Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'd handcuff myself to Spock. Which he'd find highly illogical. But I own neither a pair of handcuffs nor Star Trek, so I think you can guess where this is going.

A/N: Alright, so the reason for the long delay in updating this story is due to the fact that this was a ridiculously difficult chapter to write…especially the first part. I've never written a…umm…well a scene of that nature before, so that's why it's so crummy. Actually, for some reason, I kept getting these strange visions about my sweet, innocent grandmother reading this, even though she hasn't even the vaguest idea on how to operate a computer…And that is why it took so damn long for me to grow a pair and get with the program.

BTW, some of you have noticed that I posted a youtube link of the trailer to this story on my profile; since then, I have removed it and replaced it with a newer version, so please GO TO MY PROFILE and click on the youtube link. Heh. Self-promotion, much?

Be forewarned; awkward situations ahead. Yes. Those sort of situations. Hence the rating.

Spock did not answer her, but the door remained open as he returned to the confines of his quarters. She followed him, hesitantly at first, but quickened her pace when he turned to face her. They were standing in the small, but quaint sitting area that every senior officer's accommodations housed.

Christine sat down on the sofa, but he remained standing, staring stiffly at the wall behind her.

"What is it you wish to convey to me, Captain?" His tone was even more detached than usual, not even sounding vaguely interested in her abrupt, impromptu presence.

She mentally winced at the usage of the rank, but did not allow it to get in the way of her original intentions. She took a deep breath and stared down at her hands before answering, deciding exactly how to put into words what she wanted to say. After a long moment of prolonged silence, she stared up at him and spoke. "I have been doing some research."

"That is hardly a surprise, Captain. We have come across many intriguing soil samples on our last planet mission--" But before he could finish, he was interrupted by Christine, who knew that he knew what she was referring to, but thought it best to play dumb and change the subject.

"I'm not referring to soil samples, Commander."

He did not answer, but instead continued to stare blankly at the wall.

She continued. "I did research on your…condition." And at that, his shoulders tensed up considerably. He was clearly unnerved by this revelation. "It took a while, but I found out what it was."

"You have no knowledge of what I am undergoing." His voice was distant, infuriated even.

But Christine remained calm, not wanting to antagonize him even more, though she knew that at this time he was unpredictable, possibly even dangerous.

"I do. It said that you had eight days to live and I'm sure that by now, you aren't far from that deadline."

"I have been meditating," Spock said simply, as if that would cease her concern.

"But it's not working."

His immediate silence confirmed her statement.

Suddenly, Christine stood, probably quicker than she originally had intended. She strode across the room and stood toe-to-toe with him, staring up at him gravely, her blue eyes boring into his dark brown ones.

"Let me help you. You are too important to Starfleet to lose." She paused for a moment, clenching her jaw. She grabbed his arm, which he surprisingly did not shake off. "Consider that an order."

Spock stared down at her, his slanted eyebrows furrowing together, his eyes fathomless. Her eyes were wide with solemnity, trying to overlook the barrier that he always surrounded himself with. After nearly a full minute of tension, she let go of his arm and took a step backwards.

"Fine. I suppose it was useless coming here. You're too proud to save your own life." And as she turned to leave, Christine felt a tight grip suddenly take hold of her upper right arm. She turned her head to look at Spock.

He was not looking at her, but off to the side, though she felt a peculiar vibe emanating from him, something out of character to his usual standoffishness.

"You are willing…to assist me?" he asked quietly, almost in a whisper. She turned her entire body around to face him once more.

"Yes."

"And you are aware of the repercussions…that I could injure you?"

"Well, you've already sprained my wrist," she joked lightly, holding up her bandaged hand; her sling was gone, but her bandages were due to be removed in the morning. Then it hit her like a ton of bricks; he was being wholeheartedly serious. She sensed his painful anxiety and changed her tone to a much more somber one. "I want to help you. I could not live with myself if you died all because were unable to reach out to anyone about this." And that was when her voice began to shake. "Please."

Suddenly, for reasons that even she could not comprehend, Christine took his stiff hand in her trembling one. He finally looked down at her and made eye contact. There was something different in his eyes, something undistinguishable. Wanting? No. Gratitude. That's what it was.

Suddenly, Spock turned to his desk that sat in the corner and opened a drawer, pulling out a halfway full bottle of green liquid, along with two glasses. He walked towards the sitting area and Christine sat down on the sofa, and he next to her. He immediately set the glasses on the glass table in front of the them, and poured them both halfway with the

She smiled to herself. "I thought Vulcans didn't drink alcohol," she said as he handed her a glass.

"I am half-Vulcan. My mother was a Human. This Vulcan port does not usually affect its own race, but is known to stimulate the minds of Humans, making me slightly vulnerable to its influence."

"Oh…I didn't know," she said, sniffing at the drink before taking a sip; it smelled of The port was very bitter at first, but the aftertaste was sweet and pleasing, leaving a warm sensation in her dry throat.

"It is not common knowledge that I have a diverse ancestry."

A brief silence accompanied this, followed by Christine downing the rest of the substance rather quickly, making her stomach bubbly with a complicated mixture of eagerness and timidity. She wanted to get this done with, to complete what had to be accomplished. And then they could forget that this had ever taken place.

Problem solved, no questions asked.

Christine set down her empty glass on the table, next to Spock's barely touched one. She gulped, swallowing her pride along with her lurking fear, and grabbed his hand very tightly, though he seemed hardly affected by the notion. After a few uncomfortable seconds, he looked down at their joined hands, his barely gripping her own persistent one. Suddenly, just when Christine was about to let go, he squeezed her hand securely, looking directly at her.

Her heart began to beat rapidly and her throat began to dry up once more, making her yearn for another glass of the soothing green beverage. As her free hand reached for the bottle that was still sitting on the table, she scooted forward suddenly; little did she realize, Spock was moving towards her with swift dexterity, his face barely an inch way when she had decided to abruptly move. Her nose crashed painfully with his cheekbone, making her move backwards in surprise.

"Ow," she involuntarily exclaimed, rubbing her sore nose. She looked over at Spock, who, despite his Vulcan serenity, appeared to be slightly embarrassed. "Sorry," Christine apologized, mortified with humiliation. The last thing she wanted was for him to be self-conscious. She tightened her grip on his hand to assure him of her sincerity.

"It would be logical to--" he began, but Christine immediately read his mind.

"My thoughts exactly," she speedily agreed, getting off the sofa with him, still hand-in-hand. He lead her towards a door that was off to the side, next to his desk.

His bedroom, Christine noted as they walked in, was mediocre in size, like the sitting room, but seemed much more warm and comfortable; The walls were adorned with red hangings and shelves filled with aged books and Vulcan relics, while his bed was large, larger than her own, and decked out in the Starfleet regulated duvet.

She sat down on his bed, sinking slightly into the thick mattress. Spock immediately began to remove his shoes and blue shirt; once they were discarded in his usual precise fashion, he sat down next to her, watching her pull off her shirt. She tried to be careful to not seem too eager.

As soon as they were both wearing their black undershirts, he slowly scooted towards her, his face nearing hers with every passing second. When his lips touched hers, his kiss was not as desperate as she would have thought; instead, it was soft and gentle. She began to kiss him back after a few moments, making the mutual contact gain more momentum.

She felt his hands reach for the bottom of her shirt and he began to slowly raise it, only to stop halfway up her torso. He pulled away from her and as soon as he did so, she egged him on. "Go ahead." He quickly pulled her shirt over her head, throwing it the side in an unexpectedly fervent manner. She quickly pulled off her pants and kicked them to the side. Turning to him, Christine watched as he took off his undershirt, revealing a built torso.

After a minute or two of undressing, they were both naked. Christine briefly admired his lithe and alluring form. She laid down on the bed, moving herself further towards the middle, while he closely followed, climbing on top of her and continuing to tenderly kiss her.

As soon as they were both on the bed, Spock began to lower himself down, but hesitated for a moment. Noticing his reluctance, she reached down and lifted her hips, luring him to proceed. After a moment he did so, and slowly entered her. She suddenly gasped aloud, not used to this level of intimacy. She had not been with anyone in over a year, and a year was a long time to go without.

His Vulcan hearing had alerted him of her sudden discomfort. He immediately pushed himself up. "Did I hurt…?"

"No, no…It's okay, keep going, I'm fine," she assured him eagerly, pulling him back down and claiming his lips in encouragement.

When he finally was inside of her, he began to slowly sway back and forth before moving to a much more powerful, if not desperate, thrust. She moaned lowly and closed her eyes, enjoying the pleasurable feeling that he induced upon her. Christine heard a few impatient groans escaping from him as she dug her nails across his muscular back, urging him endure.

Finally, the climax arrived and she yelled out, followed by numerous gasps of imminent exhaustion. Spock did not immediately climb off of her, but instead panted in weariness, though Christine could tell it was from gratefulness also. When he rolled off of her, she was suddenly thankful for the cold atmosphere of the room.

She looked over at Spock, whose eyes were closed. She could tell he was still awake, due to the rising and lowering of his chest; she wondered if he was suddenly lost in meditation and if so, did not want to disturb him. She carefully pulled back the comforter and climbed in between the cool sheets, reveling in comfort.

Just as she lost all sense of her surroundings and succumbed to a deep slumber, Christine felt a strong arm grab hold of her waist, pulling her close to a warm body, entwining their legs with hers.

A/N: Yes, I am fully aware that was the worst "mature" scene you probably ever read. LOL. Just so everyone knows, I've never gotten this far in a story before; I usually chicken out before anything like this happens. So…Kudos to me for effort, I suppose.