"How's Spock?"

The voice was Sulu's. Ruth looked up from staring at the bottom of a coffee cup to see him standing before her table with his arm tightly around Jilla's waist. She had to stifle her first impulse — to burst out, 'what are you doing out of bed!' — and said, instead, "Adolescent." Jilla must have felt her indignation because she began to glow faintly.

They took seats opposite her, and Sulu said, "You look worried."

While Ruth tried not to look at the two of them nervously, she did note that Sulu looked tired. And Jilla didn't. Jilla did, however, look close to tears. Ruth chided herself for her wary emotions and said, "I'm sorry — but Jade told me. How are you feeling?"

Jilla tried to take refuge in Vulcan dignity. "It is most inconvenient."

Sulu pulled her even closer in a protective, understanding hug, asked again, pointedly, "How's Spock?"

Ruth felt her eyes go wide as the blood rushed warmly to her face. "Oh." She grimaced. "Well, he knows we're married -- but he doesn't know the rest of it. I better tell him."

"No!" Jilla burst out, glowing so fiercely Ruth was momentarily afraid she was going to catch fire.

"Why not?" Ruth asked reasonably. "He's going to remember soon enough anyway.'

"But not now!"

"You don't have to tell him," Sulu agreed. "In fact it might be better all around for him to be sixteen for a few days."

Ruth glowered, reminding, "He isn't physically sixteen, you know." She would have given a long, self-pitying description of her day with Spock, but both she and Sulu noticed that Jilla was growing increasingly agitated.

Sulu stood and helped Jilla to her feet. "We'd better go. Good luck, Spike."

"You too, Roy," she called after them -- but quietly enough not to get venomous looks or increase agitation.

Jilla was all but uncontrollable by the time they reached their cabin. She clutched blindly at Sulu's chest, her eyes silver fire. Her fingers were transformed into claws of iron, ripping at the civilian shirt and the skin beneath; hungry, demanding, insatiable.

He didn't understand a word of her breathless, incoherent pleading, but he didn't have to. His body comprehended quite well what was needed. When he could think, he found his response to her brazen desire amazing. No hesitation, no residual anger or resentment toward the Vulcan who was the cause of all this; only answering passion and a deep-seated, blazing sense of possession.

It was with that sense that he took her, tearing the light blue gown from her body, heedless of the damage to the material he had paid a handsome sum for. He didn't bother with trying to get to the bed; he simply pushed Jilla roughly to the deck. She turned immediately onto her hands and knees, making a sound deep in her throat that was half growl, half purr. Then she lowered her shoulders, tossing her head restlessly, crooning and urging in wordless sounds. Sulu needed no further enticement. His clothes were destroyed with the same abandon as hers had been. His hands clamped on her hips like a vise. Penetration was harsh and furious and Jilla shrieked in animalistic fulfillment.

There was no gentleness, no love words were spoken; not even Sulu's usual epithet-and-obscenity-laden moans and groans. There was no sound at all save rhythmic grunts and gasps and growls of passion. The need to couple overwhelmed all else, a drive savage and intense, the single-minded compulsion to mate. Sulu felt it, though how he felt it he didn't know. And it hardly mattered. Nothing mattered. For whatever was happening outside his cabin, inside, Jilla was his; erotic, eager, submissive. Not Selar's, not Spock's, not Vulcan's. His!

Time passed, but had no meaning. As long as Jilla cried encouragingly, the act went on, powerful and violent. Only when her hormonal imbalance shifted, when her body ceased to be flooded with need, when her over-stimulated organs signaled a demand for rest did she cry out in negation and collapse to the deck. Released from her insistent command, Sulu reached a wrenching climax and collapsed with her to fall into immediate, self-restoring unconsciousness.

Married. Yes, a man of forty who has been through The Time should be married.

The circumstances are unthinkable.

Yet they must be faced, they are part of my past.

Spock sat down and read the document one more time. T'Pring had chosen to Challenge. That was shame enough in itself, but worse, T'Pau had allowed combat to proceed. Only there had been a fraud, resulting in his apparent victory. Instead of proceeding with the marriage, he had then done a most incredible and cruel thing. He had presented one sentient being to another as property. True, it was a Vulcan custom, but one not invoked since the ancient warrior days. All Vulcan must disapprove of such barbaric behavior. That was not even the worst, although he was relieved that he had not killed a man. If no one was dead he could not have won the challenge; therefore he had no right to give T'Pring to anyone. She had chosen to wait until he sought permission to marry another before enforcing her prior claim. There had resulted a legal case in which he had been forced to award her a large sum of money to have their bonding dissolved. Further legal complications from Starfleet had resulted not in a proper marriage but the signing of a contractual agreement. It was all utterly sordid and distasteful. He did not understand how he could have been a party to it. Or why his father had not chosen another wife for him. Why not a Vulcan? Had Vulcan, his father, disowned him? Has my Human blood betrayed me to that extent?

No, be calm, you are allowing yourself anxiety, even fear, when you are not in possession of all the facts. It may well be — no, it probably is — that you had logical reasons for everything you have done. Emotions do not rule you. You are Vulcan. Whatever you have done, you will act from this second on only with logical purpose.

Spock spent some time repeating this to himself, meditating for calm, formulating how he would behave in as many situations as he could envision. Unfortunately the environment in which he found himself was so chaotic that there was little he could anticipate. Still, he did the best he could under the circumstances.

Ruth's first words when she entered their cabin were, "Remember anything?"

Spock's first words were, "My wife.”

Ruth felt a flood of relief wash over her and threw her arms around him. "You do remember!"

He firmly removed her arms and stepped back. "No, I do not. You should not make assumptions. Nor is such physical display proper behavior in a wife."

Ruth noticed his deep green blush but didn't point it out to him. However, she couldn't resist a teasing, "That's not what you said last night."

She thought from his expressionless expression that he was about to die of shame and wondered if Jade's 'treat him normal' advice was wise.

He’s such a baby!

I wonder if shouting 'Minneapolis ' at him would shock him back to normal.

Treating him like a sixteen year old might reinforce his acting like one and drag this thing on longer.

Face it, Han's right. And if this keeps on much longer he might break out in pimples.

"As you already know, I do not recall last night," he answered.

This is too easy, she told herself. I've got myself the perfect straight man.

Restrain yourself, Valley, he'll remember all this when he gets better. "Of course you don't."

"We must talk. Please be seated."

Ruth took the desk again, leaving the chair for Spock. He frowned until she slid off the desk and into the chair. "Better?"

He gave her a curt nod, then stood in front of her so that she had to crane her neck to see his face. "From your behavior today I have inferred that our relationship, at least on your part, is far more casual than is proper."

"Depends on what you call casual."

"Anything that is less than Vulcan," he replied.

"Less? Other cultures are ‘less’?” she returned, an edge of anger which she knew was unreasonable making her voice tight.

"Your outburst is uncalled for. I require harmony in my home," was his answer.

"I haven't noticed any disharmony lately," she returned, along with her toothiest smile. “And honey, that wasn’t an outburst.”

He ignored both statements. "In my opinion there is no harmony at all. It is the duty of a Vulcan's wife to keep her husband's home as he wishes it."

Ruth lowered her head submissively. "Yes, husband, I understand."

"Do you mock me?" he asked warily.

She sighed and stood up, hands on hips. "That, Mr. Spock, is one thing I have never done," she informed him crisply. "Excuse me." She stepped past him and began their normal evening routine. She first handed him his favorite, dark brown meditation robe and pointed toward the shower. After he gingerly accepted it and the bathroom door had closed behind him, she pulled off her uniform, pulled on a short caftan, then brushed out her hair. By the time he came back into the bedroom, she had dialed up his dinner and was warming a pot of herb tea for him. While he sat down at the small table she crossed to the desk.

"Aren't you joining me?" he asked.

"No," she called, "you know watching you eat all those vegetables makes me nauseous. I've got some work to do."

There was a stiff silence for several seconds until he said, "Evening is a time for rest and meditation. Work should not be allowed to interfere with this. There is a balance that is necessary for mental and physical well being."

Ruth sighed loudly. "Listen, Boss, I've been delegating work all day. Now I've got to kick ass to make sure it gets done. As you are well aware, most scientists are not militarily minded and unless frequently reminded, the brilliant people you have working for you are liable to forget the petty details of Starfleet requirements. So, if you'll excuse me..." She started to hit the com button but didn't like the quality of silence coming from the other side of the grillwork. She looked up to find her husband staring disapprovingly at her. "Now what?"

"Your language is improper. I do not approve of the use of Anglo-Terran expletives."

"I'm a sailor," she told him. "I talk like one."

"I do not approve."

"I know. We've discussed this before."

"And what conclusion has been drawn from prior discussion?"

"That when your mother or an admiral is around I'll watch my mouth, otherwise my speech patterns are mine to do with as I will."

"I see."

Ruth did her best to ignore the condemnatory silence while she got her work done.

What does one say to a wife?

Spock pondered the question while eating his evening meal. Especially one so self-sufficient. There were a thousand questions he wanted to ask starting with, ‘Do I love you?' and ending with, 'Do you love me?’ but he could not bring himself to say these things. While intellectual curiosity was to be cultivated, emotional, personal curiosity was in the worst of taste. Observation showed him that she was comfortable in their relationship, from which he could logically conclude that he was as well. As long as there was no tension, and she conformed to his wishes, what more did he need to know? 'How did we meet?', 'Why did we marry?’ were irrelevant.

Still, it would be interesting to know.

Once he had taken a sufficient amount of nourishment, he rose and went to where his lyrette was hanging. Taking it down, he settled on the edge of the bed and began a piece he had only recently learned. After beginning it, he found that he was not really interested in music. But to stop would be admitting and giving into an emotional whim, so he played the rather long piece through to its end – only to have his wife call out to him as he put the lyrette aside, "Come on, babe, you can do better than that."

He looked at her, uncertain as to how to respond. She looked back, her face coloring, the expression showing chagrin. "Did I just hear a sixteen year old ego go 'crunch'?" she asked sheepishly,

"I have no idea what you mean," he said. "My playing was not as skillful as is usual for my ability."

"Uh-huh." For some reason she seemed to slink back into her work. Work that continues interminably and leaves me without conversation or anything to do, he thought rather peevishly. He hesitated to interrupt her, however, since she was engaged in tasks that would normally be his. Still, she was his wife and it was her duty to see to his needs.

Finally he said, "My wife."

Her head came up. "Yeah?"

"I require activity."

He heard her mutter, "Too easy," as she clicked off the reader. She came around the grillwork and sat down next to him. "Which would you prefer," she asked, "chess or sex?"

Spock considered carefully before replying, hoping to quell the sudden embarrassment the thought of sexual activity evoked in him. "Chess, I believe. I have at least a fundamental knowledge of that game." Her face lit with delight and amusement that he did not understand. "Have I said something humorous?"

Her expression became serious. "I thought you were making a joke."

"Vulcans do not indulge in illogical pastimes, my wife."

"I see." She stood. "Well, let's have a nice, mind-improving game of chess, shall we? Mind if I listen to music while we play?"

"No, I do not mind."

To hear the song, click here

"Fire and ice
You come on like a flame then you turn a cold shoulder
Fire and ice
I want to give you my love but you just take a little piece of my heart."

Barbaric, primitive and erotic noise blared throughout the room. Ruth had told him that this — music — was twentieth century Terran and that he normally enjoyed it. When he had asked why, her answer had been disconcerting. He did not know what the word 'fucking' meant, but from her leer he was certain he did not want to ask. The day had been too full of explanations already. He tried to ignore the noise and play chess. That he did well, as did she, so the remainder of the evening was at least stimulating. However, after three fairly quick games she looked at the chronometer.

"It's 0100," she said, surprised. "No wonder I’m sleepy, I've been up twenty-four hours. I better get to bed."

Spock had been hoping for another game, but since her retiring would put an end to the noise, he could hardly object. "As you wish, my wife."

"Care to join me?"

"As there is only one bed I had assumed we shared it."

She grunted, turned off the disc, slipped off what she was wearing and got into bed. He followed her, did not remove what he was wearing, and settled gingerly beside her. He began the preliminary stage for a sleep-meditation, almost wistfully hopeful that he would wake up with his memory intact.

He was more than surprised when she moved very close to him and began to slowly trail the fingers of one hand over his throat and ears.

He sat up, catching her wrist. "Madam, that is not..." he began.

"Madam?" she repeated. He could hear the chastising amusement in her voice.

Swallowing his embarrassment at the inappropriate word, he began again. “My wife, I fail to understand the necessity of your actions."

"A preliminary to sexual intercourse, my husband," Ruth explained.

Spock flushed, then stoically controlled the reaction. "I have not indicated a need for release."

"I need, Spock."

"I am..."

"...a Vulcan, and as such fully capable of ordering your bodily functions as you see fit."

"Yes...." he hesitated. "...however…”

"And as a wedded adult, you have an obligation to provide for the Clan," Ruth continued.

"Yes..."

"And as we are both hybrids, we have no restrictions imposed by — biology."

"No..."

"Therefore, my husband, sexual intercourse at this time is desirable." She paused. "Or do you fault my logic?"

"Of course not," Spock said hastily, unwilling to appear disturbed. "I only wished to ascertain your intentions."

"Honorable, I assure you," she murmured. Spock was unsure whether or not she was being facetious, and so took her at her word. He held up his left hand, fingers parted. "Attend me, my wife."

With a dazzling smile, she joined her fingers to his, then slid down in the bed, forcing him to follow or break contact. He followed, searching his mind for knowledge of what to do next.

And was swept up in a tidal wave of telepathic sensation: contact, arousal, and desire. Frantically he pulled back and could vaguely hear Ruth's voice whisper, "So we'll do it Human," before being again engulfed, this time by the physical: the pressure of her lips on his, her lean, willowy body writhing against him, her fingers inching his robe up over his hips, her legs wrapping themselves around him as the heat of her genitals sought the straining column of his.

Shocked and dismayed by his body's obvious betrayal, he attempted to regain control. Ruth's teeth closed on an ear-lobe and restraint became abruptly impossible. He abandoned all hope of salvaging the situation and gave in to base, Human passion. His body, it seemed, had an excellent memory.

Ruth sighed in sated lethargy, idly combing her fingers through her hair. Spock lay beside her, still and silent, regaining his composure. She stifled a giggle. God, you were horny at sixteen, Boss. Poor baby. A normal Human puberty in a Vulcan body. No wonder you were so prissy. She leaned over and gently kissed him. He stiffened. She shook her head.

"We are wed, husband," she reminded, "and you wouldn't allow telepathic contact.”

"My wife," Spock said slowly. "I require silence."

Ruth sighed and rolled over. "Yes, husband."

Jade Han sounded the buzzer for the captain's cabin. He was expecting a progress report on Spock's condition and she didn't have one. A report, yes, but there was no progress in it. Of course, she had no intention of telling him that. She would present an optimistic scenario and blatantly lie through her teeth.

The captain's, "Dr. Han?" instead of the expected 'come' broke her train of thought.

"Yes, sir," she replied.

"Come."

Puzzled and not a little wary, she opened the door.

And burst into delighted laughter.

Captain James T. Kirk reclined on his bunk in a casual, easy, seductive, sensual pose — completely naked.

Jade immediately forgot her concern and crossed the room to join the man who until that moment had been a quiet, discreet lover. "James," she murmured against his neck. "You are truly unique."

"I was hoping you'd think so," was his calm reply.

"Have we time for this?" Jade asked as she began removing her uniform.

"I'm the captain, remember?" he answered, helping her.

"What of red alerts, duty, image...?" The pins came out of her long, black hair.

"I've been interrupted before." Boots thudded to the deck.

"But I haven't, James." The sheets rustled as she slid next to him.

"You'll get used to it."

"Care to bet on that?"

"Not at the moment." He growled passionately, rolling Jade into his arms. She moaned pleased approval, wrapping arms and legs around him. Mouths met in equal hunger, equal eagerness, exchanging desire and arousal. Jim's hands were skilled, bringing a sweet, ardent response from Jade's slender body. Her breasts were not large but the nipples were dark, wide and flat, and very sensitive. Jim paid special attention to them. She reciprocated with loving concentration at the base of his spine, which she had found to be an erogenous zone of rather extreme intensity. They lingered over their foreplay, completely disregarding any previous mention of possible interruption. And when passion became too strong to be comfortably restrained, their joining was slow and luxuriously sensual, a long, drawn-out expression of mutual pleasure and affection.

Sated and lazy, Jim casually asked how Spock was faring. And Jade Melissa told him of the plan for Ruth to use shock therapy and expressed complete confidence in her ability. In short, she lied through her teeth.

"Because as First Officer it is your duty to spend some time among the crew," Ruth informed Spock when he asked why she felt it necessary for them to have breakfast in the messroom. She realized that her tone was a little harsh and added in a more reasonable way, "Besides, you usually have several meals a week with the Captain and Dr. McCoy." Before he could ask, she added, "They're your friends. I spend time with my friends, you spend time with yours." And right now I need some time with mine. In the last hour she had calmly, even placidly, listened to husbandly lectures on her illogical habits. Spock did not approve of her lack of sleeping attire, found the length of her hair and the time she had to spend pinning it up inefficient, and wished her to stop consuming the dreadful smelling brown liquid she always seemed to have a cup of. That had almost been going too far. Even his passion of the night before wouldn't keep him safe forever. It was only by reminding herself that this couldn't last much longer that kept her from throwing something — like a nice, hot cup of dreadful smelling brown liquid — at him. "I love you, Spock," had been her only reply to his comments.

"My mother often says that to my father," he told her.

"For the same reasons, I bet. Let's go eat."

To which he had asked why it was necessary for them to eat in public.

As they walked down the corridor he explained to her, "My father has told me of the curious Human custom of holding communal meals. He has often had to attend these functions, as they are an important part of the social interaction of many non-Vulcan species. I shall find observing such a gathering most interesting."

Ruth wasn't at all sure how to answer that, so she just nodded politely the rest of the way to the messroom.

As far as Spock could tell, it was a most informal assembly. There were about two dozen people in various colored uniforms and coveralls scattered in small groups at four tables. Others stood in a short line in front of the replicators. Ruth directed him to join the Captain, who was sitting by himself at one table. She then joined the line leading to the replicator. He nodded and did as she had indicated. As he sat, he noticed her beginning to speak with Lieutenant Commander DelMonde. While this was no doubt customary, it was improper; but before he had time to approach them, the Captain claimed his attention.

"Good morning, Spock. How are you feeling?"

Spock considered. Captain Kirk was a Human and Humans for some unknown reason were prone to asking rhetorical questions. He was, however, also a man in charge of a large number of people, and when he asked a question he no doubt expected an answer. Therefore — "I am in excellent physical health, Captain. However I still suffer from the affects of the transporter accident."

Jim Kirk tried not to stare. The man who had just spoken reminded him of the Spock he had first known. He was even stiffer, more Vulcan this morning that he had been the day before. Jim had hoped Spock's keheil wife would have been able to cure him by now. Jade Melissa had assured him that Ruth could do it. Honestly, angel, I’m sure you find him endearing, but I need my First Officer.

He became aware that Spock's steady gaze had shifted away from him. He turned his head to see what the Vulcan was looking at so sternly and saw Valley and DelMonde. They stood by the replicator, holding a intense conversation. "At it again,” Jim murmured, half amused. Spock looked back at him, and said one word.

"Explain."

"Arguing," Jim explained. "Get the two of them together in the same room and they fight. Legend has it that when they were at the Academy, if they weren't fighting they were making love – or bo--" OhmygodwhathaveIjustsaidtothewoman'shusbandwhothinkshe'ssixteen?!?

I forgot.

You forgot?! You idiot, not a minute ago you were....

Why don't I get alerts when I need them?

Spock stood abruptly, calling, "My wife, attend."

Ruth quickly crossed the room. "What's wrong?"

"Captain Kirk has informed me that you and Mr. DelMonde have been lovers."

Jim wished fervently that he could simply disappear, then realized he had a duty to try to avoid a scene. He didn’t quite know how to handle an angry husband and managed to say, "Sorry."

Ruth looked at him, puzzled. "For what?”

"My wife, is this true?" Spock demanded.

"Yes. Why? "

"Impossible. I would not marry someone who was not a virgin."

Jim considered leaping to his feet to defend a friend's honor, but that friend didn’t seem particularly offended. Her answer to Spock's indignation was a tolerant, "Why not? I did."

The anger, and every other emotion suddenly fled from Spock's face. He said, coldly, "Excuse me, Captain. I am returning to my cabin." Then he spun on his heel and marched out of the room.

Jim would have followed him but Ruth’s hand on his arm stopped him. "No. He’s hurt, he needs to be alone." She sighed deeply. "I thought for a second the shock might help get his memory back.” She sighed again. "I think I’d better go report to Jade and Bones. Excuse me, Bwana."

Sulu was more drained than he had ever been in his entire life. His muscles were begging for death, only the sated contentment he was occasionally experiencing stopping him from giving in to their demands. He kept slipping into a dozing reverie of the previous night’s activity. Jilla had been aroused and demanding off and on for days, but last night her passion had been at its most intense. It was a kind of animalistic hunger that she managed to repeatedly infect him with. He was sure that when he was recovered, he was going to look back on it as one of his fondest memories. It had been more intense than venus and the Alconian aphrodisiac combined. And McCoy had told him that this was a very mild version of pon farr. If this is mild… He would have chuckled if he had the strength.

Jilla cuddled closer to him, murmuring soft Vulcan words in her sleep. He was amazed at how she could make that harsh language sound musical. On that thought he fell into exhausted sleep.

Jilla woke with a start, shivering with a cold that came from deep within her and not sure where she was. She felt sticky, covered in her own dried sweat, weary to her very bones, and horribly thirsty. Gradually she became aware of the weight that slumped against her side. It was a separate part of her, another body; warm sleeping flesh. She started in fear at the realization, thinking of the terror of Canti and the Klingon whose name she still couldn't bear to think. But no, this was a familiar place, he was familiar. She slowly turned her head to look at the male beside her and her vision and tia played a momentary trick on her. At first she thought she saw the outline of a slender green-tinted Vulcan body. Then that image faded to reveal Sulu sprawled in exhausted slumber. She watched him for awhile, then reached hesitantly out to stroke the bronzed skin of his shoulder, loving him without the driving need of the Time. She could not be certain, but she thought the plak tow was over. She hoped so. Though it had not been as bad as the true pon farr, the furious passion was more than enough to distress her thoroughly. She closed her eyes, glowing with shame at what little she remembered of The Time with Spock.

He is my bonded, she thought as she settled down next to Sulu, but it is you I love. She began to doze, but before she fell completely asleep, the calling hunger began to tingle once more in the back of her mind. She felt desire, but also a pull of pain and confusion. It was a very strange sensation, almost a need to comfort as well as submit. Suddenly its meaning became clear. She was wanted by her mate, and without thinking, she answered that need. Forgetting about Sulu, she got out of bed, slipped on the first article of clothing she found, and quickly left the room.

Sulu woke sensing that something was wrong.

"Jilla?"

He opened his eyes as a feeling of unease set in. No Jilla. "Jilla!" he called louder. Maybe she just went to the head. He went to look. The small bathroom was empty. He realized he'd somehow known she wouldn't be there, and the thought filled him with dread. He returned to the sleeping area and began to hurriedly dress, all the while telling himself not to panic. She's gone to Engineering, or the messroom, or the rec room — or anywhere but Spock's quarters. Please – god, Buddha, Aema — well, maybe not Aema — please.

When he got into the turbolift a few minutes later, he forced himself to say, with calm assurance, "Engineering."

How could she say such a thing if it were not true? What sort of degenerate, Human thing have I become.

I do not want to remember.

That is emotional.

It is the truth. My life has not been -- I am not worthy to be the son of — Joining Starfleet, living among Humans -- look what it has led to! My Fathers forgive me. I will start over, abandon this life I have obviously been leading far too long. I will not remember. Perhaps it is illogical, but is it not better to start over? This has happened for the best. I will accept the memory loss and use it to my advantage. That is logical.

The decision made, Spock set aside the memory of the scene in the messroom and made his way calmly to his cabin. He would resign the commission he could not remember earning. He would apply to the Vulcan Science Academy. That he would be the oldest student there could not matter. That the taunts of ‘half-breed’ would be all the stronger for that fact could not be a deterrent. That the unspoken distrust of his damaged mind would affect the evaluations given by his instructors must be put aside. Where he was, what he did, did not matter. All that did matter was that from now on, he live as a Vulcan.

The first thing he noticed when he entered the room was the faint musky scent. He knew he had never smelled it before, yet it was enticingly familiar. An almost tingling sensation began in his mind and somehow spread to his body. It confused him and drew him. The odd, semi-telepathic call drove out all his concern of the last few minutes. He felt an urge to hunt, pursue – to claim.

He moved through the living room toward the bedroom, to find a strange woman clad in a black silk robe sitting nervously on the edge of the bed. He did not remember her but he knew her. He stared, finding it difficult to breathe as he took in the full figure clearly outlined by the clinging material. The soft shimmer of pale skin made his fingers itch to touch it. Her wildly disheveled red hair reminded him of flames. She stood, and her robe fell open. Spock closed his eyes, heard himself groan and realized that this heady feeling was more than the desire forced upon him by his wife the night before. It was the Call; the pull it exerted on him was that of a bond. This stranger was his mate.

Then she spoke the word 'farrern' and he nodded with sudden, intense decisiveness as the word burned into him. Yes, mine! He grabbed her, pulling her into a fierce kiss as the possessiveness he had not felt toward Ruth but was very much a part of Vulcan sexuality nearly overwhelmed him. The female who pressed her body so close to his, whose scent and touch filled his senses was his — had been for a long time even though he had not claimed — Jilla. He remembered her name, that during the Time — her Time — they had been bonded but had not wed — because there were others. Others, someone else she had preferred. He growled angrily. Always someone else they prefer. Always I allow it. Why?

Her fingers moved up to stroke his ears and his questions became unimportant.

"James Tiberius Kirk has a big mouth,” Ruth declared to Doctors McCoy and Han. "Apparently he informed my husband of my scandalous past."

"Which part?" Bones asked with a crinkly grin.

"Del."

"Oh, that scandalous past."

"He didn't much care for the news," Ruth sighed. "Jade, I thought I was handling it right. He got indignant, so I pointed out that he had no reason to be but it didn't work. I swear, that man was worse off at sixteen than I was. I mean, adolescence is a bitch to begin with… Is it just naturally worse on hybrids?"

"It depends on the environment," Jade replied, then smiled slyly and added, "We should have a thorough discussion of it sometime."

Ruth bared her teeth. "Get screwed, shrink."

"If only James Tiberius were availa—“

A panting Sulu bursting into the room and asking anxiously, "Is Jilla here?" cut off the rest of Jade's words.

Everyone stared. Leonard McCoy was the one who answered, "No."

Sulu looked stricken. "Oh, god, I knew you'd say that. She's not in Engineering — or anywhere else -- but I thought, maybe..."

"Spock," Ruth summed up succinctly,

Sulu's desperation flared to anger. "Yeah, Spock." He turned accusingly to the doctors. "He's sick, why isn't he here?"

"Now, son..."

"You realize he's got my wife."

"We don't know that, Sulu," Jade tried to soothe.

"Why are we standing here talking?" Ruth asked. "Let's go stop him."

"Right," Sulu agreed. "Damn him, anyway."

As Sulu and Ruth hurried out of the room, McCoy asked, "Stop him? I thought Mrs. Majiir was the one with pon farr."

Jade half sighed, half chuckled. '"Leonard, you know they never blame her for anything. I wonder how she does it?"

McCoy shrugged, picked up a medical kit and said, "Let's go, we may be needed.”

Spock's body knew what to do even as his mind reeled from the unfamiliar sensations. The woman who was his mate was tiny, but her body was full and softly rounded. He lay her on the bed, stretched out beside her and pushed aside the black clinging material that covered her. The nipples of her breasts were a dark gray. It surprised him and he bent without thinking to taste and suck on first one, then the other. He heard her moan and again reacted, kissing her with a kind of' savagery he had not known existed in himself. The sensation was exhilarating, as was her proper submission to whatever he wished. This was the way it was supposed to be! This was right! They had lied to him. But when he had need, when he had called, his bonded had come to him. Jilla would help.

Jilla. Yes. That much he wanted to remember.

Her fingers gently touched his face, tracing up to stroke the tip of his ear. The jolt of desire it sent through him was such a strong emotion that it frightened him. His mind went reeling away from any coherent thought and he was not consciously aware of removing his own clothing.

Sulu screamed when he ran into the room. It was a scream of outrage, anger and pure hatred. At the sight of Spock and his wife, naked, on the bed in a writhing embrace, every trace of reasonableness evaporated from his being. He didn't think, he attacked, pulling Spock off of Jilla and the bed before the Vulcan even noticed that he was there. When Spock did turn his attention to him – at about the same time Sulu tried to kick him in the groin – he roared out some word in Vulcan and struck first.

Sulu landed against the far bulkhead a second later, dazed, in pain, and still furious. But at least Spock was no longer mauling his wife. Somewhere in the distance he heard Ruth scream, "Kroykah you womprat!", a sound of someone slapping someone else's face, then Jilla's arms came around him and she asked anxiously,

"Sulu, are you hurt?"

Several things fell into place all at once in Spock's mind. The taste of Indiian flesh was fresh on his lips. He was standing naked in the middle of his bedroom. Sulu had attacked him. He had responded by throwing the Lieutenant Commander across that room. His wife had called him a womprat – and had slapped him soundly across the face.

He closed his eyes, wanting to hide from the embarrassing scene, wanting not to remember the justification Sulu had for attacking him and Ruth had for slapping him. Willful loss of memory was, however, impossible. Duty, concern and natural dignity kept him from attempting to crawl under the bed. His memory was once again intact and there were things he must do.

First of all, he put on the robe he found Ruth holding out to him when he once again opened his eyes. "Thank you, Dei’larr’ei," he said.

She did not smile but the anger in her eyes faded. "You remember?"

He nodded. "The — Time — seems to have — "

"It certainly has," she agreed.

Before he could say more, the door opened once again, admitting Doctors Han and McCoy. Spock did his best to ignore them. He approached Jilla and Sulu. "Rilain, forgive me."

She lifted her head from Sulu's shoulder, the madness of the Time having faded from her eyes. Her voice was soft but calm when she spoke. "Of course. It could not be helped."

"Sulu, are you — "

"I'm fine," Sulu snapped out, as he pulled Jilla's robe around her, belting it tightly. "Just remember whose wife is whose from now on, okay?"

"Of course. I am sorry."

"Yeah." Sulu helped Jilla to her feet. "I have to get out of here before I hit you again. I'll accept an apology after I calm down." He took Jilla by the hand and led her out.

"Ruth, forgive me," Jilla said as they reached the door.

Ruth shrugged. "Like you said. You couldn't very well help it."

"See?" Jade said to McCoy, who was trying to run a med scanner over everyone in the room at the same time.

He didn't answer Jade's cryptic question but said, "At least Mrs. Majiir's hormone levels seem to be back to normal.”

Jade addressed Spock. "Do you remember?" He gave her a tight nod, wishing her and McCoy gone. "Everything?" she persisted.

"Yes, Doctor, everything."

"I'll want to run some tests."

"Jade," McCoy, who had been running the scanner over Spock, said, "not now."

"Why — oh, yes, of course, I see." Spock thought he discerned a faint blush on Jade Han's porcelain cheek.

"Let's get back to Sickbay," McCoy suggested. "We've got work to do."

"Excellent idea, Leonard. Tomorrow morning at 0800, Spock," she ordered. With that she and McCoy hurriedly pushed each other out of the room.

"What was that all about?" Ruth wondered as the door closed.

Spock looked at her in amazement. "You are joking, are you not?"

"You know it isn't like Bones not to hang around and gloat."

Spock leaned against the desk and studied Ruth's puzzled expression. "My wife — my love — I find your rare naiveté most charming."

She stared. "Huh?"

"Also, I apologize for my behavior with Jilla, although, as has been noted, that could not be helped. At sixteen I was not aware of the nature of The Time and so did not recognize what was occurring. At least I am now aware of what I am doing, and the doctors will no doubt make sure that we are not disturbed while correcting the slight hormonal imbalance that is now all that is wrong with me."

"I repeat, huh?"

He smiled. "For what I have in mind, my wife, I believe that the disc we were listening to last night would be most appropriate."

The puzzlement cleared from Ruth's face as she began to giggle. "Oh! That hormonal imbalance."

"Yes," he agreed. "That. Shall we proceed?"

Ruth began hurriedly pulling off her uniform. "By all means, Mr. Spock."

The End