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Oblivion
In T'Pring's hand James' fingers brushed hers. She was inundated with waves of alien sensations. Lust. Something she would categorize as affection. Apprehension. Sorrow.
Overwhelmed by the confusing threads of his feelings, she paused, shut her eyes.
"Hey," he said, stepping around her, his hands leaving her fingers and sweeping stray tendrils of hair from her face. "T'Pring, you don't have to do this."
The pads of his fingers danced across the delicate telepathic receptors of her temples. Behind her closed eyes each touch lit a spark like a fire lizard in the sands of the desert outside of Shi'kahr. She would never see fire lizards again. Leaning her forehead into his chest, she willed him not to go, not to drop his hands.
She felt his chin drop to the top of her head. And for a moment he seemed to understand, his fingers did not leave her face and she wasn't alone in her mind - it wasn't as intense as a full meld, but still she could feel him, and see images. It was like the loose connection of the family bond...as soon as she thought that her stomach fell and his. Dropping his arms and wrapping them around her he pulled her tightly to him.
The absence of his mind felt like being thrown from a cliff.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said.
Analytically, she knew it was what humans said to express sympathy. She didn't feel like arguing about how illogical it was.
"What can I do?" he said. "What can I do?"
Taking a deep breath, she shuddered. I need. I want. These were hard things for a Vulcan to say. But her body seemed to be capable of speaking. Without her will, her hand crept up his chest towards his face.
Pulling back, she stared at her rebellious fingers hovering in the air.
And then the most extraordinary thing happened.
James took her hand in his and pulled it towards his face, gently positioning her fingers in the meld formation. He knew what she wanted. She had no time to wonder over this.
She had never melded with his species. In approximately 27.35% of cases, a meld could result in injury to humans. But it was if she'd been on the edge of a precipice and had already fallen.
All their thoughts and feelings ran together, like chalk on a sidewalk in a rainstorm in Iowa, or the ingredients of plomeek soup steeping in a pot. And all those thoughts and feelings flowed inexorably down to that single horrible day.
Her family's last moments together. His hearing. Her sister being crushed before her eyes. Nero. Spock. T'Pring's parents coercing her aboard the pod. James destroying the drill and falling to Vulcan's disintegrating surface. Amanda's death. The freighter finding her pod - all the strangers. Jim on the ice-planet...and another Spock from another universe and another time. Jim's meld with this other Spock...another life for Jim and T'Pring...that other Spock's failure to prevent the destruction of Romulus...this universe's Spock's attempt to murder Jim...which Jim oddly did not begrudge...but T'Pring...
...and 6 billion deaths. 6 billion deaths! The result a grief-stricken, mad Romulan.
...Jim's failure. She saw his anguish. His despair. His memories of her family - feeling more at home on an alien world than on his own-she saw horrible glimpses of a lonely childhood. There were many women...and T'Pring...and another, an Orion - Gaila. He saw her lonely weeks aboard the freighter, not knowing what had happened. She saw his strange promotion to captain by Starfleet Intelligence and his confusion. His sense of inadequacy...
But all these images...and Jim's feelings, were tinged with green. The green of T'Pring's own rage.
One mad Romulan! One mad Romulan! The feeling flew from her to him and ignited them both. T'Pring dropped her hands and began to pound into his chest. She might have screamed.
Grabbing her hands, Jim said, "T'Pring, T'Pring!" Maybe he shouted.
But she couldn't stop herself. She kept struggling, kept trying to move her fists.
They were evenly matched physically, but Jim had more leverage and combat training on his side. He wrestled her to the bed and pinned her hands above her head. Gasping and writhing, T'Pring tried to dislodge him.
"It's okay," he murmured in her ear, even as his legs locked hers to the mattress and prevented her from pulling her heels up beneath her and arching her body to get him off. "It's okay, Baby, let it go."
It was not okay. The illogic of his statement - and her own lack of control, her own desire to lash out at him when nothing was really his fault, made her burn even more.
And then he did something that in that moment seemed infuriatingly stupid. He let go of her hands.
Reaching up with a cry, she drew her nails down his cheeks.
Not moving or crying out, he just closed his eyes and put his own fingers against her cheeks. She felt his pain, but also his acceptance...and something else, a sense of penance. For Vulcan. For Gaila. For T'Pring's family. For T'Pring herself. For failing all of them.
Blinking in shock, T'Pring took a deep breath and stared at James. In the trail of her nails, crimson was welling, cold and alien.
"It's okay, it's okay," he whispered, his forehead coming to rest against hers.
The rage was still in her, not vanquished, just suppressed beneath her shame at lashing out at him. She needed to apologize but couldn't make her mouth move, so she brought her fingers again to his temples.
I am sorry she willed her mind to say.
He shook his head, eyes wide and nearly violet in the low light of the bedroom. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he said aloud.
And then T'Pring saw herself, from the outside, through his eyes. Small, hot to the touch, breathing heavy beneath him, his robe falling off her shoulders, her front completely exposed to him.
Warmth radiated from his center. And hers. He wanted her. And she wanted him...or maybe she was just overwhelmed by his want?
The soft cloth of his sleeping trousers was the only thing between them. The effort to remove that last barrier seemed tremendous - but would be infinitesimal.
As that thought rolled through her mind, James' breath hitched.
"T'Pring," he whispered, and she could feel the effort it took him, "we are both shell shocked. We're both likely -" He pressed his lips to the bridge of her nose and leaned his forehead back against hers, his bare chest dropping to her own. "-to do stupid things." He did not move his body, and T'Pring felt the pull she had over him. He wasn't thinking much, he was just overwhelmed by sensations. She caught pieces of thoughts. So good. Bad idea. Can't move. So hot.
She did not want to move either. It was so much easier to lie here and dwell in sensation. Not to move, not to think. To bask in the heavy air that seemed to have settled over them. To let this thing that was overtaking them drown out all other thoughts.
It would overtake them, unless she did something. Pulled away.
A fractured thought came from James, God, help me...can't believe I'm going to say this.
Swallowing, he said, "We should think about this." Pulling away from her he mumbled, "Shell shock..."
And the link fell away as he pulled himself up.
T'Pring saw green again. Whether because of Nero, or Jim pulling away, or that it was him ending this illogic instead of her, she wasn't sure.
Swinging a leg up around his hips, she pulled him down and took his face in her hands again.
He was furious. Dammit, T'Pring. But his anger was better than being alone in her mind and despite it he began pressing his lips to her eyebrows, her cheeks and then her lips. Feeling an unfamiliar hardness pressed against her thigh, she shifted slightly. Sparks of a chemical electric cascade shot through him and directly down her finger tips.
Something very base and deep within her responded. Something she was sure was older than her species, and definitely older than telepathy. It wasn't like the rage she'd felt, still felt, but it felt akin to it. It was alive and limitless. It was action, and it was something she could do, or be, and she didn't have to think.
Exhaling hard, James pressed his lips to hers. Taking his lips gently between her teeth, she found his hands and brought them to her face. With the light link in place, she reached down with her hands and pulled his trousers down over his hips.
As the cold air hit him, the chemical electrical cascade overwhelmed her mind, and he gasped. Or maybe it was her.
x x x x
Nyota Uhura was just pouring herself a cup of tea when her buzzer sounded. Startled, she spilled a bit of hot water on her finger. Sliding over to the sink to run cool water over the burn, she gave an aggravated huff and looked at the chronometer. It was 07:03.
Maybe it was Spock? She wanted to be there for him, but since he decided that it was his duty to help his people rebuild his race, it was difficult. She'd felt the need to sleep alone last night...but maybe.
Shaking the water off her hands, she went to the door and pressed the accept button.
It slid open to reveal one very bedraggled James T. Kirk. In addition to mussed hair and an unshaven face, he had scratch marks down his face. "Uhura," he said, running his hands through his hair. "Great. You're here."
Feeling a scowl of annoyance, she said, "What do you want?"
"I, uh, need to borrow some clothes. A friend spent the night and her clothes got ripped in the fresher," he said, shifting his weight as though he was preparing to zip right by her.
She'd thought he'd changed since Delta Vega and the mind meld with the other Spock. When he came back to the Enterprise after that little episode she'd sensed it. He was less cocky. More bearable.
But here he was, still a classless whore. Sliding to block him she said, "So, let me get this straight. You bang someone, things get a little crazy, and you come over to my place to borrow some clothes?" She eyed his cheek pointedly.
Reddening, Jim scowled and said, "Don't be crass." Running his hands through his hair he said, "She's Vulcan, a friend...she came in on the last freighter and I...errr...offered her my couch."
Nyota's jaw fell. "Offered her your couch?"
Looking down and stuffing his hands in his pockets, Jim said, "Yeah."
She tilted her head. Actually, he was being surprisingly humble, not like the cocky boy-man who'd hit on her when she'd caught him in her room - presumably interrupted in the process of having sex with her roommate. But that still didn't explain some things. Narrowing her eyes she said, "And her clothes."
Meeting her eyes and stepping forward, Jim said, "Clothes aren't meant to be lived in for a two weeks straight."
His voice was angry and genuine. Nyota took a step back and then caught herself. "The scratch on your cheek?"
Rubbing his cheek he said, "Uh, yeah, she's a little upset about everyone in her family dying. I kind of became her punching bag-errr, scratching post."
"Did you insult her mother too?" asked Nyota.
"No!" said Jim, eyes flashing at her. "And you know I only did that to save Earth. I'm not that big of an ass."
Nyota blinked. Did he just call himself an ass? "No, I guess not," she said stepping aside.
Not waiting for an invitation, he walked right past her and towards the bedroom. "Spock's not here, right?"
"No," she called after him as he ducked around the corner.
"Good. Yeah, sorry, about this," he called from her room. "T'Pring just doesn't want to be alone, and I have to report to Pike in an hour. You know she wants to be useful, and so I suggested - Jesus, your closet is organized."
There was something about the name, T'Pring, that rang a bell. Nyota turned the corner to find Jim standing in front of the open door of her closet looking perplexed. Her closet was very organized. By clothing type and by color.
"Light or dark-skinned Vulcan?" she asked.
"Light-skinned, dark hair, dark eyes," said Jim. "She's a doctor of xenomedicine. I figure she can help Bones out while I'm at work."
Picking out a long, modest, greenish-brown dress and handing it to him, Nyota said, "Come on, let's go take care of your cheek."
"Thanks," said Jim, obediently following her into her sanitary cubicle.
As she opened her first aid kit he blinked. "Hey, you've got light and dark dermoplasters. Are those the kind that work in an hour?"
"Forty five minutes," said Nyota, not bothering to comment on the first half of the statement. He was the genius; he could figure it out.
The rapid dermaplasters had just come on the market last year and they'd saved her on numerous occasions. Vulcans had distinct needs when it came to sex. They had an "obsessive compulsive marking behavior" as Spock called it. Which meant he liked - no needed-to bite, to mark and be marked.
Putting a dermaplaster that was a little too pale on Jim's cheek, she raised an eyebrow. She still wasn't entirely convinced of Jim's innocence. "Beside the scratch, anything else? Did she bite you, too?" she said hoping it sounded teasing and not probing.
Scowling and rubbing the dermaplaster on his cheek, Jim said, "Why would she bite me? This was just an accident, Uhura." Shaking his head in obvious annoyance, he left the sanitary cubicle.
Blinking, Nyota followed him. Maybe he had slept on the couch? Or the "she" in question wasn't Vulcan - although, Nyota didn't feel like Jim was lying. Granted, Spock had sex with other women without the marking behavior, but he was half-Vulcan. A full Vulcan-she blinked again as they approached the entrance. A full Vulcan wouldn't engage in unbonded sex to begin with.
Turning quickly at the door, Jim held up the dress. "Thanks for this, Uhura. I really appreciate it."
Nyota nodded.
Scratching behind an ear, he said, "You're the only woman in the officers' quarters I know -"
Crossing her arms, Nyota said, "That you haven't slept with?"
Jim smiled his trademark obnoxious frat boy grin. "Yeah, pretty much."
"Get out of here," she said.
"Yep," said Jim, turning to hit the button.
The door slid open - and there stood Spock.
"Oh, hey, there," said Jim smacking him on the shoulder. "I err...think I have someone you know staying with me. Gotta go. Thanks, Uhura."
Nyota was pretty sure Spock didn't hear. His eyes were trained on her.
She sighed at "the look." Vulcans were terribly territorial. She was going to have a lovely time explaining this episode. Even though Spock would no doubt assume her innocence, he wouldn't trust Jim's intentions.
She shook her head. Jim Kirk and a Vulcan. He must have slept on the couch.
x x x x
The San Francisco fog was so dense T'Pring could not see the officer's quarters even though her Vulcan mind, with its precision for distance and time, registered it as being no more than 30 meters away.
She'd been on Earth 6 days, 17 hours and 6 minutes. She had adapted to the lighter gravity and no longer had the occasional odd sensation of floating. She'd adjusted to the higher oxygen content, it did not make her feel at all inebriated anymore. She was mostly accustomed to the crowds of complete strangers milling around her, their faces dramatic displays of feeling. But she could not get used to the fog. It permeated everything and left everything, even the human civilian medical uniform she now wore, permanently damp and cold.
Walking so fast she was almost at a jog, she plunged forward into the cloud. The doors of her destination seemed to materialize before her. It was as if the universe only stretched as far as she could see. As though beyond her line of vision there weren't the 8,596 refugees - 2,396 of them physically injured, all of them mentally scarred.
It was as though she hadn't spent the last ten hours consciously rebuilding her shields as the suffering of her fellow telepaths invaded her mind. Usually only touch telepaths, in times of intense stress Vulcans projected. Normally, these projections would be too weak for a psi-null person to sense, but even T'Pring's human colleagues seemed affected.
And in the dense blanket of fog, it was if after 6 days, 16 hours and 7 minutes on this planet she hadn't run into Spock.
Forcing the suffering of her fellow refugees, their haunting projections, and Spock from her mind, she approached the doors. Pulling her visitor's access pass from the bag slung over her shoulder, she waited. There was a soft beep and she swept in. Not bothering with the lift, she took the stairs up three flights to James' unit. Holding up her pass again, she entered and walked straight to the bedroom.
He wasn't there. She went to the sanitary cubicle. Empty.
It was 19:15. His comm message said he'd be here. From the front of the unit she heard the door slide open. Turning quickly she left the cubicle.
Jim was taking off his dress jacket in the hallway. Nodding at her, unsmiling he said, "Sorry, Admiral Komack -"
T'Pring cut him off, gently taking his bottom lip between her teeth, and helping him with his jacket. As soon as his arms were free they were around her and her hands flew to his face. He was aroused - and angry. Not at her. She was angry too. But not at him.
She pushed her body more tightly against his. His response hit her from below as he pushed his hips into hers, and from above as the neuro-cascade of his sensations delivered her from any further thoughts.
x x x x
Later they reclined together on the couch, James beneath her, a throw over their bare entwined legs. So much physical contact didn't seem strictly necessary to T'Pring, but James never let her go after their couplings. Since it facilitated a mental link between them, she didn't protest.
Now her head was on his chest. He was still wearing his black Starfleet undershirt. She, too, still wore her top garment, though hers was open.
"You are not talking," she said. They often talked, or melded in these times. She'd seen his meeting with his mother a few days after her arrival through his mind. Mrs. Kirk had showed up at the designated meeting place already intoxicated at 11 a.m. James had been furious, and hurt.
He'd seen the young Vulcan women who had volunteered to be bonded to the Vulcan men who slipped into Pon Farr. Only the value of her medical knowledge saved her from a similar fate. For now anyway.
James ran a hand across her hair. "I didn't want to bore you with my tales of battling bureaucracy."
"Admiral Komack is still resisting getting bulb covers for the lights aboard the Enterprise?" T'Pring said.
James huffed. "Well, you know, since my assignment as captain is only a PR stunt, why bother? Save the resources for the real ships."
T'Pring had already told him of the rumors that it was T'Pau who pushed for his captaincy, and of mental glimpses she'd caught from an injured Vulcan Defense Force member of a time capsule recovered that mentioned his name. It was human to repeat herself but he was human, so she said, "I don't think your assignment will be strictly ceremonial."
He touched her temple and she felt his gratitude but he spoke anyway, "Thanks."
They lay there in silence for 12.3 minutes, and James was slipping into a light doze, when T'Pring started to feel it. The fading of what James called, "the afterglow." Thoughts began to pull at the edges of consciousness. She shifted her body.
"What is it?" James said drowsily. "Hungry?"
"Yes," she said. It was true.
"That's not it," he said stroking her hair from her temple. "Tell me."
She was silent for a minute and thirteen seconds, and then said, "I saw Spock today."
Through the fingers at her temple she caught something, a flicker of something...jealousy maybe? It was odd, because he would talk about Gaila to T'Pring. T'Pring had always believed that Vulcans were more territorial than humans but it evoked no jealousy or possessiveness in her.
Jim quickly pulled his hand away. "Oh. I'm sure he was glad to see you."
"No, I do not think so," said T'Pring. "It took him six days to contact me." And his last words were 'live long and prosper.' He did not expect to see her again for some time.
Sighing, Jim said, "T'Pring, if he didn't want to see you, you wouldn't have seen him at all."
T'Pring sat up and looked at James. "Your logic is sound."
Taking a deep breath he said, "Whatever happened between you in this timeline couldn't have been worse than what happened in the other timeline."
T'Pring took a breath. She knew about her other self calling for the kal-if-fee. But...she looked down at the floor.
"I was inadequate," she said. "I did not meet his needs. I still do not understand." She had tried, and failed.
James licked his lips. "You know...I'm not an expert on this Spock. But...he is half human. I can see, that for a human boy, to be bonded at seven, and told that was the only woman he'd ever be getting...well...he might have an awful lot of resentment."
It was true. Spock had resented her greatly. Tilting her head, T'Pring said, "I have heard arranged marriages between children happened historically among humans."
"Yeah," said James, "hundreds of years ago, often among royalty. But I can tell you, most of the guys probably had mistresses on the side." He sighed. "Monogamy happens with humans. I don't know the numbers, but a lot of us wait until marriage before having sex. Still, a lot of us seem more cut out to be serial monogamists."
T'Pring looked at him. She'd caught glimpses of things through his mind. Serial monogamy wouldn't be a strictly accurate description of his life style.
Guessing her train of thought he said, "...or something."
Settling back down into his arms, she said. "He had less feelings of...affection...for me than you do." And something else was missing, a feeling she sometimes caught as a shadow flickering between her parents. Something lovely, expansive, dark and possessive. She couldn't explain it to Jim, so she didn't try, but she added. "I did try, one time, to engage in sexual congress with him before our formal marriage. But I was unable to. Yet here I am. It is very strange."
James said nothing. He just kissed the top of her head and gently stroked her shoulder.
They did couple again later that night, but for the first time since that first night, James hesitated. "Are you sure this is the right thing to do, T'Pring?" Which of course made her furious. And that fueled his arousal - he said he was developing a Pavlovian response to her rage. And his arousal added fire to hers.
Afterwards she was so relaxed, so at peace, that she managed to meditate for two hours and thirteen minutes, her longest spell since the destruction of her homeworld.
Some of her patients had remarked on her calm, her self-control. She knew it was due to her time with James. No matter how deviant her behavior, her system for dealing with grief, it seemed to be working.
And then the next day James had to go and change everything.
A/N:
Errr...this story won't all be depressing. I put the Nyota part in there to give it a little levity, also, I thought through her eyes it might be easier to see things even Jim and T'Pring might miss. I'm a little afraid the next chapter might wander into M territory...so Story Alert it if you don't peek there often.
Reviews are love, and the only way Notes and I get paid. If you liked this, please let me know. It does help me keep going.
