Him:
You are on Harriman's Enterprise, and you know you have been less than welcoming to the new captain. But every time you look at him, you see Jim—Jim dying, Jim sacrificing himself for a ship that wasn't ready to be launched. Why hadn't this man said something? He was the captain: lives depended on him and yet he had gone ahead with a launch.
The brass would have pushed him. The logical part of you knows this. But as you sit on the ship that killed your best friend, the logical part of you is not in control.
When the announcement comes that you are within beaming range to Earth's spacedock, you pick up your things and head to the transporter room, not bothering to say goodbye to Harriman. You do not think he will mind; the dislike seems to run both ways.
Once on spacedock, you beam to Starfleet Command, make your reports, check in with Christine, who has to work late, and then head home.
Home: a place you now share with her. A place neither Valeris nor Cartwright ever spent time in. A place that is just for you two.
To your amazement, the apartment looks finished. Two weeks ago, you and Christine had picked out a bed, a couch, and moved your grandfather's desk set as well as your personal items in. Now, the place is fully furnished, and you walk around the unit, enjoying the opportunity to assess while Christine is still at work.
A white leather chaise seems particularly appealing and you sink into softness, then find support as you move. Whatever it is made of, it follows your body's profile as you move, rising up to meet hollows. You sigh, relieved to be done with this latest mission.
What feels like a few moments later, Christine is waking you up with a kiss. Instead of asking what time it is, you pull her down to you, enjoying the feel of her as her lips touch yours.
"Are you hungry?" she murmurs when you finally let her up. "Because I'm starving."
You realize you are very hungry, and not for the first time are grateful your building offers room service. A short time later you are eating dinner together at a table that seems to be made of hammered steel and diftwood-colored wood.
"You like?" She smiles as if she knows you do.
"I approve of all of it." You glance over at the sofa.
"Except those?" She is looking at the orange throw pillows you are not sure you appreciate. "Leslie said orange is the latest thing. She's amazing, Spock. She helped me so much." Her smile is easy and sweet, and you are glad she has found a friend.
You had not realized how truly isolated she was until you watched her with first your mother and now this new woman. Humans need more than just their mate—something your father might have told you if you and he were given to personal conversations about your women.
She glances at the chaise and you follow her gaze. "You looked so comfy. I wasn't sure about getting that. It was really expensive."
"Between us we have plenty of credits."
"I know. But it's a chair."
"Yes, a chair that I can see giving both of us a great deal of comfort in the future."
She laughs. "That's what Leslie said. And the comfort features are created by doctors as well as designers. So it's beyond ergonomic." She reaches out and you take her hand.
"I approve."
"Good." She draws her hand back and concentrates on her food for a few minutes. "I left some blank spaces on the wall for your things. And we can move my art around if you don't like it." She is talking very fast so you reach out for her hand again, and are surprised to feel how unsure she is.
"I have very little art. What you put up is lovely."
"You have the Chagall." She pulls her hand free and gestures to a blank spot over the couch. "I thought...there?"
"Yes, that is an ideal spot for it." You study her. "Do you not like the Chagall?"
She looks surprised. "Oh, I do. I don't always get his imagery, but then that's the case for lots of art. Understanding and appreciation are often two different things."
You know your lips are ticking up; you feel that way about humans at times. "I agree."
She puts her utensils down and stares at you. "I really missed you."
"Is this in some way a less than positive thing? Missing someone is in direct proportion to affection, is it not?"
She laughs. "It is. But...did you miss me?"
You frown, trying to imagine why she is asking.
"It's just that, before, if I'd woken you up that way, kissing you, you would have..." She takes a deep breath. "Wanted to have sex."
"I do want to have sex. I did then, too. But you asked if I was hungry, so I assumed we would eat first and have sex later."
She laughs.
"Some day, Christine, you will be sure of me." You mean it to be a statement, and yet there is a questioning note that you regret—almost an accusation.
"I'm sorry, Spock. It's been such a long day and I thought I could get off early to welcome you home but then more shit kept happening. I guess...I guess I was disappointed and I'm off balance."
"And you did not have the benefit of a nap in the lovely new chaise you have procured for us."
"I sure didn't, did I?" She looks around the apartment. "I love our place, Spock."
"As do I, Christine."
Her:
The chime sounds, so you open the door to the new place and grin at Leslie. "Ready for the grand tour?"
"I am." She hands you a bottle of a very nice Cabernet. "Tradition, right?"
"You helped decorate. You should get a fee, not have to bring a gift. But thank you. I'll enjoy this."
You take her around the apartment, and she exclaims in all the right places. "It's so pretty." She sits on the couch you and Spock picked out, and clutches one of the orange throw pillows she insisted on to her, almost as if for comfort. "You're happy?"
"We are." You get up and move over to her. "What is it? Is it Martin? What's he done now?"
"Have you ever let someone derail your life." She shakes her head. "No, have you ever derailed your life following someone? Because it's always our choice, isn't it?"
"It usually is, yeah. And yes, I have. The fiancé I mentioned. We didn't break up. He went on an expedition, and they crashed and were lost. I was on the tenure track at the university I was at. Had one PhD and was on my way to another. But he was gone and he'd been everything to me during a really impressionable time. He was my mentor and the first man to really seem to want to know what I thought about things. It was so much more than just chasing after a lover, you know?"
She nods. "My life was on track, too. You wouldn't know it, but I was doing so well where I was. People admired me. And I had—well, maybe not friends like you, but I knew a lot of people, could say hello and how are you, you know?"
You nod.
"And I had a man—a nice one. One I looked up to. One who thought I could do no wrong, until he found out I was...betraying him."
You don't know what that's like, but compassion doesn't always require empathy so you nod and make generally soothing sounds.
"I had boundless opportunities in front of me. And I was sidetracked." She sighs. "And now I'm here and I'm mostly alone and I'm finding myself envying your beautiful place and the happiness you have."
"Oh, sweetie, when I invited you over, I never meant to make you sad."
"Oh, no, none of this is your fault, Christine. You've been nothing but nice. You didn't tell me to make bad choices and follow a man who ultimately I left."
"You left Martin?"
She seems to realize what she said. "Will leave, I mean. I will leave him. But even if I do, those opportunities are gone. It's been too long to go back. Too many things have happened."
"I know. I found my fiancé. Or his body, rather. But by then, it was too late to go back to academia. So I found a new path with new friends and new goals."
"If I could go back, I'd tell the girl I was not to follow a man."
You smile. "I think I would tell myself that, but then I think of what I have now." At her look, you smile gently. "I'd have never met Spock if I hadn't done the things I did."
"I can see how for you inertia is comforting. But I think of how many alternatives there would have been for me if I had just acted differently."
"We're trained to spin scenarios in ops. The thing is, not all of them have the same weight. People tend to go a certain way, repeat decisions. If you didn't follow Martin, you might have followed another man, for the way he made you feel, the part of you he attracted. Could you have done something else? Possibly. Would you have without some outside force? Probably not."
"Inertia indeed. So unless I could go back in a time machine and convince myself, I am stuck." She looks like she thinks that might be a possibility. "Fascinating."
You laugh. "You sounded just like Spock." Then you hear the main door opening, hear Spock's familiar step. "Speaking of whom, I think someone's home early. I know you've been reluctant to meet him, but you need to get over the starstruck thing, my friend. He's just a man." You stand, prepared to introduce them, but Leslie grabs you, pulling you in front of her, her grip—her grip far stronger than you expect. "Leslie, what the hell?"
Spock walks in and there's a moment of confusion as he takes in the tableau you must be making. But then his nostrils flare, the way they do when he is scenting you during sex, and he says, "You," at the same time Leslie moves her hand to your throat.
He's been carrying a phaser since Khitomer and he pulls it out. "Let her go."
"You must shoot, Spock. If you are logical, you must shoot."
You frown—what the hell is she talking about? Why does she sound like she knows him?
"We are not replaying scenes here, Valeris."
Valeris? Va-fucking-leris? You try to turn, but she says, "No, Christine. Behave or I will snap your neck. Tell her how little effort it would take for me to do it, Spock."
"Stay still, Christine."
This seems like a bit of a standoff, so you try your own diplomacy skills—Vulcans are logical people. They'll listen, won't they? Even if Spock is still gutted in his deepest self over her betrayal. Even if Valeris must harbor hatred for his forced meld and destroying the conspiracy. Best not to think of that. Best just to put on her most soothing voice and say, "How about you take your hand off my throat and Spock, you put down the weapon?"
She laughs, a sound so soft you think only you can hear it. "Spock, if you want me to let her live, you will put the phaser down, and kick it over to me."
You can tell Spock is assessing the situation, trying to find a better answer than compliance. You're spinning scenarios, too, but this woman behind you is Vulcan strong and you're sleeping with her ex. She can kill you in an instant. May in fact want to after all the stuff you've shared.
Holy shit—you've made her a part of your goddamned life.
What the hell is wrong with you? She played you as skillfully as she did Spock. Only with Spock she at least had some true regard. "You fucking bitch."
"You are much less pleasant now, Christine. If you keep it up, it will be a pleasure to kill you." There is something off in her voice. You think—you think she doesn't mean that.
And you remember what she was saying. The...regret she has. For following not Martin, but Cartwright. The diversion that blew her life to hell.
"Valeris—Leslie. Please? You don't want to hurt me. I know you don't."
She moves you over to the chaise she helped you pick out. "Perfect for naps," she'd said as you'd debated if it was worth the exorbitant price tag. Was she going to kill you and throw your dead body on it? You try to resist her, but she's making it nearly impossible to breathe. "Spock, the phaser. Now. Or lose yet another one of your lovers."
You think that's cruel, that it may anger him, but instead he puts the phaser on the floor and kicks it to her. "If you hurt her, I will hunt you. I will never stop. And when I find you, I will kill you. Very slowly."
"Wow." She lets up on your throat slightly. "Do you understand what he just said? How counter to Vulcan ideology it is? You sounded like a Klingon, Spock."
"They at least have honor." You choke the words out.
"Not all of them," she says as she moves her hand off your throat and you breathe in great gasping breaths. But then she grasps your shoulder. "You will have a severe headache when you wake up. I regret that. I have been told that antitox is surprisingly effective for the pain."
"Wait? What?"
You feel the pinch on your shoulder—surprisingly painless, but then your head feels as if it's exploding, and you gasp in agony just before everything turns to black.
Him:
You start to move as Christine goes limp, but Valeris adjusts the phaser at her instead of you. "She is only unconscious, Spock. Do you want me to kill her?"
For a second, rage takes over and you want to charge her no matter the consequences, but you force yourself to take a breath, to think.
You hold up your hands in a temporary truce but then you notice Valeris's hand is shaking. That she is setting Christine down very carefully on the chaise. That when she meets your eyes, hers lack any of the resistance or certainty they did on the bridge, when she refused to answer Jim's questions.
Not for the first time you hate Admiral Cartwright for what he did to this young woman. Although, of course, the choice was ultimately hers.
"What now, Valeris?" You move to the table, hoping she will come with you and sit, leaving Christine farther from harm.
She does not. She seems to be fully aware that any moderation you are showing is because of Christine. "I did not expect you to be here. You were supposed to be on Faella."
"I was. The negotiations ended early." You look at Christine. "I did not tell her. I wanted to...surprise her."
"Well, you surprised both of us." She sinks to the chaise, sitting next to Christine and sighs. "I never told you I was sorry."
"For which part, Valeris?"
"Yes. So many sins I have to account for. But not all to you, Spock. You are not the Federation or Starfleet. You are a man. You were mine."
You know there is anger in your eyes and do not try to push it back. "Is that the reason for this game you've been playing with Christine? Because you are jealous? Because you want to hurt me—or her."
"Or both of you. I could wish to hurt you both." But she leans back and sighs. "Do you like my new appearance? Does it remind you of Leila Kalomi? Your long-lost love?"
"I have had many chances during my life to pursue her. I never did. Your insecurity about her does you no credit."
"Well, your mother never tired of fanning those flames. Do you know how many times I had to listen to her go on about you and your father preferring humans?"
"As I was with you—as I planned to make our bond permanent—you should have ignored her." You lean in. "Or, if you had allowed the meld, you would have known my true feelings for you. But you would not meld with me."
"You know why." She sounds like a human teen. Angry and frustrated.
"I do know why. It was eminently logical why you would not, given your role in the conspiracy. But do not seek to blame me—to pull specters from my past—when you were to blame for the lack of certainty. I cared for you without measure."
"Cared." She strokes Christine's hair off her cheek. "But now you care for this human. Your mother, after all, was right."
You are not sure what the right thing to say is; you do not want to upset Valeris further when her hand is so near Christine's throat.
"I had to know, Spock."
"You had to know what?" Does she mean she had to know that you moved on? Why would you not have?
She sits up and studies you. "I do not mean that you moved on. Although Cartwright thought she would turn to you and that this time, you might respond. He had many allies and some of them were watching both you and Christine and reporting to him—at least until we were remanded to the Klingons. They saw you talking several times."
"Then what did you have to know?"
"If he really intended to kill the two of you. When we reached Rura Penthe, he told me there were still faithful—members who would never be found. And that he intended to see that the man who had brought down the conspiracy would pay the ultimate price—even if it included the woman the admiral was obsessed with. Perhaps because it included the woman he was obsessed with." She seems to be watching you closely, no doubt seeing the dismay on your face. "I did to him what you did to me, Spock, and after I had my identity altered, I found the people I had seen in the meld. But the conspiracy was set up in a way that even he didn't know everyone."
You look down at the table. You were a fool to have thought it was over. "Give me the rest of the names and I will work with Starfleet security to—"
"No. The people we are talking about are not even on their radar. I know because I have killed two of them already. They were never questioned after Khitomer." She cocks her head, her look taunting. "But you were, weren't you? By our crack team of security experts. You were in a holding cell instead of by Kirk's side."
You feel rage rising, at her, at security, but you push it back down.
"Spock, I ripped more names than I expected from their minds. Security will get nowhere with this and the conspirators will go to ground. You might get farther than security but do you really want to rape another mind, let alone many?"
Her words evoke what you think she wants them to. Her trembling under your fingers. Her mind-scream loud in your mind. The way you...ripped the information from her.
She has not looked away. "Will you trust yourself to meld with Christine if you have to mind-rape others? I imagine that first meld after the one you forced on me was difficult for you—how will you feel after many? Will you want her to see the man you've become or if you won't meld with her, will she stay with you? She is uncertain already."
"You no doubt encouraged that insecurity."
"Actually, I did not. I...I like her. I wanted to know what she was like—if you prospered with her. If I approved of her as my successor—did we not do the ritual of succession once? This was my version of it."
You try to hear the lie in her voice. Try to hear all the times she played you, but she does not seem to be trying to mislead you in this. And the look she gives Christine is so full of affection it could be human.
But that is her goal, now. To be human—to fit in. You must never lose sight of that. She will pretend to emotions she does not feel because that is what she must do to survive.
She stands. "If it were just you who was at risk, I am sure you would take your chances with the assassins and turn me in. But it is not just you. Tell me, Spock. Can you afford to lose her? After everything else you have lost already?"
You stand, hands clenched. You know your duty. You need to turn her in. You need to at least try, even if Christine is put in danger. The needs of the many...
But this woman is an efficient killer. She hid the truth from you for years. It is only logical to admit she is the better choice of the two of you to hunt down those who would harm you.
"And when you find them all? Then what? Will you come back and kill her?"
"Why would I do that?" She laughs and the expression and sound are jarring, even coming from her new human face. "Spock, I am trying to right the wrongs I helped create. I know that I chose the wrong path. I thought...I thought you would approve. That you would see the logic once we succeeded. And I was...proud of being trusted. Of Cartwright's interest in me. You know I like to excel. This made me feel...special."
"In a way I never did?" Again the hurt, and you wish you could act like a full Vulcan, in this at least.
"They were not the same thing. Spock, you were my lover but you were also my mentor. You expected me to follow in your path. And this—this would have been mine alone. Don't you see?" She sighs. "But I know now that it was wrong. And I will...atone."
She turns the phaser around and walks to you, holding it out. "It is your choice now. Do I continue to hunt and keep her safe for you? Or do you turn me in and take on that role yourself?"
Christine moans softly and she looks back at her. "You're likely to lose her either way, if it helps you decide. Although I believe she will eventually forgive you for letting me go. But only in the second scenario do you lose yourself. Hasn't this conspiracy taken enough away from you?" Her voice is pure Vulcan and her eyes are steel as she waits.
You take the phaser, dial it back to stun, and holster it.
"You're going to have some explaining to do when she awakes. She will hate me, but you are the one who will feel her anger."
"I will deal with her emotions. Give me your word you will keep her safe. If it is a choice between saving her or me, you will choose her. Do you understand?"
"I do. She is fortunate that you care so deeply. Someday she will understand that." She turns and walks out of the apartment, your finger on the phaser the whole time.
You want to pull the trigger, to drop her like a stone, call Starfleet security, and end this.
But you do not want to hunt the conspirators. You want that part of your life to be over. And while you can pull names and information from her mind, you can never duplicate her experience with the conspiracy, can never make them confide in you the way she will be able to. Nor will they trust you, not when you were one of the people who stopped them.
You go into the bathroom and get some of Christine's antitox, then move her to the couch, where you can sit next to her and wait for her to wake. And practice what you will tell her.
You strongly suspect she will not agree but letting Valeris go, as wrong as it feels, is the logical thing to do.
Her:
You come up fighting, striking out, kicking, and your shin connects with something hard. It hurts and you roll into a ball and mutter, "Fuck."
"Christine, shhh. It is all right. She is gone."
Spock. Spock is alive. You open your eyes and immediately shut them. From your head to your shoulder, every nerve is throbbing.
"Here. Antitox." His fingers hover at your lips, so you open your mouth and let him slip in the small tablet.
It dissolves under your tongue and you open your eyes tentatively. "Valeris?"
"Is gone."
"Are you all right? Did she stun you?" But then you realize his phaser is in the holster on his hip. "How did you get that back?"
"I need to explain."
You let your eyes travel slowly from the holster to his face. Pressing your hand against your face, you try to make the pain stop. "Where is she?" But you see it in his eyes, before he can even start to form words. " You let her go?"
"Christine, I had to."
"You had to? What? She threatened you with a weapon that you either took back or she gave back to you?" You try to struggle away from him. "Why the hell would you let her go?"
"Because she is protecting you."
"Oh, by pretending to be my new best bud?" You push away from him, trying to stand and your head explodes with pain. "Oh, fucking—just kill me now."
"Sit. Please."
You stumble to the chaise, not wanting to be next to him, and curl up, feeling the material cradle you. "Do you still love her? Are you going to her?"
"Christine, listen to me. There are members of the conspiracy at large. She is...she is hunting them. Melding with them to find other members."
You think of how she described her new job. Head hunting. You laugh bitterly and pain again explodes. "Oh, fuck me." When it finally subsides, you glare at him. "And then she's taking them to Starfleet security? Oh, wait, no, I bet she's not."
"She is killing them."
"And that's all right with you?" Your voice is getting louder and hurting your ears. "Shit," you whisper.
"Christine, I would rather they be rounded up. But can you really expect me to trust that Starfleet security would not mishandle this the same way they did you and me? None of the people she has found so far were questioned. And there are others—Cartwright didn't know them all. She is getting those names."
"Getting. Such a safe word. You mean she's melding. The way you did with her?"
"Yes, that is what I mean."
"This grudge you're holding against security is ridiculous."
"Grudge? They were so busy interrogating me about the conspiracy, when it was clear I had nothing to do with it, that they prevented me from going to the launch. I could have saved him, Christine."
"What if you couldn't have?"
"Then at least I would know that. This way...this way I will always feel the guilt."
You can hear the pain in his voice. "What else will you always feel, Spock? Did you let her go because it was pragmatic or because you still love her? Because you will always love her?"
"This is not about how I feel for her. It is about you. Cartwright intended for you to die."
"Bullshit. The man worshipped me, Spock. And you know what? He would have turned her in. I would never have had to ask him who he loved more."
"He was the head of this conspiracy and you would hold him up as some sort of paragon? How can you bring him into this argument as any kind of realistic factor other than negative?" He gets up and moves closer to you. "Would you rather I lied? Told you she stunned me but left my phaser."
You realize it could have happened that way. Phasers have trackers. She might use his in his apartment but she could not have kept it.
But he's saying that's not how it happened. He's saying he let her walk out.
"Did you kiss her goodbye?"
"Christine. You are being illogical."
"That's not an answer." You can feel pain and insecurity rising along with rage. You scramble out of the chaise because you realize it isn't yours. Nothing in this place is yours. It must have been a grand joke she played, being your friend. "Did you know it was her and not tell me? You can smell differences."
"The perfume she wore. It was an excellent masking agent."
You lean against the wall, looking around the apartment. "I can't trust you, Spock."
And then you see anger in his eyes. Not restrained Vulcan ire but pure frustration. "You have not trusted me since the beginning. What else must I do to prove myself to you? Can you not just accept that letting her go was the best thing to do?"
"No. No, I can't." You kick a small table she helped you pick out across the floor. The glass sculpture that's on it—a favorite of yours—shatters.
"Everything in here is tainted." You look at him to make sure he understands you're including him in that assessment. "I don't want any of it. You keep the place. I'll get my stuff later."
"Christine, you do not have to leave. Please, we need to discuss this."
"What's to discuss? She's...she's everywhere. Was I ever here?"
He moves closer. "You were—you are. I love you."
"But you said the same thing to her, didn't you?" You raise your hand as he starts to speak. "Perhaps not those exact words, but the Vulcan equivalent. You said it to her and you said it to her first. And now she's on the loose because you let her go."
He grabs your arm. "Christine."
"Let go of me or I'll have security here so fast it will make your head spin."
He lets you go.
Of course he does. Protecting her to the end.
Him:
You walk down the halls of Starfleet Command, slowing as you see several officers rushing towards you but they pass by without paying attention to you. You let out breath you were not aware you were holding.
Two days you have been waiting for Christine to turn you in—or to come back to you. She has done neither.
You turn and head for emergency operations and skirt the bay to get to her office. She is alone, working, and she doesn't look up until you say, "Christine?"
Before she can school her features into disapproval, there is welcome in her expression. Welcome and love.
You walk in and sit, waiting for her to either order you out or call for privacy.
She does the latter. "What do you want?"
"You. Back in our apartment."
"You let her go."
"And you also are letting her go, are you not? You have not called security."
She looks wounded. "I'm protecting you, not her. You walked out on them in the middle of questioning. How do you think it would go for you if I told them you also have been in contact with her, and not only did you let her leave but you didn't even report the meeting?"
"It is not as if I called the meeting. She was in our apartment because you invited her."
"I invited Leslie Harris. Who knocked me out. You were the one who let Valeris leave."
You do not answer, are not sure what you have to do to make her understand that keeping her safe is more important to you than sending Valeris back to a holding cell. But she doesn't want to believe—she hasn't trusted you and she isn't trusting you now.
"Will you tell them, Christine?"
"No. But that doesn't mean I won't turn her in if I can think of a way to do it without involving you." She meets your eyes and you can see she is serious.
"Please come home."
Surprise registers on her face. "Home? Is that how you think of our place?"
"It was. Now it is a just space I inhabit alone. If you were to come back, that would change." You lean in and want to take her hand, but think she will not respond well to that—she is still so angry. "I would like for us to talk about this."
"What is there to talk about? How you chose her over me?"
"I did not." But you can see by the steely resolve in her eyes that she will not listen.
You are doing this for her, but she has decided to not believe that. You nod, and wonder if she can tell how defeated you feel as you walk out, leaving her alone.