DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Jill Jackson and is copyright (c) 2001 by Jill Jackson. Rated NC17.
Shore Leave's 'em Wanting More
"Spock, you miserable son-of a-Vulcan! What the hell happened down there?"
Spock paused at the sound of Dr. McCoy's voice. He weighed his options as he slowly turned around in the corridor to face the speaker.
"An interesting greeting, Dr. McCoy. And partially truthful. Though I must object to the description of 'miserable.' I believe there is a phrase 'misery loves company?' Whereas I, myself, wish to be alone. Now, if you'll excuse me...."
"I'll be glad to leave you alone, Spock," barked the Doctor, "just as soon as you explain to me why I had to treat seven crew members this morning for injuries sustained in some drunken brawl down at the friendly Delta Colony Bar & Grill!"
Spock inwardly sighed, as he studied his accuser's face. He wished he could remember last night's events. He wished he hadn't accepted that toxic drink from the bartender. He wished never to hear the words 'Shore Leave' again.
"Though I cannot explain the events of last night, Doctor, I accept full responsibility. I am now on my way to report to the Captain." With that remark, Spock turned again and began a brisk walk down the corridor before the doctor could think of a reply.
Captain Kirk was in the conference room, dictating some notes to the computer terminal, when Spock entered. The Captain glanced up at his friend, and then immediately turned the terminal off.
"Yes, Spock? You wanted to see me?" Kirk motioned for him to sit down. Something in Spock's demeanor was not quite right. He appeared ... .troubled. And was looking a bit more green than usual, as if he was ill.
Spock sat across the table from Captain Kirk, and folded his hands in front of him.
"Last night, Captain, I beamed down to Delta Colony at Dr. McCoy's request. He felt it prudent that an officer of some rank should be present among the crew. An officer who would not be imbibing alcohol. An officer who could maintain some sense of discipline in a rather undisciplined environment."
Kirk noticed that Spock was clenching his hands together a little too tightly. He wondered if there had been some difficulty of an unusual nature down on the surface of the supply colony.
"Captain, I regret to inform you that Dr. McCoy was mistaken. I could not fulfill the role required of me."
Kirk studied his friend. What could possibly have happened down there? Did his crew burn down the establishment? Should he perhaps cancel the second shift's shore leave, and beat a quick retreat at warp speed?
"Spock," Kirk sighed with resignation. "What did my crew do this time?"
"I am unable to give you a report of the crew's activities, Captain. I do know that Dr. McCoy has been attending to the injured in Sick Bay. Other than that fact ... I have no memory of last night."
Spock found it difficult to look directly at the Captain's face, but instead stared intently at a spot on the wall above Kirk's left shoulder.
"Um, well, the 'injured parties' down in Sick Bay gave as good as they got last night, if I can believe the gossip I've been hearing," reassured Kirk, half smiling. "From what I can tell, everyone in the landing parties had a great time, Spock. They drank, they cursed, they fought, they made love ... you know, the usual." Kirk tried to sound lighthearted, but was beginning to get a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. "What concerns me, Spock," he continued, "is why you have no memory of your time down there."
Spock directed his gaze back to Kirk's face. His shame suddenly seemed illogical. It was a factual occurrence, after all. Certain actions lead to certain consequences.
Spock began to speak again. "I partook of a very strong alcoholic beverage, against my better judgment. It rendered me unconscious. I awoke this morning on a bench outside the building. I have no memory of how I arrived at that place."
Spock unclasped his hands and leaned slightly back in the chair. Hearing his own words comforted him somehow. He knew the Captain would empathize with him. He would soon be able to relegate this affair to the recesses of his mind as he attended to his duties aboard ship.
"Well, I'm glad you weren't harmed, Spock," spoke a relieved Kirk. " Were you with anyone?"
Spock slowly drew his hands together, and began to clasp them tightly once again. The spot on the far wall required all of his concentration now.
"Nurse Chapel stayed with me," said Spock, not daring to risk glancing over at the Captain.
"Oh, I see! Well, Spock, I'm glad to hear that you were attended by capable medical personnel." Kirk could not suppress the huge grin spreading over his face. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really do need to finish my reports. After all, it's my turn for shore leave tonight. Um, you don't happen to know of any nurses that might wish to attend to me also, do you?"
Spock muttered "No, Captain," as he quickly arose and left Kirk grinning so wide his face threatened to split in two.
* * *
"Mind if I join you?" the pretty blonde woman asked, as she placed her tray on the table and sat down in the chair across from Spock.
"The question is rhetorical. You obviously do not require an answer," replied Spock. He eyed the nearest exit in the Dining Hall. He wasn't very hungry anyway.
"Oh, Spock!" teased the nurse. "That isn't how you talked to me last night." She tilted her chin down dejectedly, all the while glancing up at him with her oh-so-innocent blue eyes.
"Miss Chapel, as I've already mentioned, I have no memory of any conversations I may have had with you last night. Please accept my apologies. I wish to put an end to the discussion."
Spock's posture was erect, dignified and remote. The effect was only marred slightly by the fact that he seemed unable to successfully spear any morsel of food on his plate with a most uncooperative fork.
Christine surveyed the situation. She was not going to let him get away with dismissing her so easily, she resolved to herself. Yesterday he was fondling her breasts and whispering raggedly that he 'remembered everything' about a previous shore leave on Andromeda 9; today he was as cold and frosty as a block of ice.
She took a deep breath. "It's not the conversations I'm recalling right now, Spock. It's the way we made love."
Spock felt the sensation of a booted foot slowly traveling up his inner right calf, pausing at his knee, then resuming it's travels upward...
The Vulcan reached down, firmly grabbed the offending boot, and pushed it back towards the floor.
"Nurse Chapel, please forgive me for last night. It is not in my nature to become inebriated, perform intercourse, and then lose consciousness. And I don't believe it is in your nature to continually bring up a subject that so obviously I cannot discuss, rationalize, or change."
Christine swallowed hard. She was getting a terrible lump in her throat. "It isn't fair!" she blurted out. "All these months you've been remembering our time together on Andromeda, of which," she said harshly, "I have absolutely no memory. Then, when I do have something to remember ... something wonderful and marvelous and passionate to remember ... you don't want to talk about it! As if the whole subject was distasteful to you! Well, I'm sorry to offend your precious Vulcan sensibilities!"
Christine stood up, grabbed her tray, and began to walk out of the Dining Hall. But she couldn't resist one last parting shot. "From now on, Mr. Spock, we must make certain that we never take shore leave together again, since it is obvious that we can't keep our hands off each other when we do!"
As she walked out of the room she spied quite a few people staring at her, some open-mouthed, some trying to hold back giggles, and one male crewmember actually lying on the floor holding his sides as if he was going to die from laughter.
Well, Chris, you've done it now, she told herself. The shaken nurse leaned against the walls of the narrow corridor to steady her legs. The fact that Spock hadn't really 'performed intercourse' last night didn't make the situation any easier to handle. Obviously he had been very aroused when he became drunk, and he had recalled their past shore leave together as if it had been most erotic. But sober? He couldn't stand the thought of her, it seemed.
What I need, thought Christine, is a little bit more of that blue liqueur. But not too much! She rolled her eyes, remembering how quickly he had passed out. But would she want a man who needed drugs before he desired her?
Sighing, Christine walked down the corridor to the turbolift. She would just have to be satisfied with the memory of Spock remembering their time together. Not much ... but it was something ... for a Vulcan.
* * *
Spock sat very still, taking slow, deep breaths. He practiced the rhythmic breathing until soon he was rewarded with a feeling of calmness in the midst of a noisy, crowded dining hall. He did not acknowledge the stares of the other diners. They did not exist at this moment in time for him.
He focused on his mind's eye. He envisioned Christine. She was angry with him. She wished him to be as he was the night before. Wonderful, and Marvelous, and Passionate.
Those words sounded foreign to him. He tried to imagine those words describing himself. He almost smiled at the incongruity of it. Passionate was something he could never become. And Marvelous? Well, he marveled at the very thought of him and Christine together. Wonderful? Yes, he was full of wonder about the events of the past 24 hours. How could one not remember physically mating with a female? How could his body not feel any different? He longed to remember ... something ... anything.
Alcohol, thought Spock, was a most cruel and useless drug. It had given him the power to possess Christine ('slow, rhythmic breathing' he reminded himself), but did not leave him with the power to recall the act afterwards. Had he pleased her? She seemed to want the relationship to continue. Yes, it must have been pleasurable. He knew it would have been pleasurable for him. Just thinking about such things made a warm glow start to burn deep within his body.
What must it be like to lie unclothed with a woman like Christine? They had never done such a thing before. He wasn't quite sure why she was so resentful of his silence regarding Andromeda 9. He had kept silent out of respect for her. She had begun to feel the effects of her drink during that shore leave, and when she arose from her bar stool she had tripped ... not once, but twice. He had tried to help her negotiate her way outside, and finally solved the problem by picking her up and carrying her outside himself. He wouldn't have dared humiliate her in such a fashion, but the alternative was to watch her crawl under tables as she tried to find the door. It was the logical thing to do.
He had sat outside with her afterwards, allowing the cool night air to slowly bring her to her senses. But she seemed to revel in her senselessness. When he sat her on a bench, she would start to tilt dangerously to one side. He found it best to hold her on his lap for a little while. She was laughing, and stroking the shape of his ear, running her finger over his eyebrows, kissing his nose, his cheeks, his lips. He knew she was under the influence, and could not be accountable for her actions. He did not scold her. He did not stop her. He reveled in her touch. But he did not take advantage of her.
Back on the ship, he never mentioned it to her. She gave no indication that she recalled ever being with him that night. Few crewmembers had been present at that particular saloon, and of those few, none had been sober. The matter was closed.
Until this shore leave! Spock began to lose focus, and found himself back in the middle of the dining area, surrounded by loud talking and occasional bursts of laughter. Christine's angry face was ever present with him. Couldn't she see the impossibility of the situation? Couldn't she understand that people behave against their nature, against their better selves, when under the influence of drugs? How could she possibly expect him to behave in the same fashion when he had returned to his true self? How could she expect him to be Wonderful, Marvelous and Passionate again? Wasn't it enough that he was that way once?
He allowed himself one small smile. He would have to be satisfied with knowing that she remembered last night. It was enough -- for a Vulcan.
* * *
"Oh, Mr. Spock!" the nurse called out to the First Officer from her station at Sick Bay, but he had disappeared from the doorway. She quickly walked out into the corridor, but he was gone. Strange, she thought. Perhaps she had only imagined seeing his form standing in the entryway. She turned back to her duties. She was working the 'Graveyard Shift' tonight, which meant doing mostly chart updates and checking the inventory of medications. There wouldn't be much activity until the next division of crewmembers straggled in from shore leave.
She checked the cabinets to reassure herself that there was an ample supply of 'Alcohol Poisoning' antidotes. She ruefully thought of Dr. McCoy's prescription for such maladies: "A taste of the hair of the dog that bit 'em!" She shook her head. The last thing she had wanted to taste after returning from Andromeda 9 was the fuzzy hair on that rabid drink that had bit her!
She stared at the rows of vials lined up neatly on the shelf, lost in concentration. She was so intent on her task that she jumped involuntarily when her relief crew walked in.
She gave them a quick report, wished them luck on their shift ('you're going to need it, guys') and headed to her quarters.
Christine stopped suddenly at the last turn in the corridor outside her room. Spock was standing there, as if he was waiting for someone. When he saw her turn the corner he began to walk away without acknowledging her.
"Mr. Spock!" called out Christine. "Were you waiting for me outside Sick Bay earlier?"
When the Vulcan didn't reply, Christine tried again. "Did you want to speak to me? I hope so, because I very much want to speak to you."
Spock hesitated. He wanted to ask for her forgiveness again. He wanted to tell her not to be angry with him. He wanted to explain to her his nature, his way of life. He wanted to reassure her that he held no personal animosity towards her.
"Miss Chapel," he began. "I ... I need your assistance in completing the shipboard statistics for last month. I seem to be missing some of the audits from Sick Bay."
Christine was about to retort that she had turned in the audits on time as usual and that Mr. Spock must have mislaid them, when she stopped herself. There was no reason for Spock to be here outside her quarters at this time of the morning. His words were not matching his actions.
"Mr. Spock, I will certainly double check my monthly reports, and follow up on those missing audits. In the meantime, I very much want to speak to you regarding our little scene in the Mess Hall."
As she spoke, Christine signaled her door to slide open and motioned for Spock to follow her into the room.
Spock stood there motionless. Finally he said, "Miss Chapel, I am very sorry about yesterday's events. I do not wish you to be angry with me. However, I also do not wish to enter into a private conversation with you in your quarters. I do not believe it is appropriate."
Christine continued walking further into her room, calling over her shoulder to Spock as she did so. "You are perfectly right, Spock! I think we should continue having our private conversations in public arenas. In fact, I had planned to come up on the bridge later today to further discuss our shore leave adventures."
She turned towards the First Officer, giving him her most saintly smile. Spock immediately entered the room, and the door slid decisively behind him.
"Please have a seat, Mr. Spock. I'll fix us some refreshments." Christine pointed to the chairs surrounding a small table in the corner of the room. She then busied herself by rummaging around in a storage locker nearby.
Spock sat down stiffly, taking the nearest chair offered to him. He cleared his throat. "May I please just have a glass of water?"
That simple request seemed to please Christine. "Of course, Spock!"
Immediately a tumbler full of cold water was placed in front of him. Christine poured herself a tall glass also and sat down across from him. Raising her glass, she said "Cheers!"
Spock stared at her, with her glass in the air. Then a realization came over him that she was waiting for a response. He raised his glass also, and lightly tapped her glass with a satisfying 'clink.' "Yes, of course. Um ... Cheers!"
Christine laughed delightedly. "See, Spock, we really can be friends, you know. Let's just forget about our past misbehavior, what do you say? I mean, what's a few drunken escapades between friends?"
Spock relaxed visibly. "Yes, those were my thoughts exactly," he said, as he leaned a little towards his companion. "We don't need to dwell on events that are out of our control. We should concentrate on our roles aboard this ship. I've always respected you, Nurse Chapel. I hope you can somehow respect me."
Christine was smiling at him over her glass. "Oh, Spock, rest assured that I respect you tremendously. Why, I can't think of another male on this ship who is more worthy of my respect."
Spock placed his glass down carefully on the tabletop. He felt he should make a remark about the Captain being higher in rank, but something in Christine's manner told him to keep silent.
He listened to her in silence, also, as she began to tell him an amusing story about an instructor at medical school who demanded his students' 'respect,' and who became the butt of an elaborate practical joke by the end of the semester. Spock stretched out his long legs and leaned back in his chair, in rapt silence, as the woman across the table regaled him with self-deprecating stories of her first year in Starfleet. He began to rest one foot up on the chair next to him, arms folded behind his head in a comfortable position, as Christine laughingly described her first encounter with Dr. McCoy.
"Um, Spock," inquired the nurse after a bit. "I'm afraid I'm doing all the talking here. Now tell me something about yourself." Christine looked at him expectantly.
Spock was thoughtful. He did not change his relaxed position as he looked over at her and said, "I enjoy listening to you speak."
A moment passed, and then Christine realized that Spock was finished. "That's it? That's all you can say about yourself?" Christine was scolding him, but amusement showed in her face.
Spock narrowed his eyes, and tried to think of something to say that would please her. "I sometimes do illogical things," he remarked, studying her face.
"Oh, let's hear it!" Christine grinned at him.
Spock carefully chose his words. "I once picked up a flower you dropped on a visit to an agricultural colony. Instead of returning it to you, I kept it. It is now in its dried form, in a small glass cube on my desk."
Christine pondered this momentous confession in comfortable silence. Then she slowly walked over to her locker. It was time to set the plan in motion.
"Spock," she stated emphatically. "It's time we toasted each other with something a little bit stronger than water."
A small heavy glass filled with cobalt blue liquid was placed in front of Spock. As he started to protest, Christine rubbed his upper back in a gesture of reassurance.
"We won't drink very much, Spock. Not enough to lose our senses. Just a small toast between friends. Something to warm up our insides before you leave."
The Vulcan stared at the glass. Within his peripheral vision, he saw Christine holding a similar glass expectantly.
He slowly raised the glass to touch hers. "Cheers," he remarked with a hint of dread in his voice.
"Bottoms up!" replied Christine cheerfully. She drained her glass in one gulp and tried to hide her displeasure at the taste. Spock could smell the liquor before he tasted it. It smelled different than the intoxicating aroma he remembered down on Delta Colony, but it was an enticing aroma all the same. He brought the glass tentatively to his lips.
"All it one gulp, Spock. It lessens the effect of the alcohol."
Spock wondered at the illogic of that statement, but imitated Christine just the same. The fiery hot liquid made a searing path down his throat and landed in his upper abdomen. Within seconds, his whole body was glowing from the heat within.
Christine sat down in the chair next to him. Spock thought he should remove his foot from the seat in order to give her more room, but she placed her hand on his leg to stop him from doing so.
"How do you feel, Spock? Physically, I mean?" questioned the woman beside him.
"I am well, thank you. And yourself?" Spock glanced at Christine. He relished the warm glow he was feeling all over, and noted that the nurse's face was quite flushed.
"Oh, I feel just fine, Spock. Kind of warm and happy and content, you know?" To emphasize her words, she reached over and began stroking the top of Spock's left hand, all the while eyeing his face for any signs.
The Vulcan did not pull away. But he did not return the touch.
"We need one more refill, Spock." And before he could refuse, she took his glass and walked over her to her locker, all the while explaining to him that two drinks between friends was a ritual among humans, and that it would be rude for him to refuse her offer; that she was positive two drinks couldn't possibly make a person incapacitated, and that really, Spock should try to loosen up a bit more around her. After all she didn't bite, at least not hard.
Spock took the glass offered to him, mumbled "Bottoms Up" in deference to Christine, and downed the liquid in one gulp.
The now familiar warm glow permeated his being. He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, and allowed himself to enjoy the moment. Christine stood behind him, and began stroking his forehead. He uttered a soft sigh as her fingers traveled down his jawline, then upwards from his chin to his moist lips. He pressed his lips towards her fingers in the semblance of a kiss. She then pushed her longest finger into his mouth, and he reflexively began sucking on it. Christine leaned beside him, and lightly licked the inside curves of his ear.
Quickly and effortlessly, Christine placed herself on Spock's lap, while he eagerly accepted each one of the fingers she placed in his mouth. She ran her tongue inside his ear, and whispered syllables without words.
Spock opened his eyes and looked at her face with curiosity. She bent over him, her lips almost touching his own, but not quite. She waited and was rewarded. He grasped her firmly behind the neck and pulled her down hard on his waiting mouth. She opened her lips slightly and felt Spock vigorously prodding her with his tongue. She returned his thrusts and opened her mouth wider to receive him. Spock reached down to encircle her waist with one arm to keep her from sliding onto the floor, as he pushed himself against her body. At the same time, he circled her tongue with his own in loving, sensual movements.
She placed her hands on both of his shoulders in order to steady her position on his lap and shifted her hips slightly, never taking her mouth off of his own. Spock could feel her soft breasts pressing against him, and he moved his left hand downwards to touch them; first gently, then with more firmness. With his right hand he stroked her stocking-clad thigh, allowing it to travel slowly and surely up to the very top of her leg. When Christine made no attempt to halt his movement, he slid his hand between her legs. He then used his thumb to stroke her with firm circular motions, in imitation of his tongue inside her mouth.
"Spock," whispered Christine breathlessly, as she finally pulled away from his demanding mouth, "Let's go to bed."
He abruptly stood up, taking Christine with him in one quick motion, and pushed her over to the bed in three long strides.
He briskly pulled off her boots, and then her stockings, tearing them in his haste. Christine raised her hips in a cooperative effort as he pulled down her undergarment. He pushed up her dress, and then moaned involuntarily as he gazed down at the fine golden hair covering her red labial lips. He bent down to explore a new area with his tongue, running it up and down her tender secret place, and then pushing it inwards as he discovered an inviting opening.
Christine responded with sounds of pleasure and her hands grabbed at his hair as he experimentally prodded and probed her genitals with his tongue and fingers. He found a certain spot he could lick that seemed to excite her the most, and as he licked her hungrily there, he also placed several long fingers into her moist opening and rubbed them back and forth in a soothing primitive rhythm. Suddenly Christine stiffened and panted "Ahhhh" as her inner muscles contracted around his fingers, and he began to taste her musky scent. Then she relaxed her body against the mattress and began to stroke his hair in an absent way.
Spock pushed himself up on his elbows to look at her. He was suddenly unsure of himself. He was aching terribly for her, but was thinking that she was finished with him now. He was still clothed and very uncomfortable. He needed to impregnate her, he needed to be inside of her, but the act seemed clumsy somehow.
He pulled away from her to catch his breath, and to think for a minute. Then he felt Christine slide her hands inside his shirt.
"Spock," she murmured. "Take off your clothes."
He sat up in bed and obeyed her order, as he watched her pull her dress completely off and expose her round white breasts to his view. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. He reached over to touch them, to cradle them in his hands. The nipples were hard and pink, and he enjoyed the sensation of them against his palms.
"Hmm," murmured Christine, as her head fell back and her eyes closed in pleasure. Then, just as suddenly, she opened her eyes to stare fully at him.
"Lie down on your back, Spock," she insisted. And he followed her command willingly, never taking his eyes off of her.
He watched as she drew herself closer to him in order to nibble on a tender area below his chin. He felt her lick the base of his throat, and then travel downwards to lightly yet rapidly lick each one of his hardening nipples.
Spock's body responded by earnestly thrusting his pelvis into Christine's stomach.
"Patience, lover," she murmured, as she rose up and placed both of her hands firmly on his thighs and spread them apart. She then began massaging the area surrounding his erection, using her thumbs to apply pressure under his scrotum. With one hand she firmly grasped the base of his erect shaft, and with the other hand she followed the path between his buttocks. He gasped loudly and shivered at her touch.
Quickly, she bent down and covered his penis with her mouth, drawing it deeply inside of her until she could take in no more. She allowed her tongue to wiggle tantalizingly in random movements as she bobbed slowly up and down his swollen organ.
Sensing that her partner was unable to tolerate much more of this sweet torture, she ended her ministrations with one last, slow, sucking motion and positioned herself lengthwise by his side.
Immediately Spock lay on top of her, and with one hand he pushed her left leg up towards her shoulder. With a forceful lunge he rammed himself into her, until his shaft disappeared inside. Without catching his breath, or waiting for Christine to catch hers, he repeated the motion in hard, unforgiving thrusts over and over again, as if he was a man possessed by an uncontrollable animalistic power.
Christine dug her fingers into Spock's shoulders as his roughness made her respond in kind. She began to grab at him in an uncomprehending manner, twisting one hand in his hair, another hand pulling at his ear, finally baring her teeth and biting into his shoulder as he yelled out with a mixture of exquisite pain and exquisite pleasure. The sound came from deep within him, and he shuddered with the force of his release. As he began to relax, Christine suddenly grabbed his lower body with her legs and held him tightly as she ground her hips in upward thrusts, still riding Spock's hardness, until she herself moaned ecstatically in a grateful release.
Panting and covered with sweat, they continued to embrace and did not dare to look at each other. Finally, Christine broke the silence.
"I don't think we ever did this on any shore leave, Spock," she confessed, slowly opening her eyes to discern his facial expression.
He returned her stare. "No, I'm sure I would have remembered such an event," he remarked thoughtfully. "But I do wish..." and then he sighed unhappily.
"Spock! What is wrong?" His new lover sat up, afraid to hear any more, but knowing she had to accept his honesty, even if it was not what she wanted.
"I wish with all of my being that I could join with you again as I have today, without ... without..."
"Oh please don't feel guilty, dear Spock," Christine interrupted him, attempting to finish his sentence.
But he shook his head. "It is not guilt that I feel, Christine. It is inadequacy."
That remark stunned her. How could he possibly feel this way? Hadn't she shown him her satisfaction? Did he want confetti and a brass band, for pete's sake? "Spock, you're impossible!" she finally spat out.
"I know," he glumly agreed with her. Ignoring her perplexed expression, he gave voice to his concern. "I require some exotic hallucinatory drink before I can even begin to please you. As a Vulcan, I am unable to be any other way. You are forced to drug me before you can mate with me. It is not fair to..."
Spock was unable to finish his speech, due to the fact that Christine had started laughing so hard she had begun to slide right off the mattress onto the hard floor below them. He managed to grab one ankle before she completely tumbled over.
"I fail to see the humor," said Spock, in what he hoped was a disapproving tone. This tone, however, lost its effect when matched with his amused eyes and traces of a smile as he looked at Christine upside down and completely naked.
"It was ... .it was..." Christine could hardly get the words out. "It was cough syrup! I gave you cough syrup!"
Spock let go of her ankle and watched the rest of her body slide neatly onto the floor. He then stood up in his most dignified manner, wrapped the sheet about him as if he was some Senator from ancient Rome, and walked haughtily over to her corner locker. He peered inside to find a bottle of lowly generic cough syrup, and a bottle of blue dye next to it. He picked up the medicine bottle to study the ingredients. All very benign, he thought, with only a hint of alcohol. Why, vanilla contained more alcohol than this concoction!
He turned towards the still laughing figure on the floor and very slowly and significantly raised his eyebrow.
"It was the power of suggestion, Spock. I theorized that if you thought you were under the influence of a powerful substance, you might let down some of your defenses. I suppose I should apologize now, but oh Spock," she went on lovingly, "I'm not the least bit sorry!"
Spock turned and looked thoughtfully at the bottles. He then glanced back at Christine and said, with his most serious expression, "It is quite possible, Miss Chapel, that the true culprit is the blue dye."
He then practiced great foresight by quickly ducking his head as a large pillow went flying past him with the most amazing velocity.