Title: Rhapsody in Rain Author: Arachnethe2 Series: TOS Code: NC-17 Pairing: K/S Disclaimer: Startrek is the property of Paramount Pictures, this is a piece of amateur fan fiction, made for no profit. Summary: In a strange town, during a rainy night, Kirk and Spock healed their wounds. English is not my native language, please forgive me my errors. Again my thanks belong to Greywolf my editor. Rhapsody in Rain Written by Arachnethe2 ... ...for Killa It's falling down onto wet stones, and those gently, soft sounds, are telling to the dreaming flowers stories about eternal lovers, whispering, that it is only right to make love the whole of night. It's like tears of black sky, miracle of soothing, master of merciful lie, like healing balsam for world's pain. The virtuosi of rhapsody -- the rain. (Sonnet of Falling Rain) He dropped his bag on the red carpet, and the key on the small table in the corner. And then he looked around: A small room in a small hotel somewhere in Hamburg. God knows why he had chosen this town among so many towns on Earth. The room was clean, although somehow shabby. Perhaps because the furniture was so cheap: a chest of drawers, a chair, a night table with a lamp and a terminal... The bed - for one person only. But that was right, for he wanted to be alone this time. At last he explored the small bathroom, and found the place immaculately clean and tidy, like all sanitary facilities in Germany. He felt the loneliness of this room, and the soft sound of rain behind the window didn't make it any better. The drops seemed to increase the silence around him even more. Then the urge to leave, to move somewhere else returned again with full force. Ah hell, he didn't want to sleep here during the night anyway. He was definitely not in the mood to remain in this room, to start to unpack his things. Better to survive those hours in an another place, together with strange people, who let you just sit there and don't ask any questions. He grabbed the key and then he left. The rain in the streets of a strange town seemed to change the roads into mirrors, in which the old houses admired their beauty, suddenly becoming vain. And the wet cars moved like odd-looking ships, just leaving the port on the river, to make a small tour of the land. The clouds hanging over Hamburg and the whole of Europe made it impossible to see the stars tonight. He missed those shiny spots spread over the black velvet background, or passing the Enterprise like short silver rays, when the ship was moving at warp speed. The rain came seldom in his life, in his job as a Starfleet captain. And the temperature tonight was lower than twenty degree Celsius, too. He had to fasten his jacket. The song of the rain calmed Jim down, but the cold of an early spring evening in northern Germany forced him at last to enter the small bar. "Was wuenschen Sie?" the old bartender asked. What he wished? Better not to think about it. Not now. "Ein Bier." "Hier, bitte sehr." "Danke." He picked up the glass and settled himself down to an empty table. The bar was drowned in semidarkness. The few people here were mostly sailors, or the port workers. Kirk listened, as far as he could, to their talk about themselves, their lives, their work... Behind the window ships entered the port from both sides: the large ones from the sea and the long and plain river ships from the inner country. There in Hamburg was the end of their journey. Because past this place, where the river flowed into the sea, only their big sisters were able to continue farther. Kirk sipped at his beer. Not bad. It was cool, had its bitter taste... He sighed as he watched the slightly surreal scenario behind the window: the ships moving like big shadows in the rain. He thought about the Enterprise, now docked in Starbase 1 in orbit around the planet, waiting for him, while he had run away from her, from his crew, from his friend. After the docking manoeuvre was finished, he simply signed himself off duty, went to his quarters, grabbed the bag which was waiting there for him and then he was gone, leaving only a short message on the terminal. At first he beamed down to Fleet HQ, where he reported to Nogura and Komack about his last missions, ignoring Komack's penetrating gaze. The urge to pull Kirk aside and start the questioning was written so clearly on the admiral's face that Kirk had to restrain himself, to not to show his bitter amusement. 'Nothing had happened', was T'Pau's order. Kirk felt a cold shudder running down his spine, facing the fact that this old Vulcan woman was so powerful, that even the almighty admiralty had been forced to bow its head to her will. At the end of the briefing, he had announced that he was taking two weeks of leave. He got them and then he left, quickly, hastily, feeling their curiosity penetrate his back like a knife. He entered the transporter: 'What direction, sir?' He didn't know. Anything, he would do anything, to disappear from there. His idea, to change the continent, to put the ocean between him and his superiors, was the best he had in those last hours. But although he could escape both men, he could not escape his own mind. This was the reason to go out of the hotel, to find a place where one was not entirely alone, yet left to his own thoughts. This small bar in the Hamburger port seemed to be the right choice to survive the night. Since the nights had become the thing he feared the most. Absently he took another sip of his beer. This would be only the first one of a number of drinks that would follow, this night and the night after that, and the night after that. But he knew that this was not the best solution of his problem, that however much he was ready to drink and how many nights he would spend hanging around in all the bars of this town, it would not get any better. He would still prefer the day for his sleep, because in its light the nightmares were less frightening. He was defenceless against them, when they came in the night. The rain. Falling down from the sky, it played a rhapsody in its own characteristic rhythms on the stones in the streets. Kirk gave in, while listening to the lulling melody, forgetting for a moment the stifling heat, the strange white sun that shone on a planet of red deserts. He found it satisfying to sit here and remember all those things that told him that he was still alive: like the feeling of cold spring air, the smell of salt, coming from the sea, the rain gently dropping onto his hair, his face. 'Nothing had happened,' T'Pau had said. Nothing had happened, was his slogan, with which Kirk continued his daily routine after he got out of sickbay. Until he retired into his quarters at the end of that day, until he went to bed, until his mind started to return to that place. Again he had seen the ring-shaped arena, the fire, the old matriarch and her silent, jet-black, dangerous guardian. He heard her voice, demanding nothing less than obedience and he, the great captain, who was feared along the whole Neutral Zone, bowed his head to her will and surrendered to her power. As Spock had, helplessly drowning in the heat of his own fever and madness, when he attacked his CO and best friend. Spock. Kirk felt suddenly the pain on his chest, where Spock's lirpa had marked him. And although the wound had been healed immediately after he was taken to sickbay, a sickle-shaped scar remained, like a memento, that even Spock, the only sure source of safety in the universe, could seriously attack him, with the purpose to kill him. Perhaps this horrible knowledge was the main reason that he had started to avoid him. On duty they were still the perfect team: the human captain and the Vulcan first officer, presenting to the whole ship the picture of two acting as one. But the talks, the gentle verbal sparring, the chess parties, the meetings in Kirk's quarters had stopped. His glass was already empty. He looked again out into the darkness, where the rain penetrated the lighted cones of the street lamps. A night, black like the eyes of a Vulcan, which followed Kirk the whole time, during their bridge shift. They were clear now, free from the madness, but distant and unreadable too. Spock was aware of Kirk's dilemma, but did nothing, while his captain encapsulated himself even more, seeking his refuge in his job. McCoy was the only person, in those days, who had tried to help him. They were already near the Earth, when he had called him into his office. "I'm fine Bones." "Dammit Jim, I was there and I've read something about psychology, so make an ass of yourself and not me." "I told you I'm fine." "Ah, to hell with you and your stubborn mind!" And he did. He went. But not to hell, because he had been there already, and there in the heat of the red sand he was almost killed by a mad Vulcan, who had once lulled him into belief about the most peaceful race in the whole Federation. The opening door brought Kirk back to reality, but after he had seen the newcomer, he had to smile bitterly: when one is just right then thinking about Satan... The Vulcan hesitated at the threshold for a moment, but the chilling wind outside the bar forced him at last to step in. He didn't need to look around for too long. The room was small, half empty, and his eyes were able to see clearly in the semidarkness. Slowly he headed to the table where Kirk was sitting, and during the whole time the human remained in the posture of a man who was calmly calculating his next move toward the door. Finally the Vulcan sat down opposite Kirk, his hands placed on the polished surface, his gaze never leaving Kirk's. An uncomfortable silence hung like an impenetrable wall between them. "Guten Abend. Sie wuenschen?" Spock stirred, hearing the unexpected question, spoken in a language he didn't understand, and looked in surprise at the bartender, who was standing just above him. "Einen Tee fuer den Herrn," Kirk answered for Spock. The man nodded and then he left. The tension between the human and the Vulcan lightened for a moment. Kirk watched his friend and first officer, while suddenly becoming aware of their environment: this was Earth. There were humans around them, with their human customs and behaviour, speaking a human language which was unknown to the Vulcan. Spock, in a thin coat so inadequate for the cold, wet weather out there, which was soaked with water; the Vulcan, who was raised in the desert, where stifling heat was the standard temperature, who even in the full air conditioned rooms on board felt himself a little uncomfortable, suffered immensely in the early spring rain of northern Europe. Kirk couldn't overlook the wet black hair, the drops on Spock's face, the hands, whose thin fingers turned greenish from freezing. All in all, the Vulcan looked a little lost and helpless here in this place, where Kirk felt himself familiar and safe. The bartender brought a steaming cup and placed it in front of the Vulcan. Awkwardly Spock took it in his hands, holding it tightly, concentrating on this only source of warmth in this cold world where the water was permanently falling down from the sky. 'How did he manage to find me?' Kirk speculated, while he watched the Vulcan taking some careful, yet eager sips. "You could be a good detective, Mr. Spock," he couldn't resist saying this quote, giving it a portion of humourless sarcasm. "You actually found me, although I left my communicator in my cabin." The Vulcan put his cup on the table, but still kept his palms curled around the warm white china. "I programmed a search algorithm to catch the signal of your ID-Card, whenever its data is sent to the central Starfleet database. After knowing the name of the town you had headed to, I beamed myself to the Central Transporter in London, where I took the continental train." He frowned a little at this evidence of behaviour which was different from the rules of his Vulcan homeworld, where every leave was considered as a private act and no one was permitted to take notice of it. "The last signal, which came from your hotel, I received at the station." He pulled the standard board tricorder out of his pocked, but Kirk didn't react in any way. Awkwardly the Vulcan put the device back into his coat. The human watched him calmly. Again the Vulcan shifted uncomfortably, and continued: "In the hotel... I asked after you, but the people at the reception desk told me that you left, so I started to search for you in the nearby area..." Again the silence between them. Kirk's face was motionless, like a mask, which hid masterfully all his fears. A minute or so ago Spock finished, now he was waiting, his fingers warming themselves against the cup of tea. "Why?" Kirk asked quiet, "why did you do all this?" "I have to talk to you." "About what?" At first the Vulcan didn't answer back. He sat there opposite Kirk, his fine-boned fingers entwined around the steaming cup, looking down as if he hoped that all the words he needed would be mirrored on the surface of his drink. 'He is beautiful', Kirk thought, watching this pale, ascetic face with high cheekbones, expressive nose and thin lips. Looking down, his eyes hidden behind the eyelids and long black lashes, this calmness given form in every contour of his body, let him look like a statue made by an artist, whose hands have been blessed by god. But then those pale eyelids framed by long lashes lifted up and revealed a pair of black eyes and the expression in them... This lasted only a glint of a second, but Kirk was sure that he was *there* again. He could feel the heat, and smell the sand and spice in the dry air and watch the once calm, peaceful Vulcan, who was eyeing him with deadly madness in his gaze, while making his first move... ...and then Kirk's restrained mind gave up, the command to leave shot down from his brain straight into his legs. As fast as he could he jumped up and headed for the door.