Chapter 4

After she had changed into a dry set of clothes, Tria shook the sand out of her gifted robe and headed to see if Ambassador Guun and his envoy were settled in yet. She arrived in time to be invited along on a tour of the ship that they had insisted the Captain give them before dinner; which they also insisted the captain attend. She felt sorry for Kirk as he tried to come up with a reason to be back on the bridge, permanently. There was no refusing the Ambassador, though. He made statements and assumptions that he pushed into motion before Kirk had a chance to respond. Guun wanted his tour to start up on the bridge,which Tria herself had yet to see.

Ambassador Guun fawned over all of the technology on th bridge, asking what nearly every knob and button was for. Kirk had his officer at each station explain their duties to the Ambassador, making rounds one by one around the bridge. Tria stood at the back of the group, an amused smile permanently fixed on her face as she watched the Trelormans' barrage Kirk and his crew with questions. Occasionally, one of them would try to include her in the conversation and she would nod or smile, whatever seemed most appropriate. The only station she found remotely interesting was Lt. Uhura's, where she asked her a few questions about the communications setup and what functions the universal translator had available for her.

While they harassed Lt. Sulu at the helm, Tria stepped casually back over to the science station where Spock sat dutifully. "I thought you were in command of the bridge while the Captain was gone," she said softly.

He pivoted slightly in the chair to look up at her. "The Captain is on the bridge, therefore, I am no longer in Command."

She smirked, "I figured you'd say something like that."

He raised a contemplative eyebrow at her. "Did you have further questions about my station or my duties on the ship, Tria? You were quite silent before."

"No, not about that. I don't think that the Captain will be able to get away from Guun until later in the evening. Do you think you'll be off duty when he's able to return to the bridge?"

"I cannot be certain. The Captain will need a report when he returns to the command.."

"Well, when you are, you know where to find me. I had hoped you would stop by."

"If the hour is not too late, I will consider your invitation."

She laughed silently at his formality.

"Captain!" Said Guun, who spotted Kirk going over some reports with Ensign Chekov while Sulu explained the helm to them. "Captain! I should like to see your engineering! I have heard much about the operation of your ship but I an eager to see it's wheels!" He motioned frantically and marched to the transporter. Kirk sighed and handed the reports back to Chekov. "Kasan Tria!" Guun said suddenly. "You must come and see as well!" The Ambassador would not take 'no' as an answer from anyone, so she tossed a sideways glance at Spock and went to join them in the transporter.

After their tour was complete, they spent nearly three hours dining the Trelorman envoy. They had invited them both to stay for post-meal rituals followed by a curious game resembling mancala. Still feeling empathy for Kirk, she casually mentioned that it would probably best that they both excused themselves. She told them she was certain that the Captain was missed on his bridge and she claimed that she was tired and wanted to retire. After they left the Trelorman's quarters, Kirk breathed an exasperated "Thank you," and practically jogged to the nearest transporter.

She returned to her quarters, keeping the lights dim. She put on a bit of soothing ambient music and found a small stack of books in her trunk. She pulled out a copy of The Scarlet Pimpernel, which she was in the middle of, and slid into the only armchair provided to settle down and read. She found the quiet solitude comforting after spending an entire day being ushered about at the whims of the jovial Ambassador.

Finishing a chapter, she closed the book over her thumb and starred into space and she reflected the book's scenes in more detail. Opening the book again, she flipped back a few pages and read them again. It was a riveting escape sequence, worth a second look. The doorbell chimed, so she placed a thin metal bookmark between the pages and stood up, setting the novel down on the table.

"Come," she said.

The doors slid open. As she expected, Spock was there. "Good evening," he said, stepping inside.

"I'm glad you came," she said.

He gave her a curious look but didn't respond. He picked up the book and said, "The rebellion of the revolution, an interesting choice."

She shrugged. "It's quaint," she said simply. "One of my colleagues recommended it to me. She's a big fan of adventure stories. Personally, the most compelling aspect, I think, is to save the French aristocrats from execution. On one hand, it can be seen as a promotion of the social classes; but I like to think that the character's intentions were to rescue innocent people who were just as forced by the structure as the common people."

"The French Revolution was meant to be a resistance to the monarchy. From what I gathered, the people were starving and their government overtaxed them to pay off their debts. It is a reasonable response to demand change in a system that benefits only the few elite."

She sighed. "I didn't say the revolution wasn't a worthy cause. What I'm trying to say is that the aristocrats only means of survival was to maintain the system they had been born into. Taxation in order to continue their lifestyle to someone living in squalor might seem selfish, but think of those people as well. For them, it was all they knew. The revolutionary's response was to overthrow them and round them up to kill them all. It is that they also killed women and children who did nothing more than live the lives they were told to live that bothers me. Hence, I admire the Pimpernel."

"An interesting assessment of the period. Though, ultimately, do you not believe that ancient France's direction to democracy was more beneficial to the entirety of the country?"

"Oh, I do. War is a nasty thing. What people will do in the face of pure survival, in retrospect, is frightening. I think that they had the right ideas about why they should have changed their country, I simply believe that they went about it in a prejudiced manner."

He looked intrigued. "Your specialty is cultural and linguistic anthropology. I am guessing you have done a lot of study of social anthropology as well."

She laughed lightly. "Well, you can't really understand much about a culture if you don't understand why they behaved the way they did."

"Indeed." He set the book back down. "I thought perhaps you could accompany me to my quarters. I have a few Vulcan texts you can look at and perhaps I can show you the ka'athyra you have so frequently requested I play."

"Sure," she said.

***

Being a senor officer, Spock's quarters were spacious but still managed to be somewhat sterile in appearance upon entry. The front room was white with bare walls. There was a desk and a few chairs there, with a computer console and a few other scientific devices Tria wasn't familiar with. She smiled at the sight of the three dimensional chess board that sat behind the desk chair with his Vulcan lute propped up next to it. Spock coughed and she stepped out of the doorway and let it slide shut behind her.

He stood in the middle of the room with his hands clasped behind his back like she was there for an inspection; watching her as she walked slowly around the room. She crossed to the ka'athyra and peered at him over her shoulder. "May I?" she said, motioning to the instrument. Spock nodded, so she picked it up tenderly.

Tria cradled the body awkwardly in her left arm as she strummed her fingers lightly across the strings. It made a clamorous noise and she winced. Looking amused, he turned one the chairs toward him and he reached out for his instrument. "I will show you the proper way," he said. Taking it, he sat in the chair with the curved bottom resting neatly over his leg. With the strings fanned to the ceiling, he reached over and plucked a chord.

"Well of course I would hold it wrong," she joked, resting one hip up onto the desk.

"It is not uncommon for humans to attempt to hold it like a small harp. I expect you have seen many images of Ancient Grecians playing harps; especially considering your mothers occupation. However, it is necessary to rest the instrument on a knee so that one hand is free to strum and the other is open to adjust the tuning knobs." He paused a second, then asked, "Did you have something specific you wanted to hear?"

"No," she said slowly. "Why don't you play me your favorite song."

Spock raised an eyebrow at her, curious at the way she made her request. It was like she was teasing him. "Very well." He played a simple Vulcan tune, calm yet monotonous. Tria listened in silence as he played, watching his face. She didn't find the tune very appealing, but she never did much like Vulcan music. His expression, however, showed her that he enjoyed playing. She recognized the slight softening of his features, something which she did find appealing, even if the tune was not.

He finished off the last notes of the piece and looked up at her. "You're very good," she complimented.

"Thank you."

She slid up to sit full on the desktop, leaning down on her knees. "Do you know any old Earth classics by heart?"

"Quite a few."

"Hmm," she thought a moment. "Debussy?"

"Ah," he said, shifting, "indeed I know a few by that composer." He tuned the ka'athyra to the proper key swiftly. He started into a soft rendition of Clare De Lune recomposed for the instrument. Tria sat further forward, propping an elbow in her lap and cradling her chin in her hand. The slow, soothing start caught her attention much better than the Vulcan tune.

Tria realized that she had not heard this particular song in quite a while, as she usually preferred more modern artists. It was lovely. The gentle waves that the song produced with each arpeggio reminded her of when she was a child, moving around with her mother. Her mother would send her off into museums on scavenger hunts for exact locations of specific works to keep Tria entertained while her mother worked. The music in Terran museums was always classical in nature, usually orchestrated or piano solos, and always instrumental. She had always been so happy growing up with her mother, she could not imagine what her life would have been like if things had been different. She began to wonder if Spock had been happy, growing up on Vulcan. Deep in thought, she stared past him at the wall.

"Tria?" Spock had stopped playing. "Is something wrong?"

She was jerked out of her thoughts and looked back at him, surprised. "No..." she trailed off.

"You look distressed." He stood up, setting the instrument down on the desk behind her.

Tria shook her head, "No I'm okay, I was just thinking." She looked down again, hesitant to meet his gaze and still a little lost in her thoughts. She took a deep breath, "It's nothing. It just reminded me of home," she said, referring to the song.

He looked confused. "In what way does being reminded of home make you look so concerned?"

Now she looked confused. "Oh well," she didn't really want to explain it to him. It seemed a little too personal. Of course, personal was what she wanted, but she was still apprehensive about breaching the subject. "I was just considering the ways that we were raised to differently; and wondered how things might have been different."

"And this consideration disturbs you?" he seemed to be analyzing her as a means to help her. It was a little coarse, but she knew he meant well.

She sighed. "I think that...I would not have been as happy if I were raised on Vulcan, like my father wanted. Really, I've always known it, but now I think it's just more obvious."

"It is not entirely logical to speculate what could have been, if the circumstances were different. They do not change what is fact in the present." Tria didn't respond to that and just looked at the floor, still thinking. Spock realized that she was still ruminating over the subject and that it was something that had been on her mind ever since they had met. He was also curious about the possibilities, though it did not affect him in quite the way it did her. Spock decided that the best way to help her put it behind her was to show her. After all, talking takes time...

"Will you permit me to see your thoughts?"

Her head snapped up to look at him. "You mean a mind meld?"

"Correct. Clearly this is something that burdens you and I believe the best way for you to put yourself at ease is to share my experiences with you. I, too, am curious what it is to be a Vulcan who does not follow our ways; so this would be the most logical solution." He looked very certain of himself.

Tria slid off the desk to stand in front of him. "A-a-are you sure? I thought it wasn't something you would do with just anyone."

He gave her a censured look. "You are not 'just anyone'. I have known you for six-point-seven-nine days. I assure you I have not made this decision lightly."

She exhaled a long, relieved breath. "Okay."

Spock moved a little closer to her, making Tria's heart beat faster. "You must clear your mind," he said softly, "do you understand?"

She nodded weakly. He held up one hand, hesitant, as his eyes met hers.

Tria looked up at him unwavering, though she felt a little like her knees might buckle. Spock reached over and lightly brushed a stray curl off her cheek. She touched his hand before he began, resting her fingers on his wrist. He placed the tips of his fingers on her face; over her temple and chin with his thumb over her cheek. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on steadying her breathing. Spock's voice was gravely as he spoke, "My thoughts to your thoughts," his voice gravely. "Your thoughts to my thoughts." With his second phrase, his voice wavered slightly.

Tria was not sure what to expect, but she was not prepared for the rush that followed.

She gasped as it hit her like a wave. Spock instinctively moved closer to her and placed his other hand to the small of her back to steady her. Tria opened her eyes and met his gaze, beginning to see clearer the wall of information that had hit her. All at once she began to sort through the thoughts and emotions Spock was showing her. She sensed that he had not meant to open his mind so quickly, but connecting her her mind had given him a momentary loss of control.

She saw what he had experienced as a child and the events that led up to the most logical decision to embrace his Vulcan half over his Human half. She felt his childhood anguish over being different from the other children and shared her own experiences. While Spock was being mocked for being a half-breed on Vulcan, Tria was being scolded in grade school by her teachers for not doing well enough in all her studies. She saw his efforts to please his father and Spock saw the shame she had felt when her own father had said she was too far gone to learn the Vulcan ways. It went on this way for a while, until Tria began to let her mind wander and unconsciously looked for what she wished was there, a wordless confession.

At first Spock was taken aback by her sudden change in direction, but he only paused for a second as their minds were intertwined. Her direction of thought was no secret to him. He allowed her to see what brand of confusion and interest their encounters caused him. He saw her mind come at ease to know that while he was cautious to proceed due to his loyalty to Vulcan logic: he was profoundly affected by her presence and felt it was illogical to cast her aside for the sake of an easier path. Tria, having no sense of control in the way her mind wandered, pictured all the ways she had imagined being closer to him, both casually and intimately. When she realized what she had done, she physically moved back, embarrassed.

Spock gripped her with an unexpected strength, keeping her from shrinking away from him. He still had a stony look on his face, but she felt him drop a bit of his Vulcan control over his emotions. The warmth she felt was not describable, for it was a complex mix between admiration, respect, and amusement. He slowly broke the link, letting his fingers move lightly from the nerves and vessels he was placing pressure on; and instead moved them into her hair. Even with the link broken, she felt a lingering bit of him there, in her mind. She sighed, sad that it was over; but was surprised when she felt the hand at her back bring her closer. She stiffened. He bent over her slowly and laid his lips lightly on hers, his other hand cradling her head at the nape of her neck.

She was surprised at first, but satisfaction set in quickly. She leaned closer into him, returning the kiss eagerly. Tria reached up and touched his face affectionately, but was unable to focus on what feeling might have been there. It seemed to last a lifetime as they were caught in the thrill of the moment. Soon, though, Spock loosened the pressure on her back and started to pull away. Sad, but vindicated, she settled back as he released his grip on her. She felt a little lightheaded, but resisted the swoon, unwilling to let it get the best of her. Spock stood up straight, tugging at the bottom of his uniform to even out the fabric.

Composing himself, Spock said, "I apologize if I stepped over a line." His voice was flat and inelegant.

"What makes you think that you stepped over a line?" She slid closer to him. "I think you know better than that." Her voice was husky, almost predatory.

He peered at her pointedly. "I do admit, I gathered that you would not be opposed to the gesture."

Tria smirked. "Oh? And what did you gather from my reaction?" She was amused at his blundering attempt to brush off the action like it was nothing.

Spock shifted slightly, trying to maintain his composure. "I would have to speculate that you enjoyed it." He coughed and raised his chin slightly.

"Ah, but you knew that I would. Now what I'm wondering is if you enjoyed it, too. After all, you made the first move."

"It was not," he said slowly, "an entirely logical decision."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "That's the point, Spock. Emotions aren't logical."

He gazed at her for a while, thinking. Her expression was like a siren to him, mouth parted and an intense, penetrating stare. "I am concerned...that I will not be able to control them with regards to you."

"You're concerned," she responded, "buy you're not positive you can't. I'm positive you can. I think the only thing that's stopping you is a fear of loosing yourself." His brow furrowed at the suggestion. "You won't," she assured him. "I won't let you. I respect what you are far more now that I did before. I never wanted to change you, I just..." She laid a hand on his chest, not finishing her sentence. Tria had a feeling she knew what she meant, though. Spock touched her fingers where they lay, silent.

He reached out with his opposite hand and touched her shoulder, trembling fingers sliding under the brightly colored robe she still wore from her evening with the Ambassador. Tria sensed that he was bottling up whatever it was that wanted to get out and it was taking a great deal of effort for him to keep his Vulcan dignity. "Spock," she whispered, caressing on his face. "Let it go."

"It is not..." he protested.

She interrupted. "Do you want to?"

Spock took a deep breath, "I do not want others to see me in this way." His face became anguished. "Not again."

Tria looked at him sympathetically. She knew what he meant. The shame he had felt when his friends saw him in the midst of the blood fever. It was only a few years ago, but when she had witnessed the memory of it, she knew that to him it still seemed like it was yesterday. "They won't. You know they won't. You're will is too strong for that."

"It is...logical...that I would be able to control myself under...normal circumstances." He was straining. She dropped her hand away from her face, to help him concentrate. "You must learn to control yourself, too. You must not toy with me when I am on duty."

She smiled up at him. "I won't. I won't ask you to be anything other than what they know you as. I think I'd like it better that way." He raised an eyebrow, needing clarification. "It's like my secret," she said, stroking his face again. Spock was amused by that idea; Tria wanting the knowledge he was capable of emotionality to be kept to herself.

His hand still on her shoulder, his expression softened as he slowly slipped the fabric off her shoulder. Two delicate gold chain straps served to hold up the gauzy frock she had changed into. Spock took notice of the decoration and the way it complimented her light olive skin. He ran his thumb down her arm, taking in her warmth and soft texture. He began to grasp just how much he wanted to look at her and batted her hand gently away from his face so that he could slide the other side of the robe off her shoulders. She followed his movements gracefully, letting him push the fabric aside and dropping both her arms so that the robe fell to the floor.

He barely touched her arms as he ran his fingertips from the edges of her clavicle down to her elbows. She shivered and giggled as he touched her elbows, the sensation tickling her. His eyes wrinkled, entertained, but he still barely smiled. He wrapped his arms around her again, bringing her close so that he could kiss her again. Tria pressed against his body, enjoying the feeling of being so close to him. The pressure of bosom against his chest sent a flame through his core, making him curl his fingers into her back.

Feeling bold, Tria parted her lips and slid her tongue lustfully into his mouth. She felt his body tense and his senses reel. Seeing no signal to stop, she continued to play between his lips. Spock was lost in the taste, sweet yet citrus-like. It gave rise to something carnal within him. Soon his hands were tangled in her hair as he started to venture into her mouth in turn. Tria's hands wandered about his midsection, caressing each muscle on his back and arms.

When she slid her hands under the bottom of his uniform's tunic, Spock inhaled sharply and pulled away, wide-eyed. She traced her fingers up his spine, raising his shirt higher. She thought for a moment he might protest; but as she pushed upward to pull it over his head, he bowed his head obediently and let her jerk it off with a swift pull. She quickly began running her hands over his chest, eager to feel every bit of him. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and kissed him lightly there. She could feel his blood pounding under her lips. As she traced her tongue up the vein to his jaw she heard a low growl escape his throat. It only encouraged her, so she craned her head so that she could nibble at his earlobe.

Spock felt as though the fire burst into a blaze and arched his head back, hissing. He grappled her hard about her hips as she continued to tease his cartilage and the sensitive nerves that resided there. Unable to take anymore he picked her up in one swift motion, as he had before; and carried her behind the screen that divided his work area from the private area of the quarters.

The room beyond was hung with deep red curtains and a small meditation area was set up. The only light was the strange glow that came from the statues and ever-burning candles. Spock set her back down on her feet and cupped her face, studying her. She was sure he was regaining control – he so wanted to maintain his control – but she did not think that now was the time for it. Even though she had vowed she would let him have his Vulcan dignity, she heart screamed for him to loose all restraint.

He began again where he had in the front room, stroking her skin. Tria started to wonder if she would go mad with anticipation. However, just as before, Spock started to slowly shift the straps of her dress off her shoulders. Tria tugged subtly at the sides of her skirt and the dress fell off her body, the chain straps chiming as they hit the floor. She stood in front of him, bare, the strange light reflecting on her skin. Spock seemed to be inspecting her, his eyes wandering over her exposed body. He was hesitant to touch her, but once he let his hands explore her curves, it was not long before he could not decide where to put them next.

Spock gently guided her back to his small bed. Tria laid down, Spock climbing over her, caressing her breasts. Instinctively, he leaned down to taste them, all to absorbed to the way they reacted to his probing tongue. She moaned and arched her back against him. Spock was glad that he was able to please her in this way. He thought perhaps he could do this all night; touching her, tasting her, learning every reaction to every action he could take. She lifted a knee between his legs as a way to gauge his arousal. Spock groaned and raked his teeth over the mound of her breast.

Satisfied, Tria wriggled under him to get at his trousers. Spock sat up on his knees and gazed down at her, puzzled. She frowned at him, the motion bringing him just out of reach. He sat thinking there for what, to Tria, seemed like ages. "Wha-" she started, but he interrupted her by softly caressing the curls between her thighs. Her question turned into a sigh as he touched her there. He did something then that she did not expect; ever-so-gently, he slid a finger between her tender folds. Tria cried out, squirming. He explored her slowly and with every movement she moaned and clawed at the bed.

Suddenly, he stopped. Panting, she looked up at him, confused. His eyes seemed distant, determined. He leaned down over her and kissed her softly. "Pok guv-tvi-rivak tu?" He whispered.

"Ha," she answered.

Spock closed his eyes and nodded soberly. He turned in the dimness to sit at the edge of the cot and strip down. She was anxious to see him, but he was too quick for her and had climbed back onto the bed. He slowly lowered his body down over hers. The pressure of the stiffness on her thighs made her push up to meet his mouth, kissing him eagerly. She pressed her hips against his, writhing as he moved a strong hand down her side. Spock was breathing heavily now and he pulled away from her lips to meet her eyes with an intense gaze. Tria felt that something had finally given and there was no going back until he was satiated.

He clutched her firmly behind one knee, lifting her just enough such that he was pressed against her where he had probed her not long before. With his one hand displaying his strength while it held her leg, he used the other to gently caress her belly. Tria whimpered, burning because she felt him there. Slowly, he pushed forward and slid into her. The sensation was prodigious and he fell forward, barely caching himself on an elbow. Spock let out a throaty grunt and Tria voiced a long, blissful moan. She wrapped her legs around his center and her arms around his neck, pulling him close.

The hot tightness was everywhere. Spock's arms shook as lay against her, his mind was reeling, but there was no logic to be had there. Only his instincts drove him. He started in her at a steady pace, making Tria moan louder. She clawed her fingers over his scalp and pulled at his hair. Adrenaline rushed in his veins and he moved faster. Soon it was a frenzy. Flesh and sweat bonded them everywhere they touched. Long, wet, passionate kisses came and went as Tria pulled his face to hers between cries of pleasure.

She began to pinch and stroke his ears, which was enough to drive him to his limit. Craning to him, she nipped at them again. Her tongue drawing up the outside of his lobes Spock emit a feral growl and began to drive into her so hard and fast, the strong metal frame under the mattress began to creak. Tria moved to kiss him again deeply, which drove him over the edge. He held her there, plunged deep one last time. The rapture subsided slowly, turning into a dizzying euphoria.

Spock fell, exhausted, onto his side against the wall. Tria gently turned him onto his back and laid on top of him, her head cradled in the dip of his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her. The savageness that had overcome him was gone and it left him both mentally and physically taxed. He peered down to see that Tria had begun to doze off on top of him. He decided that it was best if he slept as well and drifted off, a sense of complacency filling his being.