Part I – Pestilence

Chapter 1

"What I've tasted of Desire"

She was wearing white. It was such a silky contrast to her cocoa brown skin, illuminated by dewy youth and the radiance of her special day. Her hair was two-strand twisted and fastened on the side, entwined with baby's breath, with the small veil she wore. Her dress was silk and simple. She'd made a beautiful bride.

Now she waited for her husband, the tall, lean, pale man that she'd loved for years. She sat at the vanity of the hotel room, removing the veil from her hair, untwisting her hair so that it sprung carefully down to her chin, bouncing softly. He also found her hair like this sexy, bubbly, though she never got to wear it like that. She sat the veil down and shook out her hair, watching the kinky spirals twang and bounce. She started to lower the thin, silk spaghetti strap of her dress, and felt a hand, his hand, warm and inviting stop hers. His hand was large, with long fingers, and a stark contrast to the low, dark light of the honeymoon suite. She feels him pull her strap back up on her shoulder. He kisses the palm of her hand, and grabs her into his body to dance slowly around their room. He's still dressed in his gray tuxedo from the wedding. She smiles in spite of herself.

"Spock, do you want to go to bed?" she whispers, their bodies and lips pressed so closely that she can feel his breath against her lips. He leans in and touches their lips together tentatively and then deepened the kiss, tasting her beautiful mouth. She feels him harden against her, his grip on her waist tighten. She is his captive.

"Indeed," he smiles, which was a turning upward of his lips and kisses her again, sweeping them both towards the large bed in the middle of the room. He picks her up and lays her down. She spreads her hands over her head, stretching like a feline, adjusting to the feel of the heavy bed underneath her back. He removes the coat of the tux, and the suspenders, and then his shoes, and then spread himself over her, ruffling her with kisses.

"You are so beautiful," he says, lowering the straps of her dress quickly, his desire overriding his patience.

"I am you wife," she says, her voice stoic and she feels him push her breast together and suckle both nipples. She feels deep bites against her breasts, feels skin break and warm, sticky, moisture pool at her neck and at her shoulders. She cries out and pushes at him to move away, but he is too strong.

"You are my wife," the voice coming from him is guttural, harsh, unlike any voice she's ever heard. She pushes her whole weight against him again, but he won't budge.

"Spock, what's gotten into you," feeling him push her dress above her knees and further past her thighs. She feels her panties rip and sees the shreds get tossed over his head. She struggles against his strength again, this time gaining the attention of his eyes.

His eyes are glowing, cognac colored and strong, pulsating with deliberateness as he enters her in one painful stroke.

"Do not fight me on this. I am your master," Spock says, and lowers his hands down to her throat, almost crushing her windpipe with the force as he thrusts deeply. She feels herself slipping into darkness, wanting to scream but his hold on her throat is steadfast. Her eyes plead with him, meeting his cognac orbs and he smiles with depravity down at her as he comes inside of her and speaking into the darkness:

"Nalusa Falaya…"

Nyota awakes covered in sweat and shaking. She is alone in her shared quarters and looks around for Spock, hoping what she'd experienced was a dream. She is relieved when she realizes that where her mind was, in dream sleep, took place on her wedding day, which was yet to happen. Nyota got up, walked over to her and Spock's closet and eyed the white dress, free from blemish and never worn. It was a wedding day that never came. With the death of Sarek the day before their ceremony, Spock had been quite busy preparing for a state memorial to those who'd perished. The Aspirion-3 virus, it seemed, had mutated to such a lethal form as to become airborne. The virus was spreading quickly, enticing Starfleet to enlist the help of its best Science Officers, leaving Spock and McCoy as the two leaders of both divisions of the teams. Spock and McCoy hadn't had any direct contact with the virus as of yet, but Uhura knew that the day was coming.

Uhura closed the closet door and went into the kitchen to make some tea. There, she sees Spock slouching from exhaustion in a chair, watching avidly the security holo from his father's murder. Rudy Santino had become the most popular man in the universe, after shooting the Ambassador in cold blood. There wasn't much of the holovid left after the destruction of the facility, but the part where Sarek seemingly pleaded for his life was being played and replayed over every Communicator all over the universe. Uhura watched as Spock leaned in, watching the muted last words of his father again and again.

"Spock, turn that off, please," she was standing in one of his t-shirts and panties, her hair twisted up for the night, underneath a red, silk kerchief. He always thought she looked adorable when she was ready for bed.

"You're awake," he said, his voice dull and lifeless, begging for sleep. She walked closer to him, searching to see if his eyes glowed cognac. She was still thrown off by the vivid dream she'd had. Seeing that his eyes were their normal color, Uhura cleared her throat and placed her hands on her hips. Spock knew this as her nagging stance and prepared himself.

"So are you. You need to sleep," he started to speak, but she held up her hand, "before you start on how Vulcans need less sleep I already know that. But with everything that has happened, you need to come to bed."

She neglected to mention that she needed him desperately to hold her and tell her that he was going to be alright. The situation was so bleak and becoming bleaker. Spock sat up, and leaned into the Holovid again.

"I'm so close to understanding why this happened. I do not believe the murder was intentional," Spock said, looking into Nyota's eyes.

"Why does it matter if we posthumously clear Rudy Santino's name? I know that sounds selfish, but you have so much on your plate now, with the virus and working to find a cure that I don't need you trying to figure out the mysteries of your father's murder."

"They are one and the same, Nyota," Spock said, "They have to be to be linked," he whispered the last part to himself.

Uhura's face screwed up in confusion and she sinks down to the chair in front of him, watching as the Holovid looped over and over again: Sarek grabs hold of Rudy Santino's ankle; Rudy Santino shoots Sarek in cold blood, and then Rudy turns the gun on himself, taking the last and fatal blow to the head. It was the typical murder suicide. She shakes her head in disbelief and leans in to turn off the holo. Spock grabs her hand and stops her.

"Look at that," he says, eyeing the vid with widened eyes. She turns to stare at the holo and he leans in to pause it.

"I don't see anything," she says.

"My father, he's talking to Rudy…"

"He's probably pleading for his life," Uhura says.

"Vulcans do not beg," he's still staring at the paused holo. She leans into him.

"Spock, you don't know what happened. Even the most disciplined of minds, will plead for their lives."

"Or maybe the video has been altered," Spock says, sounding more steadfast and logical than ever. They square off, eyes wide and both of them stubborn. She breaks first and smiles. She goes to turn off the holovid again, he grabs her hand again. She doesn't pull away, only allows herself to melt into his lap and distract him with a kiss to his lips and a caress to his right ear, the more sensitive ear. She pulls away and looks at his dark, dull, tired eyes, and she sees him yawn. Uhura shakes her head, and with resolution and strength pulls him from the chair.

"Vulcans do not yawn either," she says with a huff.

"Half-Vulcans do," he responds. She rolls her eyes, knowing that he only pulls out his parentage when he's being more than stubborn. She wraps her arms around his waist and shuffles him to the bedroom. Nyota pushes Spock down onto the heavy covers, removing his shoes, and his Starfleet shirt. She sees him curl into the covers, his clothes still on.

She won't bother him about his pants and his socks tonight. He needs sleep. She slips into the bed next to him, feeling his warmth, and the small vibration from his chest as he slips into REM. She curls her body into his nook and allows herself to drift into a dreamless sleep.