But It Has A Garden

The moon was full, setting over the bay as the sun rose behind the house. The light was pale and grey, the mist that rose over the water promising a morning rain shower. Ruth had insisted they make love in the grass, and as the night wore on and Spock got cold, she’d brought out his robe, her guitar, and two cups, one of coffee for her, the other of herbal tea for him. She lay now with her head in his lap, absently strumming no particular melody, basking in his presence.

“I’d like to take a swim later on, when it warms up,” she commented.

“I do not swim,” he reminded her.

She giggled. “I know, you sink like a rock,” she agreed. “But you can do some underwater exploring.”

“If I am to investigate the flora and fauna of the bay,” he answered, “I would prefer to do it from the comfort of a computer program.”

“Kill joy,” she remarked, then shrugged amiably. “Can we at least lay out in the sun?”

He ran a gentle finger down her shoulder. “You hardly need a tan, my wife.”

“No, but I like the warmth. And I think you’d appreciate it, too.”

“Your warmth would suit me better,” he remarked.

“My, what a charmer you’ve become,” she said, and sat up. “Has Sulu been coaching you?”

“Captain Sulu is on the Drake, my wife.”

“You’re saying you don’t commiserate with him about being wife-less?”

Spock looked mildly startled. “The thought had not occurred to me.”

“I thought you’d become friends.”

“I would be pleased to consider him such,” he commented, “but still, the thought…”

“He wouldn’t mind,” Ruth assured, knowing the real reason behind her husband’s reticence. “In fact, I think he’d be pleased.”

“He would not consider it an – intrusion into his privacy?”

“Nope.”

“Yet he has not…”

“That’s because he knows you might consider it an invasion of privacy. He does understand Vulcans, you know.”

Spock thought about that for a moment. “And so if there is to be such – commiseration…”

“You have to make the first move.” She nudged him with her elbow. “You could start with a nice, cheery letter about how much you enjoyed this leave, and how you hope he enjoyed his surprise visit from Jilla.”

“I do not send nice cheery letters, my wife,” he pointed out.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Such as my being charming?”

She grinned. “Womprat.” But she leaned over and kissed his cheek – which led to kisses elsewhere – and other types of caresses. It was only Spock’s concern for her guitar that prevented them from making love in the rain.

The com was signaling.

“David Joshua Maxwell, if that’s you again…” Ruth growled into Spock’s chest. She was snuggled against him, under the covers of the bed. They hadn’t gotten around to heading down to the beach, and Ruth seemed to have forgotten all about it.

Spock started to rise, and Ruth groaned. “No, don’t get up,” she pleaded. “It won’t be anything important…”

“I require a shower, my wife,” Spock told her.

“You just want an excuse to be responsible,” she muttered.

He kissed the top of her head, but said nothing more, and she sighed and let him get out of bed.

“I need coffee anyway,” she said to no one in particular, and went to the kitchen as Spock, predictably, answered the com.

“Hey, Boss!” came the cheerful voice of Daffy Gollub. “Is the wife home?”

“Daffy, what in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” Ruth demanded, striding over to the desk.

“I figured three days was enough time to cool your jets for a bit,” was the wicked reply. “You want company, right?”

“Are you out of what little mind you have?”

“Close to it,” the chemist returned. “If I don’t get away from Mother Russia, I’m gonna plotz.”

“We have only spent one day in Moscow,” Chekov’s voice said, with faint irritation. “And I told you they would not wish to be disturbed.”

“Okay, I concede that,” Daffy said, clearly talking to her companion. “But I figured they would want to save your life.” She spoke again, her voice hushed. “Come on, Mensch, be a mensch. He wants me to meet his mother.”

A sound came from Spock that could have been a stifled snort.

“And I’m supposed to be sympathetic?” Ruth asked. “I had to meet Spock’s mother.” She glanced at her husband. “And she was nice,” she added.

“Yeah, and Spock’s not her miliy khoroshiy moy malchik lapushkin either,” was Daffy’s sour comment.

Ruth laughed despite herself as the words translated in her head; roughly sweet, good little baby bear. “Well, be that as it may, you get him whenever you want him, and I’ve only got two days left.”

“Selfish bitch,” Daffy snarled.

“Cow.”

“Desperate.”

“Jealous.”

“Please, bubee, I promise we’ll only stay a few hours. Spock and Pavel can play chess, you and I can gossip…”

Ruth made a face and looked at Spock. His eyebrows had risen at their exchange of friendly insults, but his eyes were tolerant. Still, he shook his head.

Ruth grinned.

“Sorry, Daf, my husband says no.”

“He does not, you just want to blame it on…”

“No, Miss Gollub,” Spock said.

“Just you wait till we’re back on the ship, Spocko!” Daffy warned, and Ruth laughed, and clicked off the intercom.

She crooked a finger at the Vulcan.

“Now, about that shower…?”

Spock opened his eyes and raised his head, cocking it slightly to one side. Ruth sighed into his other ear and he placed a finger against her lips.

What is it? she whispered in his mind.

Shhh, he returned. Do you hear that?

Hear what?

The Vulcan rose to his elbows. I hear voices, he said.

Ruth sat up, perturbed. Daffy didn’t decide to… she began.

Spock reached for his robe. “No, I do not think so,” he answered.

Something in his voice made Ruth, too, reach for a robe. As she pulled her hair out from behind her shoulders, Spock got up, moving with cat-like stealth toward the small bedroom window.

“Do you recall the young man who delivered the groceries?” he asked.

“Ye-es,” Ruth replied slowly.

“He has returned – apparently with friends.”

“You’re shittin’ me,” the Antari muttered as she, too, rose from the bed. She stepped up behind Spock, rising to her tip-toes to see over his shoulder.

Outside the house, on the front lawn, stood the delivery boy, a man with a camera and a woman with a microphone.

“Oy god,” Ruth snarled as she recognized the infamous Rachel Kamens. She was a video journalist, well known for her ambush style, and had been one of the loudest voices for prurience over a year previously, when the story regarding Jim Kirk’s return from the past had been broken by Starfleet.

“It seems the young man did not wait to tell his grandchildren,” Spock commented.

“Hey!” Ruth shouted out the window. “This is private property! Get off my lawn!”

Rachel Kamens turned, giving Ruth a brilliant smile.

“And it appears we may actually get an interview with the famous couple,” she said, her voice now clearly audible.

“The hell you will!” Ruth called back. “Get out of here before I call the authorities!”

Miss Kamens ignored her. “It is said that this small but charming home was actually won by Commander Valley in a wager, one reported to have been made with the infamous serial murderer, Ruis Calvario, who is currently undergoing therapy on the prison planet of Elba…”

“I am so going to murder her…” Ruth growled from between her teeth.

“Ruth, the best defense is oftentimes a good…” Spock began.

“Oh, I’ll give her a mouthful of best defense!”

“Which will only serve to titillate her and her unsavory audience further.”

Ruth glared, putting her hands on her hips. “So what? I offer her coffee and bagels?”

“I suggest we dress, grant her a brief interview, and if that does not satisfy her…”

“We call the authorities?” Ruth broke in hopefully.

Spock nodded.

“Hmm,” Ruth speculated. “Maybe it will be worth it to see the Berkeley cops escort her out of here.”

“You are assuming our interview will not…”

“Unless we either get into a fight, or fuck in front of her, I’m betting not,” Ruth replied nastily. “Of course,” she went on, “I could call the Berkeley cops and say to hell with an interview.”

“Which she will no doubt report with livid and exaggerated affront,” Spock countered. “It will be much better, will it not, if we are cooperative and it is she who is seen as intrusive and impolite?”

“Since she is intrusive and impolite, it wouldn’t seem much of a stretch,” Ruth agreed. She sighed. “Well, let’s get this over with,” she said as she turned from the window to get dressed. “Should we wear our uniforms?”

“It will be more photogenic if we do not,” her husband returned.

“So who wants to be photogenic?”

“The better the story she gets, my wife, the more likely she will be to leave us in peace.”

“I hate it when you’re logical.”

“I thought you loved it when I talked…” Spock began, then said softly, with her,

“Womprat.”

Spock wore a simple outfit of olive green, which Ruth insisted complimented his skin tones. Ruth chose traditional Antari clothing, a white halter and a ultra-short skirt of a shimmery-peach. They stepped out of the house and off of the porch, very aware that the camera swung to them, following every step. They were photogenically joined at the fingertips.

Rachel Kamens positively beamed with predatory delight. “Ah, Commander Spock, Commander Valley!” she enthused. “How delightful that you’ve chosen to join our audience here today!”

“Not that you gave us much choice,” Ruth murmured under her breath, while keeping a bright smile plastered on her face.

“We are on leave, after having endured a separation of over five months, one dictated by our dedication to our duty,” Spock replied graciously. “As we have only another 24 hours left to us, I trust your audience will understand if this interview is a brief one.”

Oh, good one, honey! Ruth enthused.

Merely employing the best defense, Spock returned smoothly.

“Yes, our audience is well aware of your dedication,” Miss Kamens rejoined with not-quite-a-smirk. “It is clear your marriage survived its troubles of the recent past.”

“Troubles?” Ruth asked, widening her eyes. She turned to her husband. “Have we had troubles, beloved?”

“Miss Kamens undoubtedly refers to the necessary misinformation concerning the events on Darius, propagated by Starfleet Security and Intelligence, my wife,” Spock said. “Regarding Mr. DelMonde,” he added, as Ruth let a frown of puzzlement cross her features.

“Oh, that,” Ruth laughed. “Believe me, Miss Kamens, we’ve had no trouble at all because of that.” And she turned an adoring smile on Spock.

Kamens perfect expression soured. “You’re still going to maintain that explanation, Commander?”

“Since it is accurate, yes,” Spock answered. “Perhaps you would care to ask my wife abut the progress of the Class Two Heavy Cruisers?”

“The Nests,” Ruth corrected gently. “Civilian media calls them the Nests.” She grinned again as Spock inclined his head at the amendment – as if they didn’t always refer to the ships as ‘Nests’ themselves. She turned to the camera. “Well, there’s a lot that’s classified – obviously.” She gave a warm, photogenic chuckle. “But I can tell you that we’re ahead of schedule, and that they’ll be absolutely beautiful ships.”

“Then the rumors of setback and disagreement among the engineers are…” Kamens began.

“What rumors?” Ruth nearly snapped, then regained her composure with another brilliant smile.

“Well, the word is that the Chief of this project, Commander Jilla Majiir…” She turned to the camera as if imparting some secret information. “…the erstwhile wife of Starfleet’s newest Captain, the incomparable and infamous Sulu Takeda…” She didn’t wink, but she might as well have, “… is at odds regarding certain specifications with the aforementioned Lieutenant Commander Noel DelMonde, who worked on the Nest prototypes during the past year, and who is incidentally, serving not aboard the Enterprise as originally assigned, but rather has transferred to Sulu’s ship, the Drake…”

“Miss Kamens, it is most unwise to give out information regarding Starfleet personnel assignments,” Spock interrupted.

Kamens favored him with a smile nearly as brilliant as Ruth’s. “It’s common knowledge, Commander.”

“In the Federation, perhaps. But are not these newscasts monitored by others in the galaxy?”

“Well, I’m flattered that you think my audience is that large,” Kamens began.

“Still, better safe than sorry,” Ruth beamed, smiling yet again as the camera swung from Kamens to her. “Anyway, I can assure your audience that such rumors are completely false. Jilla and Del have differing methodologies, as is only to be expected given their cultural differences, but they are in complete agreement about the end objectives and the ways to achieve them. Such differences are in details only.”

Perfect, my wife, Spock told her. Concise, casual, and not a hint of irritation.

Ruth preened.

“Ah, but it’s said the devils are in the details, is it not?” Kamens said, jumping on any hint of discord.

Ruth blinked ingenuously. “The only devil I know is standing next to me,” she said with wicked sincerity.

Spock raised a photogenic eyebrow. “Indeed?”

Ruth chuckled and leaned up, giving him a light kiss on the cheek – which the camera dutifully captured.

Kamens suppressed another frown. “So, Commander Spock, you’ll be returning to the Enterprise...”

“In less than 24 hours,” Spock returned pointedly. “Therefore, if you will excuse us…” He raised his head slightly, and murmured, “my wife, attend.”

Ruth immediately rejoined her fingers to his, gave one last, blinding smile, then turned and walked with him back to the house, not listening to Kamens’ flustered wrap-up.

Oh, she’s seething, Ruth giggled.

My apologies concerning Mr. DelMonde…

Ancient history, my love.

Perhaps not ancient, my wife.

But definitely history, Ruth replied, sending him warmth and affection, and that’s what counts.

“Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go!” Ruth pleaded as Spock packed his valise. He sighed and turned back to her. She was seated on the bed looking as miserable as he’d ever seen her. He sat beside her, taking her into his arms.

“If I could stay, my beloved, I would,” he assured her.

“But Jim’s had time to prove himself,” Ruth pointed out. “He doesn’t need you. He’s got Jade.”

“The Admiralty wishes the full year of…” Spock began.

“Oh fuck the Admiralty!” Ruth burst out. “I need you!”

“Ruth…”

“It’s a damned plot, I know it is!” she continued ranting. “They figure Jilla and I will work twice as hard just to get back to you and Sulu! And the bitch of it is, it’s working. Bastards!”

“While I would not put such tactics beyond the upper echelons of Starfleet,” Spock soothed, “even if it is true, there is little we could do about it.” He paused. “Save resigning our commissions.”

Ruth blinked, nearly gasping. “You’d do that?”

“And return to Vulcan, to live in my ancestral home,” he finished. “While you would have to abandon the Nests. And any career save a strictly scientific one. And defer to my father.”

“Womprat, womprat womprat!” Ruth screeched at him, then burst into wracking sobs.

Perhaps you understand better why I left Vulcan? he sent to her, sweetly teasingly.

Like I ever questioned it? Ruth returned, her mental voice grinning despite her tears.

Then let us endure this final separation, for when the Nests are completed, I promise you, we will never be parted again.

Ever and always…?

Touching and touched, my Dei’larr’ei.

He kissed her, and they made love one more time. They decided against her accompanying him back to the Base since, she promised, she’d only hang onto his ankles while he attempted to transport. When the air car arrived, they shared a final, lingering embrace.

Until the Nests are completed, my beloved, he murmured.

I’ll miss you, Spock.

And I, you, my wife. Be well.

Write!

Of course. Join our minds often.

Every chance I get. Think of me!

Always.

I LOVE you!

I love you.

Ruth stood on the porch, watching the love of her life leave for another six months. Then she went back into the house and cried her eyes out.

Ruth sat on the couch, munching beef jerky and softly playing her guitar. Jilla was arranging two huge bouquets of red roses that had arrived at the house, one from Sulu, the other from Spock. Ruth had chuckled at the delivery, commenting that Spock must have initiated the Charm School Correspondence Course.

“Charm School…?” Jilla began, and Ruth grinned.

“Never mind.”

“I never do.”

The video screen was on, but neither of them really watching it, until a familiar picture came into focus.

“Oh god!” Ruth groaned, and Jilla turned from the kitchen counter.

“I’m standing on front lawn of the house owned by Commander Ruth Maxwell Valley, Starfleet’s own celebrated Antari Moon Priestess,” Rachel Kamens’ voice said.

“She came here?” Jilla questioned.

“Yeah, while Spock was here no less,” Ruth grumbled. “Moon Priestess. What a bitch.”

“It is said that this small but charming home was actually won by Commander Valley in a wager, one reported to have been made with the infamous serial murderer, Ruis Calvario, who is currently undergoing therapy on the prison planet of Elba.”

“She is quite – tactless,” Jilla observed.

“You haven’t seen the worst of it yet,” Ruth agreed.

“It’s a humble dwelling, as you can see, perhaps not entirely in keeping with its owner’s ostentatious reputation, nor with the more usual Antari preferences, but sweet, none the less.”

“Hey, it has a garden!” Ruth protested. She strummed violently on the guitar for a few moments, to drown out the woman’s annoying voice, then took a deep, calming breath, changed the rythym to something slow and almost stately, and started to sing.

To hear the song, click here

“There is a gate, it can be guarded
Well, it is not heaven but it has a garden
So to the red rose goes the passion…”

Jilla began shimmering and Ruth smiled at her, at the flowers, and at sweet memory.

Until I see you again, my love, she thought, and heard the gentle response.

Ever and always, touching and touched.