"I'm off duty, Captain," Uhura said as her door hissed open before Kirk's eyes.
He stepped inside, holding up his hands as if to ward off an attack. His smile was meant to disarm and as best he could tell it nearly worked. She didn't ask him to leave, in any case.
"I know that, Lieutenant," he told her, still smiling. "But if you'll just hear me out, I promise I'll be out of your hair in ten minutes — fifteen, tops. Okay?"
She crossed her arms over her chest, but she still didn't ask him to leave. He thought he saw a hint of a smile tugging at her soft-looking lips, but that might have been wishful thinking. A happy Uhura would take what he had to say way better than an angry Uhura, and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be seeing a happy Uhura for a while.
Sobering, he decided to get right to the point.
"Look, I know I'm the last person in the world who should be giving you relationship advice," he started. She snorted and then really did smile. Kind of. It didn't look like a happy one. "We haven't always seen eye-to-eye," he continued, "but I really like you and I've always valued your insight.
"And, be honest, if it wasn't for you, I'd probably be rotting in a Starfleet prison cell somewhere right now, charged with trespassing and interrupting a mission. You had my back then, even though I pissed you off all the time."
She wrinkled her nose at him and rolled her eyes. It was actually kind of cute.
"Shut up, Jim," she snapped, but there wasn't much heat behind it. "If it wasn't for you, there wouldn't have been enough of you left to put in a cell because the Narada would have made sure we were spread out into about a billion pieces."
He grinned at her again.
"Maybe, maybe not," he half-conceded, "but my point is, you kind of stood up for me with Pike. And you were the first one to give me a chance as captain when everything was over. That matters to me, Uhura."
An unreadable expression flickered across her face briefly before she smoothed it back into its usual congenial placidity.
"Why are you here tonight, Jim?"
He sighed. He'd almost reached her. He was sure of it.
"I just wanted to make sure you knew… you don't have to do it," he said quietly. "If it's asking too much of you, just say something."
The heat that lit up her eyes at that was definitely anger.
"So, what? I'm just supposed to let him die?" She uncrossed her arms and look several steps towards him.
He threw up his hands again.
"No! Of course not! God, is that what you think of me?" He shook his head, annoyed that she might still think he was the reckless youth she'd met in an Iowan bar just under four years before. "Look. There are other solutions. That's all I'm saying. I told Spock he shouldn't do it this way, but he wants someone he knows. Someone he trusts.
"But I don't see why his Vulcan obsession with secrecy should put you at risk."
The tension in her shoulders loosened a little and she looked down at her feet. He figured it was safe to get close.
Tipping up her chin, he looked into her sad, dark eyes.
"You can always change your mind, Nyota," he whispered. "Spock won't like it, but he'll accept it. He'll have to."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small rectangular card that flashed and blinked a series of words and graphics across its surface.
"There are a lot of… facilities on Sbelisdim that can accommodate him if you decide this is too much for you." He pressed the card into her hand.
For a moment he thought she would reject it, just as Spock had done the day before, but she surprised him.
Uhura stepped even closer to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
"Thanks, Jim," she whispered into his neck. "Now get the fuck out of my quarters."
He felt the first drops of moisture sliding down her face as he returned her embrace.
*****
"It's one thing to have agreed to this because you want to save his life, Lieutenant," Bones protested. "That's bad enough in my book. But it's been six months since your last hypo and risking permanent consequences for a mission of mercy is just plain stupid!"
"Doctor — Leonard — I meant what I said," she retorted, schooling her voice to hide her irritation. "Spock's parents had to resort to genetic counseling in order to have him. It's highly unlikely that he'd be able to induce conception in any female in the absence of medical intervention. You know this.
"And you also know that this might not work if he has any reason to believe that I am not an otherwise viable candidate. My answer was, and remains, 'no.'" This was her fifth refusal.
The ship's doctor frowned, dropping his hands, but apparently not in defeat.
"Ms. Uhura, I'm gonna talk to you as a friend, not as a doctor, okay?" At her nod, he continued. "I understand that you'd do whatever it takes to save his life, no matter what the personal price to you — I even applaud you for it. But this — you don't want to have a kid involved in this, Nyota. They don't get to pick their parents, and they never deserve to caught in-between whatever mess is going on with the people who made them."
Her face softened at the thinly-veiled reference to his own situation.
"I understand, Leonard," she assured him. "I do," she insisted when he would have protested again. "But even if Spock and I ended up making a baby, we wouldn't screw it up. Believe it or not, we really are friends."
Just as he had on the day before, Bones realized there was nothing to be gained in arguing with her further. He sighed and began going through his other offerings.
He held up a small bottle.
"Lubricant — Spock said this can go on for days. You don't want friction damage in sensitive areas to stop you half-way through saving his life." He pretended not to see the faint blush warming her brown cheeks as he pulled a small machine out of his bag.
"Dermatological regenerator — just in case the lubricant isn't enough, or if things get a little rough." He set in on her table, then reached into the small black bag again to pull out several packets of pressure-sealed tablets.
"Painkillers in the three standard strengths. They're not the best I could give you, but none are habit forming or incapacitating."
Finally, he showed her a sleek hypospray.
"This one is loaded with five doses of enough sedative to put a hippo out for an hour," he told her. "And don't tell me you won't accept it. Spock told me what can happen during the mating game. If you don't take this and promise me that you'll use it if you need it, I'm not letting you off this boat, and the green-blooded hobgoblin can find a street walker to get the job done for all I care!"
She accepted the hypo, her face grim.
"I promise, Leonard, I'll use it if I have too."
The conviction in her voice left no room for doubt.
*****
Spock waited in the main transporter room. She would be there soon — her punctuality was one of her most dependable qualities. Still, in his altered state, he could not completely suppress a twinge of anxiety.
What if she changed her mind?
When Jim shot him a quizzical look, he realized he had been openly fidgeting. He clasped his hands behind his back and stilled himself with effort.
Two minutes passed before Nyota arrived — still early — with Dr. McCoy in tow.
She carried two small black bags, one clearly a medical kit, the other most likely containing items selected from the list of recommended clothing he had sent her soon after securing her cooperation.
"I am ready whenever you are, sir." She was looking at Jim, but Spock suspected the formal tone was directed at him.
"Mr. Spock?" Jim looked over at him.
"I am also ready to depart, Captain," he said, slipping the strap of his own bag over his shoulder.
They mounted the pad then turned to face Jim, McCoy and the transporter technician.
"I expect you to bring back a thorough report," Jim told them, and it took a moment for Spock to realize he referred to the mining survey.
"Indeed, Captain," he said.
Nyota said, "Energize," and the Enterprise faded away.
Dr. McCoy's scowl was the last thing he saw on the ship.
*****
Sbelisdim was aesthetically pleasing. That was to be expected. Aside from the unfamiliar vegetation and the furred creatures flying about, the main city bore a strong resemblance to resemblance to the holos Spock had seen depicting 19th Century Terran seaside resorts.
There were fewer beings walking around outside in than he had expected. He suspected the heat, close what would have been considered a warm day on Vulcan, was the culprit. While he was grateful, he noticed that Nyota's face was tight with tension.
Relieving her of her bags without asking, he quickly led her from the transport station to the hotel Jim had selected for them. Fortunately for his companion, it was just across the moderately busy street.
*****
"The captain was generous," she observed as they walked through the suite that would be their home base for the next two weeks. "I guess you're worth it."
Immediately, she regretted her snarky words, but didn't check to see Spock's reaction. Instead, she walked over to the French windows (very Earth-like, she noted) that allowed light from Sbelisdim's sun flood the suite's sitting room.
"We even have a view!" she said, filling her voice with as much false excitement as she could muster as looked out beyond the balcony to the beach.
"I believe there are two sleeping chambers," Spock said from behind her. "You should choose the one you would prefer to utilize."
At that, she did turn to check on him. He was standing behind a sofa, between two doors she imagined led to the bedrooms.
"I imagined that it would be necessary for us to share, Commander," she said, raising both eyebrows.
He titled his head slightly.
"That will be the case while the Pon farr lasts, but after I have recovered, such an arrangement will no longer be required."
Giving him a short nod, she walked over to check out the rooms.
.
She selected the smaller of two, inwardly noting that they would be more comfortable sharing the huge bed in the larger room.
And she didn't want to be reminded of what they did there every night they remained here beyond his Time.
She'd stowed her bag of clothing in her own room before carrying the medkit the doctor had given her back to Spock's room.
"Spock?"
He stood where she had left him, silent and unmoving, only halfway across the luxurious room.
"I am uncertain as to how I should proceed," he admitted, turning towards her.
"What do you mean?" She took a small step towards him. In truth, she was as uncertain as he was. "We've done this hundred of times."
Obviously struggling for something, either for patience or for a way to express himself, he closed his eyes in a slow blink.
"I know what was acceptable when we were… together; I am unsure whether the same parameters are in place at this time."
"Which parameters?"she wanted to know.
He breathed deeply before answering. She noticed that his hands, hanging at his sides instead of clasped behind his back as usual, were trembling.
"While we were romantically involved, I would have engaged you in pre-coital stimulus to ensure that you were suitably aroused and lubricated before being intercourse," he explained. "I do not know if such ministrations would be welcome under the current circumstances."
Uhura took another step in his direction, but halted when she noted the nearly imperceptible stiffening of his posture.
"Spock, I… I would say that such actions are even more necessary now than they were when we were a couple," she told him, wringing her hands together. "This whole situation is awkward. Perhaps familiar… routines would make our… task less difficult to accomplish."
He gave a short nod.
"That is a reasonable supposition," he agreed, but stiffened again when she took yet another step towards him.
She stopped short, confused by his reactions to her movement.
He must have seen and deciphered the emotions playing across her face, because next he said, "It would probably be wise if you were to remove your clothing before we begin. I would not wish to damage your garments should my control fail to…"
Alarm replaced her confusion, but she nodded quickly in understanding. Damage?
"Right," she said aloud, spinning on her heels and scanning the room for her clothing bag. "That would be… prudent. I'll just go to the bathing room to…" She looked around the room once more without success.
"Nyota," he called softly, and she turned to face him once more. "If you do not wish to retrieve your own belonging, I believe the establishment will have provided robes."
Suddenly, she remembered she'd left the clothing in her own room, and heaved a sigh of relief. If he could still think clearly enough to anticipate her needed and suggest a solution, he couldn't be too far gone.
"Thank you," she said, and strode towards the 'fresher.
.
Spock listened to the sound of the door closing behind Nyota before leaving his place in the center of the room. Fighting against the impatience threatening to drive him from his senses, he slowly removed his garments, folded them and placed them on a chair near the bed.
Once he was fully unclothed he slid between the cool sheets on the large bed.
He had not been lying there long before Nyota emerged, swathed in a thick white bathrobe several sizes too large for her small frame. Immediately, he felt reason begin to slip away from him. He watched her silent approach as he wrestled it back in place. His body required a female, he understood this.
But the woman walking towards him, nervously biting her lip, was his friend and deserved better treatment than what his instincts told him he should do to her.
Although she did not move quickly, once she reached the opposite side of the bed, she did not hesitate pull back the sheets, drop her rode and climb inside.
He reached for her.
.
When Spock pulled her to him and his lips found hers, Nyota was startled by the familiarity of his actions.
She knew those hands closing over her shoulder and wrapping around her waist, pulling her against his heated skin.
She knew this mouth brushing against her own, desperately seeking, trailing fire down her neck, across her clavicle before finally covering her nipple and eliciting a small cry from her own throat.
As had happened countless times before, his touch instantly opened an empathic link between them and within seconds his arousal became her own. She knew she it wouldn't take very much "pre-coital stimulus" for her to become ready.
But not everything was familiar.
This was not desire to connect and to share pleasure with a lover. It was a raw need for the act itself. This wasn't about her. Just as he'd described it, the Pon farr was about mating.
As if he sensed her discomfort, he drew back, hesitating as his dark eyes bored into hers. She felt his hands tremble with the effort of holding back and all of her uncertainty vanished. This was about survival.
"It's okay, love," she murmured, tangling her hand in the dark hair covering his chest and pulling his head down, his mouth back to hers, even as she mentally kicked herself for using the endearment. "It's okay," she repeated against his lips.
And then the fire took her as well and she was no longer capable of thinking of anything beyond the joining.
*****
Nyota lay on her side, curled into herself. As if she were disgusted with his actions or afraid of him. She was as far away from him as the large bed and his own position would allow her to be. Spock had not anticipated this.
He had brought her to completion. That, at least, he was sure of.
If she had still been his, he would have held her cool body in his arms as they both enjoyed the sense of connectedness that always followed in the wake of their lovemaking. Instead she, who had suggested that they act as if they were not parted, had moved away from his as soon as his lok had softened inside of her, following his own shuddering climax.
"Did I cause you injury, Nyota?" he asked, grasping at the only logical possibility for the distance she sought.
She turned over to face him, but did not move closer.
"I am uninjured," she said, her voice toneless.
"Did you… did you not find your pleasure?" He knew from the link that she had, but perhaps there was more that she required. Something he had failed to sense through his own maelstrom of burning need.
"Is it over?" she asked instead of answering his question, her still-flat voice devoid of both hope and despair. "Are you cured?"
Her deflection did not go unnoticed, but Spock could already feel the heat rising in him again. He knew it would be easier for both of them if he could answer in the affirmative, but lying served no logical purpose.
"No," he told her. "The need has been temporarily abated, but I am not 'cured' yet."
"Okay," was all she said in response.
He reached for her again.
**********
Author's Note: I wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed -- even those of you who don't like what's happening. Feedback really helps. I also wanted to apologize for taking so long to update. I had to reconfigure (and add to) the final two chapters (and I might have to make them three) -- and I wouldn't have known I needed to do it if you guys hadn't been reviewing!!
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek and I do not get paid for using its characters.
