Title: Where Hope Remains
Author: Kiristeen ke Alaya
Series: TOS/TNG
Codes: S/Beverly Crusher
Beta: Kaki (without whom, this would not be nearly as good)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit m/f sex.
Standard Disclaimer: These people and their world belong to Paramount and Viacom, not to me.  This has been written purely for the pleasure of writing.  I will not make any money from it, nor is any intellectual infringement on any copyrights intended.
Summary: Spock returns from the Romulan Empire, intending only an short unimpeded trip.  Starfleet has other ideas and still does not take kindly to his activities.  While being escorted back to Vulcan, he finds support from an unexpected quarter.
Feedback: Anything short of flames accepted and considered. Kiristeen@aol.com
Notes: Part of the Spock-fuh-q-fest http://www.kardasi.com/fuh-q-fest/

Part One

Spock pursed his lips as the shuttle approached the Enterprise D. He had not been on board an Enterprise since he'd gone aboard the B following Kirk's disappearance. He found himself...uneasy about it. It wasn't logical. This Enterprise bore no similarities to the ones he had served aboard nor the one upon which Kirk had died, but the unease was there nevertheless.

He rose slowly from his seat as passenger and approached the small view screen. This Enterprise had a grace all her own. It was so very different from her predecessors both in looks, design and much of its function. He was unsure as to the advisability of families on board such vessels, but according to the reports he'd read before embarking on this journey, it seemed to be working well.

It had surprised him to learn, although he supposed it should not, that even the Vulcans functioned better with their families on board.

It was with a slight sense of anticipation that he watched the shuttle glide into the waiting shuttlebay. He had to admit to himself he was looking forward to meeting Captain Picard again. He had found the man competent and, in his way, logical; with a stubbornness he had come to associate with the most successful humans.

It was good to be alone here. Ever since returning from the Romulan Empire he had rarely been alone, truly alone. While he fully understood their concerns about his motivations, it had been a wearying three weeks. Some of the officers who had questioned him, (Debriefing, they called it; interrogation, he called it.) had been sincere in their efforts to understand what had driven him to an act that could be viewed as traitorous, despite his intentions.

Others had been...not. Their suspicion and rude innuendoes would normally have not affected him, but those were the same officers who had, with calculated malice, studiously ignored all Vulcan protocols and his shielding had been tested to its limits with each poke, grab, and flat-palmed shove.

He barely felt the runabout touch down, and mentally noted the competence of the pilot.

"Ambassador," Picard greeted him with a slight nod. "This is my first officer, Commander Riker; Ship's Counselor Deanna Troi."

He nodded to each in turn. "Captain, I trust you have been well since our last encounter." Spock watched Picard's surprise at the reference to the time on Romulus.

"Yes, Ambassador, overall. It is my understanding that you are returning to Vulcan?"

"Yes, Captain," he answered.

"Well, then," he suggested hesitantly. "Perhaps we can show you to your quarters."

"That would be acceptable." Spock noted the captain's question gaze. It was obvious he was wondering if there was a more 'hidden agenda' to this than the surface appearance of simply dropping him off on Vulcan. A logical assumption, Spock thought. Starships, even in his day, did not simply ferry an ambassador home, especially not a retired ambassador. More often than not, it was far more complicated.

It was in this case as well, but the Captain did not need to know that. Spock knew, although he was not supposed to, that having the Federation flagship take him home had a two pronged purpose. One: to make a point to the galaxy that 'nothing was amiss' between him and Starfleet. Two: to make sure he actually *went* to Vulcan.

Starfleet did not yet trust him, despite the three weeks of debriefing. Of course, they had reason. Spock *did* intend to return to Romulus. His task there was not yet complete.

His 'escort' stopped. "I believe you will find your quarters acceptable, ambassador," Picard said, indicating he should enter first.

"I do not doubt it," he replied as he complied. Arching an eyebrow he took in the comparative luxury of the rooms. It had, indeed, been a long time since he'd been aboard a ship of the line. "It would be difficult to take exception to quarters such as these, Captain."

Picard grinned. "In that case, I will leave you to get settled in. We will arrive on Vulcan inside two weeks. We have one other stopover first. We are planning an informal dinner this evening at 1800 hours, if you would care to join us?"

"I would be honored, Captain."

With that, the Captain and his First Officer turned and left the room.

"Ambassador," the counselor began, after the door closed behind the two men, "if there is anything you need, feel free to let me know."

"I doubt I will require anything," he replied, then added, "but thank you."

She smiled and turned to leave, but stopped and looked back at him; a small frown marked her expression. "I realize no matter how I say this, it might be taken as an implied insult, but you seem...troubled. I-"

He raised a hand to halt her. "No, insult perceived, Counselor, but however...troubled, I may seem, I assure you, I have no need of your services."

She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it again as she obviously rethought trying to get him to talk. "Very well, Ambassador," she said, then quietly slipped out of the room.

Ignoring his surroundings, quarters that were easily three times the size of the ones he'd had aboard either the Enterprise or the Enterprise-A, he crossed to the view port, kneeling on the floor in front of it.

He easily slipped into first level meditation. It felt...good. He'd been unable to, the entire time he'd been held at the Starbase. He had not been given the time. He was unsure whether that had been their intent or whether it was simply a side effect of their methods. However, that was actually irrelevant, intended or not, the end result was that the lack of meditation had made the entire circumstance more of an ordeal.

He gratefully sank to the second level and began contemplating his choices. He had not intended to deal with Starfleet during this unexpected return. However, circumstances had dictated otherwise. It was, perhaps, fortuitous that it had. It had been made clear to him, that should he consider continuing in his 'current associations,' Starfleet would not take kindly to it.

It had been brought home to him, with less than subtle innuendo, that should he disregard their...suggestions, he would not be treated with as much 'generosity' as he had this time.

He had responded with arched eyebrow at their idea of 'generous' dealings and told them he would...'take it under advisement'. It had seemed to satisfy them. Now, as he reviewed this, he realized he had a choice. The Federation and Starfleet had been his home for the better part of his adult life, but reunification had become more than a dream. A lip twitched upward as he thought of what McCoy's reaction would have been.

McCoy would have called it an obsession. Spock acknowledged that there just might be an edge of truth to it. However, it was a worthy goal. He forced his thoughts back to his choices; what others would call it was irrelevant. If he returned to the Romulan Empire to further the cause, he would be, in effect, sealing his fate. This time, having been warned, there would be no turning back. He would not be able to return to the Federation.

The question that had to be answered wasn't, 'Was he willing to risk that?', but rather, 'Which was more important?'. The thought of never returning...'home', disturbed him more than he cared to admit, even to himself. He pushed that aside for now. That could be dealt with later, should he decide to continue.


Part Two


Spock stared out the view port, the room behind him empty and dark. The dinner gathering had been a study in remembering. In so many ways it reminded him of his time spent serving Starfleet. *His* Enterprise had hosted many events similar to tonight's. In other ways it was completely different.

It surprised him to realize he could pick out from this obviously well suited team of individuals who, exactly, was nursing an...attraction for whom. It had been a hard won skill, but necessary when dealing with humans. That he could still utilize it now, so long after the fact was...pleasing.

But, too, it brought back unpleasant memories of his own unreturned attraction. He had watched her, wondering, fearing, that it had been as...obvious when it had been him. No, he thought. His controls would not have allowed it. His secret had been kept safe from everyone, including the *one* person that he had wished, (Illogical, that.) would find out about it.

For that one to have discovered would have spelled disaster, he was certain of it. Of course, then it would have been...an ending; a resolution of sorts. Perhaps if that had happened he wouldn't now, decades later, be...wondering.

He shook himself from thoughts of the past and relationships that were none of his concern. It was the present that should concern him now. The past was just that, the past.

He knew what he 'wanted'. He wanted both worlds. His work for reunification must continue, but what cost was it worth. Was his actual presence there necessary for it *to* continue? Yes, he knew it was. For if he was unwilling to risk mere exile, why should they be persuaded to risk death, death by torture at that?

He sighed deeply, the decision made. Now he only had to deal with the-

"Ambassador?"

Spock started slightly, surprised he had not heard her enter. He turned and regarded the woman. "Doctor," he acknowledged.

"I'm off-duty. You can call me Beverly."

Spock's eyebrow canted upward.

"Right. Doctor it is." She slowly paced forward until she stood beside him. "Sometimes I come in here to just stare at the stars."

Silence

"It helps me...put things in perspective."

"Indeed, and how does 'staring at the stars' help you do that?" he asked, returning his own gaze back to the starry field.

"You know," she answered quietly. "I'm not entirely certain. I think it's the peace it fills me with. Looking out into the stars I get a sense of being part of something bigger, something profound. Makes my troubles seem small in comparison."

He turned and gazed at her profile. "Indeed. I find that, occasionally, I experience the same...discovery."

She smiled and moved to a padded chair, sinking into it comfortably. "I think it's something coded into our genetics," she said quietly. Something about the atmosphere spoke of quiet contemplation and she had no desire to disturb that. It was that very thing that helped bring the peace she so often sought here.

"Fascinating," Spock responded, moving to a chair next to hers. "Perhaps you would care to expand on that theory?"

Beverly leaned forward eagerly. It wasn't often anyone was interested in this particular
'pet theory' of hers. To find an unexpected, interested party was exciting. And slowly, concisely she began unfolding her reasons. She fully acknowledged that not all, most of them, in fact, were not exactly based in factual experimentation. Most of it was simply from observation of the same phenomenon over and over again, spanning age, gender and species barriers.

She was quite prepared for the Ambassador to scoff at her theories, but as he remained silent, listening intently she warmed to her subject. He interjected several pertinent questions when she began to lag, and the very nature of his perception made her think and renewed her words.

*****

Beverly stopped at her door and turned to face her escort. "I really enjoyed the chance to talk to with you."

"I, too,...enjoyed our discussion, Doctor."

She backed up, opening the door to her quarters. "Would you care to continue our talk?"

Spock hesitated, unsure whether her invitation should be taken at face value. In his experience that was not always the case. However, should he decide that it could not, it would be his 'luck' that this was the one time it could. "I would be honored, Doctor," he said finally, deciding that it really didn't matter.

And surprised at that conclusion, he followed the Doctor inside her quarters. They were neat and well organized, he noticed immediately.

"Can I get you something to drink, Ambassador?"

He nodded affirmatively. "Whatever you are having will be acceptable," he said quietly and watched her move gracefully toward the personal replicator. Turning his gaze he continued taking in the setting around him. She had a flare for combining Starfleet furnishings and personal mementos to create a very relaxing and homey atmosphere.

He realized with a start that he hadn't felt this comfortable in a 'home' since his wife had died more than 20 years ago. He could, of course, pinpoint the time to a four decimal accuracy, but something inside him rebelled against it. She had certainly been exasperated at his insistence at detailed accuracy often enough.

The Doctor's return with drinks in hand pulled him back to the present.

He sipped his and discovered a light and refreshing white wine. His eyebrow twitched upward. "This is not synthohol," he said. "If I am not mistaken, it is a product of the Picard vineyards of France."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You're right. I wouldn't have expected you to be a connoisseur of fine wines."

One corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly and his eyes danced. "A lifetime spent among humans has given me a range of...accomplishments that many would find surprising in a Vulcan."

She laughed, the sound coming from deep in her throat. "I imagine so." She fell silent a moment, then after gazing at him in speculation a few moments, she seemed to come to a sudden decision. "What was it like; serving on the original Enterprise?"


Part Three


It was somewhat surprising to him, how this woman managed to draw out of him stories of his time spent aboard the Enterprise. But what really shocked him was how he found himself relating even times of...embarrassment. She listened with a single-minded intensity he had found to be rare in humans.

Right now she was holding a couch pillow to her abdomen, eyes wide, valiantly fighting back her laughter.

"It was at that moment that Mr. Scott revealed that he had beamed all of the tribbles to the Klingon ship's engineering room."

"Oh My," was all Beverly managed to say, before falling into a fit of laughter. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she eyed him mischievously. "You have quite a way with words, Spock."

"And *you*, I suspect, have spent a significant amount of time in the company of this ship's counselor," he replied, his eyes showing his amusement at this, for him, odd conversation.

Beverly's jaw dropped. "Was that an insult?" She asked suspiciously, wondering if she should throw the pillow at him.

"Quite the contrary, Beverly. You have an amazing ability to solicit confidences I have shared with no one in over 50 years."

She stood and wobbled slightly. "Oh, I think I've had just a bit more to drink than I realized."

"Then perhaps I should retire to my quarters," Spock answered, rising also and wondering at the disappointment he experienced. "Good night." He was halfway to the door when her words stopped him.

"I may be going out on a limb here, but you don't want to go, do you?"

He turned slowly and met her eyes. He saw the open question there and considered. "It would not be appropriate," he said finally. "You are-"

"Sober enough to know exactly what I'm doing," she said, a mischievous smile curving her lips. "And to know what I want."

"Indeed," he responded, his eyebrow cocking upward. He swiftly suppressed his body's reaction to her bold words. "Forgive my presumption, but I was under the impression that you were interested in someone else."

She smiled sadly. "Being 'interested', as you put it, does not mean that it's returned, nor does it mean that I must put my life on hold, hoping that one day it will be."

Spock thought about her words, knew them to be true, and for the first time in a very long time, decided not to be concerned with what the future held. He stepped forward, stopping mere inches from her. "You are correct. I do not want to leave," he said, lightly caressing her cheek. "Do *you* wish me to stay?"

"Yes," she answered, her words a breathy whisper.

Neither knew who made the next move. Their hands met between them in slow, gentle caresses. Beverly shivered as a tremor ran through her at the electric contact. She watched his eyes close, his enjoyment of the simple touch plain to see. Her mouth opened slightly, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She reached up, tracing the edges of his mouth with a finger.

He gasped and his eyes snapped open. He stared down at her, his gaze softening, a small smile curling the edges of his mouth. Leaning forward he touched his lips to hers; once; twice, then they deepened the pressure, mouths parting and tongues dueling insistently.

A frisson of arousal shot through him. It had been so very long since he'd kissed anyone. Her hands moving along his seemed to seek out his most sensitive points with uncanny accuracy. He moaned quietly against her mouth and the surge of desire she felt following it, coursed through him.

Continuing the searching kiss, he swept her up into his arms and strode into her bedroom. Laying her gently onto the bed, he pulled back, locking gazes with her. Never once losing eye contact, he slowly divested her of her clothing, giving every newly bared portion of flesh his undivided attention.

His fingers carressed her. His lips and tongue teased her. His teeth grazed lightly over her trembling body.

She arched and moaned beneath his touch, gasping when he pulled one taut nipple into his mouth. Raising her hands to trace his upswept eyebrows, his jawline, his elegant ears. Pulling open the fastenings to his robe, she ran her fingers through the dark, coarse hair on his chest, stopping to tease each nipple between her fingers.

He flicked his tongue over the hollow of one hip. She jumped and moaned. *So* responsive, he thought, as he slipped a hand to the red curls between her thighs and lifted his head to watch her reactions. His thumb circled her swollen nub as he slipped one, then two, fingers inside her.

"Ye-es," she moaned softly, bucking her hips against his hand. She threw back her head, her eyes closed; savoring the sensations he was creating.

That totally abandoned look of having given herself over to her feelings, fueled his own desire more than he could have imagined. He gasped, as his long dormant desires rose up to match hers.

The heat pooled in her belly, growing slowly. As her muscles tensed and her body clenched around his fingers, it exploded within her, leaving them both gasping for breath. It left her exhilarated, and she looked to the Vulcan, now inching his way up the bed.

"It seems to me," she said silkily, her eyes dancing with delight, "that you are *way* over dressed."

An arched eyebrow and he reached for the edges of his half opened robe. Rising to her knees, she brought her hands up to cover his and shook her head. As his hands dropped to rest on her thighs, she leaned toward him. Mating her mouth to his, her tongue explored the inner heat, her hands sliding the robe off his shoulders and down his body.

He shivered at the multiple sensations and his head dropped back as she sought the hollow of his throat. Inhaling swiftly through clenched teeth as she teased first one nipple with her tongue, lightly running her teeth over it. She then turned her attention to the other, sending sparks of electric heat straight to his groin.

He gasped when cool air hit the dampened nipples as she made her way down to his abdomen, swirling her tongue around his navel.

She pushed him gently onto his back, kissing and lightly nipping a trail down passed his hips to his inner thigh. His legs moved apart allowing her access. A small moan escaped him as she bypassed his engorged cock, to work her way up his other thigh. Her hair brushing against him most intimately was pleasure and torture. The tiny tingling contact was pleasurable, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't what his body craved.

Intertwining one hand with his, she pulled back slightly. He groaned in protest, unable to stop the sound. Her eyes dilated by passion she reached out and traced his lips with a single finger.

He caught the tip in his mouth, sucking it in fully.

She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, anticipation gleaming in her eyes as she slowly withdrew her finger and bent down again. She cupped him with that hand, her wet finger sliding back behind and easily circling that most private of places.

His breathing hitched, growing erratic as the realization of exactly what she was going to do penetrated. His heart pounded as his anticipation grew. So long, he thought, his eyes clenching shut. So long!

He tensed, instinctively rejecting the fingertip that penetrated, at the same time gasping at the exquisite sensations. He swallowed convulsively, forcing his body to relax and accept the intruder.

Her finger moved, searching out...Ye-es his mind hissed as she brushed against that bundle of nerves, the cool warmth of her mouth closing over him at that same moment. His world swirled dizzyingly as her mouth and finger moved in opposite tandem. "Oh!" he moaned against the waves of heat spirally out from everywhere she touched.

With a sudden gasp he pulled her away from him. With a shaky breath, he pulled her into an intense kiss, running his hands over her full form.

She moaned against his mouth, her hands tangling in his hair and pulling him closer deepening the dueling of their mouths.

He pulled her beneath him, settling against her, brushing the head of his aching shaft against her sensitive nub; once, twice, then in one swift move, plunging deeply inside her.

He froze a moment, pulling together his Vulcan reserves of control. Then, as one, they moved in that ancient rhythm. Rocking against each other, slowly at first, with long deep thrusts and retreats; then faster and faster as the fire rose and the need grew.

He trembled with the effort it took to control his own response and when he felt the beginning of her release he moaned in relief. Relaxing into the sensations, he exploded inside her and the two of them shook with the spasms of simultaneous climax.

He dropped his head and she seemed to melt beneath him. They remained unmoving for long moments, both attempting to slow their, quick, ragged breathing. When shaking arms could no longer support him, he moved to lie beside her and she rolled into his embrace.

"You know," she said quietly. "You really shouldn't worry about it."

"Pardon me?" he asked, lost as to what she could possible be referring.

"When you succeed, no one will be concerned with how it started," she answered, looking up at him. "You *will* be able to come back then. Keep your hope alive, Spock. In the end, it's all anyone has."

Spock's eyes widened in surprise, then a small smile curved the corners of his mouth. "I will not ask you how you knew what was...concerning me earlier. However, I believe you are correct. Its time has come, and I will succeed. Then I will be allowed to return."

She smiled and lay her head on his shoulder, molding her body to his.

"Thank you," Spock said into the silence that followed, feeling a true contentment at long last.

"You're welcome," she replied sleepily.

Spock held her as she fell into sleep, following only moments later.


The end