
that." She crossed her arms over
her chest. "And you with no
dinner." Not that she'd had much. The first course and then a few bites of the
meatloaf before Spock had done his "I will not eat anything with a
face" routine, and they'd ended up being yanked from the table and put in
here. "So, as crimes go on this
planet, you think not eating meatloaf is a capital one? And why the hell am I stuck in here? I'm not culpable. I ate the damned stuff."
"Your language is atrocious."
"It's bland compared to
some of my compatriots. And you're not
answering the question."
"Perhaps your company
was seen as further punishment?"
His voice was even, as if he had not just delivered a zinger of an
insult.
She made a noise like she'd
taken a sharp blow to the chest, saw his expression change just a bit--he was
amused? "Years ago, you'd have made
me cry with that remark."
"You are nothing like
that woman."
"For which you are
eternally grateful, I'm sure." She
leaned against the bars, studied him.
"So, we can't talk about work.
Let's catch up."
"I would prefer not
to."
"Silence is
overrated."
"Not on Vulcan."
Who knew he could verbally
fence like this? Although she'd seen him
give it to Len, and that took guts and skill.
"So, are you seeing anyone?"
She laughed at his expression. "Oh, yeah. That
was so worth it. If you could see your
face..."
"Fortunately, I
cannot."
"So?"
"My social life is not
your concern."
"No, but it's more
interesting than watching water collect on these walls. Humor me."
"Perhaps
a compromise. You could tell me of your latest
conquests. That should take several
hours."
"Ouch." She moved closer. "What have you been hearing?"
He shook his head slightly, a
rather tense little gesture.
"And more importantly,
why are you listening? Do you care what
I do?"
"I do not."
"Good. Because you don't get to
care." She turned away.
"Have I offended
you?"
"Would you care if you
had?"
He moved to stand next to
her, his hands on the bars. "Is it
untrue, then?"
"What? That I'm a big slut?"
He looked away.
"Yes, it's untrue. No, it's not.
Guess it depends on your interpretation." She could feel some vestige of the old hurt
welling up and pushed it back. "Did
you consider Jim a slut?"
His expression tightened.
"Well, then, there you
go. I'm like him." Actually, she was like her old captain. Open to experiencing pleasure for pleasure's
sake, but still looking--and never seeming to find--something more permanent.
"He was a good man,"
Spock murmured.
"Never
said he wasn't." She moved away from him. "He was my friend, too. Not the legendary friendship that you
had. But we grew close after I left the
ship."
"How close?"
She turned to look at him.
"There were...rumors."
"Were there?"
He nodded.
"And you listened to
them?"
He did not answer, and his
expression didn't change.
"Jim and I were just
friends."
He seemed relieved. But was that over Jim, or over her?
"So, now that we've
established my social calendar, Spock, let's hear about yours."
"I think not."
"That's because you
don't have one."
He didn't rise to the bait;
she really hadn't expected him to.
"If you're seeing
someone, I bet she's blonde."
She got the eyebrow again.
"Don't try to tell me
you don't prefer blondes."
"Very
well."
All except
her. Damn him.
This should not still hurt.
"So, how long do you think we'll be locked up in here?"
"I do not
know." He seemed about to say
something, bit it back.
"What?"
"Is someone waiting for
you?"
"You mean do I have a
hot date I need to get out of here for?"
He nodded slightly.
"I'm working,
Spock. I don't shit where I
work." She'd learned that from
Jim.
"I see."
"Do you? Because I don't think you do." She moved closer. "What difference does it make if I have
a hot date or not?"
"I was merely making
conversation. You were the one who
preferred it to silence."
"My
mistake." She turned, banged on the bars. "Yo,
Sparky!"
The guard looked out.
"There's been a
mistake. I want a cell with an
interesting person."
The guard scowled at her and
went back to whatever he'd been doing.
"That was ill
advised."
"Why? Because I might leave you
all alone?"
"Because
you might irritate the guard when you could be building bridges."
She turned and stared at him. "You are not seriously suggesting that I
seduce our jailor, are you?"
"And if I were?"
"I've been well trained
in martial arts since starting this job.
I will hurt you."
"I am Vulcan and much
stronger."
"I'm a human woman. And about to get very pissed."
He conceded with a nod. "I was merely suggesting that you might
find your way to establish a rapport--of a type up to you, of course--with our
guard."
"How do you know he
might not prefer a rapport with you?"
"I saw how he was
watching you."
She frowned at him. "When?"
"In
the elevator. You were attempting to memorize the key
combination and did not notice."
"You knew I was doing
that?"
"Yes. But there were too many numbers." He moved closer, pitched his voice low. "I memorized the last ten digits. Did you get the first ten?"
"I did." She was glad they hadn't both gone for the
same ten digits. But-- "Since when
can't you memorize the whole damn pattern?
Unless you really were watching me?"
"As I
said." At her look, he gave her the Vulcan
equivalent of a shrug. "I am adept
at multitasking."
"That's not the
point. Why did you care?"
"I did not."
"I think you did."
He crossed his arms over his
chest, as if creating a barrier between them.
"I was merely concerned at the potential for violence to you in
this place. Of a
sexual nature."
"That would be sweet if
it were true. Sparky doesn't strike me
as the rapist type." The guard
didn't even scowl very well.
"You cannot tell just by
looking."
"Guess you should
know. I mean the whole logic turns into
raging lust thing must be a bit like that?"
"The Pon
Farr is not rape."
"If
you say so." Not that she knew. And she shouldn't be baiting him about
this. There were things that had
happened during that time on the ship she'd rather not dredge up. Things that hadn't happened,
too. What had he meant when he'd
said that it was illogical to protest against their natures? She'd never known.
"This conversation has
turned unpleasant. I would prefer
silence."
"Fine
by me." She suddenly felt very tired and crouched,
leaning against the bars and trying to look past him.
He turned away, stared at
where the bars joined the wall as if he could pry them apart by will alone.
"Look. I'm sorry.
That may have been out of line."
She pushed herself to her feet, really wanting
to pace but there wasn't room. "I
just..."
"It is all right."
"No, it's not all
right. It's never all right between
us. Why is that?"
"I do not know what you
mean."
"Bullshit, you
don't." She turned and met his
eyes. "We just can't find an ease
around each other, can we?"
"Perhaps
not."
She sighed and nodded,
turning away.
"I am not sure we have ever
tried, Christine." He sighed, too.
"You've never wanted
to."
"And you, in the past,
have wanted to too much."
"Well, there you
go."
"Do you still want
it?"
"Ease? It's not something you want, Spock. It's something you either have or you
don't. And we most decidedly do
not."
"Of
course." He joined her again at the bars, as if trying
to see what she was staring at. Or maybe
trying to see if she was crying, which she wasn't.
"Did you and Valeris
have ease?"
"We did. I am not sure that is an indicator of a
successful relationship." There was
a wry irony in his voice that made her smile.
"Good point. Android Roger was pretty easy to hang around
with, too." Until
he went insane.
"I rest my case."
She glanced at him. "Are you saying we stand a chance? Because we don't have
ease?"
He didn't look at her. "I am not sure what I am saying."
"I think you're just
delirious with hunger." She bumped
up against him, and he allowed it, and she was pretty sure they needed to stop
talking. "I think you probably
shouldn't be saying anything."
"Perhaps
not."
There was a short
silence. Then he said softly, "I
did not, for the record, consider Jim a slut."
"Okay."
"But he was quite
frequently occupied."
"Occupied is not a bad
thing."
"I am not saying it
is. But it can be off putting."
"How
so?"
"If
someone wanted more from a person. To see that person continually with new
partners..."
"Yeah, well, when you
see someone who wants more from me, you be sure to tell him I'm open to
it. He'll just have to chase away the
other men."
"Is that all that is
required?"
She nodded.
"I see."
"Why? Do you know someone who is
interested?" She didn't look at him.
There was a long pause. Then he said, "No."
The answer didn't surprise
her--but it still hurt.
He moved away. "Were you and Doctor McCoy
ever...close?"
"Spock, I am not sure
why you think that my past relationships are any of your business." Especially when he wasn't
interested.
He didn't seem deterred by
the glare she shot him. "His
behavior with you was not always consistent."
"He's like
that." There was no way that she
was going to tell Spock that Len was occasionally a "friend with
options." What difference did it
make? Now that she no longer worked for
him? "We really need to get out of
here. How do you think we manage
that?"
"I am
uncertain." He sounded, finally, as
if he regretted his nosiness.
"Well, work on it, will
you? I can think of about a hundred
other people I'd rather spend time with."
"A
hundred other men, to be exact."
"Yes, to be exact. But you don't care, remember?"
He looked away.
"What is with
you?" She moved closer, got almost
in his face, which wasn't hard to do in a cell that was getting closer by the
moment. "I like our lack of
ease. It makes sense to me. Your interest in me and my...activities does not make sense."
"I did not say it made
sense."
"Then stop it. Because normally you make
sense. If nothing else, I try to
depend on that."
He moved back, only stopped
when he ran into wall.
"We're giving them quite
a show, you realize," she said, backing away herself, stopping just shy of
the wall. "If they wanted a primer
on a dysfunctional relationship, we're certainly delivering."
He didn't answer.
She turned back to the
bars. "Yo,
Sparky," she said so softly she knew the guard wouldn't come out.
"You were easier to deal
with before."
"Before?"
"During
our first five-year mission."
"Oh, you mean when I was
the doormat who lived for any little moment with you?" She turned to see his expression.
"That is not how I
thought of you."
"Riiii-iight."
"You were, however,
much...softer."
"I was weaker. There's a difference." She turned away. She hated to think about those days. Hated how she'd acted around him. "Am I so bad now? Such a harpy?"
"I did not say
that."
"You said you preferred
the old me."
"You were not listening
very carefully." At her look, an
eyebrow went up slowly. "I said that
version of you was easier to deal with."
"I don't understand
you." She moved away, feeling like
she had that day in his quarters, when he hadn't wanted to protest against
their natures. Off guard. Unbalanced.
Trapped.
"I do not always
understand myself, either, Christine."
He was staring at her with an expression she couldn't read--but then he
was Vulcan. Not reading it was the
entire point.
"You should work on
that." She turned, unwilling to
feel the old way, the soft way--the doormat way.
Before he could answer, she
heard a door slam and a blustering voice saying, "Damn it,
Ambassador. How the hell did you end up
in here?"
"Captain Walsh,"
Spock said coolly, "I regret there was a misunderstanding."
"Something
about the national dish of this planet, from what I could gather? They're rather
irritated with you." Walsh glanced
at Chapel. "Tough
luck for you, Commander. Guilt by association."
"Oh, if only."
He shot her a confused look.
"Private
joke, sir. Nothing to worry
about."
He grinned, the way he had
all through their voyage here, and she glanced back at Spock; he seemed to be
assessing Walsh's smile. "Not where
I work, remember?"
He nodded tightly, following
Walsh out and leaving her to bring up the rear.
As she passed Sparky, she murmured, "No hard feelings?"
"Very
sorry, ma'am. Had my orders."
"Gotcha." She held back,
not eager to join into the conversation the two men were having. As soon as they beamed up to the ship, she
headed for her quarters--and far away from Spock.
--------------
She was just pulling off her
uniform top when the chime rang. Pulling
it back on, she opened the door.
"I do not believe our
conversation was entirely concluded," Spock said, pushing past her.
"Oh, I think it was very
much over." She followed him,
grabbing his arm when he didn't stop.
He looked down at her hand,
and she removed it in a hurry.
"Spock, I'm tired and I'm not in the mood for this."
"We have so little
chance to converse." If Vulcans
tended toward sarcasm, his voice would be the perfect example.
"Fine. How's
T'Pring?" That ought to stop him in
his tracks, make him run for cover.
It didn't. "She prospers." He moved closer, seemed to be assessing her
now.
"Stop it."
"Does my behavior
trouble you?"
"Everything about you
troubles me." That, at least, was
the truth. No matter how much of a smart
ass she'd become about their past, he'd never stopped getting to her.
He was standing close to her,
his breath making her hair shiver, and she refused to look at him.
"I know why T'Pring does
well," she said, her voice diving low, into cutting territory. "She's nowhere near you."
"You are striking out
because you are hurt by what I said earlier."
"No, I'm striking out
because it feels good to do it. Because I don't like you, Spock. Because I'm trapped in here with you and
unlike before, I have a choice about that.
And I don't want to have anything to do with you."
He touched her arm, his hand
settling gently. "I think you do
not know how you feel about me."
"Oh? Why is that?"
He let go of her. "Because I do not know how I feel about
you."
He moved around, until he was
facing her, staring hard, his eyes cold like the scientist he'd been before
diplomacy had become his life. She let
her own eyes go cold, stared back. Didn't move as he stepped closer and closer, when he reached out,
his hand pressing against her upper arm.
She wouldn't blink. She would not be the one to move away, but he
began to rub her arm, and she finally let out a shuddering breath. "I hate you sometimes, Spock."
"Jim used to tell me
that hate and love were merely sides of the same coin."
"Yes,
opposites."
"But
still the same coin." He let up a little, but didn't pull away entirely.
"Are you saying you love
me?"
"No, I am saying you
love me."
She jerked away. "How convenient for
you."
"To be honest, it is
not. It has never been." He surprised her, leaning in, his face
resting lightly against her hair. "When we were on Platonius,
your hair smelled like the jasmine that blooms on my planet in the
autumn."
"That was their
perfume."
"It smells of mountain
herbs now."
"Starfleet-issued
shampoo."
"It does not smell that
way on me." He left her hair alone,
but pressed his body even closer.
"What are you
doing?"
"I was in the officer's
club with Leonard just before we left. I
saw you with a man. It made
me...uncomfortable."
"Not my
problem."
"I found myself
contemplating opportunities lost."
"Not lost. Never taken. Never reached for."
But he was reaching now, his
hand stealing around her, pulling her closer.
"Let me go."
He let her go, moving away
slowly. "You do not want me any
longer?"
"No." But she couldn't meet his eyes, stared much
lower and saw that he most definitely wanted her, and that shook her. She was used to things being a certain
way. She wanted Spock; he didn't want
her. "No, I don't."
"I am not sure I believe
you." He stroked her cheek.
"No more talking,
Spock. It's just too confusing."
"An
excellent suggestion." He pulled her to him and kissed her, making talking
impossible.
When he finally let her go,
she said, "I did not say you could do that."
"I am aware of
that." He brushed her hair
back. "I prefer it dark."
"Do you?"
"Yes. It brings out your eyes."
"Are you in woo
mode?"
"Would you object to
that?" He moved away from her, sat
down on the chair by the desk.
"Make yourself at
home."
"You did not answer my
question."
"There's no reason to
answer your question." She headed
toward the bathroom. She was going to
close the door and lock it and take the longest shower ever, and try to forget
that he'd kissed her, and that it had been exactly what she'd wanted him to do.
Even if she
knew better. After all these damned years, she had to know
better.
He grabbed her as she passed,
pulling her down to his lap. Before he
could kiss her again, she put her finger on his lips to stop him.
"What if I told you to go?" she asked, her voice nearly a whisper.
"Then I would go." He pulled her closer. "You would, however, have to remove
yourself from my lap for me to do that."
"I didn't put myself there,
Ambassador."
"No. You did not." Nuzzling her neck, he ran his hands over her,
his touch possessive in the extreme. "It
was an extremely bold move on my part, was it not?"
"I've heard you're full
of bold moves." In
diplomacy, anyway. He wasn't
known as a lothario.
He just kept touching her,
his look untroubled and very intent.
"As I said, make
yourself at home."
He seemed amused. "This may, in fact, be my way of chasing
off the other men."
"There aren't any other
men in sight."
"Then it appears to be a
very effective measure." He
stopped touching her, stared up at her, all coldness gone, but she was unsure
what she was seeing. "Do what you
want, Christine. If you want me to
leave, then get up and tell me to go.
But if you want something else..."
She stared at him for a long
time, knowing she should take option number one. Should get up and order him out. And call this a moment of insanity she'd look
back on with as much confusion as that moment in his quarters.
She should do that.
She should make him leave.
She leaned down, kissing him
the way she'd wanted to for far too many years.
He kissed her back, the way she'd wanted him to for just as long. He kissed her that way for a very, very long
time.
"Why
now, Spock?"
"I do not know."
"Why
me?"
"Because I find that I
want you."
"Not
very romantic."
"You think
not?" He stroked her hair from her
face. "It is perhaps lacking
lyricism. But it is elemental. Raw."
"Raw is good?"
"Perhaps
not. We will, no doubt, ascertain that in
time." His words were cold,
clinical. But they were tempered by his
hand on her neck, his eyes as they seemed to shine with a calm humor, his mouth
as he tasted her lips and cheeks and earlobes.
Then he touched her much
lower, his fingers relentless as they slipped under fabric, over skin. "I do not plan on sharing you."
"Who said you were even
going to have me?" But the way she
was wriggling on his lap probably negated that statement. She threw her head back, gave in to him.
Damn. He was much, much better than
she'd ever fantasized. And this was
fully clothed.
"We will have to discuss
that." He was watching her as she
moved, a small upturn of his lips indicating a satisfaction that she found more
arousing than any expression he'd ever shown her.
"You like this?"
she asked. "Doing this to me?"
"I do. Very much."
It was too much. Too good. She let go, tried to be quiet, felt his lips cover hers when she failed. His tongue explored as she finally quieted
down, breathing heavily.
"You liked that too,
Christine. Did you not?"
"Hated
it. Absolutely hated it."
"A
pity."
When her body worked again,
she slid off him, pulled him up.
"This will never work," she said as she stripped off his
uniform.
"Perhaps
not."
"It's going to end
badly."
"That is a possible
alternative." He was not gentle as
he removed her uniform, as he pushed her to the bed then joined her, staring
down at her. "But there are
others."
"Oh? Perhaps you could enlight--"
She forgot how to talk,
nearly forgot how to think. Holy God,
this was better than anything she'd ever imagined.
Better than her friends with
their options. Better than... "I hate you." She clutched at him. How could she still feel this way after so
many years? How could she still want
this so much?
"Yes, I know." His lips were gentle, his hands tender, as he
moved over her.
He was watching her and she turned
away. But she murmured, "I love
you. I still love you," and he
kissed her as her face burned with that persistent truth.
When they finally lay
quietly, much, much later, he asked, "Were you waiting for me?"
"Get over
yourself."
"I will take that as a
yes."
"Do so at your
peril."
His mouth again turned up,
the miniscule, sensuous smile.
"I have a confession to
make," she said softly.
"Indeed?"
"The
meatloaf. I saw them making it. It wasn't meat--it was some kind of vegetable
matter."
"I see." He looked at her very sternly.
"Are you mad?"
"I do not know. Perhaps you could make amends?" He very obviously looked south.
"Never let it be said
you're not a real man." But she
headed for points lower.
When she was done, and his
toes uncurled, he said, "I have a confession to make, as well."
"You do?"
"Regarding the meatloaf
not containing any actual meat--I knew that." He headed south without any prompting from
her.
Smart man.
---------------
She woke to feel him pressed
against her. He made a small sigh that
seemed to indicate contentment.
"Good morning," she
said.
"Good morning." His voice was scratchy, but then she'd
managed over the course of the evening, to make him cry out a few times. Loudly. She was very glad Starfleet had soundproofed
the quarters in these new ships.
She turned, felt him let her
move before he pulled her in again, holding her in a way that was both
comforting and a little frightening.
Just how much did he want her?
And if it wasn't as much as she thought, how much was this going to
hurt?
"What are you thinking
about?" His voice was sweet.
"Catastrophes."
"Of a
personal kind or more universal?"
She smiled. "I'm good at the latter."
"Yes, I know you
are. I've heard excellent reports from
those of my colleagues who have worked with you." He shifted a bit. "This personal disaster...does it
involve me?"
"Maybe." She leaned up,
kissing him gently, wanting to take the sting out of her answer.
His lips were soft against
hers, his movements unhurried. He pushed
her to her back, moved over her. Took her as if he'd been doing it all his life.
And her body welcomed him as
if she was his only home.
God, she was doomed.
"You are thinking those
things again." He didn't stop
moving as he played psychic lover. He
really was adept at the multitasking thing.
"Make me stop thinking,"
she said, and he pushed her harder and farther than he had the night before, until
she could only concentrate on him and what he was doing to her and how he was
making her feel.
He kissed her as they came
down, watching her with the gentlest look she thought he'd ever given her. But there was humor there, too. As if he knew something she didn't.
"What?"
"We would not have been
in that cell long, even if Captain Walsh had not come to rescue us."
"No?"
He shook his head. "There was a time when the youth of the
planet rebelled against the national dish.
They refused to eat it, and laws were put in place to try to make them
see the errors of their ways. Over time
it became less a matter of rebellion, more a rite of passage. And the sentences were made increasingly less
punitive. The maximum sentence is now two
hours in one of their holding cells."
He nuzzled her neck. "And I
have endured the same trial the monarch did for the sake of personal
freedom. That is important to these
people. It will go a long way to
securing the bases your department wants so badly."
She couldn't decide how she
felt about that. "I guess it was
just your bad fortune to be stuck with me."
He looked at her like she was
very stupid. "Do you suppose you
are on this mission by chance?"
"You didn't ask for
me. They'd have told me."
"Of course, I did not
ask for you. But there are other ways to
ensure the presence of someone on a particular assignment, are there not?"
"You engineered
this?"
"Diplomacy is much like
engineering. And like chess."
She let her hand stray down
his body. "Is this diplomacy?"
"I think it is. Or was. We were at odds. Lacking ease. Now...?"
She laughed. "I will never understand you."
He closed his eyes as she
found her target. "You appear to
understand me quite well at the moment."
"I won't argue that..." She turned her full attention to her task,
showed him just how well she could play the game of diplomacy.
He held her tightly when
she'd finished, kissing her gently.
"So, I'm supposed to
believe this is all because you saw me in the officer's club with another man? Just before we left."
"Not
at all. I have been thinking about you since Deneva."
"A
year ago?"
"I am not an impulsive
man. You know that, Christine."
"A...year
ago."
"It was most odd. Our mission prior to that was just after Jim
died. I was...raw inside,
and you were kind to me. And I believed
you were possibly using the situation to try to get close to me. I thought you were as you were long ago. Wanting me. It made me uncomfortable."
She felt the warmth drain out
of her. "Nice."
"I am telling you what I
felt then, not what I feel now."
She realized she'd tensed in his arms, tried to relax. "Okay.
Go on."
"On Deneva,
you were as you are now. Or as you were yesterday." His eyes gleamed with warm humor.
"Fully clothed, you
mean?"
"Sharp. Quick. Somewhat mean."
"I always knew you were
a masochist."
"Let me finish,
Christine." He waited until she
looked up at him. "I thought at
first you were angry with me for the various rejections over the years. But then I came to realize that was the way
you are now. And that the last time we
had interacted, it had probably been the way you were then as well. That you were being kind,
when you didn't have to. Not
trying to get me. You were trying to
spare me."
"So, you were suddenly
interested in me. A...year
ago."
"You are not letting go
of that concept."
"I'm sure
not." She pulled away a
little. "You couldn't just try
asking me out? Some
candy and flowers, maybe? You
thought a jail cell would be romantic?"
Although witness the result--her all naked with him, doing her best to
make his toes curl. Maybe he was on to
something.
He seemed to be following her
train of thought, his fingers were dancing over her skin, his lips turning up
just enough to be an almost smile.
"I believed a more traditional approach was destined to fail. As you put it so well yesterday:
we have never had ease between us.
Would you have trusted flowers or candy from me?"
She tried to imagine him
showing up at her door with either.
Finally shook her head.
"You had some hard
truths to get out, Christine. You needed
to hear some things from me also."
He leaned back, pulling her with him to settle on his chest. "And I needed to make this gesture with
these people to accomplish what both our departments want. It was, in my estimation, a no-lose
scenario."
"What if I'd said
no?"
"I would have refused
the meatloaf indefinitely. You would
have stayed in the cell with me out of loyalty.
And I would have had more time to counter your resistance."
She laughed at his logic
train, and saw that he seemed a little relieved. "What if I'd still said no?"
"I would have waited
till the Pon Farr and asked you to help me."
She saw that he was deadly
serious. "How far away is it?"
"Approximately four
years."
"That's a long time to
wait."
Again the Vulcan shrug.
"I'm impressed. You had a back-up plan, even. A very long-term one." She leaned in. "Did I have a code name? Operation Get Her in the Sack?"
He shook his head
firmly. "You were Christine. A woman I did not know despite all these
years of association." He kissed
his way to her ear. "And you lied
about McCoy. He told me the truth."
"I'm going to kill
him."
"I believe he was trying
to make me jealous."
"Did it work?"
"At that point, as I was
already set on my objective, yes, it did."
"I think I love
that."
"I thought you would
find that agreeable."
She moved over him, smiled as
he helped her get settled just right.
"All this because you like my eyes and my hair smells good?"
He closed his eyes as she
moved. "Yes. Those are the only reasons. Your skill in situations such as this has
absolutely nothing to do with any decision I will make to continue to seek your
company."
"It better not. I'm much more than my talent in the
sack."
"I am aware of
that." But he seemed at best barely
aware of anything other than enjoying her.
She loved that, too. She leaned down, kissing him gently. "You really don't want to share
me?"
"I do not." His eyes narrowed. "Will that be a problem,
Commander?"
"Absolutely
not, sir."
"Excellent." He pulled her down, holding her in a way that
gave him remarkable access. She wondered
if he was trying to prove to her that she'd never need another man.
She more than believed it. Not that she'd tell him that. After all, he wasn't the only smart--and
devious--one in the bed.
FIN