With four hits of sapphire and an equal number of shots of Haven black scotch, Del was almost unaware of the pain. He sat at the bar, eyes half closed, nearly relaxed. Jeremy congratulated himself on his therapy. It had seemed to do the trick, at least for DelMonde. And he steadfastly refused to think about the fact that it was the worst thing for him. He didn't need to be reminded of bars and desperation and flying tapestries on venus.

How long ago was that? Three years or thereabouts. I thought you weren't gonna think about that. So how do I stop it? Beats me. Yeah. I wish someone would. Someone named Takeda Sulu no Jiro.

Dangerous ground, Paget. Back off before you affect your patient.

But how do I ‘back off?’ Can't use Cajun's method — I'm on twenty-four hour duty. Can't even get standard drunk. I'm supposed to protect him from the leeches. So how do I protect him from me?

Memory came in a sudden flood, freezing him with pain and loss and longing. Naois, three years ago. He'd wanted — needed to help Sulu then, as he'd helped all the times before when Sulu had been hurting and hopeless. Since they'd been kids, it had been Jeremy who had talked/joked/cajoled/loved Sulu out of his infrequent but devastating depressions. Particularly at the Clave when his amber cruises would leave him guilty and full of self-loathing.

Jeremy had shared those cruises. In each other, they’d each found perfect complements: Sulu was into power and pain with his sex and Jeremy discovered he liked the rough stuff. Especially when it was Sulu being rough. He was aware that some psychological theories would label him as sick and obsessed. But he was already obsessed— with Sulu.

Yet on Naois, Sulu had refused his help, refused his love. Jeremy had always known he would someday lose the man he loved to someone he could love. But Naois was too sudden, too soon. And it had hurt like hell to see him lost in the throes of love unreturned. Ironic since it was a sorrow that Jeremy had borne since the age of fourteen. He had no illusions: Sulu had wanted, needed him. But there was no way Sulu could return the intense devotion and adoration Jeremy felt for him. That was Jilla's province now. And on Naois was when Sulu had shut the door on the sharing there had been. There was still friendship, still brother-love, still caring and affection. But there would never again be union, touching, never again the expression of the bittersweet emotion that Sulu acknowledged and in which Jeremy found temporary solace and joy.

And Sulu hadn't realized it. Never would. For him, all that changed was that he and Jeremy no longer made love.

Jeremy inhaled sharply to stop the sob. When he opened his eyes, Del was staring at him.

You love him an' you never have him an' he happy wit’ someone else.

Jeremy nodded, in too much pain to startle at the touch of telepathy.

We too alike, Cobra.

A second nod, more pain. "I — didn't want to — hurt you — "

"To hell wit’ regs," Del said out loud, his voice too hoarse. “You have a drink."

Jeremy did.

Click here for the song

One love that is shared by two
I have found in you...

Sleep was slowly lifting and the pain in Spock's mind was no longer sharp. Someone was soothing, cooling the fire with words/music.

Like a rose under the April snow
I was always certain love would grow
Love... ageless and evergreen..

The soft cocoon was suddenly filled with giggles. Evergreen, indeed!

Indeed?

The presence in his thoughts jumped. Boss, I didn't know you were awake.

You were singing to me in my sleep?

More to myself, actually. But I didn't want to leave you alone.

Thoughtful, but unnecessary. Considering the strain on you...

DON'T start that now. I'm fine. And you needed to know I was here. T'Pen told me it was important. As a suddenly unbonded male, you need reassurance that I'll be here at The Time.

And will you?

You and I will make each night a first
Everyday a beginning
Spirits rise and their dance is unrehearsed
They warm and excite us
For we have the brightest love…

I take it that means yes.

Yes.

My wife... no, it is not the time.

For what?

You have overtaxed yourself already. I dare not ask you to…

Ask!

You are not fully recovered from...

The hell I'm not!

You must not excite yourself so… A scream reverberated through Spock's mind. He winced.

I FEEL PERFECTLY FINE! I AM FULLY RECOVERED! STOP TREATING ME LIKE A CHINA DOLL!!!

Then be one with me.

Ruth's mind started. Huh?

We have not touched since Jim's disappearance. I need you, my wife. And if, as you say, you are fully recovered, there is no reason we should not join.

Silence. Amused annoyance. You've been conning me.

Precisely.

Have I been using it as an excuse?

I believe so, yes.

Hesitation. I'm not sure I can... welcome you... as I should.

Remembered pain. Rejection. Guilt.

Yes.

I accept it as my due, Ruth... my wife... parted from me and never parted…

Ever and always touching and...

Two lights that shine as one
Morning glory and midnight sun
Time we've learned to sail above
Time won't change the meaning of
One love...

….touched.

The floor beneath Sulu’s back was hard, but Jilla was comfortably asleep on top of him and he didn't want to wake her. After all that had happened, she needed the rest. He smiled at that. The completion — as she'd called it — had been one of the most intense experiences he'd ever had: possessive, almost brutal but utterly, totally satisfying. He was content now, sure in the knowledge that she was his. There was no more need for the vehemence of his previous declarations of that fact. There was no longer any hidden questioning. Jilla was his; not Spock's, not even Selar's. As the sky on Terra was blue. As his hair was black. As birds flew and fish swam and the stars shone at night. Facts. No need to shout or declaim them. They simply were.

It was a calm, joyous, distinctly pleasant feeling.

Sulu shifted slightly. Jilla snuggled, murmuring soft Vulcan words. He only understood farern, husband, and it made him glow with an inner warmth. He'd been more than surprised when Jilla had told him... had stopped the 'completion’ long enough to tell him just what was going on. They were bonded, had been since her pon farr. It explained everything. His initial attachment, his obsession… He'd had a few minutes of furious realization-in hindsight; that if he hadn't been such a goddamned gentleman Jilla would've been his from the beginning. The 'completion' would have taken place then. And would have saved him — them both — a year of hell.

The realization had been followed by uncertainty. He'd never been possessive of any lover before Jilla. Was the bond responsible for his love for her? But that had been dismissed as easily as he had dismissed it for her. What difference did it make? It didn't invalidate what he felt. Explained it, maybe, but that was all.

Later had come a discussion of Captain Bastard. It was obvious now that the force of Sulu's anger was fueled by the friction inevitable between competing males: though Sulu was not Vulcan and neither had known of the bond, the instinct for possession drove him. It was why — or a part of why – Sulu had not felt any lessening of his anger even after hearing Spock's explanation. Jilla felt confident there would be now. Sulu preferred to reserve judgment. But even he had to admit Captain Bastard had lost his sting.

Along with Selar, for though Selar and Jilla were mnorindar, they had never been bonded — not even the proto-bond of Vulcan children. There had been a joining link; nothing more than the melds Spock had done with Kirk, or the link T'Pen had formed in the healing. It had no validity in the face of a completed bond. Jilla would always love Selar. But Jilla would no longer call him husband.

Sulu sighed in utter contentment. They'd have to get up soon. Jilla had to report her condition to T'Pen; there was still the media circus to attend to. But she felt so soft and warm...

His hands trailed loving circles over her back.

She stirred again, her breath tingling against his chest as she sighed sleepily.

"I love you," he whispered.

"And I you," came the gentle response.

"How do you pronounce...?"

He felt her smile. "Farrei," she said.

“Farrei,” he repeated, the closest he could come being ‘fahr-y’ee-ay.’

"En-na, farern."

"En-na?"

"Yes, my husband. Yes."

Sulu held her more tightly. Completion was a wonderful thing.

Jeremy Paget and Noel DelMonde stumbled into the room assigned to them at the shipyards. They had been more than liberal with their use of Haven chemicals and once the door was closed and voice-locked, they attacked one another with the grief and frustration that they had silently shared all evening. Bruising passion, sensual warfare; DelMonde radiated furious desire, Jeremy only too willing to sate it.

Del couldn't remember much detail. It didn't really matter. He and Jeremy were good friends. One act of displaced passion was inconsequential, and they were both equally guilty. He'd needed to vent his rage at being used and Jeremy had needed to burn out his hopeless desolation. The fact that he had not thought of Jeremy during the act was countered and eased by that knowledge that Jeremy had not been thinking of him.

He got up to get ready for duty-call and realized his headache was almost nonexistent. Some of the insistent, nagging fury was gone, and with it the constant pressure. It still hurt — Del knew it always would — but it was manageable. He thought about it. Loss, only a little anger. He ruefully shook his head. Cobra, you use unorthodox methods, but they surely work.

He went to shower, and when he came back to the bedroom, Jeremy was up and out of bed. For one sick moment details flooded Del's memory: a leather belt he wore with civvies and furious cries and moans of — pleasure? Pain?

Jeremy's back was striped with welts.

"Mere d’un dieu, Cobra, lemme get a doctor."

Jeremy shook his head as he struggled into his uniform. "I am a doctor. Besides, you want to explain it, Cajun?" he said with a gleam in his eyes.

"I not mean to..."

"I wanted it," Jeremy broke in bluntly. "I begged for it. I don't need your guilt trips. And neither, my friend, do you."

"But..."

"We both needed it. Consider it therapy. Dr. Paget's orders."

Del was silent for a moment. They had needed it. And for whatever reason, it had worked — at least for him. "You really love him, non?" he asked softly.

Jeremy met his gaze. "As much as you do her," he said, then grinned. "Now move it, Lieutenant Commander. We've both got work to do."

Del returned the smile. "Yes, sir, Mr. Paget, sir."

There were almost thirty reporters given clearance for the tour of the Enterprise. Scotty was more proud than worried; no one had even alluded to any problem he may have had and he was always eager to show off his beauty. His section was prepared and in attendance — all except Jilla. But after seeing how distraught she'd become at the media reception it didn't surprise him.

Spock and Ruth beamed aboard shortly before the reporters. Scott noted with approval that they didn't appear in the least apprehensive about the coming tour. That would do much to set a nervous crew at ease.

"Are you ready, Mr. Scott?" Spock asked.

"Aye, Captain. That is, as soon as Mr. Sulu reports."

Ruth flushed. Scotty raised quizzical eyebrows, but before he got an explanation, the transporter signaled for beam-up. As he worked the controls, McCoy came into the transporter room, bouncing and beaming.

"Ready for the tour, Captain, Mrs. Captain?" he asked jovially.

"Sure, Bones," Ruth replied. McCoy frowned. Scotty snorted in amusement. Annoyed, are ye, Leonard, that no one rose to the bait? he thought.

"I've been givin’ interviews all day," McCoy tried again. "Nosiest bunch of..."

"Indeed, Doctor," Spock interrupted. "Then perhaps you can tell us what to expect."

The gleam came back to McCoy’s eyes. Scotty waited with tolerant anticipation. "They'll want to know all about the Nest ships," McCoy said, "and when they can expect the patter of little feet. I told them to ask Starfleet's Prime Couple." He grinned. "That's you two."

Spock glanced at Ruth, eyebrow raised. She placed both hands on her stomach. "Not yet," she quipped easily.

Scott chuckled. McCoy was getting red-faced.

"And they'll ask about what kind of captain we all think you are," McCoy continued, a little louder. "I already told ‘em what I think."

"I see," Spock replied. There was silence for several minutes. The transporter signaled again. Scott paused, waiting for the outburst.

"Well, isn't anyone going to ask me!" McCoy demanded. Ruth unsuccessfully hid a grin.

Spock straightened — dramatically, Scotty thought. "Very well, Doctor, if I must," he intoned.

McCoy was livid. "I told them that narrow-minded, rule-ridden, officious, pointy-eared hobgoblin you may be, but you run the tightest, most efficient ship in Fleet. And," he continued before Spock, whose eyebrows had completely disappeared, could get a word out, "that Jim Kirk or anybody else for that matter never had a better, more loyal friend than you even if you'd sooner turn purple-polka-dotted before admittin’ it out loud. And that Starfleet had better change its ways concerning 'hard evidence’ when they're dealin' with telepaths if they expect to keep the Federation a real federation! And it was all a tissue o' lies and there's not a damn thing you can do about it!" He whirled and stomped to the doorway of the transporter room, arms folded, glaring.

"Thank you, Leonard," Spock said warmly. Ruth's grin became delighted laughter.

Scott joined her, then chuckled, "Aye, I hear ye," at the transporter's insistent signal. He worked the controls and Sulu and Jilla appeared on the platform. Scotty noticed Ruth's blush reappearing but he decided not to ask. Then he noticed that Jilla kept her eyes averted from Spock; just as she had done before they'd found Jim. But no one else seemed to notice.

"The reporters are ready to swarm," Sulu said to Spock. "I don't think we can hold them off much longer."

"We were simply awaiting your arrival, Mr. Sulu," Spock returned. "Mr. Scott, has Commodore Calvin organized the tour's transportation?"

"Aye, sir, he has."

"Then I fear we must proceed. Energize."

As Scotty began the repetitive process, he caught Sulu's request for a private meeting with Spock as soon as possible. Ach, what's wrong now? he thought glumly.

Holocameras on the Bridge made Uhura nervous. She didn't like the idea of pictures of a heavy cruiser's working stations being made public knowledge. Not that the Klingons — or anyone else interested — couldn't gain access to non-classified information. It was just the idea of it being beamed all over the quadrant. She shook her head, going back to her work, only half-listening to the tripe an overdressed man was spouting for the cameras.

"...is where those momentous decisions — and others like them — are made. The center seat; the command console, or as Fleet people call it, simply the con."

Oh brother, Uhura thought, and rolled her expressive eyes heavenward.

"Only one in command sits here; only one whose word is law. The voice that comes from this seat rings with authority, whether barking commands or requesting vital information. And the people who man these stations respond."

"Oh no," Uhura murmured under her breath, then forced a smile as the camera was turned on her.

"Lieutenant Commander Uhura, Chief of Communications," the reporter intoned. "Can you tell us, Lieutenant Commander, what your function is during times of crisis?"

"Communications coordinates reports from all the sections of the ship and routes them as necessary," Uhura began, "injuries to Medical; damage to repair crews; internal breaches to Security. A complete status report must then be given to the Captain or First Officer and their orders relayed back to the section chiefs." The reporter took a breath, but Uhura went on. "Also, Communications handles incoming and outgoing messages from Starfleet Command and the Captain, as well as any communication attempts from any enemy vessel or peoples, utilizing the relevant security codes and translation functions as has been set by the day's orders or, in the case of translation, necessity; unless overridden by the Captain's direct order."

"An important job indeed, Miss Uhura..."

"It is important that the Communications Officers know their station," Uhura continued. "One has to be able to work all the relays..." she demonstrated quickly, causing a cacophony of beeps and chitters and whines and whistles, "...sight unseen so as to watch the indicators for incoming communications. It's all very routine. It's a bit tedious to learn, but when a crisis is at hand one doesn't think about it at all. We merely do our duty as we have been trained to do — like everyone on the ship.”

"But surely... the task is Herculean...”

"Not at all. A matter of experience, sir."

The man frowned and cleared his throat. "Thank you, Lieutenant Commander." He signaled to his cameraman and, after a hurried conference, and a glance around the nearly empty Bridge, they departed in search of more fertile pastures. Uhura sighed blissfully and returned to her work.

"Might I ask your name, young man?"

Lieutenant Binh jumped at the sound of the voice behind him and whirled around to find himself facing a pair of Humans. One was holding a holorecorder and it was aimed at him. Since the equipment he was monitoring was of a highly classified nature, the Valjiir cloak, as a matter of fact, he did his best to cover it being holoed by quickly sitting back down — on the console. That would set some red lights off in Security which would send some of Ryan's finest down to Engineering to see what was up. Which would break up the interview. Which was fine with him. "Nyguyen Binh," he answered the reporter. "Lieutenant Binh."

"And how long have you been aboard the Enterprise, Lieutenant Binh?" the reporter, who was wearing a green and silver jumpsuit and an ingratiating smile, asked him.

Binh envied the man his expensive tailoring but didn't trust the smile. "Two years, sir."

"Then you were on board during the rescue."

"Yes, sir."

"And what is your opinion of Captain Spock?"

Binh’s mind went blank. He had seen the Captain, certainly, but he’d never actually spoken to him. What was he supposed to say? He's Vulcan. He leaves me alone. "Uh," Binh faltered. "He's a good Captain."

"Tell us from an insider's point of view, Lieutenant; how did it feel to be a part of this exciting time?"

"Uh..." I have an above average IQ. Where did it go? “To tell the truth..." Vishnu save me! "I didn't know any of it was going on until it was over. I mean...” What do I mean? "...uh, I mean that the last year has gone very smoothly. Captain Spock got us through with very few casualties. That's unusual for a ship patrolling Klingon space. We were in a couple of battles, an ion storm or two, and there was the flare here about nine months ago. The slingshot to get Captain Kirk probably put more strain on the ship than anything else."

The two Humans exchanged glances. Apparently that wasn't what they wanted to hear. The interviewer quickly regained his aplomb. "Were you on board the ship as she diverted the flare that nearly destroyed this base?"

"Uh, no. I was on leave. I got called to help the staff there... but I was pretty well — uh, relaxed by then so I wasn't aware of that effort." Binh shrugged apologetically.

Again, glances were exchanged. "Have you any other tales of heroism to share with us?"

Binh racked his brain. There had to be something... didn't there? What have I done heroic in the last year? Nothing. Heroism is for Captains and First Officers. Have I seen anybody do anything heroic lately?

Before he could pull any thoughts together — or even begin to exercise his imagination — the door swooshed open and Lieutenant Ryan herself stalked in, eyed where he was sitting, and demanded, "Binh, get your ass off of there."

The reporter spotted the darkly beautiful, well-built security chief and promptly left Binh in peace. Binh blew her a kiss as he slid off the console and back into his seat. It was a shame she didn't see it.

About midway through the tour Commodore Calvin had excused himself for a quick review of the holos that were due to be beamed out.

He returned not quite satisfied with what he'd seen. One reason was Rachel Kamens. Another was something he would have to discuss with Captain Spock. The tour was on the Bridge when Calvin rejoined it. He spotted Kamens immediately and waded bravely into the mass of people. He was pleased to note that she was with Spock, although he would swear he could see a thundercloud forming over the Vulcan’s neatly trimmed head as Kamens made one of her usual, no doubt incisive comments.

Having just finished watching the latest report from Terra's top journalist, Calvin was freshly indignant with the woman's style. It had always bothered him that she slanted her stories strongly for a Human audience. In her latest, he had found her references to Spock and Valley's being Human hybrids a bit too much of a recurring theme. Of course she had to catch her audience's attention, but she shouldn't have to slight the achievements of other Federation species to do it.

He hurried over, sure that the Vulcan would need his aide. Then again, maybe not, he decided as he came to a halt next to Spock's wife. He noted that she seemed to be welded at the fingertips to Spock's person and smiled at the evidence they presented of a happily married couple.

Spock was saying, "'Human loyalty' or 'loyalty to Humans' are concepts you seem to attribute to me. I fail to understand your meaning, madam. I sought to save a Human, yes. Loyalty was part of the reason I chose the course I did. James Kirk's species had no part in that decision. The fact that I am also Human had no part in that decision. I have never understood the 'Human' need to equate every motivation in the vast universe to 'Human' reasons. Humanity is hardly a relevant issue to the majority of the beings who dwell in the Federation. As a widely traveled, highly experienced recorder-of-facts, I would think that you would have outgrown such narrow views."

Rather than evidencing a proper chagrin, Kamens smiled at Spock. "An example of the famous Enterprise philosophy, Captain?"

"Philosophy?" Spock queried. "From a starship, madam?"

"I'd considered calling it the 'Kirk philosophy'," Kamens answered. "But it would seem that James Kirk isn't the only member of the Enterprise's crew who has strong ideals about what the Federation should be."

Spock tilted his head and uttered an appropriate, and hologenic, "Fascinating," before turning away to answer someone else's question.

A warm feeling of satisfaction spread through Dave Calvin's being. Spock had said just the right thing to just the right person. Of course it wouldn't stop her from somehow dragging Jim Kirk's Iowa boyhood into her story; but at least Spock's words would be relayed to her audience.

His pleasure was still tempered by his disappointment with Spock's crew. He approached the captain of the Enterprise, determined to do something about that disappointment. He squeezed through the crowd until he reached the Vulcan's side. "I think we should give these people a chance to talk with Miss Valley, don't you agree, Captain?" he suggested firmly.

The Antari gave him an ungrateful look, but took the hint readily enough. "My turn, Boss," she said, smiling for the sake of the cameras.

Good woman, Calvin acknowledged as Spock nodded acquiescence and, with Calvin, made his way out of the crowd.

Once in the relative privacy of a ship's corridor he addressed Spock. "Your crew is not obeying orders, Captain."

Spock gazed at him, one eyebrow twitching slightly in mild surprise. "Indeed, Commodore. In what way?"

"They're refusing to act heroic."

Spock gave this some thought. "Perhaps," he said at last, "they do not know how."

Calvin hadn't expected that.

He was speechless long enough for Spock to continue. "They have behaved as officers of Starfleet. Perhaps that is not what the media wishes to show to the Federation, but will my crew's — humility — in the face of such temptation, not prove more beneficial to Starfleet's image in the long run?"

"Hmm," Commodore Calvin muttered thoughtfully. "You know, you may have a good point there."

"It is always my intention to be constructive."

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the 'normalcy' angle. "Just doing our jobs," he mused aloud, enthusiasm growing in him by leaps and bounds. He began to talk about the possibilities, bouncing ideas off the Vulcan, who nodded encouragingly at his suggestions. It wasn't long before he lost himself and all sense of time. He was on a roll.

“Captain."

Spock turned at Sulu's voice, more than grateful for the interruption. Commodore Calvin had taken readily to his suggestion of how to effectively use the crew's disappointing 'non-display of heroism', and the enthusiasm was beginning to wear on Spock's patience.

"Our conference, sir," Sulu said, his tone official and business-like.

"Yes. Of course, Mr. Sulu." Spock politely inclined his head to Calvin. "If you will excuse me, Commodore...?"

"Yes, by all means!" Calvin enthused. "Duty takes precedence. After all, it's been Standard Operating Procedure all along for you."

"Yes, Commodore," Spock nodded. He turned and wove his way to the turbolift, allowing himself a small sigh of relief when the doors closed behind Sulu. "I thank you, Commander," he said.

Sulu's eyes widened. "Sir?"

"Commodore Calvin can be — difficult — to endure. Your timely appearance saved me from an ungraceful exit."

"Oh." There was a pause. "You're welcome, Captain."

After a moment it became clear that Sulu had more to say. Spock waited patiently, attentively. Then; "Captain.... Jilla needs to talk with you. She... doesn't know where she stands anymore. And she doesn't feel it's her place to approach you. She said she no longer had the right, that it's unseemly for a woman to claim attention from a man not hers. Her words, not mine."

Spock frowned. Could Jilla's feelings have changed? Had he lost more than a mate? After regaining her care such a short time ago, must he now lose it forever? "It is a readjustment phase. I will speak to her."

"And... Spock,” Sulu continued, "...I'm bonded to Jilla."

Spock's face softened in a smile. "I know."

"And have been..."

"Yes, Sulu. I know."

The Human bristled. "You know everything, don't you?"

"No." It was said simply, easily. "T'Pen had to inform me so that I could ease my fears for her. I would have been unable to let her go to nothing."

Sulu nodded once. "Jilla thinks that... the bond... was the reason I... fought with you."

"And the reason I have... judged you. We have been rivals."

"But no more. She's mine now." Sulu's voice and stance were nearly belligerent. Spock nodded slowly.

"Yes. I have no claim on her. She is yours. And I wish you both well."

Sulu visibly relaxed. A smile pulled at his lips. "You know, Jilla said it would happen. I didn't believe her. I didn't feel it. But hearing you say it... She's right." Spock raised one questioning eyebrow, his head inclined. Sulu's smile became full. "I don't hate you anymore."

A feeling of warmth spread through Spock's being. Hope. Ruth reconciled... in mind and body now. And Sulu willing to put aside the distrust. If only all were well with Jilla....

"That pleases me, Sulu," he said. "I will prove worthy of your generosity." Sulu stared at him curiously.

"I guess I'll just have to get used to it," he murmured.

'"It’ Mr. Sulu?"

"Your...humaness, if you'll pardon the term."

"Indeed, Commander. It is my wish that there be much to 'get used to' in the coming months."

Sulu's eyes clearly said, 'we'll see', but it was amused... and Spock was gratified.

Jilla sat nervously on the bed, waiting for Sulu to return with Spock. She had again become 'overwrought’ early in the tour... saving Scotty from embarrassing questions about duty rotations during the past year. Ruth had escorted her to her cabin, then had relaxed for half an hour over coffee before guilt got the better of her and she returned to the tour. Jilla had straightened the desk — twice — re-made the bed maintenance had already done with military precision, re-arranged the closets… then she forced calm into her being and sat down, trying to order her thoughts.

What, precisely, are you nervous about?

Seeing Spock.

Why?

I — do not know how to react to him.

Why?

We are no longer bonded. We can no longer — share what we once did. And I do not know what of our — feelings — are left. What do I say to him? How do I even address him?

The door hissed open and Jilla quickly rose from the bed, suddenly uneasy at being there. She stared at Sulu and Spock for a moment, then quickly lowered her eyes. Spock's soft voice felt the same as it ever had.

"Sulu said we need to talk. Is there a problem, rilain?"

The familiar name tore at her. "Yes, Sp— Captain. I... wish to ascertain... proper behavior..." Words failed her as she struggled with the tia that felt no different.

"Concerning what?" Spock asked.

"Us!" Jilla blurted, then regained her composure. "You and I... the situation has changed. We are no longer... we cannot be as..."

"Why?"

Jilla blinked at Spock's simple interruption. "Why? We are not as before. We may not... involve ourselves — as before. We cannot act or react as we once did. We may not... "

"Care, Jilla?"

She stared in bewilderment, then dropped her gaze, flushing. She no longer had the right to demand explanation. She felt Spock come toward her, his fingers gently lifting her chin.

"We are no longer bonded, rilain. That much is true. We can no longer share certain intimacies. Yet why deny that we once so shared? How deny it? Or is memory so painful that you wish to do so?"

Jilla searched his gaze, sorting and identifying emotions. Regret, acceptance, concern... care... love, with no trace of passion; no pull of remembered desire. The flames of the Time were but ashes, cool and harmless. Yet, still the love...

"I could not even if I wished it," she replied softly. “But... Sp— " He nodded reassuringly. "Spock — " she faltered, "how can... there is no right..."

"I give the right, if you will have it. We are yet kindred, are we not?"

Her gaze dropped yet again. "No. I am not Vtkrghdantm."

Spock's fingers carefully brushed back her hair without touching her ears. "That cannot ever be completely true, Jilla. You are undeniably Vulcan."

She met his eyes. "I am confused. I do not know what is proper."

"Nor do I," he answered. "But I know what remains between us. And I know what I wish to continue. Ours is a unique situation. Let us make our own propriety."

"Spock..."

"Rilain." Spock stepped back, holding out his palms for an embrace. "Kl'farr'an vt'tam kohpln et."

Jilla felt a flood of warmth at his words; 'once-mated, there remains solace and strength'. She smiled, stepping forward to touch her palms to his.

"En-na, kl'farrn."

Suddenly she became aware of Sulu standing across the room, arms folded. She flushed. “Husband..."

"It's all right, hon," he said. "You were right." She went to his arms, glancing back at Spock.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

He nodded an acknowledgment. "You are most welcome, Jilla."

Spock relaxed in the privacy of his office, grateful for the seclusion. It was a short respite, he knew, but it was a welcome one. All was well, or would be as soon as the ship's tour was over. He felt anticipatory; almost as though he were just beginning his command. He reflected that in a very real sense, he was. His command, not a ploy to coerce Starfleet, and free from worry about Jim. He would build the command team Sulu had spoken so glowingly about — temporary as it might prove. Yes, all was well indeed.

Then the door hissed open and Dave Calvin strode jauntily in.

"Captain, I have to talk to you," he said.

Spock sighed. He should have known it was too good to last. "Yes, Commodore. I have no doubt of that whatever."

"I just received a call from Commodore Starn. It seems Starfleet is concerned about Klingon activity with the Enterprise so — uh — obviously occupied. I'm afraid I have to cut this media event short."

"Regrettable," Spock replied facetiously. "When are we to leave?"

"Starn will give you the details shortly." Calvin leaned forward confidentially. "I think we've carried this off extremely well. You had the right idea all along. I've talked to the key reporters and they jumped on the humble crew angle." He smiled enthusiastically. "It's been a very successful event."

"So help me, Boss, if I have to smile and answer one more inane question, I'm going to bite someone." Ruth paused as the door to Spock's office closed behind her, and she added an embarrassed, "Hello, Commodore Calvin." She had been sure Spock would have retreated to the sanctity of the Captain's office to be alone. "Excuse me, I'll be going now," she said as she backed toward the door.

She was just close enough to hear it swish open when Spock said, "You wish something, Miss Valley?"

"Just to apologize for intruding, Captain."

Calvin was grinning approval at her. She didn't understand it, and wasn't sure she liked it. He then turned his beam on Spock. "I think I'm the one who's intruding." He stood. "I'll be going now, Captain. And I want to thank you and your crew for your cooperation through all this."

He smiled at her again, then walked past her out the door.

"What was that all about?" Ruth asked.

Spock stood, coming over to her. "It means, my wife, that the Commodore is now escorting the members of the press off the ship."

"He is?!" Ruth squealed with delight. "Does that mean we're going back to reality?"

"If your definition of reality is the tedium of normal patrol."

"Without a civilian in sight?"

He nodded.

"How'd you get him to let us go?"

He gave her a half-indignant, half-conspiratorial scowl. "Commodore Starn believes that Klingon activity in the area may increase if a heavy cruiser is kept orbiting a Starbase for an extended period of time."

"'Believes’, 'may', 'if.’ Sounds like a press release, Boss."

"That is the sort of language Commodore Calvin best understands," Spock replied.

"I see," Ruth giggled. “When are they letting us out of the zoo?"

"We should be receiving official orders momentarily."

"I'll go spread the happy news," Ruth said brightly.

Spock took her hand. "One question first, my wife."

Ruth became instantly serious. "Yes?"

"Has this notoriety had any adverse affects on you?"

She gave this a few moments' consideration. "Well," she said at last, "it's made me realize a lot about the world outside Starfleet."

"Such as?" he prompted.

"Did you know that if I hadn't gotten my hair cut off I could be making a fortune advertising shampoo?"

"Live long and prosper, Commodore Starn,” Spock said. Starn's face on the viewscreen was decidedly relieved.

"Peace and long life, Captain," Starn returned. "I must confess to a certain amount of gratification at your leaving. With the media gone, this base can return to normal functioning."

"And with the Enterprise in deep space, we will also be protected from le-matyas. Spock out."

The viewscreen went blank and Spock acknowledged Sulu's curious look with a nod.

"A Vulcan idiom, Mr. Sulu. Set course for our patrol route."

"Aye, sir."

He swiveled to communications. "Lieutenant Commander, shall we hear the epitaph for our magnificent ship?"

Uhura smiled. "Yes, Captain."

From the Bridge speakers came a perfectly enunciated, clearly studied, awe-filled voice.

"...as the Enterprise leaves orbit to return to her patrol for the safety of this sector and the Federation at large. Our detailed up-close report contains interviews with her humble, hard-working crew and the selfless officers who command her. Holotaped live on board the great ship. Film at eleven."

The Bridge was filled with laughter and Captain nodded benignly.

The End