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) 2006 by Djinn. This story is Rated R.

Uneasy Alliances

by Djinn

"Have you thought about your next assignment?" Admiral Bosson was smiling at her. He seemed to be happy over the way things had turned out, even if Spock had not been.

"Yes." She slapped a padd down on his desk.

He read it quickly, looked up at her with dismay written on his features. "Retirement?"

She nodded.

"Christine, you should rethink this. After that last assignment, there's nowhere you can't go if you want to."

"There's nowhere left I want to go, sir."

A lie. There was one place. And it lay deep within the Klingon empire.

"Think about it. Don't make an emotional decision." He handed the padd back to her. "Bring it back tomorrow and I'll approve it."

"I've had nothing but time to think about it. This is what I want."

She'd passed Spock in the halls. He'd acted like she wasn't there. She could see a lifetime of that kind of behavior looming.

He pushed the padd away. "Christine. There's something you don't know. Spock took Valeris's death very hard."

"Oh, sir, I know that." Hard--like the pummeling he'd put her body through.

"Let me finish. You don't know the rest. He's...he's making overtures toward a Romulan diplomat. I worry that this man could become an influence over Spock, now that those he cared about are gone."

Funny how she wasn't in that group. Despite everything. "And you think I can change that?"

"Spock chose you for that mission for a reason, Commander. I think he'll choose you again if you let him. He needs you. We need you. And I don't have to tell you what a valuable asset he is to us."

No, he didn't have to tell her that. She'd given her body to save that valuable asset.

Well, and maybe to assuage the guilt. Even if she shouldn't have felt guilty. She'd completed her mission. Starfleet had been fine with her methods, even if Spock hadn't.

"Starfleet as matchmaker. Who'd have thought it?" She reached over, pushed the padd to him. "I'm not interested in Spock's future, Admiral. Only in my own."

He stared up at her; she stared back. She tried to imitate a Klingon warrior. Tried to throw everything that was dark and dangerous into her expression, into the way she stood.

He finally approved her request.

She grabbed the padd before he could change his mind. "Thank you, sir."

"Where will you go, Chapel? Your life is hardly over."

"You're right, sir. My life is just beginning."

She walked out to the corridor, out to the windows that lined the hallways that were home to the upper, upper brass. She pulled the communicator out of her jacket pocket, flipped it open, and waited.

"Where are you?" Rotakh's voice sounded as if he was standing right next to her.

"Earth."

"Do you wish to change that?"

"Yes."

"Good." He gave her a string of coordinates. She recognized it as the planet with the bar and the patron who'd taken exception to her. The planet that strode the line between Federation and Klingon space.

"What if that man objects to my presence there, again?'

"I expect you to take care of him if he does. I will not always protect you."

No, she imagined that once she was on his home world, she would have to become adept at protecting herself--or at least standing up for herself. "I don't need you to protect me."

"Good. I want a parMach'kai who can carry her own weight."

"I know." She closed her eyes, wanted to ask him to say that word again. It meant so much more than he'd said. It meant...hope.

"Did he hurt you?" His voice was guttural. As if he would come through the communicator and make Spock pay if she said yes.

"No." It was a lie, but only a small one. Spock hadn't hurt her any more than Chapel had already hurt herself.

"When will you be there, Christine?"

"I'll need to settle my things here." Settle them permanently. "Give me a week."

"I'll give you five days."

She smiled. "Five days, then."

"Qapla'," he said, satisfaction evident in his voice.

"Qapla'," she murmured, as she cut the connection and went to sever old ties.

Forever.

*********

--14 days earlier--

The ground was cold and hard, and Spock's hands were relentless as they pressed her into it. She closed her eyes, tried to ignore the way he was pounding at her.

His mind was no longer linked with hers. Thank God his mind was no longer linked with hers. If she'd had to listen to him call out Valeris's name one more time...

She thought he was doing it to punish her.

He finished and rolled off her. "It is finished."

She felt a wave of relief. Reaching for her tricorder, she checked him. "It's not finished."

"I can control it from this point." He did not look at her, seemed to be trying to meditate.

"Spock, I don't think you can." She touched him and saw him shudder.

"I do not want you."

"Yes, you've made that abundantly clear." She slid her hand down his body, down and down until he caught her up and pulled her to him with what sounded like a hiss of disgust.

The next time he let her go, he got up and stalked off into the woods. She made her way to the shuttle, using the shower in the little bathroom to clean herself up as best she could. As she stared in the mirror, she fingered the scar on her neck.

If she tried hard enough, she could see herself bathed in reddish-purple interior lights, could imagine a cold metal cup in her hand, taste the blood wine running down her throat. She could bring back hands that were rough and warm, not smooth and hot, as they played over her skin.

She heard Spock come in; his silence as he waited in the shuttle destroyed the fantasy. She pushed down on the scar, knew that Spock had done his best to avoid touching it during the sex. At least Spock hadn't marked her the way he had Valeris. Forever. Whether she'd wanted it or not.

She opened the bathroom door, stood staring at him. "Spock, I--"

"If you are done, let me pass."

She flushed, felt the sting all the way into her insides, where he'd been not too long ago. She moved out of his way, let him have the bathroom. She heard the shower go on. He was in there a long time.

Scrubbing her off him. The same way she'd scrubbed Rotakh off herself.

She suddenly regretted having done that.

Moving to the replicator, she said, "Raktajino," knowing it wouldn't be able to make the stuff.

"Please restate request," appeared in simple block letters.

"Coffee, lots of milk."

A mug appeared, and she wrapped her hands around it, trying to use the hot porcelain to get warm.

Spock came out. His hair was still wet, and he passed her without a glance. He did not tell her to take a seat as he started the engines, but she knew by the change in sound that they were revving up. She shoved the mug into the stasis of the replicator and threw herself into the nearest seat.

Once they were en route, she got up, retrieved her coffee, and took the copilot's seat. Spock didn't look at her. He didn't talk the entire voyage. The silence seemed to grow huge between them. Bigger than the shuttle. Bigger than the clearing where crossed beams had started this--and finished this.

She shuddered. Realized she was freezing and checked the temperature. Spock had it set on Vulcan hot, and she was still cold.

She wondered if she would ever be warm again. She pulled on her jacket, shoving her hands in the pocket, touching the little communicator.

Warm. It was probably warm on Qo'noS. She closed her eyes, slipped into an uncomfortable sleep, never letting go of the communicator.

*********

--15 hours earlier--

Chapel's phaser cut through the night, illuminating Spock's face as he crashed to the ground. Valeris screamed in rage, and Chapel could hear her talking to Spock in Vulcan.

"She is preparing to attack," Rotakh said, his keener Klingon eyesight apparently tracking what Chapel could barely make out.

Valeris screamed again, and the horrible sound told Chapel where to shoot. She fired, the beam enveloping Valeris, but not stopping her as she rushed them.

But then Valeris's scream was cut short as a Klingon disruptor joined the Starfleet-issued phaser. She disappeared in a flash of greenish-white.

The night went still.

"Is Spock alive?" Rotakh asked, striding to the place where Valeris had stood.

Chapel struck a light stick against the bottom of her boot. The night gave way to the brightness of artificial day. She walked slowly to Spock and crouched down, her hand going by instinct to his neck, then adjusting for where the Vulcan jugular would be. She'd checked his pulse so many times on so many missions. The touch of her fingers on his throat would be familiar to him by now, if he'd been conscious.

"He's alive," she said.

Spock moaned softly.

"Spock? Can you hear me?"

He opened his eyes.

Rotakh crouched down, not speaking, just waiting.

"Valeris?" Spock's voice was frighteningly weak. Then his eyes met Chapel's. Accusing her without words of the thing she'd thought about doing but hadn't. "Where is she?"

"Dead. Gone." Rotakh answered for her, not looking away.

Spock closed his eyes. Swallowed hard. His fists were clenched.

Rotakh looked at her. His smile was hard--smug. He pushed himself to his feet and stalked off.

Opening his eyes, Spock stared at her. "She was to be taken alive."

"The plan changed."

He tried to sit up, but managed to rise only a little before he collapsed back to the ground. "You had no right--"

"I had my phaser set to stun. Rotakh didn't. I'm not sure how you think I should have stopped him?"

He looked away. "It does not matter. It is over."

She wasn't sure how all encompassing that statement was until she looked in his eyes, saw how empty they were. He'd lost too much. Kirk. His mother. Now Valeris, destroyed in crossed beams of Starfleet jealousy and Klingon vengeance.

Chapel and a Klingon warrior had murdered his love. What else was there to say?

She started to rise.

He caught her, holding her wrist in a death grip. "I will still need help." He sounded as if the thought of her helping him in any way was only slightly preferable to taking poison.

"Now?"

"When I can no longer care that your Klingon lover murdered the woman who should have been here."

Chapel swallowed. "I never said that he and I were--"

"We melded, or have you forgotten?" His eyes burned again, this time with what looked like hatred.

She wished she could remember what had happened in the meld, but she didn't. "I'm sorry. I tried to shield, but I'm not trained."

"Even if you had, I would have noticed the mark on your shoulder. He has marked you just as certainly as I marked Valeris with the bond."

She touched the scar, realized it was right over where the nerve pinch would have been done. "Did you do that on purpose? Mark her?"

He shrugged. An awkward, Vulcan version of the gesture.

"Was it on the bridge? During that interrogation?" Uhura had told her about that. How Valeris had cried out--in pain...or something.

It took him a long time to nod. "I was angry." He let go of her wrist. "I will call for you when I am ready."

And she knew that when he did, her name would burn in his throat.

She stood up too fast and felt her head spin. Ignoring the dizziness, she fled the coldness in his eyes.

Rotakh waited for her where the shadows began. Shadows that fled in the face of her light stick. "So," he said, his voice a strange mix of satisfaction and pain.

"Don't." She didn't look at him.

"You chose him. It was a poor choice. I told you that."

"I said don't."

He held something out to her. She saw it was the communicator. He'd said it was long range. Just how long range was it?

"You lost this."

"I left it on your ship."

"As I said." He showed her that he had its twin. "I will guard mine with more care."

"I left it behind on purpose."

"I know." He smiled a hard, dangerous smile. "I forgive you." He pushed the communicator into her hand and closed her fingers over it. "Should you find you have need of me after you finish this."

"You aren't going to fight him for me?"

"Why should I? Since I killed his woman, it is honorable what he asks of you. In some way, I...owe him this."

"And then what? You'll come get me?"

"I will." His stare was unrelenting.

"What if I don't want you to?"

He didn't look away. "Then do not use the communicator."

She felt her head spin. Klingon logic was worse than Vulcan, seemed to roar in ever tightening circles. "You didn't have to kill her. Doesn't your weapon just stun?"

"What good is a weapon that just stuns?"

"Damn you!" She hit him as hard as she could. It was like hitting a brick wall. "You didn't have to fire. I had her. She was caught."

His eyes burned into her. "A skilled warrior--and I am a very skilled warrior--sees where an opposing alliance is vulnerable and strikes there to destroy the association. Once Valeris was taken, Spock would have turned to you again. With appreciation instead of hatred. Now...?"

"This was about me?"

"I told you before. There is not much that isn't."

"And yet you leave me to him?"

"I delivered the first blow. The two of you together will deliver the last." He smiled, but something else shone from his eyes. "Be brave, Christine. He may make you pay for this. But then it will be over. And the future--and who you spend it with--will be up to you."

He lifted the communicator as if it was his personal spoil of war, then jammed it into his pocket and stalked off. As she sank to the ground, she heard the sound of his ship taking off.

She didn't watch it disappear into the night sky. But she did push the communicator into her jacket pocket and closed the fastener to keep it safe.

She heard Spock moaning. It would be time soon. And then it would be over.

And the future would be waiting. If she was brave--or foolish--enough to take it.

*********

--One hour earlier--

"She is here." Spock seemed to be shaking, and Chapel held her hand out to him. He shied away. "Christine, please."

"I thought..." She looked away, feeling herself color. "Spock, you're sick."

"Sick?" He shook his head, the expression on his face unreadable. "You thought you could heal me? That I would still need you if she was near?"

Chapel started to answer, but words wouldn't come and tears seemed like they might. She turned away, caught a motion out of the corner of her eye. "Valeris," she whispered.

Valeris's eyes burned with a fire that matched the one in Spock's eyes. "I had no choice, Christine. Believe me, I wanted to keep running. I could have been halfway across the galaxy, would never have even stopped at this world, but for this."

Spock nodded. "I understand. It is no longer a matter of logic."

"No." Valeris sucked in great breaths, as if she was in an airlock being drained of air. "I hate that it is no longer a matter of that."

"Understood."

Chapel pulled her phaser out of the holster. "Valeris, be reasonable. I don't want to hurt you."

Valeris looked at her with such affection it made Chapel gasp. "I know you don't. I couldn't hurt you. Not even when it was logical." She took several quick breaths, as if she'd been running hard. "But that was before. Now--just get away from us."

"I can't. It's time to stop running."

"Yes, Valeris. It is time." Spock looked over at Chapel, then reached for her, his hand heading for her shoulder. For her neck. For the nerves that once pinched, would send her into unconsciousness. No doubt he'd do it with a sincere "forgive me." Would he catch her and settle her gently to the ground? Or would he just let her fall?

She knocked his hand away, shot him a hurt look that she hated but couldn't stop. "No way, Spock." She looked at Valeris. "You're going back to Rura Penthe. I'll take care of Spock."

For a moment, some primal fury burned in Valeris's eyes. Then she seemed to force control on herself. "I almost wish I could, considering what lies ahead. But he won't let you take me."

"He doesn't have a choice."

"I do." Spock's voice was odd. Harsh and almost regretful.

Chapel just had time to analyze it before he backhanded her. She hit the ground hard, felt the wind knocked out of her. Her eyes clouded, but she could still see Spock stumbling toward Valeris, then the two of them running into the darkness.

Could Vulcans see in the dark? She passed out before she could think of the answer.

"Christine." Rough hands on her skin. Warm, not hot. "Open your eyes, woman."

She managed to say, "He hit me," just before the world started to spin, and Rotakh turned her so she could throw up on something other than herself.

"You chose him. It would seem, however, he did not return the favor."

"Shut up."

She felt her phaser being pushed into her hand, and she clutched it as if it was a lifeline. Her finger found the controller. It was set to stun. She dialed it up, all the way to maximum--to kill.

"Interesting," Rotakh said.

She dialed it back down. She'd made a promise to Spock. Take her alive. She'd keep her side of the bargain, even if he seemed incapable of keeping his.

But that wasn't his fault. It was biology, really. It all came down to that.

She'd never stood a chance. And Valeris was her friend. One who didn't seem to want this any more than Spock wanted Chapel. She had to remember that. Her friend wasn't the enemy here. Except she was the enemy--she was the traitor.

Was this why Spock had chosen Chapel to do this? Because she'd be perpetually off balance?

"I should have stayed home."

"Too late now."

Her head pounded as Rotakh pulled her up to stand.

"Disappointed in me?" she asked. She checked the phaser again, to make sure it was really on stun--to make sure he knew it was really on stun.

"No." He took her arm, letting her lean on him while they walked. "You aren't a killer."

"Why do I think that's an insult rather than praise?"

He laughed.

"I can't see a damn thing, Rotakh."

"I can." His hand on her arm tightened. "If we use these"--he pressed several light sticks into her free hand--"we will only broadcast where we are."

"Right." She jammed the sticks into her pocket. "I can't believe he hit me."

Rotakh, for once, did not comment.

"We take her alive. I promised."

"Yes. You promised. I remember." He slowed their pace. "Are you in pain?"

"My head hurts. But I'm all right." She laughed bitterly. "If he'd gotten that pinch in, I'd have been out for much longer."

"You knew he was trying to incapacitate you and you let him try again?"

"I didn't let him. He hit me."

"You should have moved away at the first sign of danger, found a more defensible position."

"Well, I'll remember that next time."

"It is basic technique."

"I'm not a goddamned warrior."

"Neither is he. He still took you down. And next time might come sooner than you think."

She wasn't sure how to answer him. So, she just walked on in silence, letting him lead as she held on to his arm, trying not to think about how easy it would be to slide the phaser back up to the kill setting.

*********

--10 hours earlier--

"You seem distracted," she said to Spock as she fiddled with the logs. It was nice to have something to do on his shuttle. She'd had no way to distract herself on Rotakh's ship.

"I am fine." But Spock's answer was snapped at her.

"It's just--"

He turned to look at her, the cold fire in his eyes making her stop talking. "It is just what?"

"Nothing."

"Silence would be agreeable," he said, and the temperature in the shuttle seemed to go down a little.

"You asked for me to beam over. I guess it wasn't for small talk?"

His jaw set in a tighter line. She thought about how he'd asked her to do this. To help him find Valeris. What if it hadn't been because she'd known the woman or Cartwright? What if it had been to have a substitute--his second string--handy?

"Spock. I know what's going on."

He did not answer.

"We've been through this. You and I. Remember?" She knew her tone was too conciliatory. Hated that she sounded this way with him. But the Pon Farr would make him unpredictable. And dangerous. Far more dangerous than a Klingon warrior. There was some horrible irony to that.

He finally answered her. "We have not been together for some time."

She heard the unsaid. Not since Valeris had stepped in to take over.

"No. Not for some time. But..."

"I did not ask you here to serve as a substitute." But his words didn't ring true, and he wasn't meeting her eyes as he spoke. "I do not trust the Klingons in this matter. Valeris must be taken alive. I want your word."

"Of course, Spock. If I can take her alive, I will." But she thought the Klingons would want that, too. There was honor in a quick death, and they would not want Valeris to have that honor. They wanted her to suffer. It was what Rura Penthe was for. It was a place for those with no honor.

"You hedge, Commander. Promise me you will take her alive. No matter what."

"No."

He whirled to look at her, and she saw raw fury in his expression.

"Spock, I know you're not thinking clearly. And you have to think clearly. And in the past, you could think clearly when we..." She blushed. "Perhaps you could think of Valeris with more logic if some of the fire was burned off?"

"And you offer yourself?"

"It's worked before."

But only before Valeris. Just how important was she to him?

"I need your promise, Christine. You will not harm her."

"And I'll give you my promise. When you ask for it in a more rational way. Deal?" She held out her hand, knew that he understood what she was saying.

Spock nodded, and as she started to get up, he pulled her to him, dragging her onto his lap. She felt the fasteners of her uniform being opened in a far rougher fashion than Rotakh had done the night before. Then Spock was pulling her in for a kiss, his lips brutal on hers. Her lips crashed against his teeth; she tasted blood.

"Spock. Slow down. Please."

"You wanted this."

"I want to help you. I don't want you to hurt me."

He nodded, and a deep sigh escaped. "I am not sure I can oblige you, Christine."

"Try," she said, and she leaned in, kissing him gently.

His kiss was still fierce, but no longer savage. No longer something that hurt. She began to pull his uniform off, felt his fingers find the meld point.

And then she was lost. Buried somewhere in their joined thoughts, no warmth except the heat of lust--but that was enough. He knew her. He knew who he was with. Even if he didn't call out her name, didn't say a word during their coupling. At least he didn't call out Valeris's name, either.

She woke up, her head fuzzy and her body sore, and found they were both on the floor. The ship was on autopilot, and Rotakh was hailing them. Spock pushed himself off her, staggered to the comm panel.

"What is it?"

"You sound almost Klingon, Ambassador." Rotakh's voice dropped at the end. Probably as he took in the disarrayed hair, the unfocused gaze--the naked chest. "Is Commander Chapel there?"

"Yes. Where else would she be?"

"Let me see her, then."

She pulled on her clothes, fixed her hair as much as she could with just fingers. Then she stumbled to her seat, leaning in so Rotakh could see her. "What is it?"

His eyes narrowed, and she had a feeling he knew exactly what they'd been doing. "I know where Valeris is."

"Where?" Spock's voice was savage. As if he'd not just slaked some of his lust in her body for--she glanced at the chrono--four hours.

"Six hours ahead. It is a sparsely inhabited planet. Typical for the neutral zone. She must have put down for supplies. A Ferengi there made sure her ship wouldn't take off again. There are times that having no honor is very useful."

"Sabotage," Spock murmured. "From the French sabot."

"What?" both Chapel and Rotakh asked.

"It is...ironic." Spock seemed to be sinking into himself. "Transmit the coordinates."

"You need to understand something, Ambassador. Valeris must not escape. Her capture is my only duty--in whatever fashion that occurs."

"Commander Chapel and I have already been over this. She will be taken alive." Spock glanced over at her, looking light years from a man who'd just made love to a woman. "You promised."

She hadn't really, not yet. But this was it. This was the time to promise. She glanced at Rotakh, seeing something hard in his expression as she nodded. "I did promise."

"Very well, then. You promised." Rotakh looked down, seemed to be working something on the controls. "Coordinates transmitted."

"Acknowledged. We will see you there." Spock hit the panel to kill the comm panel. Then he increased speed. The shuttle seemed to burst forward, and he did it again. And again.

She glanced at the readings. They were well above recommended speeds. She glanced at another panel; Rotakh was falling behind.

"Spock?"

"You promised. He did not."

*********

--7 hours earlier--

"Are you ever going to speak to me again?" Rotakh glanced over at her from the pilot's seat of the small Klingon ship, his eyes glinting in a way that immediately annoyed her.

"Probably not."

He grinned. "To have left you speechless after a night together can be taken several ways."

"Get over yourself." She heard him laugh, fought the urge to throw her raktojino in his face. "You got me drunk."

"Nobody gets someone drunk on bloodwine. It's not like your Earther champagne, tripping down your throat with a will of its own. Bloodwine is an acquired taste, and if you drank enough to become inebriated, it was by your own choice."

She folded her arms over her chest, and looked out the side viewscreen.

"Tell me I'm wrong, Commander."

"You never call me Doctor."

"You aren't on this mission to heal Valeris." He grinned at her. "And you are changing the subject."

"There is no subject. We are not a subject."

"So it was what? The passion of a moment?"

"That's right." She'd required quality time with her regenerator. The love bites alone--the first one had left a scar, despite her best efforts.

"Hmm." He did something to the controls that must have put the ship on autopilot, because he stood up and walked over to her.

As he touched her neck, his warm, rough hands brought back memories of the night before as they moved over her scar. And they were hot, sweaty, violent memories. She felt something deep inside her twist with remembered pleasure.

He leaned down, his breath hot in her ear. "Are you sure it was just of the moment?"

She jerked away. "Stop it."

"Very well." He straightened up, but his hands lingered on her neck. He pressed harder, working deep into pressure points, unclenching muscles she hadn't realized had been tight.

"Please..."

"Please stop? Or keep going?" He didn't wait for her to answer, just let her go and returned to his seat. "By the way, we are meeting up with an old friend of yours in a few hours."

"Who?"

His smile was impossible to read. "Spock, of course."

She felt her heart skip a beat.

He seemed to know that. "Were you lovers, then? You never answered that question."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Interesting."

"I didn't mean for you to take that piece of information personally."

"It's possible I now take everything personally where you are involved. We Klingons do not take sex lightly."

"Even bloodwine-induced sex?"

"Even that." He looked at her, his eyes meeting hers, holding hers. Then he looked down. "Why is Spock here?"

"He said he would come. Once he finished what he was working on."

"Does he not trust you to do this job? Does he think you can't find Valeris? Or that you can't work with a Klingon?" His smile became a leer almost.

"He is here for his own reasons, I'm sure."

"You cannot trust him in this, Christine."

"I can't trust Spock?"

"His judgment toward her is questionable. He will want to offer mercy."

"Starfleet Command wouldn't have sent him if they didn't think he could be trusted."

He made a disparaging sound, a click of tongue and expelled breath. "Starfleet Command may not realize what is going on."

"Meaning...?"

"He was in love with her. She played him with ease."

"It's not a failing to be in love with someone."

"It is a failing to be made a fool of. I believe Valeris is not the first Vulcan woman to make a fool of him? Yet he keeps going back to them."

Chapel could feel her lips tighten.

"Struck a nerve?" Rotakh sighed. "This would have been simpler without him."

"Why? He understands her better than any of us. He was in her head, after all."

"And still he wants to help her."

"He wants to recapture her."

"No, little fool. He wants to save her from Klingon justice. I have reports that indicate he has argued for her to be remanded to Federation custody."

She looked at him, could feel disbelief coloring her face.

"Reports from a source we trust implicitly."

She exhaled slowly. Spock wanted Valeris freed from Rura Penthe? "He must have a good reason...if your reports are even right."

"I'm sure he has his own reasons. Good ones? The question would be good for whom?" His expression was ugly. "It's interesting, the timing of how she escaped."

"I don't follow."

"I mean...just now. The timing is remarkable."

"Now?"

"When the Ambassador is reported to be under the weather. The seven-year flu, I believe."

She felt her heart sink. So that was why he'd acted so strangely in the conference room. She had some experience with this. She should have seen. But she'd wanted to believe he'd been missing her. That they'd had a chance. Even though she knew he loved Valeris.

"I've heard when a Vulcan suffers from this infirmity, only his parMach'kai will do."

That damned word. It had sounded pretty last night. Now it sounded hateful.

"I'm not going to discuss this with you, Rotakh."

"Of course not." His expression was knowing. "The Ambassador has asked that you beam over once we are in range."

"Fine."

"I think you should stay here."

"You would."

"Christine, you owe this man nothing."

"He just wants to talk to me about the mission." The mission: getting the love of his life back? The love he might have helped escape from a Klingon prison?

"My reports indicated another thing. Something about your relationship with Spock."

She took a deep breath. Could imagine what was coming. "Don't."

"In the past, you've helped him, have you not? Healed him from earlier bouts of this seven-year flu?"

"I said--"

"I know what you said." He sighed--even a sigh sounded dangerous when it came from a Klingon. "You still love him."

"If I have feelings for him, they're not your business."

"If you have feelings for him, then you are a greater fool than I thought. He burns, Christine. And he does not burn for you."

She felt as if he'd struck her. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't I? Open your eyes, woman. See that this man does not care about you. He never has and he never will."

Looking away, she reached into her pocket and slipped the communicator out, slamming it on the console. "I won't be needing this."

"Choices made in anger are often regretted."

"Oh, as if a Klingon never makes a choice in anger? Don't you dare lecture me." She got up. "I'm going to shower. I smell of things Klingon."

This time he colored darkly. Had she managed to wound him?

"Let me know when we rendezvous with Spock," she said.

"Who am I to interfere with your little reunion?" He turned to look at her, his eyes raking over her body. "He is the wrong choice."

"I'm not choosing anything."

But she could tell he knew she was lying.

*********

--8 hours earlier--

"I cannot believe we were too late." Rotakh held out a hand, pulled her up the high step into his ship.

"At least we know we're on the right trail." She gazed up at the ion storm. They were safe on the ground. Valeris would have to go to ground eventually, too.

"We will stay here tonight." Rotakh glanced back at her, as if expecting her to decline.

"Fine."

His smile was pleased. "I will introduce you to Klingon blood wine."

She shook her head. "I've heard it compared to sulfuric acid."

"Sulfuric acid is for weaklings."

At her dubious look, he said, "You enjoyed the raktajino, didn't you?"

"I did."

He grinned at her as he hauled out a barrel from a storage cabinet. "There are cups up there." He pointed with his chin at a cabinet over her head.

She pulled two down. The cups were more like steins and were made of a dull metal, intricately carved with some kind of crest.

"It is my house seal. The house of Mortess. He is a famous warrior." Rotakh had moved behind her, his breath was warm on her neck.

"Aren't all Klingons famous warriors?" She leaned back a little, then realized what she was doing and pulled away.

"Some are more famous than others." He moved closer again and blew on her neck.

She tried to hide the shiver he caused. "You're doing that on purpose."

"I am. Does it feel good?"

"No."

"Liar." He laughed, but he moved away.

"How did you wind up on Rura Penthe?"

He sighed, taking the cups from her and dipping them into the blood wine. "It was an obligation."

"Does it involve dishonor?" She took the cup he held out to her.

"Do you think I would tell you if it did?" But his eyes sparkled. "It was our house's turn to man it. It is how such unpleasant duties are apportioned out. I was chosen."

She tried the blood wine, felt it burn as it went down, and started to cough. When she finally stopped, she asked, "Why were you chosen?"

He watched as she sipped again, seemed to be appraising her, smiling when she swallowed and didn't cough. "Because I have no parMach'kai, no family. No obligations."

"Parma...?" The translator had not changed it to Standard.

"ParMach'kai. My...beloved I suppose is closest word for you."

"Ah. So, no one to miss you?"

"I believe that is what I said. Although there are those in my house I'm close to and who miss me." He moved closer again. "Who misses you?"

"I have friends. And family." She sipped at the wine again. Then took a longer gulp.

He laughed. "You are brave."

"Or very, very foolish." She could feel the pressure building from the storm outside. "It's going to be a bad one."

"Yes." He leaned back against the table. "Are you afraid of storms?"

"No."

"Are you afraid of anything?"

"Ending up all alone." She stared down at the wine. Wanted to pour it out and blame her sudden honesty on the Klingon alcohol.

"Why are you alone? You are a spirited woman. You possess intelligence and are pleasant enough looking--for a human." He smiled at her. "Perhaps the men you desire are unattainable?"

"Roger was my fiancé. That's hardly unattainable."

"That was also a very long time ago. You have been alone for many years."

"And so have you, right?" She raised her cup. "Here's to two losers."

He didn't lift his cup. "I am not a loser. Neither are you."

She looked down. "I'm sorry." Had she been picked for this mission because she was...expendable? Because she had no one to care about her?

She downed the rest of the wine.

"You should go slowly."

"I'll go slowly when I'm dead." It was an old Emergency Ops habit of adding "when I'm dead" to any possible saying, and from the look in his eyes, he liked it. She held out her cup to him, and he took it and filled it.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

She nodded, praying his answer to that hunger would not involve anything that moved on its own.

He pulled out some kind of dried meat and cracker-like things. He smiled at her sigh of relief. "No gagh, I'm afraid. I'm sure you had your heart set on it."

"Some other time." She threw back half her wine.

"Christine." Her name sounded odd coming from him. He made it dark and exotic. "The wine will go to your head. I don't want you doing anything you might regret later."

"Doing anything--or anyone?" She smiled at his embarrassed look. So Klingons were a little prudish, were they? "What if I want to?"

How long had it been since she had? And what the hell had she been waiting for all this time? Spock?

"Do you want to?" He downed his own cup.

"Do you have to do that? To find me attractive?"

"No." He smiled, reaching into her pocket, pulling out the communicator.