The Singer or The Song

The shame and guilt that tore at Jilla Majiir’s mind was almost more than she could bear. She could feel the billions of icy Indiian eyes turned from her, felt Aema’s cold condemnation, cried with the sad, lost rebuke she knew Selar must feel as he waited, doomed to be forever alone in Aema’s Court. And as if her own torment wasn’t bad enough, there was a strong, steady stream of more shame and greater guilt flowing to her from Sulu – the Sulu who lay in another sickbay bed. Emotions didn’t stop with unconsciousness, unless it was her own.

It was hard for her to understand why his own form of damnation pounded through him with so much more power than usual. She had recognized that his gifts resided in the other version of him – the one who was wandering apparently aimlessly around the small room – as well as all the secret sadism, disdain, mistrust and bitterness. But that his self-destructive emotions should be so much greater with those facets separated from him made no sense to her. The feelings existed all the time within him. She had certainly been able to feel them all along.

Yet his sorrow and grief and fear screamed to her senses, overcoming her own bitter anguish, and she left her bed, moving to him, pulled by something she couldn’t define to share and ease his torment.

She sat down beside him, touching his shoulder with a whisper of his name. Despite the sedative she knew Dr. McCoy had given him, he jerked awake, his eyes flashing from side to side like a wounded, terrified animal.

“I am here,” she managed as his emotions ramped up even more.

His eyes went wide – wider – then he sobbed and collapsed into her arms.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I’m so, so sorry…”

“Hush, you have done nothing…” she soothed.

“Nothing,” he repeated in a ghostly whisper. “I did nothing. All the time, I did nothing…” His voice rose in both volume and pitch. “Except when he ordered… when he told me… oh god, god, no, not again, please, not again…!”

With the strength of sudden panic, he pushed her away, scrambling off the bed and throwing himself into a corner of the room.

Jilla cried out, her heart breaking at his rejection as well as the terror searing into her. Then the crushing guilt of her infidelity took over, and she too, collapsed into wracking sobs. Seconds later she felt warm arms around her and heard his voice inside her head.

Calm down, honey. It’s not your fault he’s a pathetic weakling. And let’s just tell Selar to fuck himself, shall we?

“Ach, there’s nothin’ more to be done here,” Scott said. He stood over the pieces of the transporter, his hands on his hips, his face set in grim displeasure. The Vulcan Jilla was rising from the useless mechanism, placing several carefully wrapped, film-covered pieces of equipment into a small transport box. “Take those to Chemistry, lass,” he continued, indicating the box. “I’ll go to my office an’ see if there’s any better news from the Hood or the Constitution.”

“Yes, Mr. Scott,” Jilla acknowledged.

The Chief shook his head sadly, murmuring, “my poor, wee bairn,” and headed for the door.

“Mr. Scott?” Jilla interrupted him.

“Aye, lass?”

“While I understand the meaning of the word ‘bairn,’” she said, “I do not comprehend its usage in this situation. As far as I am aware, you have no offspring, and even if you had, they are not at present in this room, or even on the Enterprise. To which child do you refer?”

Scott scowled. “You asked me that when you first came aboard, Jilla,” he reminded, his expression indicating some exasperation.

“And at that time, you replied that you thought of the ship’s engines as if they were your children,” Jilla confirmed. “But the engines are not, as yet, compromised.” She tilted her head, waiting expectantly for his clarification.

“I’m talkin’ about the transporter,” the Chief said, as if speaking to an actual child, and one who was being deliberately obtuse.

“I fail to understand your tone, Mr. Scott,” Jilla returned. “It was a simple interrogative.”

Scott sighed. “Aye, lass, I know. You just remind me of Mr. Spock when he first came on board. My advice to ya, if you’ll heed it, is to relax just a wee bit. There’s nae need to be so rigid in your definitions.”

“But words have precise meanings,” the Vulcan argued.

“Aye, that’s what Spock said. But he learned.” He gave her a gentle, paternal smile. “An’ if we can fix this mess, you’ll be back to your Indiian self and you’ll not have to.”

A small frown pulled at the corners of her mouth. “I would hardly consider engaging in the incorrect usage of Anglo as ‘learning,’ Mr. Scott.”

“And how did I know you’d say something like that?” Scott muttered, then turned and exited the transporter room.

Jilla gazed after him for a moment, then shook off her puzzlement and picked up the box of parts. She was aware of, but did not acknowledge the odd looks she received from the crew as she walked through the corridors to the Chemistry lab. While it was true that her appearance was somewhat altered, she had heard the announcement the Captain gave. Why the crew was not, as he had ordered, ‘reacting to her as they would to the whole,’ was something she could not understand.

Daphne Gollub was standing at the chemical analyzers, muttering to herself as her skillful fingers rapidly input data via the computer tie-in. The Vulcan cleared her throat as a way of announcing her presence, so as not to startle the Human. Gollub looked up.

“Would it not be more efficient to use the vocal tie-in rather than talk to yourself while you manually enter your computations?” Jilla asked.

“If I had a computer for a brain, maybe,” the chemist retorted, then nodded at the transport box. “Is that for me?”

“Yes,” Jilla replied, and extended the box as Gollub moved forward to take it. “These are the mechanisms with the most apparent contamination,” the Vulcan continued. “We have begun to see the same deterioration as has been reported in the machinery of the Theraxan planets.”

“That’s for you engineers,” Gollub sniffed. “I’ve gotta work on figuring out how the damned xenoneurophene caused the Amazingly Annoying Twinnage and find a way to get you all back together.”

“Surely our first priority is to stop the damage from spreading,” Jilla said disapprovingly.

The chemist turned aggravated green eyes to her. “That may be your first priority,” she said, “You don’t have to put up with you.”

The Vulcan cocked her head. “I can hardly isolate myself from myself,” she observed.

“Yeah? Go tell that to the Indiian cryin’ her heart out in Sickbay,” Gollub snapped.

Jilla considered that, then nodded. “A fair point,” she capitulated.

“Good. Now go bother somebody else and let me work,” the chemist muttered.

“Perhaps I can consult with Mr. Spock,” Jilla returned, ignoring the woman’s obvious irritation. “Do you know where he is working at present?”

“Not here, thank God,” Gollub said, and turned back to the analyzer.

“I would think his aid would be immeasurable,” the Vulcan commented.

“It’s his Vulcan ego that’s immeasurable,” was the dry retort. “But since I suppose you’ve got one too – and what an annoying change from calm, quiet, nice Mrs. Majiir that is…”

“Mrs. Takeda,” Jilla corrected.

“Yeah. Right. Go tell that to the Indiian cryin’ her heart out in Sickbay,” the chemist repeated.

Seeing that she could expect no cooperation from Lieutenant Gollub, Jilla turned and left the Chemistry lab. The first logical place to look for Commander Spock was in his office.

At the cry from Sickbay, Paget, Han and McCoy all raced out of the office like shots. Han went to Jilla and Kam, who were on the bed that Sulu had occupied, the Indiian sobbing hopelessly while the Human held her. Jeremy and McCoy went to the figure crouched in one corner of the room, his arms crossed in front of his face as if to ward off some horrendous threat.

“It’s all right, babe,” Paget soothed, tugging at Sulu’s arms, trying to pull him into a protective embrace. “It’s gone, he’s gone, it was all years ago.”

McCoy reached for a hypospray and Han quickly called, “Leonard, no!”

“He’s gonna hurt himself,” the older doctor called back.

“Let Mr. Paget calm him. We have to get him talking,” was her sharp reply.

“He won’t say anything coherent,” Kam put in, his dark eyes gleaming with some inner amusement. “But the little one could use some sedation.”

Jade ignored him, crouching down to be at eye-level with Jilla. “What happened?” she asked the Indiian.

Grey eyes looked at her, as filled with despair as they were with tears. “He… he was so afraid…” Jilla began, her voice catching. “It – called to me…”

“Emotional bond,” Kam added, “which, by rights, belongs to me…”

“Hardly,” was Jade’s cool response.

Kam’s eyebrows rose. “You doubt it, Doctor? I’m the one with the gifts.”

“Which means you’re the one with the Vulcan Bond,” Jade returned. “And she doesn’t have that.”

“You think she doesn’t love me?” he retorted.

“No, I’m sure she does, more’s the pity,” the doctor frowned. She returned her attention to Jilla, trying not to shiver at the sudden cold anger in Kam’s gaze. “Do you remember Dr. McCoy’s – cure – of the hormonal changes of the Time?”

Jilla’s eyes closed and she nodded miserably.

“With it you formed a link to Sulu – to all of Sulu,” she added, forestalling Kam’s correction. “It’s why you’re drawn to him. It’s why you broke your vows. It’s in your chemistry, Jilla, You could no more stop it than you could the exchange of oxygen for carbon dioxide in your lungs.”

“No, I must go to Selar!” the Indiian shrieked, then again collapsed into Kam’s arms.

Kam shook his head. “You can’t make her want to live,” he said diffidently, then his eyes lit up. “But I can make her enjoy the not wanting to.”

“Well, do so then!” Jade snapped in exasperation.

“Temper, temper, Jade,” he admonished mildly. “I’ll really need to get her out of Sickbay to do it properly.”

“You’re not goin’ anywhere,” McCoy’s voice rejoined.

“We’ve had this conversation before,” was the cool reply.

“Can you just agree to stay here for a little while longer?” Jeremy put in. “I kinda got my hands full here.”

Kam gave him a wicked smile. “Anything for you, lover.” He turned the smile on Jade. “And for you, sweetheart. At least for now.” His lips formed a kiss, then he turned back to Jilla. “Come on, baby, let’s get you calmed down again.”

He got up from the bed, actually lifting Jilla into his arms, carrying her back to her own bed.

Jade shuddered, then took a deep breath, turning to McCoy, Paget and Sulu. The TerAfrican was murmuring soft words of comfort, his voice both soothing and compelling. Sulu had calmed somewhat, his cries having muted to moans and sobs.

“Leonard,” she said, “We have to try and break through this – regression. I think the best shot we have is if we can take him to a mental place before his relationship with Calvario.”

At the sound of the name, Sulu cried out.

“And how do you suggest we do that?” McCoy asked gruffly.

“Hypnosis.”

When Yeoman Sakura Tamura heard the Captain’s announcement, and that a call had been placed to Jeremy Paget on the Hood, she didn’t need to be told what the ‘twinning’ had done to Sulu. Her heart beat faster, both in fear and anticipation. She hadn’t forgotten the near-disaster on Dreamland and her better angels were screaming at her not to go anywhere near Sickbay, but the recent contact with the Divine Wind was screaming just as loudly, telling her better angels to shut the fuck up. She couldn’t help but wonder what Kam would look like separated from gentle, caring Sulu – she already knew, all too well, what he’d act like. Could Jilla Majiir’s own ‘twinning’ have disrupted the Bond between them? Would that mean neither of them considered themselves married? Did that make Kam available for…

And just stop right there, she chided herself. Even if he thinks of himself as unattached now, he won’t when this thing gets sorted out. Do you want to be another LiLing? Beaming up and missing wouldn’t exactly be conducive to your health, now, would it? Don’t go. Stop thinking about it.

I just want to see him, to see if the changes are visible…

To see if he’ll jump you while he doesn’t care about Jilla. His words on Dreamland came back to her, altered to fit the situation: “She’ll forgive me. It was Kam, honey, I couldn’t stop him, you know what he’s like.”

No, no, NO! You know what’s he’s like, and if you deliberately take advantage of that…

I’d see LiLing in the mirror every day until I beamed up and missed.

She shuddered, reminding herself that she had been strong enough to stop on Dreamland.

With Cobra’s help, she reminded herself mercilessly.

And Cobra’s there. What if he needs help?

You’re rationalizing, you know.

She did, but the need to see Kam was too strong. If she didn’t satisfy her curiosity, she might bump into him somewhere on the ship – without Cobra – and then she’d be lost for sure.

And maybe, without Sulu’s caring, he’ll scare me so bad…

Ha!

She shuddered again, but she knew damn well her better angels weren’t going to win this one. Damning herself, she squared her shoulders and headed for Sickbay.

Ruth had not followed him to his office. Spock sent a telepathic command and was rebuffed by a most impolite and uncouth, Fuck off, Vulcan, from the mind of his Antari wife. It took several minutes to quell the possessive anger that pulled at him, and several more to put away the temporary annoyance of Miss Gollub’s lack of decorum and Mr. DelMonde’s insubordination. The memory of what his wife had once shared with the telepathic and empathic Human was firmly ignored as he began studying the reports from both the Hood and the Constitution, as well as those from the Theraxan planets. The data from the tests Gollub was running in the Chemistry Lab were on a constant stream to his computer, as well as the updates from Scott in Engineering. The compounds in the ore which was similar to those on Alpha 177 were the most likely culprit for the genetic separation of those who had beamed up after the contamination from the samples, yet the presence of the xenoneurophene seemed to be indicated in the tests Gollub was performing. It was puzzling. Not only could he see no logical reason the psychoactive chemical should cause such a phenomenon, he could find no reason, logical or otherwise, for the drug to be present on Theraxa in the first place. It was an artificial creation, distilled from the sweat of Human telepaths. Even if the ore had been somehow contaminated with perspiration from the colonists, the xenoneurophene could not have come into being on its own. It required intensive and deliberate manipulation to even exist.

He let the computer readouts continue as he sat back in his chair at his desk, his fingers steepling in thought. Perhaps, he mused, the contamination of the ore and the deterioration of the machinery are two separate problems. It is known that, once present in a Human body, xenoneurophene does not truly dissipate. Even Ruth was unable to clear it from her system entirely.

He had to take another moment to deal with the emotions the thought of his recalcitrant Antari wife brought to his mind.

Perhaps the molecular disintegration of the transporter caused the traces of the chemical which exist within her and Mr. Sulu to contaminate the ore once the molecular structure was reintegrated for materialization.

It was an easily testable theory. If samples of the ore from Theraxa that had not been subjected to the transporter showed no trace of xenoneurophene…

He rose, heading for the Bridge. He would confer with the Captain before asking Miss Uhura to compose a message to the Chemistry Labs of the Hood, the Constitution, and those planetside, requesting that the ore be tested for the psychoactive compound.

As he reached his office door, the entry signal chimed. Since he was standing before it, rather than use the voice activation, he simply opened it.

“Commander Spock,” Jilla Takeda said, with no indication of the surprise that must have existed at his sudden appearance. “I thought perhaps I might be of assistance.”

“Logical minds are always of assistance, Lieutenant Takeda,” he responded, seeing the pleasure in her eyes at his usage of her preferred appellation.

“You were on your way elsewhere?” she asked politely.

“Yes. I wanted to confer with Captain Kirk, but if you have information that would affect that communication…?” He let his sentence end enquiringly.

“No new solid data, Commander,” she acknowledged, “however, I do have a theory that may be testable.”

He stepped back, gesturing her into the office, noting the poised grace with which she moved. She turned at his desk, waiting for him to take his seat behind it. When he did so, she sat in the chair before it.

“Judging by the film that is covering the transporter’s mechanisms,” she began, “I would speculate that the ore has been somehow altered on a molecular level. I have studied the records of the previous incident on Alpha 177, and in that case, the contamination was of a powdery consistency, not this oil-like film.”

“Indeed,” Spock commented. “Continue, Lieutenant.”

“Further, the film is replicating itself in a process that appears more akin to organic reproduction than to mechanical duplication, which is perhaps leading to the deterioration that has been reported on the Theraxan planets.”

“A logical deduction,” Spock replied, finding himself pleased at both her reasoning skills and the soft, calm tones of her voice.

“This would indicate some organic contamination, which would then account for the blight in the agriculture,” Jilla went on. “This would seem to rule out any contagion from the officers of the Enterprise, as these affects were noted before our arrival.” She leaned forward, and Spock noted that her light brown eyes had the same intensity of her former color. “Therefore, we can theorize that the corruption was due to something the colonists brought with them, or that is contained within their own biological systems. Since Miss Gollub has discovered the existence of xenoneurophene within the ore samples, it may be prudent to ascertain if any of the colonists have that substance within their systems.”

“Which would account for the transporter problems on the Hood and the Constitution,” Spock concluded.

“And the fact that there was no genetic twinning of any of their personnel was avoided because their transporters failed before anyone could beam up from the surface,” Jilla completed.

“A fascinating theory, Mrs. Takeda,” Spock agreed, “and a quite rational approach to take. My compliments.”

She nodded, Spock detecting the slight rise in her eyebrows that indicated her pleasure at his commendation.

“It meshes quite logically with my own hypothesis,” he continued, “which I was about to take to the Captain.”

“If I may join you, then, Commander…” Jilla said as she rose from her chair.

“Indeed,” he responded, standing himself. He gestured for her to precede him and followed her to the door, again appreciating her efficient grace, when she abruptly stopped, her body stiffening.

“Mrs. Takeda?” he asked.

“He is mine!” hissed from between her suddenly tightening lips, and without another word, she moved quickly into the corridor. The telepathic sense of possession and claim swept over him, and he found himself seeking the presence of his own bond, only to be solidly blocked from that communion.

My wife, attend! he ordered.

Didn’t I tell you to fuck off with that? she answered, and he was inordinately pleased that, even with her rebuttal, she could not deny that she had heard and answered his communication.

Where are you? he demanded.

None of your damned business,

I trust you are not intruding on a bonded couple, he returned archly.

Just because that’s something you’d do if you could… ani Ramy retorted.

Never! was his affronted reply.

Her laughter was unpleasant. Yeah. Right. Do you really think I can’t feel how Jilla affects you?

My wife… he began testily.

Am not, the Antari said, then the sense of her presence was gone.

Stopping the irritated growl before it could form in his throat, Spock calmed himself and went in search of Captain Kirk.

“I could stay like this forever,” Ruth Valley sighed, letting her head drop back against her pillow.

Her husband smiled as he re-filled her wine glass. “You might get cold,” he observed, nodding towards her nakedness with the sort of mock solemnity she had always found adorable.

It had taken an unexpected amount of time – and wine – to get them to this point. Their bodies, while perfectly good, attractive Human bodies, were unfamiliar. Each caress was a stranger touching another stranger’s body.

“I have a blanket,” Ruth pointed out with a giggle, making no move to retrieve that item. When he handed her the wine glass, she thanked him with a lingering kiss. Settling in beside her on the bunk, Spock returned the embrace with careful tenderness.

“I love you.” He stroked her cheek, his brown eyes a little sad as he kissed her again. “I don’t say that often enough.”

“You don’t have to say it.” She smiled. “I can feel it. Even now. No telepathy. No empathy. No Antari semi-divine. I still feel your love.”

“Yes.” He brushed a stray curl from her forehead. “But that still doesn’t mean I say the words often enough, my beloved.”

They kissed again, exploring the alienly Human taste of each other’s lips.

Ruth sighed. “When I said I could stay like this forever…”

Her husband stroked her neck soothingly. “You mean stay Human. I know.”

“Tell me you don’t feel the same way,” she challenged gently.

He shook his head and smiled. “We have to enjoy this moment for what it is, my love.”

Ruth snorted. “A cruel joke by the universe?”

“An opportunity,” he corrected, putting his arm around her shoulder. “Are you familiar with the Vulcan plant known on Earth as tirianus vulcanius?”

She almost had to laugh at how unexpectedly Vulcan he sounded. “Yes, of course I am.”

“Have you ever bisected the bulb of that variety of plant?”

“Yes, professor,” she replied teasingly. “Of course I have. And if you’re about to make a point about how the interior of the bulb is more complex…”

“And more beautiful,” he said. “I do not believe I have ever said so aloud, but I have always found the bulb of the tirianus more beautiful than its flower – although the bloom is renowned for its beauty.”

“Everywhere but Vulcan,” Ruth had to point out.

“The complex interweaving of the interflorance has a delicacy and intricacy far more nuanced, far more intriguing than even the most colorful arrangement of petals,” he explained, absently stroking her shoulder with his fingertips.

Ruth felt herself melting. Even before she’d met him in person, she had respected his intelligence. However, it was the occasional unguarded moment like this – usually buried in the midst of a lecture as dry as the Vulcan sand plains -- when Spock’s true passion for knowledge shone through that had stolen her heart as a girl.

“Think of this as an opportunity to glimpse a side of our love that remains unspoken,” he said, his dark eyes soft, deep, and wise. “Like the lovely hidden heart of the tirianus, what is revealed here between us at this moment is the silent force that nourishes our love, makes it strong, heals it when necessary, causes it to grow. We are the beauty within that makes the exquisite bloom possible.”

“As a friend of mine would say,” an all too familiar and all too unwelcome voice announced, popping in from nowhere. “I think I gonna puke.”

“Damn it!” the Human Ruth Valley sat up in bed and screeched at her Antari doppelganger.

“Ruth!” Spock called out to both, putting his hands out as if to keep the two separate.

The Antari batted her eyes with false innocence. “Interrupting, am I?”

The Human balled up her fists in frustration. “Why do you have to ruin everything for me?”

“I ruin everything for you?” The Antari snorted as she sat down on the edge of the bunk. “That must be what passes for a joke among you Earth people.”

“Ruth,” Spock again cautioned both versions of his wife.

The Antari licked her lips as her eyes ran up and down his body. “Mmm, husband,” she purred salaciously. “Not quite the ride I’ve been accustomed to, but still, I think we can make do…”

“Shut up!” The Human beat her fists against the pillow. “For once, why don’t you just shut up?”

“I have a better idea.” The Antari wiggled her fingers theatrically in the Human’s direction. “Why don’t you just go to sleep?”

“Ruth!” Spock gasped for the third time as his wife slumped against him, instantly unconscious.

“She’s just asleep,” the remaining version informed him dismissively as he verified this fact and carefully laid his wife down to a comfortable position.

Spock took in a deep breath before turning back to Antari. “Ruth, I know this must all be very unsettling for you…”

“Please.” The golden version of his wife rolled her eyes. “Drop the diplomacy. I pissed her off. She pissed me off. I dealt with it. And now you’re pissed off. But she’s fine. So don’t be. Let’s move on, shall we?”

Spock frowned and sighed at this sharper than normal Antari impatience. “Move on to what?” he asked, since there didn’t seem to be much he could do about one half of his wife knocking the other half unconscious.

“Isn’t it obvious?” The golden goddess smiled as she stood and crossed to him. “Everyone keeps telling me you’re my husband.” She took both his hands and sat straddling his lap. “If I have to put up with the aggravation, I’d like a little of the connubial bliss.”

He didn’t resist her kiss. How could he? This was his beloved wife. She looked right. She smelled right. Her skin was the correct texture of pliant gold beneath his fingertips. The tendrils of her hair curled around him as they had always done. However, it was equally undeniable that, at this moment, holding her could not have felt more wrong.

“Oh for Zehara’s sake, she’s just asleep!” the Antari burst out. “Focus on me!”

“Ruth, please.” He pulled away from her lips as gently as possible. “A little patience. This is an unsettling situation for all of us…”

The Antari put her hands on her hips, frowning. “You’ve already used that line.”

“And you didn’t listen to it,” he remonstrated firmly.

She tilted her head to one side as she studied his face suspiciously. Her large violet eyes narrowed. “You love her more,” she accused.

“Ruth…” he began, laying a calming hand on her shoulder.

She batted his hand away. “How can you possibly be more attracted to that whining bookworm than to me?”

“Ruth, this isn’t a competition…”

“And now you’re trying to manage me, calm me down, control me,” she accused, tossing her hair angrily. “Stop it! Stop it now! Stop being all kind and considerate when that’s how you feel about her and not about me. I don’t want kind and considerate. I want…”

“A Vulcan?” he finished for her coldly.

Her mouth worked furiously with a denial that would not quite come out. “I do not need this aggravation,” she fumed, standing up and pushing away from him.

“Where are you going?”

“To find someone who doesn’t bore me to death,” she called back cruelly as she stalked away into thin air.

Noel DelMonde had part of a song stuck in his head.

Romeo and Juliet…
Samson and Delilah…
Baby you can bet…
A love they couldn't deny…
My words say split …
But my words they lie…
Cause when we kiss…
Oooooh…
Fire…

“Shut th’ hell up,” he ordered himself aloud. He was alone in the transporter room, laying on the transporter pad with disassembled base units stacked all around him. The environ belt he wore glowed softly at his waist, his hands covered in the extra precaution of thin but impermeable gloves. He loosened the weld holding the transductor unit in place and tried to keep his mind focused on signs of observable abnormalities.

You had a hold on me right from the start…
A grip so tight I couldn't tear it apart…
My nerves are jumpin’, actin' like a fool…
Well your kisses they burn…
But my heart stays cool…

Late at night…
You're takin’ me home…
You say you wanna stay…
I say I wanna be alone…
I say I don't love you…
But you know I'm a liar…
Cause when we kiss…
Oooooh…
Fire…

Del determinedly picked up another tool and began to methodically disconnect the transductor from its base.

He didn’t look up when the door hissed open.

This didn’t bother her. She leaned back with one bare foot against the doorway, smiling.

He could hear her enjoying the view, thinking about sleek predator cats running through jungles before her. He firmed his grip on the wrench he was holding, but his breath caught in his throat involuntarily as she mentally undressed him and her mind turned to long, slow afternoons of sweet lovemaking and feeding each other grilled meat by a fire and more ecstatic explorations of each other’s bodies and minds and hot showers filled with honeyed kisses that burned like… fire…

“Hey, darlin’.” He capitulated only to the extent that he looked up to acknowledge her heart-throbbingly undeniably glorious presence.

“Hey,” she replied, giving a smile of small triumph that was assured it would be followed by a greater triumph as she moved to sit on the steps near him.

“I kinda busy here,cher,” he warned.

“Saving lives?” the Antari replied lightly. “Think of it this way – my being here is saving a few more.”

He couldn’t help smiling at the unflattering cartoon images of the Human and Vulcan halves of herself and her husband that played in the front of the Antari’s mind. “Them twins gettin’ t’ you, huh?”

“One more supercilious eyebrow gets raised in my direction,” she promised grimly, “ and some arrogant pointed ears are going to be pulled out by their sanctimonious green roots.”

Despite all his resolve not to let it do so, his foolish heart melted at the sound of her speaking the scorn it had so longed for her to feel.

“Yeah, well, like I say,” he forced himself to reply. “I kinda busy up in here.” For good measure, he added, “An’ you kinda married.”

Her mesmerizingly beautiful purple eyes smiled on him possessively. “Not in any way my Clan would recognize as being meaningful, evan Louisa.”

Del had to swallow hard before he could make his own eyes focus back down on the tangle of wiring directly in front of him. “Lissen, cher,” he said, his voice sounding both gruff and weak to his own ears. “You can either come down here an’ try to talk me into some adultery wit’ your married ass or you can keep on callin’ me by my mama’s name, but you can’t do both.”

“Adultery?” The Antari laughed at the notion. “How provincial.”

“Yeah,” Del said, keeping his eyes on his work. “But that how it is. That what the real deal is here. I not gonna forget that. Not gonna forget what real. Say what you want, slink ‘round all you want, but I not gonna forget that you jus’ a transporter malfunction that gonna be gone as soon as I figure this mess out.”

Her light touch was electricity against his shoulder. “Is that what you want, Del?”

He could barely meet that achingly adorable violet gaze as he stiffly removed her fingers and replied. “This not about what I want, cher.”

She fell silent, but Del could feel her mind smiling at him, still completely assured of his inevitable surrender. Her fingers brushed lightly against his temples. “Have I ever told you how very special you are, evan Louisa?”

“Yeah,” he replied shortly as he switched out a tool from his kit. “I t’ink you yell somet’ing ‘bout it at me th’ las’ time you was cussin’ me out for doin’ somet’ing you not want me to.”

Her laughter was like mocking fairy bells. “Oh, that wasn’t me,” she replied, tilting his face upwards so he would be looking at her when she pronounced definitively. “That was Spock’s wife.”

Del bit his lip in an effort to keep his mind in control as his crazy heart throbbed with irrational joy.

"I’m not Spock’s wife,” the goddess before him informed him with inarguable finality.

The door to the transporter chamber swooshed open like a noisy deus ex machina. “How are you gettin’ on with those transducers, lad?” the Chief of Engineering asked sternly. “Have ye got one workin’ yet?”

Del had to clear his throat and pull himself free of those glorious golden fingers before he could answer. “No, sir.”

Scotty crossed his arms, spreading his disapproval thickly over both of them. “Been a wee bit distracted have ye?”

“No, sir,” Del replied pretending an equilibrium he did not feel. “I not got one workin’ ‘cause they can’t be fixed. The works is fused.”

The Chief Engineer came forward to take the small mechanism the Cajun held out for him. “Fused?”

“Like someone done open it up an’ poured sugar water in it,” Del confirmed.

Kam knelt on the sickbay bed, Jilla held in his arms, her head buried against his neck. His fingers moved sensually over her back and shoulders, his lips nuzzling through the rich burgundy hair. Her scent, fresh and crisp, was intoxicating, all the sweeter for having lost the touch of bitterness that had always made him think of pickles rather than cucumber. He chuckled to himself, wondering if his pathetic twin realized how much of his sensory delight in the Indiian was due to Kam’s reactions rather than his own. Kam himself had never bothered to wonder about where his heightened reactions came from, though he knew the ‘where’ plagued his twin. What he knew was Jilla’s body was softer, her hair thicker under his fingertips, her luminescent skin was a deeper pleasure to his gaze, her melodic voice a song resonating in his ears, her taste and scent an aphrodisiac.

And that’s without the Vulcan Bond, he added with some amusement.

Jilla reacted to the emotion, moaning softly, and he grinned.

There there, it’s all right, honey, he murmured to her. You’re supposed to feel this way. I’m your husband, after all.

No, Selar…! she began.

We’ve covered that already, sweetheart, he admonished. Dead and burned, remember?

My vows do not release me at…

Yeah, yeah, you’re damned and according to the Widow, so am I, so what possible difference does it make now? Let’s just enjoy what we’ve got now.

The Indiian sobbed. I cannot, I cannot…

Wanna bet?

He let his fingers slide along the fastener of her uniform, one hand slipping under the cloth to caress silken, silver flesh. The other moved tauntingly up her thigh, inching the material up over her hips. She shuddered in his arms, her heart pounding against his chest, but she made no attempt to stop him. He smiled, his lips moving through her hair, seeking her sensitive ears – remembering in time to kiss instead her cheek. No point in reminding her of things Vulcan just now is there?

Fuck your damnation, he whispered. Fuck mine. Court will wait. He chuckled softly. It kinda has to, seeing as how neither one of us is dead yet. And my little one, I want to enjoy you for as long as humanly possible. It’s what you want, too. It’s why you haven’t taken the easy way out all these years. You know it. I know it. We don’t need these dramatics. Just lose yourself in me. I’ll keep the ice away, I promise.

She was melting under his touch, her skin taking on the sheen that had always given him inordinate pleasure. It was proof of his power, proof that he could conquer anything, even the supposedly strictest marriage vows in the galaxy. He had always been confident that he would have won her, even without the Vulcan Bond, something his alter had never truly believed. Now, without the twist of Vulcan within her, he was demonstrating it with undeniable finality.

Even after Li, he thought, not bothering to keep it to himself. Beneath him, Jilla started, pain replacing the desire. Even after Dreamland, he continued, sending more desire to her, turning the pain to exquisite arousal. Even after anything I can or could or might do. You want me, you’re mine, nothing can change that. Revel in the degradation, my sweet silver one, let it carry us to the heights and depths of pleasure.

He tasted the tears that slid down her cheeks even as her body writhed against his, the moisture between her legs seeping through the material that still covered her, her nipples hardening under his fingertips. He repositioned her, moving to kneel over her, pulling her uniform briefs down her thighs… …then looked up as a familiar voice gasped out his name.

Sakura couldn’t help it. She stepped into Sickbay and saw no sign of Dr. McCoy or Dr. Han or Jeremy Paget. The room was empty but for the couple on one of the beds. Jilla Majiir was glowing. The skin of the man on top of her had its own radiance, a golden sheen that had always before signified a deep amber cruise. His hair was a long fall of jet black, his lean body exuding pure sensuality.

Sakura’s heart skipped several beats, all the emotion she usually kept buried leaping forward to take control of her senses. She wanted with an intensity that had faded since her return from Dreamland, but which had existed since her days at the Clave. And though she had known what – who – to expect, the name gasped from her lips before she could stop it.

“Kam!”

His head turned, the night-dark smile piercing straight to her loins.

“Gypsy,” he said, his voice like black honey. A toss of his head beckoned her. “You’re just in time.”

Jilla cried out and Kam spared a moment to silence her. Though Sakura couldn’t hear what he said, when the Indiian quieted with a whimper, she could imagine what it had been.

“Come on, baby,” Kam murmured. “I haven’t had a real threesome in a long time.”

His grin was wicked, and the yeoman found her head filled with images from Dreamland; she and Cobra and Sulu entwined together, the then-make-believe sexual contact now all too real.

She stopped wondering about Han and McCoy and Paget. She stopped worrying about transporter accidents, both the one that had caused this and the one she could look forward to once Jilla realized what she had done.

She stopped caring about her own safety and morality. All she could hear was his voice in her head, her only emotions ones of longing and desire and heady memory. She moved, entranced, toward the glowing couple, her hands already pulling at her uniform.

As soon as she was within his reach, Kam pulled Sakura into a deep kiss. Jilla sobbed beneath him and he squeezed her breast, bringing a gasp of pleasure from her agonized lips.

Gods, this is going to be fun! he grinned, pure wicked lasciviousness. He grasped the back of the yeoman’s head, pushing it to his hips as he leaned down to kiss Jilla.

KROYKAH! exploded in his head as his Vulcan mate exploded into Sickbay. Before his mind could recover from the bombardment, Sakura was being pulled away from him, a hand slashing across his face.

You are MINE! Jilla’s voice shrieked at him. No other will touch you!

Greater than Human strength grasped his shoulders, tearing him away from the Indiian, who immediately curled up, weeping hopelessly. He found himself staring into icy brown eyes, the not at all Vulcan features hard yet smoldering. His body reacted, his mind filled with sudden passion.

All right, baby! he crooned silently. Come on!

“What in the name of Jesus is going on out here!”

Jeremy had helped Sulu into one of the isolation rooms, Han and McCoy behind him. Jade had stated the hypnosis she wanted to try would have a better chance of success if they were free from distractions – pointedly not glancing toward Kam and Jilla. Once on the bed in the small room, Sulu had clutched at him, begging him not to leave.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere, babe,” Jeremy had assured. “But you gotta listen to Dr. Han…”

“No doctors!” Sulu rasped with sudden panic.

“It’s all right, Sulu,” Paget promised. “No one’s gonna touch you. Just listen to her, okay?”

“The boy never was comfortable with medical procedures,” McCoy commented, glancing at the TerAfrican. “You mean to tell me this Calvario person used physicians to…”

“Can we stop using the name?” Jeremy interrupted brusquely as a cry caught in Sulu’s throat.

“Sulu,” Jade said, moving into the helmsman’s line of sight, “You know me. You’ve always trusted me. I won’t hurt you.” Her voice was firm but as gentle and compassionate as a cool breeze on a hot day.

Sulu stared at her, swallowing, visibly calming.

She produced a stylus and held it up before his eyes. “I want you to focus on this, Sulu,” she continued. “Just keep your eyes on the point of the stylus and relax. Listen to my voice. Let the sound comfort you. Everything’s going to be all right. You‘re going to feel calm and a little drowsy. Just focus, listen to the sound of my voice. There’s nothing to fear here, everything’s fine. Focus and relax, Sulu. Focus and relax…”

She went on, repeating the words, her soft monotone enough to make Jeremy sleepy, and he’d never been successfully hypnotized in his life, not even as part of his psychiatric training. He concentrated on watching Sulu, on hearing the thundering heartbeat slowing. The helmsman’s shallow, rapid breathing became deeper, more even, the trembling that had taken his body stilling. More quickly than Paget could have predicted, the almond eyes closed, an almost relieved sigh escaping from Sulu’s lips.

“Very good, Sulu,” Jade murmured. “I want you to go back in your memory, back to your childhood. I want you to remember being…” She glanced at Paget, who mouthed, “fourteen.”

“Fourteen years old,” she confirmed. “You’re in Los Angeles, at home. You’re safe and happy, there’s no one threatening you, no one controlling you. You’re yourself, free of the trauma that has frightened you. You will remember that trauma, but it will not control you. You will think and act and know yourself to be fourteen years old, with the memory of what has happened but without any fear or guilt. You will be able to talk to us and answer our questions without pain and without panic. Do you understand, Sulu?”

There was an almost imperceptible nod, and McCoy leaned forward.

“Why can’t you just tell him the trauma won’t affect him?” he asked. “Why does he have to be fourteen?”

“He has to feel safe before he can even contemplate thinking about it without fear,” Jade answered. “And he hasn’t been safe since he met….” She glanced again at Paget.

Jeremy nodded rueful confirmation.

McCoy shrugged, clearly deferring to Han’s expertise.

Jade repeated her instructions several more times, then finally said, “All right, Sulu. Open your eyes.”

He did, then they widened as he glanced swiftly around the small room. He looked puzzled for a moment, then spoke, his voice tentative.

“I’m on a starship,” he said, then his gaze fell on Jeremy. He blinked, a smile pulling at his lips. “Jer? You’re so – tall!”

Paget returned the smile. “And all grown up, babe,” he replied.

Sulu’s glance shifted downward, and his grin widened. “You sure are,” he commented, clearly a sexual reference, but without any but the most delighted of innuendos. “And you’ve got a beard.”

“Someone once told me they liked it,” Jeremy returned with a wink.

Sulu actually blushed. Han and McCoy exchanged glances, neither of them having seen it before.

“Sulu, we need to ask you about Kam,” Jade said.

“Who?”

“What N.C. calls the Divine Wind,” Jeremy clarified.

“Kamikaze?” Sulu asked, frowning.

Paget nodded.

“That is – was – will be?” The question floated in Jeremy’s direction, so the TerAfrican nodded. “My needle,” Sulu continued, his expression perplexed. “It’s strange remembering things that haven’t happened,” he said to Jade.

“Think of it as a detailed dream you had,” the doctor suggested.

The frown lightened. “Okay, I think I can do that.” Sulu took a deep breath. “Kamikaze is Japanese for ‘divine wind,’ he said. “Cajun – Del named her, I guess because I’m Japanese…”

“And he thought you flew her like a suicide pilot,” Jeremy recalled with a grin.

Sulu shrugged, but he was clearly pleased.

“So you were called ‘Kam’ at the Clave?” Jade asked.

The fourteen year old nodded, then his face darkened. “But there’s – something else… another reason…”

“It’s all right, babe,” Jeremy said quickly, as Jade repeated, “Focus and relax, Sulu.”

“Just what is Kam, son?” McCoy put in gently.

“He’s… I don’t know,” Sulu responded, his tone soft and worried. “He – I – when I’m cruising, he… it sometimes feels like…”

“Cruising?” McCoy asked Paget.

“It’s what being under the influence of the Haven drug amber is called at the Clave,” Jeremy responded, though he was clearly not happy about it.

“Go on, Sulu,” Jade encouraged.

“My memory plays tricks on me,” Sulu murmured. “It sometimes feels like… well, like… like I’m not doing things, I’m sort of watching myself do things…” He paused, swallowing. “And sometimes, I don’t remember things other people say I’ve done,” he finished quietly.

“And it’s always Kam who they’re talking about?” Jade asked, equally quietly.

Sulu shook his head, but it wasn’t a negation. “Well, I’m Kam,” he said uneasily, “so yeah, I guess so…”

“Are you?” Jade said. “I know that’s your handle, but are you the Kam they’re talking about?”

“I’ve gotta be,” Sulu replied uncertainly. “I mean, who else…” His voice trailed off, his heart rate picking up.

“It’s all right, babe,” Jeremy repeated.

“But you don’t remember being that Kam?” Jade persisted.

“I remember enough,” Sulu said. His eyes darkened with shame. “I remember wanting – things – dark and not very nice things…”

“And do you remember Ruis Calvario?” Jade asked.

Jeremy held his breath. Sulu’s eyes closed and when they reopened, it was as wells of deep regret and grief and embarrassment. “Of course I do,” he whispered.

“Sick-fuck,” Paget mumbled under his breath.

Sulu’s head came up. “Yeah, I know,” he said, “but there was – another side to him, one he only showed to me…”

“We’ve been all through this, babe,” Jeremy sighed.

“And you think he’s evil incarnate – and I guess he was when he hunted, but with me…” Sulu returned belligerently.

“What was he with you?” Jade broke in.

The fourteen year old flushed fiercely. “He loved me,” he answered, his tone one of helpless defiance.

“He never loved anyone but himself,” Jeremy countered.

“Says you!” Sulu spat.

“I’d like you to tell me more about him,” Jade interrupted swiftly. “Can you do that, Sulu?”

The non-adolescent pouted. “Not if Jer’s gonna jump on everything I say.”

“Mr. Paget, will you check on – the other room for me?” Jade suggested politely, though her eyes made it an order.

Jeremy scowled, but nodded and rose.

“You gonna be okay, Sulu?” he asked.

A brief smile touched the helmsman’s lips. “Yeah. Sorry about – well, about everything, Jer,” he added.

“I still love you, babe,” Paget replied with a relenting grin, then rose, moving toward the door of the isolation room.

When he reached the main Sickbay, the sight that met his eyes shocked him down to his core, though he immediately realized it shouldn’t have. Jilla lay half naked, curled up and sobbing. Her Vulcan twin stood next to the bed, in front of Kam. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her eyes matching his icy glare with one of her own but without the taunting desire. Sakura Tamura was crumbled beside the bed, her uniform open at the side, her face flushed with both guilt and passion.

“What in the name of Jesus is going on out here!” Paget thundered.

Go To Part Four