"I loved him until the day he died and beyond that, but it was meeting you that first opened my eyes to the possibility that he could be more than a desirable ally and a skilled bedmate." Astra turned her face from the moon hanging in the sky beyond the window of Spock's hotel suite and wrapped her arms around her tiny body.
"I'm not her," she said softly. "Just as you are not him."
From across the sitting room, Spock's eyes traveled over the face of this woman who was in so many ways as familiar to him as the image he saw in the mirror. Her voice had trembled as she reminded him that, in truth, she was something — someone — else, altogether. He heard the question she had not asked.
"No," he agreed, stepping slightly closer. "I am not him, and you are not her. Does that lessen what is between us?"
He wanted her to tell him "No, it doesn't matter at all," but he was reluctant to influence her in any way, so he kept his face as impassive as his voice had been.
Astra's gaze turned inward and, unconsciously, she swayed toward him, her eyes closed.
Spock waited. Over a century of longing had taught him the value of patience.
Eventually, she opened her eyes and smiled her familiar smile and walked across the room and straight into his arms.
"No," she said into the fabric of his tunic, "it doesn't matter at all."
A/N: Just a short bit to keep you going until I write the next big chapter. Some of you have already guessed Astra's secret identity. Others have not. Please, if you know, or even just think you know, please don't spoil it for the rest.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or any of its characters and concepts. (Not even Astra Boipuso!)