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.

I Waited

by Djinn



I waited. Since that kiss on the bridge that we both said meant nothing.


"You know me well," I told both you and T'Pring as you excused my actions.


To T'Pring I lied by misdirection.


I never actually believed you could have feelings for Nurse Chapel.


"Of course not," I said, which could be seen to be agreement that of course I could never, but what I meant was of course T'Pring would never actually believe it.


Despite it being true.


I have had feelings for you since the day I met you. I just did not realize how they would grow.




Become everything.


I know for certain there's no feelings between us.


And to you, I said, "I'm glad to hear that."


Because I was relieved that you believed that. That both of my women believed me incapable of the feelings that were, in fact, plaguing me.


It is as if the first time you injected me with your genetic disguise, you changed something fundamental in me.


I twisted and turned, and my emotions rose inside me until I stood in a corridor outside a memorial service and slammed my fist into a panel.


And told you to leave me alone.


And grabbed your wrist when you reached for me. I could have broken it.


Except it was you and I could never hurt you.


Not ever.


I let you hug me, in full view of whoever might come down that corridor.


I hugged you back.


When I pulled away finally, I expected you to follow me.


You did not.


I waited. In my quarters. For you to come. For you to give me yourself.


But you are more prudent than I. You stayed away.


You have continued to stay away.


Until I almost lost you.


Until I believed I had lost you.


Until I felt tears in my eyes, in the center seat of a starship, as I blew another ship out of the sky—with you on it.


I thought.


But we found you and M'Benga in time.


I left the bridge without giving anyone the conn. I ran through the corridors, nearly collided with the transporter room doors because they did not open quickly enough.


M'Benga was awake but you—you appeared dead.


And something in me would have died with you. You could not die.


Not when I'd waited for you. I waited to launch the torpedoes to give you time to get out.


I knew you would get out.


It was...a hunch. It was illogical.


And yet, you survived.


I sit by your biobed for too long each time I come down here. Leaving the bridge too frequently, but I hope to be here when you wake.


And at least now I leave the conn to someone, do not just run off.


I do not think anyone on the bridge will report me for dereliction but if they do, I will not refute it.


I am derelict. I would be derelict in all things for you.


You are all that matters.


"Mister Spock, I'm going to wake her now." M'Benga is so gentle with me, as if I will break. "Are you sure you want to be here when she wakes?"


"Why would I not want to be?"


"She may not stay on the ship. Do you understand what I'm saying? This...rumspringa of yours—how long will it last?"


I know the reference and it irritates me. I am not some callow youth intent on carousing.


I am here to offer support, care—the way you would me if our places were reversed.


And it was you who told me to unleash my emotions. So I did. And then you held me and I felt more.


I do not know where my future lies. I have a fiancee.


But I do not feel anything for her like I feel for you.


Then again, she would not wish me to.


"Mister Spock, please consider your actions." There is a fierceness underneath his words and I wonder, not for the first time, what untold story lies between you and him.


I meet his eyes. "Do you love her?"


"More than anyone but my daughter. But not like you think. I know her and she knows me. And this is a fundamental truth about her: she loves with everything in her or not at all. If you can't give everything, you need to go back to the bridge."


I do not know how to answer that. "I feel—"


"I know you feel strongly for her. I understand that. But can you promise her everything?"


I am not sure I can promise you anything.


Much less everything.


"She knows you brought her back to life. She heard what you said. Let that be enough. So when she goes—if she goes..."


"I do not want her to go."


"You are emotionally compromised. But I am not going to put you on report. However, if you stay here when I wake her, I will."


I stare at him and see the truth—a truth that might have eluded me before, when being untruthful without lying was not so important. He is hiding something. Something that happened to both of you. "What did you leave out of your mission reports, Doctor?"


His face changes and he looks away. "It is immaterial."


I touch your face—all traces of your injuries are gone.


But I felt it when you touched me, your hand on my cheek, your emotions pouring into me.








Annoyance—and pain—that I broke one of your ribs while resuscitating you.


And an energy that was the residue of—


"Juice," I whisper and he backs away slightly. "You gave her—"


"I didn't give her it. She took it. We've done it before and..." He looks away. "Please go, Spock, so I can wake her."


"I will wait. So I can ascertain the truth. Perhaps it is you who will be on report."


He looks betrayed. "You think I would do that to her against her will?"


"You were alive when we found you. She was not. I will ask her." I take the hypospray from his hand and hold it against your neck.


He scans you but he stays far from me. And you slowly come awake and I feel the emotions I cannot begin to describe when your eyes open and you see me first, your smile is for me, not him.


Not anyone but me.


But then it fades and you turn to him and he says, "He won't leave you. And he figured out we took juice—he thinks I forced you."


And then he turns and leaves us alone.


I take your hand and you don't fight me, and I feel so many things from you.


Love is at the forefront.


I wish you could feel what I do. I wish you could tell me what it means.


I wish you could tell me what to do.


"Don't blame him for that. He and I—during the war. You need to be on the bridge." Your voice is stark and scratchy and you pull your hand from mine. "I appreciate your concern."


"Please. I do not...I do not want to wait any longer."


"Spock, please go. I can't do this."


"M'Benga said you might leave. Why? For how long?"


"Forever. For two months. For two weeks. For a day. Does it matter?"


"To me, yes." I waited. And I almost lost you.


Do not make me wait any longer.


I lean down and lay my lips against yours, moving slowly so you can turn your head if you want—if my kiss is unwelcome.


You do not turn away. You do not deepen the kiss either, but you do not turn away.


I ease back and stroke your face. "I waited. I will continue to wait—until you are ready. I will be on the bridge if you need me."


I do not want to leave you.


I do it anyway.


On the bridge and later in my quarters, making the music M'Benga said would calm me—I sit and try to find some semblance of serenity.


As I wait.


For you.