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)
2018 by Djinn. This story is Rated R.
Lifeline
By
Djinn
Christine
wakes and you put your hand over her mouth. She struggles but you
wait—you have not worked so hard to save her for her to give your
location away in her panic. Her eyes scan wildly, and it is not full dark yet
so she should be able to see you but you feel her panic rise.
Either
she cannot see or she does not know you.
Neither
is the outcome you were anticipating, but they are not insurmountable.
You
start with the easier of the two to deal with. "Christine," you lean
down and whisper, barely a breath on her face, but she stills immediately and
you feel relief flood her. "Shhhh," you say
as you lift your hand from her mouth, ready to put it back if she tries to
talk, but she does not.
Her
eyes move in the way you have learned on this mission means she is assessing a
problem. She is no doubt trying to ascertain the level of damage her body has
sustained.
It
is worse than it should be but less than it might have been.
You
touch her cheek and lean in, your mouth over her ear, lips on flesh.
"Rebel attack."
She
nods under your mouth.
"You
were bleeding. You are no longer. Please do not move or that will change. We are safe for now. I can do nothing for the
pain—a meld would distract me and I must keep watch."
She
nods again, and you expect panic to rise, even just a bit, but she is calming.
You
should not be surprised; this is what she does now. She is no longer a doctor
or a nurse or even a scientist. She is accustomed to dealing with emergencies.
Perhaps she is even used to being hurt in the process. You do not know, for
this is the first time you have worked with her on a joint diplomatic/emergency
operations mission.
Your
father has worked with her often, has spoken highly of her. So highly it was
obvious he was trying to push her as a potential mate—now that Valeris is
gone. You did not choose to work with Christine to make him happy; you were assigned to this mission by Starfleet and you are
not in the habit of requesting alternate assignments because of past
associations.
Especially
when the woman in question has done nothing to make you think she is even
interested. She has to be well aware that with Valeris imprisoned on Rura Penthe for her treachery,
you are free. But she has worked alongside you for a week now and never
mentioned it. Her smile has been uncomplicated. Her eyes do not seek yours the
way they used to on the ship, as if, if she just looked long enough, you might
choose her.
Ironically,
it has made her more attractive to you.
"Our
people?" she mouths, her words barely making a sound but you, of course,
can here it.
You
lean in again, over her ear. "Most made it to the shuttle. Those nearest
us—I am unsure. Some were hit. Some scattered."
She
nods, and you can tell she is assessing again. "Our situation?"
"Dire."
She
smiles, a wry smile that reminds you of Jim. You wish Jim were here with you.
But then you have wished that since you did not go with him to the launch. Too
immersed in your own shattered pride to want to be part of what he called a
"dog and pony show." Had you gone, might he have lived?
"How
dire?"
"We
are safe for now." You have employed the stealth field you were given to
test. It is hiding you from the sensors of those who attacked your temporary
base. You are in the woods, and they have not checked this far out for
survivors, but while their equipment may not find you, a visual check would.
"If
they come, leave me."
"No."
She
grimaces in the same way Jim would have. The look that says she thinks she
should argue but will not. She was involved with Jim briefly after you died and
were reborn. It should not surprise you that she picked up his expressions.
Perhaps she had them all along? You do not know her well, despite her
relationship with your best friend.
The
two of you never formed your own friendship. You were preoccupied with
regaining what you had lost—and then Valeris came into your life.
Christine was not on the ship with you, or you would have been forced to
interact with her. She was in ops then, too.
You
never asked Jim why they stopped seeing each other. You did not care.
Now,
you find yourself curious. But you have not asked and you will not. Not now,
while you wait for rescue or capture—both options seem equally likely at
this point.
You
do not tell her that. "The ship will come."
"If
the shuttle made it," she mouths, this time making no noise. As if she does not want you to have to hear it if you do not wish
to.
She
closes her eyes, and you shift as silently as you are able, lying facing the
rebels as they go through your camp, but you drop your hand near hers, so she
knows you have not left her.
You
can feel her pain through the soft touch. You are not sure how she is bearing
it, but she stays quiet. Her breathing is that of deep meditation, and you
imagine your father teaching her this technique, because you recognize the
pattern of breath as Vulcan.
But
perhaps Starfleet teaches it—why do you assume your father has done so?
Are
you jealous of your father?
Her
breath catches as pain flares and you press your hand harder against hers. She
presses back and you feel gratitude but also regret.
You
do not want her to feel that. She is enduring this in a way that merits no
censure. You slide your fingers over hers, rubbing gently, feeling her relax finally.
Her
breath resumes the measured rhythm.
You
keep your fingers on her and settle in to wait.
##
The
rebels are showing signs of alarm but you are not sure why. One of them is
looking your direction, but you are sure the trees are camouflaging where you
are lying next to Christine.
Then
he turns away and you exhale softly.
"Close
call?" Again her voice is so soft you can barely hear her.
You
squeeze her hand twice. She murmurs, "Good," so you know she
understands your code. It is not a very sophisticated system, Starfleet standard
in fact. And how Pike answered from his chair. Two flashes for "No,"
one flash for "Yes." You think of him—is he still alive on Talos IV?
You
study Christine. With her hair dark, she looks like Number One. The first time
you saw Christine, you were sure she must be related to your former colleague.
But you checked her file and she is not.
Suddenly
your communicator begins to buzz. "Spock here," you say as softly as
you can and still be heard.
"We're
ready to beam you up but we can't see you, Ambassador." Captain Anders is
whispering; she is highly intelligent, and you have enjoyed working with her.
"We
are in a vulnerable position. If I disable the field that is blocking us from
the rebels' sensors, we will be seen."
"Then
we'll work fast. You said 'we.'"
You
are already disabling the field. "I am with Commander Chapel, who is
injured. We are ready for beam up now."
One
of the rebels looks down at what is probably similar to a tricorder and points
in your direction. There is yelling, and Christine struggles to sit up as the
sounds grow louder.
"Now
would be a good time," she mutters, then gasps in
pain.
You
see the makeshift sutures you worked so hard on split. Blood flows, a steady
stream, and she immediately applies pressure.
"Shit, Spock. How bad am I?"
As
the transporter takes you, you murmur, "Very," but there are doctors
waiting, who go to work on her immediately. As you start to get up, one of them
says, "Ambassador, you're bleeding, too. Why don't you get on this
gurney?"
"There
is no need. It is her blood."
"Sir,
it's green."
You
frown and the man points to your shoulder. You realize your robe is wet but it
has stuck to the wound, closing it, you think, or at least slowing the
bleeding. "It is not serious."
"Nevertheless,
let's discuss it more in sickbay, okay?" His tone brooks no argument so
you nod, but you wave away the gurney.
"I
will walk."
"Okey dokey." He turns to
help the other doctor with Christine. The bleeding has stopped, and you think they
have given her something for pain.
"She
cannot see."
"She
told us."
Of
course she did. She is a doctor, after all. You did not have to tell them that.
But
you would not want them to not attend to her because you did not convey the
information—for it to become permanent by your inaction.
"Spock,
quit worrying about me." Her voice is the level of tranquil that is
derived from a copious amount of painkillers.
When
you arrive at sickbay, she is taken to one of the surgical rooms while you are
led to a biobed. A little while later, as you sit
waiting for the nu-skin to fully adhere, Anders comms
and lets you know your people—or the bodies, but less of those than you
feared—have been beamed up. "Thank you, Captain."
"You
rest. This mission is over."
You
close your eyes. Yes, this mission is over.
Christine
is brought back out. There are patches over her eyes and you are not sure if
they are there as treatment or because she will not see. You look at the
doctor, gesturing to your eyes.
"Wow,
is he protective of you, Commander." The doctor grins. "She's going
to be fine. Her vision will come back in a few hours. The pads will help the
swelling go down."
Christine
smiles. "Thank you, Javi."
"YouŐre
my favorite patient, Chris."
"You
say that to everyone you treat." She sounds relaxed and sleepy, no doubt
from pain meds.
"Nope,
just to you." He lays his hand on her shoulder before leaving, and you
feel a rush of anger and possession so strong it leaves you shaken.
You
want to get up, follow him, challenge—no. Not yet. You should have
several years before the burning returns. But you have always been irregular.
You see a scanner on the counter and get up gingerly, trying not to jar the
nu-skin—and also not to be noticed—and scan yourself.
Yes,
there, the beginning signs. But it will be several weeks before you are in full
rut. You sigh and replace the scanner but, rather than getting back on the bed,
pull a stool over to sit by her biobed.
"Aren't
you supposed to be resting?" she asks, her voice soft and untroubled.
"He gives the best meds. He doesn't want me moving around the way you are
after you both worked so hard to patch me up, so I get extra happy juice to
keep me still."
"Are
you in pain?"
"Nope."
She reaches out and you take her hand and feel a surge of protectiveness fill
you.
Is
this because the two of you have been working together, getting to know each
other? And that you have saved her and grown even closer to
her in the process? Or because the burning is making
her seem more attractive?
"Thank
you," she murmurs. "You took such good care of me. Javi told me he didn't know how you got the bleeding
stopped. I told him you were innovative that way."
She
pulls your hand to her lips and kisses it. You feel the touch...everywhere.
Then
she laughs and says, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."
"I
will forgive it."
"Are
our people okay?"
"Nearly
all. Not Templeton or Hayden. But Captain Anders recovered their bodies."
"That's
the part of this job I hate, Spock. The goddamn bodies."
She
sighs and lets go of your hand, reaching up toward her
eyes, so you say, "Leave your eyes alone."
"I
just want to—"
"Christine,
that is an order."
"Jeez,
I'm a doctor, Spock." She takes a deep breath. "I can't even remember
what that life was like I've been doing this so long. But it's nice to work
with you. I mean I work with Sarek so often, but you've managed to avoid
me."
You
bite back the jealousy at how easily she says your father's name. "I
have...enjoyed working with you."
"I
don't think we've ever spent this much time together." She yawns.
"I'm so tired, Spock."
"Then
sleep."
"Don't
want to. Want to talk to you while you're here. Won't get the chance
again." She frowns. "Stupid medicine. I didn't mean that."
"I
believe you did." You resist the urge to stroke her hair.
"You
should know that I never, ever would have accosted you if it hadn't been for
that damned virus. I would have enjoyed my little crush in silence." She
laughs. "But once it was out, in for a penny, in for a pound, I guess. I
never let you have any peace. So stupid."
"That
is an exaggeration. We had a few uncomfortable moments. And some quite
pleasant." You shift to get more comfortable.
"Spock,
get back up on your bed."
"I
am fine."
"You're
stubborn. Always have been. Just like Jim." She swallows hard. "I
miss him, Spock."
"I
do as well."
"And
you probably miss Valeris?" She holds up a hand. "No, sorry, don't
answer that. It's none of my business."
"I
will—"
"No,
I mean it. I don't know why I asked. Of course you miss her. You were going to
marry her, weren't you?"
"Eventually,
yes."
"Everyone's
gone. Jim and Cartwright. Valeris. Scotty. Don't die, okay?" The drugs
seem to be making her sleepier.
"I
will not die."
"You
died once already but came back. Can't keep a good man down."
You
think she is asleep but wait a few more minutes to make sure. When her
breathing changes definitively, you find the doctor who was touching her in his
office.
"I
believe the nu-skin adherence is complete."
He
gets up and does a quick check. "Sure is."
You
scan his office for pictures—humans often display family shots.
There—this man and another and three children. "Your family?"
you ask, as if you are being nothing more than polite.
"Yeah.
The lights of my life. You married?"
"No."
Finally, a man who does not appear to know your history with
Valeris.
Although there are no doubt many who do not. You are just overly
sensitive right now. And the imminent burning is not helping that.
Still,
it is a relief that this man is not interested in Christine, or if he is, can
offer her nothing.
With
a last look at Christine, you head out to the quarters Anders assigned the
diplomatic and ops teams. You want to check on your people—you know
Christine would accompany you if her injuries were not so severe.
In
fact, she would probably be leading the way.
##
You
stand outside Christine's apartment, wondering if calling first would have been
prudent. You decide it is immaterial: you are here and she may or may not
answer the door, she may or may not be alone. But if she is, you must speak
with her.
She
does answer the door when you ring the chime. She invites you inside and you
sense no other person in the place. "What's the occasion?"
"I
wished to check on you. Your eyesight. It is fully
restored?"
"Yeah."
She frowns. "It was the last time you saw me."
"Yes,
but complications may arise..." That sums up so much of why you are here
but you try to approach the issue indirectly. "Did my father teach you the
meditation you were using to stay calm when you were injured?" From her
perplexed expression, you can see this was not the best indirect approach to
take.
"Kind
of a weird turn in the conversation but okay, yeah, he did. On
Denicia. A mission so frustrating we thought
we'd come out of our skin. We busted ass to get there and then had to wait,
wait, wait. The bureaucrats had red-tape creation down to an art form. Your dad
taught me meditation and I taught him hangman. I think he got the better end of
the deal since I taught him my failsafe word. Pleghm."
She frowns when you don't react. "Okay, I didn't expect a guffaw, but a
little eyebrow lift of levity, maybe?"
You
are trying to imagine your father playing hangman. You
can envision what he would have had to say if he had caught you playing that as
a boy. The...disapproval. Did he play it with
Christine because he was bored or because any time spent with her is desirable?
The thought of him with you makes you want to pull her to you and—no. You
must not think of that. "I wish...I wish to know the level of your
friendship with my father."
"Excuse
me?"
"Are
you involved with him?"
Her
mouth falls open, and you feel a surge of frustration. How difficult is it to
simply answer the question?
She
studies you. "Your father and I are friends, just as your mother and I
are." She waits, then laughs but it is a puff of
air, a bitter sound.
"That
could be an evasion. If the three of you—"
"Are
not lovers, Spock, jeez." She goes to her desk
and pulls a scanner from the drawer. "The look in your eye. The bizarre
jumps in logic. I've seen these things before."
Before
she can turn the scanner on, you hold up your hand. "Do not."
"Because
I'm right?" She gets closer but does not try to scan you. "I know
you're not here to ask me to help you with your biological issue."
You
are so surprised that you take a moment to fully parse her words. Yes, she is
refusing you. "You have always been receptive—"
"Always? When, in the last umpteen years,
have I showed any interest?"
"When
you were injured. When I touched you, I felt..."
"You
felt gratitude. Perhaps you felt some residue of a goddamn crush from years
ago. I was high as a kite on painkillers and alone in a strange sickbay. You
certainly did not feel love from me. Or do you not care if love is in the mix
now that the two people you cared the most for are gone?"
You
back up, surprised at her vehemence. "I saved you."
"Yes,
you did." She scans you before you can stop her. "But you've got time
to get to Vulcan. Plenty of time, in fact. So I'm not
in a position to have to save you." She moves away even though you think
normally she would have moved closer, to make her point, to show her anger.
"You saved me because it was your goddamn duty to save me. We were on a
mission. The only one we've ever worked together. I appreciate what you did for
me. I would, of course, return the favor—and have saved you, when I was a
doctor. But you're not dying. You're just...fuck, I have no idea what you are.
Horny? Primal?"
She
puts the scanner away and goes into the kitchen, keeping the counter between
you. "Go to Vulcan, Spock. I know there are ways for you to work this out
without me."
"I
have approached this badly. I...feel things—interest—in you."
"Well
maybe, once your hormones go back to normal, we can explore that." She is
watching you carefully—what does she think you will do?
"If
my father asked, would you...?"
"Why
in God's name would your father ask me? He has a wife he loves beyond all measure.
I'm a person he likes to work with because we approach things the same way.
That professional rapport has grown into a friendship with both of them despite
the fact that I once made an ass of myself over their son. The three of us have
all moved on from that embarrassing time. Why the fuck can't you?" She
points to the door. "Leave. Now."
You
almost want to call her bluff. To see what she will
do—if this outrage is real or just other emotion redirected. But
then you see a spark of something you did not expect in her eyes.
Fear.
Does she think you would force yourself on her?
You
move to the door. "Of course, Commander. I regret troubling you in this
matter."
"You
and me both," you hear her say as the door closes behind you.
For
a long moment, you stand outside her door, replaying what just happened. Then
you turn and head to the embassy to make arrangements. There is a protocol for
this, of course. You are not the only unbonded Vulcan on Earth.
You
realize you are disappointed, but there is also a deeper feeling, as if the
ground has shifted beneath your feet. You always assumed, if you decided to
pursue her, that she would be willing—even eager—and would welcome
you however and whenever you needed her.
You
very clearly assumed wrong.
##
You
sit on the porch of your family home, in the chair you have favored since you
were a boy. Even post Pon Farr,
your hormones are making you emotional—overcome with a wave of nostalgia,
a need for things familiar.
Your
parents are sitting in the swing your mother insisted your father put up for
her. You know the slight effort of keeping the swing in motion allows her to
express some of the emotional energy she keeps hidden. You remember the first
time you understood that blending into Vulcan society was not the effortless
act she made it seem. How...relieved you felt.
Your
parents have not asked why you are on Vulcan, but they surely know, even if
these things are not spoken of, so you drink tea and eat the dry biscuits that
were once your favorites, and talk of other things.
Safe
things. Things of interest to your father. Less so to
your mother, but she seems happy just to have you near.
At
a lull in the conversation, you ask softly, "Will you be seeing Commander
Chapel soon?"
The
Pon Farr may be over, but you cannot erase her from
your thoughts.
"She's
coming to dinner next week." Your mother grins at your father, and you
feel a pang. Valeris looked at you in just such a way, as if there were a
multitude of secrets between you, amusing secrets. You miss that.
Your
father's look is amused, but that fades when he turns back to you. "Why do
you ask, my son?"
"She
is your friend, is she not?"
"Indeed.
A kindred intellect. And a woman of fine
character."
"Also,
he's allowed to date her if anything happens to me." Your mother laughs,
as if what she has said is not appalling to consider. "He cannot, however,
date that shrew T'Menla."
"T'Menla has no interest in me, my wife. We have discussed
this."
"That
woman simpers. Tell me she's not simpering the next time you see her. And she
hates me."
"Vulcans
do not hate," you repeat dutifully, the lesson drilled into you.
"Oh,
Spock. Don't be na•ve." Your mother studies her. "Why are you asking,
darling? You've never shown any interest in what we do with Christine."
"If
it does not disrupt your arrangements, I should like to be included this
time."
Your
father's eyebrow nearly disappears under his hair. "Indeed, my son?"
"You
might, however, wish to ascertain if she is comfortable with me being
there." Why are you telling them this? Why did you come home, where you
are suddenly speaking your mind like the boy who had not yet learned to keep
his own counsel? You should have gone to one of the retreats, should have
meditated and found your center before returning here.
"Do
you think she would not welcome your presence?" Your father's voice
is...concerned.
"I
am uncertain." There, let him make of that what he will.
"Fascinating."
"Oh,
Sarek, don't tease him." Your mother actually elbows your father quite
hard. "Christine asks about you all the time. I'm not sure she even knows
she does it. She was quite happy when Valeris was dragged off where she
belongs."
"My
wife..."
"Oh,
piffle, Sarek. Don't tell me to not criticize. The girl was horrid. Why you
picked her, Spock, I'll never know."
"She
made me feel Vulcan." You close your eyes. Again, your body betrays you,
your mouth speaking before your sense can intervene.
"I
understand that, my son," your father says. "Upon reflection, I
believe she cultivated that. She isolated you, but I don't think you realized.
You spent far less time with us, even with James Kirk, when you were with
her."
"That's
because Jim would have seen through her in a hot second. And wasn't Cartwright
his friend?" Your mother sounds disgusted, but you think it is less at
your choice and more at Valeris's actions. "Cartwright probably wanted you
submerged in her." She shakes her head. "The hell of it was you were
happy, Spock. And I was happy for you even if I wished it was with someone
other than that snake."
"Someone
like Christine?"
"Just
exactly. Are you interested in her, Spock?" She grins and you know if you
say yes, you will make her very happy.
You
wonder how your father will feel. He is waiting for your answer, interest on
his face, but not with any sign of possession. You think he does not take your
mother's talk of successors as seriously as your mother made it sound.
"I
am uncertain," you settle for saying.
"You
are uncertain of a great many things, my son." It could be a rebuke, but
your father's voice is mild—kind, even, for one of your interactions.
You
realize it might please him if you were interested in Christine.
Again,
you feel the old rebellion rising. The impulsive reaction of wanting to go left
if your father says to turn right.
There
is no logic in it and it makes you, again, feel like a child.
##
A
week later, you are sitting with your father in the embassy, in the lounge of your
parents' private quarters, as your mother quietly orders the servers around. It
amuses you how she can get anyone to do her bidding with her soft voice and
eyes and a backbone of pure duranium.
You
hear Christine before you see her; your mother's voice changes to one of true
pleasure. There is such affection in her tone, her words. There is a
commensurate amount in Christine's.
Your
father looks over at you. His eyebrow goes up, but you are uncertain what
message he is trying to convey. Not surprise: you both knew she would be here.
Support? Concern? Amusement?
You
suppress a sigh and merely lift an eyebrow in response. Let him interpret it
however he wants.
"Where's
Sarek? I found this for him."
"In
the lounge, dear."
Your
mother follows Christine in and goes to join Sarek on the couch.
"Christine, Spock's going to be joining us."
She
freezes, but you give her credit for a quick recovery. "How nice."
She does not sound like she means it.
"Christine."
You try to sound welcoming.
"Spock."
It is too cold—she is not sounding welcomed. But she clearly did not
expect you to be here.
Why
did your parents not tell her as you suggested? She is off balance and the
flush on her cheeks speaks to some level of anger.
Your
father and mother are watching both of you like two naturalists, observing the
courtship rituals of exotic animals with some sort of non-interference policy.
You would glare at them if you did not think Christine would assume it was
directed at her.
You
search for something to say and finally focus on the scarf she is wearing.
"Is that Tantallian Silk?"
"It
is. It's what I wanted to show your father. I told you it came in red. Your
bullshit story about red dye not sticking to the fabric... You owe me a drink
next time we're on a ship."
"But
it took you a year to prove me wrong."
"You
two and that game." Your mother grins at you. "What is it called
again, Christine?"
"Facts
that may not be true." She laughs. "Or idiotic games you'll play when
hangman get old."
"It
is difficult to believe your missions can have so much down time," you say
into their shared amusement.
She
turns to look at you. "I know you're not saying we're slacking, are
you?"
Your
father turns to you, clearly also waiting for the answer.
"It
is simply," you say, steepling your fingers, a
sign Jim would know was an attempt to regroup, "that I have not found on
my missions I generally have much reading to do."
"Oh,
Spock, clearly you need to travel more with Christine." Your mother grins
at you. "She'd drag you away from your padds and tell you to live a
little."
"Or
perhaps it is simply that I have more experience, my son. When I was new in
diplomacy, I too spent much time preparing."
Your
father's words could be interpreted as a graceful out. They could also be seen as
a criticism. You are not sure how to take them, so you nod to show him you
understand his point.
"Oh,
the food's here. Let's sit." Your mother and father head off, leaving you
with Christine.
She
swallows visibly. "You're...recovered from....?"
"Yes."
"Great."
"Thank
you for your concern."
"Sure."
You
both stare at each other for a moment, then she turns
and almost flees into the dining room.
You
resolve to let your parents draw her out since you do not envision your chance of
succeeding conversationally with her to be high.
And
they do put her at ease. Your father is visibly lighter. Your mother is
animated and laughing. Christine's smile is beautiful. When you manage not to
insult her or your father again, she even begins to glance your way, the smile
slightly less wide but still attractive.
At
the end of the meal, your father says, "Unfortunately, I have a late
meeting tonight. But stay, Christine. Keep my wife and son company."
"It's
getting late and tomorrow's a busy day. But thank you. I enjoyed this."
She looks at you and her smile wavers.
"I,
too, should go. I will walk with you, Christine. Father. Mother." You get
up and see both your parents wearing twin looks of concern.
"You
will?" Christine asks, glaring at you in what is
clearly exasperation, then turning the look on your parents. "Did you put
him up to this?"
"We
did not," Sarek says. "But it is on his way."
You
do not need your father finding logic for you to walk this woman home. But when
she nods as if he has said something wise, you decide not to voice that
thought. Instead, you get your coat and hers and follow her out.
"I'm
sorry," she says as soon as you are clear of the embassy. "I know
they pushed dinner on you and it was uncomfortable and—"
"You
are mistaken. I asked to be included. I realize it was awkward, but did I do
wrong to want to be included—to experience your relationship with
them?" You want her to answer definitively: yes, you did wrong or no, you
did not. So you can move forward with her or try to forget this.
She
stops and studies you, her expression searching. "The Pon
Farr is over."
"Indeed."
"But
you wanted to be with...me, with them, even though it was going to be
difficult?"
You
nod.
Her
expression softens and voice is very gentle. "Then no, you didn't do
wrong." Before you can enjoy the moment, she turns and walks off and you
have to hurry to catch up.
"It's
cold and I have an early meeting, Spock. I'm not trying to ditch you." She
glances over at you. "I also don't want to have some sappy moment on the
sidewalk. But if you want, you can come up for a while."
"Yes.
That would be agreeable." You decide, as the damp cold becomes more
uncomfortable, that she is right to hurry, that there is logic in her
actions—to get out of the chill of this misty night.
But
you would have stood on the sidewalk if she had wanted you to. The dichotomy of
her logic to your sentimentality bemuses you slightly.
She
turns into her apartment and you follow her to the elevator. She does not look
at you as the lift rises, and you follow her off and to her door without
comment.
In
her apartment, which has a beautiful view of the water, she pours herself what
looks like whisky and makes a gesture you realize is her asking you what you
want.
"I
am fine." You sit on the couch, in a spot that leaves enough space for her
to also sit there without feeling uncomfortably close.
She
sits down next to you, perches almost, and takes a long sip of her drink. It
does not smell exactly like Jim's scotch or Leonard's bourbon, but you decide
not to ask her what it is. "So, um, how's work, Spock?" She laughs
softly and shakes her head, and you feel a return of the stilted conversation
of dinner.
You
think you have two options. One is to leave and give up the idea that you and
she will ever regain the ease of your talk when she was injured—and, if
you are fair to her, highly medicated. The other is to lean in, slowly undo the
scarf she is wearing and ease it off her, and then fold it as you tell her to
close her eyes.
"Why?"
Her voice holds more curiosity than concern.
"When
you were injured and could not see, we talked with so little effort."
"You
want to blindfold me?"
You
nod and hold the scarf up so she can lean into it.
She
does not move. "So, you and Valeris were into bondage games, I
guess?"
You
think she is trying to goad you. Both by bringing up Valeris
and making a joke of this. You merely wait.
Unfortunately,
she outwaits you. She is like your father in that way. It is not surprising he
enjoys working with her. "No, she and I were not. Can you not indulge me,
Christine? I do not plan on seducing you."
"That's
a huge relief because I'm relatively sure you'd suck at it." She laughs
and leans into the blindfold. "Fine, I'll play your kinky games."
You
tie it around her head, making sure not to catch her hair in the knot. And you
find yourself relaxing without her eyes on you, judging, perhaps
no longer wanting.
But
then she licks her lips, and you realize she is nervous too. You want to touch
her, to read her, but you think she would view that as cheating, so you resist
the urge.
"What
now, Spock?"
"Tell
me three things it would surprise me to know about you." It is a question
you ask new members of your team. Their answers are often illuminating.
"Jim
teach you that one?" Her smile is crooked. You
realize you have never noticed that.
"He
did not."
"Hmmm.
If I answer, you have to tell me three things, too."
"That
is only fair." You lean back and she does too, and she stops jiggling her
knee, something you did not realize she was doing until the motion ceases.
"Can
you get my glass while I think?"
You
reach for her drink and hold it to her lips. She drinks much more slowly than the
first, desperate sip. Before you put it back on the coaster, you smell it more
thoroughly. "This is whisky, yes? It smells...spicier than I
remember."
"That's
because it's rye." She laughs softly. "So that's my first thing. I
love rye."
"I
knew that you enjoy drinking. I am not sure specifying what you like to drink
qualifies."
"What,
I have to stun you with my answers?" She shakes her head. "I'm
rolling my eyes—something you could see if you didn't have a scarf
fetish. Hey, is that one of your three things?"
"No."
Although you are not sure what you will tell her. You have not thought this
through.
"Okay."
She crosses her legs and you watch the movement, finding it...seductive, but
you do not think she means it to be. "When I was a little girl, I was
crazy about horses. I wanted one so bad. And I never got it. And my parents
were always moving for work. Every time, when we were somewhere that had horses
and a place to ride, I'd think this is my chance. But then we wouldn't stay
there long enough for it to matter." She laughs softly again, but this
time the laughter is only gentle puffs of air. "I'm not sure why I told
you that. It's hardly groundbreaking."
"Jim
had horses."
Her
smile widens. "He did. We went riding all the time when he was on Earth."
"He
never told me why you and he..."
"That's
a story I'm not ready to tell you yet."
You
nod but then realize she cannot see the movement. "All right."
She
has gone still, except for her knee, which she is jiggling again. " Maybe,
maybe I should tell you. Now, rather than later. Now
so you can judge me and run like hell, and I can take this goddamn scarf
off." She points in the general direction of her glass and snaps her
fingers.
You
get it and hold it to her lips again. This time, the sip is like the first.
Frantic. "You do not have to tell me anything you do not wish to."
She
eases back. "But I think I do. Because I think you've decided you want me
and you don't even know me."
You
wait.
"He
and I were happy when we were together. But...I was on the ship, Spock, during
those first two voyages and I saw how many women..." She takes a breath,
ragged and long, then lets it out. "I thought...I
thought he cheated on me. A friend told me he'd seen him with this woman,
dancing close. I confronted Jim and he...he shut down. He swore he hadn't slept
with her, but the fact that I though he had, that I didn't trust him..."
Her
leg stops moving, she sits quietly, and you wait.
"After
Roger, after seeing him with that damn replica of a woman who was in his class
the year before I was, who came around all the time and he swore was only a
friend... Well, I think I lost my ability to trust. So that's my second thing.
I don't trust." She leans out, looking for her glass with her hands, and
you let her, sensing she needs to find it herself. She does and sips slowly.
"I've never told anyone that. When Jan asked, I made shit up about the
long-distance aspect not working. I told Ny I was still hung up on you. Len...Len
knew because Jim told him. He still looks at me with a look that's nothing but
disappointment. Like maybe..." She stops, and you realize her lips are
trembling.
"Like
maybe what?"
"Like
maybe Jim wouldn't have gone to the launch if I'd still been with him."
She whispers it.
"Christine,
his ship—even if it was not his version of it—was being given to
someone else. Someone he considered, and I quote, 'A goddamned idiot.' There is
nothing you could have done to keep him away." You reach for her hand, touch
it so quickly you cannot read her but hopefully can give some comfort. "I,
however, feel that I let him down. That he would be alive if I had gone with
him. Perhaps that is one of my three things."
"Or
you might have died with him."
"Or
that."
"And
then who would have saved me?" Her voice is very soft.
"A
gracious out that you are trying to give me, but I have faith someone else
would have saved you. You might not have even been on that mission. I was,
after all, the one who thought they were ready for talks."
"You
were? You didn't tell me that."
"No,
because I was wrong in my assessment. And that is the second of my three
things. I can be wrong from time to time and do not like to admit it."
She
smiles gently, and you decide it is your favorite of her smiles. A sweet turn of her lips with her eyes crinkling slightly under the
scarf—or so you imagine.
"Christine,
is your third thing that you no longer love me?"
"Do
I know you well enough to really love you?" She is not saying that to be unkind.
She sounds truly curious.
"Perhaps
not. Our interactions were limited, despite how long we have been
acquainted."
"Is
your third thing that you might be able to love me? Now that you think I don't
want you?"
"I
think I could always have cared for you. But I wanted a Vulcan."
She
nods, and reaches up, untying the scarf, taking back control. She blinks for a
moment as she drops the scarf onto the table. "I still care."
"I
no longer need my partner to be a Vulcan."
Her
eyes are piercing. She says nothing but frowns a little.
You
decide to elaborate. "When I grew up, I could never attain the Vulcan
ideal. I wanted to please my father, and yet I also chafed whenever I felt his
control. He and I still do not always see things the same way. But feeling that
I would never be good enough for him made someone like Valeris extremely
attractive. She was utterly Vulcan and yet she wanted me over all
others—and did not seek to change me, accepted me as I was." You
stop and remember how she made you feel. Special and
understood—and good enough. "When I forced the meld to gain
the information about the conspiracy, I could see her feelings for me were
genuine. She thought I would approve eventually. That I would
see her logic. I did not. I never will. But knowing that she, a full
Vulcan, could miscalculate so completely made me realize that the ideal I
sought to attain did not exist." You allow yourself a miniscule smile.
"I am not running from the idea of Vulcans. This is not a reaction to
being betrayed. It is freedom from needing that approbation."
"So
I'll do?" She still sounds wary.
"I
have never been unmoved by you. And I am here despite how uncomfortable dinner
was at times tonight."
"Uncomfortable
between us—I had a great time with your parents."
You
nod, unable to argue that.
"Are
you jealous of that?" she asks softly. "Sarek is so comfortable with
me."
You
decide to give her the truth. "I am."
She
purses her lips. "So I could be your way to him. Maybe I'm just another
Valeris?"
"I
was moved by you long before you earned the esteem of my father."
She
smiles. "Good answer." She touches the scarf. "And without
this." She finishes her drink and gets up. "You sure you don't want
something?"
"I
should go. You have an early meeting, do you not?"
She
starts to laugh. "With Admiral Baker. How do you know that?"
"Because
I will also be there. I have requested you for my next mission."
"Am
I going to get shot again?"
"It
is not a mission goal."
She
laughs and puts her glass in the sink. "Guess I should get some sleep,
then." She walks you to the door. "Did you plan the blindfold
thing?"
"No.
I was...searching for a way to create some comfort between us."
"Well,"
she says, as she leans in and kisses your cheek, a lingering touch that lets
you read that she is pleased with you, "it was genius."
You
cup her cheek, enjoying the softness of her skin, the sweetness of her regard.
Then you let go and leave her in peace. You will see her again in the morning.
You find yourself looking forward to that with a great deal of pleasure.
##
You
walk back to the camp of temporary shelters that has grown every day that
you've been on this planet. You see your people working with the ops personnel
and wonder how Christine managed to woo them into manual labor.
"I
am impressed at your progress—and your expanded team," you say, as
you slip in beside her to steady a panel. "But why is the corps of
engineers not called in for this?"
"Oh,
they will be, once you finish what you're doing and the planet is ready for
more permanent solutions. What we're doing here is just triage. No one should
live in these for long, but they're better than nowhere." While she
finishes fastening the panel, she indicates you should get the next one for her
by pointing and snapping her fingers the same way she did when she wanted her
drink when you were at her apartment.
You
do what she wants, but lift your eyebrow. "You appear to have me well
trained."
She
peeks around the panel and laughs, her smile teasing. "Hey, it works.
Don't tell me your mother didn't make that very same gesture some of the
time?"
You
have to concede that with a nod.
Someone
shouts out, "People?" and she laughs and answers, "Yo" along with the other ops personnel.
"We're
running low on panels. Anything you need from the shuttle while I get the next
pallet?"
"Moonshine,"
someone yells.
"Duct
tape," someone else says.
"And
cayenne pepper," Christine says, laughing.
You
realize this is a chant of sorts, a way to build team spirit. It makes little
sense, but you see your people—the humans, at any rate—laugh. The
Vulcans look perplexed and are perhaps trying to assess what you would make
with those three ingredients.
"Anything
you want" is, you imagine, the answer Christine would tell you.
You
work for a time, then say, "I must, regretfully,
remove my team. I have information we need to discuss."
"Thank
you for letting me borrow them."
"I
was not aware I let you do
anything."
"Smart
man," she says, her smile sweet and you think untroubled.
She
relishes this, you realize. Helping others. Being with her team. She disappears
into the group at moments like this, but you have seen her take a strong
leadership role at other times during this mission.
"I
managed to snag the vegetarian meals for you and Solat
and T'Kemra. Some of my folks were eying them."
"Most
kind."
"See,
I can save you." She laughs at your expression then calls out to the team,
"Diplomats: your boss needs you. Thank you so much for helping—we'll
save you some moonshine. You can find us in the same place tomorrow if you're
in the mood to pitch in again." She grins at you and mouths, "See you
later," then turns back to the panel.
You
think your people look slightly disappointed to leave the work and go sit in
the temporary shelter you've taken as your base. But they let it go as you
expect and settle in to analyze what you've brought back. The discussion is
spirited and you enjoy again the team you've created, how they work together,
how different each individual is in terms of age and experience and background.
They force you to consider options you might not otherwise.
Eventually,
after you wrap up, T'Kemra asks, "Cayenne pepper
and duct tape are items I am familiar with. What is moonshine?"
The
humans make faces that universally translate to something unpleasant.
"It
is an alcoholic beverage," you answer.
She
lifts an eyebrow at the humans. "Why would you drink it if it is as horrid
as your expressions indicate?"
"I
believe," you say, "that they will not be drinking moonshine. Copious
amounts of other spirits, but not that."
"Actually,"
Wainwright says, grinning, "it's making a
comeback."
Sandoza rolls her eyes. "Every year, people say
that. Every year, sane people reach for tequila instead."
You
lean back and let their good-natured squabbling become white noise. You are
tired. The talks are long and there is much to lose if the planet decides to
reject the terms the Federation has put forth for long-term assistance.
You
find yourself envying Christine and her team. Their job this mission is
straightforward and satisfying. It is easy to chart progress when you have
buildings erected and people treated for injuries and illness as evidence. Less satisfying for you—at least until the agreement is
signed.
You
get up, motioning for T'Kemra to walk with you and
update you on anything that transpired in your absence. She mentions Christine,
how she convinced some of the local children to draw pictures to hang in each building.
Pictures that would welcome those moving in. T'Kemra approves but not because she values the
sentimentality of the gesture, more the logic of giving the children—and
by extension the parents who will watch their children draw the welcoming
pictures—a stake in all this.
You
are pleased Christine has impressed her, but Christine impressed your father,
so other Vulcans should be a simple matter.
You
freshen up in the temporary quarters and then sit next to Christine at a table
a little away from the group. She has your meals there and a bottle of water
for you.
You
open the box and take a bite, trying to fight the ridiculous notion that the
food will be enjoyable. Of course it is not. That you can still manifest hope
after this many missions is no doubt a sign of something you do not want to
examine too deeply. Instead, you turn to her and say, "There was some
debate on my team over whether moonshine is back in fashion."
She
grins. "We do have it this time—white dog is apparently all the rage
with the younger set. No rye, though—I'm going to have words with whoever
stocked our 'adult beverages' for this trip. Oh and we have this." She
lifts the bottle of beer she is drinking from. "Got a lot of young 'uns this trip so I'll stay sober—or mostly so. Sometimes
I feel like their mom."
You
know she probably is also well stocked with antitox
or she would not be drinking at all. "I do not believe they view you as
that—or as only that. I sense a deep camaraderie in your team."
"They're
good people. I'll keep them." She leans against you for a moment, then pulls away quickly. "Shit, I'm sorry. I must be
super tired to do that."
"I
did not mind. No one is watching us."
"Someone
is always watching us. We're the leads. But if you don't care, neither do
I." She does not repeat the action despite her words.
You
know that is appropriate, but you are somewhat disappointed, nonetheless.
"How
goes the war?" she asks. "Progress?"
"Yes.
Miniscule steps toward agreement."
"Glad
I'm not you. I'd go nuts sitting in a room for hours listening to people yammer
on. Give me something to do."
"It
is, at times, trying." You study her. "I am...glad that you are on
this mission. I have something to look forward to at the end of the day."
"Aww, that's so sweet."
"Are
you also glad...?"
"Meh."
She laughs at your expression. "Yes, I am. I like spending time with you.
Much to my surprise." She assumes a mock stern expression, but you know
what she is referring to.
"I
wish to apologize. For...assuming you would help me with my personal
issue."
"Thank
you." She doesn't look away. "I may not always say no, if that's of
interest to you."
"Indeed
it is." You can feel parts of yourself express particular interest.
Her
smile says she was aware exactly what effect her words would have on you.
##
You
accept the congratulations of Admiral Baker for successful resolution of the
agreement and then discuss your next mission. Much to your relief, you will not
have to leave again for several weeks, so you settle in at your desk to catch
up on other business. Your personal communicator sounds and you see it is
Christine. "Hello."
"Hello."
She makes her voice very husky, then laughs. "You
sounded sexy just now. Did you mean to?"
"No.
But perhaps you elicit a response I did not plan?"
"Wow,
look at you. That was a great answer. So anyway, I did not call simply to hear
a sexy voice. One of my team was visiting family in Ankara, and she brought me
some of her Mom's borek, which is the best borek in the world. It's a huge dish, and I can't eat it
all myself. Well, I can, but my hips will not be happy with me if I do.
So...come over and have dinner with me tonight."
"I
am not familiar with borek."
She
laughs. "You probably know it as spanakopita or spinach pie."
"Ah,
yes, I enjoy that."
"Then
this is a no-brainer. Unless you have plans?" She sounds like she very
much doubts you have plans.
She
is right.
"What
time should I arrive?"
"I'm
taking a half day today, so you can come whenever. It's in stasis, just from the
oven, so you won't have to endure me trying to heat it up."
Other
than the soup she made you, which, if you are honest, was not very good, you
have never tried her cooking, so you are not sure how it would be. You always
assumed the soup was off because of the extenuating circumstances—and it
is notoriously difficult to do well, or so your mother claims. "I will be
finished here around five."
"Perfect.
I'll see you then." She clicks off the way a Vulcan would with no time
wasted on a longer goodbye. You appreciate the efficiency but are surprised by
it. You suppose working emergencies has made her value saving time where she
can.
The
day goes quickly and you enjoy the short walk to her apartment. She answers
quickly, dressed casually but not in a sloppy fashion—you imagine she
might have taken time to decide on the perfect mix of attractive and what Jim
always called "not trying too hard."
She
has place settings laid out at the counter, the large dish of borek between them still in the stasis device. There are no
candles, no flowers. You are surprised. But again, perhaps she no longer has
time for such things.
"Water?"
she asks as she pours herself a glass of wine. It has a strange, strong aroma
that you can detect from the stool you choose. She laughs. "Can you smell
this?"
You
nod.
"It's
retsina. My wine shop didn't have any Turkish whites
in stock. Greek seemed the next best thing." She laughs again. "It's
an acquired taste."
"I
believe all wine is, is it not?"
"Well,
yes, but this really is. Some people equate it to turpentine. Do you want to
try it?"
You
nod because there is a rare wine on Vulcan called laikraya
that you have heard described the same way. Instead of handing you her glass,
she gets up and pours you a tiny bit and brings the glass and bottle to the
table. "If you want more, help yourself."
She
has a pewter holder that she puts the wine in; it functions like a coaster. You
begin to put a picture together of a woman who is highly pragmatic when it
comes to protecting her things from the condensation on a glass. You have
always admired the logic of a coaster; they are used widely on Vulcan, where
wood is a precious thing and furnishings made from it highly valued. On Earth,
wood is far less rare, and many seem to view items made from it as disposable.
It is ubiquitous enough to burn for fuel—or even just for something as
frivolous as roasting marshmallows.
You
loathe marshmallows. You wonder how she views them.
She
turns off the stasis function of the dish and removes the lid. The aromas from
the borek are extraordinary. "Oh my God,"
she says, but the words come out more as a moan. "I've been dreaming of
this." She gestures to your wine. "Taste it. The borek
needs to stand a little before it's perfect."
You
try the wine. It is similar to laikraya. "On
Vulcan, winemakers in the Toresha province make their
wine vessels air tight by coating the inside with resin from the Laikanta tree. It is a difficult tree to grow—on a
planet that already challenges vegetation. I have had it once or twice on
special occasions and enjoyed it. This is very much like it."
"That's
what they do to this, too. I'm glad I picked it if it brings back happy
memories." She holds up her glass. "To...being comfortable enough to
ask you over on a whim."
"You
may ask me over any time you desire."
"Even
if I have furniture to assemble?"
"You
can assemble a building; furniture should not challenge you." You look
around. Her apartment is impeccably decorated. "Moreover, you do not
appear to require any additional dŽcor."
"But
I might want to redo it. What then, hmmm?" She grins and sips her wine.
"I
would assemble furniture with
you."
"You
are doing so, so well." She studies you. "Would you bring me chicken
soup if I was sick?"
"Yes,
but I would have no idea if it was good or not as I do not, as you know, eat
chicken."
"That's
okay. It's the act of giving." She closes her eyes for a moment.
"It's nice to not be rushing around like a crazy person—work was
slow this week."
"I
can imagine it is an exhausting job. Do you ever consider other career
paths?"
"I
have my eye on a couple things. Captain-level things. But on
Earth, of course. Not like I'll be challenging Harriman for the Enterprise." She shrugs, as if she
is not that concerned with getting these postings she is interested in, but you
see true ambition in her eyes. This surprises you. "What about you, Spock?
Are you like Sarek? Is diplomacy in your blood?"
"I
believe it is. I have been offered command of several vessels but have turned
them down."
"Wow.
But I guess that doesn't really surprise me. You could have had a ship of your
own back before you went to Gol."
"I
was offered the Enterprise. It was what
Jim wanted, for me to take his place. I...I did not want to do that. I did not
want things to change, for him to leave. I...dealt with that badly."
"By
going to Gol, you mean?"
You
nod.
"But
getting that out of your system, realizing that it wasn't your
path—wasn't that worth something?"
"Had
V'ger not appeared when it did—not called to
me—I would not have realized that. I would have...missed so much."
"I'm
glad V'ger showed up, then." She turns to the
food. "Okay, I don't care of this is ready or not. The smell is driving me
nuts." She holds out her hand. "Plate, please."
You
hand it over and she gives you a sizeable portion, then
gives herself a similar one. You like that she enjoys food. Jim was the same
way.
Then
there is silence as you eat. She breaks the quiet with groans and murmurs,
"So, so good." You nod but do not feel the need to provide more than
that as commentary.
The
borek is extraordinary. The little bit of wine you
have enhances it. Her company, the way she has arranged you both at the
counter, handing you the serving tool so you can get your own second piece, of
the size you desire—it is all so comfortable.
You
are contemplating a third piece and sense she is, too. So you cut it and then
divide it in half, depositing the first part on her plate and the rest on
yours.
Laughing,
she eats it, then pushes her plate away, and replaces the top, reengaging the
stasis unit. "It was good, huh?"
"It
was delicious." You switch to the water she originally gave you, and
follow her to the couch.
Her
scarf is on the table. She begins to laugh as she sees you studying it.
"I'm not the one who's going to be wearing it tonight."
"I
see."
"Actually
'not seeing' is the idea." She reaches for the scarf and folds it into a
blindfold, "May I?"
You
nod, curious to find out what she will do once you cannot see. As she leans in
to tie it, you breathe in her scent. She is not wearing perfume; she rarely
does, you are discovering. You will ask her about that at some point. You
remember her wearing one scent on the ship.
"Okay,
so I get to ask you potentially embarrassing, no doubt invasive,
questions."
You
cock your head. "You do?"
"Yep."
She touches your hand and you sense a lightness in
her, a playfulness. You think she wants you to feel that from her. This
is...fun to her. Not seduction. Not an inquisition. "Unless you want to
take off the blindfold."
"I
will consider answering your questions." You let your lips tick up.
You
feel her approval and then she lets go of you.
"Okay,
we'll start with an easy one. If you had to live in one moment only for the
rest of your life, what would it be?"
You
consider that. You do not believe it is an easy question. "I believe it
would be the moment I realized Jim was alive, after the challenge, after
thinking I had killed him. You were there to see me..."
"Grin
from ear to ear? I sure was." She shifts and you think she is facing you,
one leg bent up on the couch probably so she can rest her elbow on the cushion.
"Interesting choice. That was joy you were feeling, wasn't it? And relief, but mostly joy. Have you ever felt that way
since?"
"No.
It was an uncomplicated moment. I did not assess, did not moderate, did not want to be logical. I was just...yes, overjoyed, is
the right word, I think. Do I get to ask the same questions of you in this
game?"
"No,
but I'll answer this one. The day they told me I was getting promoted to
Commander. I never expected that—and I'd been something other than
regular Fleet for so much of my career that it was such a rush. Plus this was
something I did, no Roger to pull me along in his scientific wake, no Len to
push me to get out of my comfort zone and get my M.D. This was mine."
"But
Cartwright...?"
"Was
a mentor, that's true. But he didn't bring me into
ops—that was his predecessor. So yeah, that would be my moment."
It
interests you that your choice is so emotional and hers tied to
career—even ego or self-esteem. But you do not get to ponder that because
she asks, "Okay, so next one. Do you really think you could have saved
Jim?"
You
nod. What more is there to say?
"What
if you'd died? Your katra would have been lost."
"I
nearly drove Leonard mad carrying it. It was hubris to put it in him without
even gaining his consent."
"It
saved you that you did, though."
"Nevertheless."
You consider her question. "If I were to die, with Jim, saving the ship, I
would have lived the life I was supposed to live and died the death I was
intended to die."
She
leans in, close enough that you can feel her breath on your face. "Then,
by that logic, if you did not go with him and did not die, are you not now
living the life you are supposed to live and you will, someday in the future,
die the death you are intended to die?"
"Of
course. But that does not negate the guilt. The regret."
"No,
I suppose it doesn't. Still..." She shifts again, backing away, you think.
"Who was your first love?"
"Leila."
"Do
you ever think about finding her?"
"No.
Why have I not? Perhaps I should comm her—may I
use your device?"
She
laughs. As you intended. The sound
one of surprised delight. "Oh, very good."
"To
answer your question more seriously. No. I let her go. More
than once. She is not for me no matter how warm my memories."
"Are
you still in love with Valeris?"
"Were
you still in love with Roger after you found him on Exo
III?"
"Yes.
But I'm human. I wasn't sure how much the part of you that's Vulcan could turn
off emotion in the face of betrayal."
"I
do not know if a full Vulcan could, but I suspect not. I was...wounded after
the fact. Time has helped eased that. I can recall why I felt the way I did,
but I no longer want her."
"Did
you sleep with her?"
"Is
that not a highly personal question?"
"Yes.
Did you?"
You
nod. You slept with Valeris. The sex was very good.
"Did
you meld?"
"No.
She said she did not enjoy it. Not everyone does. It is required for certain
ceremonies but not everyday life."
"Do
you enjoy melding with someone you're interested in?"
"Yes."
Although your experience in that is limited. You
decide not to add that and she does not ask. Instead, she murmurs
"Water?" and you nod and drink carefully once she has the glass at
your mouth.
"I
didn't bring myself anything. May I drink from your glass?"
"No,
that is horrifying. I must go."
She
laughs again. "Is it the blindfold or are you just funny?"
"I
believe it may be the blindfold."
"Well,
I'm licking your glass. All over. It really is horrifying." She sets the
glass down.
"I
trust you, Christine."
"I
trust you, too."
"You
said you do not trust."
"I'm
the one in charge of the questions here, Buster."
"That
was not a question."
She
sighs. "Unless I'm a super bad judge of characters, you're not as likely
to flirt with the first cute girl that crosses your path as Jim was."
You
decide not to mention Droxine, who Jim never missed a
chance to tease you about. And you also decide not to defend Jim. He did not
flirt with every woman. But he did
flirt with many. You can understand why she might worry if she was with him.
You can also imagine Jim's dismay—he lived through the accusations with
Janice Lester. He told you about his relationship with her after the encounter
when she stole his body. And his reputation as a lothario bothered him
immensely.
"I
believe you are safe," you finally settle on saying and, since she laughs,
think you have picked the right response.
"Does
it make it easier to talk to me with the blindfold on?"
"Slightly.
But I am not the one who was nervous."
"Oh,
I think we both were feeling uncomfortable. So, Spock, what do you want from
me?" Her voice is soft.
"Everything,
I think."
There
is silence. A long one.
"That
is not the answer you expected?"
"No."
"Is
it unappealing, this answer?"
"No."
You
pull down the blindfold because you want to see her expression. She is staring
at you, and you think her expression is uncertain. "Do you not wish to
give me everything?"
"I
don't know what that means when you say it." She reaches out but stops
short of touching you so you lean into her hand. So many emotions flood into
you. You experience them rather than trying to analyze them.
"I
do not need everything at once, if that helps?"
"Well,
what do you want first, then?"
You
pull her to you, your lips hovering next to hers but not touching.
"This," you say as you press in, the kiss nothing like the one the Platonians forced on you.
You
kiss for a long time, neither of you pressing for more, although you do pull
her onto you, so she is straddling you, her arms tight around your neck.
When
you finally pull away, she smiles, a lazy, lovely expression, and traces your
lips lightly with her finger, causing chills to run down your back.
"I
wasn't sure if Vulcans kissed, but I used to fantasize about kissing you anyway."
"Just
that?" You realize you are smiling, even if most humans would not realize
it.
But
you think she does. "Well...maybe other things." She moves her light
touch to your ears, making you groan, and then to the back of your neck.
"Do you ever think of me when you...touch yourself." Then she stops
her caresses and frowns. "Do you do that?"
You
nod. "I lately have only thought of you."
She
reaches down, touching you through your pants, and you close your eyes.
"Are you thinking of me now?"
"Most
assuredly." You are also thinking how she should never, ever stop touching
you that way.
She
does, but only to undo your pants and slide her hand into them, under your
briefs, grasping you, playing. As she does that, you pull her closer to you,
lifting up her shirt and sucking her breasts through her bra, enjoying the mark
your mouth leaves on the fabric. You want to be closer so you pull her shirt
off, then remove her bra and the rest of her clothes.
She's taking yours off too, slipping from your lap long enough to ease off your
pants, and then you pull her back, onto you.
She
is nothing like Valeris. Christine's thoughts are undisciplined, her reactions
open and expressive and holding nothing back. She is not quiet when she
climaxes, and you like hearing her pleasure, knowing you brought her to that
state.
You
follow her, near silent in the moment, but holding her tightly as you let go.
You collapse against her and she kisses your hair.
You
pull away enough to study her, to take in what you
were too busy possessing to really look at. You particularly enjoy her breasts
and spend a great deal of time on them, making her moan. Then you settle her
back on the couch and kiss your way past her breasts to explore the rest of
her, devoting most of your time to one place, to licking and sucking and making
her call out again, this time even louder.
You
resist saying, "You are mine," but it is how you feel. You do,
however, murmur, "I am yours, Christine. If you want me."
She
gives you the sensuous lazy smile you are becoming very fond of. "Wanting
you has never been in question, Mister Spock." Then she grasps you and
plays until you can join with her again.
She
is happy. You believe you could become addicted to how she feels when she comes
down from an orgasm, the mix of emotions, the almost dizzying feeling of
release.
The
love.
No,
wanting has never been in question. For either of you.
If you never reached for each other until now, then now is your time.
She
does not say she loves you even though you can feel that she does. You like her
restraint.
You
are finding, to your great pleasure, that you like a great many things about
her.
##
You
lie in Christine's bed and she is pressed against you, the meld fading slowly.
Rubbing her shoulder, because you have discovered she enjoys being
touched—not just in a sexual way but like this, affectionately—you
relax against her very soft sheets and allow yourself a small, satisfied smile.
She
hid nothing from you—although you knew there were aspects of her mind
that were off limits, but those had to do with missions and things you had no
need to know. You would have the same areas if she were able to initiate a
meld. Everyone probably has them.
"Were
you in love with Jim?" she asks softly into the silence. She touches your
face and turns you to look at her.
It
is not a question you expect from her.
She
smiles but her eyes seem to sear through you. "You said earlier you went
to Gol because he left."
"I
was much younger then. I had not yet learned to moderate expectations of a
friendship—to balance emotions." You feel disappointment flood her;
she knows you are lying.
She
starts to talk, but you lay your finger on her lips.
"Yes,"
you say. "Yes, I was." Stroking back her hair, you try to decide how
much to tell her. "I thought he and I had more than what we did. I know
his feelings for me were strong. What did he not risk for me over the years?
But he never wanted the physical expression that I yearned for. His love for me
did not need that outlet."
"So
I finally understand what everything means." She laughs softly, but she is
not amused. She is not overly upset, either. The main emotion you are sensing
from her is...understanding. "You get my love, which has always been a
constant in your life even if you never wanted it. You get my mind, which
Valeris withheld. You get your father's esteem because I have it. And you get
to know what it's like to make love to Jim, because I know that. Am I leaving
anything out?"
Again,
it puzzles you that you do not feel hurt from her—or anger. "You
make me feel safe, like my mother does at times." Finally you feel
something new. Surprise and...amusement?
She
crawls on top of you, holding your arms up over your head. "What
else?" Then she kisses you tenderly and laughs into your mouth. "The
more you give me, Spock, the less important any one of them becomes. And that's
a good thing. That's what we all do—search for someone who makes us
whole." She rises up, studying you. "I'm all right with being your lifeline
if you're all right with being mine."
You
realize you do not want to know how many other loves you are filling gaps for.
And it may not matter. Because what is happening now, in her
bed, is just the two of you.
"It
is not my nature to wish for things to be other than as they are, but I wish
that I had said yes to you when we were younger."
"I
know. But you didn't. So...this is what we have." She kisses you again,
still tenderly. She is not rubbing against you, or trying to arouse you, and
you enjoy the feel of her on you, holding you down this way. It, like the
blindfold, is something you do only with her.
And
you think, despite what she says, that it is trust. You both trust the other.
"I
would have liked kids though," she whispers so softly you think she is not
sure if she wants you to hear.
You
struggle enough to let her know you want your arms free and she lets go, and
you pull her down to you, to rest the length of you. "We have both come
across children in our time who moved us, have we not?"
"You
brought yours home." She nips you gently. "Are you going to introduce
me to Saavik? I've never met her."
"Yes,
I will. I wish for you to be close to her." You roll so you are both on
your sides because you want her to see your face when you say this. "If
you were to find your own Saavik, I would welcome that child into our
home."
"Our
home?" She laughs, so amused it makes you smile. "We're one night
into being sexual partners. A blissful, absolutely amazing and I may never let
you out of my bed night. But still just one night. You
really see a future already?" She traces your lips, the smile that has
grown larger than you intended—that too is her effect on you and you
believe she knows that.
"I
do. But that aside, I am merely saying that while having biological children
may be problematic, having children in our life would not be." You run
your nails lightly down her back; she loves this. "I am not, however,
saying that I expect that from you. We are both highly focused on our careers.
There may be little room for much else."
"Except
each other. And your family."
You
remember when she lost her parents. She has no siblings and her parents were
also only children. She is truly alone in a way you, with extended family on both
sides, may never understand.
But
she has created a family from friends, you think. And that may ultimately be
richer, at least so far as replacing the type of family you see once a year and
barely remember details of their lives. Friends cannot replace parents, nor do
they usually try.
"Maybe
Saavik will spit out some kids so we can be grandparents." She is lost in
what you're doing with your fingers on her back; otherwise, you think she would
not phrase the act of giving birth so flippantly.
But
it amuses you. It plays to the pragmatism in her that you never expected. The
humor you are finding refreshing since it does not bite the way Leonard's
always did. "That would be ideal," you say.
She
smiles and pulls you closer for a kiss. When she pulls away, you nuzzle her
neck, taking in the scent of her.
You
pull away. "May I ask you something?"
"With
or without the blindfold?"
You
allow yourself a small smile. "Without."
She
nods.
"I
remember you wore a distinctive perfume during our first mission. You no longer
wear it?"
"Do
I need to wear it?"
"No,
but as I understand women, they usually do or do not. But you did and now do
not."
She
leans back. "Roger gave me the one I wore when I was a nurse. By the time
I got to med school, Starfleet Medical only allowed perfume by waiver—too
many species had allergies. Once I was in Ops, the same thing applied plus it's
a great way to attract bugs and we spend way too much time outside." She
closes her eyes. "I found one that I liked for when Jim and I... But once
he left me, I couldn't bear to wear it."
"I
am sorry. I did not mean my curiosity to bring you pain."
"It's
an old pain, Spock. And we talk about things, right?" She turns to look at
you, her smile wry. "We're good at talking now."
You
nod.
"Do
you like perfume?"
"I
did not like the one Roger picked out for you."
She
laughs. "Before or after you knew he'd picked it out for me?"
"Before.
It was..."
"Trying
too hard." She shakes her head. "I know. But it was expensive and he
liked that about it. I didn't care for it all that much but the big-ass diamond
engagement ring he gave me wasn't regulation, so the least I could do was wear
the perfume. Show the world I was taken."
"You
cared for me despite that."
"Pfff, that's your fault. If you're going to be mysterious
and gorgeous and unattainable, you have only yourself to blame if women fall
for you."
You
pull her back to you.
"You
know what I'd like, Spock—before we go adding anything to the shared home
we don't even have yet, and I mean anything, even a freakin'
goldfish? I'd like us to go find a perfume for me that we both like. Would you
do that with me?"
"I
would."
"Would
you help me pick out other things?"
"Will
they be revealing and likely to arouse me?"
She
nods.
"Most
assuredly."
"You're
so much more fun than I expected."
"You
are so much less romantic."
She
rolls her eyes. "Because I'm not suggesting we go go shopping tomorrow for
a bigger place? Baby steps, Mister. I want to get to
know you before I commit."
You
push her to her back and hold her arms over her head. "Does that mean you
do not plan to be exclusive."
"Doofus. Of course not. I'll give
you my heart, and maybe someday my mind, but you are not getting any closet
space until I'm sure of you." She makes a considering face. "Perhaps
not even then."
"We
will—eventually, I am hearing what you are saying—find a place with
many closets, so that will not be a problem."
"I
like that idea." She wriggles against you, and the effect is immediate.
"Unless you're too tired...?" Her grin tells you she knows that you
are far from spent.
You
go slow this time, let the sensations build for both of you. She is
moaning—and also swearing—by the time you finally let her go and
follow her into pleasure.
"Okay,
maybe we can look for that place tomorrow." Her laugh is an exhausted one
and you murmur, "Sleep," as you roll to your side.
"Okay.
But for the record, I was kidding. I know you don't always pick up on
that." She yawns, snuggling into you, whispering, "Thank you for
saving me, Spock," and a moment later she is gone.
You
hold her and consider which jobs she may be interested in. All of them will
suit her, you think. If she gets one, it will be soon and she will no longer be
able to accompany you on missions.
You
should request her for your next one. It is unfortunate that you did not
discover how much you enjoyed working with her until she was ready to move to a
new position.
You
cannot change what is. It is unfortunate, but it is also reality.
You
close your eyes, finding her soft breath on your chest soothing, and fall
asleep.
##
You
hear a knock on your door, look up to see Christine, and motion her into your
office. "Is lunch no longer convenient?"
"No,
sorry." She does not sound genuinely sorry. "New mission. Got called
up. Perils of being trusted by your father." She grins, a smile that
increasingly reminds you of Jim.
"My
father asked for you?"
"Yeah,
that's generally how it works."
"That
is not how it works for me."
"Well,
you're still relatively new. When you've been doing this as long as he has,
you'll be able to commandeer whomever you please, too." She makes a face
as if she does not understand why you are discussing this.
"I
would prefer you not go with him."
"The
second part of that statement is 'But I understand you
have to.' Also, Spock, what the fuck? You would prefer I don't go with him?
Why?"
She
has attacked on several fronts so you wait for a moment. That is a mistake.
She
leans in, her voice low. "We're new. You don't know me well yet. I
understand that. And for some reason known only to you, you're jealous of your
father when it comes to me. But get over it."
"As
you did, with Jim?"
She
straightens, her eyebrows pulled down in a deep frown, her gaze steely.
"Do you think you have cause to believe I'd cheat?"
"You
were betrothed when you told me you loved me."
"Because
of a virus that made Sulu try to skewer people and Riley nearly destroy us
all—I think what I did was pretty damn minor. And afterward, when I really made an ass of myself, Roger was
gone. Spock, where is this coming from?" She takes a deep breath, as if
you are a child she is trying to understand—to not yell at. "I have
opened my mind to you because I know Valeris didn't. I don't know what more you
want from me if you haven't seen all you need to see through the meld. Now, I
have to go pack. Please be sane when I get back from this mission."
And
then she turns and walks out, and you are left feeling like a fool.
Or
like a very small boy. Watching your father tell your mother to leave you, that your tears will dry on their own, that your
tantrum will end more quickly if they do not indulge you. The way he would hold
out his hand, his imperious, "Wife, attend me." You were so young,
then. Too young to be expected to understand Vulcan
discipline. And yet, he could not bend—you had to. And now he
takes your woman.
No.
This is ridiculous. Christine is right. You have been in her mind. You have
felt a resonance from her time with Jim. The lingering
regret. There is no such feeling for your father. No unquenched—or
quenched—desire.
You
send a message to her person comm. I
regret my words. May your mission be successful and uneventful.
It
takes longer than you like for your comm to chime. Thank you.
You
are unsure how to read that. Is she touched or annoyed still? You give up
trying to interpret two words that probably mean precisely what they say, and
go back to what you were doing.
A
few hours later, you comm your mother,
wanting to leave early, to spend time with her, but you do not want to
barge in on her. You have acted childishly enough for one day without
disrupting the schedule of the ambassador's wife.
"Darling.
Are you all right?"
"I
wondered if you would like to go out—perhaps an early dinner. If you are
not already engaged."
"That
would be lovely. I'll see you soon."
The
walk takes you little time. Your mother is sitting in her office reading. She
smiles as you walk in. "My little boy. So handsome."
"Hardly
little, Mother." You study her. "Is there somewhere you would like to
try?" There often is. This is something you do, when your father is away.
Let her "cheat" and have meat and forget for a time she is
vegetarian.
You,
of course, have no desire to do that. It merely gives you pleasure to indulge
her.
"There's
a seafood restaurant I've been hearing amazing things about and of course your
father won't go with me. But you can."
"I
would be happy to accompany you."
"Ooh,
you said 'happy.' Be still my beating heart. You almost sounded human."
She grins and goes to the hall closet to get a wrap. "I'm not in the mood
to walk."
You
nod and wait as she calls for her private flitter. You are quiet on the ride to
the restaurant, where you are quickly seated even without a reservation. The benefits of fame and privilege.
But
you do not mind. Sitting in the vestibule is not to your taste tonight.
Your
mother orders wine and then sits back and studies you. "What's wrong,
Spock?"
"Why
must something be wrong?"
"A
mother knows these things. So...spill."
"Christine
and I are together."
You
expect a smile, but she frowns. "Really? I wouldn't have seen that as the
outcome after dinner the other night."
"Your
faith in me is demoralizing."
"Oh,
pfff." She smiles up at the waiter as he brings
her wine and orders a great deal of food—you have never been sure how she
fits so much into such a tiny frame. You order one of the two vegetarian pasta
options and a salad, which you ask to be served with the entrŽe.
She
leans in once the server is gone. "Are you happy?"
"She
left annoyed with me. You know Father took her on his latest mission?"
"Of
course I know that." She studies you. "Do those two things go
together somehow—her being annoyed and your father including her?"
"Why
did you say that he could...take up with her if anything were to happen with
you? Is it because you sense interest?"
"No,
Spock, it's because eventually—unless an accident or something worse takes
him from me—your father will outlive me. And I'm not averse to having a
say in who succeeds me. Although Christine isn't that much younger than I am so
really he probably needs an even younger woman or a Vulcan—at any rate,
if he does remarry, which he will, because your father is not the kind to be
alone, then you will be kind to her. Unless it's T'Menla. You don't have to be kind to her."
"Perhaps
he will not remarry."
"There's
an old human saying: you can judge the quality of a marriage by how quickly a
man remarries and how slowly a woman does. It applies as well to Vulcans, I
think. Although the burning does complicate things." She waves, as if
brushing that idea away. "Let's get back to Christine. Do you think
something is going on?" Her tone implies in no uncertain terms that if you
think that, you are wrong—and quite possibly an idiot.
"I
just found her, Mother, and he takes her away from me."
"Found
her? Spock, she's been under your nose for decades. And it's not as if he knew
you were with her." She makes a disparaging sound that manages to be more
disapproving than any look your father has ever given you. "Don't you
think you've rushed into this? You're obviously adrift, Spock. Any fool can see
that. Your father and I have both been worried about you. First
Valeris's betrayal. Then Jim's death. And that nice Mister Scott. You're not on a ship
anymore—that must be so strange. Frankly, I was shocked you'd want to
follow in Sarek's footsteps. So many changes. But
Christine represents stability, doesn't she?"
"She
represents nothing. She is herself." But the conversation with Christine
is playing back to you—how many roles she is filling. But is that not
normal? "You do not need to worry. I am fine, Mother."
"You
aren't fine. I'd hoped, when you came to Vulcan so precipitously, that you'd be
with Christine then. I didn't want you to be with a stranger during the
burning—I hate the thought of that. But you came alone."
"I
did ask her."
"You
did?" She starts to laugh. "And she said no. And that's why you told
us to check with her first before dinner. And that's why she was so
uncomfortable."
You
nod. "You should have warned her I would be there."
"Well,
where's the fun in that?" Her expression sobers. "So she's upped the
ante by making it difficult for you to get her. Are you sure you know why
you're with her? Is it just that she's the antithesis of Valeris?"
"No.
I have always been interested."
"Could
have fooled me." She lets the servers put down your meal, then she leans
in. "I don't want to lose a very dear friend over this, Spock, if your
relationship ends badly."
You
swallow harder than you mean to. "I do not intend for it to end. I hope
that we will find a lasting accord."
"You're
ready to marry her after a few nights? Spock, you are rushing into this.
Perhaps you even agree with that subconsciously. It's why you're picking
fights—just like when you were a boy."
You
busy yourself with your food, hoping you can get her to change the subject.
"Break
up with her, Spock." She says it like she would say to dispose of
something from the chiller that has gone bad.
"Why?"
"Why
stay?" Her stare is relentless.
"Because
she is intelligent and surprising. I cannot predict what she will do, much to
my surprise. Because, she is attractive and sensu—"
You are not going to discuss your physical relationship with Christine with
your mother. "More than anything, I enjoy her company—the way she
makes me feel." You know you have walked into her trap by the happy smile
on her face. "Do you wish me to say you and father have been right all
these years?"
"Yes,
I do." She grins, but it is a guarded expression. "But I also don't
want you to hurt her."
"I
imagine Father wants that even less."
She
rolls her eyes. "Actually, you're wrong. You and he don't ever do this, do
you? When I'm out of town. How many dinners have you had with him? If you break
up with her, his life will go on as it is. I'm the one who stands to have an
awkward time trying to balance you and Christine."
"You
have done it for years."
"With
you ignoring her. But not breaking her heart."
"Mother,
it is entirely possible she will break mine."
You
expect anything but the brilliant smile she gives you. "Oh, sweetheart, I
think that's just about the most wonderful thing you've ever said." She
pats your hands and you feel that she is...happy? And there is an aura of
mischief to her touch. "Let's put this time to good use and figure out a
way for you make it up to her that you were an utter ass."
"I
was not an—"
"Oh,
Spock, of course you were. You're a Vulcan male. Utter ass is practically the
factory default." She laughs at your expression. "I love you. I know
I complain about Valeris, but I'm truly sorry that she hurt you. And that Jim
is gone. I loved him, too."
"I
know."
"So.
Christine could be good for you—that's what you're saying, isn't
it?"
You
nod
"Then
you just have to trust her."
You
think how Christine told you she could not trust. It is ironic that you
apparently mirror that.
But unacceptable. You will let go of what Valeris did. You will
move past the pain of loss. You will accept Christine's friendship with your
father. And your mother will help you.
It
pleases you that your father will have no part in this. It does you no credit
to feel that way, but nevertheless, you do.
##
You
are in your office when Christine gets back. She looks exhausted
as she stands at your door—exhausted and wary.
You
rise, walk to the door, draw her in and tell the computer to lock the door, then you pull her into your arms. "I have missed
you."
For
some reason, this makes her stiffen in your arms, not relax.
"Was
that the wrong thing to say?"
"No.
But maybe it would have been nice if you'd asked me how I was."
"Is
that what my father would do?" It is out before you can think better of it
and you close your eyes, regretting it immediately.
She
jerks away from you. "I'm too tired for this. I should have just gone
home. Your father would have given me a ride because he actually noticed that I
look like I'm going to drop."
"I
will call you a flitter."
"You
don't want to know what you can do with your flitter." She glares at the
ceiling. "Computer, unlock the goddamned door."
The
door opens and she is gone.
She
does not answer your comms later, and you stop after
the second attempt; she is no doubt sleeping. She needs rest. But you wander
the halls of Starfleet Command, finding yourself in the connector to Starfleet
Medical, heading down the private way Leonard showed you to get to his office,
a way patients do not know of so no one will stop you.
"Well,
look at what the cat dragged in." Leonard smiles and
points at the chairs in front of the desk. "Pick one and take a
load off. It's been a while, Spock."
"I
realize that. I have been remiss."
"Oh,
hell, we both have. Getting used to new jobs and all that. And Jim being
gone." He holds up an imaginary glass in what you know is his tribute to
his and Jim's mutual love of whisky. "So how's diplomacy?"
"Less
confusing than interpersonal relationships."
"You
mean romance? I wasn't aware you had one anymore. Didn't your lady love get
sent to that ice planet Jim and I were stuck on?"
"I
was not referring to Valeris. Have you ever rushed into a relationship?"
He
starts to laugh. "Well, golly, I don't know. Did I once marry a woman I'd
known a hot moment and let her put a
chip in my head? Nope, doesn't ring a bell." He muttered, "Natira," between dramatic coughs.
"You
thought you were dying."
"Oh
so that gives me an out for being stupid?" He reaches behind him, opens
the credenza, and pulls out a bottle and a glass. "Then again, she did
happen to have the cure for what ailed me, so it wasn't all bad." He pours
a small amount into his glass and sips. "I know you're not rushing into anything."
"I
may have."
"Do
I know the lucky person?"
You
narrow your eyes. Person? Not woman?
"Oh,
come on, Spock. You think I didn't see how you looked at Jim?"
"You
never mocked me for it."
"Even
I have limits. Besides, he did love you—just not that way. I felt for
you. God knows there were enough women on the ship who didn't feel that way
about me that I could sympathize."
"Christine
was not one of those women, was she?"
"Hell,
no. She's like my kid sister. Why do you think I rode her so hard?"
Leonard's eyes get wide. "Oh, man, you and her? After
all these years? I'd hardly call that rushing into it."
You
take a deep breath, but then are unsure what to say. He gets up and moves to
the chair next to you, pulling it back a bit before sitting, so he can cross
his leg over his knee.
"You
sure you don't want a drink, my friend?"
"There
are times I regret my stance on alcohol."
"Wow.
Okay. So, I take it there's trouble in paradise?"
"It
is new. Paradise is...a distance off." When Leonard nods, you continue.
"What is a relationship if neither partner can trust?"
"Pretty
much my first marriage." His smile dies when he sees your face.
"Okay, not really. Jocelyn and I didn't start out that way. Maybe if we
had, we would have either taken steps to build some trust or walked away before
it even started." He leans in. "I know Christine didn't trust
Jim—but why wouldn't she trust you?"
"Perhaps
it is I who has the greater lack of trust."
"You?
Who the hell would she be with? I mean I'm sure she's had friends with benefits
but anyone serious? No."
You
meet his eyes. This is going nowhere. Why did you come here? But before you can
do the rational thing and leave, you say, "Did you and your father have a
close relationship? I remember from the pain Sybok took from you that you cared
deeply for him, but...were you friends?"
"Some
of the time, yeah. I don't think parents and kids were meant to be friends all
the time, though. I mean...we're going to rebel. To disagree.
Why are you asking about—oh for the love of God, Spock.
You cannot seriously think Christine and your father...?" The dismay in
his voice almost makes you smile.
"I
think they may be closer than she is to me. Emotionally."
"Oh,
you mean she likes him better? Well, golly, Spock, why would
that be? Oh, let's see: a. he respects her, b. he likes working with
her, c. he brings her home to pal around with your mother, who is a living
angel, d. he doesn't mind that she once made an ass of herself over his
dumb-as-bricks-when-it-comes-to-her son—need I go on?" He leans in.
"Spock, what have you done for her lately?"
"We
are forging a relationship."
"Forging.
You do that in a hot smithy. Really hard work. Find a
new word, my friend."
You
think about that. Building a relationship would probably please him no better.
Creating also requires concerted effort.
"Why
can't you just let it become?" He leans back. "You have a
relationship with her already, Spock. It just isn't a good one."
"It
is now. It is very good."
He
laughs. "I wish she was here to see you defending your relationship.
Probably be good for her. You want my advice?"
"I
am afraid that subconsciously I must. For I am here."
He
grins. "Just...enjoy what you have and forget about the rest. Look how
fast everything changed. Everything we thought we had: gone." He sighs.
"I don't know if he told you but Jim and I were going to start a
foundation. I was going to retire. Would have put the papers in the day after
the launch. But...that didn't happen, now did it?"
"I
did not know. I am sorry."
"You
were busy with your own heartache. On multiple fronts, even." His terminal
beeps and he gets up and reads what's on the screen. "Criminy,
do these young bucks know nothing? I've got to go, Spock." He reaches into
his desk, takes out a white pill you suspect is antitox
even though he has taken only three sips of his drink. "If I were you, I'd
focus on what's good. Let the rest work itself out on its own timetable, not
yours." He pats you on the shoulder as he comes around the desk.
"Cowards ne'er did win at love, my fine Vulcan friend. And have me over to
dinner once you two work your shit out. I miss you both."
You
sit for a moment, lost in the state between what you had and what will be. This
man stands at the intersection—so much history. You must not let him slip
away the way you did Jim.
##
Christine
comms you the next day, but it is a text message. It
says only We need to talk. Come over around seven if
you're free.
Jim
once told you no good interaction started with the words "We need to
talk." You hope he is wrong in this case.
She
does not make you wait when you ring for entrance shortly after seven. To a
Vulcan, it would be rude to arrive even a few minutes late. But you have learned
humans tend to look askance at rigid punctuality. You cannot tell what
Christine thinks of it.
She
does not hug you, but her smile is a sweet one. "Please, sit down. Do you
want anything to drink?"
"Water
is fine."
You
notice she is drinking water also. You do not think that is a good sign. She
must believe she needs a clear head to deal with you.
You
see the scarf is still on the table so you pick it up and say, as lightly as
you can, "Which of us should wear this tonight?"
She
does not smile. "Neither. The time for that as a conversational aid is
over."
"You
indicated the concept was brilliant."
"I
said genius. And it was. For people who needed to start talking. But we're
beyond that—or we should be. We're lovers, Spock. Aren't we?" She
leans in. "Or am I just someone you're fucking because I make you feel
safe? Because I'm part of your past? Because you loved
people adjacent to me?"
You
are trying to take in cues, but she is giving you none. She is not jiggling her
knee. She is sitting in a manner so relaxed you think it is the one she shows
when she is working, when she needs people to believe in her and her ability to
control a situation—and herself. Her emotions,
especially.
She
could be Vulcan right now.
"Spock,
we should be looking each other in the eye when we talk. We should be seeing each other. If we can only really
communicate with a blindfold on, this is not going to endure."
"Do
you wish it to endure?"
"I
do. But I need you to care about me."
"I
would not be jealous if I did not care."
"That's
bull. This isn't about me. This is about you and your father and the toxic
thing you call a relationship."
"Has
he told you that?"
"Spock,
don't you get it? He never talks to me
about you. He knows how I feel about you. That I love you." She stares at
you defiantly. "That I have loved you for so damn long. But I don't know
you, do I? Because this is the last thing I thought we'd be fighting
about—hell, I didn't even include fighting on my list of 'things likely
to go wrong.'"
"Nor
did I—if I had such a list. Which I do not."
She
finally smiles, almost a laugh.
"Christine,
you do know me—or you are getting to know me. What we have shared, I
value. I have enjoyed the time we have spent. Talking, touching. Both together.
I want this to continue. To grow. I realize I may have
rushed us—speaking so soon of wanting everything."
"And
forever. That's implied when a Vulcan says 'everything,' isn't it?"
"It
is." You hold out your hand, allowing her to close the distance if she
wants to touch you.
She
does. And you know she does it knowing you will read her emotions.
You
feel irritation. Hurt. Disappointment. And she is still so tired—you must
ask her about this mission. But underneath everything, you feel love. You feel
that she wants you—she wants this. But she is afraid.
She
eases her hand away. "Probably got a lot from that. Seems unfair I can't
do the same to you."
"I
agree. Even a meld would not give you quite the same influx. It is akin to a
scanner."
"Handy."
She moves closer, cuddling in against you. "You need to understand that I
have never, ever done anything remotely sexual or romantic with Sarek. I don't
know if you understand how much he loves your mother?"
"I
do. I was often the loser in that equation." You feel her tense.
"This is not something a therapist would deem oedipal,
Christine. I do not wish to make love to my mother. But..." Do you wish to
talk to her of this? You have never, not even to Sybok. "When I was very
young, I could have been allowed to more fully express my human side. She would
have encouraged that. But he made sure to pull her away when I was at my
worst."
"You've
always indicated you viewed being human as that, as the worst thing
possible."
"I
am not certain I believed it completely. Absorbing that ideology was a defense
mechanism perhaps. At any rate, my father wanted me Vulcan and only Vulcan. And
I eventually submitted—even if he would say I was still a rebellious
child. But I gave that part of myself up. I became what you know. Primarily
Vulcan."
"But
still, you remember. And it hurts?"
"It
does. It is why, when Saavik was young, I did not make her choose. She cries or
laughs or gets angry and I do not tell her it is wrong. She swears and I do not
say a Vulcan would not do that. It is part of her."
She
holds you more tightly.
"And
then my father sent my brother away. Because I was going to
follow him. After all Sarek's work indoctrinating
me"—you nearly spit the word—"here was a full
Vulcan—his own blood—who would lure me from the path." You can
still feel the pain of watching your brother taken away, not allowed to pack
any his favorite things, only given a robe and enough funds to take him off
Vulcan.
"Valeris
accepted you for who you were." She whispers it, understanding finally.
"As
did Jim."
"As
do I, Spock." She pulls away but seems uncomfortable. "I need to say
something that may anger you. And it's about my friend. Your
mother. This isn't all on Sarek, Spock. Your mother is so strong. If she
was pulled away when you needed her, then that was her choice, too."
"No,
he bullied her the way he did me..." But as you say it, you know that is
wrong. Your mother is strong. She was with your father while he was still
bonded to Sybok's mother, even if they lived apart. She endured him being
called to another until T'Rela finally died. She
chose to be the wife of a Vulcan—there was no bond when you needed her
most, chaining her to your father. She could have taken you and been free of
him but she did not.
"It
doesn't mean she doesn't love you, Spock. Because she does.
She does talk to me about you and that love is so, so clear. But perhaps she,
too, wanted you to be what you are. More Vulcan than human."
"But
she enjoys when I express my humanity."
"Publicly?
Or in private? With her?" She touches your cheek,
and you feel only support—and guilt. This is her friend she is talking
about. "She raised you to blend the way she has learned to, Spock. She
taught you what she knew. And the Sarek she knows is full of love. How could
she know you wouldn't get the same from him? And I know you don't. I see you
two. You try—but it's always work, isn't it?"
You
nod. Yes. It is always work. "Are you going to tell me that he loves me
despite not being able to show it? Because that is what she says."
"Maybe
she's seen it in a meld—felt it even? But that doesn't help you. That
doesn't make it stop hurting." She brushes your hair back. "I think,
if you hadn't been hit by so many things at once, you would not be feeling this
so strongly now. And I'm not helping since he does ask for me a lot. I've had
other people ask about it—snarky comments, some salacious. It's why I get
so pissed off. Because he and I—we really do think alike when it comes to
the mission." She pushes you back and straddles you. "But not when it
comes to you. Because I don't want you to have to guess
whether I love you or not. I'm not going to hurt you, Spock." She
smiles tenderly. "And you're not going to hurt me. You'll probably piss me
off beyond all reason." She laughs and leans in, nipping your lips softly.
"But you won't hurt me, will you?"
"Not
that way. But I may be thoughtless. I should have asked about your mission."
"The
old me would have been thrilled that the first thing out of your mouth was that
you missed me. And it won't be a bad thing to say in the future. It's
just...our fight wasn't over—it just got put on hold while I was away. So
whatever you were going to say was probably going to be wrong."
"And
no doubt will be again. We seem to be more volatile than I anticipated."
"We
do, don't we?" She begins to move on top of you and you close your eyes.
"Volatile doesn't have to be bad, though."
You
pull her to you, kissing her deeply, almost frantically, and she kisses you
back the same way. You stay there a long time, not reaching for the meld, not
taking her clothes off, just letting the kisses move from desperate to
something gentler, something stronger. Until the touch of her
becomes familiar, part of you—everything.
She
pulls away, and she feels so relaxed, like she did when she was injured and on
the pain medicine. "I feel drunk," she says, her smile so sensual you
begin to ease off her clothing, let her take yours off, and then you lift her
and lower and...there.
You
both breathe out, heads thrown back, fingers clasped. You realize you want
nothing more from her than this connection, this understanding—this ease.
She moves almost painfully slowly, murmuring your name as you thrust, and you
let go and let yourself melt into the emotions that are flowing into you.
Is
this love? If so, you and Valeris never had it.
Christine
finds a rhythm that builds pleasure, and you watch as the ride is expressed on
her face, in the way her mouth opens, the breathy gasps of pleasure, and then
the slight freeze as her climax begins, the moans, louder now, then louder
again.
You
cannot wait, not when you are this open, when her pleasure is so raw, and you
pull her to you, burying yourself in her, over and over and over and—
You
are very loud as you come. She laughs and finally holds her hand over your
mouth to muffle the sound, and you kiss her palm and relax into her. Gently,
she kisses your cheek, then your ear and neck, until you pull her back to you,
to have her kiss your lips again.
"I
love you, Spock."
You
ease her back, so she can see your face, can take in the emotion in your eyes,
as you say, "I love you, too, Christine."
"And,
Spock?" She touches your cheek, her hand dancing lightly over your skin.
"I missed you, too."
FIN