You accept the congratulations of Admiral Baker for successful resolution of the agreement and then discuss your next mission. Much to your relief, you will not have to leave again for several weeks, so you settle in at your desk to catch up on other business. Your personal communicator sounds and you see it is Christine. "Hello."

"Hello." She makes her voice very husky, then laughs. "You sounded sexy just now. Did you mean to?"

"No. But perhaps you elicit a response I did not plan?"

"Wow, look at you. That was a great answer. So anyway, I did not call simply to hear a sexy voice. One of my team was visiting family in Ankara, and she brought me some of her Mom's borek, which is the best borek in the world. It's a huge dish, and I can't eat it all myself. Well, I can, but my hips will not be happy with me if I do. So...come over and have dinner with me tonight."

"I am not familiar with borek."

She laughs. "You probably know it as spanakopita or spinach pie."

"Ah, yes, I enjoy that."

"Then this is a no-brainer. Unless you have plans?" She sounds like she very much doubts you have plans.

She is right.

"What time should I arrive?"

"I'm taking a half day today, so you can come whenever. It's in stasis, just from the oven, so you won't have to endure me trying to heat it up."

Other than the soup she made you, which, if you are honest, was not very good, you have never tried her cooking, so you are not sure how it would be. You always assumed the soup was off because of the extenuating circumstances—and it is notoriously difficult to do well, or so your mother claims. "I will be finished here around five."

"Perfect. I'll see you then." She clicks off the way a Vulcan would with no time wasted on a longer goodbye. You appreciate the efficiency but are surprised by it. You suppose working emergencies has made her value saving time where she can.

The day goes quickly and you enjoy the short walk to her apartment. She answers quickly, dressed casually but not in a sloppy fashion—you imagine she might have taken time to decide on the perfect mix of attractive and what Jim always called "not trying too hard."

She has place settings laid out at the counter, the large dish of borek between them still in the stasis device. There are no candles, no flowers. You are surprised. But again, perhaps she no longer has time for such things.

"Water?" she asks as she pours herself a glass of wine. It has a strange, strong aroma that you can detect from the stool you choose. She laughs. "Can you smell this?"

You nod.

"It's retsina. My wine shop didn't have any Turkish whites in stock. Greek seemed the next best thing." She laughs again. "It's an acquired taste."

"I believe all wine is, is it not?"

"Well, yes, but this really is. Some people equate it to turpentine. Do you want to try it?"

You nod because there is a rare wine on Vulcan called laikraya that you have heard described the same way. Instead of handing you her glass, she gets up and pours you a tiny bit and brings the glass and bottle to the table. "If you want more, help yourself."

She has a pewter holder that she puts the wine in; it functions like a coaster. You begin to put a picture together of a woman who is highly pragmatic when it comes to protecting her things from the condensation on a glass. You have always admired the logic of a coaster; they are used widely on Vulcan, where wood is a precious thing and furnishings made from it highly valued. On Earth, wood is far less rare, and many seem to view items made from it as disposable. It is ubiquitous enough to burn for fuel—or even just for something as frivolous as roasting marshmallows.

You loathe marshmallows. You wonder how she views them.

She turns off the stasis function of the dish and removes the lid. The aromas from the borek are extraordinary. "Oh my God," she says, but the words come out more as a moan. "I've been dreaming of this." She gestures to your wine. "Taste it. The borek needs to stand a little before it's perfect."

You try the wine. It is similar to laikraya. "On Vulcan, winemakers in the Toresha province make their wine vessels air tight by coating the inside with resin from the Laikanta tree. It is a difficult tree to grow—on a planet that already challenges vegetation. I have had it once or twice on special occasions and enjoyed it. This is very much like it."

"That's what they do to this, too. I'm glad I picked it if it brings back happy memories." She holds up her glass. "To...being comfortable enough to ask you over on a whim."

"You may ask me over any time you desire."

"Even if I have furniture to assemble?"

"You can assemble a building; furniture should not challenge you." You look around. Her apartment is impeccably decorated. "Moreover, you do not appear to require any additional décor."

"But I might want to redo it. What then, hmmm?" She grins and sips her wine.

"I would assemble furniture with you."

"You are doing so, so well." She studies you. "Would you bring me chicken soup if I was sick?"

"Yes, but I would have no idea if it was good or not as I do not, as you know, eat chicken."

"That's okay. It's the act of giving." She closes her eyes for a moment. "It's nice to not be rushing around like a crazy person—work was slow this week."

"I can imagine it is an exhausting job. Do you ever consider other career paths?"

"I have my eye on a couple things. Captain-level things. But on Earth, of course. Not like I'll be challenging Harriman for the Enterprise." She shrugs, as if she is not that concerned with getting these postings she is interested in, but you see true ambition in her eyes. This surprises you. "What about you, Spock? Are you like Sarek? Is diplomacy in your blood?"

"I believe it is. I have been offered command of several vessels but have turned them down."

"Wow. But I guess that doesn't really surprise me. You could have had a ship of your own back before you went to Gol."

"I was offered the Enterprise. It was what Jim wanted, for me to take his place. I...I did not want to do that. I did not want things to change, for him to leave. I...dealt with that badly."

"By going to Gol, you mean?"

You nod.

"But getting that out of your system, realizing that it wasn't your path—wasn't that worth something?"

"Had V'ger not appeared when it did—not called to me—I would not have realized that. I would have...missed so much."

"I'm glad V'ger showed up, then." She turns to the food. "Okay, I don't care of this is ready or not. The smell is driving me nuts." She holds out her hand. "Plate, please."

You hand it over and she gives you a sizeable portion, then gives herself a similar one. You like that she enjoys food. Jim was the same way.

Then there is silence as you eat. She breaks the quiet with groans and murmurs, "So, so good." You nod but do not feel the need to provide more than that as commentary.

The borek is extraordinary. The little bit of wine you have enhances it. Her company, the way she has arranged you both at the counter, handing you the serving tool so you can get your own second piece, of the size you desire—it is all so comfortable.

You are contemplating a third piece and sense she is, too. So you cut it and then divide it in half, depositing the first part on her plate and the rest on yours.

Laughing, she eats it, then pushes her plate away, and replaces the top, reengaging the stasis unit. "It was good, huh?"

"It was delicious." You switch to the water she originally gave you, and follow her to the couch.

Her scarf is on the table. She begins to laugh as she sees you studying it. "I'm not the one who's going to be wearing it tonight."

"I see."

"Actually 'not seeing' is the idea." She reaches for the scarf and folds it into a blindfold, "May I?"

You nod, curious to find out what she will do once you cannot see. As she leans in to tie it, you breathe in her scent. She is not wearing perfume; she rarely does, you are discovering. You will ask her about that at some point. You remember her wearing one scent on the ship.

"Okay, so I get to ask you potentially embarrassing, no doubt invasive, questions."

You cock your head. "You do?"

"Yep." She touches your hand and you sense a lightness in her, a playfulness. You think she wants you to feel that from her. This is...fun to her. Not seduction. Not an inquisition. "Unless you want to take off the blindfold."

"I will consider answering your questions." You let your lips tick up.

You feel her approval and then she lets go of you.

"Okay, we'll start with an easy one. If you had to live in one moment only for the rest of your life, what would it be?"

You consider that. You do not believe it is an easy question. "I believe it would be the moment I realized Jim was alive, after the challenge, after thinking I had killed him. You were there to see me..."

"Grin from ear to ear? I sure was." She shifts and you think she is facing you, one leg bent up on the couch probably so she can rest her elbow on the cushion. "Interesting choice. That was joy you were feeling, wasn't it? And relief, but mostly joy. Have you ever felt that way since?"

"No. It was an uncomplicated moment. I did not assess, did not moderate, did not want to be logical. I was just...yes, overjoyed, is the right word, I think. Do I get to ask the same questions of you in this game?"

"No, but I'll answer this one. The day they told me I was getting promoted to Commander. I never expected that—and I'd been something other than regular Fleet for so much of my career that it was such a rush. Plus this was something I did, no Roger to pull me along in his scientific wake, no Len to push me to get out of my comfort zone and get my M.D. This was mine."

"But Cartwright...?"

"Was a mentor, that's true. But he didn't bring me into ops—that was his predecessor. So yeah, that would be my moment."

It interests you that your choice is so emotional and hers tied to career—even ego or self-esteem. But you do not get to ponder that because she asks, "Okay, so next one. Do you really think you could have saved Jim?"

You nod. What more is there to say?

"What if you'd died? Your katra would have been lost."

"I nearly drove Leonard mad carrying it. It was hubris to put it in him without even gaining his consent."

"It saved you that you did, though."

"Nevertheless." You consider her question. "If I were to die, with Jim, saving the ship, I would have lived the life I was supposed to live and died the death I was intended to die."

She leans in, close enough that you can feel her breath on your face. "Then, by that logic, if you did not go with him and did not die, are you not now living the life you are supposed to live and you will, someday in the future, die the death you are intended to die?"

"Of course. But that does not negate the guilt. The regret."

"No, I suppose it doesn't. Still..." She shifts again, backing away, you think. "Who was your first love?"

"Leila."

"Do you ever think about finding her?"

"No. Why have I not? Perhaps I should comm her—may I use your device?"

She laughs. As you intended. The sound one of surprised delight. "Oh, very good."

"To answer your question more seriously. No. I let her go. More than once. She is not for me no matter how warm my memories."

"Are you still in love with Valeris?"

"Were you still in love with Roger after you found him on Exo III?"

"Yes. But I'm human. I wasn't sure how much the part of you that's Vulcan could turn off emotion in the face of betrayal."

"I do not know if a full Vulcan could, but I suspect not. I was...wounded after the fact. Time has helped eased that. I can recall why I felt the way I did, but I no longer want her."

"Did you sleep with her?"

"Is that not a highly personal question?"

"Yes. Did you?"

You nod. You slept with Valeris. The sex was very good.

"Did you meld?"

"No. She said she did not enjoy it. Not everyone does. It is required for certain ceremonies but not everyday life."

"Do you enjoy melding with someone you're interested in?"

"Yes." Although your experience in that is limited. You decide not to add that and she does not ask. Instead, she murmurs "Water?" and you nod and drink carefully once she has the glass at your mouth.

"I didn't bring myself anything. May I drink from your glass?"

"No, that is horrifying. I must go."

She laughs again. "Is it the blindfold or are you just funny?"

"I believe it may be the blindfold."

"Well, I'm licking your glass. All over. It really is horrifying." She sets the glass down.

"I trust you, Christine."

"I trust you, too."

"You said you do not trust."

"I'm the one in charge of the questions here, Buster."

"That was not a question."

She sighs. "Unless I'm a super bad judge of characters, you're not as likely to flirt with the first cute girl that crosses your path as Jim was."

You decide not to mention Droxine, who Jim never missed a chance to tease you about. And you also decide not to defend Jim. He did not flirt with every woman. But he did flirt with many. You can understand why she might worry if she was with him. You can also imagine Jim's dismay—he lived through the accusations with Janice Lester. He told you about his relationship with her after the encounter when she stole his body. And his reputation as a lothario bothered him immensely.

"I believe you are safe," you finally settle on saying and, since she laughs, think you have picked the right response.

"Does it make it easier to talk to me with the blindfold on?"

"Slightly. But I am not the one who was nervous."

"Oh, I think we both were feeling uncomfortable. So, Spock, what do you want from me?" Her voice is soft.

"Everything, I think."

There is silence. A long one.

"That is not the answer you expected?"

"No."

"Is it unappealing, this answer?"

"No."

You pull down the blindfold because you want to see her expression. She is staring at you, and you think her expression is uncertain. "Do you not wish to give me everything?"

"I don't know what that means when you say it." She reaches out but stops short of touching you so you lean into her hand. So many emotions flood into you. You experience them rather than trying to analyze them.

"I do not need everything at once, if that helps?"

"Well, what do you want first, then?"

You pull her to you, your lips hovering next to hers but not touching. "This," you say as you press in, the kiss nothing like the one the Platonians forced on you.

You kiss for a long time, neither of you pressing for more, although you do pull her onto you, so she is straddling you, her arms tight around your neck.

When you finally pull away, she smiles, a lazy, lovely expression, and traces your lips lightly with her finger, causing chills to run down your back.

"I wasn't sure if Vulcans kissed, but I used to fantasize about kissing you anyway."

"Just that?" You realize you are smiling, even if most humans would not realize it.

But you think she does. "Well...maybe other things." She moves her light touch to your ears, making you groan, and then to the back of your neck. "Do you ever think of me when you...touch yourself." Then she stops her caresses and frowns. "Do you do that?"

You nod. "I lately have only thought of you."

She reaches down, touching you through your pants, and you close your eyes. "Are you thinking of me now?"

"Most assuredly." You are also thinking how she should never, ever stop touching you that way.

She does, but only to undo your pants and slide her hand into them, under your briefs, grasping you, playing. As she does that, you pull her closer to you, lifting up her shirt and sucking her breasts through her bra, enjoying the mark your mouth leaves on the fabric. You want to be closer so you pull her shirt off, then remove her bra and the rest of her clothes. She's taking yours off too, slipping from your lap long enough to ease off your pants, and then you pull her back, onto you.

She is nothing like Valeris. Christine's thoughts are undisciplined, her reactions open and expressive and holding nothing back. She is not quiet when she climaxes, and you like hearing her pleasure, knowing you brought her to that state.

You follow her, near silent in the moment, but holding her tightly as you let go. You collapse against her and she kisses your hair.

You pull away enough to study her, to take in what you were too busy possessing to really look at. You particularly enjoy her breasts and spend a great deal of time on them, making her moan. Then you settle her back on the couch and kiss your way past her breasts to explore the rest of her, devoting most of your time to one place, to licking and sucking and making her call out again, this time even louder.

You resist saying, "You are mine," but it is how you feel. You do, however, murmur, "I am yours, Christine. If you want me."

She gives you the sensuous lazy smile you are becoming very fond of. "Wanting you has never been in question, Mister Spock." Then she grasps you and plays until you can join with her again.

She is happy. You believe you could become addicted to how she feels when she comes down from an orgasm, the mix of emotions, the almost dizzying feeling of release.

The love.

No, wanting has never been in question. For either of you. If you never reached for each other until now, then now is your time.

She does not say she loves you even though you can feel that she does. You like her restraint.

You are finding, to your great pleasure, that you like a great many things about her.

##

You lie in Christine's bed and she is pressed against you, the meld fading slowly. Rubbing her shoulder, because you have discovered she enjoys being touched—not just in a sexual way but like this, affectionately—you relax against her very soft sheets and allow yourself a small, satisfied smile.

She hid nothing from you—although you knew there were aspects of her mind that were off limits, but those had to do with missions and things you had no need to know. You would have the same areas if she were able to initiate a meld. Everyone probably has them.

"Were you in love with Jim?" she asks softly into the silence. She touches your face and turns you to look at her.

It is not a question you expect from her.

She smiles but her eyes seem to sear through you. "You said earlier you went to Gol because he left."

"I was much younger then. I had not yet learned to moderate expectations of a friendship—to balance emotions." You feel disappointment flood her; she knows you are lying.

She starts to talk, but you lay your finger on her lips.

"Yes," you say. "Yes, I was." Stroking back her hair, you try to decide how much to tell her. "I thought he and I had more than what we did. I know his feelings for me were strong. What did he not risk for me over the years? But he never wanted the physical expression that I yearned for. His love for me did not need that outlet."

"So I finally understand what everything means." She laughs softly, but she is not amused. She is not overly upset, either. The main emotion you are sensing from her is...understanding. "You get my love, which has always been a constant in your life even if you never wanted it. You get my mind, which Valeris withheld. You get your father's esteem because I have it. And you get to know what it's like to make love to Jim, because I know that. Am I leaving anything out?"

Again, it puzzles you that you do not feel hurt from her—or anger. "You make me feel safe, like my mother does at times." Finally you feel something new. Surprise and...amusement?

She crawls on top of you, holding your arms up over your head. "What else?" Then she kisses you tenderly and laughs into your mouth. "The more you give me, Spock, the less important any one of them becomes. And that's a good thing. That's what we all do—search for someone who makes us whole." She rises up, studying you. "I'm all right with being your lifeline if you're all right with being mine."

You realize you do not want to know how many other loves you are filling gaps for. And it may not matter. Because what is happening now, in her bed, is just the two of you.

"It is not my nature to wish for things to be other than as they are, but I wish that I had said yes to you when we were younger."

"I know. But you didn't. So...this is what we have." She kisses you again, still tenderly. She is not rubbing against you, or trying to arouse you, and you enjoy the feel of her on you, holding you down this way. It, like the blindfold, is something you do only with her.

And you think, despite what she says, that it is trust. You both trust the other.

"I would have liked kids though," she whispers so softly you think she is not sure if she wants you to hear.

You struggle enough to let her know you want your arms free and she lets go, and you pull her down to you, to rest the length of you. "We have both come across children in our time who moved us, have we not?"

"You brought yours home." She nips you gently. "Are you going to introduce me to Saavik? I've never met her."

"Yes, I will. I wish for you to be close to her." You roll so you are both on your sides because you want her to see your face when you say this. "If you were to find your own Saavik, I would welcome that child into our home."

"Our home?" She laughs, so amused it makes you smile. "We're one night into being sexual partners. A blissful, absolutely amazing and I may never let you out of my bed night. But still just one night. You really see a future already?" She traces your lips, the smile that has grown larger than you intended—that too is her effect on you and you believe she knows that.

"I do. But that aside, I am merely saying that while having biological children may be problematic, having children in our life would not be." You run your nails lightly down her back; she loves this. "I am not, however, saying that I expect that from you. We are both highly focused on our careers. There may be little room for much else."

"Except each other. And your family."

You remember when she lost her parents. She has no siblings and her parents were also only children. She is truly alone in a way you, with extended family on both sides, may never understand.

But she has created a family from friends, you think. And that may ultimately be richer, at least so far as replacing the type of family you see once a year and barely remember details of their lives. Friends cannot replace parents, nor do they usually try.

"Maybe Saavik will spit out some kids so we can be grandparents." She is lost in what you're doing with your fingers on her back; otherwise, you think she would not phrase the act of giving birth so flippantly.

But it amuses you. It plays to the pragmatism in her that you never expected. The humor you are finding refreshing since it does not bite the way Leonard's always did. "That would be ideal," you say.

She smiles and pulls you closer for a kiss. When she pulls away, you nuzzle her neck, taking in the scent of her.

You pull away. "May I ask you something?"

"With or without the blindfold?"

You allow yourself a small smile. "Without."

She nods.

"I remember you wore a distinctive perfume during our first mission. You no longer wear it?"

"Do I need to wear it?"

"No, but as I understand women, they usually do or do not. But you did and now do not."

She leans back. "Roger gave me the one I wore when I was a nurse. By the time I got to med school, Starfleet Medical only allowed perfume by waiver—too many species had allergies. Once I was in Ops, the same thing applied plus it's a great way to attract bugs and we spend way too much time outside." She closes her eyes. "I found one that I liked for when Jim and I... But once he left me, I couldn't bear to wear it."

"I am sorry. I did not mean my curiosity to bring you pain."

"It's an old pain, Spock. And we talk about things, right?" She turns to look at you, her smile wry. "We're good at talking now."

You nod.

"Do you like perfume?"

"I did not like the one Roger picked out for you."

She laughs. "Before or after you knew he'd picked it out for me?"

"Before. It was..."

"Trying too hard." She shakes her head. "I know. But it was expensive and he liked that about it. I didn't care for it all that much but the big-ass diamond engagement ring he gave me wasn't regulation, so the least I could do was wear the perfume. Show the world I was taken."

"You cared for me despite that."

"Pfff, that's your fault. If you're going to be mysterious and gorgeous and unattainable, you have only yourself to blame if women fall for you."

You pull her back to you.

"You know what I'd like, Spock—before we go adding anything to the shared home we don't even have yet, and I mean anything, even a freakin' goldfish? I'd like us to go find a perfume for me that we both like. Would you do that with me?"

"I would."

"Would you help me pick out other things?"

"Will they be revealing and likely to arouse me?"

She nods.

"Most assuredly."

"You're so much more fun than I expected."

"You are so much less romantic."

She rolls her eyes. "Because I'm not suggesting we go go shopping tomorrow for a bigger place? Baby steps, Mister. I want to get to know you before I commit."

You push her to her back and hold her arms over her head. "Does that mean you do not plan to be exclusive."

"Doofus. Of course not. I'll give you my heart, and maybe someday my mind, but you are not getting any closet space until I'm sure of you." She makes a considering face. "Perhaps not even then."

"We will—eventually, I am hearing what you are saying—find a place with many closets, so that will not be a problem."

"I like that idea." She wriggles against you, and the effect is immediate. "Unless you're too tired...?" Her grin tells you she knows that you are far from spent.

You go slow this time, let the sensations build for both of you. She is moaning—and also swearing—by the time you finally let her go and follow her into pleasure.

"Okay, maybe we can look for that place tomorrow." Her laugh is an exhausted one and you murmur, "Sleep," as you roll to your side.

"Okay. But for the record, I was kidding. I know you don't always pick up on that." She yawns, snuggling into you, whispering, "Thank you for saving me, Spock," and a moment later she is gone.

You hold her and consider which jobs she may be interested in. All of them will suit her, you think. If she gets one, it will be soon and she will no longer be able to accompany you on missions.

You should request her for your next one. It is unfortunate that you did not discover how much you enjoyed working with her until she was ready to move to a new position.

You cannot change what is. It is unfortunate, but it is also reality.

You close your eyes, finding her soft breath on your chest soothing, and fall asleep.

##

You hear a knock on your door, look up to see Christine, and motion her into your office. "Is lunch no longer convenient?"

"No, sorry." She does not sound genuinely sorry. "New mission. Got called up. Perils of being trusted by your father." She grins, a smile that increasingly reminds you of Jim.

"My father asked for you?"

"Yeah, that's generally how it works."

"That is not how it works for me."

"Well, you're still relatively new. When you've been doing this as long as he has, you'll be able to commandeer whomever you please, too." She makes a face as if she does not understand why you are discussing this.

"I would prefer you not go with him."

"The second part of that statement is 'But I understand you have to.' Also, Spock, what the fuck? You would prefer I don't go with him? Why?"

She has attacked on several fronts so you wait for a moment. That is a mistake.

She leans in, her voice low. "We're new. You don't know me well yet. I understand that. And for some reason known only to you, you're jealous of your father when it comes to me. But get over it."

"As you did, with Jim?"

She straightens, her eyebrows pulled down in a deep frown, her gaze steely. "Do you think you have cause to believe I'd cheat?"

"You were betrothed when you told me you loved me."

"Because of a virus that made Sulu try to skewer people and Riley nearly destroy us all—I think what I did was pretty damn minor. And afterward, when I really made an ass of myself, Roger was gone. Spock, where is this coming from?" She takes a deep breath, as if you are a child she is trying to understand—to not yell at. "I have opened my mind to you because I know Valeris didn't. I don't know what more you want from me if you haven't seen all you need to see through the meld. Now, I have to go pack. Please be sane when I get back from this mission."

And then she turns and walks out, and you are left feeling like a fool.

Or like a very small boy. Watching your father tell your mother to leave you, that your tears will dry on their own, that your tantrum will end more quickly if they do not indulge you. The way he would hold out his hand, his imperious, "Wife, attend me." You were so young, then. Too young to be expected to understand Vulcan discipline. And yet, he could not bend—you had to. And now he takes your woman.

No. This is ridiculous. Christine is right. You have been in her mind. You have felt a resonance from her time with Jim. The lingering regret. There is no such feeling for your father. No unquenched—or quenched—desire.

You send a message to her personal comm. I regret my words. May your mission be successful and uneventful.

It takes longer than you like for your comm to chime. Thank you.

You are unsure how to read that. Is she touched or annoyed still? You give up trying to interpret two words that probably mean precisely what they say, and go back to what you were doing.

A few hours later, you comm your mother, wanting to leave early, to spend time with her, but you do not want to barge in on her. You have acted childishly enough for one day without disrupting the schedule of the ambassador's wife.

"Darling. Are you all right?"

"I wondered if you would like to go out—perhaps an early dinner. If you are not already engaged."

"That would be lovely. I'll see you soon."

The walk takes you little time. Your mother is sitting in her office reading. She smiles as you walk in. "My little boy. So handsome."

"Hardly little, Mother." You study her. "Is there somewhere you would like to try?" There often is. This is something you do, when your father is away. Let her "cheat" and have meat and forget for a time she is vegetarian.

You, of course, have no desire to do that. It merely gives you pleasure to indulge her.

"There's a seafood restaurant I've been hearing amazing things about and of course your father won't go with me. But you can."

"I would be happy to accompany you."

"Ooh, you said 'happy.' Be still my beating heart. You almost sounded human." She grins and goes to the hall closet to get a wrap. "I'm not in the mood to walk."

You nod and wait as she calls for her private flitter. You are quiet on the ride to the restaurant, where you are quickly seated even without a reservation. The benefits of fame and privilege.

But you do not mind. Sitting in the vestibule is not to your taste tonight.

Your mother orders wine and then sits back and studies you. "What's wrong, Spock?"

"Why must something be wrong?"

"A mother knows these things. So...spill."

"Christine and I are together."

You expect a smile, but she frowns. "Really? I wouldn't have seen that as the outcome after dinner the other night."

"Your faith in me is demoralizing."

"Oh, pfff." She smiles up at the waiter as he brings her wine and orders a great deal of food—you have never been sure how she fits so much into such a tiny frame. You order one of the two vegetarian pasta options and a salad, which you ask to be served with the entrée.

She leans in once the server is gone. "Are you happy?"

"She left annoyed with me. You know Father took her on his latest mission?"

"Of course I know that." She studies you. "Do those two things go together somehow—her being annoyed and your father including her?"

"Why did you say that he could...take up with her if anything were to happen with you? Is it because you sense interest?"

"No, Spock, it's because eventually—unless an accident or something worse takes him from me—your father will outlive me. And I'm not averse to having a say in who succeeds me. Although Christine isn't that much younger than I am so really he probably needs an even younger woman or a Vulcan—at any rate, if he does remarry, which he will, because your father is not the kind to be alone, then you will be kind to her. Unless it's T'Menla. You don't have to be kind to her."

"Perhaps he will not remarry."

"There's an old human saying: you can judge the quality of a marriage by how quickly a man remarries and how slowly a woman does. It applies as well to Vulcans, I think. Although the burning does complicate things." She waves, as if brushing that idea away. "Let's get back to Christine. Do you think something is going on?" Her tone implies in no uncertain terms that if you think that, you are wrong—and quite possibly an idiot.

"I just found her, Mother, and he takes her away from me."

"Found her? Spock, she's been under your nose for decades. And it's not as if he knew you were with her." She makes a disparaging sound that manages to be more disapproving than any look your father has ever given you. "Don't you think you've rushed into this? You're obviously adrift, Spock. Any fool can see that. Your father and I have both been worried about you. First Valeris's betrayal. Then Jim's death. And that nice Mister Scott. You're not on a ship anymore—that must be so strange. Frankly, I was shocked you'd want to follow in Sarek's footsteps. So many changes. But Christine represents stability, doesn't she?"

"She represents nothing. She is herself." But the conversation with Christine is playing back to you—how many roles she is filling. But is that not normal? "You do not need to worry. I am fine, Mother."

"You aren't fine. I'd hoped, when you came to Vulcan so precipitously, that you'd be with Christine then. I didn't want you to be with a stranger during the burning—I hate the thought of that. But you came alone."

"I did ask her."

"You did?" She starts to laugh. "And she said no. And that's why you told us to check with her first before dinner. And that's why she was so uncomfortable."

You nod. "You should have warned her I would be there."

"Well, where's the fun in that?" Her expression sobers. "So she's upped the ante by making it difficult for you to get her. Are you sure you know why you're with her? Is it just that she's the antithesis of Valeris?"

"No. I have always been interested."

"Could have fooled me." She lets the servers put down your meal, then she leans in. "I don't want to lose a very dear friend over this, Spock, if your relationship ends badly."

You swallow harder than you mean to. "I do not intend for it to end. I hope that we will find a lasting accord."

"You're ready to marry her after a few nights? Spock, you are rushing into this. Perhaps you even agree with that subconsciously. It's why you're picking fights—just like when you were a boy."

You busy yourself with your food, hoping you can get her to change the subject.

"Break up with her, Spock." She says it like she would say to dispose of something from the chiller that has gone bad.

"Why?"

"Why stay?" Her stare is relentless.

"Because she is intelligent and surprising. I cannot predict what she will do, much to my surprise. Because, she is attractive and sensu—" You are not going to discuss your physical relationship with Christine with your mother. "More than anything, I enjoy her company—the way she makes me feel." You know you have walked into her trap by the happy smile on her face. "Do you wish me to say you and father have been right all these years?"

"Yes, I do." She grins, but it is a guarded expression. "But I also don't want you to hurt her."

"I imagine Father wants that even less."

She rolls her eyes. "Actually, you're wrong. You and he don't ever do this, do you? When I'm out of town. How many dinners have you had with him? If you break up with her, his life will go on as it is. I'm the one who stands to have an awkward time trying to balance you and Christine."

"You have done it for years."

"With you ignoring her. But not breaking her heart."

"Mother, it is entirely possible she will break mine."

You expect anything but the brilliant smile she gives you. 'Oh, sweetheart, I think that's just about the most wonderful thing you've ever said." She pats your hands and you feel that she is...happy? And there is an aura of mischief to her touch. "Let's put this time to good use and figure out a way for you make it up to her that you were an utter ass."

"I was not an—"

"Oh, Spock, of course you were. You're a Vulcan male. Utter ass is practically the factory default." She laughs at your expression. "I love you. I know I complain about Valeris, but I'm truly sorry that she hurt you. And that Jim is gone. I loved him, too."

"I know."

"So. Christine could be good for you—that's what you're saying, isn't it?"

You nod

"Then you just have to trust her."

You think how Christine told you she could not trust. It is ironic that you apparently mirror that.

But unacceptable. You will let go of what Valeris did. You will move past the pain of loss. You will accept Christine's friendship with your father. And your mother will help you.

It pleases you that your father will have no part in this. It does you no credit to feel that way, but nevertheless, you do.

##

You are in your office when Christine gets back. She looks exhausted as she stands at your door—exhausted and wary.

You rise, walk to the door, draw her in and tell the computer to lock the door, then you pull her into your arms. "I have missed you."

For some reason, this makes her stiffen in your arms, not relax.

"Was that the wrong thing to say?"

"No. But maybe it would have been nice if you'd asked me how I was."

"Is that what my father would do?" It is out before you can think better of it and you close your eyes, regretting it immediately.

She jerks away from you. "I'm too tired for this. I should have just gone home. Your father would have given me a ride because he actually noticed that I look like I'm going to drop."

"I will call you a flitter."

"You don't want to know what you can do with your flitter." She glares at the ceiling. "Computer, unlock the goddamned door."

The door opens and she is gone.

She does not answer your comms later, and you stop after the second attempt; she is no doubt sleeping. She needs rest. But you wander the halls of Starfleet Command, finding yourself in the connector to Starfleet Medical, heading down the private way Leonard showed you to get to his office, a way patients do not know of so no one will stop you.

"Well, look at what the cat dragged in." Leonard smiles and points at the chairs in front of the desk. "Pick one and take a load off. It's been a while, Spock."

"I realize that. I have been remiss."

"Oh, hell, we both have. Getting used to new jobs and all that. And Jim being gone." He holds up an imaginary glass in what you know is his tribute to his and Jim's mutual love of whisky. "So how's diplomacy?"

"Less confusing than interpersonal relationships."

"You mean romance? I wasn't aware you had one anymore. Didn't your lady love get sent to that ice planet Jim and I were stuck on?"

"I was not referring to Valeris. Have you ever rushed into a relationship?"

He starts to laugh. "Well, golly, I don't know. Did I once marry a woman I'd known a hot moment and let her put a chip in my head? Nope, doesn't ring a bell." He muttered, "Natira," between dramatic coughs.

"You thought you were dying."

"Oh so that gives me an out for being stupid?" He reaches behind him, opens the credenza, and pulls out a bottle and a glass. "Then again, she did happen to have the cure for what ailed me, so it wasn't all bad." He pours a small amount into his glass and sips. "I know you're not rushing into anything."

"I may have."

"Do I know the lucky person?"

You narrow your eyes. Person? Not woman?

"Oh, come on, Spock. You think I didn't see how you looked at Jim?"

"You never mocked me for it."

"Even I have limits. Besides, he did love you—just not that way. I felt for you. God knows there were enough women on the ship who didn't feel that way about me that I could sympathize."

"Christine was not one of those women, was she?"

"Hell, no. She's like my kid sister. Why do you think I rode her so hard?" Leonard's eyes get wide. "Oh, man, you and her? After all these years? I'd hardly call that rushing into it."

You take a deep breath, but then are unsure what to say. He gets up and moves to the chair next to you, pulling it back a bit before sitting, so he can cross his leg over his knee.

"You sure you don't want a drink, my friend?"

"There are times I regret my stance on alcohol."

"Wow. Okay. So, I take it there's trouble in paradise?"

"It is new. Paradise is...a distance off." When Leonard nods, you continue. "What is a relationship if neither partner can trust?"

"Pretty much my first marriage." His smile dies when he sees your face. "Okay, not really. Jocelyn and I didn't start out that way. Maybe if we had, we would have either taken steps to build some trust or walked away before it even started." He leans in. "I know Christine didn't trust Jim—but why wouldn't she trust you?"

"Perhaps it is I who has the greater lack of trust."

"You? Who the hell would she be with? I mean I'm sure she's had friends with benefits but anyone serious? No."

You meet his eyes. This is going nowhere. Why did you come here? But before you can do the rational thing and leave, you say, "Did you and your father have a close relationship? I remember from the pain Sybok took from you that you cared deeply for him, but...were you friends?"

"Some of the time, yeah. I don't think parents and kids were meant to be friends all the time, though. I mean...we're going to rebel. To disagree. Why are you asking about—oh for the love of God, Spock. You cannot seriously think Christine and your father...?" The dismay in his voice almost makes you smile.

"I think they may be closer than she is to me. Emotionally."

"Oh, you mean she likes him better? Well, golly, Spock, why would that be? Oh, let's see: a. he respects her, b. he likes working with her, c. he brings her home to pal around with your mother, who is a living angel, d. he doesn't mind that she once made an ass of herself over his dumb-as-bricks-when-it-comes-to-her son—need I go on?" He leans in. "Spock, what have you done for her lately?"

"We are forging a relationship."

"Forging. You do that in a hot smithy. Really hard work. Find a new word, my friend."

You think about that. Building a relationship would probably please him no better. Creating also requires concerted effort.

"Why can't you just let it become?" He leans back. "You have a relationship with her already, Spock. It just isn't a good one."

"It is now. It is very good."

He laughs. "I wish she was here to see you defending your relationship. Probably be good for her. You want my advice?"

"I am afraid that subconsciously I must. For I am here."

He grins. "Just...enjoy what you have and forget about the rest. Look how fast everything changed. Everything we thought we had: gone." He sighs. "I don't know if he told you but Jim and I were going to start a foundation. I was going to retire. Would have put the papers in the day after the launch. But...that didn't happen, now did it?"

"I did not know. I am sorry."

"You were busy with your own heartache. On multiple fronts, even." His terminal beeps and he gets up and reads what's on the screen. "Criminy, do these young bucks know nothing? I've got to go, Spock." He reaches into his desk, takes out a white pill you suspect is antitox even though he has taken only three sips of his drink. "If I were you, I'd focus on what's good. Let the rest work itself out on its own timetable, not yours." He pats you on the shoulder as he comes around the desk. "Cowards ne'er did win at love, my fine Vulcan friend. And have me over to dinner once you two work your shit out. I miss you both."

You sit for a moment, lost in the state between what you had and what will be. This man stands at the intersection—so much history. You must not let him slip away the way you did Jim.

##

Christine comms you the next day, but it is a text message. It says only We need to talk. Come over around seven if you're free.

Jim once told you no good interaction started with the words "We need to talk." You hope he is wrong in this case.

She does not make you wait when you ring for entrance shortly after seven. To a Vulcan, it would be rude to arrive even a few minutes late. But you have learned humans tend to look askance at rigid punctuality. You cannot tell what Christine thinks of it.

She does not hug you, but her smile is a sweet one. "Please, sit down. Do you want anything to drink?"

"Water is fine."

You notice she is drinking water also. You do not think that is a good sign. She must believe she needs a clear head to deal with you.

You see the scarf is still on the table so you pick it up and say, as lightly as you can, "Which of us should wear this tonight?"

She does not smile. "Neither. The time for that as a conversational aid is over."

"You indicated the concept was brilliant."

"I said genius. And it was. For people who needed to start talking. But we're beyond that—or we should be. We're lovers, Spock. Aren't we?" She leans in. "Or am I just someone you're fucking because I make you feel safe? Because I'm part of your past? Because you loved people adjacent to me?"

You are trying to take in cues, but she is giving you none. She is not jiggling her knee. She is sitting in a manner so relaxed you think it is the one she shows when she is working, when she needs people to believe in her and her ability to control a situation—and herself. Her emotions, especially.

She could be Vulcan right now.

"Spock, we should be looking each other in the eye when we talk. We should be seeing each other. If we can only really communicate with a blindfold on, this is not going to endure."

"Do you wish it to endure?"

"I do. But I need you to care about me."

"I would not be jealous if I did not care."

"That's bull. This isn't about me. This is about you and your father and the toxic thing you call a relationship."

"Has he told you that?"

"Spock, don't you get it? He never talks to me about you. He knows how I feel about you. That I love you." She stares at you defiantly. "That I have loved you for so damn long. But I don't know you, do I? Because this is the last thing I thought we'd be fighting about—hell, I didn't even include fighting on my list of 'things likely to go wrong.'"

"Nor did I—if I had such a list. Which I do not."

She finally smiles, almost a laugh.

"Christine, you do know me—or you are getting to know me. What we have shared, I value. I have enjoyed the time we have spent. Talking, touching. Both together. I want this to continue. To grow. I realize I may have rushed us—speaking so soon of wanting everything."

"And forever. That's implied when a Vulcan says 'everything,' isn't it?"

"It is." You hold out your hand, allowing her to close the distance if she wants to touch you.

She does. And you know she does it knowing you will read her emotions.

You feel irritation. Hurt. Disappointment. And she is still so tired—you must ask her about this mission. But underneath everything, you feel love. You feel that she wants you—she wants this. But she is afraid.

She eases her hand away. "Probably got a lot from that. Seems unfair I can't do the same to you."

"I agree. Even a meld would not give you quite the same influx. It is akin to a scanner."

"Handy." She moves closer, cuddling in against you. "You need to understand that I have never, ever done anything remotely sexual or romantic with Sarek. I don't know if you understand how much he loves your mother?"

"I do. I was often the loser in that equation." You feel her tense. "This is not something a therapist would deem oedipal, Christine. I do not wish to make love to my mother. But..." Do you wish to talk to her of this? You have never, not even to Sybok. "When I was very young, I could have been allowed to more fully express my human side. She would have encouraged that. But he made sure to pull her away when I was at my worst."

"You've always indicated you viewed being human as that, as the worst thing possible."

"I am not certain I believed it completely. Absorbing that ideology was a defense mechanism perhaps. At any rate, my father wanted me Vulcan and only Vulcan. And I eventually submitted—even if he would say I was still a rebellious child. But I gave that part of myself up. I became what you know. Primarily Vulcan."

"But still, you remember. And it hurts?"

"It does. It is why, when Saavik was young, I did not make her choose. She cries or laughs or gets angry and I do not tell her it is wrong. She swears and I do not say a Vulcan would not do that. It is part of her."

She holds you more tightly.

"And then my father sent my brother away. Because I was going to follow him. After all Sarek's work indoctrinating me"—you nearly spit the word—"here was a full Vulcan—his own blood—who would lure me from the path." You can still feel the pain of watching your brother taken away, not allowed to pack any his favorite things, only given a robe and enough funds to take him off Vulcan.

"Valeris accepted you for who you were." She whispers it, understanding finally.

"As did Jim."

"As do I, Spock." She pulls away but seems uncomfortable. "I need to say something that may anger you. And it's about my friend. Your mother. This isn't all on Sarek, Spock. Your mother is so strong. If she was pulled away when you needed her, then that was her choice, too."

"No, he bullied her the way he did me..." But as you say it, you know that is wrong. Your mother is strong. She was with your father while he was still bonded to Sybok's mother, even if they lived apart. She endured him being called to another until T'Rela finally died. She chose to be the wife of a Vulcan—there was no bond when you needed her most, chaining her to your father. She could have taken you and been free of him but she did not.

"It doesn't mean she doesn't love you, Spock. Because she does. She does talk to me about you and that love is so, so clear. But perhaps she, too, wanted you to be what you are. More Vulcan than human."

"But she enjoys when I express my humanity."

"Publicly? Or in private? With her?" She touches your cheek, and you feel only support—and guilt. This is her friend she is talking about. "She raised you to blend the way she has learned to, Spock. She taught you what she knew. And the Sarek she knows is full of love. How could she know you wouldn't get the same from him? And I know you don't. I see you two. You try—but it's always work, isn't it?"

You nod. Yes. It is always work. "Are you going to tell me that he loves me despite not being able to show it? Because that is what she says."

"Maybe she's seen it in a meld—felt it even? But that doesn't help you. That doesn't make it stop hurting." She brushes your hair back. "I think, if you hadn't been hit by so many things at once, you would not be feeling this so strongly now. And I'm not helping since he does ask for me a lot. I've had other people ask about it—snarky comments, some salacious. It's why I get so pissed off. Because he and I—we really do think alike when it comes to the mission." She pushes you back and straddles you. "But not when it comes to you. Because I don't want you to have to guess whether I love you or not. I'm not going to hurt you, Spock." She smiles tenderly. "And you're not going to hurt me. You'll probably piss me off beyond all reason." She laughs and leans in, nipping your lips softly. "But you won't hurt me, will you?"

"Not that way. But I may be thoughtless. I should have asked about your mission."

"The old me would have been thrilled that the first thing out of your mouth was that you missed me. And it won't be a bad thing to say in the future. It's just...our fight wasn't over—it just got put on hold while I was away. So whatever you were going to say was probably going to be wrong."

"And no doubt will be again. We seem to be more volatile than I anticipated."

"We do, don't we?" She begins to move on top of you and you close your eyes. "Volatile doesn't have to be bad, though."

You pull her to you, kissing her deeply, almost frantically, and she kisses you back the same way. You stay there a long time, not reaching for the meld, not taking her clothes off, just letting the kisses move from desperate to something gentler, something stronger. Until the touch of her becomes familiar, part of you—everything.

She pulls away, and she feels so relaxed, like she did when she was injured and on the pain medicine. "I feel drunk," she says, her smile so sensual you begin to ease off her clothing, let her take yours off, and then you lift her and lower and...there.

You both breathe out, heads thrown back, fingers clasped. You realize you want nothing more from her than this connection, this understanding—this ease. She moves almost painfully slowly, murmuring your name as you thrust, and you let go and let yourself melt into the emotions that are flowing into you.

Is this love? If so, you and Valeris never had it.

Christine finds a rhythm that builds pleasure, and you watch as the ride is expressed on her face, in the way her mouth opens, the breathy gasps of pleasure, and then the slight freeze as her climax begins, the moans, louder now, then louder again.

You cannot wait, not when you are this open, when her pleasure is so raw, and you pull her to you, burying yourself in her, over and over and over and—

You are very loud as you come. She laughs and finally holds her hand over your mouth to muffle the sound, and you kiss her palm and relax into her. Gently, she kisses your cheek, then your ear and neck, until you pull her back to you, to have her kiss your lips again.

"I love you, Spock."

You ease her back, so she can see your face, can take in the emotion in your eyes, as you say, "I love you, too, Christine."

"And, Spock?" She touches your cheek, her hand dancing lightly over your skin. "I missed you, too."

FIN