Beauty and the Beast

Author notes: Pon Farr has to be one of the most cryptic things ever invented in the Star Trek Universe, imo. No explanation has ever been given in canon about what Spock does every seven years after it just mysteriously and abruptly ends after Amok Time. Of course, no one ever imagined we'd all still be worried about it forty-four years later. My own personal opinion has always been that T'Pring somehow triggered it through the mental bond that had been forged between them at age 7 and it quite possibly never happened to him again.

My original character makes this an AU, though I did once write her into every known episode of Star Trek, off screen, so it might still work.

My obsession with the Vulcan Science Officer and Vulcan culture in general demanded this be written. Considering the subject matter, it is adult in nature. It was written and intended for adults.

I don't own Star Trek or any of the characters. I just take them out to play every once in a while.

Vulcan, ShiKahr city, Temple of T'Panit

To the casual observer, the couple moving quietly through the cool stone corridors of the Temple of T'Panit looked like any other Vulcan couple. One would have to get much closer to see that the woman walking closely beside the man was not a Vulcan at all. Currently covered from head to toe in deep blue robes, a long golden veil protecting her head from heat and sand, she was indistinguishable from the other Vulcan women seeking spiritual guidance at the temple.

She was not there with her husband seeking spiritual guidance however. In fact, she had no idea why he had brought her there at all.

It was a place of serene and peaceful beauty, emphasized by the melodious chanting of the monks and the trickling of that most Vulcan of miracles – a series of fountains that graced the multiple courtyards. The cool interior and placid order contrasted sharply with the ruined nuclear blasted plain that lay just outside the temple - Vulcan's Forge, the site of the final war before Surak had walked across the Plain of Blood as it still lay washed in emerald green blood and founded a new way of life for Vulcans. The temple had one small balcony that served as an overlook to the Forge. It was the essence of simplicity with one small plaque that said only "Worla Yen-Tor." Never forget.

But Daphne had been here before, many times as a child growing up on Vulcan and learning its history. She knew only that Spock had not brought her here for a history lesson. She already knew more than the average "outworlder" and was, for all intents and purposes, d'velnahr – Vulcan by choice.

She followed him in silence through the public areas of the temple, finally winding their way back to a tall set of doors made out of another Vulcan miracle – wood. It opened on huge iron hinges and Spock carefully closed it and keyed a privacy setting into a modern device totally at odds with the ancient setting. He then led her into the hidden courtyard.

Shaded, graced by a small pool, potted plants and plants that hung from the delicate system of lacy girders that served as an open roof, it was a place that could inspire a sense of peace in anyone. But Spock hardly paused to let her admire the intricate beauty of this desert oasis, and he did not seem at all peaceful. In fact, he seemed almost "shut down", the empathy between them blocked. She normally basked in his presence. But whatever it was she normally basked in was just not there. 'The Great Wall of Vulcan,' Jim had once called it, a place deep inside Spock into which he retreated.

Though she respected his need for privacy, Daphne often hated that wall.

He took her to a small sunken garden. Raised garden beds surrounded it, stone stairs led down into it. An enormous statue carved from some kind of dark stone dominated it. A few feet in front of the statue was a meditation platform. Carefully placed candles illuminated the statue and the steps.

Spock turned so that they faced the statue. His thoughts were still closed to her, his face as impassive as she had ever seen it. Yet…. Something of ancient Vulcan simmered in his eyes. Finding no clue to their purpose here from him, Daphne studied the statue.

She was first drawn to the figure on the platform. It was the exquisite form of a sleeping woman, quite naked, disheveled hair pushed back from upswept eyebrows and delicately pointed ears. Even with her eyes closed and what seemed to Daphne to be the softest of contented smiles on her face, the sculptor had embodied in her serene strength, a celebration of life. She was at peace.

And finally she looked at the other figure, crouched in front of the platform on which the woman slept. It was a snarling beast with a huge cat-like head with large backswept ears and a deep V carved into its forehead. The shoulders and body were massive, full of deeply carved muscles and sinew. The sculptor had created a decidedly male body that left nothing to the imagination in some places and appeared to be a blend of human and animal characteristics. It might have been a were-cat out of Terran mythology, or a creature that had somehow melded man and lematya. Its mouth was open in defiance, showing long serrated pointed teeth. One paw was raised, lethal claws unsheathed. Glittering black eyes of polished gems challenged whoever approached.

From the point of view of xenobiology, Daphne knew this was no creature that existed in nature. As an archaeologist she was curious as to the age and history of this place and this statue. As art she found it breathtaking.

Beside her, Spock seemed to withdraw even more, unsettled, his bedrock certainty compromised. He drew a long ragged breath and swallowed before speaking.

"What do you think of him?"

It was not the question she expected so she looked again at the blatantly male animal. Finally she answered, in her voice that, to him, was always like the soothing summer rain. "He's magnificent."

She waited, gave him the time she sensed he needed. She was uncertain but it seemed her answer reassured him.

"Do you understand what this represents?" he asked her finally.

She shook her head and the silence lengthened between them. Daphne had no choice but to wait. This was something deeply Vulcan, something that she had not been privileged to know as part of her education, even though she had been raised on Vulcan. She pushed the veil from her head to take advantage of the garden's coolness, revealing the golden hair that flowed over her shoulders and down her back. Spock looked at her then, down into molten gold eyes, and felt as if he was losing his balance in too many ways. He carded the fingers of one hand through her hair, pausing a moment to watch the flickering candle light play off the pale caramel colored strands. D'velnahr she may be, but in so many ways she was hopelessly alien to his world. Suddenly she seemed too small and vulnerable to bear the task he would lay before her.

"Spock whatever it is, just tell me," she wanted to touch him but he seemed suddenly too brittle. Her voice was pleading, aching, "Your thoughts and feelings are completely hidden from me, as never before. I am not sure where you are but it isn't here with me. I'm not talking about your normal boundaries, or even your inner barriers. Those I recognize and respect. This is more like a solid wall, between us. I am not sure you're aware of it, and it is your right of course. Your thoughts are always your own and no one else's. But it is…. difficult for me. We're about to be married, for the third time, and yet it is almost as if I have lost you, every part of you. What is this? What does this represent to Vulcans? What is this place?"

He swallowed again and said so softly she almost didn't hear him, "Pon Farr. The plak-tow."

Since he was shielding his thoughts and emotions from her, Daphne had no idea of the gut-wrenching, visceral reaction Spock had to the image. It was as if someone had stripped him of his skin and his Vulcan discipline, even his human heritage, and lay bare what he had been under it all, exactly seven years ago.

In the course of his relationship with Daphne, he had once ripped the hatch of a sealed airlock out of its housing to get to her. He had picked up an Orion pirate –twice the mass and height of a Vulcan and intent at the time on kidnapping his wife - hurled him into a bulkhead hard enough to dent it and nearly strangled him with one hand. He knew firsthand the destruction he was capable of inflicting.

"You…" he paused, seeking control, "You should be grateful for the wall between us. I won't inflict on you emotions I can barely control myself. I am not sure either of us will be able to control it, k'diwa. The blood fever has been known to burn everything in its path.Even now I feel it beginning. I do not want to ask this of you – to break the laws of love in the name of biology."

"But I do love you," she said, quietly. His eyes opened wider and then narrowed again. She went on, "I've always loved you. You have no idea how hard it was being torn between telling you that, all those years ago, letting my guard down, admitting to myself how I felt – or risk losing you forever. I remember with clarity how precious those few moments were that I could be alone with you, in the beginning," she paused, breathing slowly. Her scattered thoughts struggled for voice. "Now, after being sealed to you for so long, having lived in your thoughts…. To be locked out of your life even for a moment…." She reached for his hand, her eyes locked with his, "I am yours. I surrendered to you long ago and not even you can change that. I entered into a bond with you as a symbol of ultimate trust. Do with it what you will. But whatever you are experiencing, I would rather go through it with you than watch from a distance. It is my right as your bond mate to go through it with you. My strength, my control, is yours and always will be. I am not grateful for this wall. I am never grateful for it."

He freed his hand from hers only to wrap strong fingers around her wrist and pull her close to him. The heat of his Vulcan body seared through her robes.

She knew that was why they were on Vulcan and was suddenly angry at herself for being so dense. While she had been caught up in the plans for the kal-i-farr – the Vulcan marriage ceremony – Spock had been caught in the knowledge that soon the entire chemistry of his brain would alter and he would lose all control. While she had been trying not to fail his parents and his culture, she failed the one person who was more important than anyone else – Spock.

She focused now on him, and on what he wanted her to know. The statue stood before her like a challenge. It would be easy to assume the beast was guarding prey; that it was about to shred the helpless female. It would be easy to assume the woman should fear the beast.

The message of the statue was in its small details: the façade presented by the serene gardens on the exterior, the need to walk down into shadow lit only deliberately by hand, the hint of smile on the woman's face indicating that she was safe and content, the way her hand rested trustingly on the shoulder of the beast, the way the crouched body sheltered and protected her. She was turned towards the beast, open in her assurance and belief. Daphne looked into the face of the beast and saw the snarl of defense, of guardianship, of desire and need. This woman belonged to him and he would defend her with his life. Within her she responded in a way that was not wholly logical. What she felt was a deep, primal reaction from the dawn of time, an attraction to the male who would throw himself between his mate and danger.

Daphne turned back to Spock and stepped ever closer to him, reached for him. He caught her wrists and held her hands at her side, not allowing her to touch him further.

"Will you be able to look into those eyes," he canted his head towards the Beast, "and still see me?"

"I have been unable to see past the wall between us and yet I still see only you. Kaiidth, ashayah'm. Spock, let me in," She softly begged.

He let go of her wrists, spread his fingers in a V-shape as he cradled her head between his hands. Her hair threaded through his fingers, his fingertips tingled against her scalp as he opened the link between them once again. Her thoughts flowed into his, cool and silken, as his ran into hers molten with desire. In all his complexity, all his light and shadow, all the reconciliations he had to make between his two worlds, everything that made him the unique and powerful individual he was, Daphne loved him. She looked at him fully and fearlessly, seeing him for everything he was.

Her hand found the back of his neck, pulled him down for a kiss. Her mouth opened under his and passion mixed with a strange kind of reverence and innocence. She melted under him. He broke the kiss and looked down and his eyes devoured, hot and hungry.

His arms closed around her as she slipped hers around his waist, laid her head against him. He wanted to stay there the rest of his life. He held her, held onto her as his lifeline, his anchor, his northern star. As long as he had her he would be all right. Daphne reached for his hand and paired her first two fingers with his, pressing hard, linking the rest of their fingers tightly.

Wordlessly, he took her to a small bench set into a niche on the wall. He sat down with his back against the side, his knee against the back of it, and drew her down to sit within the circle of his legs. Her back settled against his chest, her head beneath his chin. She rested her head against the folds of his robe in the hollow of his shoulder. He laced the fingers of one hand together with the fingers of one of hers. For a moment they simply sat in silence, watching the light change as Vulcan's sun gave way to the reflected light of T'Khut.

She whispered at last, "Before I built a wall I'd ask to know, what I was walling in or walling out, and to whom I was like to give offence,"she waited a moment to look up at him pointedly before finishing the quote,"Something is there that doesn't love a wall, that wants it down."

"Robert Frost, The Mending Wall," Spock immediately identified the source,"I did not mean to offend you, k'diwa."

"You didn't offend me," she replied. "It just seems an appropriate poem at the moment."

He paused, one eyebrow slowly rising and humor came to light in his warm, expressive eyes, briefly drowning the desire, "The next line does speak of 'elves?'"

Daphne laughed then, like the shimmer of water in the fountains, and continued, "I could say 'elves' to him," she turned to lightly trace one finger along the delicate upsweep of his ear to the sensitive point, ending the quote on a whisper, "But it's not elves exactly."

She tilted her face up and was simply too irresistible not to kiss again. He pulled the clip from the back of her head and let all of her hair tumble out in a wild cascade of golden highlights. They kissed, slowly, chaste and gentle, while he let those heavy silky strands glide through his fingers.

By the end of the week, Spock had stopped eating.