"I am a touch-telepath, as are all Vulcans." Spock's voice is level and calm, which seems a stark contrast to the high emotion of just moments before. "Apparently, she is also some form of telepathic or empathic race, and I frightened her. She is, it seems, unlikely that she's ever met another like herself, outside her own race. Also, we were very….different…..in our mental contact."

"Different?" I ask. I've felt Spock's mental touch before. A mind meld has never, to me, been something unpleasant or difficult. His touch is warm and familiar, like a blanket on a cold night, slipping into my mind with no effort- he says that's more because of me then anything else-and never invading any places I want kept private, never causing pain. He's always open, too; allowing a two-way 'link' rather then a one-way manipulation. I can't understand why anyone would be afraid of or pained by it. (McCoy is the only one I know who has any negative reaction to it; Spock says trying to meld with him is like a mental collision until he can be coaxed into relaxing.)

"Far more….invasive."

"It's possible for something to be more invasive then digging around in a person's mind?"

He knows that's now how it works, not really. I raise a brow. "Bones," I scold, because he does know, and I get a bad-natured scowl in reply but his eyes don't hold real malice.

Spock's gaze is impassive, but he looks, in his way, mildly irritated. "It is, doctor, and it does not have to be negative in it's connotations." He sits back in the chair, hands now in his lap. "But it is as I said; I believe my own telepathic abilities frightened her."

I lower my head, remembering her tears, her panic. She hadn't been just startled, she'd been like a spooked deer; terrified and confused. "Spock, why would that frighten her so badly?"

Spock glances up at me. "I am also very unlike both of you. I am not human." He reminds me softly. "I do not think and react the way humans do. The combination of the two most likely confused her and scared her."

"Spock scared off the butterfly, hu?" Bones teases gently, but when he meets my eyes he looks-disturbed. We don't know where she's gone or what she'll do, and there's absolutely no way we can find her unless she wants to be found.

Which means she is now running around my ship, frightened, angry, and I hope it means our friendly, confusing Casper won't turn into something much worse.

"Bones," I snap, not in the mood for those two to start bickering. I know it's harmless, and I know they don't really feel any animosity for each other. Their constant picking at each other is their own odd way of showing it, and usually not something that disturbs me. Just the contrary- it's comforting and familiar background noise, the warm sound of my brothers teasing and aggravating each other. Now, though, I'm hardly in the mood. "Spock, not now."

Spock pushes calmly up from his chair. "I'll see if I can locate her using the ship's scanners, Captain."

"You won't." I say, because we already know she can make herself completely invisible to us if she wants. I glance at Spock- if he actually feels bad about spooking her, I might not be able to help laughing. For all his denial of emotion, he is one of the biggest hearted men I know, and it's so completely like him to feel guilty over it. "Don't worry about it, Spock. I'm sure-" I pause, because I'm not sure at all. "-I'm sure she'll pop back up when she's ready." I am sure about the next part, though, after thinking about it a moment. "I don't think she'll do any harm, even upset. I don't know what she'll do, but I don't think it'll be harmful."

"Then at least allow me to continue in the attempt to discover what this-woman-truly is." He presses, as McCoy rises, too.

"Spock, you said yourself there are no other life forms registering in this area, and it'd be nearly impossible to hide from our scanners." He says, the pair of them leaving the room mid-bicker, heads lowered together like a pair of conspiring teenage girls. I chuckle, watching them go-it's good for them, the arguing. It's the same reason I tell people to argue with me-having someone at your elbow playing devil's advocate helps you think in ways you might not if you don't have that person. And sometimes it brings ideas to light you'd never consider alone.

I push my own chair back, listening to the door hiss shut, and press my palms to the table. At least now we know why Spock hasn't been 'haunted'. The question now is- will he be?

I go to my own quarters, stripping off my shirt and undershirt as I go. I drop them lazily on my floor-Bones would kill me if we ever were forced to share a room, I know that much without having to think about it very hard- and sit on the edge of my bed to work off my boots. I toss those aside, too, and lay out on my bed tiredly.

I don't really remember my eyes falling shut, and I didn't fall asleep, exactly. I hear her when she comes in, and I lay with my eyes closed, listening to her cross the room.

"Jim Kirk?" She asks, and she's still crying, I can hear it in her voice. I shouldn't be surprised that she came to me; even that it was this soon after. She moves to the foot of my bed. I don't move, don't even open my eyes as her hand ghosts over my leg, my arm. "James?"

Edith's voice. I still don't move. Her hand grips my upper arm, tightly, and is shaking. "The man scares me. What is he?"

"My best friend, or one of two." I say slowly, eyes still closed.

"He is not like you."

"In many ways, yes." I say, and her fingers are ghosting up the side of my face now, pushing through my hair. It feels nice, despite myself. "But he isn't someone to be frightened of."

"He feels strongly, but doesn't." She whispers. Her hand is resting on my chest now, and her scent has changed. From wilderness and outdoors to a faint impression of vanilla and peaches.

Now I open my eyes.

And she not only sounds like Edith, now she looks like her, too. Soft, big green eyes with those long lashes of hers, locked on me in curiosity. Her dark hair is all done up in a proper bun, swept away from her long neck; there is the pale, cream-tone skin, the lips slightly parted in that adorable, perpetual pout, legs for days and curves where all curves should be on a woman. Her eyes are red from crying, and tears streak down her cheeks, marring her make-up. "But you," She says, "feel strong. All strong. Everything, all the way." She frowns, touches my face and this time I feel a tug, a pulling sensation I've never felt with Spock. Like he's roughly turning the pages of a book.

"You feel……everything strongly." She says, and I realize she's taken Standard from my mind, too, just like she took everything to build this perfect model of the woman I lo-well.

"Especially about this person." She sweeps a hand over her own chest, head tipped. "This person….you find beautiful."

"Yes," I whisper, unable to stop staring. Damn it, I should be able to stop staring. "Yes, I find her very beautiful. But you are not her."

She tips her head. "But I look like her. Smell like her. Feel like her….tell me, James Kirk, do I taste like her as well?"

And she is kissing me.

My arms come up out of pure insintinct, wrap around her hips and even while I don't kiss her in return I can say that yes, she most certainly does. Soft and pliant beneath me, her scent everywhere, lips and tongue and teeth warring with my own (because somewhere along the line I did kiss back) and not totally submissive. A woman like Edith would never be totally submissive.

She knows how to act because you know how you expect her to act, says a little, nasty voice in the back of my mind, wake up, Jim, this is no more Edith then Spock is.

But I don't want to. Not right now.

I kiss back, kiss hard, and let my hands go from her hips to her waist, the material of her shirt sliding up under my hands. She nips my lower lip, laughing softly, playfully, and I reel back, pressing kisses down her long, pale neck, pausing at the joint to bite and suck softly.

She moans. The sound goes down my spine straight to my groin. "Jim," She whispers, in that husky voice, accent thick with lust and desire, and her hands are working at my shirt now. "You are far too clothed."

I decide to remedy that situation for both of us.