Return to Valjiir Stories
“The bastard did it. She moved across the corridor from me this morning.”
Uhura sat at her station, speaking quietly but angrily to Monique DuBois. The Chief of Communications had just finished logging Fleet’s orders of the day and the navigator had come to her station for a bit of gossip before heading to her own duties off the Bridge.
“Poor petit, Monique murmured. “It was hard enough for her to recover after her husband’s death, but this?”
“And after all she’s endured, the pon farr and Kor and the mind-sifter and the effects of that neutron star…” Uhura’s dark eyes blazed fiercely. “Damn him!"
“Damn who?” Daffy Gollub’s voice asked as she turned from the Science Station.
“Who do you think?” Monique answered sourly.
“Ah, the schmuck,” Daffy said knowingly.
“Uhura was just telling me Jilla has taken a new cabin,” Monique repeated.
“I suppose Ensign LiLing wasted no time in taking her place?” Pavel Chekov put in, turning from the navigator’s seat.
Uhura scowled disgustedly. “She barely waited until Jilla had all her things moved. So help me, if that little tramp…”
Her words were interrupted by the hiss of the turbolift and a decidedly sultry, feminine giggle. The object of their conversation was pinning up a strand of fallen hair, and her companion’s expression made it obvious how it had come loose. As Sulu and LiLing stepped onto the Bridge, four pairs of eyes glared at them in just as obvious animosity. LiLing glared back with her usual cold smile. Sulu hastily moved to the Helm.
“Monique, would you care to take my shift?” Chekov asked pointedly.
“Not on a bet, cher,” Monique purred.
“Why not? The schmuck won’t bite,” Daffy put in, her smile a blinding display of teeth. “Unless you want him to. Or so I’ve heard.” Monique chuckled. “Now backstabbing, philandering, cheating, lying, two-timing, these things he’s good at.”
Sulu swung around, his jaw set, his gaze furious. LiLing’s voice carried across the Bridge.
“Lieutenant Gollub, please,” she said, mildly chastising. “We’re not on Lorelei.”
“Is that where you’re from?” Daffy returned smoothly.
“I knew I recognized her from somewhere,” Chekov added.
“You’d know, wouldn’t you, Pavel,” Sulu said coldly, though his eyes didn’t leave Daffy.
“Well of course, cher,” Monique put in. “He didn’t have a loving Indiian to occupy his time on leave.”
The helmsman’s eyes abruptly closed. Daffy smiled at Monique and they slapped congratulatory hands together.
The turbolift opened again and Captain Kirk strode onto the Bridge. “Good morning ladies, gentlemen,” he said as he took his seat in the con.
“And he uses the terms loosely for some of us,” Daffy said. She again showed her teeth at LiLing’s glare and Uhura rose, handing Jim the day’s orders.
“Miss DuBois, you’re expected on Deck Six for drills,” Jim said, glancing over the statboard, “Ensign LiLing, Mr. Spock has several hours of reports that need coding waiting for you in his office.”
Both women said, “Aye, sir,” and left the Bridge, ignoring each other as they got on the lift.
“Status, Mr. Sulu, Mr. Chekov,” Jim continued. “and Miss Gollub, for whom do I use the terms loosely?”
Daffy opened her mouth, then saw Chekov shaking his head. She made a face. “Sorry, Captain, it was a personal remark,” she replied, though her tone wasn’t at all contrite. “It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t,” Jim responded.
Sulu chuckled as he gave the captain the requested information on the ship’s speed and helm functions. Chekov shot the Lieutenant Commander a disgusted glance, finishing the report with course and heading designations.
“Mr. Sulu, is there something funny about ship‘s operations?” Jim asked sternly.
Sulu straightened. “No, sir,” he replied.
“Fine. Maintain present warp and heading.”
Uhura heard Pavel’s amused snort and noted with satisfaction that the captain didn’t even mention it.
It had been a long, difficult day, and Jilla at last sat in her new quarters, willing herself to continue functioning. It was a single, rather than a shared cabin. Captain Kirk had arranged for it himself. She knew by the sympathetic smile he had given her when handing her the assignment. As she knew from Jade’s satisfied tia that the doctor had specifically asked him to do so. Both understood her need for privacy; reality burned her and to have a roommate would not allow her the retreat her Vulcan nature demanded. She knew Scott had struggled with suggesting she take a few days off, knowing that her work was her only solace, but also wanting to protect her from the questions and gossip that would inevitably swarm around her. He’d compromised by assigning her to Maintenance, for there, one usually worked alone. She had worked a double shift, but at last was forced to enter the cabin.
She moved methodically, stowing her belongings; placing her clothing in the bureau and wardrobe, setting her lyrette on its stand above the small bed, arranging her drafting tools on the desk. She left most of the civilian clothing she owned in the storage units, along with all the jewelry and other gifts Sulu had given her. She could barely think the name, and the evidence of his former affection was too painful for her to even look at. Finally, she set up her shrine to Aema, a silver figure clothed in darkest brown, the small flame and mirror in the pedestal on which the Goddess stood. As was required, she turned the body of the statue to face the cabin wall; Aema could not be forced to acknowledge the presence or prayers of telmnori.
She felt the isolation coming over her, the numbing, icy nothing which would be her due for the rest of her life. There were atonements that could be made, that were supposed to bring some peace if not comfort to a repentant adulteress, but she knew she could not perform the entreaties. She was not, could not be repentant. She would welcome Sulu again, with joy, should he come to her…
The thought stopped, cold consuming it as it had consumed her words with Jade. She began to make up her bunk and was startled by the sound of the door chime. There was no one she wanted to see, and no one she could imagine would want to see her. Still, she turned to the door.
“Come,” she called softly.
The door opened and Spock stepped into the cabin. His voice was strong and calm. “Majiir en’tl, rilain,” he said. Peace to you, little one.
His tia burned her and she bent her head. She felt him move across the small space, felt, too, the gentleness of his hands as they took a hold of her wrists, pulling her arms into the proper position; forearms crossed, palms forward. Her scar throbbed as his hands touched hers in the traditional Vulcan expression of comfort and consolation.
“I would aid you,” he continued in Vulcan, “for whatever time is left to you.”
“There is no need,” she returned.
“Jilla, would you have me believe so blatant a lie?”
“No hope, then, that such aid would be of any use,” she said, and turned from him.
He was silent for a time, then said, “If you would wish to face your end without the tia of those who care for you, I can recommend to the Captain that you be given a transfer.”
The words surprised her, both that emotion and Spock’s giving a painful spark of reality to her being. The offer was considered and rejected with misery-laden swiftness.
“Fleet requires Valjiir,” she told him softly. “I would not be a party to separating you from your wife. And I could not bear to leave –“ She stopped.
“His presence still calls to you.” Spock’s rueful acknowledgment was bitter truth. “Forgive me.”
Jilla’s head came up as she pivoted to face him. “You?” she managed in Anglo.
“Had I been stronger, you would now be at peace with your husband.”
The remorseful confession seared through her icy confinement and she broke, tears raining from her eyes as sobs overwhelmed her. His arms opened to her and she found herself clinging to him as he accepted the anguish with soft murmurs of comfort.
“Mr. Sulu, I would have a word with you.”
Sulu looked up from his dinner at the voice of the First Officer and fought the dread that immediately filled him. Did you really think he wouldn’t have a word or hundred to say to you? he thought reprovingly.
It’s none of his damn business! came the automatic counter.
Bets? She’s his mate.
That thought turned the dread into anger.
“Officially or personally, Mr. Spock?” he responded, then added, “because if it’s personally, with all due respect, sir, I don’t want to hear it.”
The Vulcan raised one mildly surprised eyebrow. “Officially, of course, Mr. Sulu,” he said, then stood, waiting patiently while the helmsman got up. Sulu deliberately leaned over to give LiLing a kiss before straightening. He noted the commander’s eyes darkening in disapproval.
What did you do that for? Just to prove you could?
To test if this is really ‘official,’ he returned. And it’s obviously not.
“My office, Lieutenant Commander,” Spock said.
They walked in silence and when they reached Spock’s office, the Vulcan motioned for Sulu to be seated. He himself remained standing and Sulu bristled at the obvious display of authority. The helmsman kept his expression and demeanor military, looking at the First Officer with strict attention. The Vulcan’s manner, as he knew it wouldn’t be, was not. He’d served with Spock long enough to understand what the lowered eyebrows, thinned lips and piercing gaze signified.
“Mr. Sulu,” Spock finally began, “the subject on which I intend to speak to you is painful and distasteful; therefore, I will be brief. Your conduct of the last several days has been most unsatisfactory. The disturbance your actions have caused among the crew cannot go unattended. I bring this to your attention rather than the captain’s because I understand he has already given you one warning, and an official reprimand would be injurious to your career. I trust you will see to this matter promptly, as any further displays such as that I just witnessed will not go unreported.”
Sulu found himself almost shaking with indignant rage. He’d kissed Jilla more passionately than that any number of times – hell, we fucked during an official mission! This is nothing but vindictive harassment, emotional manipulation… blackmail, just like Kirk with his ‘and I’ll transfer Ensign LiLing before I replace you’ bullshit! Damn it, since when is Jilla the protectorate laureate of the Enterprise?!
He firmly ignored the part of his mind that reminded him he used to feel exactly the same way.
He took a careful breath and managed to keep his voice calm and respectful. “Forgive my presumption, sir,” he began, “but a kiss between lovers is hardly cause for the term ‘display.’ I’m afraid I’m unable to understand why my personal life is suddenly of official concern, sir.” He intended to stop there, but found that his anger had other ideas. “Unless it’s only of ‘official’ concern to those who will have someone to answer to for not being ‘officially’ concerned.” He paused, then added with a cold smile, “sir.”
Spock’s eyes were wintry, his voice just as chilly. “Would you care to clarify that statement, Mr. Sulu?”
“No, sir. I think the meaning is clear enough,” Sulu replied. Again, his emotions got the better of his sense. “Not that I blame you. Ruth is – overwhelming, shall I say?”
The Vulcan’s eyes grew even darker, his tone more stern and far more chilling. “And what has Miss Valley to do with this?” he asked. His gaze was riveted on the helmsman, and Sulu didn’t look away.
“As much as anyone else, Mr. Spock; not a damn thing.” He rose from his chair. “I’ll see that my ‘displays’ are curbed, sir, when you see that this unwarranted invasion of my privacy ceases. I’ve broken no regulations, I’ve overstepped no Fleet boundaries. And I'll report any further harassment, from you or anyone else. Whether or not the captain will do anything about it is, of course, up to him.” He turned and left the office, leaving the First Officer to decide what he would do about the insubordinate outburst.
He returned to the mess only long enough to grab LiLing’s arm, pulling her after him.
“What about your dinner, Sulu-chan,” she began, and he snarled that he’d lost his appetite. “You’re hurting me…” she complained as he stormed from the room, and he bit down on the angry retort and simply loosened his grip. “What’s wrong, what did Spock…” she tried again.
“I want you,” he growled at her, “and I don’t want to talk about Spock.”
When he reached his cabin, he didn’t wait for the door to close before roughly pushing her back against the bulkhead. She responded eagerly, and it soothed his fury. He forced his tongue into her mouth, grasping her wrists, slamming her arms against the wall. She moaned and writhed in sheer delight and that soothed him even more. They tore off their uniforms with brazen pleasure and her immeasurable beauty claimed all reason. He explored her body with fingers and tongue, letting its taste and scent chase away all his guilt and pain. Her reaction was wanton and erotic, her body arching to his touch and his kiss. He found he could slow down his ferocious assault, letting the passion heat rather than burn him. He eased up, making his caresses sensual and arousing instead of brutal. Her groans of excitement shot desire through him and he bent his head to her pert breasts, intent on devouring the rose-brown nipples.
The intercom buzzed.
Swearing, Sulu started to turn toward it.
“No,” LiLing protested breathlessly. “You’re not on duty.”
With the dressing-down Spock gave you, you’d better not take any chances, his mind countered, but all he said to LiLing was, “Doesn’t matter.”
“Don’t you want people to know that there are times you don’t want to be interrupted?” she flared at him.
“I told you what Kirk said,” he growled at her, all his irritation returning. “Or do you want to give him an excuse to cite me for dereliction?”
“What about giving me an excuse?” she returned angrily.
His hand was raised to strike her before he realized what he was doing. She gasped and flinched and he shuddered, stopping. “God, I’m sorry, honey,” he exhaled.
She turned fierce eyes to him. “Don’t you ever hit me,” she warned. He gathered her into his arms.
“I’m sorry, Li, I wouldn’t…” He stopped himself short of the lie. Already making more promises you know you can’t keep? he sneered at himself, and the intercom buzzed again. “Damn it,” he muttered, and, keeping Li next to him, he went to the desk.
“Sulu,” he responded, thumbing the com open.
“Lieutenant Commander Sulu, I’d like to request that in the future you remember my cabin happens to share bathing facilities with yours. For privacy’s sake, I suggest you keep the interconnecting door to your rooms closed when engaged in intimate contact.”
Jade Han broke the connection.
“Bitch,” LiLing snarled at the con. Sulu silently agreed, though his heart ached. If it had been Jilla, he knew, the doctor would have simply, quietly closed the door herself.
“The morale of this ship would need a booster to reach hell and it’s all Lieutenant Commander Sulu’s fault!”
Jade sat at her desk in Sickbay, going over her day’s schedule and listening to Leonard McCoy rant. Since she found herself in complete agreement with the good doctor, she was more than content to listen to him until he ran out of invective.
“I can’t for the life of me figure that boy out. For two years he’s acted like there’s no one and nothin’ else in the whole blasted universe, and now he just drops her like sin on Sunday. And for what?” McCoy slammed some data cassettes down on his desk. “The ensign’s pretty enough, but pretty is as pretty does is what my Mama used to say.” He turned to Jade. “Do you know we’ve had more minor injuries in the last two days than we had all last week? I tell you, somethin’ better be done if the crew’s gonna survive the month.”
“The psychological stress associated with low morale does tend to have a deleterious effect on such things as coordination and attention to duty,” Jade explained carefully.
“Well thank you for that startlin’ new theory, Doctor,” Leonard returned sardonically and Jade chuckled. “Do you have any helpful suggestions?”
“As a matter of fact, I do, though I’m not certain it will help the stress levels.” She glanced up. “I’ve spoken to Commander Spock and Captain Kirk, and they agree that our primary goal is to keep Jilla Majiir alive. Her emotional state is precarious, to say the least.”
McCoy started. “Keep her alive? You don’t mean to tell me… ”
Jade nodded, appreciating the fact that Leonard had made the leap himself. Discussing the idea of suicide was never on her list of easy conversation topics.
“It’s a distinct possibility, despite Indiian patterns to the contrary,” she replied. “In my best professional judgment, the reason Indiian adulterers die is due to the fact that their culture shuns them. To an Indiian, the sensing of emotion is, for all practical purposes, what gives their physical systems the push to keep functioning. I believe it has something to do with the reactive mercury in their circulatory systems, but be that as it may.” Jade stood, sighing. “Without emotion, Indiians literally shut down. Jilla is beginning to do so. The only way to keep her alive is to make sure she’s given emotional stimulus. Of course, this is complicated by the fact that, due to cultural beliefs, it’s terribly painful for her to feel, to be acknowledged causes her very real physical and psychological distress.”
“So our choices are to leave her alone and let her die, or interact with her and cause her pain,” Leonard replied gruffly, “which just might lead her to contemplate endin’ it all herself.”
Jade sighed again. “Precisely, Leonard.” She had decided against revealing to the entire ship that Jilla had already begged for death – although she had told Spock. As Jilla’s mate, he had a right to know. “I thought if a carefully selected few could be made aware of the campaign, we could at least confine the humiliation the whole thing will cause her to those selected few.”
“So who do you have in mind, besides Spock, Jim, you and me?” Leonard asked.
Jade smiled, very gratified that he’d automatically included himself. “Well, Ruth Valley, certainly, when she comes back on board,” she answered. “Mr. Scott, of course. I was thinking of speaking to Monique DuBois, since she was Jilla’s roommate at Starfleet Academy. And it seems to me that asking Mr. DelMonde might be very helpful. His empathic talents could be a very powerful mirror for her emotions. I know that might cause him some problems, so I’ll make certain to schedule some isolation therapy for him.”
“And Geoff Redford,” Leonard put in. “I know he’s a little like a love-sick puppy around her, but that kind of adoration might do her a passel o’good.”
“Or it might remind her too much of what she’s lost,” Jade demurred.
McCoy grunted. “You’ve got a point there.”
“What do you think about Daffy Gollub and Pavel Chekov?” Jade rejoined. “They’re friends – or used to be – of the bastard Lieutenant Commander; including them might help Jilla to see that she's not to blame here.”
“Hmmm, that’s a good thought,” McCoy mused, “But neither one of them is known for their tact, and Miss Gollub can be decidedly unhelpful when raw emotions are involved.” He pursed his lips. “Still, I don’t know what Mrs. Majiir feels from them. Maybe their emotions will strike her as truer regardless of how they come across to the rest of us.”
Jade considered. Tactless they might be; Gollub in her own abrasive fashion and Chekov in his naiveté, but McCoy was right. An Indiian would sense through those outward defensive mechanisms. She nodded. “Then if you’ll help me explain the situation to them, Leonard…”
“Will do, Jade,” he affirmed with a nod of his own.
“Just remind them to be discreet as far as the time and place of their interactions,” she advised. “We don’t want her humiliation to overcome the desired effects.”
Again McCoy nodded, then smiled at her. “Have I mentioned how good it is to have a xenopsychologist on board?”
Jade smiled. “Yes, Leonard, you have.” Her eyes twinkled at him. “But it’s hardly a bad thing to repeat.”
“Hot damn, we get to skewer the schmuck!” Daffy cackled delightedly as she and Pavel Chekov emerged from Dr. McCoy’s office. “And it’s official permission! I don’t even have to worry about rising eyebrows!”
“Dafshka, that is not precisely what the doctor said,” Chekov warned.
“No?” Daffy challenged. “I fully intend to corner the Collector’s Indiian and regale her with sympathy while letting her know what a putz he is. What are you gonna do?”
Pavel cleared his throat. “What I can to let Jilla know I am her friend as much as Sulu’s – and at this particular time, more so,” he added quickly before Daffy could protest. Then he gave his on-again off-again lover a sidelong glance. “You won’t accuse me of flirting with her, will you?”
Daffy showed her teeth. “Not if you don’t,” she said. “And I think Cajun’ll have that covered.”
Noel DelMonde watched Jilla as she signed out the tools necessary for the maintenance check of the Jeffries tubes. The conversation he’d had with Dr. Han had unnerved him: the prospect of interacting with the Indiian on an emotionally intimate level wasn’t an unpleasant one; far from it. But what that emotional intimacy would do to his always precarious shielding was. Still…
He remembered the surprising and unusual effect the interaction of their emotions had had on him the first time he’d met her. All the pain associated with his raw empathy had been blunted by her sharing of it; his skinlessness has seemed almost bandaged, the sharpness fading from him as she absorbed and released it. And if it happened again…
It not be so bad, non? he thought to himself. Might even be good, I be t’inkin’.
He straightened as she passed him and the wave of emptiness swept over him. He shuddered, then glanced quickly up and down the corridor. No one else was in sight, so he squared his shoulders and took a steadying breath.
“Lieutenant Majiir?” he said.
She stopped, turning slowly to him. Her pale face was devoid of its usual slight shimmer, her voice as dull. “Yes, Mr. DelMonde?”
“I sorry ‘bout Sulu, cher,” he returned softly, and filled his being with all the caring sympathy he had within him. He carefully watched for her reaction, hurting for yet gratified that she had one. Her gaze moved away from his face, her fingers clutching at the toolkit, maybe just a touch more strongly with the left hand than the right. “I know it not be easy to see one you love wit’ someone else.”
A slight glow came back into her skin. “Your concern is appreciated, Mr. DelMonde,” she began.
“Del,” he interrupted gently. “If I could help…”
“No, there is nothing…”
He moved closer to her, aching to ease the pain that was beginning to flow from her, even acknowledging that it was precisely what he was supposed to evoke from her. “We all know how badly you been used,” he continued. He considered quickly, then decided on using the name. “Ensign LiLing none too discreet, non?”
He felt the silent gasp and winced – then, as over a year before, the sting of his own reaction was taken in, fading from them both.
“Please…” she whispered. But the feel of the effect was sweet to his senses and, emboldened, he went on.
“No one understand what he done,” he told her, his voice low and soothing. “How a man could give away one like you…” He was advancing, unaware that he did so, wanting to help her, simply wanting. “…a beauty so gentle, so delicate, sweet an' fragile…” He could feel the spell of emotion weaving around them both, knew she felt it when she looked at him, into his eyes, into his soul. “… more rare than th' kiss o’ snow on a summer day an' jus’ as welcome…” her back was against the bulkhead, her breathing shallow. Wonder was replacing the fear-filled pain. “… a man should tend you, Jilla, nurture you, protect you from th' storms o' fate…”
She was clutching the toolkit to her chest, holding it as a shield between them. Her thoughts came easily to his mind, colored with her emptiness and bitterness and the emotion he was forcing her to accept. She found him attractive, though as a good wife should, she put that thought away from her. Eyes pools of dark, liquid fire, her thoughts said, emotions devastating and compelling, a body provocative in an almost accidental way, as though he cannot help radiating intense sexuality – the same things she had loved in Sulu. The anguish flared and it seared him.
“Non, Jilla, let me help,” he begged softly, “let me give what he took, let it help us both. It be private, cher, away from pryin’ eyes, we find what we both need, what they took from us…” Emotion overwhelming him, his hands found her shoulders. He leaned down, pulling her gently to him, bringing his lips to her soft, full, welcoming mouth.
Sulu rounded a curve of the corridor, hating having to come to Engineering. There had been a small calibration problem at the Helm, and the Captain had told him to take the day’s log to Mr. Scott. It was on purpose, he knew; the information could have just as easily been relayed through the intercom. It wasn’t any great leap to believe that the Captain enjoyed the discomfort it caused him; it was obvious that it had pleased Uhura and Chekov no end. Daffy Gollub’s cheerful animosity was grating – she refused to use his name, referring to him only as schmuck, even to the point of, when a situation required the usage of rank, calling him Lieutenant Commander Schmuck. And having to share bathroom facilities with Jade Han was another level of hassle altogether.
The morning’s event came clearly to his memory and even now, he winced at it.
He’d been shaving – an admittedly old-fashioned activity, one he was engaging in because LiLing had given him an ancient straight razor, remarking teasingly that she knew he liked blades of any kind – when Jade had walked up to the second of the pair of sinks. She’d frowned at him in the mirror, but had otherwise ignored him – until his lover had stepped into the doorway. LiLing had been holding a necklace; two small, silver, crescent moons, one inside the other, on a disc of deep purple hanging from a silver chain. Her eyes were silent smoldering accusation. He’d avoided Jade’s gaze and simply murmured, “It’s Jilla’s.”
Which was a lie. Jilla had given it to him, a gift for their first anniversary, two weeks after LiLing, Noel DelMonde and Jade Han had signed aboard. Bitterness welled in him. “She must’ve forgotten it,” he said as he reached for it. “I’ll give it to her…”
LiLing had snatched it back. “I’ll take care of it, Sulu-chan,” she said, but the false sweetness of her tone belied the endearment. She turned, stalking from the room and Sulu had sighed, turning back to the mirror and to shaving – to meet Jade’s cool, unwavering stare. She’d folded her arms, her eyebrow lifting sardonically and he realized that Jade was quite well aware of the lie. He had displayed that pendant proudly, trying to tell the doctor without words that he meant as much to Jilla as beloved, sainted Selar. Jade had, after all, studied Indiian psychology. She would know what the design symbolized.
“Mr. Sulu,” Jade had said, her voice as cool and as unwavering as her gaze, “I believe a man traditionally performs seppuku by slicing the belly. My understanding is that the throat is for women and cowards.”
His jaw had tightened. “It’s a straight razor,” he’d returned caustically, “not a wakazashi.”
“I know what it is,” she’d replied. “Wouldn’t a defacial be more efficient?” Her stare had made him more than uncomfortable.
He’d held out the thin blade. “It was a gift…” he’d begun.
“I hardly need to be told from whom,” Jade had cut in curtly. “If it were anyone else on this ship, you might think they were trying to tell you something.”
Damned bitch, he thought, and sighed. He glanced to his left at the couple just coming into view. Both were in Engineering red, no surprise there; the man was tall, dark, intensity flowing from him in tangible waves, hands caressing soft, trembling shoulders, his head bending down, just beginning to kiss the small, pale, burgundy-haired woman…
Icy rage lashed through him, freezing his reactions. You goddamned son-of-a-bitch, take your hands off of her! screamed from his mind.
DelMonde winced, turning. The toolkit Jilla held clattered to the deck. Her grey eyes locked onto him, pain and fear – and a spark of hope. The rush of self-hatred consumed him and he closed his eyes. You’ve got no right, he snarled at himself. You kicked her out.
But she can’t… she’s damned… she doesn’t dare…
This is what you left her with, what you wanted her to find. Strong, loyal, loving, good, strong man…
And that’s DelMonde?
Her choice, not yours.
But…
What’s the matter? Didn’t expect she might really try to find comfort with someone else?
I… I thought…
Tough shit, bastard. Live with it. It’s what you deserve.
He took a deep breath, putting the anger away, quelling the possessiveness, forcing calm into his voice. “You’re on duty Lieutenant,” he said, not caring to specify which one he was talking to, “conduct yourself like an officer.”
He walked quickly away, ignoring DelMonde’s snarled “Look who talkin’, sombitch.” Jilla wasn’t his. He had LiLing, it was what he wanted.
But god, it hurt.
It was just past the end of First Watch. Jilla fully intended to work another eight hours, but Mr. Scott had come up to her, insisting that they share dinner. Her control was tenuous at best, the pain of so many having acknowledged her scattering her thoughts as well as her emotions.
Monique DuBois had spoken to her late morning, Daphne and Pavel unexpectedly inviting her for a private luncheon in the Russian’s cabin. Both Spock and the Captain had come to her worksites in the Jeffries tubes in the afternoon – and there was the nearly disastrous encounter with Noel DelMonde, which had led to yet another breakdown in Sickbay in Jade Han’s arms.
So many… yet only a rebuke from the only one who matters.
She fell into the draining abyss of the thought, numbly returning her tools, removing her work coveralls to place them in the recycling unit. As she turned away, a wave of fierce disdain washed over her senses and she straightened, then froze.
Ensign LiLing stood in front of her.
For a moment, a searing rage flashed into Jilla’s being, then was gone, replaced by the despairing void. The ensign’s face was a beautiful mask of derisive triumph as she dangled something before Jilla’s eyes.
It took a moment for the Indiian to focus on it, and when she did, renewed anguish stabbed through her. It was the pendant she had given Sulu to commemorate one full solar year of shared devotion and fidelity. It was not a long time, she knew, but celebrating such anniversaries was common for Terrans. It was a carefully chosen gift; the double crescents of Mnori and Mirana waxing toward full against the dark Indiian night, the symbolic promise of eternal growth which was on Indi used to bless a child growing in its mother’s womb. Jilla remembered how touched Sulu had been, and how pleased. The light in his eyes was understanding, the warm, deep flow of his tia had filled her, telling her that he knew what she was trying to tell him; a hope, an offer that could not be said aloud.
“Sulu and I don’t like our cabin – cluttered,” LiLing said, her voice smooth insinuation, and she casually dropped the chain. Jilla was completely unaware of her hand moving to catch it as the ensign pivoted on her heel and walked away.
She didn’t know how long she stood, staring in empty desolation. When she heard Scott’s voice, a deeply sorrowful, “Ah, lassie…” she turned, holding the pendant out in mute agony. His arms came around her shoulders and she fell into them, silently sobbing as tears trickled down her face.