Date: 14 Dec 1998 14:15:25 -0500

From: Laura Jacquez Valentine 

Subject: NEW: Angel of the Morning (TOS, K/U S/U, 1/1)

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Alllllright.  I'm way overworked, behind on two major series that I'm

writing (De Re Vulcania and an X-Files series, Ray of Light), and "Angel 

of the Morning" hits my car radio in the parking lot...



And I never could resist that song.



Title: Angel of the Morning

Author: Laura Jacquez Valentine (laurav@stones.com)

Series: TOS

Codes: K/U, S/U

Rating: PG-13

Parts: 1/1

Summary: Shore leave and memories and two lonely folks.

Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom owns Star Trek.  "Angel of the Morning" was 

written by Chip Taylor.  I own a nice Christmas tree with lotsa

ornaments!





Angel of the Morning (for Wildcat)



//There'll be no strings to bind your hands

Not if my love can't bind your heart.

And there's no need to take a stand

For it was I who chose to start.

I see no need to take me home,

I'm old enough to face the dawn.



Just call me angel of the morning, angel.

Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby.

Just call me angel of the morning, angel

Then slowly turn away from me.//



In the entryway of the small temporary residence complex at Starfleet

Command, Uhura ran her hand through her hair, smoothing the tangles the

wind had introduced.  She'd walked through the park all night, alone,

savoring shore leave on Earth.  Not just anywhere, but Earth, back where

the air smelled right and the gravity was just what you expected.



Earth, where so many years of her life had passed.  Earth, where

once she'd made love to a young Lieutenant Commander named Jim Kirk.



Earth, forever sanctified and cursed by that memory.



She tugged at a knotted bit of hair behind her head and felt gentle

fingers cover hers.  "You appear to be in need of assistance,

Lieutenant.  May I?"



"Spock.  Please.  It's--"



"--quite tangled, yes.  Perhaps Gordian."  She could feel his fingers

tugging at her hair as he worked on the knot.  It was sweet of him, and

she savored the contact.  Spock rarely touched people, and she felt

honored to be one of the few he touched readily and willingly.



His fingers now, soft in her hair.  Holding her when she stumbled,

lifting her from the floor after yet another enemy blow, relaxed under

her hands in the rec room, teaching her to play the Vulcan harp.



He touched Jim, too.  She envied him that, because she no longer could.

Jim, sanctified and cursed, who sometimes touched her.  Who cared for

her but did not love her--anymore than she loved him, but the memories

were bittersweet, and she did not trust herself with him.



She trusted herself with Spock.



But then, she loved Spock.



//Maybe the sun's light will be dim

And it won't matter anyhow.

If morning's echo says we've sinned,

Well, it was what I wanted now.

And if we're the victims of the night,

I won't be blinded by light.//



Spock had dropped his hands to her shoulders.  They were so warm against 

her, inhumanly warm.  The heat of his hands had ceased to surprise her

long ago, though the first time he'd touched her, she'd felt burned.

The fever-heat of his skin had terrified her, and the strength she'd

felt as he helped her to her feet had shaken her deeply.



She'd talked to Janice about it, about that contained power, but Janice

never understood.  Later, she'd talked to Chekov about it, and he had

understood.  Spock was lightening-quick, terrifically strong, and a

vicious and effective fighter.  Spock was patient, gentle, and wouldn't

hurt a fly.  Spock was terror and rage.  Spock was peace.



She leaned back into his hands, felt them slip down to grip her upper

arms and pull her back against him.  His chest rumbled against her when

he spoke, vibrating her entire body.



"Were you out all night?"



"Yes."



"Where are you staying?"



"407."



He moved to stand next to her, leaving his left arm around her

shoulders.  They walked to the lift and went to her floor, her door,

inside.



He kissed her gently in the small living area, tracing the sides of her

body with his hands, brushing the outer curve of her breasts and hips.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close, felt the hum 

of his heart against her and smelled his skin.  "Will you stay?"



"I wish that I could."  He disentangled himself and tucked an errant

strand of her hair behind her ear.  She closed her eyes and felt his

fingers travel her face, over her eyebrows, over her cheeks, her nose,

her mouth.  Then the fingers left, and she heard the door.



When she opened her eyes, he was gone.



//Just call me angel of the morning, angel

Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby.

Just call me angel of the morning, angel

Then slowly turn away,

I won't beg you to stay with me

Through the tears of the day...



Just call me angel of the morning, angel.

Just touch my cheek before you leave me.//



---



The End.



--laura



laura jacquez valentine -+- http://www.andrew.cmu.edu/~jacquez

"I'd give you a cherry if I knew someone around here who had one." --ME Curtin

Jesus is a meme. -+- http://www.memepool.com/