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) 2020 by Djinn. This story is Rated PG-13.
A Very Meta Birthday
Spock walked slowly down the corridors of the Enterprise, trying to clear his head of the sound of a keyboard tapping, the sensation of being...driven rather than making his own choices. Now that he was aware he was not entirely in charge of his own destiny, that someone—someone decidedly fickle—was making choices for him and for his woman, he was especially on guard.
Memories flooded him. Memories that were not rightly his. As if he had made a tour of dimensions, of all the possibilities. Too many. Many with resolutions not to his liking.
And this was a day that could go many ways: Christine's birthday. He must be vigilant.
He hurried to the turbolift, arrived on the bridge in time to see Christine opening a small purple box, lifting what looked like chocolate to her mouth.
Several memories collided, and even though he knew he was abandoning Vulcan dignity, he launched himself across the bridge, yelling, "Noooooo!" He got to Christine before she could eat the truffle and slapped it out of her hand and into the face of his best friend.
"Jesus, Spock, I thought you were over the V'ger emotionalism?" Jim muttered as he slipped out of the center seat and grabbed the truffle. "Five-second rule, Chris?"
"Maybe it's the Pon Farr," McCoy said from the other side of the bridge, where he was, as usual, loitering for no apparent reason.
Christine held the truffle up. "Okay with you if I eat this, Spock? You've been really weird lately." She leaned in and asked softly, "Is it the Pon Farr?"
"No. That is something that is planned for, felt for weeks. It is not a plot device." He was not really saying it to her but to the entity that ordered his day, molded his lines when he was not alert enough to prevent it.
An entity that had even killed his woman. More than once.
Jim grinned at Chris in a way that was entirely too familiar. Spock eased her away and took the truffle from her. "You do not need this."
"You might want to rephrase that," she said with a deep frown. "I know you're not saying I'm too heavy."
"Yeah, I think she looks great," Jim said with a wink to her.
"I do not believe I asked you, Jim." He took the box with the three other truffles from her. "Who gave these to you?"
"I did." His father appeared out of nowhere.
How did anyone function knowing the rules could change so abruptly? Then again, Spock's compatriots did not appear to know—and did not seem to think it odd that the Vulcan ambassador had just materialized on the bridge. Spock had been debating the wisdom of telling them the truth. Would it free them or be too much to bear to know they were not in control of their own fate?
"I also approve of your mate's figure." His father's possessive gaze belied the fact that he'd just acknowledged Christine was his mate.
Was she? She was his wife but had they bonded? Spock was now trying to keep track of so many timelines he was confused. Some timelines with a bond, some without. Some with melds, some without. He was getting lost in them.
He took the box of truffles and handed them back to her. "Eat them if you must."
"You are so damned weird. You're lucky I love you." She took his arm. "If you'll excuse us, I need to talk to my husband in private."
Jim, his father—and McCoy?—looked gravely disappointed. Uhura was laughing at something she was listening to on the comms. She did not appear to be at all concerned with the drama around her.
Drama, Spock had to admit, he was creating.
"Here, try one." Christine shoved a truffle in his mouth as the lift door closed, and then ate one herself.
The chocolate melted slowly. Dark and luscious and not sweet—he knew it was his father's favorite kind.
"Oh, God. So good." She leaned against him. "Why are you being so weird?"
"What if I told you that we had no choice in what we did?"
"Is this how you're going to explain not getting me a present this year?" She gave him the expression that normally did not bode well for his chances of sex.
"I have a present for you. You value gifts and I value you, so of course I have a present for you. Why would I not have a present for you?" Although he could find plotlines where he had not given her gifts and that had been a problem—one where it seemed enough to break them apart? Truly?
Such limited imagination on the part of their puppet master.
"We should bond." He touched the arch of her cheek.
"A bond isn't a gift. Also we bonded three years ago. What's wrong with you?" She pulled a medical scanner out and ran it over him. "You seem fine."
Now that she'd said it, he could feel the resonance of their bond. The other timelines seemed to be further away the more aware he was of her.
"Tell me more. Tell me how it feels to be bonded to me."
She pushed him out of the lift and down the hall to their quarters. "This strikes me as something I'd do on your birthday. Probably accompanied by a blow job." She palmed open the door to their quarters and pushed him against the wall, bringing his fingers up to her face, to the meld points. "Lower your damn shields and I'll show you what's it like to be bonded to you."
He did as she said, felt their accord manifest as the meld took hold. The regard he had for her, the...love. And the amusement in her, the certainty of her feelings for him.
"You're jealous." She pulled away enough to study him. "Of what?"
"Do not leave me for Jim. Or my father."
She started to laugh.
"Or McCoy. Or Admiral Ciani."
"Just promise me."
"I promise." She pressed against him, her lips soft, and he felt the last sensation of being controlled by something other than himself disappear. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the feel of his wife's body, the silkiness of her hair, the soft scent of her perfume.
When she pulled away, she played with his hair and studied him. "Better?"
"Can I have my gift?"
He took her hand and drew her to the bed, easing her down.
"Sex is my gift?" She sounded and looked skeptical.
"Reach under the pillow."
She did and found the little box he'd hidden there for her. Her smile was luminous. "You didn't. I told you not to. They were too expensive." She opened the box just enough to peek and then slammed it shut. "You did. Oh, Spock."
He took the box from her, opened it and unlatched one of the lovely rose gold and sapphire earrings from the holder and slipped it into her ear. Then he put the other one on her. "They are beautiful. But not so much as you."
"Wow. You should get weird more often. It's making you flowery." She played with the earrings, her expression happy and surprised.
He felt the weight of all the other Spock's slip off him. What did it matter if they could not have her? He could. He did. He would enjoy what he and Christine had for as long as they had it. It was all anyone could do with love.
"So what did you mean we had no choice in what we did?"
He touched her cheek, the skin so soft, so cool against his fingers. "Only that I am doomed to love you."
In this universe anyway.
"Then I'm doomed too." She pushed him to his back and straddled him.
"We are both still clothed, my wife."
"I know. Because I have a staff meeting in"—she glanced at the chrono—"well, actually now." She wiggled slightly and laughed at his groan. "Rain check?"
She slipped off him and after he composed himself—these new uniforms did not hide signs of sexual arousal the way the old ones had—he walked her to the lift. They had it to themselves so he let his hand sit on the small of her back.
In a sign of possession, he heard a voice not his own say in his mind.
The sound of a keyboard resumed.
Christine leaned into him. He felt nothing from her but love as she kissed him quickly before the doors opened to her deck and she hurried out.
He rode the rest of the way alone, walking off to the bridge, seeing his father conferring with Jim and McCoy.
The keyboard fairly thundered in his head.
He closed his eyes and focused on the timeline that was his. His life, his actions, his wife.
Then he opened his eyes and turned around.
His father was gone, McCoy was stepping into the lift muttering about staff meetings being a waste of time, and Jim was watching Spock with a fond look.
The keyboard began rattling again.
"What are you and Chris going to be doing for leave?" Jim asked, a strange twinkle in his eye. He got up and walked to the science station, pitching his voice lower. "And I hope you booked the travel for three."