Interlude
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Romance/Suspense
Beta: realistjoker
Characters: Uhura, Mirror!Spock
Pairings: Mirror!Spock/Uhura
Rating: PG-13
Published: 8-9-10
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek.
Summary: In a harsh universe, she finds what she's always wanted.
Author's Note: My goal was to create a story that could have conceivably taken place "between the scenes" of the classic Star Trek episode Mirror, Mirror. There have been quite a few stories based on this episode. Well…here's my take.
Interlude
Chapter One
I hate spiders. I've always hated spiders. Sometimes, I think I decided to go into space just to get away from them. But they followed me. They became evil space spiders!
Okay, you're losing it, Ny. This isn't the best time to be thinking about your pet phobias, especially those of the eight-legged variety. But I can't help it. All I can think about is that night a couple of weeks ago when I asked him to kill that implacable thing of death, dangling from the ceiling of my bathroom. But when I pushed the phaser into his hand, he refused to do it, saying "I cannot! They are the official insect of the Motherland!" or something. But we both knew that he was just bullshitting. He wouldn't kill it out of some crazy sense of arachno-patriotism, but because he was one of the kindest, sweetest boys I know.
Well, just a few minutes ago, that kind, sweet boy tried to kill the Captain.
And the really crazy part? Nobody on the bridge seems to care. I mean, that's attempted mutiny, isn't it? And everybody knows that three procedures simply have to be followed in the event of an attempted mutiny. Number one: confine all non-essential personnel to quarters. Number two: seal the ship's most critical areas. Number three: kill all ship-wide communications. But is any of this happening? No! It's like this is some kind of regular occurrence. Everybody is still at their posts. The bridge isn't sealed. And, as far as communications is concerned, nobody has told me to do anything but sit here and look pretty.
"Were there any casualties, Mr. Ferril?" Not Spock asks the intercom on his armrest. Yes. Not Spock. That's my little name for him. I know it's kind of lame, but it's the only thing keeping me sane right now.
"Yes sir," Ferril's voice replies, a little too happily. "Hadley and Bryant. Wilson incinerated the both of 'em. Ha! Poor sap was expectin' a promotion for it and got nothin' but a sock in the jaw." His voice chuckles. "Good ol' Captain."
Not Spock nods. "And the fate of Mr. Chekov?"
"We're bringing 'im down to the agony booth, sir."
"Very well," Not Spock replies, as he clicks off the intercom. His face becomes thoughtful as he puts a hand on his chin in a disturbingly familiar pose. "Strange that he would leave himself so vulnerable," he continues, speaking lowly to himself. "He is never that careless."
I can't help but roll my eyes. Oh, sure. It's really strange that a captain would expect to wander around his ship without getting attacked by his own crew. Well, it seems that Pavel is going to pay dearly for it, because though I'm not sure what an agony booth is, I'm assuming it's related to that agonizer thing that Not Spock used on Kyle the minute we beamed aboard this nightmare.
Even now, as the transporter chief's screams are echoing in my mind, I wonder if Not Spock enjoyed what he did to him. It wouldn't surprise me. I mean, he did just try to browbeat the Captain into bombarding a planet full of innocent people didn't he? The Halkans must be the most wonderfully kind and peaceful race we've ever met. The Captain tried to buy some time for them, but I guess his authority only runs so far on this ship. And if that cold-blooded monster sitting in that chair has anything to say about it, pretty soon they're going to die by our phaser fire - millions of them - all because they don't want to give us their dilithium crystals.
And that's why I'm calling him Not Spock. Because even if I can somehow accept an evil Chekov and an evil Sulu, I can't accept that anyone by the name of Spock would be capable of doing anything so terrible.
I usually love it when he sits there. It's the only place on the bridge - maybe the ship - where I can spy on him without being worried he'll catch me. But now looking at him, I find myself feeling nothing but repulsion. Well, at least in the psychological sense. Because in the physical sense? I have to admit that he looks damn handsome in that beard. And then there's that dashing dress uniform he's got on. It's such a mysterious shade of blue that I can only guess at what material it's made out of. And is that gold trim going down the front? Along with those smartly placed medals, it makes him look so distinguished and aristocratic and...and...
Snap out of it, Ny! This is no time for your stupid schoolgirl fantasies. Not Spock, Not Spock, Not Spock. Keep repeating that mantra and take a few deep breaths. There you go. Good. Now, maybe I just need something to keep me occupied until the Captain can tell me how we're going to get out of this.
Feeling too petrified to do any meaningful work, I decide to tune into the communications network and listen to some ship-wide chatter. It's not a voyeuristic thing, as chatter mostly consists of operations reports and maintenance requests between different departments. Besides, everyone knows that if you want a private line when you make a call, you've got to flip the 'other' switch. Usually, I find myself tuning in because I find it soothing to listen to. I'm not sure why, as a lot of people would consider it boring. Maybe I just like the idea of everyone working towards the noble, common goal of running a starship, as cheesy as it sounds.
On my Enterprise, I'm usually able to pick up a bit of friendly banter in-between all the technical talk. But right now, as I listen in through my headpiece, I'm not getting any of that. In fact, there's not even so much as a single "please" or "thank you." Instead, there's a lot harsh language, and sometimes, even threats, to make sure requests are being carried out. Other than that, everyone seems almost...robotic to each other, as though no one is taking any joy in anything they're doing. It's only confirming for me the sense of hostility and coldness that permeates this entire ship. And, quite frankly, it's giving me the chills.
Just when I try to think of something else to keep me busy, an encrypted message starts to scroll through the readout on my console. Instantly, I recognize the familiar markings. It's the Captain! But soon I find myself shaking my head as I read and re-read the message. James T. Kirk may be the best commanding officer in the fleet, but the man can't type worth a damn. Still...I'm glad he's text messaging me instead of using the comlink. There's a lot of information to digest here, and I can't help but be wary at the prying ears on the bridge…two pointy ones in particular.
So, it seems that we're going to try and get back using the transporter. Well, I'm a communications officer, not an engineer, but I guess it makes sense: get out the same way we came in. It must be tricky work if Scotty needs Dr. McCoy to help him. But the problem is, when they're almost done their little tinkering, they're going to need me to distract Sulu from his console so he doesn't notice the increased power transfer to the transporter. Uh hello. Distract Sulu? I don't even want to go near Sulu. It's become obvious to me that that hideous scar on his face is the least hideous thing about him. Well, I guess I have two hours to worry about it, because the message says it'll take that long to set the whole thing up. I can only hope that Not Spock won't be on the bridge when the time comes, because otherwise, I don't know if I'll be able to...
"Lieutenant Uhura."
Oh my God. He's right behind me.
My breath catches in my throat as I look up at his face. Faintly, I realize that it isn't the cleanly cut beard that makes him so different. No. It's the coldness in his eyes, a coldness that seems to go beyond non-emotion.
"What can I do for you, sir?"
"You will stand when I speak to you."
I shoot out of my chair like a photon torpedo, hoping against hope that he doesn't look at the Captain's message on my console. But those cold eyes remain focused solely on me.
"This morning, I was reviewing your most recent subspace log," he begins.
Subspace log? This doesn't sound good.
"I saw numerous errors."
Errors? Nope. Not good.
"This is the fourth such inaccurate log you have filed in the past month."
Oh God. The fourth? "I'm sorry, sir, I..."
"You are 'sorry'?" For an instant, sheer incredulity flashes across his face. Then he takes a few steps in front of me, pacing like a panther. I can feel a breeze hit my bare tummy as he walks back and forth. I feel so...naked in this uniform.
He stops and stares once again into my eyes. "Lieutenant, at the risk of betraying some sense of...frustration on my part, my day is not running as efficiently as I had anticipated. And now I have discovered that I must occupy my time with a senior officer who is not taking her duties seriously."
"Sir, I do take them seriously, I just..."
"Cease speaking and listen. I wish for you to ready a connection to Starfleet Command. You will patch it through to my quarters. Afterwards, you will meet me there with the revised log. Do you comprehend?"
I meekly nod.
"We will review each item line-by-line." He holds up a forceful finger. "This time, Lieutenant, you had better hope it is error-free...for your sake. I will expect you in ten minutes." He glances towards the front of the bridge. "Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."
"Aye aye, sir."
Mercifully, he turns to leave. As soon as I hear the turbolift doors close behind me, I find myself exhaling. Looking around the bridge, I try to search out a sympathetic face or two, only to find that everybody's looking back at me with unabashed glee.
Especially one.
"Well, well, well, it looks like Little Miss Perfect is going to finally get her wings clipped. I say it's about time." Of course, it's Sulu. The bastard accosted me when I first came on the bridge, and now he's trying to get a few more potshots in. I feel a sudden urge to use my newfound knife to give him a scar to complement his other one. But all I have the courage to do is give him the dirtiest look I can muster.
I sit back down at my station and begin work on establishing a channel to Starfleet Command. I know I could very well be signing the Captain's death warrant, but I have no choice. Besides, if I don't do it, there are a hundred other people on this ship who can. Quickly locating the nearest subspace beacon, I key in the proper band for Starfleet Command. Over the next few minutes, I wait expectantly for the connection but I only get static. With a concerned frown, I spend more precious minutes trying it again.
Still static.
What the hell is wrong? I can usually do this in my sleep! Panicking, I begin to mentally check off the list to make sure that everything's okay. Communications station operational? Check. Subspace relay beacon path established? Check. Subspace band frequency inputted? Check. I try it again, but still nothing. Damn. My heart feeling like it's beating through my chest, I resist the urge to drive my fists through my console. Everything should be working!
No, wait. Maybe it's the band frequency for Starfleet. I know it off by heart in my universe, but maybe it's different in this universe!
But just as I'm about to try it once more, my Incoming Message indicator starts to beep.
Oh no. Someone is calling me, and I don't have to check to know who it is. For a moment, I contemplate not answering it, but I realize it will only make things worse if I don't.
Almost wincing, I tentatively push the button. "Uhura."
"Lieutenant," a deep voice replies. "I have just entered my quarters only to discover that the channel to Starfleet Command has not yet been established. You can imagine my astonishment can you not? That so quickly after admonishing an officer for not performing her duties properly, I discover yet another facet of her apparently boundless incompetence?"
"Uh, yes sir. I had difficulties...uh...finding the subspace beacon and uh..."
I'm met with deathly silence. For the next ten seconds, nothing but white noise emerges from the speakers in front of me.
And then he speaks. "You have precisely 4.2 minutes to arrive at my quarters with your corrected subspace log."
More silence.
"When you do, please ensure that you have your agonizer with you."
The channel clicks off.
Sulu turns his head towards me. "You know, when he puts it on you, I hope he leaves it on for a long...long...time."
Laughter spreads across the bridge.
That fucker. I've just about had enough of him. "Shut up," I shoot back.
Yeah, that'll show him, tough girl. But then I tell myself to forget it, as I've got another asshole to worry about. Quickly finding the correct frequency to Starfleet Command in the database, I establish a channel and patch it through to Not Spock's quarters.
Now the last thing I have to deal with is the subspace log. Oh sure, it sounds like a simple little exercise, but I barely manage to suppress a sob as I watch the hundreds of entries download into my PADD. Who am I kidding? I'll never be able to check them all in time. There are usually so many errors, I once developed an algorithm to help correct them. But it never catches everything.
Every time a crewmember makes an outgoing subspace communication, they are required to input who they are and who they are calling, among other things. But there are always mistakes, like typos and blank spaces. And although I'm not the one who makes the mistakes, I'm always the one who has to correct them before they're submitted. I've talked to other communications officers on other ships and none of their commanding officers give a damn if there are mistakes. Of course, my Spock does, but at least he would never consider torturing me over it.
Quickly getting out of my chair, I practically run towards the turbolift. "Take over for me," I tell a technician sitting at the Engineering station, not caring whether he obeys or not.
Once inside, I command the lift to take me to Deck 5. As I hear the familiar hum of the lift kicking into gear, I realize that I forgot about the agonizer. Frantically, I search about my uniform, praying that I already have it on me, just like Chief Kyle did. Thankfully - or not - I soon find the little triangular device attached to my belt. Well, at least if I give him this, he won't have an excuse to use something that'll cause even more pain. Because given the amount of errors I think are in that log, there's going to be a world of it.
As I try not to think about what's awaiting me in his quarters, the lift comes to a stop. In my haste to get out, I almost run into a security officer that I don't recognize at all. Giving him a mumbled apology, I just keep on going. I've seen a lot of security officers wandering this ship, many more than there are on my Enterprise. But why are there so many? To remind everyone that they are under constant surveillance from a higher authority, like in a totalitarian society or something? Given the Nazi-esque salutes these guys were giving the Captain a while ago, I'm beginning to think so. Well, if the effect they want to create is one of intimidation, they're certainly succeeding.
Walking briskly down the corridor, my jaw drops as I see who's coming towards me. It's someone who I never thought I'd see again. Marla McGivers. I always get along with almost everybody on the Enterprise, but I never did with McGivers. As the ship's resident historian, she always held herself above the rest of us "cultural plebeians" with her oh-so-precious doctorate degree in the arts. Of course, everyone soon discovered that she also had a degree in treachery after she allowed that megalomaniac Khan to seduce her into betraying us.
Automatically, my thoughts turn back to just a half hour ago, when I saw Christine as I made my way to the bridge. I greeted her with a smile, but her only response was to call me a bitch and give me a look like she wanted to claw my eyes out. It practically broke my heart to be treated that way by her. Well, if Christine hates me in this universe, I can only imagine what Marla thinks of me.
"Nyota darling!"
I gasp. Nyota...darling? There are very few people who call me Nyota in my universe: Christine, my mom, my dad, my sister...and the occasional boyfriend. Now, I'm hearing it from a woman I'd just as soon drop out of an airlock.
Marla puts a concerned hand on my arm. "Oh dear, you don't look well. Are you okay?"
"I can't talk, Marla. I've got to go."
Marla merely shakes her head, and softly clutches my shoulders. "Surely it can wait. What's wrong?"
Although I'm in a rush for my life, I don't protest as Marla pulls me into a comforting hug. Right now, I don't care if I'm supposed to like this woman or hate her; I'll do anything for a friendly face.
"Oh, Marla, I'm in so much trouble. Commander Spock just ordered me to go to his quarters and..." My fear is so great, I find that I can't continue.
She gives me a puzzled look. "And...?"
"He's not happy."
She rolls her eyes. "Oh, he's not happy. Well, what else is new?"
"He...he told me to bring my agonizer."
Her eyes go wide. "Your agonizer?" Her voice drops to a near whisper. "Oh dear, that is new. Are you two hitting a rough patch?"
A rough patch? Yeah, I guess you could call it that.
Catching my arm, Marla draws me in closer. "Look, you know I'm your friend right? So just listen to me. You need to be strong. Especially now. Because whatever you did to help solve that little problem of his? I don't think it worked. In fact, I think he's gotten worse. So, just...do whatever he wants you to do, okay? Before half of the available men on this ship end up in body bags?"
I helped him solve a problem? What problem? "Marla, I don't understand..."
"You mean you didn't hear about what happened yesterday? He put Riley into a coma."
"What?" Did she say Riley? As in Kevin Riley?
"Yes, he put some sort of 'Vulcan death grip' on him for breaking a dilithium crystal." Marla shakes her head. "Well, a part of me can't blame him. I suppose those things are very hard to come by these days." She gasps. "Oh, that reminds me. Did you hear about Chekov?" Her mouth makes clucking sounds like a mother hen. "I hope they do take it easy on the poor boy. I mean, he is just trying to get ahead. Did I tell you he was going to take me to Risa on our next shore leave?" She sighs in resignation. "I suppose that's off now." Suddenly, her eyes light up. "Hey...do you think DeSalle might want to take me?"
"Uh...sure?"
"I tell you that man is going places," she says excitedly. "He just needs to work on his technique. You know...be a bit more subtle with his exterminations. Oh! Did I tell you that he dragged me into a maintenance shaft and had his way with me last night?"
I gasp in horror. "Really?"
"Yes. To tell the truth, I was hoping for a rougher ride than what I got," she says with a small shrug. "But overall, it was a pretty good time."
"Uh...okay."
Suddenly, with a sinking feeling, I look up at the clock on the wall, and my heart almost stops.
I'm late.
Even my Spock looks like he's ready to kill me when I'm late. I can only imagine what this Spock is going to do to me.
"Marla, I have to go. Now."
She sighs. "Yeah, so do I. You know...papers to do." Then her mouth curves into a salacious smile. "But hey, if you need help with him, just make sure you give me a shout, okay? After all, when it comes to solving a problem, two heads are better than one."
Having no idea what the heck she's talking about, I just shake my head and take off down the corridor. But in the back of my mind, I find myself thinking about something Marla had mentioned: papers? I wonder if she acts as the ship's historian in this universe, and if so, what role she plays exactly. If I know anything about totalitarian societies it's that they prefer to rewrite history rather than research it. Whatever the case, I can't help but admit that for a depraved psychopath she actually seems kind of nice.
What is this craziness? My best friend is my worst enemy. My worst enemy is my best friend. What am I going to find out next, that Khan Noonien Singh died for the sins of all mankind? Everything is so mixed up in this universe that I don't know what to think anymore. Wait a minute. If Marla is good, and everybody else is bad, I wonder what spiders are like in this universe. Maybe they're good too.
No. Spiders are evil everywhere. I'm sure of it.
Damn. Lose the spider-fixation, Ny. But I can't help it. I need to think about something, anything that'll get me through this.
I need to think about him. I need to think about his steady, calm, unflappable presence. But I have to wonder, could he even survive in this universe? There is so much good in him, so much gentleness. Almost no one else onboard can see it, but I can. God, I wish he was here right now. Has he discovered that we're missing? If so, is he worried about me in particular? Or am I just another member of an away team that needs rescuing? I don't want to think about it too much because I'm afraid I might know the answer.
Finally, I arrive at Not Spock's door, or at least what I'm hoping is his door. On my ship, Spock's quarters are in 532, but I've just realized that on this ship, they might be on another deck, entirely! Holding my breath, I push the door chime.
And almost immediately, a dark, unforgiving voice greets me through the intercom. "Enter."
Great. So I'm in the right place. But relief is the furthest thing from my mind. In another universe, I come here once a week for my ka'athyra lessons, always with a sense of anticipation tinged with longing. But now all I sense is fear. Looks aside, the monster in that room isn't the man I'm in love with. And I can't picture him playing anything as gentle as a Vulcan lyre.
Chapter Two
I step inside, trying to look as though I've been here before, which I have many times...only in another universe. Looking around, I notice that the room has the similar basic layout, but everything is harsher and more austere, with weapons and military statues orderly situated on the walls and shelves. The biggest difference, however, is the color of the entire place. For some reason, this Spock has a thing for green. Well, it's ugly, and I don't like it one bit.
Trying to hide my distaste, I turn towards the centre of the room. I assume he's already contacted Starfleet, but he's still just sitting at his computer console, apparently hard at work on something. I stand there for what seems like an eternity, but he refuses to even acknowledge my presence. Looking down, I notice that my PADD is shaking, as is my hand, as is virtually my entire body.
Soon, I realize that I have to say something, or else I'm going to shake to pieces. "Sir? I'm sorry I'm late. I was just..."
I fall into silence as he finally looks up at me, his long eyebrows narrowing slightly. "I thirst," he says.
"Yes, sir." I look around his quarters in a state of near-panic. It's possible that my counterpart in this universe has been here before and knows exactly where things are. But I myself can only guess. Thankfully, I glimpse a jug on a table towards the back of the room. Walking up to it, I let out a small sigh of relief when I discover that the jug is self-refrigerating and is already filled with water. A couple of finely decorated goblets are laid out beside it.
As I pour the cool, clear liquid into a goblet, it occurs to me how strange it feels to be doing this. On my own Enterprise, no commander would expect an officer at my level to serve him drinks. After all, I'm no yeoman, but the senior communications officer on the flagship of the Federation. Maybe this Enterprise operates through a seniority-based system run amuck, in which crewmembers are expected to follow even the slightest whims of their superior officers.
I grip the goblet with two shaking hands and place it on his desk, directly in front of him. "Here you go, sir."
But when he looks up at me again, his eyebrows have narrowed even further. "What game are you playing?" he demands.
Huh? "Game, sir?"
"That is now four."
"Sir, I don't underst..."
"Five. Five times now that you have addressed me as "sir" since you walked through that door. Is this how things are between us, now?"
I shake my head. Why would he object to me treating him with the proper respect? Desperation welling up inside, I try to focus on why I'm here. "You said you wanted to go over the subspace log?"
"And now you are playing me for a fool," he says, as he rises from his seat and slowly approaches me. Soon, my back is against a wall, and his face is only an inch away.
"Have you already moved on to another officer, then?" he says forcefully. "Perhaps one with a little more...ambition?"
My head starts to swim in a sea of confusion and fear. What was the hell is he talking about?
He grasps my bare upper arm in a vise-like grip. Even through my panic, I become shocked at the feel of his touch. The other Spock has touched me before, but never skin-to-skin. I had no idea he was so warm. I glance at the doors across the room, but inwardly I know that there is no escape. Not on this ship. Realizing I'm completely at his mercy, tears begin to flow unbidden from my eyes. Damn, I'm so scared. Why can't I be strong...like the Captain?
"I'm sorry, please don't..."
"What is this?" he says, studying my face like it's some kind of lab experiment. I flinch as his one of his fingers caresses my cheek.
"You are crying," he states, shaking his head as he rolls the wetness between his fingers. "Lieutenant, I chose you because of your strength of will, because I believed that unlike the other simpering females on this vessel, you refused to fall prey to such emotions. Was I mistaken?"
"No...I..."
"Then explain this," he says, holding a moisture-laden fingertip to my face. I try to ignore it as I clear my mind, searching for anything that will get me out of this mess. Wait a minute. What did he say just now? 'I chose you...?' And then before that? 'Moved on to...another...?'
I gasp as it hits me like a thunderbolt. They...we...are?
Oh my God.
His face casts itself into a perplexed gaze, as he begins to stroke his beard. "Such strange behavior today. First the Captain. Now you."
Shit. He's trying to connect the dots. The circumstances that transferred us to this universe are so incredible, he'll probably never figure it out on his own. But we all beamed up to this ship together. There's a connection there. And through that connection, he could latch on to other possibilities that could lead to equally devastating results for all of us.
I can't afford to wallow in shock right now. If we're going to survive this, I have to not only look like my other self, I have to act like her, to become her. But how? I mean, I don't even know her. Or do I? By all indications thus far, she must be a pretty tough cookie. So, gathering whatever courage I have, I begin by shrugging off his grip.
"You want to know what's wrong?" I spout off with a confidence that's almost completely feigned. "I guess every woman has a breaking point."
His eyebrow raises. "So, you indeed want nothing more to do with the complacent, dutiful scientist you see before you."
"No...I..." Inwardly, I cringe. I didn't mean to insult him.
"What if I killed the Captain, then? Took his place. Would that appease you?"
I try to stifle a gasp. Kill the...? No.
"You believe me to be a mere amateur like the unfortunate Mr. Chekov?" he continues. "Indeed, James T. Kirk is a formidable opponent. But I assure you, where the young ensign failed, I could succeed."
"But I thought you two were friends." My heart stops as I realize I may have just made a fatal mistake. For all I know, they're mortal enemies in this universe.
"I have no friends," he replies.
I sigh softly in relief. By the way he's refusing to meet my eyes, I can tell he's just as bad a liar as my Spock is. Still, I'd better change the subject, because I think the Captain's had enough people try to kill him today.
"Look, maybe I just want to know why you had to humiliate me in front of the entire bridge."
For a moment, he looks hesitant. "I required an...excuse to talk to you." But quickly recovering, he snatches my PADD out of my hands and shoves it in front of my face. "And I would have you know that the reprimand was not undeserved; once again, there were errors." He frowns slightly to himself before returning his gaze to me. "And why did it take so long for you to establish a connection to Starfleet?"
Uh oh. I've got zero comebacks for that one, at least not if I want to carry on this little charade. So once more, I decide to change the subject. "Well...why did you need an excuse?" I counter. "Are you ashamed of just...being with me?"
"Negative. How many times have I told you? My enemies on this ship are legion. If they were to find out about us, they would not hesitate in using you to get to me. Even with the men I have at my disposal, I would not be able to guarantee your safety."
So he doesn't want anyone to know about us, huh? Well, I don't dare break it to him, but it seems obvious now that Marla does, probably because my counterpart told her. Not that I'm too surprised. There are some things that girlfriends can't keep hidden from one other.
"Well, if you're so big on keeping us a secret, why didn't you just tell me to come in private?" I ask him.
"And then what?" he says, throwing my PADD on his desk. "Have someone witness you entering my room in the middle of the day for no logical reason? We have taken too many chances, already. Almost nothing is private on this ship - perhaps not even these quarters." He takes an unsettled glance around the room. "I have run every conceivable test to ensure they are impervious to surveillance. But sometimes...I wonder."
Suddenly, his eyes tear into mine. "Has Sulu been bothering you again?"
"Well, he..."
"He has, hasn't he," he says, nodding grimly. "Though I do not believe he knows about us yet, it may only be a matter of time." A dark rage encompasses his face as he slowly begins to shake his head. "But truly, I do not care how much power he professes to wield on this ship, if he ever so much as harms a hair on your head, I will..."
Clenching his fists, he closes his eyes and begins to breathe deeply, as though he is concentrating, trying to restrain his darkest impulses. For all his talk about not falling prey to emotions, it seems that he's having trouble taking his own advice. Before this moment, I could not even imagine Spock, or any version of him, acting this way while in his right mind. Is this how Vulcans are in this universe...or is it the way he is around me?
I think about how scared I felt when Sulu accosted me on the bridge, and then I remember what DeSalle did to Marla. God knows how many other monsters are out there lurking around the corridors ready to do unspeakable things to me. I know that this Spock is a monster too, but for some reason I'm beginning to feel safer here, with him, than perhaps anywhere else on this ship.
I begin to fidget. This is getting awkward. He's still standing there, breathing slowly and steadily, almost in a meditative trance. I think about my counterpart in this universe. Would she just stand here while he was like this? No. She would go to him. Therefore, I have to go to him. A little voice inside is accusing me of wanting to go to him, but I know that's just nonsense.
Isn't it?
Gingerly, I walk across the room towards where he is standing, feeling like I'm walking towards a ticking plasma grenade. When I get there, I realize that I don't know what to do. I'm directly in front of him, but it's like he's not even noticing me.
Thinking I must be crazy, I decide to put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about Sulu. I can take care of myself."
If I can get through this, I might almost believe it's true.
Suddenly, a strong hand seizes my wrist. As he opens his eyes, a familiar half-smile crosses his face, a smile that never fails to bring me to my knees. "I do not doubt it," he says, pulling me into him with his alien strength, almost totally encompassing my body with his. The glimpse of warmth I felt before is now flowing through me in its entirety. We stand together in silence for a long while, my head pressed against his chest, listening to the sound of his Vulcan heart.
"Your body cools me, Lieutenant," he says.
Oh Lordy, and I'm heating up.
From my vantage point, I can see the sofa, in the place where it usually is. So much is different in these quarters, but the sofa is the same. During our music lessons, that's where I sit while he takes the chair, always placing it 1.2 meters away from me. For how many hours have I spent sitting beside him, always wanting to be closer to him? Sometimes it's been like torture.
But now I am closer to him. Yes, I know this is a different man, a brutal man, but this is how it's always been in my dreams.
Just like this.
"This is impossible," he says suddenly.
"What is?"
"Those weeks ago, when you agreed to...fill my need. That should have been the end of it."
My heart skips a beat. Fill his need? Does he mean...?
"My species is required to mate once every seven years. You served me ably for that purpose."
Yes, he does mean. I can feel something inside me begin to tingle.
"But since that night, I have found that I cannot stop thinking of you. I did not bond with you, but still I cannot stop thinking of you. Why?"
Right now, I don't know or care. My only answer is to tighten my grip.
"Nyota," he whispers as his hands begin to lose themselves in my hair.
Oh God, my name. Although I once told him he could use it, my Spock never has, as if its mere utterance would drive him one step too close to me. But why can't he take that step? Because he is my superior officer? No, that is too easy an answer. Because he feels nothing for me? No, there is an undeniable connection that exists between us. Because he has forgone all intimate relationships? No, there are rumors that he indulges in the occasional liaison. How I have always envied those women, envied that they got to experience something that I could only dream of.
Until now.
"No. It is too dangerous."
"What do you mean?" I ask, looking up at him.
"To be here, like this. With you."
"We're safe here."
"Perhaps. But it is not that. It is dangerous to me. I do not know what I am allowing myself to become. Every minute of every day, I find myself thinking of you, about how much I want to be with you. I know these thoughts are not worthy of me...of my father...of my people...but still I cannot stop. It makes me angry that I cannot stop." He shakes his head. "I must end this."
As his arms begin to loosen their hold on me, I find myself looking over to the couch once more. I find myself feeling the same thing I experience all too often, the hurt of him shutting himself off from me.
"No." I grasp in vain at his shoulders, but unyielding hands grab my wrists.
"Yes. Leave me. That is an order."
I bite back my tears. It isn't fair. I was so damn close, and now it's going to be taken away from me.
I can't let that happen. I have to try to persuade him. No, that won't work. I know it won't. But if I can't persuade him, then I have to attack him. What's more, I find that I want to attack him, to let out all the frustration that's been two years in the making.
"Fine," I yell, pushing him away from me. "Fine, I'll leave. But before I do, let's get one thing straight. Do you know why you don't want anyone to know about us? It's not because you can't protect me, it's because you're too afraid to protect me, to fight for me. You talk tough about killing the Captain? Well, I bet you don't even have the guts to kill that chicken-shit doctor."
He gives me a stone-cold glare and I let loose a self-satisfied smirk. Is there any universe where those two aren't at each other's throats?
"You're scared of him, aren't you?" I continue. "Him, the Captain, Sulu...all the rest." I give a loud humph. "And come to think of it? I don't know why I was ever interested in a coward like you in the first place."
I dive straight towards him, wagging my finger. "And the next time you want to come begging to get your lok serviced. And don't kid yourself, there will be a next time. Don't even bother." Pulling my agonizer from my belt, I wave it mockingly at him. "I'd rather you use this on me, instead." Throwing it at his feet, I spin around, my arms crossed in front of me.
There is a protracted silence, and I start to think that I've gotten a little too good at this charade. But just as I'm about to turn my head to see what he's up to, a powerful hand grips my shoulder, while the other holds my agonizer in front of my face.
"It is a dangerous game you play," a dark voice whispers into my ear as he places the device onto my upper chest.
I stop breathing. Yep, a little too good at this.
My heart going wild, I close my eyes and wait for the pain to strike, a pain I can only imagine. But he doesn't turn the agonizer on. Instead, he slowly begins to stroke me with it, the device nestled deep within his palm. For the next minute or so, he keeps stroking, leaving me to experience something that can only be described as exquisite torment.
"Although I believe you could benefit from a little discipline," he says in low voice, "I am willing to be lenient. Therefore, I will give you a choice. Do you wish for me to stop?"
"I...I..." I want to say yes, but though the agonizer's hardness frightens me, it pales in comparison to the warm softness of the hand that surrounds it.
"I may decide to turn it on, Lieutenant. You had better tell me." His hot breath is like a furnace, as he begins to slide the agonizer downwards into the opening of my halter top.
"Tell me to stop," he demands, as his hand goes deeper.
"No," I moan.
"Tell me."
"No!"
But he stops anyway. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pulls me backward, bracing me against him. "I have decided that I will overlook your insubordination," he says softly into my ear, as he once more shows me the agonizer, "on the condition that you will be more careful with this in the future."
Panting, I can only nod, as he reaches into the inside of my belt and tucks the device back into its small pocket.
Then suddenly, he spins me around to face him. "You say I do not have the strength to leave you. So be it. I accept your judgment." His predatory eyes dig deeper. "But your bravado does not deceive me." Then those eyes begin to slowly look me up and down, stopping to linger on my bare stomach and barely covered chest. "I know not the cause, but today I see a new...softness within you. And somehow...I find that it makes you all the more desirable."
I feel my cheeks flush as I realize that it's me he wants now. Not her. Me.
Finding it impossible to meet his smouldering gaze, I look down to my feet, but he cups my chin and gently forces my eyes to meet his. Then, without warning, his mouth descends. Soon, that motion is followed by his hands, as they begin to explore the contours of my back. A fire runs through my body as he begins to slide his hands down...down to my waist...down further to my...oh yes. A quiet moan escapes my mouth as strong fingers firmly grasp me there and lift me up, bringing me face to face with him. Immediately, his tongue begins to devour my mouth with renewed vigor.
Already overwhelmed, all I can do is hang on, my arms draped around his shoulders, my legs wrapped around his waist.
"Lieutenant," he says, after a time, "I find this...adequate. But I require more."
More?
"Yes, Spock."
"No," he growls. "Call me 'sir'. I have decided that I prefer it."
Whatever.
"Yes, sir."
He carefully releases his hands from my bottom and I slowly slide down against his body. Despite his command, he stands stalk still, refusing to completely relinquish his hold on me. It seems that I'm the one who's going to have to take charge of the situation.
Well, fine by me. I look around his quarters. His bedroom? There is nowhere else. As gently as I can, I reach behind and unclasp his arms.
Then, holding his hand in mine, I lead him to his bed.
...
Vulcan language lesson: lok = yep, you guessed it
Chapter Three
He was gentle with me. You would think that a man of such inner passion could have accidently hurt me with his threefold strength, but he didn't. A short while later, my naked body is blissfully entangled with his, warmly nestled beneath the sheets.
As we lay comfortably in our silence, I find myself glancing around his bedroom. Just like in the main area, there are several items hanging on the walls, though these seem to be more personal in nature.
Most prominent among them is a giant portrait sitting ominously on the wall across from us. It is a painted image of a formidable-looking Vulcan standing in front of a dark background. He is dressed in full military uniform. Judging by the sheer array of medals, badges, and insignia on his coat, he seems to be very high up in rank.
It's his father. I feel myself shiver as his stern eyes peer down at me, as though he can actually see me and is not pleased that I am here.
In my universe, Spock has no pictures of his family displayed in his quarters. He is very private about that aspect of his life. Once, I practically begged him to tell me about his parents. It was kind of a nosy thing to do, but I really wanted to learn more about him. Finally, I got him to bring out a little hologram of them. They looked so sweet as a couple, despite their obvious differences. So now, in this universe, I can't help but wonder why his mother isn't also in that painting, or why there's no image of her at all in the bedroom. Maybe there's one in the main area, one that I didn't notice earlier. But for some reason, I find myself doubting it.
My eyes wander to a spot on the wall near the entrance of the bedroom. There, I glimpse something that shocks me when I recognize it: a ka'athyra. The strings and the tone modulator are clearly present, but it's not like any ka'athyra I've ever seen. The body of the instrument is jet-black, as though it was carved from ancient obsidian. It also has tendril-like projections that branch away from the corners, giving it an almost spidery appearance. Still, it looks strangely beautiful in its own way.
"I tried to give him another chance," he says suddenly.
I turn my head on his bicep, which happens to be serving as my pillow. "You mean, the Captain?"
He nods. "When I left the bridge, I attempted to persuade him to take action against the Halkans."
"But he didn't listen, did he."
He shakes his head. "No. And I had no recourse but to inform Starfleet. They said they would notify me of their decision within the hour, but I believe I already know what that decision will be." He pauses, swallowing. "I believe they will want me to kill him."
I decide to probe a bit deeper. "Is this what you wanted to talk to me about earlier?"
He nods again.
"But you don't want to go through with it...do you."
He glances at me, grim-faced. "No. I have no desire for the captaincy. It would only distract from my scientific interests." He appears to hesitate a moment. "And you say he is my friend." He shrugs slightly. "Perhaps he is. But friend or no, if he does not change his mind, I will have no choice in the matter."
"Unless..." he says, after a few moments.
"Unless?" I ask.
"Unless there is another choice." Moving his head from side to side, he looks despondently at the ceiling. "I do not know the cause of the Captain's newfound defiance, but his words have given voice to doubts within me. How many worlds have we left in ruins?" A look of distaste crosses his face. "And now we will leave one more, all for the glory of the Empire. I have found myself growing tired...tired of the bloodshed. If I kill him and then proceed with Starfleet's orders, more blood will be spilled. And this time, it will all be on my hands."
I can only look at him. It seems that the so-called monster has a conscience after all.
He gives a quiet sigh. "But what if I chose to leave this all behind? Flee. Defect. Perhaps to Romulus. No matter what the Empire's propaganda would have us believe, I know that there is peace there. Freedom."
I almost feel my jaw drop. Peace? Freedom? On Romulus? This really must be a twisted universe if the Romulans are the democratic ones.
Turning his head, he looks deep into my eyes. "Would you come with me?"
"Yes," I say without thinking. But then reality crashes down, as I remember who I am, and what can never be. If the boys' escape plan goes as smoothly as it should, there won't be any future for us. But whereas that thought may have given me comfort only a half hour ago, right now I'm not so sure.
"You are lying," he says forcefully, as a renewed coldness enters his eyes.
"No, I'm not," I stammer in protest. But as he pulls his arm from me, I realize that my reluctant face must have given me away.
"Keep your secrets, then" he says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You know what will happen if you betray me."
A short time ago, I would have felt mortal fear at his words. But now I find that I'm feeling something else. And looking back at him, I can see by his alarmed stare that he also senses it.
"I...I did not mean to...forgive me...please," he says.
The monster is now asking for forgiveness, and I can't help but quiver at his vulnerability...at his need for me.
"I know you didn't mean it," I reply, my lips curving upwards as I slide a finger down the long rim of his ear. "Besides, do you really think I could ever let these things out of my sight?"
"You are incorrigible," he responds, his half-smile surfacing as he takes me by the shoulders and throws me on top of his hard, naked form. Capturing my eyes with his, he begins to run a soothing hand down the back of my hair.
But it is not long before his smile disappears, and his face takes on an almost haunted look. "I know why you hesitated. Such talk is foolishness. I am going nowhere...and neither are you. The Empire keeps order. The Empire must be preserved. We live to serve the Empire. It is logical."
Well, logical or not, he can't deceive me. Because now I know that there is no such thing as "Not Spock." No. This is Spock, a Spock living in a universe that has taught him nothing but hate. And maybe it's this hate that has driven him to find love. I also know that I could use that love to bring him fully into the light, if only I had the time.
Suddenly, an invasive buzzing sound emerges from the comlink across the room. As he glances at it, a look of irritation passes his face, followed by resignation. "That will be Starfleet. It would be best if you returned to the bridge." Once more, the half-smile makes an appearance as he touches my lips with his. "I will see you shortly."
Gently placing me aside, he exits the bed. But as I lay there, watching him dress quickly so he can answer his call, I find that a large part of me doesn't want to leave. I mean, not just his quarters, but this ship. Part of me wants to let the boys find their own way home, while I stay here with a man who is not so different from another one that I know, a man who will love me for as long as this cruel universe allows.
But then I think of Marla McGivers, and how similar words must have been passing through her mind when she abandoned her duty and betrayed us to Khan. I think I'm beginning to understand her a little better now. But the thing is, I'm not McGivers. No. I know my duty. The Captain and the boys will get us out of this. Somehow, they always do. But they will need my help. I also know that if the plan doesn't go as smoothly as we intend, the next time I meet this Spock it may be as his enemy.
I can only hope that this is somehow not the end, that the other Spock holds some kernel of love for me, and that one day he will reveal it like this one has.
Yeah. I can hope.
The End