Notes & Disclaimers: I
don't normally post WIPs, but dare to be different and all that.
Inspired
after watching 'Journey to Babel' last night and having the urge to to
write a Spock story. The last one I wrote was back in 1998, 'The Long Road From
Home',
and it just seemed time to do another one. This isn't a sequel really,
but the prior one does have something of the history between the
characters in it.
No warnings, very PG.
Family
Business
by Ithildin
c. February 2007
“Madam Ambassador,” Captain James T. Kirk greeted the small, blonde
haired woman who had joined him and his first officer on the
observation deck. “Did you enjoy your tour of the engine room?”
“I did indeed, Captain!” she replied enthusiastically. “Mr. Scott
was an excellent and informative guide. My compliments; the Enterprise
is a beautiful vessel. You must be very proud.”
The Captain’s smile widened at the compliment. “Thank you, Ambassador
York. You’re obviously a woman of taste and discernment. Not to mention
one of the loveliest ambassadors it’s been my pleasure to meet.”
“And you, Captain Kirk, are too flattering by half.” Triona
smiled up at the Enterprise’s very handsome captain, deciding he more
than lived up to his reputation.
Triona, or rather ‘Cate York’, was representing the Imladrin Planetary
Union at the Babel Conference that would decide on admittance of the
Coridan System to the Federation. While her presence on the Enterprise
was business, she had a personal agenda as well. But that agenda had
done his best to avoid her since she’d boarded the ship. It was time
for a more direct approach.
Triona turned her attention to the Enterprise’s Vulcan First Officer.
“Mr. Spock, I was wondering if you could spare a moment? We haven’t had
the opportunity to speak since you joined the Enterprise.”
“You know each other?” Jim Kirk’s interest was piqued. He looked to his
first officer for confirmation.
“The ambassador’s family and my own have been acquainted for some
time,” Spock admitted, though, it seemed, somewhat reluctantly.
“And I’d hoped, Spock’s duties permitting, I might impose upon you to
allow him the time to visit with me?” Triona looked at the Captain
enquiringly. She knew she wasn’t being fair, that Spock would probably
rather not have his relationship with her made public, but rank, not to
mention age, had its privileges. And Triona intended to use all of
those privileges this trip.
“Of course, Ambassador!” Kirk agreed readily. “Spock, consider yourself
at Ambassador York’s disposal.”
“But, sir, the reception for the delegates…”
“Nonsense, Spock!” Kirk replied heartily. “Nothing we can’t handle
without you. Please, escort Ambassador York back to her quarters.
That’s an order,” he added, when it appeared he might have some other
objection.
“Aye, Captain.” Spock nodded slightly, seemingly resigned to his fate.
Triona smothered a grin, his expression reminding her of when he was
five and hadn’t wanted to go to bed till she’s told him another story.
“My thanks, Captain.” She turned her attention to the Vulcan. “Shall
we?”
~_____________________~
They walked down the busy corridor in silence. Finally, Triona said,
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d been avoiding me.”
Spock looked sidelong at the slight woman who walked next to him. “Then
it is fortunate you do indeed know better,” he said coolly.
“Isn’t it though?” This time, Triona didn’t try to hide her smile.
They reached the door to her quarters, and the door opened with a quiet
‘whoosh’. “After you, madam.” Spock extended an arm.
“Are you okay?” Methos asked in concern, as they entered, from where he
was sprawled in a chair, a datapad in one hand.
“Why?” Triona asked, perplexed.
“You were only in the engine room two hours – more than a little
frightening!” His eyes danced in amusement.
“Oh, very funny!” Walking over to where he sat, she leaned down to kiss
him. “And you have no reason to tease,” she murmured into his ear, her
fingers skimming across his chest. “I found the warp nacelle design
<I>very</I> stimulating.”
“Well thank the gods for warp nacelle design,” he breathed, his hand
coming up to caress the back of her neck.
Drawing back, she smiled, brushing her lips across his one last time
before standing and turning back to the Enterprise first officer.
“Spock has graciously agreed to humour an old woman and visit with me.”
“Spock,” Methos stood, greeting the Vulcan. “You’re well?”
“I am, Doctor.” He held himself stiffly, hands clasped behind his back
looking more like he was awaiting a disciplinary hearing than a
conversation with his Pry'lyn.
His demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by the Immortal. “Graciously agreed,
hmm?” Methos asked his wife. He took her hands, leaning in to say
softly, “You’re a cruel woman, love.”
“Part of my charm,” she replied airily.
“Uh huh.” He turned his attention back to Spock. “I’ll leave you two to
your chat then, shall I? I’ve arranged a game of qui’li with the
Andorian ambassador, so I’ll catch you later, wife.”
“Try not and get into too much trouble, husband,” Triona replied. His
only response was a smile as he headed out the door.
~___________________~
Triona went to the replicator. “Trelan tea, two.” The machine
whirred compliantly, depositing two cups of the steaming Vulcan brew
onto the dispenser pad. Picking up the cups, she turned, handing one to
Spock.
There was a whole body of tradition and ritual involved with Trelan
tea. She didn’t intend on going there, but just her handing him the tea
was an indication of the seriousness of her intent at this ‘chat’. An
intent Spock seemed to acknowledge as he accepted the cup gravely
between his two hands, his long fingers delicately clasping the small
drinking vessel, with a slight bow.
When he spoke, it was in Vulcan, using the more formal mode of the
language, suitable for speaking to an elder and family member. “Seveh,
Tela'at T’rona.”
“K'war'ma'khon Spock, tesmur,” she replied as formally. Indicating with
a wave of a hand that he should sit, she gracefully sank into one of
the chairs in the small seating area of the guest quarters.
They both maintained silence, sipping tea as they gathered their
thoughts. Finally, after the appropriate interval, Spock spoke into the
quiet. “Your presence here on the Enterprise was unexpected.”
The Imladrin Planetary Union kept a relatively low profile in the
quadrant, some might even say secretive. It was rare for such a public
high level delegation to attend a Federation conference. Most
diplomatic business was conducted privately, through back channels and
upper echelon contacts.
“Your father’s doing,” Triona replied.
“Indeed?”
“While Imladris is not a member of the Federation, we do have a great
deal of influence to bring to bear. Influence I intend to use to
expedite the entrance of the Coridan system into the Federation.” She
sipped at her tea. “In return, Vulcan will press my government’s
concern at the growing influence of the Orions with the Federation
Council. A mutually beneficial arrangement, as we see it.”
“Logical.”
She laughed. “I’m pleased you think so!” After regarding him for a
moment, she added, “But I have other concerns that brought me here,
Spock. I think you realize that.”
“I had arrived at that conclusion.” His voice was tight and
controlled.
Sighing at his tone, she glanced at him before looking down at the
teacup she held in her hand. “You and Sarek.” With a sharp motion of
her hand, she forestalled him. “No, Spock, you will let me finish.”
This was said in a tone that brooked no argument. Triona was
determined that he would at least hear her out. The young Vulcan
swallowed his words, and she continued, “I will not try and mediate
between you and your father. That is not my intention. God knows you
and Sarek are as stubborn as anyone I’ve ever met.” She gave him a
piercing look, daring him to say that stubbornness was a human
emotion. Wisely, he kept his peace.
Setting the cup on the adjacent side table, she clasped her hands in
her lap. “But what about your mother, Spock? She’s human, with a human
life span. Is it logical to waste so much precious time with her?
Believe me when I tell you that regret is one emotion you will be
unable to avoid if you continue to keep Amanda from your life because
of the discord between you and Sarek.”
His jaw clenched ever so slightly. “It was never my intention.”
“And yet, that has been the result,” she replied sadly. “Amanda gave up
so much when she married your father. She even gave you up in the end,
gave you up to be your father’s son, to be a Vulcan. Please, Spock,
just for a little while, can’t you be her son too?”
“Sarek, I believe, would disagree that I am a proper Vulcan son.”
“Sarek is a fool,” she snapped. Spock raised one brow at her sharp
outburst. “Oh, Spock, your father is one of my dearest friends, but I
am not blind to his shortcomings. And while I can not directly broach
the subject with him, you are a different matter. Vulcan custom gives
me that right.”
Triona had known Spock’s grandfather, a member of the First Contact
compliment to Earth in 2063. And then she and Sarek had become friends
some five years before Spock’s birth. When Spock was a child, Triona
had lived in Sarek’s household for two years. In the course of that
time there, she had been made the boy’s Pry'lyn. The closest human
equivalent was Godmother, though it was somewhat more involved than
that – as many Vulcan customs tended to be.
“I do not regret my choice to attend Starfleet Academy or to serve on a
human ship. To do so would be illogical,” he said stiffly.
“And you think I disagree with that, Spock? If I’d thought that you
were making the wrong choice, I would have told you then. You know very
well that I’m not averse to giving you my opinion.” She flashed a small
crooked smile that was answered by a sparkle in her companion’s eyes
that amounted to outright laughter in a Vulcan. Yes, he knew that quite
well indeed. “I am very proud of you, of what you’ve accomplished.”
“It has been my good fortune to serve on this ship, under this captain.
The path I have chosen suits me well.”
“I wish you’d known your grandfather, Skon. You remind me so much
of him.”
“And yet, he did as was expected, he attended the Vulcan Science
Academy and then entered diplomatic service.”
“He did,” Triona agreed. “But there was no Federation, no Starfleet
Academy when he was young. I firmly believe that if there had been, he
would have chosen as you did. Your grandfather was insatiably curious.
As delighted with having me explain what my name meant as he was in
Earth history, or the matter, anti-matter mix in a warp engine.”
Gently, she placed two fingers across Spock’s wrist, an embrace for a
Vulcan. “If ever you wish me to share those memories of Skon with you,
you only need ask.” They had been mentally bonded during the ceremony
that had made her his Pry'lyn. It sealed her responsibility for him and
his well being for as long as they both lived. It was a responsibility
Triona took very seriously. While neither had ever utilized the bond
they shared, it was ever present at the edges of their awareness,
bringing a closeness that was belied by their outward formality.
“You do me honour, T’sai T’rona,” he said quietly.
“No, Spock, I just love you,” she replied as quietly. A memory of him
at three, sitting with her in the garden in the Vulcan twilight,
flitted across her mind’s eye. Blinking a little at the tears that
threatened to well up, she marshaled her emotions. She always tried her
best not to embarrass her Vulcan ‘family’ with overt displays of human
emotion; sometimes, it was harder than others.
The Vulcan remained silent, seeming to know she needed a moment to
gather herself. Taking a deep breath, she stood, smoothing the fabric
of the floor length skirt she wore. Then she said briskly, in English
this time, “Your parent’s shuttle will be arriving soon.”
“‘Forty-seven minutes,” he agreed, standing as well.
“Then I’ve taken enough of your time, Spock. I know you have duties to
attend to.”
Bowing slightly, he accepted the end to their meeting. “I promise you,
I shall think on what we have spoken of here.”
Nodding, she smiled. “I’m glad.” Walking to the door, she waved a hand
across the sensor, causing it to open with a quiet whoosh. “And now,
Commander, duty awaits us both.”
“Ambassador York,” he took his leave before exiting the open door.
~________________________~
“Aren’t you supposed to be at the delegate reception?” Methos asked
some time later, sitting on the bed next to her.
“Mmm, I suppose,” she replied, not terribly enthusiastically.
“Slacker,” he accused, poking her gently in the ribs.
“Pot, kettle, black,” was her succinct reply, along with a slap to the
offending hand.
“Ow!” Laughing, he tucked a stray piece of hair back behind her ear.
“How did your chat with Spock go?”
She scooted over so Methos could lie next to her. “Pretty well, I
think. At least I tried, right? I just needed him to consider how his
mother was being affected – both for her sake and his. I think I
succeeded.” She shrugged slightly. “And how about you? Did you and the
Andorian ambassador bond?” Triona smiled at her husband fondly. “I’m
assuming the only reason you’re back so soon is that he had to go to
the reception.”
Methos had jumped at the chance to come on this mission with her. While
he loathed the boring diplomatic details, he loved meeting new races,
learning their languages, customs, and most importantly, or so she
secretly thought, drinking their alcohol. She rather thought that when
Zephram Cochrane talked about ‘new life and new civilizations’, he
would have approved of Methos’ own personal exploration method.
“You are correct,” he said amiably. “That, and I thought you might be
missing me.”
“Missing you, huh? Don’t know about that,” she said, grinning.
“Liar,” he accused, cutting off her reply with a kiss.
He tasted like roses and something that reminded her of eucalyptus, and
in a lazy corner of her mind she wondered just what Andorians made
their alcohol from. Sighing into his kiss, she pulled him closer. When
their lips parted, she kept her eyes closed, savouring his closeness.
Then she murmured, “Okay, maybe a little.” Then she giggled, knowing
that if she opened her eyes, he’d look very smug and self-satisfied.
“So tell me about your afternoon.”
Propping himself up against the headboard, Methos took her hand, gently
kneading the palm. “It was very entertaining, not to mention
informative. Do you know, they have the most amazing liquor?” he said
with all the enthusiasm of a twelve-year-old boy with a new bike.
“Do they?” Triona managed stifled the giggles that threatened to erupt
at his question.
He looked at her a little suspiciously, but continued with his story.
“It’s almost like a shard of ice, and when you put it your mouth, it
reacts to the saliva and dissolves into a vapour that’s absorbed
through the skin! Bloody amazing!”
That was too much, and this time, she couldn’t not laugh. Sitting up,
she threw her arms around him, laughing so hard her ribs hurt.
“It could have all sorts of medical applications!” he protested.
“Of course it could, darling,” she agreed, catching her breath.
“It could,” he repeated, pouting a little.
Running her fingers along his chin, she kissed him gently on the corner
of his mouth. “I love you.”
“That’s something, I suppose,” he replied, “considering how popular you
are.” At her questioning look, he added, “Captain Kirk is quite taken
with you. And you being married didn’t seem to curb his enthusiasm.
Should I be worried?”
“Not at all, my love; Starship captains hold no attraction for me. Now,
the ship’s engineer, on the other hand…” Sitting back on her calves,
her eyes sparkling with laughter, she said, “I have to be honest with
you, darling. If Mr. Scott gives me even the slightest encouragement,
I’m his!”
“Is that right?” A smile tugged at Methos’ lips.
“I’m afraid so,” she replied solemnly.
“Well then…” Before she could react, he grabbed her elbows, pulling her
down on top of him, before rolling them both over. “Now, you were
saying?”
“There’s nothing you can do to change my mind,” she protested in
between gasps of laughter.
“Is that what you think?” He held her wrists in one hand above her
head, his other hand sliding down her hip.
“Mmmm… well, okay, I don’t suppose there’s any harm in you trying,” she
admitted, sighing softly as his lips caressed her throat, the sigh
becoming a little moan of pleasure as teeth replaced lips, gently
biting at the sensitive skin.
“I didn’t think there would be,” he whispered against her ear, his
voice a mix of amusement and desire.
Letting go of her wrists, his hands slid into her hair, his thumbs
brushing across her cheekbones. He looked down at her, their faces bare
inches apart. His eyes were dark, like a storm tossed ocean, and just
as deep. And in that moment, Triona wanted to look into those
eyes forever. Her hands mirroring his, she stroked the sharp planes of
his face, her fingers skimming down his throat, before her palms came
to rest against his heart. “You are so beautiful.” Her voice caught,
and she thought she might weep at the intensity of her love for him.
“I think that’s supposed to be my line,” he told her softly.
“You’ll have to share.”
He just nodded, leaning in to kiss her, his hands sliding down her
body. She felt the low rumble of his laugh before she heard it.
Breaking the kiss, he drew away, looking down at her with concern. “I
think we have a slight engineering problem.”
“Oh?”
“Mmm-hmm. You have far too many clothes on,” he explained.
“Oh, that!” She laughed. “I have every confidence that this is one
engineering problem you can solve yourself.”
In short order, he proved just how right she was.
TBC
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