DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Good Twin/Evil Twin and is copyright (c) 2004 by Good Twin/Evil Twin. Rated PG-13.

CUP OF TEA

Evil Twin

She stretched across the couch gazing out the spaceport window, her fingertips playing with the plants that had so carefully been placed there to match the decor. It was so restful here. It was one of her favorite places to come. It seemed to call her. Here she could look out into that cold expanse of space.

She picked her cup that she had placed near the top of the edge of the sofa.

She sat up somewhat aright. She inhaled her cup of tea. It was fragrant, dark, exotic, mysterious, no sugar. That would spoil the flavor. She let the aroma settle to bottom of her lungs. It reminded her of him. Her body gave an involuntary shudder. It was his favorite.

She slowly moved the cup toward her lips. The steam was rising. She gently blew on the brew to cool it off. Once. Then she blew it again. She wet her lips. She sipped it quickly. Let it touch her palate for the effect. She moaned. She shrugged her shoulders and let the liquid go all the way down her throat. Then circulate. She replaced the cup and stretched out again. She sighed. Then she sat up and pulled her knees up to her chest and paused.

Then she partially unwound herself. Then she stood erect. She looked out, her now dark hair slightly shading her face from her unseen audience. As the ship moved forward to its next destination, she wondered what life held for her. She felt so much.

So forlorn. Waiting. Desiring. Hoping. Yearning. When? If? Never? Give Up? Go Forward? Stay The Course?

She picked up her cup of hot tea burning her fingertip slightly as she dipped her finger in it. She made a heart. The only initials she could put in it with confidence were her own (C.C.). She wiped silent tears that had slipped from her lashes with the back of her hand. She then placed her hand next to the heart on the spaceport window and removed it. She watched as the heat from her hand disappeared. She took one last sip of her tea and replaced the unfinished cup and walked away, her hips gently swaying as she was running her fingers through her hair.

He had been sitting there silently in his favorite spot in the corner in the dark. He liked it where he could watch undisturbed just the two of them at this time of night. It was their time alone. It was just that she didn't know he was here. She was his ritual. She was his Siren. She always came here. She was his magnet. She always chose his tea.

Did she know she chose the pace? Did she know that she was the one in control? She was the one that held the cup. She chose the brew. She set the dial. She chose the strength of the brew. This issue was not open for debate. Life was like a cup of tea. Didn't she know that?

He got up from his place of refuge and stood in her spot. He felt her mood. He picked up her cup. He looked into the cup of tea.

Tea -- look at it. You will see all kinds of colors swirling there. Just like her hair. Taste and experience all the different flavors. Complex like she is. Dark in some ways, strong and full-bodied. Hot and it could burn, if you did not handle with care.

He put his fingertips in the brew and put his initials in the heart (S.P.) next to hers. He placed his handprint over hers and watched it disappear. These things were temporary and would evaporate.

He picked up her cup of tea. It was still hot. He turned to where her lipstick marks were. It was like getting hot from her lips. He drained the cup with a pause. It burned his throat. Love was like that. It sometimes burned. It tasted like her. After all she was his brand of tea.

THE END