Stardate 2260.55
Her skin was cool to the touch; a consequence of her slower human metabolic activity. She was snuggled into his right side, resting her head just below his clavicle. She was so small.
Voris had wanted to be gentle with her but it had been difficult that first time. Now that his head was clearer, he realized he hadn't really wanted to do this at all, not with anyone other than T'Sala, but especially not with the slender and fragile human woman currently lying next to him. Dagny. His former patient who had been just minutes from death several days earlier, a woman only several years removed from childhood, a woman who had lost everything just days earlier.
Voris carefully rolled her onto her left side and slid his arm from underneath the pillow. She uttered a soft snore but didn't stir. He needed to wake her but he was hesitant. She needed medical care, but how would she react? How much would she remember about what had happened? Would she understand?
In the faint light, he could see some contusions on her waist and buttocks and stared down at his hands in shame, knowing his firm grip had given her those bruises during one of their initial matings when the plak tow had completely engulfed his consciousness. He logically understood the severity of the markings was made worse by her radiation-induced anemia, but that did little to subdue his guilt. The sheets were also covered with blood, most of which appeared to be his.
Voris sat up. Pain tore through his left shoulder and right hand. He dimly recalled clenching a broken piece of porcelain during his suicidal contemplations in the moments before her arrival. The injury to his shoulder was a series of small punctures in a circular pattern: she had bitten him hard enough to draw blood.
He found himself grappling with several difficult emotions. He inhaled a sharp breath through his teeth and contemplated his next actions. The plak tow had dissipated but his pon farr was not completely resolved. Mating and mind melding corrected the imbalance of yamareen but it often took days of intensive meditation to completely regain logical control following the conclusion of a pon farr cycle.
Dagny uttered a soft moan and drew up her legs slightly. Without his body next to her to draw heat from, it was reasonable to conclude she was growing cold. He gently pulled the twisted sheets up from the foot of the bed and covered her up to her chin. He watched her for several minutes, struggling with his patchy memories of the previous night and the harsh reality that lay before him.
She looked peaceful. He'd spent hours mind melding with her between matings, drifting through a mind that was lonely and profoundly sad. He understood her broken heart, but there was much more to her than grief. She sensed she was elegantly kind, patient, compassionate, and hopeful beneath those layers of loss.
Voris knew could not observe her forever. He needed to consider his course of action logically, but the lingering effects of pon farr were making it difficult to settle his mind. He needed to get Dagny back to the hospital because she'd missed several doses of her medication. He needed to turn himself into the local authorities for what he'd done to her. He needed to inform T'Rya of the situation so she could consider if she wanted to proceed with their match. He needed to explain to Dagny what had happened and why. He needed to begin the process of severing the unintentional bond he'd created with her before he did any more damage to her psychological state.
The thought of terminating their bond induced a powerful emotion and he repressed the urge to grasp her cheek and meet their minds together again. He needed to get away from her. She wasn't his mate. She hadn't consented. She hadn't consented to any of it.
He got out of bed, noting soreness in his hips and back, and searched for his clothing. He still wasn't sure where to begin with his larger set of problems, but it seemed logical to begin by getting dressed. He followed the trail of his clothes into the front room, but as he lifted his long outer cloak from its place on the floor, a small, yellow, cylindrical object fell out. It was difficult to see in the darkness, but he knew it was T'Sala's candle.
He swallowed hard as he stooped to pick it up. It had been irrational to bring it with him, but seeing it on the mantle prior to his departure from New Vulcan had stirred emotions within him he'd spent years repressing. At the time, he'd believed it was a consequence of his impending pon farr, but rather than attempt to suffer through it during his travels, he'd brought the candle along for comfort, even though attachment to a material object was illogical.
He finished dressing and made his way to a small end table by the couch, stepping around the broken coffee table he'd smashed against the wall the previous evening. He set the candle down on the smooth wooden surface, took a seat on the floor, and lit it for the first time since T'Sala's death.
The tiny flame swayed under the soft current of the environmental control vent on the wall. The flickering light was full of nostalgia and loss, but not in the way he'd anticipated. He missed T'Sala, but much of the heaviness he'd carried in his heart during the past two years had been replaced by anguish over Dagny. It seemed the candle's flame had a curious ability to shine light on the feelings he preferred to keep repressed and tucked away into the darkest crevices of his mind.
T'Sala. T'Rya. Dagny. How had it come to this?
It was the pain in her feet that woke her, or at least that was the first thing she noticed when she drifted back into the waking world. Her feet throbbed and itched and she was reminded of the radiation sickness all over again. Other things ached too—her back, her arms, her abdominal muscles. Everything, really.
Dagny turned from her side onto her back and felt the tickle of soft sheets on her skin. Her eyes shot open. The lights were dim but she quickly realized she wasn't wearing clothes. Stranger still, the light blue sheets were spattered with drying red blood and other deep orange-brown stains.
She closed her eyes and then the memories came racing back. Everything was jumbled in her mind, but she had a vague sense of some of it. She'd found her way to Voris' hotel room, beat on the door until he opened it, and then they had…
She inhaled a sharp breath and sat up. Images of his hands groping her face and breasts flashed through her head. Her muscles tensed involuntarily as she remembered the warmth of his breath across her cheek and the feel of his sinewy back muscles under her hands. She opened her eyes, embarrassed at the idea of becoming aroused. She pulled the thick sheet up high under her armpits and drew her knees to her chest, acutely aware of the pain ripping through the soles of her feet.
This couldn't be happening: it had to be a dream. She couldn't have slept with Dr. Voris. But the memories were too vivid and the physical evidence too damning to remain in denial for more than a few seconds. She was naked in a strange room and twisted up in bloody sheets. She examined the dark greenish, orange-brown stains, allowing her eyes to linger on one in the shape of a large right handprint on the adjacent pillow. She swallowed hard. The events of two years earlier at the Battle of Vulcan had forever etched into her mind what Vulcan blood looked like.
She ducked her head under the sheet, startled to find dark bruises on her hips and waist. The insides of her thighs were damp and sticky and there were several deep cuts and pieces of glass or porcelain buried into the balls and arches of her feet. She'd walked through the remains of a broken piece of pottery and hadn't even cared. She'd wandered to the room of the Vulcan physician who'd saved her life, crawled into bed with him, and was left with nothing but minor injuries and disconnected memories. How could this have happened? She scrabbled for explanations.
She'd sustained serious head trauma several days earlier, so perhaps that could explain some of the partial memory loss. Then again, there were parts of the storm and her rescue that were still hazy, but her memory of the past few days was intact. The impulsive behavior was also strange but maybe it was a side effect of the medication or a lingering symptom of the radiation sickness. Or maybe it was all purely psychological and she'd had some kind of mental breakdown.
The medical staff had wanted her to speak with a mental health professional but the hospital's resident psychiatrist had been off world at the time of the storm and because of the temporary no-travel order, there hadn't been anyone available for her to talk to. Her mouth twisted into a frown at the thought of her family but couldn't linger there long under the present circumstances.
It took nearly a minute for her to calm down enough to put together a sequence of events in her mind. Laura had come over to check up on her and then she hadn't been able to sleep. Dr. Voris had come to her door but left before they could talk and then some time later, she'd found him somehow.
He'd look so frightened when he'd come to the door. She remembered a low, cracked table upended on a couch and dull pain in her feet. She'd told him she needed him and he begged her to go away, but she had refused to listen. It just didn't make any sense. She'd never exactly been confident around the opposite sex—but to force herself on someone else? Or had he forced himself on her? Both seemed plausible, but the more she mulled it over, the less either explanation seemed to fit.
He had grabbed her face. He'd done the same thing aboard the Sekla and had apologized for it repeatedly. After he grabbed her face last night, she remembered feeling profoundly calm and then they'd shared a mutual kiss. They had been crying. His hand had been bleeding, but she didn't know why. Then they'd had sex.
How many times? Five? Six? She blushed furiously as she recalled graphic images of the previous night's romantic encounters. He'd flipped and tossed her around like she weighed nothing and they had transformed into little more than a tangle of hungry exploring, thrusting, and fumbling. Not everything had been so frenzied though. There had been occasional episodes of sleep and long periods where he'd cradled her cheeks and caressed her fingers. His body had been so warm.
Gooseflesh pricked her arms. She almost smiled before deciding it was too weird to smile about. Dr. Voris was a kind man and he'd saved her life, but she didn't think of him that way. Did she? She slammed her eyes shut again and shook her head. No, of course not. He had been her doctor, nothing more. Until now.
Where was he?
Her eyes darted around the room and spied her black pants in a heap on the floor by the bed. The door leading to the main room was closed. She pulled the sheet up higher on her body, high enough to expose her legs. After several false starts and moments of surprising agony, she managed to extract the broken pieces of porcelain from her feet. She removed the covers from the pillows and improvised tight bandages, wrapped the sheet around her body, and then swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand.
It hurt, but it was still nothing compared to the pain of radiation sickness. Still, she was forced to hobble on her left heel and right toes to make her way to the loose black trousers Laura had given her, and she was dismayed to see the shirt was nowhere in sight. It was probably out in the main room.
She waited by the door for a long time. She tried to control her breathing and set her mind at ease but the emotions winding through her made it impossible. Just yesterday she'd thought nothing could take away her sadness and though that was probably still true, so much of her grief was currently masked by embarrassment and confusion.
She found the bedroom door release and gently depressed it, holding her breath while her anxiety swelled. The front room was dark except for a flickering candle in the corner on a low table and by its faint light she could see Dr. Voris sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of it. His body was tense and unmoving next to the dancing flame. She wanted to call out to him, but the moment demanded silence.
She gripped the sheet tighter and limped forward, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks as she wondered what the hell they were supposed to do now. The manic need to be near him had dissipated, but he still seemed in desperate need of comfort. She noticed the white shirt and soft cotton bra in the middle of the small carpet by the sofa. She inched nearer and just as she bent to pick her clothes up, he turned his head slightly to observe her.
His expression was mottled with pain. Dagny straightened her back and adjusted her grip on the top of the thick sheet. She stumbled forward and slumped next to him on the floor. He never took his eyes off her and she never dared to look directly at him.
"I'm sorry." Their voices spoke in muted unison.
She inhaled through her nose and closed her eyes. A subtle scent hung in the air, conjuring images of exotic spices and some nameless faraway place.
"Miss Skjeggestad-"
"Call me Dagny," she interrupted. "Please. If you want."
Rather than acknowledge her request, he turned his focus back to the burning candle. The warm light cast eerie shadows along the walls and floor. She turned her gaze down to her lap. From the corner of her eye she could see his hand and observed a deep gash that spanned his palm.
Maybe it was her medical training, her nurturing instinct, or some other thing that compelled her, but she reached down and gently cradled the back of his hand. He flinched and craned his neck to look at her.
"Do you have a medical kit?" she asked.
"I do."
"Care to tell me where it is?"
He relaxed and studied her face. Their eyes locked and she was startled by an emotional swell that started in her belly and radiated outward. They sat that way for an eternity, staring at one another, patient, searching, and unyielding.
"Why are we here?" she finally whispered.
He blinked and looked away.
"Dr. Voris?"
"We have much to discuss, but you require medical attention."
"So do you," she reminded him, looking down at his hand.
Another silence formed between them and Dagny felt herself growing distressed. Why wasn't he saying anything?
"Lights." He rose to his feet and extinguishing the candle with his thumb and forefinger as the overhead illumination bathed the room in bright white light. "I shall give you privacy to dress yourself."
"I don't understand what happened," she blurted. "I mean, I know what we did, obviously, but I- I don't act that way. Not usually. I think losing my family and the Albret made me-"
"There is an explanation for your behavior," he interrupted quietly. "And for mine. It is not an excuse; it is merely an explanation. I intend to turn myself into the authorities once I have ensured you have obtained the necessary medical care."
Her mouth fell open in disbelief. "Authorities? Like the police? What are you talking about?"
"I have-" He visibly swallowed but didn't look away. "I have violated you. I bonded with you without your consent."
Bonded? What an odd turn of phrase. She guessed it was a Vulcan euphemism for sex and started to feel guilty. She was the one who had hunted him down in his hotel room and refused to leave when he'd begged her to.
"I- I shouldn't have come over," she stammered. "I shouldn't have bothered you and I shouldn't have pushed you to… well, you know."
"You were not in control of yourself but I am to blame for that."
"What do you mean? I don't understand what you're getting at."
He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. "You are human. What has transpired between us is a failing of Vulcan biology."
She furrowed her brow. "You're not making any sense."
"It is difficult for me to discuss-"
"It was difficult for me to wake up this way," she sighed, cutting him off. "It's difficult for me to sit here with you now wondering what I- what we've done. I'm so sorry for everything. For everything from kissing you on the Sekla to right now."
"It is I who must apologize."
"Why do you keep saying that?"
He flinched and opened his eyes. "Because you are owed an apology, even if you do not understand why."
"Help me understand," she pleaded.
"I shall explain everything once you have dressed."
Dagny let go of his hand, shifted around on the floor, and attempted to stand, which was difficult with the injuries to her feet. He seemed to sense this and rose to his feet to help support her weight while she shuffled to the sofa.
She glanced at the broken table propped up at the other end and looked at him. "Did you do that?"
"Yes," he replied, turning in the direction of the bedroom before she could ask more questions.
He returned with her black pants and underwear and excused himself while she dressed. She was stiff and sore; it hurt just pulling the shirt over her head. She had her shirt slightly pulled up and was studying the bruises on her waist when he returned with a small medical kit and offered it to her. He lifted the table from the other end of the sofa, set it on the floor, and took a seat.
She opened the case and studied the equipment, thinking it was much nicer and more advanced than anything she'd ever had. She extracted the dermal regenerator, powered it on, and scanned through the settings.
"Can I see your hand?" He stared at her, making her cheeks flush. "I'm not a doctor like you but I've used a dermal regenerator plenty of times."
"I brought you the medical kit to attend to your own injuries."
She was about to argue but decided it wasn't worth it. She twisted her right leg over her left and pulled the makeshift pillowcase bandage back to get a better view of the bottom of her foot, wincing as her sore thigh muscles protested against the strain. The swelling and angry red halos around the cuts meant only one thing.
"Your wounds have become infected," Dr. Voris announced. "You must go back to the hospital."
"I'm not going back there."
"Your immune system remains compromised and-"
"I said I'm not going back there," she spat.
He cocked his head. "You are being illogical."
"Yeah, maybe. I just won't go back there. I can't."
"You told me you were a paramedic. You must be aware of the risks of an untreated infection-"
"I didn't say I didn't want treatment," she interrupted. "I just said I don't want to go to the hospital."
He opened his mouth and closed it again without comment. Dagny held the dermal regenerator about three centimeters from her skin and got to work, shuddering as the warm energy stimulated the degradation and subsequent rapid regrowth of the damaged tissue.
"Are you familiar with Aldebaran infectious microorganisms?" he asked.
"No. Are you?"
"No. Which is why it is logical to seek treatment by medical professionals who possess that knowledge."
"Please, Dr. Voris. I don't want to go back there. They won't let me leave if I go back there. The people there are so friendly, too friendly, and I'm not ready to deal with that."
"There is another reason you should go to the hospital," he said, his voice lowering by several decibels.
"If you're about to say I should seek psychological help, the only psychiatrist on Valder Station was back on Earth attending a conference when this whole storm business happened and he's not coming back any time soon."
"I was referring to collecting specimens as evidence, should you intend to file charges against me."
"File charges? For what?"
"For sexual assault."
"What? No! I mean, what happened last night doesn't make any sense, but you didn't- I mean- I'm the one- I showed up here and you asked me to go away but I didn't and then…"
Her voice faltered and her eyes watered. Her hand slipped and she touched the surface of the dermal regenerator to the bottom of her foot and shrieked as the optical nanofibers made contact with her skin. It was like a massive electrical shock to her entire leg. "Dammit!"
She wanted to hurl the device across the room but powered it off and dropped it on the sofa instead. Dr. Voris glanced from the dermal regenerator to the bottoms of her feet. He looked so uncertain and his hesitation only made her anger grow. She was about to yell at him but he picked up the device, slid closer to her, and began tracing it along the cuts in her foot.
"Maybe you took advantage- I don't know," she breathed, looking away. "But I don't think you raped me. I think it was all just a mistake."
"I had promised I would explain my behavior," he replied. "And the truth may alter your opinion."
A chill ran through her. She twisted around to look at him. His face was so calm and collected. So Vulcan. But his eyes were difficult to read.
"Every seven years of my adult life, I experience a condition known as pon farr. It is not a condition that is discussed with off-worlders and it is only discussed among Vulcans in very unique circumstances."
"So… you're not allowed to talk about it?"
"There is no law prohibiting it, rather, it is an ancient social code that dictates the secrecy surrounding pon farr."
"So then why are you telling me?"
"Because I have involved you in it."
"In what? This pon farr disease? I don't even know what it is."
"Every seven years, adult males of my species lose the ability to repress their emotions. The body's neurochemistry begins to fail as dangerous hormones accumulate in the bloodstream. If the condition is not resolved in a timely manner, death is inevitable."
"And you have this- this condition? This pon farr?"
"I did, and I am still experiencing lingering effects, but you assisted me in resolving it."
"But how did I do that? I don't even understand the condition, let alone how to treat or cure it."
The tips of his ears flushed a dark greenish color and his hands shook slightly as he continued his work with the dermal regenerator. "There are several means of resolution, but the only guaranteed method of surviving the pon farr is to take a mate."
Surely he was joking, but he didn't seem like the joking type. "When you say taking a mate, do you mean, like, having sex?"
"Resolving pon farr with the assistance of a mate extends beyond the simple act of copulation. It also requires the minds of both individuals to be intimately joined for sustained periods to correct the neurochemical imbalances."
"And you did this with me?"
"Yes."
"And you would have died if I hadn't come over? If we hadn't… you know…"
"Yes, as would you have."
"Wait, huh? But I thought you said pon farr was a Vulcan disease."
"It is, and one that only naturally occurs within males of my species, yet females can suffer from its effects under certain conditions, most typically when their mates enter pon farr."
She repeated the phrase several times in her mind before blurting out the obvious. "But we're not mates. I mean, assuming my definition of the word is the same as yours. You know, we're not romantically involved. And I'm also still not Vulcan."
He turned the dermal regenerator off and placed it in his lap. "When most other species marry or take mates, the bond is simply a legal one. There is often underlying emotional attachment, shared interest and ambitions, the desire for companionship, and the practicality of joining resources to provide for offspring, but nothing more. Vulcan psionic telepathic abilities make forging deeper connections with a mate possible."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"It is logical to conclude I have created such a bond with you. Vulcan telepathic mating bonds are not well understood, but it is known that the thick midbrain is essential to the function of bonding. I was not certain it was possible to bond with a human—there have been marriages and successful matings between humans and Vulcans, yet the profound neurobiological differences between our species led me to hypothesize a telepathic mating bond would be difficult if not impossible to establish."
"But how can you know that's what happened?" she argued. "You make it sound like love at first sight or something, and that only exists in fairy stories. I think you're really nice and I owe my life to you, but I don't—and please don't take this the wrong way—I don't think I'm attracted to you like that. I think last night was just- just a mistake."
"Do you recall how you came to my quarters?" he asked.
"I came and knocked on the door and… well, you were there. You know how the story ends."
"How did you know where to find me?"
"I- I must have followed you. Or maybe someone told me." Her mouth started to feel dry as she swallowed her denial.
"Similarly, I found my way to your room without prior knowledge of your location. Memory loss, aggression, irrational and impulsive behavior, insomnia, loss of appetite—they are all symptoms of pon farr."
"But there could be other explanations for those things. I mean, I just got exposed to a lot of radiation and…" She trailed off before she could mention the Albret and her current emotional state.
"Yes, but mine is the only explanation that satisfies all conditions and makes sense within the context of the situation."
"So you're saying we have some kind of mental link? A bond? How does that even happen? How-"
"We spent considerable time in close proximity aboard the Sekla," he interrupted.
"So? Just two years ago, I spent twenty-four hours with a few thousand Vulcans aboard the Albret, and I'm pretty sure I didn't form any sort of psychic link with anyone."
"A telepathic link," he corrected. "And a telepathic mating bond only forms under very specific circumstances. I believe one was formed when I touched your face after you embraced me. I was not acting rationally."
His stunning confession knocked the wind out of her. "You did this to me?"
"I was not in control of myself." He looked away. "As I explained, pon farr causes a number of alterations to an individual's mental status, particularly memory processing and behavioral regulation."
"So if you were sick and unable to control yourself, why…" Her words stalled in her throat. There was no point in asking why he'd been placed in charge of caring for her because she already knew the answer, which he quickly confirmed.
"There was no one else aboard the Sekla with the expertise to provide you with the medical care necessary to preserve your life."
"I don't know how to process this," she breathed, trying to control the shaking in her hands. "I mean- what- how- what do we do now?"
"I have already informed you how I intend to proceed. I also wish to renew my recommendation that you seek medical treatment."
"You're going to turn yourself into the police?"
"It is the only morally correct solution for the crime I have committed."
"But you said you're cured now. Do you really think you're going to do this again?"
"No, but it does not alter the fact that I am still guilty of bonding with you without your consent, violating both the law and my ethics as a physician, and I must answer for it."
"But answer to who? If you're not a danger to society, it sounds like the only person you have to answer to is me, and maybe yourself."
"What would you have me do?"
"What? I don't know," she replied. "I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it. It's a bad situation. I would have died if you hadn't been on the Sekla, and it sort of sounds like you would have died if I hadn't been here last night."
"Regardless of the circumstances or outcome, I remain morally and ethically obliged to accept the consequences of my actions."
"You keep saying that." She took a deep breath and held it. This was a bigger mess than she could have ever imagined. She saw him fidget in his seat and looked at his hand again. "How did that happen?"
His eyes darted toward the broken vase lying by the door and she instinctively sensed the answer was darker and sadder than she wanted to know. "You were going to hurt yourself, weren't you?"
His mouth opened and formed several silent words but she cut him off before he could actually speak. "Everyone has followed me around for days thinking I was going to try to kill myself. The thought did enter my mind a few times, but I could never think seriously about it because it just felt wrong. I feel like I'm alive for a reason, and so are you. We're alive now for a reason."
"We are alive due to a unique and improbable series of circumstances."
She picked up the dermal regenerator and held out her hand. "Let me see it."
His eyes shifted from the porcelain debris on the floor to his injured hand. He studied it for several seconds before complying with her demand.
"Look, I see what you're saying and I understand where you're coming from," she said as she got to work repairing the laceration. "But I don't feel like you deliberately preyed on me. It just doesn't feel that way. If anything, I'm the one who showed up here and threw myself at you after you told me to go away. I feel a little bit guilty too."
"Which you would not have done if I had not bonded with you."
"But I believe you when you say you didn't do it intentionally. I know you didn't. I was there, Dr. Voris, I remember. You looked confused. You looked scared. So you can turn yourself into the police if you want, but I'm not going to tell them you hurt me if they ask."
"Yet you are injured," he argued, looking down at her left foot, which was still wrapped in a pillowcase.
"I've obviously survived worse."
He extracted the tricorder from the open medical kit on the floor with his free left hand and scanned it over her head and chest. "Your temperature is slightly elevated—a likely consequence of the developing infection in your wounds. Your immune system is not functioning optimally and you have missed several doses of the hemalexin I prescribed you by now."
"I already told you—I'm not going back to the hospital. Can't you just give me a general antimicrobial?" She glanced down at the stocks of hypospray cylinders lining the top half of the case and glared at him.
"Without knowing more about the precise organism causing the infection, I cannot guarantee any medication I administer will be effective."
"You really think they have exotic superbacteria on Aldebaran?" she sighed. "Some sort of aggressive space fungus, maybe?"
He tilted his head to the right to look into her eyes. He almost looked annoyed, but the muscles of his face didn't flinch. It took ten minutes for her to finish repairing his hand and for him to treat the cuts on her left foot and administer a dose of antibiotics.
They sat quietly for a short time before he said, "I still encourage you to return to the hospital, but it is evident you have no intention of doing so. You should return to your quarters and take the hemalexin I prescribed. You should also attempt to consume a meal."
"Yeah, I know, but what about you? Where do you go from here?"
"I do not know. You have given me much to consider."
"Please don't turn yourself into the police," she begged. "I just don't know what good would come from that. Let's just blame it on a bad situation and get on with our lives."
"Which exposes another regrettable fact," he replied. "The bond between us will persist unless we take active steps to sever it. Some bonds are easier to dissolve than others, but there is a possibility that we shall be unable to achieve this."
She glared at him. "So we- we're stuck together? Like, Vulcan married or something?"
"Newly formed bonds are often fragile and easily broken with little effort, but there is a remote possibility it could endure."
Dagny took a shaky breath. "So how do we go about breaking this off between us?"
"We should avoid future contact. Additionally, it is recommended we purge our minds of thoughts regarding one another through meditation."
"I don't know how to meditate," she muttered, scratching her forehead. "But I guess have plenty of other things to keep my mind busy."
She rested her elbows on her knees and suddenly felt overwhelmingly sad. She was going to miss him, which was strange because he was a stranger. They slowly turned to look at each other, but the door buzzed, visibly startling them both.
After several seconds, the intercom activated and a quiet voice announced, "Dr. Voris, it is Ambassador Spock. I am sorry to disturb you, especially during this time, but Miss Skjeggestad is missing and the authorities on Valder Station have asked for our assistance in locating her."
Dagny felt the blood run out of her face. What time was it? She smoothed her hair and jumped to her feet, which were still a bit tender from her recent injuries. "Please don't say anything."
"I cannot ignore him," Dr. Voris insisted.
"I'm not asking you to. Just don't say anything about what happened last night."
"He will see that you are here and will be able to logically deduce what has transpired." Voris took several steps toward the door but she grabbed his arm.
"Can't we just say I came over because I wasn't feeling well and didn't want to bother anyone at the hospital? You know, and maybe I fell asleep on your sofa?"
"It is not the truth and Ambassador Spock will know."
"Please, Dr. Voris," she begged. "If you don't want to lie, I'll do it."
The door buzzed again and they both began the awkward march to answer it, sidestepping around the broken vase. When he hit the door release, the elderly Vulcan gentleman she'd spoken to briefly aboard the Sekla greeted them.
"Miss Skjeggestad," he said carefully, glancing at her before allowing his gaze to settle on Dr. Voris.
"I was just leaving," she blurted. "I came over to thank Dr. Voris for saving my life and we talked for a while and I fell asleep on his sofa. I lost track of time."
Both Voris and the ambassador turned to stare at her. She hated lying to his man, but she wasn't in the mood to discuss last night's awkward situation with anyone, particularly not a Vulcan ambassador.
"I see," Ambassador Spock finally replied. "There is a Nurse Frost at the constable's office filing a missing person's report as we speak. Perhaps we should go settle the matter."
"I can go," Dagny insisted, taking a step forward in an attempt to push past him and leave the room. "There's no need for you to bother with something like this."
"I do not recommend unnecessary outdoor travel in your current immunocompromised state," Dr. Voris replied.
"Then I shall contact the constable and inform them the matter is resolved and Dr. Voris has ordered you to return to your private room."
Dagny nodded and fought the urge to run down the hallway. Instead she thanked him, lifted her right hand in the ta'al, and said, "Live long and prosper, ambassador."
He canted his head and returned the gesture and she sped down the corridor, certain life couldn't possibly get much worse. Once back in her room, she gave herself the two doses of hemalexin she'd missed, flopped down on the bed, and let the tears flow freely.
She was alone once again and hated it. When she realized she already missed him, her quiet tears evolved into frantic sobs. How could she miss someone she barely knew?
"I cannot offer a valid excuse," Voris finally said, struggling to suppress the guilt and shame the elderly man's presence elicited in him.
Ambassador Spock surveyed the broken vase and the damaged table by the sofa. It did not require exceptional logic for him to deduce what had occurred.
"It is not for me to involve myself in your personal situation," the ambassador replied. "Yet I also cannot ignore the possibility that a member of my staff may have acted in an inappropriate and potentially criminal manner."
Voris bowed his head. Dagny did not want him to surrender himself to the authorities, but he remained conflicted about what he should do.
"I offered to turn myself in to Aldebaran law enforcement officials but she has requested that I do not."
"What do you intend to do?"
"I do not know." Voris was not intimately acquainted with his elderly cousin and had never sought his advice before, but he also understood the lingering effects of pon farr could be clouding his judgment and there was no one else with whom he could speak. "I would- I would appreciate your guidance."
The ambassador arched an eyebrow but nodded. "Permit me one moment to settle matters with the constable."
Ambassador Spock extracted a PADD from his breast pocket to contact the police and inform them Dagny was safe while Voris located a sweeper to clear away the porcelain shards. When they finished, Voris set the coffee table back on its three remaining legs and took a seat on the couch and Ambassador Spock occupied a chair in the corner.
Spock cleared his throat and said, "Perhaps you should begin at the most logical place. The beginning."