Her:

You're having dinner at the Vulcan embassy. You and Spock have been together a few weeks now but you don't think he would have dragged you home to the parents quite so soon if he wasn't trying to make a point to you that you don't need to be so damned insecure.

And you're trying. You really are. You wonder if you would have had the same kind of adjustment issues if the two of you had gotten together during the first voyage or even after V'ger. You think it's not the basic issues of a new relationship that are bothering you; it's one, and her name is Valeris and she's a goddamned ghost.

Even if he seems to be leaving her behind. You're having a lot more trouble with that.

But you saw them together in the halls. You think you knew they were a couple before they did. Ny has told you how...compatible they seemed—at least before Spock had to rip critical information out of the love of his life's mind.

They were compatible at a molecular level. Spock wouldn't have felt so betrayed by someone he hadn't truly loved. Will he love you that way someday? Or did he pick you because he will never have to worry about loving you so much you can hurt him?

These are negative thoughts and when the two of you are making love or just spending time together, you can forget them. You're usually too busy at work to obsess over what is and isn't true about your relationship, but the stupid doubts roil around in your head when you're alone.

If Ny were just here, on Earth, and not out on a ship where she is finally doing something different. But being first officer—even on a small ship—is frazzling, and she never seems to want to talk in real time anymore. She sends updates all the time and asks how things are going, but it's not the same as discussing in a real one-to-one conversation.

And Jan is even busier. And involved with Sulu. The double whammy of absent-friend syndrome: geographical distance and a new lover.

Why do you only have two close friends? You've served with so many people who you could sit and drink all night with, but did any of you ever share things that mattered? Maybe the only way to stay sane in ops was to shut down? To keep things superficial?

And then once you and Cartwright became involved, your new friends were couples—friends of his, who not surprisingly are nowhere to be found now that he's gone and you're just the left-behind ex-lover.

Maybe part of your problem with Spock isn't with him at all—but with yourself. Who you've become.

But then you never had that many friends in college, either. You had Roger, and that was enough. A shortsighted policy, then and now.

But at least here, sitting in the dining room of Sarek and Amanda's private chambers at the embassy, you feel like you're part of something that's more than just you and a man. Sarek gently teases and Amanda seems out-and-out thrilled that you're with her son.

Spock seems very at ease. Proud of you, even. Content.

All good things. And not consolation prizes. You're happy, or you are when you get out of your own way.

Amanda notices your glass is nearly empty and pours you more wine. "I've been invited to a winery opening out in Napa, Christine. Sarek, of course, can't be bothered. Please say you'll go with me? It's next Saturday."

Spock is leaving on a diplomatic mission so you know you'll be free, barring any last minute emergencies.

"I'd love to."

"Excellent. My social secretary will make the arrangements for us." She winks at Spock. "Couldn't have done this with Valeris."

Sarek doesn't even look up from his soup as he says, "My wife..."

You grin at her. "You can badmouth her. It makes me feel better."

"You are better than that, Christine." Sarek is looking at you as if he really believes that to be true. "Valeris is dead. Let us not resurrect her."

Spock shoots his father a grateful look and you mutter, "Fine," but as you glance at Amanda, she mouths, "Later."

You look down, trying to hide the laughter. You think it's possible you aren't the only one who needs a female friend to spill your guts to.

Once dinner is over, Spock follows Sarek into his study, keen on picking his mind on the people he will be dealing with during his upcoming negotiations. Amanda waits until the door is shut and then motions for you to follow her. You sit at the counter of the small kitchenette, and watch as she mixes cocktails. Something with cognac—and is that absinthe?

"That looks strong."

"Only if you can't handle your liquor." She grins. "Can you?"

"I'm in ops. It's practically a job requirement."

"Valeris used to watch with such...disapproval when I drank. But nothing I did could please that one." She slides the glass to you and you drink, tasting the brandy and a hint of the absinthe and you're not sure what else—but it's good. "Let me introduce you to the Sazerac."

"Yum." You take another sip, then say softly, "I worry sometimes. That she was Spock's one true love. That I'm..." You sigh. Should you be telling her this?

"I imagine you do. He was smitten but she intended for him to be."

"You think she didn't love him?"

"Oh, no. She did. She worshipped the ground he walked on—not enough to get his advice before joining a conspiracy, but still, her devotion to him was clear." She comes around to join you. "But part of her appeal, I'm sure, was that she was a full Vulcan. He's been trying to be accepted on Vulcan his whole life."

"Any human looking at him would assume he is Vulcan." You laugh at her look. "Any human who's not also his mother."

"Spock paid the price for being my son. When he was really young, he used to cry, which of course made it worse for him. I remember the day he stopped showing his pain. I felt like I'd lost my baby and he was only five." She sips her drink, her look thoughtful. "T'Pring was one of the worst. She made him feel small right up to the day they were betrothed. It does my heart good to think of her being Stonn's property."

"You mean she's a slave?"

"No. Because Stonn is as addled with her as he was when he betrayed Spock. But technically her only standing is through him—because he allows it."

"Don't you think that's barbaric?"

"Yes." She starts to laugh. "I made Sarek tweak the words of the bonding ceremony. To say T'Pau was unhappy with me is to underestimate how ticked off one old Vulcan woman can get. Not that she showed it, of course."

"I guess you were the trailblazer for the rest of us." You think that sounds presumptuous of you, that you'll bonded to Spock any time soon. "Not that he and I are..."

She waves off your protest. "If you're here, with him, then he's serious about you. He would never bring home a casual acquaintance."

"Does he have those? I mean...of the romantic variety?"

"Oh, heavens, no."

Or if he does, he's not telling his mother. Although you get the feeling she knows an awful lot about his life.

"I'll be honest, Christine. I was worried sick about him. First Valeris's betrayal, then Jim dying. I've never seen him so lost. Well, other than when his brother was exiled. But I've noticed how happy he's been since the poetry reading last month and I know you're the reason."

Or sex with you is. They may be two different things.

God, when will you stop self-sabotaging? Spock clearly cares about you; he's putting up with you and your emotional see-sawing with way more grace than you are.

The two of you drink in silence for a moment, and you enjoy the ease, the lovely cocktail she's made for you, the support you feel coming from her.

"The dedication of the memorial for Jim is next week, isn't it?" she asks.

You nod. They broke ground in record time. The memorial grounds are beautiful and the statue even more so. Spock has asked you to go with him—you would have gone anyway, but you understand how much weight he's investing your relationship with by asking you to be by his side for this. "I'm going with him."

"Good. He'll need you." She studies you. "Christine, I may get an unhealthy amount of joy out of badmouthing Valeris, but that's because she and I never got on, not because I think she isn't truly gone from this relationship. I want you to understand that. Spock doesn't move on easily, so if he's with you and happy, then he's let her go."

"I know. I tell myself that." You finish your drink. "This really is delicious, by the way."

"Tastes like more?"

"Definitely tastes like more."

"More it is." She finishes her drink and gets up to make new ones. "So much fun to finally have someone here around who appreciates my mixology skills."

Him:

You sit on the left side of the front row at the memorial, the statue of Jim in profile to you. It is how you viewed him for so many years from the science station; there should be a comforting familiarity but all you can feel is loss and anger. He should not be dead. If Starfleet had waited until the ship was truly ready to be launched, they would not have run into the singularity, and your friend would be alive and not memorialized in a statue that looks out instead of up.

You glance at Christine and she smiles gently. She turns, scanning the crowds, and you know she is hoping Nyota or Rand will show up. You do not think she has anyone to talk to at ops—she holds herself apart more than you think she realizes.

"Are Sulu and Rand coming?" she murmurs so softly a human would not have heard her.

You shake your head, then mouth, "Nor Nyota."

McCoy takes the seat to your left, rubbing his forehead even though it is not that hot. "Damned shuttle was late. Had to hurry." He leans out. "Hello, Christine. You with this guy?"

"She is," you say, to spare her the need to and also because after all the times McCoy has teased her for this, it will do him—and her—good to hear you affirm the relationship.

She grins as she points to you. "Whatever he says."

"And Jim didn't live to see this. He'd have been happy for both of you."

You know that's true. "Are you well?" you ask, suddenly wanting him to be, even if you and he rarely see each other.

"I am. Other than cutting it too short on my transports." He winks, then he studies the statue of Jim. "Why the hell isn't he looking up?"

"Indeed."

"Good likeness, though. Tougher than I thought it was going to be making my vid." He points with his chin to the buttons set around the memorial. Each, when pressed, features a holoscreen of someone who served closely with Jim, sharing memories both touching and humorous. You, too, found it difficult to maintain your composure even if your interviewer looked at you as if you were cold.

"I listened to your vid, Len. It was wonderful." Christine grins at him.

"How's Nyota's? She was so nervous." McCoy doesn't seem to see that he's upsetting Christine so you try to move the conversation on and she lets you, but the two of you share a glance.

When Nyota was in town to record the vid, Christine wanted to see her, but Nyota found excuses not to. You suspect Nyota is uncomfortable with the fact you and Christine are together. She has always been interested in you, and you find her a charming and lovely woman but not one you wish to be involved with.

Much like Jim, you are generally drawn to scientists.

But you have not speculated to Christine why Nyota might have wanted to avoid her. If you are wrong, you could damage a friendship that appears fragile but could recover in time. If you are right, Nyota will grow used to your relationship with Christine, and their friendship could resolve in time.

You touch your finger on her hand, feeling for her emotions. There is a sting of hurt but primarily she is giving you a combination of grieving and...happiness. She looks down at where you are touching her, then meets your eyes and smiles gently.

You make your eyes as soft as you can and slide your fingers across her skin as you let go.

She turns away, her look untroubled.

You see Scott and Chekov hurrying, taking their seats next to Christine. You nod at them, and they nod in return. They were both at the launch. Where you should have been. Do they blame you? Do they know why you weren't there?

The ceremony is mercifully short. And while most of the attendees go inside, those of you who served with him on that first mission stay outside, moving back and over so you can take in the statue from all angles. They chose to show him as he was during the first voyage, when you first became his friend.

"He was so handsome," Christine says and you glance at her in surprise. "Not my type. Too emotionally available. But that doesn't mean I don't have eyes." She grins and moves closer, her arm pressed lightly against yours.

"I do not wish to go inside or hear more speeches from people who barely knew him." You look around, seeing a bit of shock on the faces of Scotty and Chekov, but McCoy and Christine look unsurprised.

"Let's go to his favorite watering hole, then." McCoy is rubbing his hands together. "He'd love that. He hated these empty ceremonies."

You follow him to some place called Smitty's. You never came here and you doubt you will ever come back. But for now, this is perfect.

McCoy leads you in and to the bar; the place is not surprisingly empty at this time of day, so you can all have stools. "Smitty, my good man. We're here to drink to James T. Kirk."

"We miss him here."

"Amen, my friend." McCoy leans in, drawing the bartender in as if he is one of your group. It is a skill you have always admired. "Other than my Vulcan friend here, who will have water, we'll have a round of scotch. Something Jim liked."

"You got it. And first round's on me. Jim was a fine man and a great customer."

You watch as Christine talks animatedly with Scott. They are laughing and it gives you pleasure to see her enjoying herself.

"So," McCoy tugs your arm to pull you down. "You really with her?"

"I am."

"Okay, then. I have to say this. You hurt her, and there'll be hell to pay from Uncle Len."

"You are not her uncle."

"That's not the part of my statement you should be worried about."

You let an eyebrow be his answer.

Her:

You are trying to enjoy your day off, rummaging through the racks at the boutique you love, trying to find thing you think Spock will like you in. You have the place to yourself until a woman comes in and starts perusing the jewelry counter.

A gray negligee catches your eye and you pull it out to admire it. You don't need it. But you imagine the way Spock's eyes will dilate when he sees you in it. You've learned to watch his eyes; they tell you so much when you're in bed.

Not that he's shy about telling you what he likes—and the few things he doesn't.

"Oh what the hell," you say softly as you grab the negligee and add it to the things you want to try on.

In the changing room, a burgundy dress and some shirts end up in the pile you're going to get. You try on the negligee and sigh—it's amazing. You don't need it.

You repeat that you don't need it as if it will mean more if you say it enough times, then you laugh and throw it with the others. Spock deserves it. He's been so nice to you.

You carry the ones you want out as one of the clerks takes the rejects back the racks. The woman looking at jewelry glances over at the negligee, which is lying on top of the pile, and smiles. "Pretty."

"Isn't it? I don't need it."

"No one ever needs something like that. And yet..."

You nod and turn back to the clerk, but then the woman sighs as she studies the jewelry in the case and says, "I hate this."

"You okay?"

"No. Just got married. Mother-in-law hates me. It's her birthday and I have no idea what to get her. I don't want to be cheap but I also don't want to look like I'm trying to bribe her into approving of me, you know?"

You nod, because you do know. Roger's mother couldn't stand you.

"You have a mother-in-law like that?"

"But for the grace of God." Which is a horrible thing to say considering Roger's fate, and yet you've always felt like you dodged a bullet not having to deal with Marilyn Korby for the rest of your life. "I was engaged to someone. But long ago. My current guy's mom is great."

"She approves of you?"

"Yeah, she does." You study the woman. "Have we met? You look familiar?" She has blue eyes and long blonde hair and looks to be in her mid twenties. "Starfleet?"

"Oh, goodness, no. Have you been to Philadelphia? We just moved here from there. My husband wanted to be closer to his family." She makes a funny face. "Missed his mommy."

You laugh. "Long apron strings, huh?"

"Very, very long. The longest." She sighs. "The things they sell here are too nice. I wish I knew the city better. Where should I shop?"

"I know an amazing chocolate place. You can get a nice gift without looking like you tried too hard. It's on my way if you want me to show you?"

"That's so nice of you. Yes." She smiles as she pushes away from the counter, and turns, leaning against it. "I'm Leslie, by the way."

"Christine."

"Nice to meet you." She seems to be studying the racks. "Such pretty clothes in here."

"You should buy something for yourself. Something your husband will like."

"I'm not terribly happy with him right now. Maybe next time." She takes a deep breath. "His ex lives here, too. And I just found out she's working in the same place he is. Which...I didn't know before we moved."

"Believe me. I am well acquainted with ex issues."

"Yeah but is your guy still in love with his ex?"

You sigh. "That's such a good question."

"Oh, sorry." She moves closer, studying you. "Do you hate her? I hate Martin's."

"I didn't know her well enough to hate her. But definitely strong dislike." You sigh. You're laying all this on a total stranger. But you need to talk to someone who's not Spock's mother about this. "There's also a coffee place if you want to grab a cup."

"That would be great. I don't have anyone to talk to right now. I'm not working—I mean I plan to, eventually, but I'm sort of between things. The relocation and everything..." She laughs a bit bitterly and looks down. "Wow, could I sound any more pathetic?"

"Totally understand. Funny how we put our whole lives on hold for a man, huh?"

"Yeah, real funny." She follows you out of the boutique and you talk easily as you walk the few blocks to the chocolatier.

You have to move closer to her when a man rolling a stasis trolley comes up the sidewalk, and you smell her perfume. "What a lovely scent."

"Thank you. I love it but I also wear it because my mother-in-law is allergic."

You laugh because it's the kind of thing you would have liked to do to Roger's mom. Then you see the chocolate shop and say, "This is us," holding the door for her and then following her in. The scent of her perfume gives way to the luscious smell of chocolate and other goodies.

She wanders the shop, a smile growing. Finally she turns to you and says, "Yum. If she doesn't like this, she's not going to like anything."

You point to your favorite collection of truffles. "I can tell you on good authority that there is something for everyone in that box. No matter how picky."

"That one it is, then."

You point to a display behind the counter. "For gifts, they'll include a balloon with her name on it, if you want."

"Too whimsical for, I think. Just the candy is fine." She smiles at the clerk as she pays then turns back to you. "Christine, thank you so much. Coffee's on me."

"Oh, you don't have to. I mean you're not working."

"I will be. And Martin's working—many, many hours. So many that I never see him. I'm sure he's springing for drinks for his tramp—I mean ex—so it's only fair if it's my treat."

You laugh. "Fine, coffee's on you."

Him:

You lie in bed, feeling contentment suffuse you now that you are home and Christine is in your arms.

She nuzzles in, fingers flitting over your skin the way you have come to crave, even if you would never admit that to her. She has no idea how much power she has over you.

You could tell her. She will not hurt you the way Valeris did. And you trust her. But for now, while you are still learning how to be with her, you will forego over-sharing.

But touching her—that you can indulge. You pull her closer, kissing her for a long time.

When you pull away, she laughs and cups your cheek. "Someone was lonely. I guess I don't have to worry about fidelity."

"Did you think you did?" But you can sense from where she touches you that she is not worried. "I would not betray you that way. If I were to wish to pursue someone else, I would simply tell you."

You narrow your eyes, sure that what you have just said is not a good thing to have shared, but she laughs. She surprises you frequently that way: so much more comfortable with truths, no matter how ugly, than uncertainty. But given her profession, perhaps that makes sense. Her job is to make sense of chaos.

"Well," she rubs her finger over your ear tips and you close your eyes and exhale with pleasure, "I missed the hell out of you. I, for one, have no one else in mind."

"Nor do I." You capture her fingers, forcing her to stop the pleasurable assault on your ears, and study her. "Are you attached to your apartment?"

For some, it would be a non sequitur, but you find she navigates the abrupt nature of Vulcan conversational shifts with ease. You enjoy how flexible she is that way.

"I hate my place. But I'm super attached to the room service." She studies you. "Why?"

"I would like us to live together. I am just not sure where."

"They have nicer places. On the upper floors. Unfurnished so you can bring your own things in." She smiles. "We can get things that are ours, not yours or mine."

You hear the unheard: or yours and Valeris's. You approve of that concept. "An excellent idea. And we would still have access to the room service, which I know is convenient for you."

"Exactly."

Her happiness is pulsing into your skin, and you feel the need to protect yourself easing. You push her to her back and move over her, making sure she is looking at you before saying, "I love you."

Her smile is beautiful. "I love you, too."

And then neither of your talk for a long time. When you finally lie quietly together, she says, "Which way do you want the apartment to face? I would have rather faced the water but they didn't have any when I moved in and I just wanted out of Cartwright's."

If you were human, you would laugh. She never loses the conversational thread—no matter how many orgasms interrupt it. "A water view would be pleasant."

"I'll make inquiries." She strokes your face, her smile gentle and knowing. "You want out of here, don't you? The memories of her?"

For once, you don't feel jealousy surging up inside her with the mention of Valeris. So you simply say, "I do."

"When is your lease up?"

"I pay month to month."

"That's crazy. I'll get working." She laughs. "I love furniture shopping. Do you like to shop?"

"No."

"Tough beans. You're helping me pick out the bed and the couch. Everything else I'll take care of." She makes a face. "Unless you love this bed or your couch."

"I do not. The only piece of furniture I am attached to is my desk and office chair. It belonged to my grandfather." Your human grandfather. He was kind to you at a time when you seemed to never measure up as a Vulcan, and never made you feel strange for being not fully human either. Someday, perhaps, you will tell her about him.

"Those are beautiful pieces. I don't blame you for loving them. I promise not to look for office furniture." She laughs and claps her hands lightly. "Something fun to do while you're off planet." She turns on her side, her expression easy and light. "I may have even made a friend while you were gone. Too early to tell but who knows. Maybe she'll like furniture shopping."

You thought you smelled a different perfume on her jacket. So many scents in this apartment, although the traces of Valeris are growing faint now that Christine's scent is overlaying them. You imagine a human nose would not even notice the difference.

"Is this someone from Starfleet?"

"No. A civilian." She makes a funny face. "I haven't had a civilian friend—other than your mom—since college." She traces your lips, smiling as they tick up slightly. "It's nice, you know? She doesn't understand my history or the conspiracy or what ops is or the things we've seen or done. I'm just...a female friend. Maybe even a little bit of a big sister. She's new to the city."

You sense her enthusiasm for this new person and are glad. You know she misses Nyota and Rand. And while she and McCoy hug in a manner that seems genuine at your infrequent dinners, they do not seem to reach out to each other otherwise.

"I would like to meet her. If your relationship progresses."

"She was so starstruck when I said I'd served with you and Jim. Plus, I think she's shy—and a little bit awkward. But yeah, that'd be nice. She may have already made friends though. She's younger than I am by a lot."

"It is not the age but the resonance."

"Sometimes, my love, you're a poet." She kisses you quickly. "Now, back to furniture. I've always dreamt of a four-post princess bed. Pink lace covering and lots of scroll work." She looks over and starts giggling. "If you could see your face..." She climbs on top of you, taking first one wrist and then another in her grasp, pushing them over your head. "I, sir, am no princess."

You let her pretend to hold you down—as if you could not overpower her if you wished. You love the feeling of her riding you, the way she slips over your skin, the way you fit together when she eases down and...there.

You breathe out slowly and reach for the meld points, the pleasure ratcheting up as you connect mentally. She gasps and begins to move more quickly, able to tell where you both are.

As she rides you to completion and follows you into her own climax, head thrown back and skin gleaming, you think she is correct—she is no princess: she is a queen.

Her:

You're trying to figure out what to order from room service when your comm goes off. You see "Harris" on the caller identifier and frown as you answer. "Hello?"

"Christine? This is Leslie. You helped me with my mother-in-law's gift at the chocolate place and we went to coffee."

You laugh. "You could have stopped at Leslie. You're not forgettable."

"Oh. Good. I'm sorry. My...my mother-in-law said something mean a few days ago. About how I needed to work on being more memorable. So I didn't want to assume you'd remember me."

"You did not win the lottery with that one, sweetie."

"I know. Listen, I know you're super important at Starfleet and you're probably scheduled into next year, but Martin suddenly had to take a business trip, and I'm pretty sure it's with his ex, and well, I just would rather be anywhere but in our apartment right now? Is there any chance you want to get a coffee or something?"

"Actually, I was just about to order dinner. Why don't you come over?"

"Are you sure? I don't want to interfere with you guys."

"Oh, Spock's on Taluvis. He won't be back for a week. I'm sending you the address." You hit the combo of keys and hear her say, "Oh, wow, that's very close to us. I can walk."

You feel sorry for her because this all seems to be making her so happy. "So I'll see you in a bit."

"Yes. Twelve minutes." She laughs. "That's what it says on my directions. Twelve minutes to walk there if I take the route they're showing. How fast do they think I walk—that's mostly uphill? I think it will be more like fifteen."

"Whenever you get here, you'll get here. I'm thinking bacon cheeseburgers. I've been doing the vegetarian thing lately and it gets old. You want one—or something else?"

"Ground meat...it's just that I made meatloaf last night—not that Martin ate any of it. I know I'm not a bad cook but— Okay, you don't care. You just want to order so the food is ready when I get there. How about a salad and a big order of sweet potato fries? Do they have those?"

"They have everything. Well not everything everything, but a lot. I know they have the fries and they're really good. What kind of dressing for the salad?"

"Ranch? Maybe extra, so I can dip the fries?" She sounds so tentative, like she is asking for the world.

Again you feel a pang of pity. Have you ever felt so...small? Sometimes McCoy made you feel that way—although you don't think he meant to the way Leslie's husband and mother-in-law seem to with her. Len was just an accidental asshole. "Extra ranch. We'll be swimming in it." You smile when she laughs. "See you soon."

The food arrives just before she does, and you let her in and tell her to drop her stuff on the couch. "What do you want to drink?"

"What are you having?"

"Beer." You nod toward the bottle on the table.

"Oh." She looks worried. "I don't drink. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to booze it up for me to like you. Trust me, dating a Vulcan means I have juices galore."

"Cranberry is fine. Or whatever you have."

"I have cranberry. Ice?"

She nods and then looks at the food cart. There are five extra things of ranch and she starts to laugh. "Wow, you were not kidding."

"I ordered the fries for me, too. Dipping them in ranch sounds yummy. Usually I go for tartar sauce but change is good." You realize it's been a long time since you tried something new. "Change is really good." You hand her the glass of juice and lift your beer. "To new friends."

"To new friends." She seems unsure so you clink your beer against her glass gently. "Were you raised in a convent?"

"Oh, no. It's just... I did that with my glass to the blessed Lorraine's—that's my mother-in-law—drink and well, she did not like it. Told me it was a low-brow thing to do."

"Wow. Bitch."

"As I said. And the drinks—well. It's not that I don't drink; it's more I can't. Because...I enjoy it a little too much. Yet another way I don't measure up." She looks down, clearly embarrassed.

"Enough said. I will never force booze on you."

"Thank you." She follows you to the table and as you start handing out the plates, she says, "Oh, I forgot to tell you. I got a job. Much faster than I expected."

"That's great. What are you doing?"

"I'm sort of a headhunter." At your look, she laughs. "You know. Executive staffing."

"Oh, that kind."

She laughs. "I mostly do research—finding people who fit a profile—because as you've seen, I'm not the most socially adept. Not really an 'in front of the crowd' recruiter type. I know it drives Martin nuts, how awkward I am." She sighs. "Okay, I am not going to talk about him again tonight. I am so sorry."

"You can talk about him. It's fine."

"No. I want to forget him just for tonight. Tell me about you and Spock. I mean, everyone knows who he is. He and Kirk both. Were they together...?"

You laugh. "No. But you're not the first person to ask." At least you think the answer is no. You've never come right out and asked—and what difference does it make now?

"Spock is so handsome. But then, Vulcans are such an attractive people."

"Yes, they are."

"But...cold?" She digs into her salad with gusto and races you for a sweet potato fry from the huge basket you ordered.

You win, laughing. "Vulcans aren't cold."

"No?"

"Not when you get to know them."

"I always thought they were noble. There was a Vulcan woman in that big conspiracy, though—she was a traitor, right?"

"She was."

"But why?"

You sigh. This is the downside of a friend who's not in Starfleet—no shared landscape for this kind of thing. There are so many ways you could describe Valeris, but you decide to try to be fair. "I think she was misguided. By, uh, the guy I was with before Spock." You frown, trying to figure out the simplest way to explain it to someone who doesn't understand Klingons and neutral zones. "I think he filled her head with the wrong ideas. She was with Spock before I was, and I think she thought Spock would approve once he understood the end goal."

"Which was what? War?"

"The end to a threat. The end of the Klingon Empire. Or something. I'm a little fuzzy, frankly, on what they thought they were doing. Suffice it to say, my guy did not fill me in on the details. Boy did I feel like a sap."

"Wow, this is a soap opera." She immediately looks uncomfortable. "That was rude. I am so sorry."

"No, it's pretty apt, frankly."

"So, you're with Spock now? Did you two double date as couples?"

"God, no." You laugh, picturing the holy hell that would have been. "I've known him for decades. Loved him for that long. I guess...when it was clear he was choosing her, I finally let go. And moved on to that other guy."

"So if he was with her, then Spock had to know he was with the traitor, didn't he? They'd have had that psychic connection, right, that you read about?" There is a world of condemnation in her voice.

"It's way more complicated than that. And no, he didn't know what she was. I—I think he was blinded by love. I think she may have been the love of his life." You take a long pull of your beer because it hurts saying that, but it's the truth and you're sick of not saying it to Ny or to Rand when you comm them, because they'd just look at you like you're pathetic for expecting anything different.

When had Spock ever chosen you? Until now, when no one else is left. But that's unfair. Because when you're with him, you're so happy. It's just when he's gone that you let these thoughts in.

"Now, I've made you sad."

"No. I really like being with him. And I know he likes being with me. It's just...it's just hard not to be a first choice."

"I understand." Her voice is sweet and apologetic. "I think he's lucky to have you. You're so kind."

"Not always."

"But you are. You could badmouth her—and him—but you're not. You're being so...logical about it. Maybe it wears off if you're around Vulcans too long?" She smiles gently. "I am going to take a lesson from you. Stop complaining about my situation. Look at it rationally."

"Hey, sometimes you need to vent. Now, this Lorraine, mother-in-law from hell. I think you need to get stuff off your chest, so spill, sister."

Her grin is so open and grateful you feel something settling down inside you that got riled up with all this talk about one true loves. It's nice to be around someone who thinks you're the one with the healthy relationship. And you know you've got it better than she does. You have a good man whose family you love. A man who makes you feel unbearably sexy when you're around him—that's the most surprising thing of all.

You can tell Martin doesn't make Leslie feel that way. You wish there was something you could do, but you know listening is the best you can offer.

But that's not nothing. Not for friends.

As you clean up the dishes, you ask, "Do you like furniture shopping?"

She frowns, clearly trying to figure out if there was a logical progression to that question.

You laugh. "Spock and I are getting a place together. Still here, just bigger, on a different floor." With an amazing view of the water. "But we need furniture. Everything he has..."

"She had, too, because she lived with him, right?" She makes a commiserating face.

"Right. I want things that are just ours, you know? He's going to help me with the key items. But the rest—there are so many fun shops and you said you don't know the city."

She smiles, a sweet expression. "You don't need to sell me the experience, Christine. Count me in. I'd love to help you wipe her out of existence."