DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc and Viacom. The story contents are the creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2023 by Djinn. This story is Rated PG-13.

Flawlessly Logical

by Djinn

Stonn wanted me, I wanted him.

I knew something was wrong before we performed the V'Shal. I knew and yet I was afraid to ask you what it was. I will be honest, I kept looking for her, for that white-blonde hair to blind me—and you.

She did not appear and I thought we would make it. The ceremony would be a trial to endure, but it is supposed to be. It is the alternative to the old ways, when challenges were paid in bloodied bodies rather than bruised egos.

It is ironic: Stonn is pure Vulcan, a creature of logic, accepted as I am to work at Ankeshtan K'Til, and yet I saw more emotion in his eyes as I left for the engagement ritual than I saw in your—apparently—fully human eyes the entire time I was on the ship (while you lied to me, while everyone on that ship who knew lied to me).

I thought of Stonn as I made my way back to Vulcan, silently sitting in the shuttle, running my hands down a dress I had come to despise. Now that the kal-if-fee is over, I will burn it. Finally. I will watch until nothing remains but the smallest cinders.

I could not do it before. I could not risk my mother knowing my plans.

And certainly back then, I could not tell my mother that you and I had parted (but not parted), nor would I tell my father, even if he would have been kind and sympathetic. Because if my mother had asked him, he could not have hidden the truth from her—and she would have sensed his sadness for me.

And she would have taken it in with a sense of triumph, I would have heard her superior chastisement, "I told you it would be thus," and I could not bear that.

And to be honest, I was reeling in confusion and disappointment and pain.

What did I not do for you, Spock? How did I not protect you? What allowances was I not willing to make? I committed the crime of releasing Sybok—for you. I would have done anything for you.

And you did this to me?

I cannot even blame Christine. I believe she is honorable. It is you who wished to have all the pretty things. It is you who are fickle. It is you who allowed both of us to run in circles trying to save you (how many times?) as you sat back and pondered, "Her...or her?"

And now it is more simple. No more questions about which of us. No, you have your captain, and while I adored Chris, you have kept this captain from me. My first glimpse of him was on a view screen. (I saw Christine, in the background. Did you leave her or did she—as I suspect—leave you? And does she, like I, still harbor an inconvenient love for you, one that will not die no matter how much time passes? No matter how much she might want it to expire? No matter how far she runs to escape you?)

I could not see the truth after Angel you captive—after that kiss with Christine. I closed my eyes to it. I said you could not possibly love her—but I meant anyone. Anyone but me. But I saw it during the V'Shal, when she brought you the medicine that would restore your Vulcan half. When you chose her without choosing. (You are a coward, Spock. So passive. Going along but rebelling silently and in private. I would respect you more if you had been honest—or if you had ever asked for an end to our engagement. But you did not.)

You chose again without choosing, when just a few hours ago your blood brought you down here and yet you still looked to your captain with your heart.

And just that quickly my plan changed and I chose your lover as my champion.

My logic was flawless but it was nothing compared to my hatred, to my desire for retribution. You humiliated me when I was nothing but open and trusting. I would destroy the thing you loved most. Or I would destroy you. It mattered little to me which of these eventualities came to pass.

Stonn will forgive me eventually because he loves me. His pride may not ever be soothed, but love is more than pride.

You have become much known among our people, Spock. Almost a legend. And as the years went by, I came to know that I did not want to be the consort of a legend.

Or more accurately to be a figure of mockery. It is well known that I pursued you when we were young. Even if I made you wait once I had secured your affection. I was determined to have you.

To my mother's dismay. I am beautiful; even on this planet of beauty, I am exceptionally lovely. I am logical; even on the planet of logic, I am a model of Surak's teachings. I am intelligent; even on this planet of brilliance, I run circles around so many in conversation.

(I am also angry. But that I hide, for there is no room for anger on this planet.)

I never wanted a legend. I wanted you.

No, I must be honest,. I wanted all the things that came with you. Your mother, who was so kind to me. Your father, who was strong and a force to be reckoned with, not someone who would defer in all things to his wife. Even your brother, who dangerously espoused emotions and your human "sister," who nearly became Vulcan.

I saw in your family the balance I craved. Love and logic.

I thought you were the quintessential example of this balance. With you I would find the passion I desired deep within me. With you I would show logic to the world and know true love when alone.

I saw a future with you. I thought your need to be away, on that ship, was a phase.

(As we both know, it was not.)

While I waited for these things I yearned so strongly for, I became a thing to be pitied—or mocked. Yes, Spock, I was mocked. Silently but I could see it in their eyes.

I was an object lesson: There goes someone who wanted love over logic. See how she is fallen.

But by the laws of our people, I could only divorce you by the kal-if-fee.

I risked nothing by doing this. That is what I want you to understand. By the time you were finally drawn back by the burning, I wore our status of unfinalized marriage like a yoke around my shoulders.

You should have been called back to Vulcan years earlier. You should have been called back to Vulcan while you were still with her.

It would have been a fitting revenge: to take you from the woman who took you even if only for the extent of the Pon Farr.

And it would have been a blameless one: our biology caused it, not our choices.

But it did not come when you were with her.

There was also Stonn, who wanted very much to be my consort, and I wanted him. If your Captain were victor, he would not want me, and so I would have Stonn. If you were victor you would free me because I had dared to challenge, and again I would have Stonn. But if you did not free me, it would be the same. For you would be gone, and I would have your name and your property, and Stonn would still be there.

No matter who ended up the victor and my ostensible "owner," I would be free. Of you. Of my mother. Of this planet's expectation.

Of all of it.

And I would have a love that did not waver. Even if I would never love him the way I did you.

Even if I would never love him at all. I wanted him and that was enough.

I preferred him, and that was also enough.

I will bear him beautiful children. They could have been yours.

And the thing that will haunt me forever is not that I have done these things to you. But how little—now that it appears your captain survived the challenge—you will care.

Even though I did not wish to be the consort of a legend, I will still be a footnote. Spock's wife: see T'Pring.

FIN