Return to Valjiir Stories
Return to Valjiir Continnum
After two days mostly spent sleeping, Commander Ruth Valley found that leave on Terra without any of her friends was boring. More than boring. She spent another day or two getting reacquainted with her guitar and paying a surprise visit to the Music History classes at Alterra. Jim Alexander, her old TA, now a professor, was delighted to see her and the students were in total awe. She spent a couple of days in Haifa with her grandparents, enduring her savta’s unspoken disapproval of her choice of husbands, which was trying, and her abba’s endless teasing about her “Vulcan phase” having turned into a life-choice, which was a joy. She even contemplated going to Minnesota to see Spock’s cousins – after all, she was family, now, too – but there were winter storm warnings and she didn’t feel like buying a parka and muklucks.
Besides, they weren’t nice to him, she reminded herself, and wasted a few hours on revenge fantasies.
After a week, she went up to the shipyards, where her staff promptly panicked and Admiral Bradigan had to tell her to get on with her leave – away from the base.
So she went back to her house in Berkeley and re-watched all of Spock’s tapes, pouted, cried, ate her own cooking – which really made her feel Jilla’s absence – and counted the minutes, understanding for the first time why Spock never took leave.
“You’ve got to warn her, Mr. Spock,” Uhura said as the First Officer passed the Communications Station.
The Vulcan turned, raising an eyebrow. “Warn who concerning what, Miss Uhura?” he asked.
“Oh come on, Boss,” Daffy Gollub chimed in from her position at the Science Station. “You gotta at least give her time to pick up her underwear.”
“Daphne!” Pavel Chekov hissed from Navigation, and next to him, Dawson Walking-Bear stifled his snort.
“While Daffy states the situation a bit more crudely than I would have,” Uhura went on, “Ruth may want to clean. After all, Jilla hasn’t been there for nearly two weeks now...”
“And I doubt SanFran supplies Base Maintenance personnel for her private residence,” Daffy rejoined. “What?” she added as Chekov sighed and shook his head. “Everybody knows Majiir is the neat one. Especially me. I lived with Valley, remember?” She put her hands on her hips, grinning at her superior. “Besides, you don’t have the best track record with planning surprises. Sir.”
Spock inclined his head. “You may have a point, Miss Gollub, quite a rare thing in and of itself,” he deadpanned. He turned to Uhura, allowing the chemist to stick her tongue out at his back. “I have considered it, Miss Uhura. I plan to inform Ruth a few hours before the Enterprise arrives at Terra. The less time she has to devil the Base Transporter personnel the better, do you not agree?”
Uhura chuckled. “Well, I’m sure the Transporter people will.”
The last person Ruth wanted a visit from – at least, the last person who wasn’t locked up in the loony bin on Elba – knocked on the door to her Berkeley house just as she was contemplating beating her own head in if only to have to spend the time healing herself, then eating herself into a stupor.
“Ruth, I know you’re in there,” David Maxwell’s voice called. “Uncle Ephraim told me you were bored. I’m here to take you to dinner.”
“Oy geveult, David, go away. I’m contemplating suicide,” she called back.
“Very funny, Cousin. Open the door.”
“No.”
“Paget taught me a few lock-picking tricks.”
Ruth sighed and pulled herself from her bed. She glanced at the dirty dishes all over the small house, along with statboards, sheet music, and discarded clothing, feeling not a twinge of guilt, and remembered to pull on some clothes. Being home alone for nearly two weeks, she’d gone native – at least what was native on Antares.
She scowled at her cousin’s smiling face as she yanked open the door. “Bored I may be, but dinner with you would only add aggravation to my repertoire of unpleasant emotions,” she told him.
Ignoring her mood, David sauntered into the house. His gaze swept over the disheveled conditions and he shook his head, tsking. “And you’re married to a Vulcan,” he said. “How does he put up with this?”
“Ships have cleaning crews,” she informed him. “Sorta like all your butlers and maids and cooks and shit.”
He turned, making a face. “How do you know if I have…” he began.
“You married the Boss’s shiksa daughter,” she returned with a bright show of teeth.
He glared for a moment, then shrugged. “Fair enough,” he agreed. “But Mrs. Majiir will have a heart attack if she comes home to this.”
Ruth frowned suspiciously. “And how do you know…?”
“I work for the legal department of Cameron Intragalactic,” he reminded. “I have sources.”
“When I tell Spock about it, you won’t,” she muttered.
David laughed. “I was kidding, Ruth. I talked to Uncle Ephraim, remember? He told me.” He held out his hands, palms up. “Come on, Mensch, truce. I really just wanted to take you to dinner. We haven’t seen each other in ages. And who knows when we’ll have the opportunity again?”
“Who knows when I’ll want one?” Ruth returned. “And don’t call me Mensch.”
“We’re family, bubelah,” Maxwell reminded. “You can’t change that.”
“I don’t know what I can’t do until I can’t do it,” was the murmured response. David folded his arms and stood in front of her, waiting patiently. She groaned, made faces, growled, and finally sighed.
“You’re not leaving till I agree, are you?” she asked.
David grinned. “Nope.”
“Oy god… it better be someplace expensive.”
“I guarantee it. But you’re not wearing the Antari national uniform.” He indicated the shorts and halter she wore.
“The Antari national uniform would get us both arrested,” she corrected, and turned to go to her closet to find something suitable. The sound of an incoming call on the computer terminal stopped her.
“Please, let it be an emergency from the yards,” she prayed, and again showed her teeth to David. “Sorry, duty calls,” she said, and slid into the seat in front of the computer screen.
“Valley, go ahead,” she said.
Spock took a minute to savor the image of his wife’s face and the sound of her voice before speaking. It had been six months since he had seen or heard her except telepathically – or on a view screen, and then it had only been recorded messages, save for once. The anticipation of experiencing her reactions in real time was almost embarrassingly heady.
“Good evening Commander,” he began, relishing both her quick attention and the sour look at his formality. “Miss Uhura and Miss Gollub thought it prudent to inform you that I will be arriving at the Shipyard Transporters in approximately three point one four one hours…”
The scream of sheer delight nearly deafened him.
“You’re here!?” she squealed. “Well, I don’t mean here here since you’re clearly not here here and come to think of it if it’s gonna be another three point whatever hours you’re just barely Sol system here but you’re coming here here oh my god, I can’t believe it, Spock, darling, beloved, do you realize what you’re getting me out of, no, of course, you couldn’t, but bless you anyway, you dear, sweet hey wait a minute, if you knew you were coming and you did, you womprat, why the hell didn’t you TELL me more than three point whatever hours away?!?”
“…and will have five days of leave,” Spock finished, barely able to contain his smile at the torrent of verbiage.
“Five days?” Ruth repeated. “That’s how much leave I have left!” Spock watched as the fleeting changes in her expression gave away her quick mental calculations. “You and Paget planned this, didn’t you?” she said at last.
“Yes,” he answered simply.
“God, I could kiss him – and this screen – but mostly you!” his wife enthused, apparently forgetting that he was a womprat.
“I trust then, that you will meet me at the Base Transporters?”
“I’ll teleport if I have to.”
“Please, my wife, for the sake of Base Maintenance, do not.” He sent her the warmly teasing image of her usual reaction to teleporting., and was gratified when she chuckled.
“Okay, I’ll be there. I’ll even rent an air car for the trip to Berkeley.”
“You have become extravagant in my absence,” he commented.
She stuck out her tongue. “I’ve become just that desperate in your absence,” she informed him. “Three point however much less since we’ve been talking hours, my husband.”
“Ruth, from what am I rescuing you?
She grinned. “Dinner with David. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Nor I, you. Spock out.”
And three point zero seven point four, he thought with joy.
“Okay, now you really have to get out,” Ruth said to her cousin as she began moving about the house, picking up dishes and clothing as she went.
“Why?” David answered. “There’s enough time for me to still give you a good meal…”
“Uhura and Daffy thought it would be prudent,” Ruth answered, “because they know Jilla’s not here and I have to clean this place. Get out.”
“At least let me help…”
“David, GET OUT!”
“I want to meet…”
“Do I have to fry what passes for your brains?” Ruth asked pointedly.
“Uncle Ephraim and Aunt Tovah will want to…”
“I’ll deal with them later. I’m counting to five, David.”
“I promise, I’ll just say a quick hello and…”
“One. Two. Three…”
“You are the most annoying person on the planet,” her cousin snarled, but he turned and stomped out of the house.
“And don’t come back!” Ruth shouted after him, “Or not only will you die of embarrassment, but my big, strong Vulcan husband will throw you out on your ear!”
“Bitch!” floated back to her, and Ruth ignored it, and dumped the dishes in the sink in the kitchen, berating herself for never installing a dish recycling unit in the house.
“The Enterprise has just completed her docking procedures, ma’am,” the lieutenant at the shipyards transporter station informed her. He had been reciting a running account of the ship’s progress for the past fifteen minutes, ever since Ruth had beamed up from SanFran. “Communications requests dedicated usage of these pads for scheduled leave transport, the list of personnel coming in now.”
“The first name on it better be Spock Sareklrn Zentemwhatever,” Ruth muttered.
The lieutenant grinned at her. “First off will be Commander Spock, ma’am,” he confirmed, “accompanied by Dr. Leonard McCoy.”
“Don’t get in my way, Bones,” Ruth warned, though he wasn’t yet in the room to hear it.
After a measured, and to her mind, patient thirty seconds, she said, “Well?”
“It takes them a while to get from the Bridge to…” the lieutenant began, then shut his mouth when Ruth glared at him. “I could attempt intra-ship coordinate lock on Vulcan life forms…” he murmured, apparently to his board, then grinned at her increased scowl. Then he straightened. “We’ve got signal acquisition,” he stated.
Ruth took a deep breath, running a hand anxiously through her hair, straightening her uniform. She had debated wearing something much less formal, but figured this was the easiest way to bully Fleet officers. She counted the seconds it took for the transporter shimmer to fill the chamber and to solidify, then she ignored the lieutenant and McCoy and rushed into Spock’s arms. The embrace was both as brief and as strong as she expected, and she smiled at her husband, reaching up to give him a warm but proper kiss. His rising eyebrow told her just how unexpected her restraint was.
I intend to ravish you the minute we’re alone, she whispered to him.
Ah, was his amused, understanding response.
“And hello to you too, Ruthie,” McCoy remarked with a smirk.
“Bones, I didn’t see you there,” she returned archly.
“I’ll bet not,” he chuckled. “Don’t let me keep you, I’ve got a conference to attend in London.”
“You mean you’re not here to insure that Spock has a good time on leave?” Ruth asked, batting her eyelashes.
McCoy’s blue eyes twinkled with mirth. “Not this time. Jim figured you’d take care of that.”
“Jim was oh so right,” Ruth said, then placed her arm in Spock’s. “I’ve got that car waiting, husband,” she said. “And a chauffeur who I paid big credit to not to look in his rear-view mirror.”
“And what is it you did not wish him to view?” Spock inquired mildly.
“The Antari national uniform,” she replied, then laughed at his quirking eyebrow.
Ruth hadn’t been joking about ravishing him, even though, as he pointed out, the back of an air car did not technically qualify as ‘alone.’ Once he was seated, she immediately climbed onto his lap, facing him, covering his face and neck with kisses and pressing her body against his most intimately. The chauffeur snorted once, and Ruth said, “there goes your tip, mister,” and nothing more was heard from him. The car took a scenic route, going north to fly over and under the Golden Gate Bridge before heading east and south to a small plot of land overlooking the bay. The entire journey took twenty minutes, but Spock did indeed feel thoroughly ravished by the time the car came to stop at the foot of a small hill. Without a hint of embarrassment, Ruth climbed out, pulling him by the hand after her. He stared at the house while she paid the fare. It was little more than a cabin with a large porch surrounded by grass and flowers, the lawn sweeping down the hill to a sandy beach. A large window, a modified triangle with a dividing grille, overlooked the porch, and Spock could see the interior: a living area with a computer desk, an old but comfortable looking couch, two armchairs and a coffee table, with Ruth’s guitar leaning against it.
Ruth came to his side, smiling at him. “So, this is it,” she said. “You like?”
“It seems quite comfortable,” he replied.
She beamed at him, then nearly danced up the steps onto the porch. He followed her up and into the house.
“This is the living room,” she said, gesturing around her. “The kitchen is over there…” It was a relatively small area, defined from the rest of the room by a long counter. He noted there were clean dishes in the drainer next to a very old-fashioned sink. “… the head is that way…” she pointed to a closed door opposite the one they had entered from. “…and the most important room is there.” Another closed door, on the left side of the living area was indicated.
“The bedroom,” Spock guessed.
Ruth smiled at him, then put her arms around his neck. “I missed you so much,” she whispered.
“And I, you, my Dei’larr’ei,” he murmured.
Then, to her surprise, he swung her up into his arms, kissing her passionately. He carried her though the small space and through the door to the most important room – at least for the next five days – of the house.
The com was signaling, but Ruth ignored it. She moved up from her comfortable position, sprawled on top of Spock’s naked body, and gently placed her hands over his ears.
It’s a dream, she whispered. No one really wants to talk to us, and they’d better not be expecting us to actually answer.
And if it is some emergency, my wife? was Spock’s languid reply.
They’ll survive. After all, what would they do if we were dead?
They would have replaced us.
So that’s what they can do now.
And you are not curious?
Not about anything to do with Fleet.
His questioning filled her head, and she smiled.
“Well,” she began aloud, “I’m curious, for instance, about how many times I can orgasm in the next hour.” She let her fingers begin to play with the curve of his ears. Beneath her, Spock shivered, his arms coming around her to caress her back and waist and hips.
“I trust you mean how many more times, beloved,” he murmured sensually.
Ruth giggled. “Yes. I amend my statement, my husband.”
He turned, flipping her onto her back, leaning over her on his hands. “And I will be most eager to oblige your curiosity,” he said, “after I answer the com.”
“Spock!” she complained, then threw a pillow at his as he rose from the bed.
“It will take but a moment, my love,” he promised, and walked, beautifully naked, out of the bedroom.
She watched him appreciatively, then rose and followed him, pushing her hair back from her forehead.
“Spock here,” he said as he thumbed the com switch, carefully not activating the video.
“Hello, Cousin-in-Law,” David’s voice answered cheerfully. “We haven’t officially met yet, but I’m David Maxwell. Did Ruth tell you I invited you both to dinner?”
“GO AWAY!” Ruth screeched.
“It is …” Spock glanced at the chronometer on the desk, “nearly noon, Mr. Maxwell. Dinner is hardly appropriate.”
“I meant for tonight,” David replied cheerfully oblivious to Ruth’s comment.
“NO!” she shouted. “No, no, no! We’re not leaving this house, David.”
“Let the man answer for himself – and for you, while he’s at it,” David remarked.
“My wife has already responded for us both,” Spock returned, giving Ruth a gentle smile, noting that she stuck her tongue out at the intercom.
“Oh? I didn’t think that was how Vulcan marriages worked,” David said mildly.
“It’s how this one works, you putz,” Ruth called.
“As my desires are in agreement with what my wife wishes, it is,” Spock also answered. “Perhaps another time, Mr. Maxwell.”
“Like when hell freezes over!” Ruth added.
“You don’t want to meet Ruth’s family?” David continued. “I know her grandparents – my aunt and uncle – are dying to…”
“I’m hanging up now, David,” Ruth broke in, then did just that, closing the com link with a swift jab of her finger. “That man,” she declared, “is most definitely aggravation I do not need, now or any other time.”
“It is perhaps fortuitous that he called,” Spock said, taking Ruth into his arms.
“Oh? Why’s that, you womprat?”
He smiled at her. “I find that I am in need of sustenance – other than your perfect taste.”
Ruth grinned back, then glanced up at him dubiously. “You want I should cook?” she asked.
“You have a replicator, do you not?”
She flushed. “Not really.”
“How, my wife, can one ‘not really’ have a replicator?”
“I have a microwave to reheat things,” she told him. “Jilla does most – well, all, really – of the cooking.”
“I see,” Spock murmured. “Have you anything to reheat, then?”
Ruth blushed again. “No. I sorta – ate it all – the past couple of weeks…” She shrugged, then brightened. “There are restaurants that deliver,” she suggested.
“Are there grocers that deliver as well?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she frowned. “So you do want me to…?”
“No, my wife. I will.”
Thank god,” she murmured.
In the hour it took for the groceries to arrive, Ruth and Spock made love on the living room couch. She breathlessly announced, “Three!” when the door chime signaled, then raced to the bedroom, taking Spock’s robe out of the valise that hadn’t, as yet, been unpacked. She threw on one of her own, then returned to the living room, handing his to him.
The delivery boy flushed when she opened the door, taking the two cloth sacks he carried and giving him her credit chip, authorizing a hefty tip. His eyes opened wider when Spock took the bags from her.
“What’s the matter?” she asked with a gin. “You’ve never seen a Vulcan before?”
He glanced into the room, at her robe, again at Spock, and blushed ever redder.
She leaned forward. “The rumors about once every seven years are completely false,” she whispered, then giggled as she closed the door.
“You embarrassed the boy,” Spock commented as he began unpacking the bags at the kitchen counter.
“He’ll live,” she replied airily. “Hell, he’ll probably tell his grandkids about it.”
“He is far too young to…” Spock began, and Ruth made a face.
“Womprat,” she said, and Spock smiled.
Brunch was a large steak for her, and a mushroom and wild rice dish for Spock. They cleaned the dishes together, and Ruth attacked him before he could even suggest drying them and putting them in their proper places.
Backed against the counter, Spock’s eyes closed in pleasure as she opened his robe, running her hands over his body.
“You are so beautiful,” she murmured, and began kissing his chest.
“That, I believe, my wife, is my line,” he said.
“So go ahead.”
“You are so beautiful, Ruth,” he murmured.
“I love you.”
“And I, you.”
“Do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Take me on the counter.”
“The bed would be much more comfortable.”
Her huge eyes gleamed up at him. “So who’s interested in comfort?”
His eyebrow rose. “Indeed? You crave such variety so soon?”
“It’s just that I can’t wait to get to the bed, you gorgeous hunk of Vulcan, you,” she replied with a leer.
Spock made a show of a relenting sigh. “As you wish, beloved,” he said, and Ruth shrieked as he lifted her with consummate ease, placing her on the countertop.