DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of T'Kuht and is copyright (c) 2001 by T'Kuht. This story is Rated PG-13.
I Have Dreamed
The fever was so hot, and no amount of water or cold air could soothe his brow or his ardor. Unable to meditate or even sit still without shaking, he floundered to the bed and clutched it like it was a log in a raging river. If he was lucky, sleep could overtake him for a short time and it would ease the heat that was consuming him.
He was surrounded by darkness, the dark was flame hot, and he ached to be cool. He never imagined that he would dread the heat after living with cold loving humans so long, but this heat was dreaded far more than anything he could have imagined. His mind swirled. In one corner, a light pierced the darkness, and he felt himself drawn to it. It was cool, a breeze in the torridity. It grew larger but could not overtake the black behind him.
In the center of the light, a figure stood, cloaked in white gossamer with golden hair and icy blue eyes. He longed to clasp the figure, drink in her cold, and quench his desires. She spoke. "Spock..."
"Christine," he answered almost choking on the name. He stepped closer to her. "Why are you here?"
"You do not know?" she asked, her sweet smile beckoning him to her.
"No, enlighten me."
She came forward, the calm, cool caress of her fingers touched his heat soaked cheek. He became serene, placid. He moaned from the mere touch. His heart flared in heat and desire. Her lips were ice on his brow, the sensation sent chills down his spine to his toes. He was rooted to the spot he was standing on, unable to move either arms or legs. He could only allow her to keep doing what she was doing to him. The sweet sensation of her breath ruffling his hair as she brushed her nose against his eartip nearly undid him. Suddenly, she stopped. She stepped away from him and shook her head with a sad smile.
His breathing was ragged, rough. He wanted her, had to have her, needed ... desired. "Christine?"
"No, I came to tell you..." Her voice was growing dim. A rushing howl from the dark was interfering. As the gentle light began to fade, he tried to go with it. "What is it that you have to tell me?"
Her mouth produced no sound. His ears were assailed with the screaming from the pit of black that opened up behind him. Sounds that were so jumbled and scrambled that he could not even make them out as words pulled him back to that pit.
Spock's eyes snapped open ... the dream. A sound, someone was with him. "Miss Chapel." He did not have to see who it was. He knew it was her. Her scent gave her away. It was the sweet breath that had ruffled his hair. She was the only hope he had now.
"Yes Mr. Spock."
"I had ... a most remarkable dream. You were trying to tell me something, but I couldn't hear you." The dark pit was rising from his dreams to begin roaring in his ears. He stood up to outrun the darkness a little longer. "It would be illogical for us to protest against our natures. Don't you think?"
"I don't understand."
The tear that slid down her cheek concerned him. Taking it, he could feel the tingle of relief from his burning. She cried for him or because of him, perhaps both. "Your face is wet."
"I came to tell you, we are bound for Vulcan. We'll be there in just a few days,"she tried vainly to smile. The blackness surrounded him again and the bright light that Christine emanated began to fade in its approach.
"Vulcan," he whispered. She turned to go, but not yet, he had to keep that light in his mind to stay sane. "Miss Chapel..."
"My name is Christine."
"Yes, I know, Christine. Would you make me some of that plomeek soup?"
"Oh, I'd be very glad to do that, Mr. Spock."
She was gone, he was in darkness again. Only the tear that he had taken was there to remind him of the relief that he'd had if only for a moment.