Not Like This

His mind, disciplined yet exotic, drew me, engaged me, challenged me. His physique intrigued me and then impressed me with its strength, its capacity for gentleness. As the bond grew, he drew out what had never seen the light of day. Others I had loved in friendship, through blood ties or with passion. Some I'd left (lovers Ruth, Janice and Carol) and some I'd lost (brother Sam, friend Gary, wife Miramanee, and angel Edith). But he completed me. Our two-piece puzzle was a mystery to others, but not to us.

I'd never loved a man before....not like this.

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When we first touched, not as friends but in recognition of our bond, electricity drizzled down my spine and took my breath away. I struggled to hide it, but he knew, just as I knew through the bond that he, too, was moved in his way. Humans use the hands heedlessly, unaware that they carry the imprint of our lives. Vulcans are said to be averse to touch -- perhaps it is just that they hold its intimacy sacred. Our fingers and hands caressed that first time; it was all we needed.

I'd never touched a man before...not like this.

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The cruelest thing I ever felt was that cold transparency that separated us as he died. To hear, to see, but not to touch or hold as he rasped out his last breath -- that I could not comfort him in those moments tore me apart. He couldn't see, but did he feel my anguish? Later, in sickbay, I bent to brush the cold lips with mine. When I lifted my head, my lips were sticky with the fluid that had leached from his skin. Spock. Spock on my lips.

David was right. I'd never faced death before...not like this.

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