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) 2022 by Djinn. This story
is Rated R.
It's in the Spaces Between That We Fall in
Love
by Djinn
Part 1: How We Began
He knows he should stay away
from Christine. After the kiss, after renewing the bond with T'Pring, after
Christine's statement in sickbay that she knew there were no feelings between
them.
He should stay away from her.
Because for him, it is not
true. He is unsure if he is able to hide his true feelings for Christine from
T'Pring, or if T'Pring knows but thinks he will not act on them if she pretends
he could never want such a thing.
Such a human thing.
But he finds himself again in
sickbay, the next day, and Christine is in the small office M'Benga has given
her to use for her Stanford work. She is biting her lip the way she does when
she concentrates. She is tapping her finger on the desk in her normal rapid,
impatient manner.
And then she sees him and her
demeanor shifts into warmth, into welcome, into a bright smile.
That she immediately
restrains. "Hi."
"Good morning." He
tries to make his voice as good humored as he can, tries to get them back to
where they were before the kiss. "I brought you breakfast."
He has brought nothing, but
she usually does not eat breakfast, so it is a joke.
A weak one, no doubt.
But still, he is trying.
She rolls her eyes but her
smile returns.
A smile he finds beautiful
and warm and welcoming.
"Actually, I come with a
request. But you must say no if you do not wish to do it. I know it is a
breach, that what I am asking is something I should leave alone."
She cocks her head the way
she does when she just wants him to continue and get to the actual question.
"I would like to know if
Xaverius—Sybok—has been logged into any Federation transporters. I am trying to
chart his movement since the time that he was removed from our house." He
sees her lift her hand to stop him but does not take a breath. "I wish to
know if he has been held there the entire time. Or if he was at one time free,
where he met Angel, where he lived a life. Before they took him back to that
place."
He is out of breath so he
stops.
She smiles gently at him.
"I did it last night. Once you told me it was your brother. I looked for
anyone related to you. You have a lot of cousins, by the way. Human ones, as
well as a few Vulcan."
"I am aware." And
he is not close to any of them.
"Your father and mother,
obviously, are well represented in the logs. As are you. But I could find no
evidence of a half-sibling." She reaches out and he takes her hand.
"I'm sorry."
He can feel her compassion.
And her love. If she could
feel his, he knows she would never let him stay with T'Pring, never let him
go—her love feels that enduring.
That alluring.
But she does not know. And he
will not tell her.
##
She is holding him, her arms
so strong around him, care for him fairly pulsing through him after her touch
on his face.
She has no idea that he allowed
his rage out because she was on the mission. Because the idea of losing her to
the Gorn was too much to bear.
He was indeed a tempest, and
now he cannot control it.
So he walks away.
He gets halfway down the
corridor and then he stops, knowing she is there, knowing she is watching him
walk away.
He stops and without turning
around, he holds out his hand.
And she runs to him, she
takes it, she does not ask him why or where or for how long.
She follows him to his
quarters but once inside, she lets go of his hand and walks around the space.
She is giving him this. A
moment to reconsider. To talk himself out of what he has wanted for so long.
She inspects each shelf, each
thing on the wall. She does not open drawers, but she is seeing everything he
is willing to put on display.
"You have no pictures of
her."
"I have no pictures of
anyone." He knows Christine has pictures. Many of them scattered around
her office, from shore leaves, of her and Ortegas and M'Benga and others.
Having fun. Smiling in strange ways for the camera. She frames none of them,
just slaps them up in seemingly random ways.
"Surrounded by the
memory of good times," she once told him when he asked why there were even
some on the ceiling.
"Is it because that is a
Vulcan thing—to not have pictures? Or because you fear it is too human a thing
to have them?"
"Could it not be
both?" He is feeling his rage abate just talking to her. She soothes him
even from a distance.
"Would you have a
picture of me if we were together?"
He knows it is ill advised to
share this with her, but he goes to a drawer and pulls out a box that is buried
under several layers of pads. It holds photos she has given him from parties
that took place on the ship.
Shots of them together and
her alone.
"You kept these?"
"Yes."
"Do you look at them
often?"
"Yes."
She turns away. "Are you
hiding them from T'Pring?"
"Yes."
"Why are you with her,
Spock?" She walks to the mirror and studies him from that vantage point.
He moves slowly, easing
behind her, slowly wrapping his arms around her waist, watching her watching
him in the mirror.
"We look so pretty
together. But you also look beautiful with her." She leans into him, her
head pushed against his chest.
"I feel for you in ways
I do not for her."
"But is that something
you want? To feel that strongly?"
"I do not know." He
wants more than anything to lean in and kiss her neck, to hear her moan, to
have her turn in his arms so she is facing him, so they can kiss with her mouth
on his once again.
But he does not. He stands
and waits, but tightens his arms around her slightly so she knows he is there,
he wants this—as much or as little as this is.
"I love you," she mouths,
staring at him unrelentingly in the mirror. Then she closes her eyes and says,
"Let me go."
He does not want to. He does
it anyway.
She turns and moves so they
are standing shoulder to shoulder, facing opposite directions. "I know you
can't choose me. I know why you're with her even if you don't seem to."
And then, before he can
answer, she is gone.
He does not go after her.
##
He is sitting in a bar, far
from the main area of this planet's tourism sector. He has followed Christine
who has come with a man who is handsome and seems to be charming her.
He does not like this man.
Even if he knows he is not really charming her, even if Spock is here not
because he is behaving inappropriately and following her surreptitiously, but
because she asked him to help her—and to come ready to use his neck pinch.
He would rather kill this man
for looking at his wom—her in this manner.
The rage, ever present now no
matter how much he pushes it down, urges him to go, to take her away from him.
But he sits, he watches as
she turns away as if something on the other side of the bar has caught her
attention, as the man slips some powder into her drink.
As she turns back to the man,
her eyes lock with Spock's and he nods.
She does not drink, just
leans in and laughs, as the man looks more and more impatient. He finally picks
up the glass and puts it in her hand, then holds his own up as if to toast.
Spock stands and moves
closer, and hears her say, "I have an idea. You take my drink and I'll
take yours."
The man laughs in a way that
sounds far from amused and begins to get up but she has motioned for Spock to
move, so he does.
He is behind the man, he is
forcing his hands to where his neck meets his shoulder rather than locking both
around his throat and squeezing. The man is out and Christine says loudly, no
doubt for the benefit of the rest of the patrons, "I hate a man who can't
hold his liquor."
She carefully pours the
contents of the glass into a container and scans the contents. "This is a
new one. My friend at Stanford will want to add it to her database and what
this detector"—she wiggles her purple polished fingers at him—"will
pick up. God, I hate these guys."
He is staring at the man in such
a way that she says, "I guess you do too, huh?"
"He would have hurt you.
But this world is outside our jurisdiction."
"Outside any and sadly
has no justice system of its own to turn this guy into. Still..." She
scans him for a moment, and smiles. "Yep, should work great. This was my
contribution to the oh-so-off-the-books project." She injects the man with
something, then takes what looks like a stylus and nearly carves words into his
face even though it leaves no detectable mark, and then says, "Can you
reverse the neck pinch?"
"No, he must wake on his
own. The timing is variable according to how hard the pinch is."
"I told you light."
"And I followed your
orders."
"Well, let's drag him to
a booth then. Free up some chairs for people."
He does what she says and it
is a testament to the seediness of the place they are in that no one cares they
are pulling an unconscious man to a secluded booth.
Once the man is settled
between them, his head on the table, hands outstretched so they can see
movements that will indicate he is waking, she pours out some of the liquid and
dips her nail into it. The purple gets darker.
"Well, it sort of
works."
"What is it supposed to
do?"
"Turn green if it
detects a drug used in these situations. Roofies they used to be called after
Rohypnol the drug that first came to attention, when people started to care
that this was happening." She sits back. "You look angry.
"Do I?"
"Yep. Royally pissed.
Are you mad at me for dragging you into this?"
"No. I am enraged that
this man believes it is all right to drug someone and then abuse them." He
reaches for her hand and pulls it closer so he can study the polish. "An
ingenious idea."
"I wish there was no
need for it. I wish people didn't prey on other people."
"But at least you are
doing something. You heard this was going on here and you wanted to help. Stop
this man and add this drug he uses to your associate's detector range." He
frowns. "I am unsure what you injected him with, though."
"Oh, you'll see. Once he
wakes up. I'm going to get a little flirty with him. It won't mean anything. I
just need him to be aroused to see if my code changes are working."
"You changed his genetic
code? For how long?"
"I don't know how long
it will last—it's a bit like your neck pinch. But does it matter? How long do
you think it would take for me to be all right after he did what he wanted
to?" Her eyes are very hard. "Hopefully it'll last forever. Hopefully
he never hurts anyone else."
The man starts to wake and
she turns him to her and rubs up against him and says, "Baby, I thought
you were passed out for good. Just when we were having fun." And then she
kisses him.
And abruptly pulls back when
he responds. "Oh yeah." She grins at Spock, who the man turns to look
at.
On his face, where she wrote
on him, his skin has filled in bright red. It forms letters. The message:
"I WILL HURT YOU."
"Have fun finding a date
now, asshole." And she's up and when the man tries to reach for her, Spock
pinches his neck again, hard this time, although he would rather hit him.
Repeatedly.
He hurries to catch up with
her and says, "You realize not everyone will be able to read
Standard."
"I know. But it's the
best I can do." She seems a little lost so he touches her shoulder and
eases her closer to him.
"I believe it will help
many."
"Thank you for saying
that—and for the assist."
"I will always help
you."
"We could get in
trouble."
"On this planet? Highly
doubtful." But he increases their speed to get them to the safer part of
town just in case the man has friends.
##
He sits in his quarters,
fingers clenched around his tube of incense.
They have taken Number One.
They have taken her and his captain has done nothing.
The part of him that values
logic, that desires nothing more than to be a true Vulcan, asks what Chris
logically could have done.
He does not like that part of
himself at this moment.
La'an is gone. He almost
wishes she were here. That together they could plan a way to get Number One
free.
Even if she would probably
tell them not to. She has no doubt lived her entire Starfleet life expecting
this.
A chime sounds and he says,
"Come," even though he wants no company.
Christine stands just inside
the door, letting it close behind her, her face full of compassion. "I
just heard. I thought you might need to talk."
About his feelings. The way
he said that to her, after they kissed. Only she had not needed to.
He should turn her away. He
should ask her to go.
Instead he holds his hand out
and she rushes to him and crouches in front of him, until he pulls her up to
sit next to him on the sofa.
She gently takes the incense
tube, which is crushed now—when did he do that?—and puts it on the table.
"I'm so sorry. I know she's important to you."
He pulls her closer, burying
his head in her hair, and she says, "You're shaking."
"I do not like
emotions." But that is a lie because he likes having her close to say that
to. He wants her close, and she could be even closer if it were not so
important for him to be a good Vulcan and someday undergo Kolinahr.
"I know. I don't always
like them either." She runs her fingers along his cheek. "Can I do
anything?"
He shakes his head. "Just
be here with me."
"Of course." She
kicks off her shoes and tucks her feet up, cuddling into him. "What can we
do to get her back?"
He admires the practicality
she can show. She is comforting him and wanting to know what they can do. Not
feel, but do.
To be human is to be more
than just emotions. It is action, too.
"I thought she was
human—I am normally able to tell the difference."
"Yeah, ditto for the
gazillion scanners and sensors she went through over the years. And now I get
why she never wanted to wear a disguise. She acted like she didn't trust me,
but she just didn't want me seeing what was right there in her genes if you go
as deep as I go for the disguise creation."
He nods. "It was odd how
often she dodged landing parties that required disguises. But the captain
indulges her."
"The captain is in love
with her."
"Yes, I think he might
be. He will try to help her and we must let him for there is nothing you and I
can do. This is in the hands of the authorities and the military justice
system."
"Her home world can't
fight for her?" She seems to read his expression. "Her home world is
the problem. Being Illyrian is the problem." She sighs, and leans back,
against his arm, her head against his shoulder.
It feels right to sit like
this. Together. Quiet. Feeling so much.
She eventually falls asleep,
and he does not move because he does not wish to wake her—he knows she will
leave if she wakes. He reaches for a padd and uses the internal camera to take
a picture of the two of them, then studies it.
He should erase it. T'Pring
might see this. Will she still assume he is incapable of having feelings for
this woman if she sees it?
He does not erase it. He
files it in a folder he gives an innocuous name and password protection.
Biometric protection can be engaged while a person sleeps. His mother told him
this once when he was young and keeping a diary in which he often put his
thoughts about his father and his siblings. She told him to skip biometrics and
use a password no one else will ever guess.
It is the first time
Christine teased him overtly. NowYouAreJustToyingWithMe linked to his favorite
sequence of random numbers.
He should delete the file and
the folder. But he does not want to. She shifts and he decides to take another
picture but realizes she is awake.
She says, "What are you
doing?"
When he does not answer, she
whispers, "Will you hide these too?"
"Yes," he says as
he takes the picture of them, neither of them smiling, her looking at him with
an expression he cannot read. Hurt? Satisfaction? Some mixture of the two? He
moves it to the folder.
"I think I should
go."
"Do not."
"I think I must
go."
He nods because he knew she
would.
"Send me copies of
those?" She gets up and stands in front of him, hands on her hips, a
strange smile on her face. "I mean if you get to keep them, I should get a
copy, right?"
"Do you have copies of
the ones you gave me?"
"The ones you keep in
your super-duper secret hiding place? Of course." She smiles and this time
it's a more natural one. "They're on my ceiling. I look up and see us
among the memories."
"I am but a
memory." It is maudlin and self indulgent to say such a thing.
"Oh, Spock. Get some
sleep, okay?"
He nods and once she is gone,
does what she says because he is tired—he has been tired since the Peregrine—and
goes to bed.
But not before sending her
copies of the two pictures.
##
His chime is ringing
incessantly. He thinks it is the door and says, "Come," even though
he is still in his pajamas.
But it is not his door and
the computer makes the strange series of clicks that mean essentially:
"Command Unnecessary."
He realizes it is his
personal padd sounding, the one he used last night to photograph Christine and
himself.
It is T'Pring's name on the
caller identification screen. He does not want to talk to her, but he answers
anyway.
"I woke you." There
is no actual dismay in her voice—she is merely stating a fact.
"Yes." There is no
point in lying. She has seen him when he is just waking. She knows how his hair
will mess.
"I would apologize,
Spock, but it has been some time since we have talked."
"I regret that. We have
had a series of difficult missions."
"Should I not be your
port in the storm? The storm of emotions that these difficult missions might
cause?" She sounds sincere, but he cannot help but feel he is walking into
a trap.
So he says, "We should
both be buttresses for each other against the hardness of life."
"Yes. I agree. In that
spirit, I would like you to meet me on Risa."
"When?"
"Next week. I am
planning leave and would like to take it with you. On territory that is neither
yours nor mine."
"Are we at war that we
need neutral ground?" The question is out before he can stop it so he
works hard to hide the fact that he regrets it. Let him just appear rude, not
out of control.
"Do you wish to go to
Risa or not, Spock? I hear they offer many sensual experiences for those
romantically involved."
"I cannot go next
week."
"Then the week after? I
can be flexible." Her almost-smile is false, her eyebrow lift exaggerated.
"Or is that also a bad time for you?"
"I am very busy here,
T'Pring. We have been extremely fortunate in how much time we have found so far
to spend together."
"I am not sure I would
call a few days fortunate. But if you would, that is interesting." She
picks up something and studies it—a print-out of some kind. "Perhaps this
is why you can no longer make time for me?"
She turns the paper around.
She has printed the photos he took last night. He can feel himself freeze. Has
she placed some sort of surveillance on his devices?
"I am relatively certain
I was not the intended recipient. Was I, Spock, parted from me and never
parted?"
He sent them to her and not
to Christine? An accident—or was it? Had his subconscious made the choice for
him? He decides to go on the attack. "What does it matter? You said there
could be no feelings between myself and Nurse Chapel."
"And if only she were
simply Nurse Chapel, it would be true. But she is Christine to you. You wrote
it in the note. 'Christine, as you requested. Thank you as always for the
comfort.' A pretty enough note. Not terribly romantic but perhaps the form of
comfort you two are practicing does not require romance, only copulation?"
"I have not had sex with
her." He shakes his head, unsure how to explain this. "Number One was
arrested."
"For what?"
"For being Illyrian and
pretending to be human. For lying to get into Starfleet."
"I see. And you are
upset that she is paying what I would say is the expected price?"
"You have no sympathy
for her?"
She studies him, her eyes and
mouth actually turning down into a frown. "Sympathy? For someone who lies
and hides the truth? No, Spock. No, I do not."
He can tell this is no longer
about Number One. "Then begin the severing ritual and we can both seek
more suitable mates."
"More suitable. You
would say that to me? I who have overlooked faults and allowed indulgences? I
who took the blame for you punching a patient of mine?" Her face hardens
in a way he has never seen, becomes so still it is like a statue. "Either
you will come home and marry me immediately, or you will be called home when
the burning hits. It is overdue as it is, Spock. So either way, she will not
have you."
"No. I will start the
words of dissolution now."
"I do not wish
dissolution and I am the injured party. If I push this, you will be with me
here in Ankeshtan K'Til as my prisoner instead of free on your ship as my
betrothed."
He freezes because he can imagine
her doing this, can see the path of decisions he has made that would damn him.
"And if the burning does not come?"
"Then you will never be
free." She cuts the connection before he can think of a reply.
##
He is like a man in a trance
during his shift. Fortunately nothing of import happens.
He weighs options in between
blaming himself not only for sending the photos to the wrong person but taking
them in the first place.
It was improper for Christine
to be in his quarters at all, let alone so close to him on his sofa.
His shift finally ends and he
goes to sickbay, but Christine has already left. He hurries to her quarters,
and she answers and takes one look at him and says, "What's wrong?"
as she touches his arm and leads him into a room he has never been in.
"I did not send you the
photos as you asked."
"I know. Kind of miffed
about it but your call." She sits on the bed, arms crossed across her
chest.
"I sent them instead to
T'Pring. Accidentally."
"Oh, shit, Spock. Can
you recall them before she opens the note?"
"She was the one who
informed me she had received them." He sits next to her.
"I would say I'm sorry,
but this is on you, not me. I wasn't the one taking pics of me sleeping."
"Yes, you are
right." He wants to turn to her, to bury his head in her shoulder and ask
her for advice. What should he do? "She has given me an ultimatum."
She just waits. He
appreciates that.
"There is a biological event
Vulcans go through. It is similar to salmon spawning—an irrepressible desire to
mate with their bond partner. Mine should have happened already, but it is
delayed. I often hope that since I am half human, it will never come." He
turns to her. "I will be drawn to her. Whether I want her or not."
"I don't understand. She
did a little hand-wavy thing and broke up with you after our kiss."
"Yes, because it was by
mutual accord. But now she is refusing. I must come to Vulcan immediately and
marry her or she will wait until the burning calls me home."
"What if it never
does?"
"Then we will have a
very, very long engagement." He looks down. "I believe I must go to
Vulcan and marry—"
"No!" She turns
bright red. "No, marry her because you love her. Not because she's not
going to let you go. And can't someone intervene on your behalf."
"Christine, she could
build a quite creditable case for why I should join Sybok at her facility—and
has threatened to do just that if I fight this."
"So no matter what, she wins?"
"It would appear
so."
She falls backward on the
bed, and he turns to look at her. "If you marry her, then you're
stuck."
"She will not allow a
divorce—unless it is something she initiates. I imagine Ankeshtan K'Til lies at
the end for me if I try to divorce her."
"And if you wait for
the—what is it called?"
"The Pon Farr. The
burning."
"Will you love her then.
After that?"
"I do not believe so. It
does not change base feelings. It just draws Vulcans home to our mates, to rut
until the burning dies down. Then we are free to go. It should happen every
seven years after full maturity. For Vulcans with pure blood, that is."
"Why are you telling me
all this?"
"Because I believe it
was not seeing us together but the picture of me watching you while you slept
against me. The care on my face. T'Pring could no longer deny the truth."
He reaches for her gently and strokes her cheek. "That I care for you deeply."
Then he lets her go. "But I can offer you nothing."
"Technically, not true.
You could offer me the time between the burnings. You could offer me yourself
in a way that maybe you've never done for her."
"But there can be no
bond between us."
"Humans live without
one. I'll adjust. Besides, you know me. Commitment phobic—a bond sounds kind of
intrusive."
"You are saying you want
to?" He feels such a surge of hope, he has to stop himself from grabbing
her, from kissing her.
"I am saying that you
are not without options here. I'm not sure what I want to do. Are you?
Really?" She sits up. "I've got Captain's Dinner for some incoming
crew. I'm sorry I can't stay and talk."
"But you will think
about this? What we might have if we dared to reach for it?"
She nods, but it's a
considering move. "I'll think about it."
"I will let you get
ready then." He touches her face again, wanting to do more but not wanting
to make her late.
And also not sure she wants
more right now.
Then he leaves her in peace
as he seeks to know his own desires for his future through meditation.