DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc and Viacom. The story contents are the creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2002 by Djinn. This story is Rated PG-13.

Here Be Dragons

by Djinn

Spock sat in his command chair and mused that the huge image of Vulcan on the viewscreen was getting old even for him. The refits were taking longer than expected--caused in no small part by the emergency on the Caledonia that had called away all the techs. The later Psi 2000 outbreak--deliberately set loose on the Carter--and the murder that had followed shortly on its heels did not help, nor did the ensuing investigation that was including a great deal of the refit crews in the list of possible suspects.

So far, Kerr was making no progress in the investigation. Not that Spock had expected him to. The story put out for the crew was that the murder was the work of an enemy of the Federation striking randomly, but Spock, working with Kerr and Christine, suspected that Lieutenant Commander Farrell had been killed by the shadowy Starfleet section she had refused to specifically name, the one she had said had been behind her orders to let the Psi 2000 virus loose on the ship.

Spock glanced over at Christine. She sat quietly, staring intently, if somewhat blankly, at the viewscreen. He checked to make sure the view had not changed. It had not.

Sensing his look, she turned to meet his eyes. "What?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head and watched her turn her gaze back to the viewscreen. She'd been sitting next to him like this for at least an hour. He did a quick calculation and realized that was easily a personal record on her part. Sitting and doing nothing was not her strong suit. But it seemed to be the activity she preferred since Farrell had been killed.

"May I speak to you in private?" he asked softly.

She didn't look at him as she nodded and rose quickly, already on the way to his ready room. He stood and followed her. "Lieutenant Kimble, you have the bridge."

"Aye, sir," the helmsman replied.

Christine waited at the door to his office. He gestured for her to enter and she walked to the view port and stood tensely, staring out at the stars and Vulcan below them. He watched her for several long moments before asking, "Christine, are you all right?"

She didn't answer.

He joined her, shoulder near enough to touch hers if either of them moved. Turning slightly so he could see her face, he asked, "T'hy'la, what is it?"

She just shook her head, not even reacting to the endearment.

"I know that Commander Farrell's death was a shock to you, Christine. That it has left you in a dark place."

She sighed. "Plenty of light here."

"You know what I mean."

She turned to him then, her expression harsh. "You wallowed in grief. Why can't I?"

He tried to keep his expression even, to not show her that her blow had hit home. "I am not sure my method is the way I would recommend."

"Little late now," she said, her tone only slightly less bitter than it had been.

"Perhaps. Do you wish to talk about this?"

She laughed. It was a brittle, hollow sound to his ears. "God, you're as bad as Randall. That's all he wants to do. Talk about this. Can't I just be sad?"

"I think you have gone beyond sad, Christine."

She turned to face him. "If you think I'm pathological, then refer me to Carpenter. Otherwise, leave me the hell alone."

He could feel his face tighten. "As you wish."

She started to walk to the bridge door.

"You will report to Doctor Carpenter at once." He saw her stiffen. "I am sorry, Commander. It is for your own good."

Without a word, she turned and headed for the rear door. Once she had left, Spock hit his comm channel. "Spock to Carpenter."

"Carpenter here."

"This call needs to be private."

"It is. I'm in my office."

"Doctor Chapel is on her way down. She has exhibited an alarming lethargy since Commander Farrell's death. I am...worried about her."

"I'll talk to her, Captain, but I'm not an expert in this field. I may have to refer her to one of our counselors."

"Whatever you think best, Doctor. You are her friend and an excellent physician. I trust you to do the right thing for her."

"And here she is now. I'll keep you posted. Carpenter out."

Spock took a deep breath before walking back out to the bridge. Christine had been through so much. Not just the death of her friend and fighting a virus she considered her personal nemesis, but also helping him through the death of his mother. And that was only days after Christine had been forced by circumstances to get him through the Pon Farr. And even earlier than that she had been staunchly by his side as they had selected the crew and readied the ship.

He remembered how happy she was when it was just the two of them. They had both thought they had known where the relationship they were slowly creating was headed. But then Jim had died, and Spock, consumed with his own pain, had shut her out. And she had turned to another man. A man who could be there for her in the way that Spock had refused. A man that loved her. But who couldn't reach her now either from what she'd said.

Spock reached for the channel again. "Spock to Kerr."

"Kerr here, sir."

"I need to speak with you."

"I'll be right up."

Spock realized this was a conversation he didn't want to have in his office. "No, Colonel. I'll come to you."

"Very well, sir."

Spock cut the connection and left the ready room by the front entrance so that Kimble would know he was off the bridge altogether. Taking the lift down to deck nine he walked slowly to Kerr's office, nodding to the marines who greeted him as he passed. There had been a time, before Christine had chosen Kerr, that Spock had spent much more time in this area. He realized that he'd been avoiding it since then, perhaps because he was unwilling to see the two of them together.

Images of holding Christine in his arms distracted him. He tried to push them away but could not. He had been left with no choice after the Pon Farr but to let go of her and watch her go back to Kerr. It was what she had wanted, what she had chosen. But he could not completely get those days and nights they had spent together out of his mind. And he had tried. Meditation, normally a comfort at the worst times, did not stop the images from reminding him what he had let get away.

He arrived at Kerr's door and ordered the inappropriate thoughts out of his mind. Christine was not his. She belonged with this man. And both he and Kerr needed to try to help her now. He rang the chime.

"Come in." Kerr rose as Spock walked in.

"At ease, Colonel." Spock sat down, watched as Kerr followed suit. "I wish to speak of Commander Chapel. I am concerned about her."

Kerr's response was wary. "In what way, sir?"

Spock approved of Kerr's reticence. "She seems to be detached, lethargic, and highly depressed. I did not notice this immediately following Commander Farrell's death, but it has become increasingly more apparent."

"I've seen it too, sir." Kerr leaned back. "She isn't in the mood to talk about it to me."

"Nor to me." Spock could not tell Kerr he had ordered Christine to sickbay. She would have to share that with him if she chose. Spock was suddenly at a loss for what more to say.

"I'm worried about her too," Kerr said, filling the silence.

Spock let a small sigh escape. "The bridge is not the same place it was. I imagine your private time with her is also impacted?"

Kerr nodded. "She's been hurting and I don't know how to help her...how to reach her."

Spock rose. "I don't either. But we must not give up. I will do what I can. You must too."

"The best I can do is love her," Kerr replied, then gave Spock an odd look of understanding. "Maybe that's the best either of us can do."

"Perhaps. I must get back to the bridge."

Kerr nodded. "Right, sir. I appreciate the visit."

Spock wondered what they had really accomplished. As he met Kerr's eyes, he could see the colonel wondered the same thing. Fighting a small smile, Spock said, "I believe there are no lengths we wouldn't go for her."

Kerr looked wary. "To help her...or to get her?"

Spock chose not to answer. "Good day, Colonel."

"Sir," Kerr replied as the door closed behind Spock.

As Spock walked back to the bridge, he refused to dwell on the answer to the colonel's question. What was the point? Both he and Kerr knew it anyway. And, for now, it was irrelevant. They needed to get Christine back. Then they could continue whatever was going on between the three of them.

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Christine walked listlessly to sickbay. She couldn't even muster up much indignation that Spock had just ordered her off the bridge. She knew she was in a dark place, wasn't sure exactly how she had arrived there.

She passed crewmembers and greeted them, trying to feign some measure of cheer. She had the feeling her act wasn't very convincing. She was almost grateful to turn into sickbay and walk to Carpenter's office. The other doctor was talking to someone on her comm. Spock, most likely, Christine reasoned. He would have to explain to Carpenter why he was sending her boss down for an evaluation. He had placed Carpenter in a very uncomfortable position. Christine found she didn't have the energy to care.

Carpenter saw her, and waved her in, cutting off the comm as she did it. "Sit down, Commander."

"I'd really rather not," Christine tried to joke, even as she took the chair in front of Carpenter's desk.

"I imagine not." Carpenter studied her closely. "You look terrible."

"Is that your medical diagnosis?"

"No. That's my remark as a friend. Are you sleeping?"

Christine didn't want to admit that she'd been having trouble sleeping since the wake.

"Christine. You have to talk to me or I won't be able to tell what is wrong. We both know what I'll have to do if I can't get to the bottom of it myself."

"Counselor," Christine said softly. "Time off. Mandatory bed rest. And a few nice drugs so I don't freak."

Carpenter shook her head with a wry grin. "You're not freaking out, Commander. Just perhaps mired in an unhealthy stage of grief." Carpenter got up. "Come on, I want a full set of scans first. You've been burning the candle at both ends for a while now. A good deal of this may be accumulated stress."

Christine followed her out to one of the biobeds and watched as Carpenter took the readings and sent the results to her office. Even from her vantage point, Christine could see that some of her neurotransmitters were completely out of whack. "Stress," she whispered.

"Stress," Carpenter replied softly, her voice returning to normal once they were back in her office. "You've been through quite a bit. That experience on the cave and...uh later, may have taxed you a lot more than you knew. Did you ever really rest up after that?"

Christine shook her head. "We got the news of the death of Spock's mother and I had to mind the store here, and then Randall..."

"Yeah, I imagined he needed some hand holding after what happened. I'll be right back." She walked out to the cabinets and filled a hypospray with a mixture of compounds. When she came back in, she held it up to Christine's neck and released it.

She sat back down and studied Christine. "You aren't even going to ask me what that was?"

"A mix of vitamins and minerals, I imagine. With perhaps a dose of reuptake inhibitors."

Carpenter shook her head. "The Christine Chapel I know would never just imagine what was in a hypo. She'd damn well want to know exactly what I was injecting her with." She smiled gently.

Christine rose, "So I can go back to work now."

Carpenter shot her a look that clearly meant 'sit back down' so Christine did. "I think there's more to this than just being tired. Talk to me."

"Delynn, what do you want me to say?"

"Tell me how you feel."

"Why does everyone want to know that?"

"Maybe because nobody is really sure." Carpenter leaned forward. "I know you're hurting, Christine. Farrell was a good friend of yours. And she was horribly murdered. And none of us know why."

Christine looked down. She knew why.

"And that is preying on your mind. You need to talk about it."

"I will. When I'm ready."

"I think you're ready now." She gestured to the readouts. "Or maybe you're just ready for some serious sleep. The hypo should make you feel better and a little sleepy."

"So I can go now?" Christine asked, rising quickly

Carpenter nodded. "But not back to the bridge. You're relieved from duty for the day." She looked up and met Christine's eyes, resolution clear. "Tomorrow you can talk to me or you can talk to the Captain. If you don't, then you'll spend another day off. Your choice."

"That's not fair."

"Neither is what you're doing to yourself." Carpenter got up and walked around her desk, stopping to touch Christine on the arm. "I'm sorry. I know you're in pain, and this isn't going to feel like it's helping much."

Christine sighed. "It's so black. I try to see the future, try to tell myself that it won't be like this forever. But it's so hard to see anything but being sad."

Carpenter seemed to consider something. Then she took a deep breath. "Do you remember what the virus made me do?"

Christine thought back. "You were trying to get something off your hands."

"It happened on the Reynaldi colony, near Vega V." Her eyes were watching something very far away...or long ago. "There was an attack by pirates and they were using a new weapon. It was awful. I've never seen so many body parts just lying around." She closed her eyes. "People that weren't injured were covered in gore. Literally dripping with it."

"God, Delynn."

"I had to help. I was a doctor. I couldn't take the time to clean up other than to have another medic hose me off. When it was over, I had blood everywhere. I tried to get it off but I couldn't. I just lost it, Christine." Her eyes when they met Christine's were haunted. "They had to sedate me. It took two days before I'd even speak." She shook her head. "I'd been fine up to that moment. And eventually I was fine again."

"How?"

"It just took time. And talking to people I trusted about what I was feeling. And rest. It's why I'm giving you some time off. You need to rest. Sometimes sleep is the best thing."

Christine nodded.

"And don't go back to the bridge. Not even to your office. You got that?"

"Yes, doctor." Christine walked out of Carpenter's office and, nodding to the nurse on duty, left sickbay. She saw the door to Redmoon's lab open and walked in. A lab tech saw her and said, "Doctor Redmoon's not here, sir. Can I help you?"

Christine shook her head. "Never mind, it isn't important." She had thought that Redmoon's calming presence might help. He'd been such a support when she and Farrell were fighting the virus. But maybe she just wanted to talk to him because he was some kind of link to Farrell.

Christine left the lab, taking the lift down to deck seven and Farrell's office. There were cartons piled outside the door. Renata's things hadn't been packed up yet. Christine took a deep breath and picked up the cartons. Opening the door, she walked into the space and slowly exhaled. No ghosts. "I'm sorry, Ren," she whispered as she slowly began to pack up her friend's things.

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Kerr heard the alarm go off on his console and checked the readings. Someone was in Farrell's office. He got up, opening up one of the drawers in his desk, then reached under to take out the phaser he'd concealed there after the Psi 2000 outbreak. Hiding the weapon in one of the special pockets in his uniform, he hurried up to deck seven.

The corridor was full of medical staff. He nodded to those he knew as he worked his way to Farrell's office. The door was closed. Checking the hall and finding it empty, he reached for his phaser. Standing well to the side, he hit the door control and waited.

"Who's there?" he heard Christine call out, then he heard footsteps.

"Shit," he muttered as he stuffed the phaser back in his pocket. "Christine?"

"Randall?" She backed up as he walked in. "What are you doing here?"

"Finding out what you're doing here. Only I didn't know it was you. I put a watch on the door to this office and to Farrell's quarters just in case."

She looked only mildly interested. "You think that the killer is still on the ship?"

He frowned at her indifference. "Probably not, but I decided it couldn't hurt to be prepared in case they were." He saw the cartons she had brought. "You're packing up her office?"

She nodded, her tone oddly flat. "Spock made me go see Carpenter and she relieved me of duty for the rest of the day. Besides, someone has to."

He turned and locked the door. "Doesn't have to be you," he replied as he took one of the cartons and began to put Farrell's personal files inside. He'd already been through the office once. But he didn't want Christine finding something that he'd overlooked.

"She was my friend. Who else should do this?" She sounded irritated.

"I didn't mean--"

She cut him off, "I know what you meant, Randall. You don't have to help," she gave him a look he couldn't decipher.

He left the carton and walked over to her. "What's wrong?"

Her eyes flashed as she said, "I'm packing up my murdered friend's things, Randall. What the hell do you think is wrong?"

He grabbed her arm as she turned away, pulling her close despite the glare she gave him. Her body was rigid as he closed his arms around her. She pushed on him for a moment. If she asked, he'd let her go. But he hoped she'd relax and tell him what was wrong. He'd just about given up hope that she was going to give up, when he felt her body go slack and her arms slipped around him. "Her service was today," she whispered.

He finally understood. "You should have gone."

She didn't say anything.

He sighed and held her closer. "She loved you, sweetheart. She wouldn't want you beating yourself up this way for doing your duty."

"You didn't know her," Christine said as she pulled away.

He chose not to argue, just went back to packing things up. Glancing back at her occasionally, he made short work of the files and closed the carton. "What are you going to do with these?"

She shook her head. "Put them in storage for now."

He just nodded. Watching her as she worked, he wondered what she was thinking. Usually he could read her, but shut down and in pain, he was finding it impossible to reach her.

"The crew's scared," she finally said.

"I know."

"They think that the 'random enemy of the Federation' you and Spock created is going to strike again." She closed the last carton and gave him a hard stare.

"I know that too."

"Do you care?"

He nodded. "I do. But they're in no danger. We know who really did this."

She shook her head. "We don't know anything, Randall. And it's driving me crazy."

"You've got to let that part of it go. You couldn't have stopped her death."

Her face fell. "I know that. I just want to believe that I could have."

As she picked up the carton, he eased her arm back down. "Leave it. The quartermaster can take care of it."

"But--"

"You've done your part." He pulled her into his arms again. "You're a good friend, Christine."

She leaned against him hard. "I miss her, Randall."

"I know." He gave her a quick kiss then pulled away. "It's shift change. Let's have dinner in your quarters."

She nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I know you're hurting."

They took the lift to deck two and walked to her quarters. He was just ordering dinner from the replicator when her comm unit chimed. She answered and a face he didn't recognize came on.

"Chris?"

"Len?" There was such joy in her voice, Kerr felt a moment's jealousy. Then he realized that this had to be the McCoy she'd told him so much about and he smiled. Maybe this was just what she needed.

"Hon, I've got some bad news. For you and Spock. I wanted to talk to you first because...because I know that he had a hard time after Jim's death."

"What?" Her voice was dangerously flat again.

"It's Scotty."

"He's retired on Norpin V," she said, as if she were willing it to be so.

"He would have been retired on Norpin V, Chris. If the ship had made it. It didn't." McCoy watched her carefully.

"I see," was all she said.

"Chris?"

"Yes. Thank you. I see."

"Hon, I know this is a shock, especially after what happened. I heard about your friend."

"I see."

Kerr wished she'd stop saying that.

"Chris--" McCoy's voice was cut off as she closed the channel.

"Christine," Kerr said.

She turned slowly, looked at him as if trying to figure out who he was.

"Sweetheart--"

She sat down on the couch calmly. Her look was completely composed as she said in an icy voice. "Get out."

"Christine."

"Get out, Randall. I want to be alone."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"I do." She took a deep breath and sat collected and very still. When he didn't move, she looked up again. "Please? Let me be."

"If you want me, I'm here for you. You know that."

"Nobody's here for me. Not when everybody's dying." As he started to argue, she held up a hand. "Just go, Randall."

He wanted to argue but something in her expression stopped him. "I love you."

"Please?" He'd never seen her look so tired.

Finally, nodding in defeat, he left her alone.

-----------------------------------

Working far later into beta shift than he had meant to, Spock was just about to leave the bridge when the comm chimed.

"Incoming transmission from Earth, sir," Ensign Tompkins said. "Marked personal for you."

He rose. "From whom?"

"A Doctor Leonard McCoy."

Spock's eyebrow rose. "I'll take it in my ready room. Lieutenant Crawford, you have the conn."

"Aye, sir."

Walking quickly to his office, Spock activated the channel. "Doctor McCoy. An unexpected pleasure."

McCoy frowned. "Doubt you'll think so when I get done talking."

"Something is wrong?"

"It's Scotty. He was on his way to retirement. And the ship. The ship..." He rubbed his eyes roughly, "Damn it. He's dead, Spock."

"Dead." Spock had a hard time reconciling his mental image of the vital and energetic Scott with the word. "How?"

"The Jenolen was lost with all hands." McCoy leaned forward, his image growing bigger. "I called Chris first, Spock, because I wasn't sure how you were going to take this news. But she's on the one that didn't take it well."

Spock frowned slightly. "She recently lost a friend."

"Farrell. Yeah, I heard. Murdered. What the hell kind of diplomatic ship are you running, Spock?" McCoy looked worried and somewhat angry. "Story is that a terrorist did it. Who the hell is running your security?"

"It was not a security lapse."

"Well, I'm still worried about you out there. You're a big target whether you realize it or not. And so is Chris if she's with you."

Spock nodded thoughtfully. "You said she did not take the news well. What did she do?"

McCoy sighed. "She shut down on me. Wouldn't talk about it, didn't cry. Just kept saying, 'I see,' over and over again. Is she okay?"

"She has been through a lot lately."

"Well, it must have been a hell of a lot, Spock. She looked damn near catatonic when she signed off." He peered at Spock. "You two close enough these days you can find out what's going on?"

Spock let his eyebrow rise slowly at the barb in the question. The doctor's tendency to not mince words certainly had not changed. "We are."

"Well, good. Go do it." McCoy suddenly looked wistful. "I don't suppose you're coming back for Scotty's memorial, are you? It's in three days. Hate to admit it, Spock, but I miss you."

"I believe I may attend the ceremony. The ship is being refitted here. There is no reason not to go."

"Well, bring Christine with you. She looks like she could use a trip home."

"I will see what she says," Spock replied. "Spock out." He cut the connection and walked out to the bridge. He needed to check on Christine, but he had several things he should do first. "I'll be in engineering," he told Lieutenant Crawford.

"Yes, sir."

The ride to deck ten seemed to take longer than normal. When he emerged, he headed directly for Kettering's office.

His friend looked up as Spock appeared at the door. His eyes glimmering, Kettering blinked hard several times and rubbed his forehead before saying, "I just heard."

Spock sat down across from the chief engineer. "I know you looked up to him."

"I did, Spock. This is so damn unfair. He was on his way to retire."

"I know."

Kettering slammed his fist on his desk, an unusual gesture.

Spock studied him. "Will you be going back for the memorial?"

Kettering shook his head. "Not my place to. He was my mentor and my teacher, but I wasn't his friend the way you were. Besides, I want to remember him like he was. Out here." He pointed at the image of space outside of the viewscreen. "And in here," he said in a softer voice, indicating engineering.

"I think that is how he would wish you to remember him."

Kettering nodded, his eyes turned down to the desk. Then he looked up and met Spock's eyes. "Thanks for coming down here. You're a good friend, Spock."

"I value your well being, Ron."

"I pretty much value yours too," the engineer said with a smile. "Are you going back?"

Spock nodded.

"That's good. He'd be pleased. Always spoke about you with a certain tone in his voice."

Spock rose. "I have always held him in the highest regard. This will be a sad occasion."

As he walked back to the lift, Spock considered Kettering's words. Had he been Captain Scott's friend? They had worked together for years. He had relied on the engineer's ability to get them out of the deepest danger. He had helped him on many projects. But friends? Spock was not sure that they had been. Nevertheless, that didn't change his resolve to go.

When he arrived on the bridge, he instructed Tompkins to connect him with his father's residence and went into his ready room.

"My son," Sarek stared at Spock with the slightly lost look he had worn since Amanda had died. "What is it?"

"A friend of mine has died. You remember Captain Scott?"

"I do. A fine man."

"Yes. I plan to attend the funeral."

"And you would like to borrow the ship?" Sarek nodded. "Of course, Spock. I will have it prepared and provisioned. It will be just you?"

"Christine will probably travel with me. Possibly a third person as well."

"I will see to it, my son. When do you leave?"

"As soon as I have packed. Thank you, father."

"Do not thank me. It pleases me to do this for you," Sarek said with a stern but fond look as he cut the connection.

--------****-----------------

Christine ignored the chime on the first ring. And on the second. When she did not answer the third, her door opened and Spock walked in.

"Command codes, Spock?" She glared at him.

"You are not the only one the can do that, Christine." He looked around.

"He's not here. I told him to go away. Why don't you join him?" Her words were bitter, but her tone was flat.

"Doctor McCoy called me," he said as he joined her on the couch.

She wondered how he knew to sit just close enough for her to reach out and touch him if she wanted, but not so near that she felt crowded. She looked away, saying nothing.

He waited.

She sat silently, willing him to go away, to just leave her alone.

He didn't move.

Finally, she said, "They're all dying."

"Not all. Doctor McCoy and Commander Uhura are fine. Captain Sulu and Commander Rand are thriving on the Excelsior. Commander Chekov is doing well. You and I are still here."

She looked over at him, frowning slightly. "It feels like we're losing them."

He nodded. "We did not go home when Jim died. That may have been, in retrospect, an unfortunate choice."

"We had a launch to contend with. And a plague after that."

"You are being logical again."

She could feel her mood lighten, the awful blackness that had filled her when McCoy had called finally lifting somewhat. "Annoying, isn't it?"

His voice was tender as he gave her one of his rare half smiles. "Annoyance is an emotion."

Scooting over slowly, she felt his arm drop around her shoulders to pull her closer. She laid her head on his chest. "And we both know you don't have those."

"Yes, we both know that," he agreed, as he rested his chin on her hair for a few moments.

"You think we should go back for Scotty's memorial?" she finally asked.

"I do." He waited. When she did not comment, he said. "My father has offered us the use of his private yacht. It is a very fast vessel."

"That's a good idea," she finally said.

"Are you all right, Christine?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" she said, but a sob caught in her voice, giving lie to the words.

"McCoy was worried about you."

"I know."

"I'm worried about you," he said.

"I'm all right."

"T'hy'la, you don't need to lie to me."

This time the endearment was her undoing. The tears she'd been holding back began to fall and she quit trying to stop them. He didn't say anything as he let her cry. Finally, pulling away, she looked down at his wet uniform. "I'm making a mess of you," she said.

His hold on her tightened. "I will survive."

She wrapped her arms around him and relaxed. A strange peace settled over her despite her sadness. "I want to see our friends, Spock."

"As do I, Christine." There was a long silence as he held her. Finally he said, "I assumed it would just be you and I traveling." His voice was barely more than a murmur.

Christine waited.

"But the yacht can hold up to six."

Still she said nothing.

"The choice is yours."

Her peace was gone; she felt instantly guilty, as she answered, "They weren't his family."

"No, they were not," he agreed quietly.

"And he'll be needed here. His marines..." she trailed off, unable to continue in what both of them knew was a lie.

"Then it will be just the two of us."

"I feel guilty," she whispered, pulling away from him.

He let go of her instantly. "Then ask him to join us." Getting up, he walked to the door slowly.

Before it could open she said, "No, I...I feel guilty that I don't want him to come."

He turned to face her and their eyes locked for a long instant. Then Spock nodded. "I will contact Starfleet and make the arrangements for our lodging. We can leave as soon as you are ready." His look grew more thoughtful. "Are you sure you want to go alone, Christine?"

"I'm sure." She tried to look resolved as he turned and left the room. She tried not to think about it as she packed her bags.

She was forced to think about it when Kerr commed her. "I'm worried about you." The concern on his face touched her.

"I'm okay." He studied her, and she gave him a tentative smile. "I'm sorry."

He nodded. "Can I see you?"

She looked down. "I have to pack. I'm going back to Earth for the memorial. I need to see my friends...the ones that are left. They're like family and I have this terrible feeling that I'm losing them all and if I don't see them soon, I never will."

"I understand. Do you want company? I have leave."

She swallowed. "I'm not going alone, Randall."

Kerr didn't speak, just stared at her from the comm panel.

"Randall?"

"When does Spock want you to leave?"

"Soon."

He looked away. When he finally turned back he said softly, "You made me a promise a little while ago. I trust you remember it?"

She nodded solemnly.

He cleared his throat before he said. "If you want to take that promise back, just say so."

"I don't."

"You're sure?" His voice was deadly serious.

"We're going to a funeral, not an orgy." She knew her reply sounded overly defensive.

"Funerals bring out some weird emotions."

She tried to smile. "Well then I guess it's fortunate I'm traveling with a Vulcan."

A rare anger lit his eyes. "Don't bullshit me, Chapel."

"Randall, I--"

"Don't lie to me and don't humor me. If you want to go to a memorial and pay your respects, I'm fine with that. If you don't want me to go with you, I can live with it. I don't like it, but I can live with it. But if you think I'm going to buy some cock-and-bull story about you not wanting him and him not wanting you, then you must think I'm some kind of moron. I was in that damn greenhouse too, remember?"

She didn't know what to say.

The anger in his eyes died, and he looked away for a moment. When he turned back his expression was carefully composed. "Ok, I'll make this easy on you. God knows why, but I will. You go to the memorial, and you say goodbye to your friend. And see your crewmates and reconnect, Christine. And do it at Spock's side.

"And if you find that the promise you made to me is easy to keep, then when you get back, you come to my room and I'll make sure you don't regret that decision. But if it turns out to be something you can't keep, then when you get back, you just send me a message that says "It's over," and that'll be it."

"That's not what this is about."

"This has been coming ever since that damn cave, Christine. Hell, maybe even before. It's your choice. You have to make it. I'm just trying to help you not lie about it, okay." He sighed. "I love you. I wish I were going with you. I'll see you when you get back. Hopefully." He hit the switch and the channel went dead.

"I love you too," she whispered to the blank screen.

-------------------

Spock checked over the settings he'd programmed for their voyage. Christine sat in the co-pilot chair, her head back and eyes partially closed.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded sleepily. "S'all your fault. Delynn gave me a shot of something. Now I wish I had asked her what was in it. She said it would help me rest."

"Then rest you shall," he said as he got up and headed for the back of the small ship. He realized she was not following. "Christine. You can rest more comfortably in here."

She swiveled her chair slowly. "Too much work to move."

"Come." He held out his hand to her.

With a groan, she pushed herself out of the chair and followed him into the small bedroom.

"Lie down."

"I'm not a damn dog, Spock," she groused irritably. "What'll it be next? Roll over?"

As she made herself comfortable, still muttering to herself, he took a blanket from a small closet and covered her up with it.

She made a happy sound as she cuddled into it. "Soft."

"My mother made it." He felt the jolt of sadness that since his mother's death seemed to always accompany any thought of her. He tried to push it away.

"I'm sorry," Christine said, as she reached for his hand.

He felt a shock of connection as their hands touched. He could sense her emotions clearly: sympathy for him, her own sadness, and a terrible weariness.

She looked up at him, her eyes going wide. "You're so sad."

"Yes." He gently disengaged his hand and said, "Rest now."

"Just for a little while." She was asleep in seconds.

He watched her for a few moments, then dimmed the lights and let the door close behind him as he returned to his seat.

He was cleared for departure as soon as he requested permission. Easing the small vessel into the air, Spock didn't accelerate until they were well out of Vulcan's atmosphere. He set the controls to the course he had entered and sat back in the chair, prepared to take the helm if he needed to.

He studied his hand, where it had touched Christine's. He could still feel her touch. Strange that he was feeling her emotions so clearly. He had not been particularly open to her at that moment, yet her feelings had come through and she had been able to read his. In his experience, only Jim had been able to do that.

Jim. Spock felt a tight sensation in his chest as the nightmare of Jim that the Pesadii had enhanced took hold of him again. That Jim was somewhere lost--not dead--was more than Spock could stand to think about. Which is why it was a nightmare, his rational mind told him. It is the last thing you could stand, so therefore it is the first thing you would dream.

Spock was grateful he did not dream very often.

He checked the readouts. The course was true, the monitors all where they should be. He could meditate. It would help the time go more quickly.

Hours passed and Spock slowly became aware of his surroundings. He looked at the empty chair next to him. She was still sleeping. Even in his meditative state, he had not been able to dull his awareness of her, of how close she was, how they were alone together. It had been this way since the Pon Farr, this hyperawareness of her. But she was not his; she had chosen another, and he must honor that. His own feelings were of no concern here.

But what of hers? some more emotional part of him asked. What does she want?

Ignoring the voice, Spock went to the carryall he had brought and pulled out a padd. There was plenty of work to catch up on. This was not, after all, a pleasure cruise. And even if it had been, he admitted ruefully, he would still find an excuse to do work.

Unless Christine wanted to do other things.

Spock closed his eyes for a moment and tried to concentrate on pushing her from his mind. His hand burned again and he sighed in frustration. Definitely time for a colorful metaphor, he decided, the phrase bringing Jim instantly to mind. He raised an eyebrow at his own emotional turbulence and turned back to the padd, determined to get some work done in between thoughts of the two people he loved so much.

----------------------------

Christine woke slowly, groggily becoming aware of a different hum than the one she was used to on the Carter. She opened her eyes slowly and took in the dimly lit cabin. Then she remembered. She was in Sarek's little ship, bound for Earth...bound for Scotty's memorial. The soft blanket on top of her was suddenly too warm and she pushed it off and sat up.

She remembered Delynn giving her a hypo. It had made her sleepy. Putting her feet on the floor, she stood gingerly, afraid she might still be unsteady. But she stood easily, feeling no lingering wooziness. She tried to straighten her uniform, tugging at it to get the wrinkles out, finally giving up when it was clear she'd been asleep for quite a long time. Walking out of the bedroom she saw Spock working at a padd in the pilot's chair. He looked up as she approached.

"How long was I out," she asked as she took the seat next to him.

"Fifteen hours." He put down the padd. "How do you feel?"

She had a crick in her neck and reached up to massage it. "Like I slept funny. But overall? Better, I guess."

"That is good." He met her eyes. "You were in a very dark place."

She nodded. "I packed up Ren's office."

"You did not have to do that."

"Same thing Randall said," she replied, with a sardonic grin. "You two really have to stop using synchronized scripts." He gave her an odd look that she chose to ignore. "So where are we?"

He pulled up the star charts and pointed to their location. "Approximately 30 hours away from Earth."

"Hmmm." She wasn't sure what else to say.

He fell silent too. A few minutes passed as they sat in silence, then he said, "I was going to help my father pack up my mother's things but he did not want me to move them."

She turned to look at him.

"I do not know if that is healthy. It is as if she never died."

Christine shrugged. "We all deal with grief in our own way. My mother was just the opposite. She got rid of everything of my father's really fast. Said seeing it just made her feel worse."

He nodded thoughtfully. "That would be my thought. That the constant reminder would hurt more than the empty space."

"But you're not Sarek."

"That much is certain."

Another long silence fell. "I believed he loved her more than I ever really knew."

She glanced at him. His face was set in a hard, sad expression. "I believe he did, Spock." He did not reply so she asked, "How did they meet?"

"At an embassy function. He was new in the diplomatic corps. She was a linguistics professor on exchange to a Federation project. They met at the ambassador's residence in San Francisco."

"Is that when they fell in love?"

He looked away. "I do not know that part of the story."

She frowned. "You never asked her?"

"I asked him once. Why he married her. He said it seemed the logical thing to do at the time."

She laughed. "I remember. Not very romantic."

"No. But eminently Sarek." Spock leaned back in the chair. "I have had time to ponder the sentiment. I think that he meant, but would not say to me, that because he loved her and could not live without her, there was no logical road but the one he took. To marry her."

"Sounds reasonable."

He glanced over at her. "You do not sound convinced."

She grinned. "It lacks poetry."

"Indeed." Spock frowned slightly. "It is typical of my relationship with my father that I did not ask for clarification. I believe that he would see the need for more information as evidence of undue emotionalism. Yet another flaw." He sighed softy. "All my life I have tried to make him proud of me."

"He is proud of you, Spock. He loves you. Can't you feel that when you're with him?"

"I cannot." He looked over at her and his eyes were profoundly weary before he looked away. "But I can feel him making the attempt to reach out. Perhaps that is enough."

"Sometimes that's all we can ask." She reached out her hand to him, saw him take it without hesitation. The rush of emotion she felt when he closed his fingers around hers made her gasp.

He looked over. "The sensation is quite profound."

"It is." She stared down at their hands. "Does this always happen after the Pon Farr."

He shook his head.

"Well, of course it would happen to us. Nothing about this mission is going as I thought it would." Her tone was more sour than she intended.

He dropped her hand.

She turned to him. "I didn't mean that the way it must have sounded."

"It is all right. The sentiment was certainly apt. Let me show you what you need to know to pilot." He demonstrated the panels that controlled helm and navigation, assuring her that the autopilot would most likely take care of everything. "I believe rest would be of benefit. Wake me if you need me."

She nodded. As she watched him walk away from her, she called out softly, "Sleep well."

He did not reply as the bedroom door closed behind him.

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