A/N: I just love the new movie. I can't wait for the sequel. This will be hopefully my longest fanfiction. Please review and please be kind. Unnecessary cruelty isn't cool. This is for FUN. Some people need to be reminded of that.

Disclaimer: I'm not making money, I'm just having fun. I don't own Star Trek or any characters affiliated with the movie, multiple TV series, or any other media.

I own Celyn.

Rating subject to change.

2258 was the year.

Lieutenant Celyn R. Mercy, an operations division officer on the USS Enterprise under young Captain Kirk, was having a not so great day.

"May I suggest," growled a low Vulcan voice, "that you observe more carefully what you are doing, Lieutenant."

Correction. A bad day.

"Don't snap at her, Mr. Spock, I'm sure she meant nothing by it." The captain smiled at her briefly, then he looked away from her. There was no recognition in his eyes, and despite his comment, Celyn drooped immediately. Captain Kirk knew everyone on his ship. He made it his place to know his crew, many of them quite personally, but he didn't recognize her.

"She must understand, Captain, that her carelessness at a time like this could jeopardize—"

"I'm sure she understands, Mr. Spock," interrupted Kirk, shooting his XO another quick glance.

Seated uncomfortably between her two higher ups, Celyn sunk down further behind the ice, deflated, and wished again that she were anyplace but here. This wasn't what she had signed up for when she became a tactical officer—she had expected to be firing the ship's phasers and coordinating defense maneuvers, not perched precariously on the icy ledge of a foreign planet, armed with a type two phaser held in her shaking hands while Andorian rebels bent on starting war grouped below.

Face-to-face combat with an enemy was, in her mind at least, vastly different from sitting on the bridge following Captain's orders. For Celyn, it was just another reminder that she didn't fit in with the rest of the Enterprise crew. Nearly everyone had stories from the fiasco with Nero a few months earlier, but she, having been preoccupied by scrambling around the engine rooms looking for some way to be useful, had none. She hadn't been a Lieutenant then—she was promoted only at the good word from former captain Christopher Pike and the fact that the previous Operations Lieutenant had been killed two weeks prior.

She, even now, was practically invisible. Two weeks on the bridge, two weeks sitting just in front of the Captain's vision, and her first interaction with him had just now happened when he defended her clumsiness.

You see, the reason Celyn was having a bad day was not just because she was stuck on the precipice of a planet about to be involved in a potential battle. That was only the beginning. She was having a bad day because the phaser had slipped from her trembling hands and, in her hasty attempt to catch it, she had nearly knocked over First Officer Spock. The half-Vulcan's dark eyes had snapped to her immediately, and his first comment was sharp despite his perfectly emotionless expression.

As previously stated, bad day.

"Captain, I believe there is a seventy-nine percent chance that the sentry has just spotted us."

"Seventy-nine is still less than a hundred," Kirk quipped. "Aren't you always talking about how important stealth is? Keep quiet, won't you?"

Nevertheless, he muttered a few quick words into his communicator to the other crew members in the party. A few mere seconds after that, however, it turned out that seventy-nine percent was high enough—the rebels gathered as an alarm rang out amongst them, and then suddenly shots were being fired.

Kirk swore as he and Spock immediately ducked behind the snow. The majority of the shots were coming from the opposite mountain face—a few scarce rebels were evidently positioned there as well in the event of an attack.

"Smarter than we gave them credit for, aren't they?" remarked Kirk to his XO.

Spock quirked an eyebrow. "If you recall, Captain, I warned you of this particular situation and you dismissed it."

Kirk shrugged and amended, "Alright, fine, I admit it."

It was then that the Captain noticed that Lieutenant Mercy was down, a rather large phaser burn on her shoulder.

Correction, again. Very bad day.

"I can't believe," grumbled McCoy, injecting Kirk with another hypospray, "you even took that girl on the mission."

"She's a tactical officer!" Kirk protested adamantly. "A lieutenant! How was I supposed to know she'd freeze up like that?"

"She's also young, green around the gills, and scared out of her mind when she leaves the bridge. And clumsy. Hella clumsy. I've had her in here more than once either because she tripped, walked into something, or the trembling got too bad. She's been on the receiving end of many a hypo, Jim."

"To be honest, I didn't recognize her." Jim's cheeks flushed. "I saw her uniform and picked her to go with us."

McCoy looked at his friend incredulously. "Seriously, Jim? She's been sitting at the controls on the bridge for what is it now, a week, two weeks? You didn't even recognize her?"

"She has one of those faces?" The weak defense sounded more like a question, as if he didn't really expect Bones to buy it.

"Well, anyway, don't guilt up too badly. She's fine. The Andorian rebel didn't have his weapon turned up or she might be dead. Just no more field missions. She's supposed to be a brilliant strategist, but don't try to hand her a phaser anymore."

Kirk exhaled in relief, nodded, and then looked sheepish. "If Spock comes down here, lie and tell him that I already spoke with her. He wanted to lecture her about the 'irresponsibility of her actions', but I said I'd do it. Last thing she needs when she wakes up is his lovely face telling her she did a terrible job."

Celyn woke up a couple of hours later, quietly accepting a hypo from the good doctor for pain, but before she could head back to the bridge, McCoy stopped her with a hand on her arm.

She gave him a smile—after all, he was probably the only one on this ship who acknowledged her. She supposed he was the closest thing to a friend she had, and he was surely the only one who gave her the light of day or recognized her skills.

It was true that Admiral Pike had recommended her, but the recommendation was slightly skewed; he had been tremendous friends with her deceased parents, and though she really did excel at military ideals, carrying them out outside of a ship's hull was a bit of a gray area for her. That gaping flaw, aversion to death, and perpetually shaking hands kept many professors at Starfleet Academy from expecting much of her. Without Pike's recommendation, she doubted she would have been promoted past Ensign.

"If that pointy-eared hobgoblin," said McCoy, "starts lecturing you, you tell him that the Captain already talked to you."

She furrowed her brow questioningly.

"Don't question it. The Captain likes to protect his crew as much as he can from the Vulcan's scolding."

The idea that Kirk was protecting her sent a small shot of warmth down her spine. She had long admired Kirk, even before the marvelous adventure that led to his captainship. If only he would acknowledge her, she would be more than happy. She would finally feel deserving.

The whole thing was bordering on hero-worship, and by the time her mind had finished reeling, Dr. McCoy had to give her another hypo before she could return to work—this one to stop her tremors again.

Bones watched her as she exited his sickbay, bandages thick on her shoulder and a sling restricting its movement. He felt sorry for the poor girl. He knew she was as old as Jim, but she seemed infinitely younger, more immature, more inexperienced, and much, much more scared. He remembered Pike contacting Jim, telling him to take care of her, and he also remembered Jim nodding absently with something completely separate obviously on his mind. It was now obvious that Jim hadn't been listening to the admiral's request, and Bones found himself glad that he had taken it upon himself to do so instead.

She was quite petite and fragile-looking, with a china doll face and large, round baby blue eyes. Her long hair was a very light, pale blonde, which she usually kept secured at the base of her neck with a flat clip. She seemed uncomfortable with her lieutenant title, almost never using it, and she almost flinched when others addressed her as such.

The door whooshed closed behind her, and McCoy sighed. He hadn't missed the weight loss, change of appetite, and lack of social interaction—his observations in the mess had given him plenty of examples. He also hadn't missed the way her face lit up when he mentioned that Jim was trying to protect her. He only hoped things would be different from now on.

She hadn't even reached the bridge when she came crashing into an unfortunately familiar face.

"Lieutenant Mercy, perhaps you would like to explain why you seem to enjoy being unaware of what you are doing." The half-Vulcan's gaze looked almost narrowed.

"I-I apologize, sir." Her gaze shot to him in a panic and then sank back down. Much safer to look at the floor instead of his cold, calculating eyes.

"It is my understanding that the Captain already spoke with you about your behavior during the mission?"

Celyn nodded, head down.

"Very well. I shall not berate you further on the issue, as I assume you understand where you went wrong."

"Yes, sir." She resisted the urge to bite her lip nervously.

"I see you are heading back to the bridge. No need. You have been relieved and do not need to report back for several more hours. Rest is in your best interest, Lieutenant. The Captain will want you in the best possible state for your shift."

At Spock's last sentence, something wonderful clicked in Celyn's mind. The Captain and his First Officer were friends, weren't they? Or at least on their way to it. And at the very least, they discussed the matter of crew as men in their positions often did. If she could somehow impress the half-Vulcan, or make some sort of positive impression on him, it was sure to pass to Kirk. Not to mention that he obviously respected his XO, and any opinion Spock had was likely to be considered.

The idea of impressing someone so emotionless, however, was nearly impossible and had more than a few drawbacks. After all, Nyota Uhura had been the closest person to Spock that anyone knew of, and merely a month after the Nero incident, the two had parted ways romantically. If he could end it with Uhura, how was someone like Celyn going to break his barrier?

Then she remembered something she'd heard once in the mess.

"Sir? Commander?" she said, looking up just as it appeared Spock was going to walk away. "Permission to…speak freely?"

Spock hesitated and then said, "Granted, Lieutenant."

"You…don't think very highly of me, do you?"

"An inappropriate question, wouldn't you think, Lieutenant?"

"Respectfully, sir, I do not think so." She stepped forward, forcing courage. This was necessary, she told herself. This was important. "If indeed your opinion of me is poor, I request to know what I can do to improve it."

She was choosing her words carefully—always best to do with a Vulcan.

"If you truly wish to know, Lieutenant, I find you undeserving of your promotion and do not think you worthy of being left solely in charge of the Enterprise's weaponry. True, your lack of opportunity to showcase your skill set—as we have had a remarkably peaceful few weeks in regards to ship-to-ship battles—may have contributed to my opinion, but there is a sixty-two point three percent chance that my assessment is correct regardless. If you wish to improve it, the only way would be to prove your strategic skills are up to par, preferably in a high-stress situation."

Celyn listened to his words and took a slow, deliberate breath. "Perhaps, sir, I can improve it in another way."

She waited for some sign of encouragement, some kind of hint to go on, and only received one raised eyebrow.

Here we go. Hit or miss. "I've heard it said that you and the Captain have started playing chess."

"Indeed."

There was silence for a while as again she searched for something to suggest that she continue, and for the second time she found nothing yet plundered on anyway.

"Would you like a new opponent, Commander?"

As it turned out, Spock had been leaving the bridge himself, shift over for the next several hours, and she accompanied him as he led her silently to his quarters. He observed her only once, as he opened the door, with that one curiously raised eyebrow still up. There was a chess table already set up, the pieces spread across the board as if someone had left in the middle of a game, and when Spock noticed her looking at it, he provided the explanation, "The Captain has an identical set in his quarters. We alternate, and our last game was interrupted. No matter, as I have memorized the layout of the pieces and will replace them when the Captain and I next choose to play."

He rearranged the pieces, and she took the vacant seat opposite him in front of the white set.

"I'm afraid, as Vulcans naturally are more gifted in logic and I have found few humans able to pose much challenge, that there is a seventy-three point two five chance that I will win, and in a short time." He looked at her over clasped fingers.

She sported a weak smile, his low expectation cutting her. "Did you know that sixty-four percent of statistics are made up?"

His eyebrows drew together in a frown. "I am not familiar with that figure."

Her hands trembled nervously and she willed them to stop, sure that if she shook while placing her pieces she would make some kind of irrevocable error. "It's a joke."

"I see."

He said nothing more, waiting for her to take her first move. She did so, finger precariously touching the top of her pawn as she contemplated the numerous ways he could counter what she knew would be an obvious attempt for check. Perhaps she could lure him into it…

And so the game began.

Her shoulder was beginning to throb despite the hypospray. Those few short stabs of pain, however, served to clear her mind, which had fogged considerably upon seeing the trap she'd fallen into. It was not checkmate, not yet, but she could see no way that wouldn't land her there. His bishop was already aimed at her last remaining knight that guarded her king, and if she moved it out of harm's way, her king would be easily accessible. If she left it, it would be taken in the next turn and there would be checkmate. His second bishop and queen blocked the exits, so moving her king was no option. Her bishop, she knew, could take his queen—then, however, he could simply move his rook to take her bishop and put her right back where she was, one piece short.

In the way of his king, she had only two straggling pawns. Though one of those pawns had been useful in an opportunistic taking of his first rook and his sacrifice of one knight, they were now essentially useless.

Two pawns, one knight, two bishops, and her king—her queen had been taken embarrassingly early. Those were the only pieces she had left.

She placed her finger atop her king, prepared to tip it in defeat, when suddenly the solution came to her with the pain, and it was so glaringly obvious that she wondered how he could not have thought of a provision for it. She removed her finger from her king and instead moved to her second bishop, sliding it along the board, worried that if she picked it up to move it, she would shake too badly.

Then she sat back, watching Spock's face carefully, and said quietly, "Check."

It was not checkmate, by a long shot, but it was remarkably farther than most humans got. It was evident that James T. Kirk was not the only human to challenge the half-Vulcan. He was left scolding himself for not closing the gap she had just slipped her bishop through, but even though this game had lasted 11.3 minutes longer than anticipated, she would not win.

With a quick flick of his wrist and a shift of his queen, it was over. "Check mate."

Lieutenant Mercy stared at the board for a moment, stunned. "But I…I was sure I had…"

"Perhaps you should practice more," he suggested. "At the very least try to keep more of your vital pieces. I would be able to assist, Lieutenant, as I find chess quite enjoyable and your playing style, though unpolished, is…stimulating."

She barely heard him, feeling disappointed in herself and sensing hardly a discernable change in his demeanor towards her, and stood. "Thank you, sir. If you'll excuse me, I believe rest is necessary for me." And another hypospray. How is it wearing off already?

She left his quarters, making her way to her own—she decided to forgo the additional hypospray, as her tired mind wouldn't let her. Before she drifted to sleep for a few hours' rest, she thought of Captain Kirk. Then her eyes closed, and she dreamed about being shot.

"Are you okay, kid?"

Celyn blinked, stirred from her reverie, as the doctor hesitated with the hypo hovering above her skin. "I'm fine, doctor."

He didn't look like he believed her, but he injected her quickly and painlessly—she always wondered why the Captain complained about getting hypos so much—and then stepped back.

"You're all set to go," he said. "Just enough pain medicine in there to get you through your shift on the bridge."

"Thank you," she replied tonelessly, and her voice gave him pause again.

"Really, kid, you sure you're okay? You did just get shot for the first time—"

"It's nothing," she assured him. "I'm just tired."

McCoy squinted at her. "If you're depressed, Mercy, I have a hypo—"

"I don't need medicine, Dr. McCoy." Her response a bit too quick, she calmed herself down a bit before adding, "I just need time to adjust. As you said, first time being shot. It's my understanding that takes a little getting used to."

"It'll be the last time." He nodded confidently. "I already told the Captain not to send you out on any more dangerous missions."

"I appreciate that." But maybe if I want him to notice me…I'll have to learn how to use a phaser correctly. I'll need to be more prepared for next time. This is my chance.

No longer was she invisible. Captain Kirk had seen her, interacted with her, and now he knew who she was. She was, hopefully and presumably, one step closer to making an impression on his first officer. This was her opportunity.

She would be recognized by the Captain. She would deserve her position. She would make her parents proud.

And if she failed? Then she never deserved the chance in a first place.

She was more than a little distracted during her shift. She tried not to let it show, but the bridge was uneventful and slow, and though she kept a weary eye on the ship's shield monitors, her mind was elsewhere. It changed focus several times; from the fuzzy, dull pain, to Captain Kirk, to her chess game with Spock, and then finally to who she could ask for type two phaser training. Or training of any kind, really. They taught the basics in the Academy, and while she'd received a passing grade, her marks were less than desirable.

Her shift passed by in a whirl, and suddenly the solution appeared to her in the form of Hikaru Sulu.

"Lieutenant Sulu," she said as she stood, gathering the confidence so her voice wouldn't stammer. "When is your shift over?"

He looked confused, as she had never spoken to him before, and beside him Pavel Chekov gawked.

"I 'ave never 'eard you speak, Lieutenant," he said.

Ignoring him but with slightly flushed cheeks, Celyn waited for Sulu to respond.

"In an hour or so," he finally said.

"Can you come to my quarters?" She told him the location of her room. "I have a request for you."

She waited for his nod and then smiled genuinely, giving the two men an additional shock, and by the time she entered her quarters, the ship was atwitter.

"I didn't know she talked," murmured Sulu. "She always seemed so deathly shy…"

"I forgot about her getting promoted," admitted a communications officer in the mess. "She doesn't make much of an impact, y'know?"

"Just kind of fades into the background," added another.

"We haven't even needed the ship's weapons lately, it's no wonder we forgot about her—"

McCoy heard all this, sitting at a table with Jim and Scotty, and smiled to himself. He knew how Celyn felt about the fact that she was nearly invisible. You're certainly not invisible now, kid. He knew that whatever she had done, however small, to get noticed, it was all only for Jim.

It had taken quite a few tries to stutter out her request to Sulu when he showed up at her door. A major part of her mind had expected he would simply ignore her. When she told him, however, that she wanted to be a more adept fighter, he told her what she already knew from stories and crew gossip: "I'm more well-versed in hand-to-hand combat and fencing, Lieutenant Mercy."

"T-That's fine," she said. "Teach me. Please."

"You don't seem like the type to want to fight or kill." He eyed her carefully.

"Incapacitate," she said. "Self-defense and…the defense of others."

He agreed, and she expressed her wish that they begin immediately. Impossible, he said, until her shoulder had healed. Before he left, he gave her another sympathetic look and said, "If you want to learn to fight, even for self-defense, you will have to master the confidence and grace of a fighter."

He was referring, obviously, to her track record of clumsiness and stuttering. She promptly turned a bright scarlet and assured him she would be training herself in that as he trained her in martial arts.

It took a few slow, mind-numbing days for her wound to heal fully. She came into the sick bay for her last check up with Dr. McCoy, something in her eyes giving him pause to ask, "What are you up to?"

She started, her face an expression of guilt. "Nothing—"

"Never thought you'd try flat out lying to me, kid."

Flinching, she relented and said, "I want to be...stronger. Emotionally."

"Not followin'."

"I want to stop shaking and stuttering and—"

"That'll just come with confidence," he said, smiling. "Can't force that."

In between her three-times weakly training sessions with Sulu and her long, uneventful shifts on the bridge, she practiced chess with the computer. She made casual observations in the mess, occasionally invited by McCoy, when their meals coordinated, to join his table. She tried to open up more, but outside of meals she was firmly focused on her tasks and training. It wasn't much of a change from her regular, but enough to make McCoy suspicious.

During the next month, there were ongoing efforts by the Enterprise to stop rebel Andorian forces from killing Aenar in an attempt to provoke the pacifist race into war, or at the very least cause genocide.

Now, they had finally reached the point of negotiations, and at Bones' urging, Jim Kirk had decided to bring an extra person along besides just himself and his first officer. When he informed said XO about the change, he repeated the same thing Bones had said to him.

"Come on, Spock, don't be so grumpy—"

"I am not grumpy, Captain, that is highly illogical—"

"—she'll be plenty helpful. We're not asking her to fight, we're asking her to be present in case of military tactics discussions. She's apparently very gifted in that, it's why Pike suggested her for promotion to Lieutenant."

"Her presence is unnecessary, Captain."

The young woman was, as it turned out, standing directly behind him.

"Respectfully, Commander Spock, I disagree. Please allow this opportunity to prove myself."

"Lieutenant Mercy." He acknowledged her presence by turning and giving a quick nod of his head. "I was merely suggesting you would be wasting time and find yourself very bored."

She didn't respond, but it was clear she wouldn't allow herself to be deterred from accompanying them. The three stepped onto the transport and Scotty beamed them down. Before they entered the Andorian meeting room—the negotiations were to take place between the Andorian elders and the rebels, with Kirk and his XO mediating—Spock paused and said, "You have not requested a game of chess in some time."

Kirk turned, puzzled, and said, "We just played a game yesterday."

"I apologize, Captain, I was speaking to the Lieutenant."

"Is now the appropriate time?" She chanced a look to his eyes and tried a small smile. "If it appeases you, we shall have a game later today."

It did appear as though her suggestion appeased him; there was a subtle shift in the way he held himself, almost a relaxation of his shoulders. Once they entered the negotiation room, the matter was spoken no more of.

Contrary to Spock's belief, Celyn wasn't remotely bored. She sat, gaze riveted on Kirk, hanging off of every word. He was just marvelous. He was charming and intelligent, smiling widely at the Andorian elders when one of them got a bit too impatient and assuring the alien that everything would be handled so that both parties were content. Spock sat silently at Kirk's right hand, tall and strong and poised but for the most part not speaking, except the occasional logical statement usually accompanied by one of Kirk's witty quips. Negotiations were actually going marvelously well, despite the fact that Andorians held a natural contentment and dislike for both humans and Vulcans. Evidently, Captain Kirk's newborn reputation preceded him, and the elders were able to stomach their discontentment at the faces of their mediators.

Celyn sat beside Spock, closest to the rebels, but stayed quiet so as not to interrupt her captain's flow. An hour into the negotiations, however, the leader of the rebels—angry because of his lost cause—slammed his fist down on the table and said, his antennae flat against his head with rage, "It is bad enough, Akoval, that you have refused to acknowledge the importance of our cause, but tainting our negotiations with a Vulcan and two pink-skins is an insult I can no longer ignore."

Akoval, the head Andorian elder, spoke firmly. "You have made this a Federation matter, Thelin. Captain Kirk and his crew have assisted us in preventing your cause, as you call it. It is only natural that they be present."

"I cannot believe that you can continue, pretending that the Aenar deserve to live on this planet alongside the Andorians—"

"You can't honestly believe that killing them all is the solution."

There was silence in the room as everyone turned to look at the human girl who, with a bright blushing face, resisted the urge to slide down further in her seat.

"Why should they live?" Thelin finally responded. His eyes glared daggers at her.

"They're a pacifist race, provoking them into war wasn't going to work, and by changing your game plan to genocide, you do nothing but create a bad name for your 'cause'." She spoke as though she thought this was obvious. "No one outside of the few rebels you've managed to brainwash will ever believe that what you're trying to do is noble. The Aenar have done nothing to you."

"Lieutenant," spoke Spock sharply while the Captain merely stared. "I suggest now is the time you cease speaking."

"I don't expect you to understand, pink-skin," Thelin hissed. His antennae remained flat, usually taut expression contorted.

"You want them to die because you don't trust them. Because they're different," she whispered, despite the Vulcan First Officer's obvious disapproval. "Because they're weak. You think they're weak because they are peaceful. They think you are weak because you fight instead of handling things diplomatically."

"Lieutenant. I order you to—"

Celyn looked up at Spock, partially afraid and partially firm in her words. "Sir, these negotiations are doomed from the start if they don't respect us—"

"Respect is earned in battle."

And just like that, Celyn felt a knife to her throat. The Andorian rebel leader stood behind her, holding her close, and though all four of the other men in the room were standing, he had been sitting too near to her already for them to have reacted any sooner. Spock's hand was on his phaser, and Kirk had already drawn his, but it didn't matter. Thelin had her positioned so she was shielding him.

"Perhaps," he said, "I have decided negotiation is not what I want after all." He looked to something past Celyn, but Kirk anticipated it and spun to aim his phaser at the leader's right hand man.

"Don't even think about it," the captain said.

"Lieutenant, do not move," said Spock.

She almost didn't get over how stupid that order seemed to her at that moment. Then, however, she realized that she had lucked out—this was another opportunity. So she inhaled slowly, thought once about what Sulu had taught her, and in a whirl of movement in which she caught Thelin luckily off-guard, their roles were reversed.

She elbowed him beneath his ribs first, slipping under the arm that held the knife, drawing her phaser in a smooth, practiced motion. From there, she put him in a headlock with the crook of her left arm, using her outstretched left hand to grip his wrist and bend it back until he was forced to release the knife, and then aimed her phaser at his temple. The whole thing happened slower than Sulu would have done it, and lacking the grace of a master, but it served its purpose in the end—she was out of harm's way, and the rebel leader was now in quite a predicament.

Captain Kirk was staring at her with a gaping jaw, obviously stunned, and who could blame him? Last time he had seen her off of the ship's bridge, she had frozen up in a battle and gotten herself shot immediately. He'd probably been expecting a similar reaction here, and it thrilled her to know she managed to exceed his expectations.

She tensed, betting on getting a fight out of her new captive and knowing that if she did, she should be prepared to release him or get hurt. She wasn't strong enough to hold him if he struggled. With the adrenaline pumping through her veins, she nearly missed the stinging on her arm and sent an incredulous glance at it. Hm. Apparently her technique still needed work. She had nicked her arm on Thelin's knife in the process of escaping him—had actually nicked it quite badly. Blood was dripping down her arm onto her hostage, and when he saw it, he suddenly relaxed.

"Admirable, human," he mumbled, forgoing the insult. "Maybe negotiations can be reconsidered."

"You will listen and abandon your cause?"

"In exchange for full pardon and amnesty for myself and my men." Thelin looked to Akoval as Celyn released him, pressing her free hand to her arm to stem the bleeding. The trembling had begun again and, as the adrenaline wore off, she felt the sudden urge to cry. "And I want my original military position back."

The terms deemed reasonable, negotiations were ended as Kirk got Scotty on the comm and said, "Beam us up…and have Bones at the ready, Lieutenant Mercy got hurt."

Spock said nothing and refused to look at her, and Celyn could easily gather that he was, in his own Vulcan show-emotion-and-die way, pissed off at her.

Bones rushed to her first, examining her arm, and then shot an angry look at Jim. "I told you to bring her for her to observe, not for her to get slashed by some white-haired blue-skinned—"

"Dr. McCoy," she interrupted gently, the hand over her wound shaking so badly that she had to drop it down to her side. "Don't worry. It was my own fault, no fault of the captain's. It seems I will need more training."

"Training, Mercy?" He frowned at her.

"Lieutenant Sulu has been training me in martial arts for the better part of a month." She blushed as he wiped blood from her arm. "Will it need stitches?"

"Yes, it will," he replied, giving her a hard glance. "How did you get this at what was supposed to be a peaceful meeting?"

"The rebel leader held a knife to me. In my getting around it, I accidentally cut myself. I'm sorry for the inconvenience." She furrowed her brow, looking concerned that he was upset with her.

"You get sliced and you're sorry for the inconvenience," he mumbled. "C'mon, kid, let's go get you patched up."

Celyn flinched with every tug and pull of the needle as he brought it through her skin. The trembling had increased tenfold.

"I thought you were done getting hurt," he said.

"You said I would no longer be shot," she corrected with a small, forced smile.

He merely grunted. "I have to get some more anesthetic. That should help with the pain." He left, heading towards the back, and left her alone sitting on the edge of a sick bay bed. Nurse Chapel was nowhere to be seen, but then again, she never was when Celyn was here. She always seemed to be suspiciously missing when McCoy treated her.

Celyn scooted back farther on the bed so her legs could swing off the edge, and she took deep, steadying breaths while her fingers and hands convulsed.

I have to calm down.

She breathed in again, and then began the only thing besides medicine that proved to calm her nerves—she began to quietly sing. She sang as she always did, with eyes closed and voice gentle, the song a lullaby her grandmother had sung for her. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, but as she sang and let the pleasant memories wash over her, she felt her muscles relaxing until she was calm.

She allowed her eyes to open slowly so as not to break her own spell, but the appearance of a certain tall, commanding man caused her to jump and nearly undid her calm. The power of the song over her nerves remained, however, and she was overjoyed to find the twitching did not begin anew.

"Commander Spock," she said, her voice betraying her surprise.

His eyes must have been widened, because as she took in his expression she saw the distinct sign of them returning slightly to normal size, and then he spoke, "Captain Kirk requested I come to check on the progress of your wound and inform him, as he has to fill out a mission report and could not come himself. I see the doctor is taking care of everything."

"Y-yeah, he just went to get something."

"May I ask…what was that song you were just singing?"

"Oh!" She felt heat bloom across her cheeks. "That? A lullaby, that's all, it calms me—"

"Where did you hear it?"

"It's…My grandmother sang it to me when I was little and had trouble sleeping—"

"Where did she hear it?" Spock pressed. He seemed content to pry, but he kept his voice carefully controlled.

"I don't know, sir, why is it important?"

Before he could answer, McCoy reappeared and, upon noticing the first officer, pointed his finger and said, "No. No. Step away from my patient. I won't have you harassing her."

"I was merely asking a simple question, Dr. McCoy."

"Don't give me that, I know the kinds of questions you ask and I know how people generally react to those questions, and—"

"I'm alright, doctor," said Celyn softly. She reached out, hesitated, and then placed her hand on his shoulder. "He didn't do anything."

The doctor grunted with a skeptical expression, but his temper faded almost immediately. "If that's the case, I apologize for my hasty conclusion. Look, just let me finish up her arm and then you can get back to your…questions."

Celyn frowned, but McCoy merely bent his head over her injury, applied the anesthetic, and finished her stitches.

"I no longer have questions for the lieutenant," said Spock tonelessly. He turned his eyes to her and added, "I shall be ready at 2100 in my quarters, Lieutenant. If that is acceptable."

She nodded absently, distracted by the needle in her arm, but when the door whooshed closed behind Spock, McCoy asked, "Ready in his quarters for what?"

Blinking, she spoke slowly. "Oh. Right. I promised him a game of chess earlier. He seemed mad at me after the negotiations, though, so I'd just assumed…"

"Apparently he's got a hankering for chess. Plays it with Jim all the time." He gave her a strange look. "You're alright being alone with him in his quarters late at night?"

"Should I not be?" she asked with a frown.

He almost sighed. Her face was so expressive, eyes so open—it was like reading a book with big, bolded letters. "You're young, and female, and naïve, and really not that bad looking. And I know he's half Vulcan, emotional control and all that jazz, but despite being a green-blooded hobgoblin, he's still a man. There's still half of a human in there, with human instincts and human…needs."

The look on her face showed him immediately she was not comprehending right away. He waited, allowing time for it to fully sink in, and then watched a light slowly go off in her brain as she realized what he was implying. Her cheeks turned the bright red he was used to as she looked at the ground with a flummoxed expression, and then finally whispered, "I never thought…"

She wasn't even sure what she was trying to say. 'I never thought it was a possibility'? 'I never thought I was attractive enough for that to happen'? 'I never thought about that'? 'I never thought about him'?

The first two were true—she had never considered herself very attractive, and therefore the possibility of anyone liking her had never been a realistic one. The last two were only half true. It wasn't like she'd never thought about what it would be like if Spock…After all, what girl on this ship in her right mind hadn't? He was intelligent and good-looking, if a bit of an emotionless jerk sometimes. She had to admit the thought process had crossed her imagination once or twice; little things like, what would it be like if he kissed her, or what would he look like without his shirt? In the end, considering most of her dreams involved the captain, not the first officer, her curiosity had never gone much farther beyond that.

Certainly not to the extent McCoy was suggesting.

Besides…this was Spock. He had broken up with Uhura, for God's sake! Anyone who gave up a woman so obviously perfect for him was not going to throw himself on a naïve lieutenant during a chess game. She couldn't picture it at all. It just wasn't in his character.

"You probably don't have to worry about it," assured McCoy. "It's Spock after all. Just something to keep in mind, kid."

Celyn thanked him again and left, trying not to seem in too much of a hurry to flee to her room and be left to her private thoughts for the hour or so until 2100.

Celyn was trying her best to not allow herself to sweat. She tried, with all her might, to focus on the game, the chess pieces, and not to look at the Vulcan seated across from her.

On this particular night, the temperature within Spock's quarters was uncomfortably warm. She could feel the heat, too, radiating from his body, and it wasn't just the temperature that warmed her cheeks—McCoy's earlier comments didn't help anything either.

This game had gone on too long. Her training with the computer had made her a better opponent for Spock, but now she was wishing she wasn't. Her knee bounced and her eyes scanned the board without actually absorbing anything.

"You're uncomfortable," stated Spock suddenly.

"N-No!" she protested in a weak voice. "I'm…I'm waiting for you to make your move."

He raised an eyebrow. "I made my move six point nine minutes ago, Lieutenant."

She blushed more, blindly moving a piece forward, and now both of his eyebrows were raised.

"Is something bothering you, Lieutenant?"

"No." She licked her dry lips. "Why?"

"In the whole of this game, you have made a total of three mistakes, and the average time you contemplated each of your moves is about two point seven six minutes. This leads me to the conclusion, Lieutenant, that this last move does not fit. Have you grown tired of our game?"

She flinched, caught, and said, "I'm sorry. It's…late."

He blinked as if not aware of how long their game had actually run and glanced at his PADD. "I apologize as well. It was not my intention to keep you this late. We can continue at our next encounter."

Celyn stood, fiddling with her hair clip, but relieved. Her legs wobbled beneath her, frazzled nerves mixing with the fact that she'd been sitting for quite some time. She wanted to get out of this stifling heat and to her own room, where she'd strip down to nothing and cool down—

As she turned away from the table to leave, not pushing her chair back enough, her foot caught on the leg of the table and she tumbled forward. A hand grabbed hers, tugging her upright, but at the contact of their skin she gasped aloud as the heat traveled from her fingertips and palms into her bloodstream. It was almost like alcohol, except the effect wasn't numbing—it intensified every nerve ending in her body until she was on fire, electricity under her skin, blazing in her chest—

It was gone with the disappearance of Spock's hand. He released her almost as quickly as they touched, allowing the still off-balance girl to hit the floor with an unceremonious thud. The whole thing had happened in an instant, and Celyn was still reeling from the heat when he said, as emotionless as if nothing had occurred, "Are you alright, Lieutenant?"

She stared up at him from the ground, momentarily at a loss. His hand twitched at his side, as if he had been about to extend his hand to help her up. As it was, she propped herself upright before standing, without any assistance. "Fine," she muttered. "I'm fine."

"Indeed. I shall see you on the bridge tomorrow then, Lieutenant. Goodbye."

He ushered her out the door—If I didn't know better, I'd say he was actually anxious for me to leave…—and she made her way back to her room in a kind of daze.

It must have been nothing, she thought. I shouldn't think anymore of it.

But she did, and those thoughts kept her awake for the next four hours, leaving her only an hour-long window for sleep before the next day began and she would have to face the Vulcan again. Celyn wasn't sure how much more of this she could take.

Almost against her will, her thoughts slowed and her eyes closed, and she began to sleep.

A/N: Please review! I want to know what you think.