DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters
are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc and Viacom. The story contents are the
creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2006 by Djinn. This story
is Rated R.
Shanghaied
by Djinn
The forest stretched on clear
to the horizon—a horizon that wasn't very far away since it was such a tiny
moon. Chapel glanced at Spock, wondering what he was thinking as he looked out
over the vista.
"Nice place for a
vacation," she murmured.
"We are not on a
vacation, Doctor."
"No kidding?" She
looked back at the place where the raiders had dumped them. Alone. Together. On
a deserted moon with no shuttle and no equipment. Dependent on each other for
survival.
A week ago, it would have
been one of her fantasies.
Now, after a week with Spock
on Risa working out his Pon Farr issues, it was a
nightmare. Why had she said, "If you ever need me"? And why
had he taken her up on that offer? She was, frankly, pretty darned sick of his
company. Pon Farr was great, if you wanted a quick
dose of intense aerobic activity, or liked to live dangerously playing damsel
in a savage, Vulcan he-man story. But for the one not overcome with blood fever, it pretty much stank as experiences went. There was
no romance. There was no conversation. There was nothing but sex. Over and
over. And not particularly good sex, either.
They'd spent five days
screwing and a day recovering—and generally avoiding each other. Now, it would
be God only knew how long before anyone found them. This little piece of real
estate was a nature preserve—much to the annoyance of settlers who wanted a
nice, green world to settle on instead of a dusty, terraformed planet.
"We have no water,"
she said. Fortunately, since it was a green world, there had to be water
somewhere, although they might have to dig for it.
"I am aware of
that."
"Or food." Prepared,
anyway. She could hear the song of some kind of creature, probably a bird since
it sounded high up. And the vegetation might be edible, not that they had
tricorders to check. Maybe she could feed the stuff to Spock and, if he didn't
keel over, she'd try some.
"I am aware of that,
too."
"Or—"
"I do not believe an
inventory of what we lack is helpful at this time, Doctor."
He'd called her Christine in the
throes of the blood fever, but as soon as it had subsided, he'd gone back to
using titles. Naked and sweaty and half on top of her, he'd been calling her
"Doctor." It had been annoying. And it had hurt.
"Just making
conversation," she said.
"Quiet would be
preferable."
She held up her hands. "Sorry."
She waited as he stared out some more at the horizon. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why is quiet preferable? Are you solving Keranion's
Unknown while you wait for divine inspiration? Or whatever it is you're doing
just standing there staring out into space?"
"Keranion's
Unknown has no solution. If it did, it would not be—"
"Unknown. Yeah, I get
it." She sighed. "Shouldn't we find shelter or something?" And
why was she having to be action girl? He was the ranking officer. And the
goddamned genius.
He turned, but she thought it
was more to get the hell away from her than it was to actually do anything
useful. He started down the path that would take them lower into the trees.
She didn't follow. "You
know, I think I'll stay right here."
She saw him stop; he even
clenched his fists. The blood fever was barely over. It might not be safe to
push him. Then again, he'd made it clear as soon as he was done having sex with
her, that he didn't want to touch her—or even look at her—if possible. So what was he going to do? Stalk over and haul her up and
make her come with him? Right.
He stalked over, hauled her
up, and dragged her after him. His face betrayed no emotion, but his grip on
her was a little tighter than was strictly necessary.
"Ow."
He ignored her.
She jerked back, trying to
unlock Vulcan fingers that had apparently turned to durasteel.
"Owwwwww."
He finally looked at her, and
for a second she thought she saw something in his eyes—something...hurt. Then
he let go of her. "We will stay together."
"Fine, Spock, we'll stay
together. Lord knows I haven't spent enough time with you lately."
"Yes, you made that
clear on Risa."
"What's that supposed to
mean?"
"Were my words not
simple enough for you?"
"I guess not, or I
wouldn't have asked."
He didn't reply, just walked
on.
"You were the one who
couldn't wait to be rid of me," she said.
"Yes, that is why I
stayed in bed with you."
"You didn't stay in bed
with me. You fell asleep in the bed that I was in. You didn't care that I was
in it."
"You do not know what I
cared about."
She laughed, and she could
hear how bitter it was. "Maybe not, but I know what you didn't care about.
And that's me." She looked down. Why had she said that? Did she need to
make herself any more pathetic than she already was?
"And you are the
definition of caring, Christine?"
She was about to reply when
she realized what he'd called her. He looked over at her, his mouth set in
what, for him, was an angry line.
"What did I do?" She
stopped walking and stared at him. "I saved your life, mister. Put my body—and
my heart, not that you cared—on the line. How is that not caring?"
He made a sound she wouldn't
have thought he could make. A small sniff, scornful, and the kind of angry that
only goes with hurt. But she had to be reading into that, had to be trying to
humanize Spock. Trying to make him into some kind of normal guy.
He'd never be normal. And she
was too normal. Or something.
"Fine, Spock. I'm the
bad guy here." She pushed past him, hurrying down the hill.
"You will slip if you go
too quickly."
"Will not."
"I will not carry you if
you injure yourself."
She turned so she was walking
backwards, which was stupid, but she was angry enough to pull it off. "You
wouldn't carry me even if you injured me."
"Did I?"
"Did you what?" The
tiny rocks on the path slid, and she nearly lost her footing. She stopped
walking.
"Did I injure you during
the Pon Farr?" He looked sincerely concerned.
"No."
"Ah. I just bored
you."
"Bored?"
He nodded, this time pushing
past her so he was in the lead again.
"You care that you bored
me?"
"I was correct, then? I
did bore you?"
"Put yourself in my
position, Spock. It wasn't much fun."
He walked faster.
"I thought we were
staying together?"
"I would not want to
impose my company on you, Doctor."
"Back to titles, are
we?"
"We should never have
abandoned them."
"I second that." But
she felt a lump in her throat and had the urge to cry. She'd had that urge
since Spock had pulled her down into his arms, eyes full of lust. She'd lifted
her face to him and waited for his kiss—a kiss that never came. Five days of
screwing and not one damned kiss. And she knew Vulcans kissed. Or he did,
anyway. She'd seen him with Leila Kalomi on that
spore-ridden planet. She'd heard about Zarabeth when
McCoy had gotten really drunk one night and told her about his wacky adventures
with Spock in the ice age.
Spock kissed. He just didn't
want to kiss her.
They walked in silence for a
long time. Then she noticed he seemed to be slowing, until she drew even with
him on the trail. He didn't look at her, didn't even seem to be paying
attention to where he was putting his feet.
But when she slipped a
little, and slid on the loose rocks again, he reached out, his hand moving like
a flash, steadying her. Then he let go of her just as fast.
"Thanks."
He nodded.
"Because you wouldn't
want to have to carry me."
"I said I would not
carry you." He didn't sound bitchy, anymore. He sounded a little morose.
"Right. I
remember." She sighed and walked on, trying not to slip so he wouldn't
feel compelled to help her.
Then he slipped, and her hand
was out before she even knew she wanted to reach for him. At his murmured,
"Thank you," she let go of him.
"No big deal."
"And you could not carry
me," he said softly.
"Whether I wanted to or
not?"
He didn't answer. But a
moment later, he said, "There is a water source ahead." He sounded as
if he was giving her the stream—or whatever he heard with his pretty Vulcan
ears—as a gift.
"Great."
"You are not
thirsty?"
"I am." She sighed.
"Then it is good
news."
"Great news. Yippee."
He stalked away.
She rushed after him,
grabbing his arm, trying to turn him to face her. He didn't budge.
She let go of him and watched
him move steadily away from her. "Damn it, Spock. What do you want from
me?"
He didn't answer, did his
best "Woman? What woman? I see no woman" routine.
"Damn you," she
said under her breath. He could probably still hear her, not that he'd let on.
She sat down for a minute on
the path, not willing to follow him one more step. Crossing her arms and
closing her eyes, she tried to imagine she was anywhere but here, with anyone
but him. She tried to invoke soothing images and happy places.
"Christine?"
She opened her eyes.
He was standing at the bottom
of the path, looking up at her. "It will be dark soon. We must stay
together."
"Logic dictates
that?"
"Logic. Yes."
She got up, brushing off her
pants. "Fine. For logic's sake."
He waited for her, then
walked at her side. "I believe they will look for us tomorrow."
"So
we can get off this rock?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"I thought you would
find that agreeable." Then he held his hand out, opening his fingers to
show her some berries.
"For me?"
"Yes."
"They're poisonous,
aren't they?"
"No."
"Did you try them?"
She made herself sound hopeful.
"They are Radissian berries. They are safe for both of us."
She took one and popped it
into her mouth. Safe and tasty. "Thanks."
"There are more up
ahead. Also some greens we can eat." At her look,
he said, "This is hardly unexplored space, Christine. I have an excellent
memory for what was taught in survival class."
"I suppose you do."
She took another berry. "Why are you calling me Christine?"
"It is your name."
"It wasn't a few days
ago. When you were done with me." She gave him a sour look. Wanted to
convey anger, not hurt.
"It seemed easier. And
you did not appear to want me."
"Again, I'm the bad
guy." She saw a stream up ahead and plopped down next to it. "No
toxic substances, Mister Survivalist?"
"No. It is safe to
drink." He took a deep breath before settling down next to her.
She moved away, putting some
space between them.
He took another deep breath.
She leaned down, cupping the
water and bringing it to her lips. It was cold, tasted clean and pure. "You're
not thirsty?"
"No."
She moved away from him a bit
more, and they sat quietly, watching the forest turn dark around them. The
temperature, which hadn't been that warm, began to drop.
He gathered up moss and
leaves, making a nest. A nest big enough for two.
"I'm not cold," she
said.
He looked over at her, and
she couldn't read his expression in the faltering light. "I am," he
said so softly she could barely hear him.
"Too bad."
"Christine." His
voice held something she wasn't sure how to identify. But it touched her, more
than she wanted it to.
"Fine." She crawled
over to his nest, letting him burrow under the leaves before joining him, her
back to him. She knew this was sound—logic would dictate sharing body heat this
way. But she didn't want to lie next to him. She didn't ever want to lie next
to him again.
He reached over, his hand
resting on her hip, as if reassuring himself she was there. But it was
ludicrous to think that was his motive. He didn't care where she was. She
sniffed back tears, wanting to bolt out from under the leaves, to get far away
from him. He moved his hand and began to pull her closer to him.
"Don't."
He let go of her immediately.
"Isn't
it over? I thought it was over." A tear ran down her face. It had to be
over. She couldn't take any more sex with him. Sex that meant nothing. Sex that
held no love, no tenderness.
"Do you want it to be
over?"
"God, yes."
"Then it is over."
"And good riddance,
right?" When he did not answer, she laughed, but the laugh turned into a
sob. "Sayonara, sweetheart. Oh, wait. I'm not that to you."
"Would being that to me
please you?"
"No. No, it wouldn't. I'd
rather die than be that." She pushed up, ready to run. Not caring that she
couldn't see, or that there was nowhere to go. She pushed at the leaves but
couldn't get out.
Then she realized he was
holding her with a grip that made his earlier one seem
gentle.
"Let go of me."
When he didn't, she turned, hitting
at him. He didn't try to stop her. Just held onto her arm. She knew she was
crying, didn't even try to stop the tears.
"Would it have killed
you to kiss me? Even just once?" She felt her fist connect with his flesh,
heard him grunt, but he didn't let go.
She stopped fighting, just
lay, only half covered with leaves now, his hand tightening on her, as if he
expected her to try something. But she didn't try anything, just stayed still,
catching her breath as sobs took her, her tears drying as she made herself calm
down.
He didn't say anything, and
his hand didn't let up. Then he began to draw her toward him.
"Don't," she said
again.
This time he didn't stop. He
pulled her until she was lying close to him, her chest to his, her groin to
his. They fit—that was the sad thing, the thing she'd noticed during those five
days. They fit so well together. Only she didn't know if their lips did. The
only time he'd ever kissed her had been on Platonius.
A forced kiss. Nothing sweet in it. Just quiet desperation. The need to protect
her, she thought. Why had he wanted to protect her from them and not from
himself? She took a deep, ragged breath.
He finally let go of her, and
when he took a breath, it was ragged too.
"I thought I was over
you," she said. "When you went away to Gol and left us all
behind." Her voice sounded distant, even to herself, as if it was on some
other planet.
"You seemed...happy to see
me when I returned to the ship."
"Pavlovian
reaction." She buried her face in his chest, breathing deeply. His smell. It
was burned into her. She'd recognize his spicy musk for the rest of her life,
be able to find him in the dark, and if she couldn't, her body would. Her body
was already relaxing against him, as if her groin and breasts were working
without her.
He pushed against her, as if
his groin was on its own, too. She heard him moan softly.
"In that bag that you
never gave me a chance to unpack, I had pretty nightgowns. You didn't
care."
"No. In that state, with
you there, I did not care about your pretty nightgowns."
"They're not mine,
anymore. Some raider's woman will be wearing them tonight."
"I should have checked
the cargo hold before we departed. Had I checked, we
would have found the raiders before we took off." He sighed,
the sound scarily human. "I was...distracted."
"By what?"
When he didn't answer, she
said, "They still might have taken us. Even if you'd found them." Then
she laughed, the sound low and so bitter it scared her. "Or maybe they
would have taken me hostage. Then you wouldn't have had to even think." She
laughed, the sound less bitter, more hysterical. "Please.
Take her. I'll pay you to."
"I would not have said
that."
"You never know. You
might have."
He grabbed her, his hand on
the back of her head, pulling her close, until her mouth was next to his. She
could feel his lips moving against hers as he said, "I was distracted by
you."
"No, you weren't." She
tried to pull away; it was like trying to escape a tractor beam.
"I was distracted by the
knowledge that I had not pleased you. At all."
"You didn't want to
please me. That was never about pleasing me. At all." She spit his words
back at him. Then, because her mouth seemed to be following her groin's lead,
she asked, "Who were you thinking of when you were inside me? Who did you
pretend I was?" Her mouth moved against his like a harsh kiss.
His lips returned the touch
as he said, "I did not pretend you were anyone. I did, however, pretend
you wanted me."
"You think I
didn't?"
"Yes. I think
that."
She put her hands on his
chest, trying to push away, but he wouldn't release her. His grip on her neck
was starting to hurt, his breath on her lips seemed too hot, too intimate.
"I hate you."
He didn't let go.
"I wanted you, you
bastard. I wanted you and you didn't want me. You fucked me for five days and
never once wanted me. I love you and—" Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God—why
the hell had she said that?
His hold on her only got
tighter, as he pulled her the miniscule distance it took to turn their almost
kiss into a real one. She struggled and tried not to open her mouth to him, tried
not to moan as his tongue met hers. Damn her tongue, damn her lips, damn her
traitorous body that should have known better than to give in to him again.
But she was giving in. He was
pulling her clothes off and she was tugging his off, too. And he was inside
her, and she was wrapping her legs around him. And he never broke the kiss,
even as he rolled to his back, pulling her with him so she was stretched out on
top of him, his arms coming around her in a way they never had during those
five empty days.
She tried to ride him, but he
held her still on top of him, and his hand found her, rubbing her gently, then
not so gently. Pleasing her. Pleasing her so much she began to writhe on top of
him. As she came, his kiss became less frenzied, more tender. He finally let
her pull away, and she heard him whisper, "Christine," as he rolled
again so he was on top of her.
She held him, trying to pull
him in deeper, and he groaned, then began to move. Her body didn't seem to be
tired of him, didn't seem to mind at all the familiar beat of him taking
possession of her. And just when she thought they were reliving the past, he
found her lips again, his kiss hard and firm. She moaned, and he pulled away,
his fingers on her cheeks, stroking gently.
"Christine," he
said again, kissing her face, then moving down to her neck.
"I'm finally here."
"You were with me then,
too."
"No. No
I wasn't. You didn't let me be." And she started to cry, then felt him
kissing her tears away. "You didn't want me to be."
He started to thrust hard. "You...clearly...have
no idea...what I wanted." He finished, holding her close, his lips on hers
just barely. "I wanted you."
"Then why...?" He
was kissing her again, and it was hard to talk. "Why didn't you kiss
me?"
"When I came to you on
the ship to tell you I needed you, you acted as though you were under an
obligation to help me. You did not act as if you wanted to be with me."
"I did want that. But
you were so cold when you asked."
"I—I did not know what
your reaction would be. I did not know if you were involved with anyone on the
ship."
She laughed,
the sound not quite as harsh as before. "When am I ever?"
He didn't answer, was,
perhaps, too busy kissing her neck. Then he whispered, "And when we
arrived on Risa, you seemed so tense." His breath on her ear made her
shiver.
"I was nervous. I've
wanted you for how many years, and we were finally going to do it."
"And it was not
good."
"It wasn't." She
pulled him down to her and kissed him hard.
He didn't try to get away,
just kissed her back even harder. They kissed for a long time, as if they could
burn away all the coldness that had been between them.
"You are shaking,"
he said softly, and she realized she was trembling.
Tired, she was so damned
tired. She burrowed against him and felt him tighten his hold on her.
"Sleep. I will not let
anything hurt you."
"Not even you?"
"Not even that." He
kissed her gently. "Sleep."
"You sleep, too. You're
more tired than you know, Spock. I took a reading before we got on the
shuttle."
"You took a
reading?" He sounded pleased.
"Yes. I'm a doctor. I
was worried."
"Ah." He kissed her
again. "You were concerned for me?"
"Yes."
"When you were asleep, I
took a reading of you. To make sure I had not hurt you." He stroked her
hair.
"You had hurt me, only a
tricorder couldn't have told you that."
"It was never my
intention to hurt you. I wanted to talk to you before the fever started, but
the Pon Farr took me so quickly. I was afraid that if
I did not restrain myself on the shuttle to Risa, I would take you right
there." He sighed. "I wanted to make things right between us before
we began. But all I could sense was a great chasm growing."
"I wanted you to kiss
me."
"I did not realize. And
the part of me that was slave to the Pon Farr did not
care. It only wanted to own you." He shifted, and she followed him,
getting comfortable as he brushed more leaves over her. "Next time, it
will not be that way. Next time, we will know what the other likes. And
wants." He kissed her. "And needs."
"Next time?"
He exhaled softly. She
supposed it was his version of a laugh.
"You think we'll be
together in seven years?"
He reached down, his hand
rubbing gently, causing her to moan. He did it again, and again. Until her moan
turned into a cry of pleasure.
"You had a question,
Doctor?" he asked softly.
"I did?"
Again the soft exhalation.
"Never mind," she
said, and fell asleep with her lips on his.
FIN