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) 2004 by Djinn. This story
is Rated PG-13.
Nurse
by Djinn
She tries to find words to
calm him as he twists and turns feverishly on the small cot in the shuttle.
He's the last one left. Of the six others, there is only the captain. And her, of course. The nurse. The one who ignores how sick
she feels, too. Ignores it so she can take care of him. Her captain. The friend
of her boss, the friend of her unrequited crush. But not her friend. Although he's been
kind to her. He has always been kind to her.
He calls out names as he
tosses. Women he’s loved. Women he’s lost. Such wretchedness
in his voice as he cries out for them. Such utter longing. She knows
what that feels like. She knows what lonely tastes like. Bitter. Sour. Empty.
Her head hurts, and she rests
it on the side of the cot. The Enterprise
will find them soon. She knows it. She just has to keep him alive until then.
He was the last to fall. He's strong--superhuman, isn't he?
He doesn't look superhuman.
He looks lost and small and easy to touch. Her hand lingers on his forehead,
feeling for the fever. It's higher. She doesn't need a tricorder to tell her
that.
He's burning up.
She sighs. Tired...she is so
damned tired. But she forces herself to her feet, swaying a bit as her head
gets used to being so far from the ground again. She takes a step, and the dizziness
almost topples her, but she fights the sensation. She has to walk; he needs
water. Both to drink and to cool down. He's too hot. Too dry. She can't let him get dehydrated.
She can't let him die.
One, two, three steps. And again. She finds her way by threes to the creek that
runs down the hill. She fills the water container, then dips a cloth in the
creek and lays the cool softness against her own burning forehead. The water
drips into her eyes but she doesn't care, just blinks it away. She knows her
makeup is a sweaty mess already. She knows she probably looks horrible.
It is irrelevant. The only
thing that matters is to not lose her last patient. Her most
important patient.
"Rest, Christine,"
he said to her, just before he collapsed.
She will rest when they are
rescued. Or she will rest when she is dead.
But he will live. He has to
live. She is a nurse, her patients
cannot all die. And Kirk especially cannot die.
Spock would never forgive
her. Neither would Len.
She pulls the cloth from her
face, re-wets it for him. It will cool him. It will feel good. Better even then
it felt to her.
She wishes she could rest.
She wishes she could give up, just close her eyes and go to sleep. Forget about
patients and captains and men who will hate her if she lets them down.
She turns and trudges back to
the shuttle. Her brain is too tired to count by threes this time. A two-step then. The number doesn't matter. Just that she
gets back to him.
She kneels down next to the
cot but misjudges her momentum, crashing down on her knees. Tears rush to her
eyes, and she blinks those away like the water drops.
He is watching her. His hand
comes out and touches her cheek. "I'm sorry," he says and she is sure
he is speaking to one of his long-gone loves. But then he says,
"Christine, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get sick."
She laughs slightly. "I
know, sir." She sets the cloth on his forehead. She didn't mean to get
sick either.
He sighs in relief. She knows
how good the cool cloth feels and wishes she had thought to make another one
for herself. It would have been easy, just tear a little more off her uniform.
She didn't think of that when she was out by the water. She can do it now, pour
some water from the container, but she doesn't want to waste it on her comfort.
Not if it means she'll have to go get more.
She can't face getting up.
She has never been so tired.
He moves the cloth off his
eyes and watches her. "You're sick?"
She shakes her head. No, she
is not sick.
She is dying.
They both are. Unless the ship comes soon. She feels tears in her eyes. Tears of frustration. Tears of fear.
What if she can't keep him alive? What if he dies?
"Christine?"
"Shhh.
You can't make it better, sir." He begins to move and she stops him.
"Lie quietly."
"There's room."
She stares at him, her brain
too fuzzy to understand why he has said that.
He pulls at her, the hand on
her arm barely gripping her. Normally, he is so strong. Normally, he is not
dying from this hateful alien fever that has already snuffed out five strong
men and women.
"Room for what?"
"For you." He moves
again, his face contorting as pain comes over him. "Humor me. Rest."
His voice is weak, but he is not asking her. He is ordering her to rest.
She pulls herself up, ungraceful
and weak. The cot is too small for them; she is lying against him, and her face
is too close to his. "I'm sorry," she says as she blushes.
The cloth on his face has
fallen half off. She moves it back and he sighs. Then he leans forward,
trapping the cloth between them. The coolness of the water on her forehead
makes her sigh.
"Better?"
"Yes." She relaxes.
The cot is hard but it is softer than the shuttle floor. Her legs stop
cramping, and she can feel her eyes closing.
"How much time do we
have?" His voice is calm. She can tell he does not want her to lie.
She does anyway. "I
don't know."
He digests that. Then he
pushes against her, his hand coming up to rest on her upper arm. Again he
grips; again his grasp is horribly weak. "How long?"
"A few more hours at
most."
He does not have anything to
say to that, just sighs softly.
"They'll come,
sir."
His hand drops from her arm.
"They don't even know we're in trouble."
"Spock will come."
She reaches out, brushes his arm with her hand. "He always comes for
you."
"Yes." He does not
sound convinced.
There is a silence in the
shuttle. The man who never gives up has nothing to say. She rubs harder at his
arm, trying to infuse some hope into him but only manages to use up her last
bit of strength.
"Rest, Christine."
His head falls away from hers slightly, and she is afraid he has died. But then
she hears his shallow breathing.
Her breathing sounds only
slightly more robust.
They are both so sick.
"Please hold on,"
she says, knowing she should roll off the cot, should take up her place again.
But she hasn't the will to move away from him.
She doesn't want to die alone
on the floor.
She doesn't want him to die
alone on this narrow cot. Not when their bodies can press against each other,
give some small piece of hope, comfort. Simple human warmth.
"Please hold on,"
she whispers again, but this time she is not sure which of them she is talking
to.
He moves then, pulling the
cloth off his face. His eyes are bright with fever. She knows her own are
probably just as strange looking.
"Are you lonely?"
"Not right now."
She smiles, flinches actually. It is a stupid joke, made at the wrong time.
But he smiles too. "Your
life, is it lonely?"
She nods. The movement hurts.
"Mine is, too."
"I know, sir."
"Jim."
She shakes her head.
"Sir."
He frowns. Then finally nods,
accepting. He has never been Jim to her, trying to make it so now will not make
it any more real. He is alone. She is alone. They are alone together.
But they don't have to be
lonely.
"Spock will be
here." Spock loves him. She wonders if he has any idea how much Spock
loves him.
"Spock will come,"
he says, but there is no hope in his voice. He may know how much Spock loves
him, but he doesn't believe in the miracle that love is, not the way she does.
She knows Spock will come for
them. Because Kirk is there. And Spock will know that
his captain needs him.
She will live as long as she
can keep this man alive.
His hand comes up and brushes
something off her face. "Don't cry."
She is crying?
"Christine. He'll come.
You're right. He'll come."
The tears she can barely feel
won't stop. She makes no noise, doesn't sob, but the precious water won't stop
deserting her.
She can't afford to lose this
much fluid.
She sees him close his eyes.
"No. Stay awake, sir."
His breathing is raw, raspy,
and hard to ignore as it grows more labored.
He is not holding on.
He is dying. Right now, he is
dying. If she had a biobed, she could keep him alive
until she found the right combination of drugs to fight this fever. But the
shuttle only has this little cot, and it won't keep him breathing when his body
can't fight anymore.
She closes her eyes. It is
over. She lets go too. Feels dizziness come over her as her lungs seize in her
chest. She takes another breath, and another. Hears him echo her, inhaling in
rasping counterpoint. She knows their breaths are numbered.
They will die together then.
No one will be left alone.
She touches his hand and
feels his fingers clutch hers weakly. "Not alone," she manages to
gasp, unsure if he can understand her.
But he squeezes her hand
once.
The touch of his fingers on
hers is the last thing she knows until she wakes in sickbay. She sits up
slowly, feels as if her chest is on fire and immediately begins to cough
convulsively.
A nurse runs over, easing her
down. Len comes out from his office and holds her as she chokes and sputters.
He asks for a hypo of bronchial relaxer, and as he shoots her full of the drug,
she feels the spasms in her chest finally relax.
"The captain?" she
mouths, unwilling to say the words aloud, afraid she'll start to cough again.
Len points to the bed to her
side. She looks over and sees Kirk sleeping, then feels Len pat her on the arm.
The relaxer is making her sleepy and she smiles. They didn't die. She didn't
lose him.
She sleeps.
-----------------
Life goes on. The fever
leaves her tired. More tired than she can remember ever
being. Len is worried about her, but she keeps working. Keeps pressing.
Len's worried about the
Captain, too. He keeps working as well.
She is not surprised. They
are similar in that way. Hold to routine, work hard, dig in, and keep going.
Stubborn. She and the captain
are both stubborn.
She remembers his words. His
life is lonely. She wishes she could help him.
She knows she cannot.
Spock hovers near him. Trying
to take care of him. She's seen him in the lounge, bustling around the captain
like some mother hen. Kirk waves him away impatiently.
Spock has barely spoken to
her, but then he never does.
She goes to the mess,
grabbing a tray to take back to her quarters. She is too tired to eat with her
friends. Is too tired to do anything but work and sleep.
She wonders if Kirk is
getting enough sleep. He needs it. He needs to rest. Their bodies are beaten,
exhausted. They died, after all. Len told her they were dead when he and Spock
beamed down. But only just dead. Close enough to alive
to be brought back, to be held captive somewhere between not breathing and
breathing on the biobeds until he figured out how to
help them.
She goes to sleep wondering
how much more dead she would have needed to be to not come back. She can't
decide if she is glad she's back.
Life feels very strange. Weakness--and the sense of failure that has followed her from that
planet, from that small sickbed of a shuttle--are making it hard to
focus, hard to know what she really feels.
She should probably see a counselor,
but she doesn't want to dredge this all up. Thinks it is safer to just push it
down and away and let it join all the other pain she's ever known.
Why do some people get so
much pain? And others get so little?
The days pass slowly. Her
strength returns in fits and starts. She is tired and
then less so, she cannot finish a shift without many short rests, and then she
can do it with less.
She walks to the gym, has
never missed so many days before but stands at the door, wanting to go in, but
her body is resisting. She is tired. Turning, she nearly runs into Kirk. He is
standing just a few feet behind her, watching her.
"How are you?" he
asks.
"Better." She
studies him. His color is coming back. He is not so gray, is regaining the
golden tan that he never seems to lose no matter how long they are in space.
She knows her own color is
still blotchy. The fever leeched away the tone of her complexion, and she is
too apathetic to spend much time trying to recreate it with cosmetics.
"I'm too tired to go in
there." He holds out his hand. "Walk with me?"
She takes his hand, is
surprised when he does not let go right away. He holds it for many more paces
than she thinks he should. What is he doing?
"Are you lonely?"
"Not right now." It
is still a stupid joke.
And he still laughs. "In
general?"
She does not answer. This is
not a narrow cot; they are not dying. Confession seems ill conceived.
"Christine?"
"I think I'm going to
turn in," she says, aware that she is a coward. This man is reaching out
to her, and she is not going to reach back.
"How can anyone get in
if you always run?"
She turns to look at him.
"Who wants in?"
He blushes. "I do."
She finds it charming that he
can turn that red. Then flinches away at the thought. He is dangerous; he can
charm her. It would be so easy to misunderstand. So tempting to do so. She
walks back to him and pats him on the hand. "I'm your nurse, and you're
transferring gratitude and relief. You think you're interested, but you're
not." She turns away.
"You didn't save me. Len
did."
She turns again, this time in
anger. "I kept you alive."
"Okay. But you were
dying, just like me. Don't make me out to be some lovesick kid."
"Lovesick?" She
realizes it is her turn to blush. "I didn't mean to imply..."
"Transference?
Interested?" He moves closer. "I just want to get to know you. I
don't know you. Why don't I know you, Christine?"
She pulls away. "I'm
your nurse. What more is there to know?"
He frowns. "A lot more,
I think." He sighs. "But you have to want to let me in." He
leans against the bulkhead, and she realizes he is as tired as she is.
"Get some sleep,
sir." She turns away.
He doesn’t follow her.
------------------
She studies her face in the
mirror. Old. She looks old. And still so tired. Will she
ever not be tired?
Why did she run away from
him? The question is dangerous so she decides not to dwell on it.
Her chime sounds and she
ignores it. She is off shift. Let whoever it is come back.
Her chimes
sounds again. And again. And
again. She stalks to the door, calls it open ready to give whoever it is
hell for not going away.
It is Kirk. He could have
used the override, but he didn't.
Which means he's here on a
personal visit.
"I said I was going to
turn in."
"We're not finished
talking." He looks inordinately stubborn.
She realizes he has made her
a project. He will befriend her or die trying. She moves out of the way and
lets him in.
Her quarters suddenly seem
very small. He fills them, in fact, they
barely contain him. The sun king. The young Ra.
James T. Kirk. Youngest captain ever. And he's in her quarters.
She sits down at her desk.
"Why are you here?"
"Why shouldn't I be
here?" He sits on her bed.
"We're not
friends."
"We could be."
She sighs. He will have a counter
to everything she says. "I'm tired, sir."
"Christine." He
studies her. Smiles. "Chris."
The name makes her melt
inside. Her mother called her that. It has been so long since she's heard it.
He seems to see that he has
cracked her defenses and presses his advantage. "Chris."
"Don't. You don't want
to go there." She stands up and walks over to him. "What do you want
from me? Sex? Gratitude? Worship?" She crouches down in front of him, her
hands on his knees, and sarcasm fills her voice. "What can I do for you,
sir?"
Why is she being like this?
Why is he so frightening?
"Jim," he says.
She looks down.
"Jim, Chris. Call me
Jim." He takes her hand and pulls her up to sit next to him. "I'm
sick of being sick." He looks over at her, giving her a shaky grin.
"I'm sick of pretending I feel better than I do."
She feels her own barriers
coming down, her guards that keep Len from knowing how hard she is fighting at
times to stay on her feet. "I know."
"Bones said it was just
going to take a little longer to get well."
"I think he's
right." She's done her own research on the virus. It's tenacious but not
invincible. The drugs they still take will kill it eventually.
He leans back, lying the wrong way across the bed, and sighs. "I'm so
goddamned tired."
She watches him, as his eyes
close and his breathing slows. "Damn it, sir. Don't fall asleep."
He is moving, but not to get
up. He shifts, curling toward her until his head is in her lap. She wants to
push him off; she wants to hit him. Instead, she strokes his head, her hand
playing with his hair. So soft. And he is warm.
He groans and his arm comes
up, fitting snugly around her lower back. She sighs. He still needs her. His
nurse. Her back protests, but she sits for too long letting him sleep.
He wakes just as her muscles
begin to scream. He looks up and seems to see her discomfort so he moves a
little and tells her to lie down.
She does, feeling her tired
muscles finally relaxing. He’s curled up next to her, his eyes already
shutting.
"This doesn't mean
anything," she mutters.
"Fine. It doesn't mean
anything." He pulls her closer, his hand resting on her arm.
She realizes it is how they
were lying on that little cot in that deadly shuttle.
"What do you want from
me?" Her tone is harsh, but she feels as if he is dangling her off a
cliff. And she is not sure if he’s going to let go of her or not. "What do
you want?"
But he is already asleep.
---------------------
She wakes and feels someone
pressed against her back, remembers it is the captain. His hand rests on her
side, nearly on her breast, but she doesn't think he's moved it there
deliberately. His breathing is slow, easy. The breath of
sleep.
She closes her eyes. She has
not slept with a man since Roger. The real Roger, not the
android imposter. The real Roger loved to sleep this way, nestled up
against her, his head buried in her hair, his arm around her, deliberately
holding her breast. Roger loved sex in the morning.
She wonders if Kirk does.
Imagines he likes it at any time of day. He seems open that way, easy to please
and eager to share the pleasure.
Roger was that way too.
Before he went off for parts unknown. Before he decided to live forever by
transferring his humanity into something so inhuman.
Before he decided to make a
blow up doll of his graduate assistant not of his fiancée.
He tried to explain it away,
when they were alone. When he wanted to have sex with her, his long-lost love.
He had all kinds of reasons for why he hadn't been able to bear to see his
fiancée everyday--not if she wasn't real.
That was before she knew he
wasn't real.
She almost slept with him,
but she couldn't stop seeing Andrea's face, couldn't drown out her silky voice.
She kept remembering how Roger had said he didn't find Andrea appealing--that
he preferred his women tall and coltish.
Not soft and curvy. He didn't
say that. But Christine did, in her head, even back then. Now she feels like a
fool when she thinks of Andrea. So she tries not to think of her.
Kirk's hand moves away, to
safer ground, and his breathing changes. She wonders what he will do when he
wakes up. She knows he does not have affairs with crewmembers. But here he is
in bed with her. Not an affair, but not standard behavior for him either.
She taunted him with sex last
night. Would she have delivered if that had been what he wanted?
Is she disappointed that it
wasn't what he wanted?
She used to like sex, too.
Before it became so wrapped up in a love that might not have been real.
"Good morning." His
voice is casual, as if it is not unusual to wake up in her bed. He rubs her
arm. It is a friendly gesture, sweet and affectionate and not threatening.
She finds his innocence
terrifying.
"I know you're
awake."
He is as relentless in the
morning as he was the night before. She takes a deep breath.
"Good morning," she
finally says.
He leans in, kisses her cheek
gently. "I have to go." She can feel him lift himself up slightly,
realizes he is checking the time. "It's late."
She looks at the chrono. It is late.
"Don't let anyone tell
you that you're not fun in the morning, Chris." He chuckles softly,
squeezes her arm, and rolls off the bed.
She watches him walk to the
door. Before it opens, he turns to look at her. His expression softens.
"What?"
He smiles. "Don't let
anyone tell you you're not damned attractive in the morning, either."
Then he is gone.
She pushes herself out of bed
and walks to the bathroom. Her hair is a mess, her skin is blotchy, and there
are dark circles under her eyes. There is nothing alluring about her. Roger
would never have told her that she looked attractive. Whenever she looked less
than perfect, he would fall silent, a look of disapproval playing on his face.
She always got up earlier than he did, showered and put her makeup on before he
was awake. Roger loved her artifice.
The man who
just left appears to appreciate the natural Christine. She shakes her head: the natural Christine is a mess.
In so many ways beyond just looks.
She showers and puts on some
make-up, wondering if she cares about how she looks because she is getting
better or because she might run into Ji--the captain
during the day.
She wonders why it matters
that she cares. It is probably a good sign that she does...for whatever reason.
Work seems less arduous to her,
the shift goes by more like it used to before she measured every day by how
much energy she didn't have.
"Feeling better?"
Len asks, and she can finally say yes. He smiles, relief clear in his eyes.
"I've been worried about you."
She touches his arm. "I
know." She smiles, the quirky smile she knows he likes. "I've been
worried about me too."
By the end of her shift she
is tired again, ready to sleep.
"Turning in?" Len
asks.
She nods. Sees concern on his
face and smiles. "It'll just take time. Isn't that what you told the
captain?"
He nods, then
looks confused. As if wondering how she knows what he told
his friend.
She rolls her neck; the
muscles are tight. She probably slept funny with Kirk next to her on her bed.
She was probably tense. Tonight she will sleep alone, in peace.
She says goodnight to Len and
walks back to her quarters, wondering if Kirk will show up at her door when his
shift ends. But he doesn’t.
She’s relieved.
She’s also disappointed. She
wants to mock the part of her that feels the lack of him. She doesn't know why
he wanted to share her bed, but she doubts it will happen again.
She stares at her ceiling and
thinks of a million things all at once. Her mind is buzzing as if she has drunk
too much coffee before bed and she fears she will never go to sleep, but then
the weariness of her body overpowers her whirling mind. She closes her eyes and
sleeps.
The recreation lounge is
crowded. A crew party on the Enterprise
is something to be met with great anticipation. Most people don't like to miss
them, and there is always much jockeying of schedules as the few who prefer
solitude opt out so that others can go.
Christine can't decide what
camp she is in. But she's here, so she must be coming out on the side of the
partiers. For whatever reason.
She hopes to god that the
reason does not have golden skin and hazel eyes.
She doesn't want to run her
life based on the whereabouts of some male.
Even if it is a man she died
with. And slept together with once. That's not relevant. They aren't lovers.
And he's left her alone. Given up the need to be her pal, thank God.
It probably was transference.
Just relief and gratitude. A shared
traumatic experience bringing them together.
No reason not to enjoy the
party. But also no reason to go to the party.
She sees him. He's in the
perfect spot to watch the door. She doesn't flatter herself that he is watching
for her, even though he lifts his glass in a silent greeting. He did the same to
the people ahead of her, will do the same to the crewman behind her. It's just
his way.
She wanders toward the bar,
and the mass of people between it and the door seems to suck the energy out of
her. She sees a chair, considers sitting but is afraid to come to roost too
soon. She needs to mingle, needs to make herself work at his. She's been alone
too much lately. Dying hasn't been good for her social skills.
Music starts up; those in the
crew who play instruments have been called into service. They play with gusto,
even with some skill. Or maybe she is just feeling charitable tonight. She sees
people move to the dance floor that's been laid down by someone. She finds it
easier to get to the bar as more crew head over to dance.
"Wine--whatever's
good," she orders, and the impromptu bartender pours some kind of white.
She sips it.
"I wasn't sure you would
come." His voice is pure silk in her ear.
She shivers and hates herself
for doing it. Hates him for making her do it. She knows he is not unaware of
his charms: he knows what he is doing.
"I wasn't sure
either," she says with no warmth at all in her voice.
"Beer," he orders, then takes it, moving her off gently, away from the dance
floor, over to some tall tables.
"I don't want to
sit," she says.
"Too bad. I do. I've
been here longer and I'm tired."
The nurse in her kicks in and
she feels guilty. "I'm sorry."
He grins. A
weary grin, but still a showstopper. "I liked you better when you
were being snotty."
She laughs softly. It's
impossible to be mean to him. He just won't allow it. "Are you feeling
better--when you're not playing host to this many people, I mean?"
He smiles, sips his beer.
"I am. How about you?"
She nods and silence falls between
them. She is not sure what to say, doesn't really want to say anything.
"I've left you
alone."
"I've noticed." Her
voice sounds more annoyed than she would have liked.
He laughs, which only annoys
her more. She senses that he gets that.
She looks at the dancers, who
seem happy, all paired up, at least for the duration of the current song.
"Do you like to dance?" she asks him for no good reason other than it
popped into her head and her mouth decided to give it voice.
"I do." He does not
look like he is in the mood for dancing, but then he smiles
at her again. "I like talking. too."
"Ah,
the whole getting to know me shtick?"
He laughs again. Evidently,
she is amusing.
Roger would not find this
tough, acerbic Christine amusing. Roger preferred his women adoring. She
studies Kirk. He does not appear to mind that she is practically running the
other way--not that he is chasing her, but he does appear interested in
something. She's just not sure what.
She remembers how Jan
worshipped him. If he were Roger, he would have loved it. He would have taken
her to his bed and made love to her. But Kirk isn't Roger. He didn't like the
worship. It probably made it harder, not easier, for him to deal with his
yeoman.
She was Jan's equivalent when
it came to Roger. He showed no compunction in taking advantage of her hero
worship.
She sighs.
"What are you thinking
about?"
She decides to tell him the
truth. "Roger." She debates mentioning Janice. Decides not to. It
might be a betrayal of the confidences Jan trusted her with, and Christine
doesn't betray her friends.
"You need to find
someone else," he says.
"You perhaps?" Her
tone drips acid.
"That's not what I
meant." His tone is gentle, but the words still hurt, and she can see that
he realizes that. "Sorry. That came out wrong."
She waves his apology away.
"It's okay. You're over your transference." She tries to grin, make
it into a joke.
"I never had any
transference to get over."
"Right." She is
suddenly very tired. She can see that he is, too. Together they are like
competing hull breaches, sucking the life out of the room and each other. She
stands up and leaves her wine. "I'm really tired."
He sighs--she can tell he
knows why she is leaving.
"Chris."
"Sir, please." She
looks at him, is afraid that there is something pleading in her gaze. What is
she asking him for?
He stands as if he might come
with her, walk her home or some other outdated notion, and she feels her
expression freeze. "Goodnight, sir." She gives him a hard look, one
designed to keep him from showing up at her door because their conversation
isn't over. Let him finish it now or just let her get the hell away.
"Goodnight," he
finally says. His expression is unreadable, stoic. Vulcan-like. He could be sad
or relieved or even angry and she would have no idea.
She walks away and gratefully
heads to her quarters.
Sleep does not come for a
long time.
She tries to pretend she is
not waiting for the sound of her door chime.
---------------------
She hears the red-alert klaxons
only seconds before the ship takes the first shuddering hit. She hates combat.
Not because she is afraid, but because she has to sit and wait for the
casualties to start stumbling in.
Len rushes out, no doubt
going up to the bridge. She wonders why he thinks he belongs there, but
apparently no one else questions his presence. So she keeps quiet.
The nurses rush around and
she watches them prepare to take in wounded. They are more experienced than she
would like at this. A peaceful voyage of exploration--wasn't that how Starfleet
sold this five-year mission?
The ship shudders again. Then
it does more than shudder. It lurches. She grabs a biobed
to keep from falling but other nurses aren't so lucky. She feels her heart
speed up. This is not good.
The wounded do start to
stagger in then. She and the nurses help the ones they can and get others ready
for the doctors. Triage--it hasn't changed for centuries.
She is busy with a badly
burnt crewwoman when McCoy and a crewman come in with a stretcher. She cannot
see who is on it, hopes it is not one of her friends and feels instantly guilty
at the thought. No one deserves to suffer whether they are someone she pals
around with or not.
The person on the stretcher
is transferred onto a gurney and is pushed into the surgery. She puts whoever
it is out of her mind. Reveau is the scrub nurse this
time. The rest of them will continue to handle the men and women who come in.
Many of the wounded leave again, determined to go back to their posts.
She always feels a thrill of
pride in her colleagues during these nerve-wracking battles. They are all so
brave.
The ship finally stops
shaking and even more people stream into sickbay, finally free to get minor
injuries attended to now that the fighting is over. She is cleaning up a head
wound when Kirk rushes through the doors to the surgery area. Len comes out and
puts his hand on the captain's shoulder. Len is smiling the way he does when
things aren't as bad as he originally thought. Christine knows all his expressions
by heart.
Kirk smiles but seems to sink
in on himself a bit as Len leaves him to go back to his patient. She finishes
with the person she's tending and waits as Kirk crosses the room. He is holding
his arm stiffly, as if moving it hurts.
"What happened?"
she asks as she gently touches his arm.
He flinches. "Should
have been in my chair but thought I was helping by walking around. Found myself
in a heap on the stairs when the ship lurched."
She nods. They were seeing a
lot of injuries from that one hit. She scans his arm. "It's broken."
She eases him gently to the closest bed, waits as he hops up, using his good
arm to push himself. "It'll take a few minutes."
"That's fine." He
glances back at surgery as she begins to scan his arm.
"Is it Spock?" she
asks.
He looks at her, as if he
cannot believe she doesn't know who is in the other room.
"I've been a little
busy," she says softly.
"Yes, it's Spock. Bones
says he's going to be fine, but he may have just been trying to make me feel
better."
She smiles. "That wasn't
his 'I'm lying through my teeth' look. Spock will be fine."
He seems to relax.
"Really?"
She nods. Then she looks over
at surgery. "What happened?"
"Energy pulse. A back
feed through his console. He was thrown across the bridge."
"Yikes. But he's tough.
You know that." She turns his hand slightly, to get at the arm from a
different angle. "He's probably in a healing trance now. It will be hours
before he comes out of it." She knows this from embarrassing experience.
She hovered over him too many times in the past.
Len can hover this time.
"Are you in love with
him?" Kirk's voice is pitched softly. This conversation is just for the
two of them, thank God.
"Do you have to ask? I
thought it was common knowledge on the ship?"
"It is. That doesn't
mean it's right."
She smiles and turns the
instrument up to work on the worst part of the break. "What do you
think?"
"I think you're adept at
picking the safe route. I think you might choose him because he's low risk. You
can love him forever and never have to make a scary move."
"Not very flattering,
Jim." She realizes what she has called him and hopes he won't notice.
"Ooh, progress," he
says with a grin.
It should be illegal to light
up a room like he does when he smiles.
He watches her work.
"You have a gentle touch."
"It's my calling."
She looks up at him, smiles mockingly. "I'm the nurturing type."
He nods thoughtfully, as if
he hasn't noticed her sarcasm, but she knows he misses nothing. "The
selfless nurse."
"That's me."
"But what do you want?"
"Why do I have to want
anything?"
He laughs. "You're too
damn clever, Chris. Answering a question with a question."
She shrugs but can't bite
back the smile. It's fun to spar with him.
"Everyone wants
something just for them. What do you want?"
She looks up and feels her
eyes go hard. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
"You think I
won't?" His eyes have gone hard, too.
Suddenly, sparring is much
less fun. She pulls back, turning off the instrument. "All better. You can
go check on Spock." She turns away and busies herself at the nearest
console.
He sits for a moment then she
hears him sigh. "Why does it have to be like pulling teeth with you,
Chris?"
"Why does what have to
be like that?" She turns to stare at him. "What do you want?"
"I don't want to hurt
you."
"I didn't ask you what
you don't want." She turns away. If he won't leave, she will. She's worked
hours with no break. She's long overdue.
Besides she's getting good at
leaving him in her dust.
-------------------
The planet is glorious, just
the place to do some final recuperations. Shore leave has been a long time
coming.
The breeze blows across the
grass that runs from the front of the hotel down to the shore of a large lake.
Boats whip across the water, and another one pulls away from the dock, joining
them. Her friends are on the boat; she waves to them.
Then she walks over to the
sand and stares down at Kirk. "This spot taken?"
He looks up at her, shielding
his eyes from the sun. "You want
to sit with me?"
"Want may be too strong
a word." She smiles when he laughs again. "You're a masochist,
Jim." It feels odd to say his name, and it comes out sort of stuttered.
"Why's that?"
"You laugh whenever I
get a good one off."
"I enjoy a quick
wit." He grins. "Please join me, Miss Chapel."
She spreads her towel out and
sinks gratefully to the soft surface. The sand gives as she lies down on her
stomach.
"I suppose you need me
to put lotion on your back?"
"Nope. Thanks."
He looks over at her, and she
realizes that he is laughing silently. She can't think up anything witty to say
so she smiles back.
He shakes his head and closes
his eyes. "This sunshine is heaven," he says softly.
The sun is baking down on
her, and she feels muscle aches that have not gone away for days easing in the
languid heat. "For once you'll get no argument from me."
"So we finally found a
safe topic." He looks over and grins. "The weather."
"There's a reason it's a
classic." She giggles, then looks away. The sound
is out of character. Too light. She glances over at
him.
He looks charmed.
Great.
"That was not a
giggle."
"Was too."
She rolls her eyes. "No.
It was nerves."
"I make you
nervous?"
This is not a safe topic.
"So does it rain here?"
"Chris. Answer the
question."
"I seem to have
forgotten it." She lays her head down, pretends she's asleep.
Sand dusts over her, falling
on her back. "Hey!"
"Answer the question. Do
I make you nervous?" He says each word slowly and carefully as if she is
not very smart.
She just glares at him.
He scoops up more sand.
"Next time it's going in your hair."
She laughs. "This is
childish. Act your age.” Which is just
slightly older than hers.
He smiles. "Nice try.
Answer the question."
She sighs. "Yes."
There, she has said it. He makes her nervous.
"Why?"
"Because I don't know
what you want from me."
His look is serious, his eyes
gentle as he says, "I'm not entirely certain of that, either."
They stare at each other for
a long time. He is the first to look away as he lays his head back down.
"This is nice. Just spending time."
"In other words, don't
make it what it's not?"
"Don't put words in my
mouth." He sighs. "You know, most men would be put off by the prickly
act."
"It's not an act,"
she says, and immediately wishes she hadn't.
"Was it Roger? Did he
make you this way?" He sits up and seems intensely interested in her
answer.
She shrugs.
"Did something happen?
Something bad?" He seems unsure how to continue.
"Nothing like that,
Jim." It's getting easier to call him that. "It's just... Some people
are good at the whole relationship thing. They just seem to get how it's all
supposed to work. Others of us...well, it's not so easy."
"And you fall in the
latter?"
She laughs. "You have to
ask? You've dealt with me. Do I appear to get it?"
He smiles a bit wickedly.
"You have your moments."
She laughs and feels herself
relaxing around him. Setting her head back down on the towel, she watches him.
"It's not like you've said that a relationship is what you're looking for.
I am running away from you, but I don't even know what you want." She
scoops sand up in her hand and lets the warm grains run through her fingers.
"You don't even know what you
want."
"That's true." He
is staring out at the lake with a strange look on his face.
"You're lonely?"
He nods.
"And you think I can
help with that?"
He shrugs then looks down at
the sand. "I don't mess in my own nest."
"I know. That's what
makes this so confusing."
"How do you think I
feel? It's my rule I seem to be in danger of breaking." He looks at her
and his eyes are sad. So sad she is suddenly willing to settle down just to
make him stop looking at her that way. "We don't have to figure this out
today, do we?"
She realizes that this time
it’s he who’s running away. Or at least running backwards a bit, so she takes
pity on him. "No. We don't." She closes her eyes. "This is
nice."
She hears him lie back down,
and she reaches out to run her hand through the sand but touches him instead.
He grasps her hand, squeezes, and doesn't release her right away.
When he finally lets go, she
feels her last resistance fade. "Don't let me burn," she whispers.
"I won't," he says.
She falls asleep. Secure that
he will keep his promise.
-------------------
She stares at her terminal.
The application for med school sits blank and full of the potential to change
her life.
She pulls it into a note and
sends it to Len with a question at the top of the message: What do you think?
A moment later, his reply
pops up: Long overdue. You want a
reference?
She laughs. Sends back: Eager to get rid of me?
She hears footsteps coming
toward her. She turns, waits for Len. He has no patience for messaging.
"You know I'm not eager
to get rid of you," he's saying. He always shows up already talking. She
knows him so well at this point it's a little scary. It's one of the reasons
that she hasn't moved on. She's afraid she'll never understand a boss this well
again.
"I'm scared," she
says. She’s not normally so honest with him.
"Of course you are. It's
a big step, Christine. But you've got more degrees than I have even without the
M.D. I think you've more than proven that you can hack it in school. So what's
the problem?"
She shrugs. What is the
problem?
What holds her here?
She tries not to flash on
hazel eyes that twinkle with amusement. Jim's eyes are not a factor in this decision.
Or his smile, or his soft gaze when she's finally dropped her guard around him.
They're not lovers. They just
meet up a lot. He talks to her. She is learning to talk to him. He listens
almost as well as he used to badger her to open up.
She's never been with someone
who really heard her. Not until now.
But they're not lovers.
Not yet.
She sighs.
"You've been seeing a
lot of Jim, haven't you?"
She looks down. "Not so
much."
He chuckles. "He likes
you. You like him. Nothing wrong with that."
"We're just..."
What the hell are they? Friends? Colleagues? Fellow survivors
of a deadly virus? What?
They aren't lovers.
Not yet.
Len sits down.
"Christine, if I disapproved, I'd tell you so."
She waves his words away.
"He doesn't shit in his own nest." The words sound too rough. The
swear word sounds crass.
"I tend not to view love
as shitting. Maybe you should try not to. It might improve your outlook."
"I didn't say it was
love."
"You didn't say it
wasn't." He grins at her, the busybody who comes out at the strangest
times. "So, you don't want to leave him?"
"I didn't say that,
either."
"Hell of a lot you
didn't say. So what are you saying, darlin'?"
She laughs. She has no
earthly idea what she is trying to say. "So, you'll give me a
recommendation?"
He nods but stares at her as
if waiting for more from her. When he finally gets up, he looks disappointed in
her. "I'll let you get to that."
She nods.
He walks to the door but
turns at the last minute. "Maybe you should tell him that you plan to do
this?"
She frowns.
"Don't let the official
notice be the first he hears of it." He looks down. "Jim's a good
man. If he's reaching out to you, breaking his own personal prime directive,
then you need to be gentle with his heart. Don't hurt him, Christine."
She is taken aback. The idea
of her hurting Jim is ludicrous. What is it the nurses call him? Captain Cock?
How can she hurt that?
He seems to read her mind.
"I know his reputation. I also know yours. Yours isn't accurate, why
should scuttlebutt get his right? He's a hell of a lot more complicated than
some two-bit lothario. And if you haven't figured that out yet, then you aren't
smart enough to go to med school." He turns on his heel and walks out.
She can feel her face redden.
When Len calls her on the carpet, it hurts. And he's usually right. She will
tell Jim she's thinking about this.
She will.
She stares at the
application.
She will--she just doesn't know
when.
-----------------
She walks around the
observation lounge. It was her idea to come here, but now she is unsure why.
Jim is looking out at the
stars. He never seems to tire of the view; his eyes always find the viewscreen in whatever room he enters, as if reassuring
himself that his stars are still out there.
Space is where he belongs.
Space is not where she wants to be anymore. Not when there's this sudden
burning need inside her to finish the journey she interrupted when Roger
disappeared.
But she doesn't want to say
goodbye to Jim. She won’t admit it to Len, but she’s in love with their
captain.
But then she falls in love so
easily. And it's easy to love Jim. She thinks he might love her, too, but he
hasn't said. They've both been careful to discuss anything and
everything--except what they feel for each other.
She believes it's why they
aren't lovers yet. She believes it's the only reason they aren't lovers yet.
She wants him. God help her,
she wants him so badly she feels as if she'll explode if he doesn't kiss her.
But she never says that to
him. And he doesn't kiss her.
She moves next to him.
"I think I'm going to leave."
He turns and frowns.
"You're tired?"
She shakes her head and sees him
get it. His face falls, and she looks away.
"When?"
"Soon. I'm applying to
med school. Len thinks I'll have no problem getting in. It starts in a few
months." She needs a referral from her C.O. She doesn't want to have to
ask him for it.
He turns back to the viewscreen and looks out at the cold stellar fire that
lights up the blackness of space.
"I'm sorry," she
says.
He shrugs. "It'll be
good for you. You'll make a fabulous doctor." He is not just being nice.
There is sincerity in his tone.
She suddenly can't see and
realizes she has teared up. "Thanks," she
chokes out.
He turns her to him.
"Chris?" He wipes the tears off her face. "If you want this, why
cry?"
She shrugs. She won't be the
first to say it. Not this time.
He lets go of her arms. His
sigh is the saddest sound she's ever heard. "I'll miss you," he
whispers.
"I'll miss you,
too."
She thinks he will say more,
but he just stares into space, so she starts to turn away.
"It would have been
nice."
She turns back to him.
"Yes. I think it would have. But I guess we'll never know."
"I guess not." He
is searching her face for something. Maybe for anything.
Anything at all.
She is giving him nothing.
She won't be the first to say
it.
He moves closer, his hand is
soft on her cheek, then on her hair. "Let's do this right?"
She can feel her heart
beating too fast. "Okay."
And then she is in his arms,
and he is kissing her, and she realizes that up until this moment no one has
ever really touched her. Not like this. She feels as if her whole body is being
kissed, not just the lips that are joined with his.
"I love you," she
whispers, suddenly willing to give him everything. She feels the tears again.
They fall as they did in the shuttle when she was dying. Is she dying now?
"Chris." He pulls
her closer. His mouth is frantic now. As if he can hold her with the power of
whatever it is he feels.
She has not missed that he
has not told her how he feels.
She pulls away and strokes
his cheek. "I wish I could stay."
He nods. He is no stranger to
destiny. To choices and duty and the need to follow the path you were meant to
walk.
Even if it's one you were
meant to walk alone.
"I wish..." She
looks down. What does it matter what she wishes?
He kisses her one last time.
"I do, too." Then he pulls away, and before her eyes he becomes
Captain Kirk again. The man she never knew at all.
It breaks her heart to see
him pull away.
But then that's probably
fair. It's possible she has just broken his heart.
"Do you need a
recommendation?" he asks gently.
She nods, afraid her voice
will break if she tries to use words with him now.
"I'd be honored."
He starts to turn away.
"Why, Jim?" At his
look of confusion, she says, "Why me? Why did you choose me?"
He shakes his head. "You
really don't know?"
"I never have."
Tears are falling again. She will dry up and crack apart into a thousand grains
of sand if she doesn't stop crying.
He steps closer. "When
we were on the shuttle, I saw you. I saw who the nurse I'd known all these
years really was. You were strong, and you were brave. You tried to ease the
suffering of others while ignoring your own exhaustion. And you helped me bury
our shipmates. You were dead tired and already getting sick, but you helped
me."
She blinks back tears.
"I fell in love with you
long before it was me you were tending. I didn't have to transfer anything to
you. It was there already." He steps even closer. "I admire the hell
out of you, Nurse Chapel. And I'll miss you. More than you probably realize."
His lips find hers again. She
clutches him, tries to find the words to tell him she'll stay but her mouth
won't cooperate.
She wants him. She wants him
so badly.
But she has to go. She has to
do this.
And she can see by his eyes when
they pull away that he knows it, too.
"It doesn't have to be
over just because I'm leaving," she says so softly he can ignore it if he
wants.
"It won't be. We'll
always be friends."
"Kissing friends?"
God help her but she wants to be back in his arms more than almost anything.
He laughs, but the sound is
bitter. "Maybe you can do that. I can't. I have to start pulling away a
bit now. I'm sorry."
She nods. It hurts, but she
will do whatever he needs her to do. She
stays silent as he turns and walks away from her.
But she watches him until the
doors close behind him, leaving her alone with his cold, cold stars.
FIN