At The Center

“Bitch,” Sulu snarled as the door slid shut between him and Dr. Han. You woke her up, what do you expect? This was the fourth time in four nights, y’know. Yeah, yeah, I know.

He padded silently across the room to where Jilla lay, deeply asleep. About time. Han gave her enough sedative to stop warp drive.

The thought that she wouldn’t know if he was beside her or not crossed his mind and he shook it away, but the reason for the thought remained: LiLing. Her flirtation was getting more and more insistent, along with his desire for her. You don’t exactly tell her to back off, do you?

No, but I don’t encourage her either. Much.

Jilla’s voice, murmuring, “I cannot stop it, but I cannot allow it,” was cruel mockery in his head.

You’re not really going to do it, are you? he asked himself. You can’t. How many times have you promised her, I’ll never hurt you, I’m here, always, forever? She needs, needs…

The fear and pressure thundered in his chest and again he stopped the flow of his thoughts.

So… what? Lie here awake all damn night?

You could actually try and sleep. You need it.

Yeah, and the minute I drift off Jilla will be up and screaming for perfect, sainted Selar, damn his Vulcan soul anyway – if there even is such a thing.

Calm down, you’re getting too keyed up over this. Remember what Dr. Han told you.

Sage advice to someone who’s been living with an Indiian for a year.

Well, then remember it, fool! Just because Jilla’s been waking up screaming is no reason to take it out on a dead man or Dr. Han.

“Shit,” he muttered aloud, then dropped into a chair next to the bed. He found himself staring at Jilla.

Jesus, you’re pretty. My poor little one, if I could help you…

No, damn it, you’re the reason she’s having these nightmares. She needs a good, strong, loving, loyal man and tell me any of those words describe you.

“There have been so many others…” The memory of Jilla’s frightened sobs tore at him. “Bedded, as you bed me.”

I’m a bastard, Jilla. I can’t save you, it won’t work. Don’t these nightmares prove it? I’ve tried, I swear I have, but I’m nowhere close to perfect or sainted. I’m a goddamned whore, a collector, and I’m not strong enough to stop myself – how’s that for devotion and adoration?

He closed his eyes, his jaw clenching. Why couldn’t Jilla see it? Didn’t she understand what LiLing’s smiles, her carefully enunciated ‘Mrs. Majiir’ meant? No, she’s an innocent, naïve, remember? Never mind, I never do. She doesn’t understand the behavior of lying, cheating, unfaithful…

Again, Jilla’s voice sounded in his mind.

“There will always be my vows. There will always be Selar and the fate that awaits me. Yet I dare to be possessive of your feelings. I dare to feel jealousy and anger. I dare to bind you to me. I have no right to feel such things, no right to govern your affections, I ruin your friendships, I love and I need – and ask so much…”

With the thoughts, anger flooded him and he got up and left his quarters. He needed something to relieve the tension and LiLing was taunting and tempting – and willing.

Jim stayed on the Bridge until well into the first watch. The day’s reports were not good; maintenance still checked out at one hundred percent, but crew efficiency was considerably less than that. It angered him and he ordered more drills. He’d asked McCoy for a progress report on Ruth, Spock and DelMonde and was told, bluntly, that there was ‘no damn change.’ The people manning the Bridge were silently irritable and ship’s functions were carried out slowly and with more than the usual amount of double-checking necessary. Incredibly, with all the trouble, the mission was proceeding with little or no problems. There was no understanding yet of most of the data being collected, but they were getting it accurately and with seemingly little interference from the crew’s unaccountably debilitated state.

At 1100 hours, Jim made the day’s log entry, then went back to his quarters and prayed for dreamless sleep.

“I don’t want any arguments. If you two insist on going on duty, you’re gettin’ the injections!”

McCoy’s voice was harried and gruff. Ruth glanced up at Spock and shrugged. “All right, Bones, you don’t have to…”

“None of your sass, Valley, I’m serious!” the doctor interrupted. “And you, Commander – Minneapolis!” Spock’s eyebrow rose. McCoy closed his eyes, then sighed wearily. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I haven’t been sleepin’ much.”

“A concerned physician never sleeps well when he has incurable patients,” Spock said. Ruth smiled at him with gracious thanks, and he nodded to her, then patiently held out his arm to McCoy’s hypospray. “I will be on the Bridge, my wife,” he added, then walked from Sickbay.

Ruth waited as McCoy adjusted the applicator for her, then heard Sulu’s voice.

“Doctor, can you please leave a standing order for an evening sedative?” he said, sounding more than a little annoyed.

She turned to see him striding into Sickbay, actually pulling Jilla along with him. The Indiian was shimmering; not a full-blown nova, but definitely embarrassed.

“Sulu, I do not wish…” Jilla was saying.

“And I’m tired of midnight runs to Dr. Han,” Sulu retorted. “Her nightmares, Doc,” he continued to McCoy. “She’s not getting any sleep, I’m not getting any sleep and she’s fucking going Vulcan on me. Again.”

Ruth blinked at Sulu’s harsh tone and harsher words.

“Now you just calm down, son,” McCoy said. “I can certainly do that if it’s warranted…”

“And what the hell has to happen to ‘warrant’ it?” Sulu demanded belligerently.

McCoy frowned at him and Ruth took a step toward Jilla. McCoy, too, turned to the Indiian.

“Do you think you need help sleeping, Mrs. Majiir?” McCoy asked pointedly. Sulu bristled.

Jilla’s head lowered, her sheen brightening. “I…” she paused, glancing at Sulu. “The nightmares do wake me, Doctor.”

“And do you think sleeping through them will help or hurt?”

Again Jilla looked up at Sulu. “I… I have no data by which to judge…”

“See?” Sulu snorted. “Vulcan.”

“Hey, Roy, chill,” Ruth murmured.

“Hey, Spike, mind your own fucking business,” Sulu returned sharply.

“And you mind your manners in my Sickbay, boy,” McCoy snapped.

Sulu’s eyes narrowed, and he scowled. “So can we have that standing order or not?”

McCoy glared back at him. “Mrs. Majiir?” he asked, though his eyes didn’t leave the helmsman’s.

“I think it might be best,” Jilla replied quietly.

“I’ll take care of it, Lieutenant,” McCoy told her and gently patted her arm.

“Thank god,” Sulu muttered. Jilla again bent her head as Sulu moved close to her. “See, I told you,” he said to her.

“But I am still not certain…” she began hesitantly.

“Oh, for the love of… Jilla, you have to sleep!” He closed his eyes, then scowled at her. “Just do it,” he ordered. He turned and strode away.

“What’s with him?” Ruth asked Jilla.

Jilla avoided her eyes. “As you heard, we have not been sleeping well,” the Indiian said. “The extra drills are putting a great deal of pressure on him, and when I awaken from… he finds it difficult to return to…” She grimaced awkwardly.

Ruth sighed. “I’m sorry, Jilla.”

Noel DelMonde stepped onto the Bridge at the beginning of second watch, and his headache abruptly worsened. At Communications, Uhura was frowning, her head resting in one hand as the other played over the board before her. Monique DuBois was at Navigation looking haggard and exhausted. He found himself scowling. He wasn’t wide awake himself.

“Bonjour,” Monique murmured to him.

“Bonjour, cher,” he returned as he stepped over to Engineering, then added, “Uhura.”

The lovely black woman glanced up at him. “Mr. DelMonde,” she began in a tone meant to be light-hearted, “I hear you and our First Officer’s wife were arguing again.”

DelMonde tried not to let the reminder touch him. After all, not everyone knew how he felt about Ruth. Uhura was just being friendly. He took a breath, determined to give nothing away. He flashed a suggestive smile at Monique. “Ordona tryin’ to avenge your honor, I be t’inkin,” he said, to her then added to Uhura as teasingly as he could manage. “An' Miss Valley don’ hold wit’ brawlin’ in her section.”

Monique blushed. “Non gentil, mon amour,” she scolded.

“Any brawling that she wasn’t involved in,” Ensign LiLing’s voice said from the turbolift. “Our Mrs. Spock does like being the center of attention.” She glided seductively past DelMonde with a brief caress of his cheek. “Just like you do, Lieutenant.”

“An’ you, petit chat,” Del returned caustically.

“All right, all right, settle down now,” Mr. Scott said. There were murmured apologies from every post with the notable exception of Sciences. Scott’s eyes closed, and then he yawned, stretching in the con. “Ah, for a wee bit o’ sleep,” he muttered. “I’ve not had a full night for nearly a week.”

“You got no market on that, Scotty,” Del agreed.

Uhura shook her head. “I know I didn’t sleep much last night.”

Monique looked up from rubbing tired eyes. “Did anyone?”

Del glanced across the Bridge to where LiLing was unconcernedly filing her fingernails before beginning her shift, obviously no where near as tense or irritable as the rest of them. “Seem that way,” he drawled.

Uhura followed his gaze. “How do you do it?” she asked the ensign wearily. “No one else has managed.”

“Especially our Security Chief, non?” Monique put in. “Have you been through one of his drills?”

“Death races fo’ stim junkies an’ paranoiacs,” Del muttered.

“The captain ordered those extra drills,” Scott said. “The lad’s workin’ harder than any of us.”

“And playing harder,” LiLing intimated smoothly.

“Connasse,” Monique hissed, and Del almost chuckled. The pretty French navigator had just called Ensign LiLing a bitch.

“Jealous?” LiLing smirked.

“Of what?” Monique returned smoothly. “I’ve had what you’re after.”

“Yes, I know,” the ensign shot back. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

“On the contrary, Ensign,” Uhura put in, “he’s staying away from you, isn’t he?”

LiLing smiled with true relish. “Is he?”

“I’ll not have this kind of talk on the Bridge,” Scott glowered and he stared around the room, fixing each crewmember with a baleful eye until he received the appropriate military response and apology.

Del’s headache again increased in intensity, and seconds later the turbolift opened and the First Officer stepped to the con, relieving Scott and asking for status reports. All stations reported normal readings, then LiLing said, “Commander, I’m picking up an unusually strong burst of radiation.”

“From Sagittarius A?” Spock asked.

“No, sir, it doesn’t seem to be… the readings are distorting. I can’t pinpoint it.”

“Route the sensor input to the Physics lab,” the Vulcan said, then thumbed the com. “Miss Valley.”

“Valley here,” came Ruth’s voice, and Del winced, his headache increasing yet again.

“Ensign LiLing is sending you sensor logs from the Bridge,” Spock stated. “The input is distorted.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Boss.”

“Spock out.”

Del tried to ease his throbbing temples with weary, grieving fingers. Scotty came up to him. “Lad, perhaps you’d best work off the Bridge today,” the Scotsman offered.

“Yes, sir,” Del replied gratefully, and quickly left the Bridge.

There was blood on his hands, green blood. Spock was on his knees, unable to get up. Ruth’s fingers clawed at his legs, tears streaking the anguished face that looked up at him, begging him to let her husband live.

“Only if he’s of some use, Angel,” Jim told her pleasantly.

As he watched, Ruth’s eyes became bright silver, her skin beginning to glow. Her golden hair slowly lost color until it was brilliant, snowy white. Spock’s voice suddenly said, “The answer is obvious, and always should have been. The Seeders are still here. And they have always been here.” With arrogant disdain, Jim aimed his phaser and Spock cried out in horror-filled agony as the figure that both was and wasn’t Ruth’s disappeared in the weapon’s beam.

Jim gasped as he came startling awake. He immediately reached for the com beside his bed, calling Sickbay.

Jade stepped toward McCoy’s office. She had been going over the medical logs for the past week since the early hours of the morning, and while she was no closer to explaining the connection between the headaches, nightmares, and general lethargy and irritability of the crew, she had a good handle on the reason for Jim’s. She wanted to discuss it with Leonard before taking her findings to the captain; after all Leonard had known James far longer than she had. She needed some way to gauge the captain’s likely reactions.

As she approached the door, she heard Leonard shouting angrily. “Damn it, Jim, I’m busy!”

She peeked around the doorway, expecting to see James, but McCoy was speaking to the intercom on his desk. Jim’s voice came from it. “I know, Bones, but I can’t talk about this with Dr. Han.”

“If it was the same dream, I don’t see…” Leonard growled.

“It was and it wasn’t. It… it was…” The captain’s voice grew quiet and confidential. “The Silmarils, Bones,” he finished.

Leonard abruptly straightened. “You think they’re trying to tell you something?” he near-whispered.

“That’s why I need to speak with you,” Jim returned. “And Spock.”

McCoy sighed and turned. Jade quickly ducked back from the doorway.

“In my office, then,” he said.

“Thanks, Bones,” Jim said. “Kirk out.”

The Silmarils? Jade wondered. She had read the preliminary reports on the First Contact the Enterprise had had with the strange new race over two years earlier. She had, like the Vulcans, seen the possible connections with the concept of the Seeders, but there was nowhere near enough data to speculate further. Jim’s words, ‘it was and it wasn’t’ came clearly in her mind. Is James is dreaming about torture, rape or murder of one of them? She turned, walking back to her own office. She obviously needed more information, and James was one of her patients; the most important patient on the ship. She therefore had no qualms at all about waiting until the Captain and the First Officer arrived at McCoy’s office, then resuming her place just outside the door.

Sulu sighed in bitter frustration as John Holden reported that full alert status had come in seventy-two seconds off their target. What the hell was wrong with the crew? All the extra drills seemed to be making things worse instead of better. It made no sense and anything else this past week has? He glanced irritably at the tired, tense faces of the command team, and said, “Again,” then “Can it,” at the automatic groans. He closed weary eyes as the simulation was reset.

Nothing makes sense. Is it just due to the lack of sleep? Maybe, but that doesn’t make any sense either.

Of course, Jilla’s nightmares were the reason for their lack of sleep, but he couldn’t understand why she was having them with such harrowing vividness and exhausting frequency.

Can’t you? he asked himself cynically. You think she can’t feel what’s going on, even if she doesn’t know the details? Yeah? Then why won’t she say something, why won’t she get angry, why won’t she…

She needs you, remember?

Jilla, I’m sorry…

He glanced at the Engineering station of the Auxiliary Bridge, where Jilla sat patiently configuring the protocols for the drill. The door to the Auxiliary Bridge opened and Mrraal stepped in.

“Lieutenant Majiir, Scotty needs you up on the Bridge,’ he growled. “Lucky me, I get to go through your drills.”

“It won’t be so bad,” Chekov said from Navigation, attempting a light-hearted manner. “You can at least match whips with our slave-driver,” he added, making reference to the Caitian’s long, black tail.

“Pavel, shut the fuck up,” Sulu snarled.

“Yes, sir!” Chekov snapped irritably.

Jilla rose from her seat. Sulu studied his drill sheets. From the Science Station, Daffy Gollub’s voice suddenly said, “Jilla?” and Sulu closed his eyes, then turned.

Mrraal was helping Jilla to sit, John Holden moving from Communications as Daffy crossed the small space. Jilla was pale, trembling her right hand clutching the wrist of her tightly closed left.

“Hey, schmuck, she needs you,” Daffy called.

She needs you…

Abruptly, Sulu’s body froze. He could still see the Auxiliary Bridge, and the crewmembers, but it was overlaid with a sharp image of a neutron star, its magnetic fields radiating as rings of energy, accelerated beams of gamma rays streaming out from its pole. He knew its coordinates as clearly as if the data were displayed on his helm readout. And he knew with equal certainty that the Enterprise had to go there. Immediately.

He blinked, but the vision remained. He shook his head, and heard Chekov’s angry, “Sulu, didn’t you hear…?”

He turned a confused gaze to the navigator, and his peripheral vision caught a brilliant glow. Again he switched his gaze and saw not Jilla, but the form and features of Ilne, the Silmaril the Enterprise had encountered before the Indiian had even come aboard.

“What the…?” he began in puzzled consternation, and Jilla’s voice sobbed. He moved from the con to her seated form, kneeling down.

“It’s alright,” he said absently, and hugged her, swiftly, fiercely. “I have to talk to the Captain.” He stood and headed for the door, calling, “Chekov, you have the con,” as he moved, almost in a daze, from the Auxiliary Bridge.

Daffy’s voice repeating “Schmuck,” followed him.

As requested, Spock met the captain in McCoy’s office. “Captain, sensors are reporting unusual radiation bursts from an as yet undetermined source,” he began.

Jim held up a hand. “That’s not why I wanted to speak to you, Spock.” The Vulcan’s eyebrow rose, as the captain took a deep breath. “I’ve been having nightmares that are – well, they’re violent and disturbing.”

Spock turned to McCoy. “And you feel the cause may be related to my difficulties, and Ruth’s,” he started again.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” McCoy put in. “Just listen to him, Spock.”

Spock closed his eyes briefly as his ever-present headache began to flare.

“In the latest – less than fifteen minutes ago – I…” He swallowed. “Spock, I killed a Silmaril.” He paused, then said, a little more quietly, “Ruth turned into a Silmaril, and I killed her.”

“Disturbing to be sure,” Spock began for the third time, “but I fail to see how this concerns…”

“In the dream, I heard you telling me that the Seeders were still here and had always been here,” Jim interrupted. “And I got the impression that there was something important – something telepathic…” He looked helplessly at McCoy.

“You and Ruth are both telepaths,” McCoy said bluntly, “and Jim’s been dreaming about destroying you both. Now, to have his nightmares include destroying the ultimate telepath as well… and with your disorientation and the headaches Ruthie can’t cure…”

“Spock, is it possible that the Silmarils are trying to influence us somehow?” Jim put in, again interrupting. “Could they be responsible for your problems, and my dreams – and my non-telepathic mind interprets them as attacks somehow, and so fights it with images of death and destruction?” Jim took another deep breath. “And if that's true –“

“You’re the only one who has a hope in hell of understandin’ them,” McCoy rejoined, “and if it’s something important enough to cause this level of difficulty – well maybe the Seeder’s idea of ‘soon’ is a lot closer to ours than we thought.”

Spock closed his eyes again. He remembered all too clearly the danger the Seeders had warned him of, Their need to have the Prime Directive repealed or at the least, modified. And while he could understand how the captain and Dr. McCoy had come to the conclusion that They were responsible, or at the least involved, he had no more idea of what They could be conveying than did Jim or the doctor.

The headache increased again as a signal came at the closed office door.

Jade could hardly believe what she was hearing. The Seeders are still here and have always been here? The ultimate telepath? And why would Spock be the only one who could understand them?

And what in the name of the gods could it have to do with Jim’s nightmares?

She heard Lieutenant Commander Sulu’s voice telling Nurse Chapel that the Bridge said Mr. Spock was meeting the captain in McCoy’s office, that he needed to speak with him, and it was important. She quickly moved to one of the diagnostic microscopes as Sulu moved past her without seeing her. When he was inside, she again moved to stand beside the doorway.

“Captain,” Sulu began without waiting to be acknowledged, “we have to plot a course to V 4641 Sagittarii, immediately.”

“Sulu, what are you…?” the captain began.

“I… I can’t explain, sir,” Sulu broke in urgently. “I had… I saw one of the Silmarils, and she…”

“The Silmarils?” McCoy put in, his voice startled.

“I know it doesn’t make any sense,” Sulu returned. “I was conducting efficiency drills and Jilla – Lieutenant Majiir seemed to have some sort of – dizzy spell or something, and when I looked at her, I saw… she was…” He stopped speaking, taking a deep breath. “I know it sounds crazy, Captain, but I saw V 4641 Sagittarii. And I knew – I know we have to go there. Now.”

Jim frowned, glancing at Spock and McCoy.

“V 4641 Sagittarii is a neutron star,” Spock said after a brief pause. “It could be the source of the radiation bursts.”

McCoy was studying the Lieutenant Commander’s anxious face. “You say Mrs. Majiir had a dizzy spell?” he asked. “Like Spock’s?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Sulu replied, “but now that you mention it…”

“Headaches and dizzy spells and nightmares, Jim,” McCoy said gravely.

“And the Silmarils,” Spock added.

“What…?” Sulu began.

“I’ve had – visions – of the Silmarils, too, Mr. Sulu,” Jim said. “And I don’t believe in coincidence.” He reached across McCoy’s desk to the intercom. “Bridge.”

“Scott here, sir,” came Scotty’s voice.

“Have the Helm plot a course to V 4641 Sagittarii and implement when ready.”

“Aye, Captain,” the engineer acknowledged.

“Sir, I should return to the Bridge to monitor the radiation bursts,” Spock said.

“And if I can take the Helm, sir,” Sulu added.

“Of course, Mr. Sulu.” Jim managed a faint smile. “I’d want my best man at the Helm near a neutron star anyway.”

Sulu grinned, but it, too, was weak.

Jade quickly drew away as Spock and Sulu left the office. She wasn’t certain what to make of the information, but one thing was startling clear. Spock’s assessment that the Seeders were still active, whether solely a part of Jim’s dream or a conclusion he had come to in reality, was absolutely correct.

Hours later, Ruth gave her post in the physics lab over to Lieutenant Carter and went gratefully to her cabin. She needed – yet again – to clear her headache, eat, and sleep, hopefully in that order. And to stop thinking about radiation bursts coming from nowhere and everywhere, she added wearily.

The lights in the cabin were at quarter illumination and she could make out Spock’s form lying on the bed. His hands were together on top of his chest, fingers entwined, his eyes closed but lightly. Meditating, she thought, and was glad. His headache must have receded enough to allow him that healing peace.

She stripped off her uniform, replacing it with a short, loose, sleeveless shift. She unwound and unbraided her hair, then made herself use the energy to ease her own discomfort.

She had finished one plateful of qualk and had just gotten another when Spock slowly sat up.

“Have a good meditation?” she asked softly.

“If by ‘good’ you mean ‘effective,’ no,” he replied.

She pouted for him and rose, crossing the room to sit beside him on the bed. “I’m home,” she offered. He blinked at her. “You’re home,” she tried again.

“My wife…” he began.

“We’re in the same room at the same time,” Ruth continued. “Together, at home, off duty.”

“Ah,” he replied, then winced, a spasm of pain crossing his features. Ruth reached for his temples.

“Let me…”

“No. You are already depleted,” he reminded.

“But I’m off duty. I can eat more, and get some rest…”

“And I am off duty. I can also rest.”

“But you won’t,” she accused, then added, “the radiation bursts.”

He sighed. “Agreed.” She reached again for his temples and he didn’t stop her. After a few moments, relief flooded him, clearing his mind, and Ruth winced.

“Ouch,” she said.

Forgive me.

Not your… ouch! “Damn, that hurts.”

“Telepathy increases the pain?” Spock asked.

Ruth nodded. “Damn,” she said again, her eyes closing. Spock lifted his fingers to her temples, massaging gently, careful not to initiate any telepathic contact. After a few moments, she opened her eyes, glancing at him teasingly. “I just realized something,” she said.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I can use a line I never thought I’d be able to.” She grinned. “Not tonight, dear…”

“I have a headache,” he finished with her.

She giggled, then said, for the third time, “ouch.” Then, “Does it count if we both have headaches?”

“Count?” Spock questioned softly.

“Toward being a made-up excuse to avoid sex.”

“My wife, I cannot imagine you ever wanting to create a pretext to avoid sex,” he admonished.

She shrugged. “Me neither. But it was funny.”

“Mildly amusing.”

“And a little twitchy. Speaking of which,” she interrupted herself, “Roy’s reaction to Jilla’s nightmares is more than a little, yes? I mean, it’s not just me, is it?”

“He does seem to be under a great deal of stress,” Spock commented noncommittally.

Ruth eyed him. “What do you know that I don’t know?”

“The Captain had a dream involving the Silmarils,” Spock replied. “And Mr. Sulu apparently had a vision which also included them.”

Ruth scowled. “Them again? Why don’t they mind their own…” she stopped as she became aware that Spock was staring at her intently.

“Ruth, what do you know?”

“Nothing,” she hedged. “I just don’t like – the way they make me feel.”

“My wife, this is important.”

“I don’t really know…”

“Must I make it an order?”

She let out a bone-rattling sigh. “They’re… well, they’re not what they want us to think.”

“They are not the Seeders?” Spock returned.

Ruth startled. “How did you know?”

One eyebrow rose. "Are they not?"

"No, that's not what I meant. But I'm not supposed to - I'm not allowed to..." She gasped as her headache increased. Spock’s fingers again massaged her temples, and she leaned against him, trying to breathe deeply through the spasms of pain. Finally, she murmured, “I think it might be best to change the subject.”

“Indeed.” He paused. “Then there is a connection.”

“I’m not gonna say it,” Ruth warned.

“Very well.” He fell silent, and Ruth sat up reaching for the plate of qualk. After stuffing a few pieces into her mouth, she chewed thoughtfully for a minute, then swallowed and said without looking at Spock, “Can you recommend a transfer for Ensign LiLing?”

Spock blinked at the change of subject. “A transfer? I have found her work satisfactory.”

“Her work, sure, but her personality…” Ruth took another bite of the roast meat. “She’s offensive, and not just to me. Monique thinks so, and Uhura. Daffy hates her. And Del says…”

“Mr. DelMonde knew her on the Hood?” Spock interjected.

Ruth ignored the slight tension in Spock’s voice. “Yeah, and he has nothing good to say about her. Not that he has much good to say about anybody…” she mumbled.

“I have had no complaints regarding her behavior, Ruth,” Spock rejoined.

“You will.” There was a questioning silence and she sighed. “She’s not exactly discreet about her preferences and it just so happens she prefers a married man.”

Spock regarded her reprovingly. “You have little faith in Mr. Sulu,” he said.

Ruth shook her head. “I do, I just know her type. Part seductress, part steamroller. And Jilla doesn’t need the aggravation.”

“Insufficient to warrant a step as serious as a transfer.”

Ruth stared belligerently at her husband and superior officer. “Spock, she’s going to cause a lot of grief…” She stopped at the sudden grimace that came over his face. “Spock?”

As she watched, his eyes closed and he swayed. Ignoring the abrupt increase in her own headache, she gently pulled him into her arms. She knew the disorientation wouldn’t frighten him so much if she held him not that he’d ever admit that to anyone but me. It frightened her that there was nothing she could do to keep it from happening; a keheil helpless to heal. She murmured soft words of comfort, aching to meld with him, to share his fear and his pain if nothing else.

The pain reached almost intolerable levels before it began to slowly ebb. Ruth started breathing, realizing that she’d stopped. Then she realized that Spock, too, was taking deep, even breaths. She kissed him, laying him back down on the bed.

“Sleep,” she told him.

“And you,” he insisted hoarsely.

She moved next to him, letting her head rest on his chest, doing her best not to think of radiation bursts and Silmarils – and Sulu and LiLing.

Go To Part Three

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