He tries to lie to himself (Vulcans cannot lie…but he is half-Human) and say that this outcome is not what he anticipated when he sought out Christine in her moment of severe mental turmoil (panic, he further quantifies that turmoil; pure, unadulterated panic). He tries to tell himself he is simply giving her what she wants – needs – from him in this moment of extreme vulnerability.

He tries, and he fails. Even the coldest, most logical part of himself is forced to acknowledge that he has desired this woman ever since she proved herself to be more than his match during their Pon Farr mating, that his body has burned for her long after the fires of the mating fever had died down.

And now, she is carrying his child. A child that will have even more Human blood running through his or her veins than he does, a child whose blood will more likely run red than green, whose emotional control will be that much more difficult to maintain…

In short, a child much like his (or her) mother. Much like his own mother, who has never adapted well to Vulcan ways for more than the length of a diplomatic dinner party or afternoon tea. Who frequently shouts at her all-too-Vulcan husband, threatens to leave him…and never does. Spock knows this is because his parents share something rare, something undervalued by both Vulcans and Humans.

They love one another. No matter how much they fight, how difficult it has been for them as the first legal Vulcan-Human married couple, they love one another. It took him a long time to come to terms with that knowledge, but now that he has, he finds himself almost envying them for that.

His mother will be thrilled at being given a grandchild to raise, one that she will not be forced to push into a Vulcan mold. Even Sarek will have to concede that a mostly Human grandchild should be raised differently than a half-Human son whom he attempted to mold into his own image with ruthless efficiency.

Tried, and only mostly succeeded.

They have reconciled recently, due to his mother's influence no doubt, begun trading grave, impersonal communications whenever each has news to impart. There is even talk of his parents being given the honor of traveling on board the Enterprise on their way to the Babel conference the Terran Empress has arranged for the end of the solar year.

Of course, his wife was originally expected to travel with them. That will have to be altered.

Vulcans do not divorce. Once the marriage has been consummated, once the permanent mating bond has been established, divorce is impossible.

He and his wife have had physical relations only once, during his first Pon Farr when he was seventeen. He knows she has taken a lover, even knows his name: Stonn, a distant cousin of his from his half-brother Sybok's side of the family.

He will undertake to persuade T'Pring that her arrangement with Stonn is more important than the need to give the appearance of being a supportive, properly submissive Vulcan wife.

But that is for later, not for now. For now, he needs to return his complete attention to the hopelessly emotional woman in his arms. He needs to concentrate on kissing her, on sucking his mark into her neck, on removing her clothing (and his own as well) in order to lay her on the low desk and initiate sexual relations with her.

How would she term it? Ah, yes. He needs to fuck her brains out, to reassure her that although he has made mistakes with her in the past, that is, indeed, the past. He is focused on the future, and on the child they have inadvertently created together.

His parents will make more than adequate surrogate parents for that child, while his (or her) own parents continue their Starfleet careers.

If he had the influence to release Christine from her enlistment, he would do so. He knows how savagely she resents the man who took advantage of her inebriation in order to coerce her into signing up for a ten-year tour of duty after promising her it would only be five.

He knows that she has given up her ideas of vengeance against Captain Kirk for murdering her elder sister, although that is one piece of information she is unaware he holds. He also knows (and will never tell her) that she has done this as much out of her desire for him (which still bewilders him; why is he so desirable to her, why does she care so much for him, a man who can only openly demonstrate his own affection in the stiff, limited manner in which he'd been raised?) as out of concern for her own well-being.

"Spock?"

Her voice interrupts his reverie; although he has been busy with lips and tongue and fingers, she can no doubt feel his distance through their emotional bond.

It is not a true mating bond, or they'd be able to hear each other's thoughts as well as emotions, but it is close enough, and he treasures it. That is something he will share with her, and soon.

But not right now. After privately vowing to give his full attention to their imminent coupling, he has allowed his mind to compartmentalize again, and that will not do. He deliberately sniffs her, inhaling the subtle alteration in scent pregnancy has given her, and that is enough to finally shut down his intellect and allow his primal, inner self free rein.

"Christine," he says, acknowledging her unspoken question, leaning down to capture another kiss from her. She is reclining on the surface of the desk, leaning back on her elbows and waiting for him to make the next move, although clearly she is usually much more sexually aggressive than this.

It is because of his own aggression during the Pon Farr that she demonstrates this tentativeness, this passive behavior; he will be sure to instruct her (at some future point) that this is both unnecessary and unwelcome. He far prefers his sexual partners to be as aggressive as he is, to demonstrate as much passion, and he knows she is more than capable of doing so.

For now, however, he responds to her passivity by trailing a line of kisses down the column of her throat, leaning forward to flick his tongue across her breasts, suckling noisily at first one and then the other, silently rejoicing in the sound of her moans as she runs her fingers through his hair, thumbs brushing against his ears.

He told her once that Vulcan women did not engage in manual stimulation. Nor do they engage in oral sex. However, he has been with other women, some Human, some not, and has discovered the pleasure to be had by both parties when indulging in either form of non-penetrative sex.

He puts off his own insistent needs in order to serve hers, the way he was in no condition to do during his Pon Farr. Yes, he certainly brought her to orgasm during nearly every sexual encounter of that 72-hour period, but that is not the same. That was due as much to the fervency of their coupling, to the newly established bond, as to her own desires.

He kneels between her legs, pressing kisses along her thighs until he reaches her core. Her scent is even stronger there, heady and intoxicating, and he inhales sharply before pressing his lips against her labia and swiping his tongue along the moist dampness of her slit (not terminology he would normally employ, but he has spent enough time amongst these boisterous, unmannered Humans to know far more euphemisms for sexual genitalia than he'd ever thought possible).

She gasps and moans, writhing beneath him as he continues his ministrations, paying careful attention to the movements of lips and tongue that seem to cause her the most pleasure. He senses when she is about to come and concentrates his tongue on her clitoris, pressing two fingers deep inside her as he does so.

She screams her pleasure aloud, and he is more than pleased by her response. He knows she is not normally a vocal lover, but for him…she is.

He raises himself to his feet as she shudders and moans, twitching her hips and rubbing her hands along her thighs before she opens her eyes and stares up at him. "God, Spock, that was…"

He leans down and presses a deliberately sloppy kiss against her open mouth, shoving one leg aside in order to guide himself into her more easily. The leg, which has been dangling off the side of the desk, rises and locks itself around his waist, and he grunts his approval. He holds her other leg down, pressing his hand to her thigh firmly enough that she understands he wishes her to remain that way, then thrusts into her, eliciting another gasp-moan combination that is quite pleasing to his ears.

It was not logical to withhold this pleasure from them, he realizes that now, chastising himself one last time before burying his logic, his cool detachment deep within his emotions even as he buries his penis (cock) deep inside her vagina (pussy) and sets to wring more of those delicious screams from her throat.

It will not take long for him to bring about the desired outcome, both in causing her to achieve orgasm (come, hard, screaming his name and clawing his back and clenching herself around him) and in effecting her transfer to the Terran Embassy on Vulcan. He will miss her, miss this – he thrusts into her savagely at the thought, causing her fingernails to dig into his shoulders with a pleasurable pain that thrills him to his savage Vulcan core – but it will not be long before they are together again.

He will see to that. He will see to everything; the transfer, the safety of her and their unborn child, their continued safety after the child is born and given over to the temporary custody of his parents…everything.

"Spock!"

The sound of her strangled moan is enough to alert him to her imminent orgasm, and he thrusts into her harder, faster, fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises not unlike those he branded her with during the Pon Farr.

He will give her everything, and woe betide any who attempt to stand in his way – his captain, his wife, his parents…none of them will stop him from having what he wants.

She screams his name again, pulling him down so that their chests are mashed together, biting hard on his throat as she comes, clenching with both interior and exterior muscles, coaxing – no, demanding, Terran women seldom resort to coaxing or begging, certainly not Starfleet officers – that he join her in her release.

He does, spending himself, allowing himself to partially collapse on top of her as he does so.

Calling her name, a hoarse whisper for her ears only, and that seems to drive her to a renewed frenzy as she pumps herself on his semi-hard cock until she comes again.

Terran women are also incredibly tenacious when it comes to getting what they want.

A fitting match for any Vulcan, as his father has no doubt could have told him years – decades – ago.

He gazes down at her, his chosen mate as opposed to the one thrust upon him at the age of seven. T'Pring is lovely and deadly; so is Christine. But where his Vulcan wife is petite and dark, Christine is tall and blonde; where his wife has, using impeccable logic, informed him in no uncertain terms that she refuses to give birth to any child not fully Vulcan, Christine is already carrying his child – and desires it to live and prosper almost as much as he does.

In that moment of insight, he knows instantly which is the woman he would prefer to spend his life bonded to.

T'Pring, he decides as he leans down to press a fervent kiss to Christine's lips, will not live much past the birth of his child. A pity, a waste, but still. Necessity – and logic – dictate that he have the mate he prefers, the one willing to bear his child (possibly children) and who desired him above all others.

Christine Chapel does not know it yet, but she belongs to him, now and for the rest of her life.

He allows himself to smile, to outwardly manifest his inward pleasure at having reached a decision.

He will explain the reason for that smile to her. One day.

After they both have everything they desire.

A/N: Yup, that's it, the final chapter. I won't promise anything beyond this just cause I already have about a million-billion other projects I'm juggling at the moment. Hope you enjoyed!