DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Gueniver and is copyright (c) 2003 by Gueniver. Rated NC17.
The door opened and shut with the blessed efficiency of all Starfleet vessels and Spock was finally inside his quarters. It had been precisely 67.3 hours since the first call from planetary geological alert system. Now there was silence.
Thin as the vacuum of space. No alerts, no beeps or whistles of alarm to tighten the knot in his belly. Complete and utter silence. It assaulted him with its cold simplicity, taunted him with normalcy. The normalcy of his cabin.
A broad expanse of unoccupied deck - 12.4 square meters. No padd carrying ensigns requiring his even and measured response to the name after name on the bodycount listing. Not a single querying glance or unnerved gaze came from the vacancy of his quarters.
Not the blackness of space but the darkness of a solitary existence. The darkness of his mind reaching for her, calling - straining against the fates - praying to a god of his mother's ancestors for a single sign of hope. Black coffee hours of watching and waiting and sitting in helplessness as the images came trickling in.
He quivered with some unnameable emotion that threatened to crumble him.
He stared at the black corner where meditation had brought him small measures of comfort in the months past. Moments when she would not or could not see him. Moments when the need to be one with her were almost unbearable. Moments that melted in the heat of pure logic, that dissipated into exercises in discipline and control.
At this moment he despised it. As a slave who hates his tools of his captivity, he shook with distaste at the thought of taking his place there again.
He shook his head against the unnamed sensation of anxiety. What was he thinking?
All was not lost.
Christine had been found. Alive. By some miracle of fate she was captured neatly beneath the dome of the church when the mudslide occurred. Tons of dirt and rock and homes and bodies had sealed her in. Her only injuries were minor bruises and hypoxia. Clinically dead when they found her she was revived quickly by the miracle of modern technology. Revived with many of the children she was caring for before the mudslide, many but not all. Brought back to life and back to the ship.
But she had been dead.
And Spock had not known. He had not felt it, had not sensed it, had no idea.
He had waited and worried and wondered and not known. Like any member of the crew he had done his duty. Ever stoic, ever efficient Spock.
She had been gone for a moment -- could have been gone forever and he would not have known. Would never have tasted the sweet joy of her thoughts again, never have gazed passionately into her sapphire eyes. And now he stood dumb in his quarters staring into the darkness. The sound of Ensign Franck's voice over the comm system still rang in his ears, "We've got them now, sir. Chapel, Kelly, Edwards, Kyle and Sulu."
The crew was professional enough to handle it from there, but the Captain had darted away anyway. His human nature was permitted to get the better of him.
Spock stayed on the bridge.
"Mr. Spock, you have the conn," Jim had ordered. It was an afterthought at best.
Spock kept the vigil. He maintained order. He instructed his subordinates and led by example. Spock the ever controlled Vulcan.
"Computer. Privacy lock." His voice was a cold monotone, strange to his own ears.
A smooth black granite slab in the corner of the room seemed to suck the color and light from the room.
It sucked the heat from his legs as he knelt on it and it pulled him down with the power of habit and the control of tradition. It smothered the fiery fury of some unnameable emotion in his belly.
No, not smothered, frozen -- suspended -- held at bay.
For the moment it sufficed.
* * *
Christine was still weak from her experience, but released to what she jokingly called 'house arrest'.
Her cabin seemed so clean and bare compared to the hustle and clutter of the hospital on the planet. It was bare and empty -- and lonesome.
She had seen him twice since the rescue.
Once from her bed in sickbay. A stolen glance through a sea of well wishers. His eyes were cold and distant, the great wall of Vulcan fully in place, he was reporting in to the Captain in the next room. It was a concise, grim accounting of planetary damage and casualties. It afforded him only the briefest of glances. One that had been nearly palpable across the distance.
The second time had been at the science and medical debrief. Two med staff had perished in the planet side hospital. One security guard was crushed by the edge of the dome that had saved her.
Spock had looked at her with the distant coldness she remembered from their first tour together.
Not that it was so unusual, this cold stoicism, it was the same act they put on whenever they were in public -- the First Officer and the Doctor, colleagues, co-workers, professionals. But for some reason she was chilled by this dispassionate stare. It had made her chest tight with something that she couldn't quite pinpoint.
But now it was 0015 ship's time. Two days into her three days of medical leave and she found herself standing in the middle of her room hugging her thick soft robe around her, rubbing her sleepy eyes waiting for him.
His midnight call had been straightforward enough. "Get up," he had said. Not "Hello", not "Are you awake? Am I disturbing you?" just "Get up". No preamble, no explanation. He didn't need one with her. She had been dying to see him ever since her return and yet it was chilling the tone that he used.
She knew he was coming but did not sense it an instant before the door slid open.
It startled her.
But it was his barking command "Seal it!" that made her jump. He did not break his stride towards her.
He was moving in to her, marching, stalking in.
She took a frightened step back, speechless.
He came abruptly to a stop bare inches from her. His eyes bore into her with an intensity that she had rarely seen. She opened her mouth then closed it -- sound unwilling to squeeze past the lump in her throat.
"Computer," he summoned.
There was a telltale sound of computer response followed by the ubiquitous feminine "Working…"
"Seal Christine Chapel's quarters, authorization Spock pi one."
Her heart thundered in her chest. He was trembling. She could see it. What was going on?
But before she could ask him, before the locking mechanism sounded, before she could draw a breath he was on her. He pulled her roughly to him in a bruising hard embrace pushing her back until the bulkhead stopped them, spared them from falling to the floor. His mouth sealed on hers in a desperate kiss.
He sucked her breath away and thrust his tongue into her mouth in a forceful command to respond to him. His mind already crept into hers even before his hands found the meld points on her face.
No request for permission this time. Just a desperate flight into her being, flinging aside her flimsy resistance.
What Christine felt was translated by her shocked mind as the roar of an inferno engulfing a forest in flame. Fire as hot as lust and fear as cold as space sliced through her and she was pinned to the wall in his grip.
//MORE// she felt him shout and a tear slid down her cheek.
She tasted the bile of fear as she could see from his mind's eye the padd listing the cold facts of planetary damage and felt him searching for her name. All was sound and chaos all around her.
She felt the memory of cold sweat form on the back of his neck as he sat stock still and watched Jim disappear into the turbo lift to see the wounded. The pronouncement that Dr. Chapel was among the dead.
Her muscles felt the cold ache from the stillness of his meditation. Her skin was on fire. She needed him, wanted to touch him to make sure he was real, alive, here. Didn't realize it was his own hunger that played through her.
She choked back a sob and answered his dread with a hunger to touch and be touched, letting the flame grow in her.
//MORE// he cried out in her mind.
And his bruising hand pushed aside just enough of her robe to uncover her, her hands pulled desperately at the waistband of his uniform. A hurried moment later, his angry member freed, he pinned her hands roughly over her head and thrust into her.
It was a possession, an animal claiming. He growled angrily under his breath, "Mine, you -- are -- mine!" thrusting into her again and again.
She was sobbing now and crying out through the exhaustion and fear, "Yes -- yes -- yes!"
He buried his head in her shoulder now, the emotions welling up with the angry passion in his loins. His head pounded roughly against the bulkhead with each rough thrust, lifting her each time, impaling her with heat and steel. Tears streamed down her face and she felt the terrible orgasm building. It burned her from within. It branded her heart with his mark.
She wanted to hold him, console him in his loss of control. Yet all that she could do was yield to the sensations as they washed over her.
His grip loosened as the emotions washed over him and weakness found its mark on his heart. Fingers splayed on the wall above her head, he leaned heavily on her. With an inhuman solidity, his manhood pinned her to the wall from within.
He was gasping now, choking on the terrible tide. He lifted his head and looked at her with wide eyes. As if unbelieving her reality he grasped her face hard and kissed her again, eyes wide unwilling to close out an instant of her image.
She began to speak but his kisses hushed her. Instead she wrapped her arms round his neck and clung to him trying to project the reality of her presence to him.
He lifted her, still hot inside of her and moved her to the edge of the bed. Lowered her with his Vulcan strength to the softness and comfort there. Then again began his forceful entry into her body. It was painful, it was wonderful. It was terrifying.
His mind was everywhere in hers, sucking the memory of the experience from her and forcing his into her mind with each powerful thrust.
"I lost you," he said. "You left me."
She shook her head violently. "No. Never."
He pressed down on her harder. "You were gone." It was a gasp now.
"Never leave you," she cried.
He thrust into her faster and harder, she felt the veins rising up on his shaft. Her heart clenched so tightly she thought it would burst. "You were -- were--"
"No. Never leave you," she cried desperately now trying to pull his mouth to hers, she hurt so much. But it was not her body that cried out, it was her heart. It hurt so much.
His eyes darted over her face lost in panic and fear. "Say it again."
She clutched his face with both hands, willing him to believe, arching her back to receive him, her breath coming in short sobs. "Never leave you."
"Yes," he hissed with a terrible thrust. "Mine." He pressed into her.
"Never leave you." She could feel the angry humming in her depths. Tears blurred everything but Spock.
"Mine." He buried his head in her shoulder once again and whispered it over and over.
"Never leave," she answered him again and again.
Until finally the limits of the physical were too much and he jerked rhythmlessly within her and she felt her body answer by pulling him tighter than ever.
For a long moment they clung together. She felt the world narrow to a comical pinprick with the familiar sensation of hyperventilation. Then there was blackness.
* * *
Christine woke first. A small miracle of chance. From her vantage point on the bed the clock read 0214 ship's time. She could just make out the numbers from the odd angle that they had fallen -- barely on the bed, her head dangling back over a corner slightly.
His head lay buried in her shoulder. His breathing soft and regular as if in sleep.
She looked at the soft blanket that she had thrown carelessly back when he called, wondered if she could maneuver it over them without waking him.
As if possessed by her wish, his hand lifted, found the blanket and drug it over to them partially covering his back.
She didn't know what to say. She could joke, call him sleepyhead and poke his shoulder. She could hold him close and rock him with tenderness, assuring him of her loving presence. But she was absolutely at a loss as to what to say.
He lifted his head, a large green splotch of abraded skin on his forehead, his eyes were barely open.
She just looked at him for a long time.
Then wordlessly he rose up, his uniform creased and wrinkled most inappropriately. He adjusted himself without meeting her eyes.
She pulled herself up from the bed, surprised that she was not sore, and laid a hand on his arm. He froze and looked up at her now.
She reached up and gently unfastened and removed his duty tunic. Wordlessly he complied and in moments they were lying under the sheets gently holding one another.
0300 came and went and they just lay together quietly.
"You should have told him," she said finally.
"Told whom what precisely?" he asked, his voice soft, hollow.
"Told Jim that you wanted to be the one to check on the casualties."
"Hmph," he said noncommitally.
She didn't let it go. "He would understand."
His frustration crept back into his voice. "He would not understand. He only would ask for an explanation. I would prefer to give him a thorough explanation. I would explain to everyone."
She lay silently once again.
Her mind was reeling with thoughts but she didn't know how to verbalize them.
How could she explain? They had been together for several months now and it had been wonderful. Every stolen kiss, every innocent double entendre had been all the more delicious for its illicitness. Once they announced their attachment, they would be teased, cajoled, scrutinized and the subject of more office gossip than she was ready to take. She had journeyed the long road to respect and she enjoyed the view from the CMO's office. If the truth came out, Leonard would be the least of their worries. Her stomach churned at the thought of the media picking up the story. Her mother calling via subspace.
"Spock, I'm just not ready yet." She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her mind swirled with the possibilities…
What if they told everyone and if for some reason this just didn't work out? What if everyone found out and then Spock realized what a mistake it had been to even consider her an equal. How would she cope with the prying eyes, the helpful hints? How could she--
"Christine," he said bringing her attention back to the here and now.
He rolled up onto one elbow and looked down at her.
His eyes seemed to penetrate to her soul, listening to the fearful chatter of her mind "You worry overmuch, Beloved." He brushed her cheek.
She fixed him with her own penetrating gaze. "So do you."
He raised an eyebrow at this.
She sighed with exasperation. "Look at you. How can you think that I would leave you?"
"It was not jealousy that motivated me to come."
"Wasn't it? You said it, I was gone. I left you. Spock, look at me. I love you with all my heart. I would never leave you. The only way you could lose me is if I died. The only thing that could take me from you is death. You know that." The words came out angrily, faster than her better judgement. As she finished she watched as they stung with the truth.
Spock froze leaning over Christine, his mouth forming a thin line of concentration. His eyebrows clenched for a moment. "It is true." He lay back again. The thought surprised him.
She propped herself up on one arm over him. "Oh, Spock. I do love you. I just need more time, that's all."
"I respect your needs, Christine," he said almost absently. He was still ruminating the idea of being jealous of death.
"Spock, it wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"
His answer came so fast, he knew it was Starfleet training speaking. "It is an unfortunate necessity of command to order subordinates into danger."
"Yes, I know that. But that's not the question. You have to let it go. We work on a starship. Danger is part of who we are."
"I had not expected to be so deeply effected by your--"
"Alright, technically, yes, I did die."
"I once told you that I did not wish to move with undue haste in our relationship." He lifted his hand and brushed her cheek tenderly.
"Exactly what I was thinking! It's perfectly natural to get a little…I don't know -- scared when death comes knocking on the door. But it's no reason to do anything hasty."
Spock eyed her for a moment. She was deliberately twisting his words. He could feel the tension and fear in her. Even if he had not been able to sense her emotions he could see it in her eyes. She was scared, of what he was not sure. She most certainly did not wish to discuss it.
He nodded his head slightly and tried to think of what to say.
She lowered her head to his chest and sighed slightly, hugging him tightly. "I was scared, too. Scared that I'd never be able to tell you how much you mean to me, how much these last few months have meant to me. So scared, I thought I was dying from the fright. Of course, it was just my oxygen starved brain mis firing, but it felt real."
He held her for a long time in silence, brushing her cheek lightly, thinking comforting thoughts to her as he felt her slowly relax against him.
Finally sleep claimed her and his only company was a softly sighing Christine.
His hand hovered over her temple. In her sleep he could almost hear her thoughts. He wanted to feel the wild tangle of images that flicked her eyes under their lids. He wanted to hear her mind's voice talking to herself in her dreams. He wanted more.
His fingers brushed lightly over her temples. The flavor of sweat and copper suddenly seemed to cross his lips, an aching in his groin area. His mouth curved slightly and he felt his face warm with embarrassment. She was dreaming of him and it was a very pleasant dream.
He lowered his hand to her shoulder, aching for more but unwilling to take it. Not yet.