Well, it's either kiss me or kill me, that's how I see it. ~Tom Waits

"Crap."

Kirk could count on one hand the times he'd heard Uhura swear. And although this was certainly mild (and for many, not even a swear), the only other one he'd heard her use was "ass" and the recipient had definitely deserved an appended "hole" in his opinion. It was clear she was shaken by Sabanci's revelation.

Spock, on the other hand, had his unemotional logic face turned up to 11. "Have you evidence for these suspicions?"

Sabanci pulled back a little, surprised by his tone. "We're not accusing you of anything, Commander. I believe I suggested you may not have realized what you heard or observed. It could even have been here on the ship."

Annoyed and vaguely insulted now, Kirk asked, "And just how do you suppose that could have happened, Mr. Sabanci?"

"Well, we know there are moles within the council, possibly within the Chancellor's own circle. We're in the process of flushing them out. We determined information was being passed through advertisement broadcasting for a few months now. It's possible Lt. Uhura captured an embedded code in one of them. They may have thought she was making us aware of it when she and Mr. Spock visited the chancellery."

"Most such ephemera are analyzed and dispatched in nanoseconds," Uhura informed him in a scarily Vulcan-like manner, "especially when the Enterprise is orbiting a place like Caishen Colony whose economy is so dependent upon trade commerce and consumerism."

"We prefer to think of it as healthy competition in a vigorous free market," Iwasaka interjected, but his tone implied a level of jaded resignation.

"Well, sir, I wouldn't have heard any of those transmissions unless they were flagged for my attention by AI's I personally programmed. And if another shift officer or anyone in my department had noticed a suspicious code, I would have been informed immediately."

"Yes. Yes. I understand. It's only speculation right now, Lieutenant. I'm merely suggesting your programs may not have recognized it for what it was. We use your AIs, ma'am, if you'll recall and stuff has slipped past us a lot recently. But it's just as likely you witnessed the incriminating situation in Superlative City, after your meeting with the chancellor, during the protest."

"Perhaps if you tell us what or who you believe we inadvertently witnessed we could more readily assist you."

Kirk could tell Spock was starting to lose patience, though the two men were unlikely to recognize the signs.

"We've suspected a while now that a certain member of the industrial consortium has been engaged in illegal trade – or rather, trade through third party vendors who deal with governments or systems currently under sanctions by Federation member worlds. If they're caught out – even if never convicted, the array will likely go to one of the planets that lost the original bid."

"You think one of these other planets has enacted a scheme to discredit Caishen Colony?" Kirk asked

Iwasaka started to answer but Spock spoke over him. "Doubtful. However, should this illegal trade be uncovered causing the Federation to withdraw plans for an array in this system, it will mean an increased Starfleet presence along shipping routes, disruptions to established trade with other systems, more impositions, more tariffs – in short, more attention, not less. Your industrialists risk losing legitimate business as well."

"Exactly," Sabanci said. "But if they create unrest amongst the populace about the array, construction can be delayed until the Federation finally has to cut losses and move on. "

Iwasaka slapped his palms on the table yet again. "And that is exactly what they've been doing! You witnessed it yourself when that protest broke out."

"We witnessed the same scene as many others who were present."

"But you were caught and arrested in an alley near the chancellery."

Uhura tensed. "How did you –? I mean yes, but why does that matter?"

"Because" Spock said, catching her eye, "that may be where we observed whatever activity we supposedly saw without knowing its significance."

"Right again, Mr. Spock," Sabanci said. "In fact, it's the most likely possibility. We have images from surveillance cameras of the both of you in the alley sometime before your arrest—"

"Oh god," Uhura cheeped. All eyes turned to her. "No, nothing. Sorry. Go on."

"…buuutt…" Sabanci continued, "the sound and picture cut out for about five minutes. We're pretty sure we'll be able to reconstruct the missing footage. In the meantime, an exact accounting of everything you did after leaving the chancellery building including that time in the alley would be helpful. Any small detail could be significant."

"Quite logical," Spock said, rising abruptly. "Captain, if you will permit, Lieutenant Uhura and I will adjourn and begin preparing a report immediately."

Uhura leapt up to join him. The security scan at the door practically squealed in protest at the hastiness of their departure.

Kirk noted that Spock hadn't made eye contact with him or even waited for him to answer (as basic protocol or common courtesy dictated), but he wasn't about to call attention to that in front of the gentlemen from Caishen Colony – especially the way they were casting each other glances, like, did that seem weird to you?

As soon as they cross the threshold into Spock's quarters, away from the inquisitive gazes of passing crew, he says, "We will need to inform the captain of what has transpired between us."

Uhura tips her head back, closes her eyes and fake sobs, "No-ho-ho-ho-ho." Or he thinks it's fake. He can't always tell. She pauses mid-wail to squint open an eye. "Which part?"

"All of it."

Wailing recommences. "We don't even remember it accurately!"

"You do not recall what occurred earlier in your cabin?"

A rosy-brown blooms on her cheeks. She swallows a couple of time. "Well, yes, though it's a little hazy now. But, Spock, oh my god, the alley?"

"You are being overly dramatic. It was only kissing."

"But how can we even be sure?"

"Only five minutes were missing from the surveillance tapes. I am not sure how much more we could have, uh, accomplished in five minutes. And, though I am no expert on human behavior I believe Mr. Sabanci would have behaved differently towards us both had he witnessed anything more… provocative."

She does not seem comforted by this. He reaches out to grasp her hand, stops himself.

"We will take this opportunity to record what facts we recall and then deliver our findings to the captain first. I trust him to be appropriately discreet and considerate as to cause and circumstances." He has reason to trust the captain in such delicate matters though he doesn't share that assurance with her.

"There is a Vulcan technique used to create a composite of facts from different parties when memory has proved unreliable. It is only used in certain types of litigation these days, but I think it suited to our circumstances."

"Like a mind meld?" A crinkle of worry has worked its way between her brows.

"There is no need to be concerned, Ms. Uhura. I will use all due care to access only those memories of our time with the Chancellor up until we returned to the ship."

"Uh huh. I see. So… you and I are going to stand really close together—"

"Or sit."

"—or sit really close together while you put your fingers ever so gently on my face and whisper about how our minds are one."

Ah. The flaw in an otherwise flawless plan.

She sidles closer, tucks an errant curl of hair behind her right ear. The soft jade hoop in her earlobe swings slightly. There is now only seven point seven centimeters of space between the tips of her breasts and his lower sternum. "I'm happy to defer to your expertise in the matter."

"I…I will need time to prepare myself with meditation of course."

"Of course." Her eyes never leave his face, gaze curious and accessing.

"Stay." He backs slowly away from her. "There. If you will."

Behind him is the divider screen between this room and the bed.

Room. The bedroom.

When his shoulders bump against the partition he ducks gratefully behind it.

"I don't know, Bones. Something just seems…off." Kirk was sitting in the chair on the consult side of McCoy's desk.

McCoy, who'd been stretched out in his own more comfortable chair with his boots on the desk and his arms behind his head, dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward. "Off? Off how?"

"Uhura seemed nervous. Anxious, maybe even a little afraid. And Spock was… well, you know how he gets when he's pissed off?"

"Extra Vulcan-y?"

"Yeah, like every word out of his mouth is a knife made of logic and they're all slicing you a new one."

"Being drugged against your will would piss anyone off."

"Drugged? What are you talking about?"

"They came to see me right after they beamed up. Complained about being irritable, testy with each other. Turned out they'd been drugged."

"No!"

"Seems that Sheriff Tinydick uses it to keep detainees from getting too boisterous—"

Kirk snorts. "Sheriff Tinydick?"

"That's what Dr. Martin called him – he's the guy I consulted about the drug that was used. Martin said the sheriff petitioned to use it for crowd control when the protests started getting bigger. That's caused quite the political uproar too, apparently. Protests on top of protests."

Kirk groaned. "I really wish we could leave."

"Didn't Spock or Uhura tell you any of this?" McCoy asked.

"We didn't get much of a chance for the typical mission debrief." Bones cocked a bleary eye at him. He waved the implied query away. "For reasons I can't share right now. Reasons I'm sure are also contributing to their levels of stress, if my own are any indication."

"Yeah. Well, withdrawal from the drug cocktail isn't one of your reasons. I was right about it being a benzodiazepine derivative, and I was also right about there being organic elements present as well. One in particular – a native herb similar to ashwagandha on Earth."

Kirk graced him with a look of mild exasperation. The doctor chuckled.

"Known for its calming properties. Although ashwagandha can also be used to enhance libido but the effects are usually cumulative. Dr Martin told me this hilarious story about a spontaneous orgy breaking out in the holding cells a few years ago. According to him they actually had to bring in hoses and spray the crowd like a bunch of humping dogs."

Kirk laughed, vaguely (and insincerely) scandalized. McCoy chuckling anew, added, "Of course, those people had all been using the herb for months prior to the incident."

"Well, I can't see our stodgy Vulcan and demure communications officer having a hose turned on them."

"Jesus!" McCoy hooted. "Can you imagine?"

"What's that?" Uhura asks.

He doesn't open his eyes. The sly tone in her voice is enough to determine the object of her gaze.

"You know what it is."

"Looks uncomfortable, all trapped in your tight pants like that."

He refuses to alter his position in any way that confirms her observations. "I am adept at meditating through discomfort."

"I could help you know. Like you helped me." The throb between his legs intensifies. She steps closer with a thoughtful hum.

"Stay back. Reciprocation is not necessary."

"You're just going to sit there meditating uncomfortably until it goes away?"

"Yes."

"On your bed."

"Yes. I do not require assistance I assure you. Perhaps it would be best if you return to your cabin. I will contact you when I have achieved the necessary state of… concentration."

The alluring humming sound moves closer. His mind evokes the shape of her lips, imagines the vibration of it, her mouth on the flesh below his navel and moving down—

"But what if it won't go away, Mr. Spock?" He twitches, smooths out a grimace. "What if it never goes away? What if that's part of the curse?"

He risks a glance, disdain clutched around him like an old blanket. "Curse? Really, Lieutenant?"

"Curse, hallucinogen, psychic attack. Whatever this is. What if you have to… you know… get yourself off or you'll die?"

"That seems more the hyperbolic, self-absorbed reasoning of an adolescent, Ms. Uhura."

"Ah. So, you were a teenager."

"That I sit here before you, an adult male of my species, suggests I successfully transited those years between twelve and twenty."

"It also suggests you know how to take care of the problem."

"I do. It is through meditation." There. Firm resolve. He closes his eyes again. After a moment opens them. "Please go away."

"Oh, Mr. Spock, believe me I've been trying to go away. I would very much like to leave now, but I can't seem to make my legs move the direction of the door." It is a distressing feeling, he knows.

The mattress quakes gently as her weight settles upon it. She scootches up, one knee scraping against his outer thigh, lightly ruching the fabric of his trousers.

"We cannot kiss!" The words leap from his mouth, pitched higher than the more provocative noise he'd been about to issue. He watches her warily. She sits back on her heels, head bowed demurely.

"But why?" Her gaze darts up suddenly and his breath catches in his throat. "I mean, yes, I also feel this pressing certainty. We shouldn't, we mustn't. It's a mantra drumming inside my head, but-but it doesn't make sense. Does it?"

She leans towards him, and he breaks their gaze, which is worse because her breasts are, by their substantive nature, much closer to his face now than the rest of her. Her breath dances over his exposed flesh – his fingers, wrists, the center-most point of his right clavicle, the laryngeal prominence of thyroid cartilage as he swallows his urge to pull her onto his lap.

Her breath makes his covered parts long to be naked.

"All this not-kissing," she whispers, nuzzling his jawline, "not pressing my mouth to your mouth, not moving my lips against yours or pushing the tip of my tongue between them…" Her fingers twist a handful of his shirt. "Not kissing you is causing sensation to pool up in so many other areas."

"Meditate with me," he blurts out. "I will guide you through the fundamentals."

She sighs, lifts her head, leans back on her haunches, gives his chest a little pat. The hot cushion of energy between them seems to fizzle and pop. She glances down between their bodies to the wide open fly of his trousers. Her hands are nowhere in the vicinity. This is all his own doing somehow.

"Funda-men-tullee," she whispers, breaking the word into sultry syllables, "where do you propose we start?"