This is a collaborative story.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek. We made up the Ensign.

This chapter was written by ejectingthecore.


52. Playthings


The first few days are more than difficult. They're pretty much hell.

I ache whenever I see him, and when I don't see him, too, for that matter. I ache physically for him, wanting him like a schoolgirl whenever I see him moving so fluidly and with his almost sinister air. I recall the feeling of those incredible hips pressing into me, and I pine for his kiss. I imagine his mouth taking me, everywhere. The few times I see him I stare at his lips. We never get close enough to talk.

I ache for him emotionally, too, in way that I never would have thought possible. I'm too tough for this. This is vulnerable territory, not a place I ever go.

It had been a long time since I'd opened up to anyone. Actually, I've never really opened up so much. It took a man who was the definition of closed-off to make it possible for me to let down my guard. It took a whole lot of challenges, too, and I think about them at night when I cry myself to sleep. Because I have taken to crying in the dark, when no one but I can hear my labored breathing.

I think mostly about the first time I felt him in my mind, when I was alone in the woods after escaping from Samuels. I would have been terrified of such intimacy, if it weren't for the more immediate terror of death in the wilderness.

I think of the moment when I knew I was his entirely. I sat on a rock, huddled in a blanket and held by a nameless female crew member, while I watched Spock bring all his Vulcan strength to bear on Samuels' face. In that moment I knew that not only had I given in completely to my love for him, but that he too had given in to "us" and that he claimed me for his own. That he loved and cherished me, and would probably kill to save me if ever the need arose. I was awed by the power of that devotion, and scared shitless by being so connected, and so dependent on him. A small part of me, one I paid no mind to, feared a day would come when I would lose him.

Well, here it is now. I was right. Everyone leaves.


As the days go by, I can almost feel my heart hardening. I appreciate the numbness.

I go through the motions at work. I make adjustments, fix problems. But every once in a while, some passion sneaks up on me. I notice that I'm working on a console where Spock ravished me, or that I'm peering into the access tube where he tasted me, where I first tasted him. I run a diagnostic on the decon chamber where he teased me mercilessly with his hot, wet body.

I was a fool to allow those things to happen where I work. Now our history is everywhere.

And one day he is literally here, too.

He steps into engineering to confer with the Chief. Scott is showing him an experimental part that will theoretically increase the efficiency of the warp drive. I've been working on the project, and so the boss calls me over to answer some questions. At the mention of my name, Spock's head snaps up as though he's just realized I am here, and that he will have to speak with me. He seems almost scared. Fine. Fuck him. Let him be scared of me.

But when I get closer, I realize he's not scared. In fact, he looks...aroused. He looks like the Spock that only I know, the one who smirks and has those smoldering, come-hither eyes. I haven't seen that hungry look in a while, and it hurts. I'm wearing my skirt uniform, cut low in the front and high on the behind, and he has always had a real weakness for the view. But hell no, I'm not going to play games. I'm not going to be hot and flustered when he looks at me that way. He has no right to.

The Chief clears his throat. He's holding an experimental part and wearing his typical harried look. "So I was saying, Mister Spock, that the Ensign here has a better grip on why the thing is fused this way."

"The Ensign?"

Scott extends a hand as if to make room for me in the conversation.

"Hello." Spock says it like I'm lunch and he's starving. He looks me over, his eyes going straight for my cleavage. Then he looks at Scott and says, "What a lovely female."

Scott and I just stare at each other. The Chief looks so blown away, I'm tempted to reach over and close his mouth for him. I'm sure I look the same.

"Commander," I say, and realize I haven't uttered my pet name for him in so long, it's turned back into a rank. "Please limit your comments to the work."

He still has a hint of an awed smile when he asks as though I'm not there, "Who is she, Mr. Scott?"

Scott is flustered. "Mr. Spock, I'm sure that you are well acquainted with the lass."

"On the contrary. I don't know the Ensign."

Spock's almost-smile is alluring and sad and strange. Then he abruptly stops staring down my shirt and asks a technical question with the voice and manner of an android. He might as well have removed his brain and gone on auto pilot. I'm so stunned, I can barely get my wits about me to answer, and I can tell from his expression that Scott feels the same. It's too weird.

In fact, it's not just weird. It's actually wrong.

It dawns on me that this is all really wrong. Everything.

That's when I feel a massive jolt. It reverberates through the ship, followed by a long wailing of deck plating being stressed almost to the breaking point. I fall hard against Spock, and when our bodies touch it's electric. He catches me in his strong arms and I hate how I react with lust and appreciation. His smell is so familiar, so masculine and clean. I hate this, hate all this emotion and hate the touch of his beautiful fingers on my arms.

Then I feel the tingle of a transporter beam. When we rematerialize, we're looking into the eyes of a woman who seems wickedly pleased to see us.

"Mister Spock," she says, and raises an eyebrow. "It's delightful to see you again."

Spock is his usual unflappable self, and his expression is utterly flat. "Philana."

I've never seen anyone like her in my life. She's dressed in long robes bound around her waist, with sandals on her lovely, pale feet. Her hair's the color of mine but piled on her head in ringlets. Her name is familiar, though. I wrack my brain, searching for why I know it.

"And I see you've brought company."

She smirks at me, then smiles at Spock. And this is when I notice that we're not entirely dressed. That is, I have on a gauzy sort of shift that barely reaches to my thighs. It's very low cut in front and entirely translucent. My breasts would be visible for a kilometer around, if they weren't pressed firmly into Spock's nude chest. I pull myself away from him, but not before stealing a touch of his waistband, to see if he has a weapon I can pull. No such luck. In fact, he doesn't have much of a waistband in the usual sense. He's wearing something like a skirt that's slit up the sides and almost as short as mine. I take a second to admire his legs. But he has no phaser in sight. All I can do is step away and face this woman, whoever she is, whatever she is.

Spock lets go of me and stands at attention, his hands behind his back. I stand at attention by his side, and that's when I notice another detail. That we're not alone. Standing a couple meters away I see the doctor and the Captain, both dressed like Spock is, and a lovely woman with the markings of a Trill on her temples. I recall she's a visitor from Starfleet Medical. Emony. Emony Dax.

Philana takes us all in.

"It's so good to have a Vulcan back to visit," she says sweetly. "I grow so tired of the typical humanoid smut."

Then it hits me. Where I know her name from.

It's not good.