The BLTS Archive - Chasing the Dove
by Kella Starfyre (startrekgoddess@hotmail.com)

---

Disclaimer: Paramount can kiss my ass... Spock,
Valeris, and the Klingons may belong to them, but the
sex is all in my head... and there's enough empty space
for it, too! <eg>

Feedback: Please! It will be bronzed...

Archive: With e-mailed permission...(i.e. Send me an
e-mail with your URL, I'll give you permission!<g>)

This is a story of the Spock Fuh-Q Fest (SFF) and
therefore may be archived at whichever site the list
calls home, ASCEM, and BLTS may collect it for private
distribution...<wink>

Author's Note: It's so damned hard to pitch the perfect
storyline to yourself and keep it according to canon...
I watched ST:6 a hundred times, just looking for
innuendos and subtleties! Found 'em!  This story is a
direct lead-in to ST:6... Just picture Valeris'
ulterior motive being jealousy over a one Klingon-night
stand!

By the way, this is my first smut in months, so go easy
on me, okay? I had to go without beta for this one as
my usual is on vacation, and no one else
volunteered...<pout>

Vulcan/Klingon sex.... hmmmmm....lol

---

The incense from the meditation lamps tickled her nose,
and she fought the urge to sneeze. Standing in the
entryway, she strained her sight in the darkness,
looking for the man she had come to visit. Shifting her
weight from one foot to the other, she took a tentative
step, then whirled around as the door hissed shut
behind her.

"You may enter," a gruff voice said from across the
room.

She felt ashamed of herself for her skittishness. That
was not the behavior of a warrior's daughter. Yet, at
the moment, she barely *felt* like a warrior's
daughter. If her father would only *behave* like a
warrior and go down fighting, instead of allowing
this... messenger of cowardice to turn his honor into a
joke.

"I trust you are thinking, and not simply unconscious,"
the voice said again.

She fought down the urge to storm out of the room in a
rage.  How *dare* he, this *diplomat*, scoff at her, a
warrior's daughter from a proud house, in such a
manner? The only thing that kept her in that room and
her tongue still was the fact that any other course of
action could well shatter her father's dreams for
peaceful resolution. Even as much as she believed this
"peace process" would disgrace her house, the bigger
disgrace would go to her father if the process failed.

"If you require assistance in entering the room, please
inform  me," the gruff, yet imperturbable, voice
continued. She paused. It was the voice of one who had
witnessed many battles. Perhaps it *would* be
worthwhile to stay. After all, hearing about glorious
battle stories would make  for interesting "peace
talks."

Taking a deep breath, she raised her chin in proud
defiance of diplomatic procedures and entered the small
glow of light cast by a small lamp. "My name," she
stated with no small amount of hauteur, "is Azetbur, and
the peace talks my father desired to take place will
now commence."

The stranger, a Vulcan, canted his eyebrow. "Your tone
certainly brooks no room for disagreement."

"I am the daughter of the Klingon chancellor. Any
disagreement would be irrelevant."

The Vulcan snorted mildly. "In human terms, I believe,
that would mean, 'It is my way or the highway'."

The only response he got was a blank look.

A resigned look settled on his aging features. "So much
for learning a foreign language."

She eyed the cushion across from him on the floor, then
abruptly sat down upon it. "What is your name?" she
demanded with bravado.

He blinked. "I am Spock."

"What house are you of?"

"You would not be able to pronounce it. Let us just say
that I am the son of Sarek, Vulcan ambassador to the
Federation."

She looked at him for a moment. Then, "I am of the
house of Gorkon."

Spock tilted his head. "A noble and worthy house."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Indeed."

Intrigued by this strange man, she settled into the
cushion, although she still kept her erect warrior
posture. She studied his face. Not a young face, but
not an old face, either. Although he had no telltale
battle scars, she could tell from his face that he had
borne witness to many battles and many deaths of people
he had served with. Another thing that intrigued her
was that he was unlike any other Vulcan she had ever
met. They were all emotionless, passionless automatons,
whose retreat into logic was nothing but an elaborate,
rigid mask of cowardice. This Spock, however, was
more... flexible... with the emotion around him. She
had no doubt that he would quote logic to her at some
point in time, but so far he had been a receptive host.
He was not at all cold and distant like the other
Vulcans she had seen and met.

As if reading her mind, "I have found that with age
comes the prerogative to abandon foolish precepts
followed in one's youth." He sighed, his gaze turning
inward. "Vulcans are taught that logic is wisdom, and
therefore they mostly believe that logic is the *end*
of all wisdom. Few of them see what I do: That logic is
not an end, but a beginning."

She was held rapt by his words, for reasons she
couldn't  possibly explain. "To wisdom," she finished,
her own precepts about Vulcans and their logic slowly
changing.

"Exactly," Spock said with a raised eyebrow. "You show
promise, Azetbur; promise I have not seen since..." His
voice trailed off uncharacteristically.

She waited for a moment, and then prompted, "Since
who?"

Spock's eyes, which had been focused inward as if in 
reflection, now trained on her. "A student I once had
under my tutelage."

Azetbur's curiosity got the better of her. "What
happened to her?"

He blinked. "What makes you think it was a female?"

For the first time since she had entered the room,
Azetbur smiled. "You have the look of a man haunted by
a woman's unrequited love. She must  not have accepted
rejection well."

He stiffened. "I do not believe I look haunted. But,"
he conceded, "you are correct about my former pupil. It
was quite disconcerting having  her show amorous
feelings for me, not to mention the fact that I did not
return them."

"Amorous? Vulcans?"

Spock sighed. "For her, controlling emotions was
usually a problem. Not for lack of attempting control,
but *true* management of her feelings always eluded her
grasp." He seemed to shake himself out of his
reverie."You have the message sent by your father?"

She nodded abruptly, handing him the padd.

Silently, he reviewed the message and its proposal of
peace. After five minutes, he nodded and picked up a
stylus, appending his own message  to the padd.

Handing it back to her, he said, "This is a promising 
beginning. I look forward to future messages."

She looked at him for a long moment before agreeing.
"As do  I." She stood, noting with satisfaction the way
he raised an eyebrow as he understood her meaning. She
walked to the door, then turned. "What was the name of
your pupil?"

"Why do you wish to know?"

She grinned ferally. "She is competition."

Spock snorted. "Hardly. I have sponsored her to
Starfleet  Academy. She graduated at the top of her
class at the Academy. No doubt Starfleet  will have
adequate deep space postings for her."

This time, Azetbur actually laughed out loud. "Still,
it is honorable to know the name of one's enemy."

"In the interests of 'honor', then," he said finally,
sounding particularly amused. "Her name is Valeris."

---

Spock arranged his robes as he waited for the door
chimes to buzz. Suddenly, for some reason, he didn't
feel nearly modest enough. Something about his
visitor's presence made him feel indecent with the
clothes  he currently wore.

The harsh chirp of the door chime almost made him jump
in surprise. "Come," he said evenly.

Azetbur stormed through the entrance and dropped to the
ground heavily. She jabbed a datapadd in Spock's
direction. "Here."

One eyebrow raised, Spock took the padd. In the last
two weeks that he and Azetbur had interacted concerning
the peace treaty, she had behaved with all the bluster
and bravado one might expect from a Klingon, with maybe
even a juvenile edge to it. But Spock was almost at a
loss with this blatant act of childhood. If he were
pressed to describe it, he would have used the human
term "Temper Tantrum". "Something vexes you," he
commented wryly.

She spat something in Klingon which Spock interpreted
as derogatory. For the next minute she did nothing but
snarl.

Sighing, Spock appraised her. "How old are you?"

Startled by the question, the ridges on her brow
furrowed even deeper. "29 cycles. Why?"

Spock innocently folded his hands in front of him. "Ah,
29 Klingon cycles would make you 35.4 Terran years old.
An age of maturity and adulthood." He paused as if to
ponder the Zen-like quality of the latter part of his
statement.

"Yes, so?" she barked.

He blinked. "I was just pondering how a mature Klingon
adult could manage to behave like an adolescent Human."

Before he could bat an eye, she had her *d'k'tang* out
and at his throat. "Take back what you just said,
Vulcan!"

Spock did not appear perturbed in the slightest. "Such
an illogical display of violence. Put the knife away.
You are only succeeding in proving my point."

"I could *kill* you..." she hissed through clenched
teeth.

"If you were to do such a thing, peace talks with your
empire would be destroyed, as would your empire's
future existence."

Silence, then she sullenly placed her knife back in its 
sheath. "You insult my honor."

Spock looked her in the same way a teacher might look
at an unruly pupil. "Behaving the way you have been
would hardly place you in an honorable light, even by
*Klingon* standards, Azetbur."

She made a derisive noise before snarling, "Aside from
the insults, you sound just like my father."

Spock's unease at rest and humor at its peak, he
rearranged his meditation robes around him. "Do
elaborate, as I remember your last speech to me was on
how Klingons and Vulcans could never live in peace due
to their vast differences."

"Bahh," she growled, "for a Vulcan, you talk too much."
She regarded him. "Most Vulcans behave like their
rectum is plugged," Spock's eyebrows flew up to his
bangs at the metaphor, "but not you."

Spock, recovering his decorum, canted an eyebrow. "As I
have said before: a prerogative given by age."

There was silence, during which Spock attempted to
concentrate on the message from Gorkon that he was
holding. The more he attempted to focus, the more his
unease returned to him, until all he could think about 
was the female in front of him. How he really wasn't
that old after all,  by current mores, and she was old
enough...

**No,** part of his mind hissed, **she is no more than
another pupil, just like Valeris...**

**She is nothing like Valeris...**

**Oh? The tantrum seemed vaguely reminiscent of said 
individual's tendencies...**

Shaking himself out of what would have seemed an insane
mental argument, Spock regarded Azetbur yet again, this
time allowing himself the  luxury of taking in the
beauty of her leather-clad body.

She noticed his gaze, and if she had not been so angry
she  might have "gazed" back at him. Instead she sighed
heavily, absentmindedly playing with an incense stick
that lay on the floor.

Spock nodded, realizing she was waiting for him to
prompt her.  "What did you argue about?"

"Praxis."

Confused, Spock shifted. "You argued about a moon? It 
exploded, what could there be to argue about?"

"No," she said angrily. "We didn't argue about the
*moon*, we argued about....My father says I've become
childish since my mother was killed on Praxis."

"I would be hard-pressed to disagree," was Spock's
amused  response.

She glared at him. "I... I am angry. She would still be
alive if the government had followed my father's
dictates for stricter safety procedures." She fell
silent again.

Spock prodded, "That is not all that bothers you about
your mother's death."

She swallowed and nodded. "My mother... was the only
one who didn't treat me as if my honor was the only
part of me that mattered. Oh, honor was important to
her, yes, but not so important that she didn't ...
ignore me if it wasn't the best it could be..."

"Unlike your father," Spock completed for her.

She looked at him, nodding. "Yes, exactly."


"She loved you."

"Yes."

"And he has always had difficulty showing how he cares
for you."

"Yes, exactly," she said, a new light flickering in her
eyes, almost hidden behind unshed tears.

Spock allowed a corner of his mouth to quirk slightly
upward conspiratorially. "We are so much alike. My
mother and father expressed them to me just as yours
have. And," he paused, "my mother passed on recently as
well."

She stared at him for a long while. "Have you ever been
in love, Spock?"

Allowing a brief moment of memories, Spock nodded.
"Yes. My wife, Christine."

She seemed to back off. "Oh, you are married..."

Slowly shaking his head, he lowered his eyes. "No, she
died around the same time as my mother, a few months
ago. She contracted a disease for which a cure was
found only a few weeks after her death."

Azetbur looked at him intensely. "Doesn't that make you
angry, Spock?"

"Anger is illogi..."

"Illogical," she cut him off, "yes, yes I know. But
you, you seem like the type that would rage against
such an unfair act of fate."

Unsure whether or not he should be insulted, he simply
said, "You don't strike me as the type that would wax
poetic, Azetbur."

She lowered her eyes. "A lot about me would probably
surprise  you, Ambassador."

"Really?" he said, knowing that was opening a door.
"What about us, for instance, is similar?"

"We both need to heal," she said, subtly inching
forward towards him. "And we both need someone to heal
with..."

Before he could react, she had her mouth pressed up
against his, her tongue seeking further access to his
mouth. Stunned, he sat there for a moment, revelling in
the sensations he hadn't experienced since Christine...
Then, as logic returned to him, he attempted to push
her back.

"Azetbur...We shouldn't..."

A desperate craving was building behind her eyes.
"Please, Spock," she growled gently, opening her
bodice, allowing two luscious breasts to bounce out of
their confinement. "Make me feel loved again."

The very un-Klingon-like plea was like a lightning bolt
to his heart.

**Christine...**

And his body soon agreed that it had, indeed, been a
very long time...

Spock couldn't remember how he had come to be lying on
his back on the floor, or how Azetbur had managed to
get both of their clothes off in such a short amount of
time, or when the lamp on the floor had moved to a safe
distance, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was
the warmth enveloping him, as he felt his manhood being
suckled by a very warm, wet mouth. He moaned as an
achiness enveloped him, bringing him to the brink of
insanity, desiring to flip her over onto her backside
and take her...

But her ministrations left him momentarily paralyzed.

Finally, she ceased the torturously slow movements she
had been engaged in, moving further up along his body,
ripping his meditation robe completely apart to expose
his naked body. Despite his age, he was still lean and
fit, if allowing a little generosity around the
abdomen. Soft tufts of dark hair lined with gray
covered the upper half of his chest, and there was a
trail down to his navel.

He felt her kissing him, felt the coolness of the air
against the trail of moistness she left in her wake,
felt the softness of her hands exploring his body.
Memories of his last intimate encounter welled up
inside him, and he was possessed with the image of
Christine as her young, vibrant self, frozen in a
passionate embrace with him as they bonded for the
first time. **T'hyla!** his mind screamed.

Suddenly, Azetbur found her thrown on her back, her
clothing ripped from her, and his mouth on hers. Her
hands were suddenly pinned above her  head as, with one
knee, he parted her legs and buried himself in her. The
enormity of him threatened to split her in half, but
she bit down on her bottom lip and swallowed her
initial pain. "More..." she whispered. Looking into his
eyes, she saw he was a man possessed. Not with the
insanity of lust, but the insanity of grief and the
desire to recreate a memory long buried.

She felt him move inside her, slowly at first, as if he
were testing the sturdiness of her Klingon body. Then
he picked up the pace, faster, faster still, building a
rhythm inside her until she felt the pressure inside
reach the point of near-explosion. Her abdomen was on
fire, and all she could see was his face, eyes
half-closed, his mouth forming a name over and over
again. *Christine...Christine...* It was then that she
felt a heaviness in her chest: She had never had the
love that this man had lost, and she craved it
desperately...

Suddenly all thought was wiped from her mind as she
came in a nerve-shattering euphoria, screaming out the
name of Kahless repeatedly. Moments later, he joined
her, calling out that now-familiar name that had become
a chant to match their rhythm...And her eyes closed as
her body assessed the toll taken by their joining.

---

When she awoke she saw him sitting cross-legged on the 
floor, his back to her. He appeared to be meditating,
but she knew better. Sitting up, she realized the space
between her legs was no longer sticky with his essence:
he'd taken care to clean her up. She was also covered
with a decorative blanket. Drawing it around her, she
placed a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched at the
touch.

"Spock...?"

Taking a stuttering breath, he returned,
"I...apologize. I lost control."

"I know. Makes you more likeable," she quipped.

He turned to her, the familiar eyebrow raised. "And
Kirk said Klingons did not have a sense of humor."

Fighting a shudder at the name of her empire's infamous
enemy,

Azetbur adjusted her position. She winced, realizing
she was still extremely sore. "Akkkkhhhh...." she
cursed. "If I ever manage to go to the lavatory again,
I'm going to have it bronzed."

"An interesting sentiment," he said reservedly.

"Spock, what's wrong?"

"It is... just that I realize now how much I'd left
inside, bottled up, if you will. Thank you for letting
it out."

She smiled. "No, thank YOU. That was quite an
experience."

He raised a hand to her face. "You do realize... there
cannot be a future between us..."

Holding his hand firmly where it was, she nuzzled it
gently. "I know."

"I regret that I ...cannot give you more..."

"Shhh..." she said, placing a finger against his lips.
"Spock, it's all right. We forged an alliance here
tonight. Let Terra and Q'onos worry about the rest
later." She kissed him gently, then biting his lip as a
purely Klingon sign of affection. Tasting his copper
blood, she smiled. "I have the best part of you, I
think. Something Starfleet will never have."


"Oh? And what is that?"

"Your passion, and a memory that will forever be
remembered."

Slowly caressing the bumps on her forehead, Spock shook
his head. "How do you manage to be so different from
other Klingons, while still maintaining your strength?"

She smiled a sad smile. "It's a trait from my mother, I
guess." Kissing him again, she rose. "Thank you for
allowing me to heal."

He nodded. "Thank you, as well. Perhaps the healing
will now begin for the both of us."

With a silent agreement, she walked into the lavatory
to clean up.

An unspoken code was formed between them then: Neither
of them  would speak of this night to anyone. And they
would meet for the "first time" if Spock was successful
in bringing the Enterprise to escort the Chancellor
back to Earth for peace talks. That was where they
would renew their acquaintance, and perhaps form a
friendship...

---
One Month Later
---

"Captain. Face to face at last. You have my thanks..."

Spock held his face still in a mask of formality.

"Chancellor." **Oh, if you only knew...**

As Azetbur stepped down off the transporter pad, she
radiated all of her warrior elegance, truly a princess
of Q'onos. She had matured since  their passionate
night together, and he immediately sensed the change.
She was a woman now, perhaps not fully healed, but able
to cope as an adult.  And he...?

The question was answered in the brief glance she was
able to spare him. He would go on. A piece of him may
always be missing. But he would live, and he would
honor Christine's memory with every breath he took, and
every new alliance he brought into being. With an
infinitesimal tip of her head before turning away to
follow Admiral Kirk --- who had muttered something about
a "brief tour"---  she acknowledged the change made in
each other's lives, and how the memory would always be
there: a fond reminder between friends.

As Spock's back turned, he didn't notice Valeris
standing in the shadows.

Nor did he notice the smoldering look on her features.

He had no way of knowing just how much of the silent 
interchange she had caught: She had caught and
understood it all.

She now had an entirely new motive for her role in the
games that were afoot...

Eliminate the competition....

---

The End