This is a collaborative story.
Neither of us owns anything Star Trek. We made up the Ensign.
This chapter was written by ejectingthecore.
51. Variables
It's very early morning, and the light in our cabin is dim. Spock's side of the bed is untouched, but I know he's here. I can feel his presence close to me. It's not a sweeping emotion or vision of a scene or memory like our erratic bond sometimes creates. It's a simple fact.
I get up and pull on a t-shirt, some workout pants. I don't know why but I have this urge to be covered. I go to the living room, and I find him there dressed in his uniform, seated with his long legs stretched out, his elbows on the arms of our big chair and his fingers steepled. A serious and contemplative stance, one I've seen many times when he's considering grave matters or weighing variables.
I get a deep sinking feeling, like I'm a variable.
Without preamble he tells me, "It would be best for both of us if you were to move in with your colleague from Engineering." Spock doesn't look at me when he speaks. He looks both inward and into the distance, in a way that closes him off completely from me in all directions. "I have arranged for the second bunk in her quarters to be available."
I can't exactly understand what's happening. He's talking about Doc's girlfriend. He wants me to move somewhere. Leave our home.
I'm not weak or an overly emotional girl, but this is completely out of nowhere. I suddenly feel lost and small. Little one, I think, and Spock seems to react in some infinitesimal way. Despite his lack of expression, I get the impression he can hear my thoughts. I voice them out loud anyway.
"What is the logic behind this?"
He seems to be impressed by the question, because he tilts his head and considers it. He still doesn't look at me when he answers, though.
"You are occupied with your studies and focused on promotion. It is logical that I not impede your progress, nor keep you from independently reaching your goals."
He's talking about my goals? What about what we have lived through? Pon farr, my abduction, his experience in the desert, the terrifying and life-changing experiences that no other couple has faced. Even the simple difficulties of everyday life as a widely scrutinized and unlikely pair. What about every single day that we have enjoyed one another and held one another? Most recently, in a closet for Pete's sake. A promotion is important to me. It's something I've been planning and working toward for a while, and I do want to achieve it independently, without any interference or special help from Spock. But that can be done while we are a couple. All it will take is a little discipline. And it pales in comparison to the power of what we've been through and what we have together.
I recall the scenes he showed me when I was lost, the images and emotions he shared of how he searched for me with such agony and devotion. In the here and now, I see him blink. He can hear me, but he won't let on.
I want to ask him why. I want to be in another world, another conversation, where this isn't happening. And I'm also getting angry. What gives him the right to seduce me and then get me so involved with him, so deeply, asking me to live with him, mating with me, saving my life, just to dump me?
All that comes out of my mouth is, "Look at me when you say what you have to say."
He turns placidly toward me, and I think that in all the time I've known him, I've never seen such an utter lack of emotion in his eyes.
"I will dissolve our bond, Ensign. It will trouble you no more."
It takes a moment for me to stop staring at him. When I regain my wits enough, I don't wait to pack my things. I stumble out into the hall with nothing and make my way to my friend's quarters, with no idea what to think or do.
I'm not one for crying, but apparently my friend is.
When I made my way down from deck five to the lower crew quarters, I was grateful to find her home. I just told her, "Spock says I can find a place to stay here." She burst out crying and said, "Him too?" and then dragged me inside and told me all about how the doc has broken up with her out of nowhere. They'd been getting closer, and she was actually thinking it was something really important between them, when he suddenly said goodbye.
We're replaying her story now, one more time, but it doesn't bother me. Talking about her is taking the pressure off of me. I'm not sure what my feelings are, and I don't much want to talk about them. While she goes on about the last time she saw Leonard, my mind wanders to Spock. I imagine him continuing to sit in that same spot long after I left. Maybe he is still there now. I think of his stony face, and how I can find the emotion in its contours when no one else can. I try to get inside his head, not literally, but just to understand what he must be thinking. But no matter how I try, I just can't make sense of it.
She hands me a cup of tea, and I take it absently. I guess it's what people do at these times. Give tea and take it absently.
Later, I go back to our quarters to get my things. I don't want to, but there's no other choice. My clothes are going to smell like Spock, like our place together, some are mixed with his in the refresher, some of my less frequently worn shoes still have sand in them from the desert. But even though it will be painful, I don't want to give up and get new things. It's my stuff, damn it. I'm not going to be a baby.
I signal at the door, in case he is there. And he is.
"Ensign." His deep voice makes me weak, as it always has. I fight its gravity.
"Commander. I'm just here to pick up my things."
I feel like we're in a stupid holovid.
He directs me to the bedroom, where there is a case on the bed with all my clothes and a few personal effects in it, folded and ready to go. It's a real slap in the face. He hasn't only broken up with me. He's packed me up and already cleaned and replaced the sheets.
He lurks at the entry to the bedroom. "Anything more that I find in due course, I will have sent to you."
I can feel my face turn bright red with shame and anger. Just once, I almost lash out when I tell him, "That won't be necessary. You can discard anything else you find." And for an instant I feel a twinge of something, some emotion, but it's gone just as fast. I close the case, pick it up and walk past him to leave.
I feel his heat as I pass by him. So close to the body I know so well, I can't help but turn to him. Looking up at his face far above mine, he looks like a statue. There's no penetrating him now, no way at all, but I ask anyway. "Why are you really doing this?"
He tilts his head and pulls his brows together as if he doesn't even understand the question.
I reach for his cheek, where so recently a bushy beard had grown, where I have rested my hand a thousand times and tasted his skin with my lips just as many. I touch him there, where a dimple appears when he smiles. When I touch him, he hardly reacts. He doesn't even raise his hand to move mine away. As if even that amount of connection would be too much, he just turns away and evades me.
I leave as quickly as I can, then. No more point in sticking around to get kicked in the gut. I make it back to my colleague's quarters, though now I guess they're mine, too. I drop my bag on the floor and dim the lights, thinking I'll fall asleep as soon as possible. I don't want to wait another minute before getting unconscious and forgetting this for a while. I settle into my new bed. It's small. It feels almost tiny, like a toy. And I'm alone in it.
...
NOT the end
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