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) 2007 by Djinn. This story
is Rated R.
Uses for Love
by Djinn
Christine's quarters are
dark. The darkness prevents her from seeing the bruises that no doubt ring her waist where Spock held her too tightly. But it
doesn't stop her from feeling the chafed skin of her lips from kisses that were
too rough.
She was a fool to think the Pon Farr would be a thing of love. It's possession, nothing
more. A slaking of urges shaken off on desert sands and doomed to resurface
every seven years as punishment for its abandonment. Spock tried to explain it
to her, during his coherent moments, which were few and far between.
He moves now, awake again,
and she tenses. Her body aches. Her insides rebel at the idea of him taking her
again.
But he doesn't reach for her.
Instead he sighs, as if he too is grateful that he won't have to bury himself
inside her.
Before that thought can hurt
too much, he reaches out, his hand settling on her thigh. Gently this time. Almost...lovingly.
"Did I hurt you?" His
voice is raw, vulnerable.
The wrong answer could wound
him, she realizes, so she goes for something more right.
"Not irreparably."
Again the sigh.
He turns, doesn't take her in
his arms, as he would have in her fantasies, but keeps his hand on her thigh,
resting lightly. "I thought that having fought the captain, I would be
free of the burning."
"You obviously thought
wrong." Her body can tell him there's no freedom from burning right now.
"Yes." He pulls his
hand away. "You turned the lights off?"
They were at half strength
when this began. But she ordered them off some hours ago. "Your face
was..."
"Frightening?"
"At times."
"I am sorry for
that."
She shrugs, then realizes he
can't see it in the dark. But he probably felt it. "I used to fantasize
about this, Spock. You, overcome with lust for me, taking me."
"Fantasies and reality
rarely mesh."
She laughs softly. He's
right. And he knows about fantasies, which is a surprise. Although she's
relatively sure they aren't about her. "Do you wish your wife had not
rejected you?"
He doesn't answer right away,
and she feels that silence to the depths of her. Then he says, "I was not
what you would term 'fond' of T'Pring. But she was a
full Vulcan of excellent family."
She hears much unsaid in
that. "A full Vulcan?"
The indulgence of another
sigh. "You are quick."
"I am." Not that it
does her much good on this ship in this position. She came here to find Roger. She
should have left once she did that. "Is it so important to you to find a
Vulcan woman? Isn't it an insult of sorts to your mother to reject things
human?"
"It no doubt is." He
shifts, and she sympathizes; her back hurts from lying on this bed so long.
"I let you use me,"
she says into the silence, because it needs to be said, so he knows that she
understands what this is—and what it isn't.
"I am
appreciative."
Before he can say more, she
asks the other thing she needs to know. "In your quarters, on the way to
Vulcan...?"
"I wanted you then,
too."
"But you just said you
seek a Vulcan woman."
"What my body craves and
what I know to be a suitable choice are, apparently, two different
things."
"Oh." She isn't
suitable. Of all the things he's said, or not said, that digs the deepest into
her already shredded heart.
He shifts again, and she
whispers, "You can go."
"You're sure...?"
"It's over, right? You
won't need me again?" Not for seven years anyway, if he hasn't found that
perfect Vulcan woman.
"Christine, if I have
hurt you, I profoundly regret that."
"My body will recover,
Spock." She isn't so sure about her heart.
He doesn't seem to see the
distinction, or if he does, he has no idea how to deal with it. "If you
have need of me...?"
"I'll be sure to call
you if that happens." She isn't happy at the bitterness in her voice. At
the sharpness of her words.
But not happy is something
that should be shared in this case.
He gets up, calling for
one-quarter lights, and disappears into the bathroom. She can hear her shower
running, and thinks that in her fantasies, she would be in there with him,
being pampered and caressed by a Spock who can't get enough of her.
The real Spock clearly has
had enough of her.
##
The laughter of the Platonians rings in her ears, even back on the ship, scrubbed
of their make-up, their pleasure gown ripped into tatters and thrown into the
recycler. She can feel Spock's lips on hers, as he fought them, fought being
forced—again—to touch her.
He never comes to her of his
own accord.
Her chime rings, and she
says, "Enter."
Spock walks in, seems to take
in her state of dress with relief. She wonders if he can tell that her face is
half raw from scrubbing at it. That her body underneath the uniform is also
scrubbed too hard.
Kirk stopped the fun before Parmen could make them have sex. Yet her body aches with a
ghost pain that mirrors how she felt after the Pon
Farr. As if Spock did more than just kiss her.
He clears his throat a
little, to get her attention probably. "I was concerned."
She shrugs. "No
need."
"Nevertheless."
They're people of few words
now. It's how things stand between them, even if he
can still move her. Even if he still comes to her when he needs help.
He moves closer. "You
said you wanted to crawl away and die."
"Hyperbole."
"Are you sure?"
She feels herself tensing. "If
you're so worried about my mental state, refer me to Doctor McCoy."
He walks past her and sits on
the bed. "It is your emotional state I am concerned about."
"You being such an
expert on that."
He ignores her. "I know
that what happened on Platonius was difficult for
you. It was difficult for me, as well."
"Yes, kissing me is such
a hardship." She winces at having said that out loud.
"That is not what I
meant."
She sits in her chair, the one
farthest from him. "I know what you meant. I appreciate your concern. You
can go now."
He looks down, and she
realizes he's clenching her coverlet. "The kironide..."
She laughs, and it's a sharp
puff of air as she realizes that he's manifesting the overload of kironide in a different manner than Kirk did. The pituitary
is involved, and therefore...
She begins to take off her
uniform.
He's up and to her before she
can get very far. Begins stripping it off for her, his lips making that for-show
kiss seem like the work of a beginner. This isn't like the Pon
Farr, but it's still not real.
Yet this time, it's as if he
has something to prove. To her, to himself, to...whom? He gives her pleasure,
far more than he takes himself. He holds himself back, not pounding her the way
he did during the Pon Farr. But there's still
compulsion. There's still this other thing driving him.
She lies sweaty, as he rises
up from between her legs, and she thinks she may crawl away and die from
exhausted pleasure.
Pleasure that feels empty,
that blasts her soul open with each orgasm. "I love you," she says,
knowing he won't say it, needing for him not to say it, so she can remind her
body that this man may want her, but he will never cherish her.
"Christine."
She's ready to stop his
words, put her hand over his mouth if he lies to her and says he loves her too.
But he doesn't. He stops with her name. It's full of meaning, and she resists
the urge to decipher what that meaning might be.
"Have I hurt you?"
he asks, as he begins to touch her again, as he nuzzles her chest, sucking in
the way he's learned she likes.
"Yes." She arches
and cries out and watches his face, the satisfied look on it as he waits for
her to come down before he takes his own pleasure again.
"I am sorry," he
says, as he cuddles her close and rubs her back until she falls asleep.
When she wakes, he's gone.
##
Christine stands at the viewscreen
in sickbay, staring out at blessedly normal space. The overwhelming V'ger
blueness is gone—and so is her former commanding officer. Kirk is back, which
doesn't bother her because he's always been good to her. But she misses her new
friend, Will Decker.
And now there's Spock to
contend with. He was gone; she wasn't supposed to ever have to contend with him
again.
"Christine?" Spock's
voice is low as he approaches, low and full of emotion normally absent. His
meld with V'ger has left him different than the utterly cold man who appeared
on the ship. The man who abandoned everyone he knew for the emotional oblivion
of Gol.
She tried not to take it
personally when she first heard he'd gone there. It was harder not to take it
personally when he snubbed her on the bridge.
Then again, he never asked
her to make an ass of herself in their first few seconds together again.
She feels him close behind
her. "What do you want?" Her voice is different than it used to be. She
worked like a dog to get through medical school on a shortened schedule, to
finish her internships and qualify for this ship. It became a point of pride to
get this ship after her previous
place on it. The old familiar with a brand new crew at
the top.
She would laugh, only it
hurts too much. "Pride goeth before a
fall," she murmurs and senses Spock moving closer.
"My pride?" he
asks, his voice so gentle she barely recognizes it.
"No, mine." She
turns, partly to face him and partly to see if anyone else is taking this in. She
doesn't want a repeat of last time.
The sickbay is empty but for
them. Len left long ago. The nurses are either off for the night or on break. She
said she'd watch. The martyr to the end.
And she thought she wouldn't
run into Spock if she stayed here. She didn't count on him coming to find her. "And
I ask again, what do you want?"
"I have been unfair to
you." There's a look of profound sadness on his face.
She resists giving in to it. It's
V'ger induced, this emotionalism. Like the other times before, Spock isn't here
on his own.
"I've gotten over
it." She moves away from him, careful to avoid touching him as she does
it, which he's made difficult because he's standing so close. "I've had a
lot of time to think since our last encounter."
Encounter. Such a neutral
word for what happened.
"As have I."
"Yes, I hear they
encouraged long reminisces about sex at Gol."
He looks startled at her
sarcasm. Maybe he's surprised at the harsh sternness of her expression? She isn't
the same woman he knew. They both went to their own form of Gol.
"I have work to do,
Mister Spock. If there's nothing of a medical
nature I can do for you, then I'm going to ask you to leave."
He reaches out, and his hand
on her arm still feels the same. His hot skin still sears through hers as if she's
melting into him.
She yanks her arm away from
him.
"Christine, V'ger has
left me open to things."
"Have fun with
that." She walks away quickly, before she can think too much about what she's
giving up. There isn't far to go, and if he follows her into her office, she'll
probably be lost.
But he doesn't. He just
stands out in the middle of sickbay, staring at her. Then he turns and leaves
her alone.
Again.
##
"You were close to
him?" It's a fellow Emergency Ops worker who's found her in the head
crying.
Spock is dead. It's over all
the newswires. The comms traffic at Emergency Ops is full of the details, only they're
censored, she can tell. There are separate channel messages flying into
Cartwright's queue; she saw one when she was in with him. He closed it down
quickly as she walked in, but she saw enough.
"I served with
him," Christine corrects the lieutenant who is so new she still gets her
mixed up with a few others who just rotated in. They have a high turnover rate
in Emergency Ops. Christine is one of the diehards.
It got her out of medicine. Took
her permanently out of Spock's orbit. But no one is out of his orbit for this.
She goes back to work and
doesn't cry over him again.
Days later, news reaches them
that Spock is alive. Or that he never died. She's confused and the traffic is
so guarded she knows the story is being censored heavily.
Is it a mistake he was ever
reported dead? Or a miracle that he's reborn?
And what difference does it
make to her?
Cartwright comes up behind
her. "You okay?"
She told him of her history
with Spock one night when they went out for sushi. She drank too much saki and truth was the result. Far too much truth for how
well she knew Cartwright at the time. But this is the first he's ever said
about it, and she knows it's only because he cares.
"I'm fine. It's
wonderful news." She looks up at him. Gives him her best "I'm happy
but in a general way" face.
He nods, doesn't look
convinced, but leaves her alone.
Rand comes in a moment later.
"You okay?"
"I wish people would
stop asking me that."
She looks around the bay. "Who
else was asking you that?" She sounds ready to beat the person up for her.
Christine almost laughs at
her friend's show of protectiveness. "Just the boss. Nothing to worry
about. My new rep is intact."
As is Janice's. No one asked
her if she was okay when her former crush stole his starship out of spacedock.
It's how they like it. They've
worked hard for this.
"Do you think he never
died?" Janice asks.
Christine shrugs. It's not as
if any great love for her would have died with him. She can't deny the news has
moved her. She would probably cry if she was alone. But she isn't alone, and
Spock being alive won't change anything for her.
She loved him then. She loves
him still.
And he doesn't love her.
She goes back to work.
##
Christine is working on the
duty roster when Spock comes in, a Vulcan woman in a Starfleet uniform in his
wake. A beautiful, young Vulcan woman.
Christine schools her face
into impassivity. In her way, she's become Vulcan. Not that Spock would
appreciate that. "Captain Spock."
"Commander Chapel."
His look isn't warm, but it's much less uncomfortable between them than it was
after their meeting in the tribunal, when Kirk came back with the whales months
ago. "This is Ensign Valeris. My protege."
Christine expects something
other than what she gets. Valeris doesn't smile, but there's
a brightness in her eyes, a slight twitch of the lips that almost mimics a
smile.
"She graduated first in
her class." Spock sounds very proud of her. The look he shoots the woman
is more than proud.
Christine forces herself not
to react. "Congratulations."
Valeris nods and looks around the Ops bay in a way that for a
human would denote eagerness, excitement.
"What can I do for
you?"
Spock draws her away without
touching her. It's a skill she should learn, and she gives him a hard look.
He doesn't look away. "I
remember much more than I did. Memories that were jumbled and out of place are
under my control again. I...regret if choices I made
have hurt you."
"Do I appear hurt?"
"I am not in the best
position to judge, Commander. I am still becoming accustomed to accepting my own
emotions, much less judging yours."
It's only a statement of
fact, but somehow it comes out as a condemnation. "What do you want,
Spock?"
"My protege. Do you have
room here for her?"
She wants to say that she
doesn't. She wants to ask if it means Spock will be there to visit, and can she
negotiate visiting rights away with an acceptance. But she says only, "I'm
not in the habit of arranging assignments with sponsors."
His eyebrows pull down, as if
she's surprised him.
"Lieutenant," she
calls to Valeris. "My office."
The young woman hurries into
the room Christine has pointed to.
"I'm sure she knows
where to find you, Spock." Christine waits until he nods and leaves. Then
she walks into her office, taking her chair and studying Valeris.
"So, he asked about you working here. Is that what you really want?"
"It is." Valeris gives her that almost-smile again, and her eyes are
shining. "I have always wanted to be here, and when I mentioned it to
Captain Spock, he said he knew you." She meets Christine's eyes
fearlessly. "I have learned that in Starfleet using affiliations for
initial access is not frowned upon. Although I would prefer that my
accomplishments stand on their own."
Christine smiles despite her
willingness to hate this young woman for all that she appears to be to Spock. "That
has to be the most tactful description of 'it's not what you know but who you
know' I've ever heard."
"I took the liberty of
sending you my file when Spock said he would bring me here to meet you. Perhaps
you could forget that it was brought to your attention by a friend—"
"Spock and I aren't
friends."
"A colleague,
then." For the first time, Valeris seems
confused.
"Give me a second."
Christine brings up the file, scrolling through it quickly. Even at a glance,
she can tell this is exactly the kind of young officer she would usually be
salivating to get into her area. "Tell me why you want to be here?"
"I want to make a
difference. I want to help others. In a different way than I have been." She
takes a deep breath. "Also, I have been on a ship, so I know that my
responses to situations in space are appropriate. But I believe the dynamics
here at Command are very different, and I would like to experience that."
It's honesty in a way that
only a Vulcan can give. Provided it isn't a Vulcan who wants to sleep with you
but doesn't want to love you.
Does Spock still want to
sleep with her? Now that he has this fresh, whip-smart woman who seems to look
up to him?
Christine knows she will have
to see Spock if she accepts Valeris for assignment. But
the needs of the many and all that. This woman is a find, no matter who might
be in love with her. "You're in."
"Thank you." There's
suppressed excitement in Valeris's voice. "You
will not regret it."
Christine is already
regretting it, but she doesn't tell Valeris that.
##
There are security officers
escorting two people out of Ops. People who worked with Cartwright and the
conspiracy. Christine feels left out. Not that she wants to be arrested, but
didn't Cartwright trust her enough to try to recruit her?
He recruited Valeris. Or did the young woman recruit him? It's difficult
to find any real information in the buzz of news that is all around them.
Despite herself, she came to
like Valeris. Everyone did. She was so...human. Or
comfortable in the human world without becoming one is perhaps the more apt
description. Valeris rarely made anyone feel bad
about not being Vulcan.
IDIC in action. Where did
that philosophy go when she engineered the assassination of the Klingons? Didn't
they fall under the infinite diversity umbrella?
Spock comes into Ops, and there's
a murmur from those in the bay. His face is grim, his walk stiff, as if he's
older than Sarek. He gestures Christine to her office, the same way she did to Valeris all those years ago.
There's anger on his face,
suppressed rage, and Christine decides not to close the door. Perhaps privacy
isn't a good thing in this case?
"She betrayed me."
It occurs to her that he's
been betrayed twice now by full Vulcans. Only Saavik,
his little half-breed, has stayed true to him.
Christine doesn't goad Spock
this time. She sees something in his eyes that scares her, so she only murmurs,
"She betrayed us all, Spock."
"But me more than
any."
She thinks the dead Klingon
chancellor might disagree. Or his daughter, thrust to power in an Empire that
normally doesn't accord such heights to a woman.
"You disagree?"
Christine had ample time to
observe Valeris interact with Spock. As she feared,
the woman's presence in Ops meant that he was here often, too. "She loved
you, Spock."
It's the truth. It's also probably
scant comfort in this case.
"If she loved me, how
could she use me this way? For access. As a dupe." He looks down.
Christine's heard what happened
on the bridge. Nyota told her what Valeris said. "She
thought you would be part of it. Once you understood. Isn't that right?"
"Someone told you what
happened?" It's clear he knows who that someone might have been.
"Don't blame that person
for filling me in. I cared for Valeris, as well, you
know. Despite everything, she was my friend."
"Were you involved in
this?" He looks ready to kill her if she says she was.
"Do you think I'd be
sitting here if that were the case?" She's angry now, ready to fight with
him. How dare he come in and make her pay for Valeris's
sins. "I have never betrayed you, Spock. Never. Find another target for
your rage."
He stands, his hands clenched
dangerously. Then he strides out, and she resists the urge to watch him go.
She also tries to ignore how
badly she's shaking.
##
Christine's apartment chime
rings. She puts down the kettle she was filling for tea, walks out to the door.
She's expecting no one. This is one of her precious days off.
Spock's standing outside. She's
surprised he even knows where she lives.
Opening the door, she blocks
the entrance with her body. After their last conversation, she isn't ready to
let him in.
Then she notices the
strangeness of his eyes. The way he leans in, but only from the top half of his
body. She's seen this before. A lifetime ago when she was just a nurse and sure
that she could make him love her.
"Oh, no. Not now."
He pushes her aside.
"I didn't say yes."
He stops, the motion jerky,
as if his last remaining ability to reason is being used to honor her choice. "Christine,"
he says, and there's pain and desperation in his voice.
She locks the door and moves
to face him. "I need to make arrangements." She knows from experience
this isn't something that can be taken care of on just one day off.
"Of course." He's
shaking, so she guides him to a chair and moves away.
The call to work is easy. Easier
than it should be, but she's grown adept at thinking fast in a crisis.
Turning back to him, she
takes a shuddering breath. "Not only are you here under duress, but now
I'm filling in for someone else."
He stares up at her, and there's
nothing in his look to indicate that Christine isn't the one he wants.
Still, she forges on. "Valeris should be here."
He nods, a strangely
uncoordinated motion from someone who usually displays such dignified grace.
"You could lie."
"I am incapable of lying
at this moment, Christine."
Now is the time, then, to ask
him all the things she needs to know. Only there isn't anything she needs to
know. Not anymore.
"The bedroom's this
way," she says, drawing him up.
He stops her, pulls her to
him, and kisses her. The experience is somewhere between the unthinking
ferocity of that first Pon Farr and the calculated
sensuality of their encounter after Platonius. She
sinks into him, hating that she wants this, even if it's not hers to have. She's
only the stand-in. The stand-in by necessity.
They find their way to the
bedroom, and they don't leave it again except to visit the bathroom or get
water and food. Later, her bruised body aching, she wakes and finds him gone. But
she hears the sound of the evening news on her vid in the living room and pulls
on a robe to go out and join him.
He's gone, and his unfinished
meal sits on the table in front of the vidscreen. And
on the screen, stamped on top of footage that plays over and over again as she
sinks down and watches it in a daze, are the words, "Launch Tragedy. Captain
Kirk dead."
##
She watches the traffic as it
comes into Ops. The news isn't good. There's no sign of Kirk. He gave his life
for the ship, and there's no trace of his remains.
The Excelsior was called in to help. She imagines what Janice is going
through, what Sulu is. After more than a week, the search has stood down. Kirk
is lost.
She realizes someone is
standing in her doorway: Spock, and he looks terrible.
She's checked through records
that might be restricted to those without her kind of access. Spock was
scheduled to go to the launch. He cancelled at the last moment.
And only she knows why.
He comes in without
permission, sinks into the chair in front of her desk. "He is gone."
"I'm sorry." She's
seen that Spock went out to look for him. She knows he gave up sooner than the
others. Could he sense that Kirk was gone? Or couldn't he stand the guilt of
having failed his friend? "There's nothing you could have done."
"I tarried." His
voice is so raw she can barely make out the words.
"What?"
"With you. The Pon Farr was ebbing, but I stayed anyway. I could have made
the launch. So, you see, there is something I could have done."
"Do you blame me for
this?" She sees by his face that he wants to. "Do you blame me for
your biological needs?"
"Of course not." His
expression is tight, and he rubs at his eyes, which are dark rimmed and
bloodshot. "But I did not have to stay."
"You were hardly in any
shape to attend a launch."
"Do you seek to give me
an out, Christine? To free me from this burden of guilt. I let him die. My
friend is dead, and I might have prevented that."
"What do you want me to
say?" She gets up and closes the door. His voice is rising and she's
worried the others will hear them.
But now he's saying nothing. He
seems to have sunk into himself. Stares at the floor and doesn't move.
The doctor in her comes out. The
nurse who once cared how he looked. "You're exhausted."
"Are you inviting me
home?" His voice is low. Dangerous. As if that would be the stupidest
thing she could ever do.
"It was just an
observation."
"I do not need
observations of the obvious."
"Well, I can't give you
what you want, Spock."
He rises slowly, stares at
her hard. "What do I want?"
"Absolution."
She thinks for a moment that he's
going to strike her. Or maybe pull her to him. Whatever it is he might do, it will be sudden and violent. So
she backs away, until the credenza behind her desk stops her progress.
He stares at her as if she's
betrayed him. "Do you think I would hurt you?"
"I don't know what you
would do right now. Do you?"
He turns and walks to the
door. His hand hovers over the door control. "I think I do not ever wish
to see you again." He says it in a low voice but with vicious clarity.
"Yeah, tell me that in
seven years." Her tone is just as vicious. And probably stemming from the
same hurt place. She sees her words sail home like a well-thrust spear.
It brings her no
satisfaction.
##
Caspian IV is a forgiving
place. The climate is mild, the terrain gentle. Christine is practicing
medicine again. After Kirk's death, after that last conversation with Spock,
something died in her—something that had lived for Emergency Ops up till then.
She found herself craving a
slower life, a gentler life. She wanted to help people. She wanted to be a
person who did that directly, not one who organized others who would.
It took her months to calm
down, to adjust to the slow pace of the planet, of the little clinic she ran. But
she finally did adjust. And now she's found some kind of peace.
"Are you coming to the
picnic tomorrow?" Doctor Westin asks. He's kind, slightly older. Interested
in her.
She smiles her most neutral
smile. "I don't think so."
"I could use a
date."
Her smile fades a bit. "I
don't date."
He frowns and moves into her
office. "Why not?"
"That's a bit personal,
isn't it?"
"Maybe, but I think that
it's something you should talk about to a caring, older man who only has your
best interest at—"
Someone clears his throat,
and she sees a tall, lean presence in the open doorway. She can feel the blood
draining from her face. Then it all seems to flood back in at once, and she
feels hot and has to grab the edge of the desk to steady herself.
Spock is here?
"I need to speak to
Doctor Chapel. You will excuse us." There's no question in Spock's voice.
"Of course." Westin
hurries out.
"I thought you were a
diplomat? What happened to courtesy?"
"His interest did not strike
me as collegial."
"Since when have you
cared?"
He doesn't answer, just
closes her door and walks into her office. "Our last conversation ended
badly."
"Aren't you the master
of understatement?"
He walks to the window,
starting out. "I was angry."
"No kidding."
"You were not kind,
either."
She sits in her chair,
unwilling to join him at the window, glad for the desk between them, so he can't
see how badly her hands are shaking. "You didn't make it easy to be
kind."
"I know." He turns,
leaning against the windowsill as he studies her. "I am sorry. I wanted to
blame you for things that were not your fault."
"You were hurting."
"I have always valued
things Vulcan, Christine. And yet, if I were solely human, I would not have
failed my friend."
"If you were solely
human, you wouldn't be you."
He nods, a gentle motion, his
old grace restored. "I felt shame at having been betrayed by my body's
needs. At having wanted to stay with you. But you were right when you told me I
would have been in no shape to attend the launch even if I had left you as soon
as I could have."
She's unsure what to say to
that, so she opts for silence.
"I came to
apologize."
"All the way to Caspian.
Or were you in the vicinity?"
"I am on extended
leave."
She immediately feels panic. Surely
it couldn't be back. "If you're here because—"
"It has only been a
year, Christine." He takes the chair in front of her, sits back and
steeples his fingers. "I am on...vacation."
"For how long?"
"Three months."
"Well, it was nice of
you to make this a stopover."
His mouth tightens. "Is
that all you want this to be?"
"I'm not a psychiatrist,
Spock. But even I can see you're attempting to legitimize us so you can forgive
yourself for letting me come between you and saving the captain."
"That is not what I am
doing." He appears agitated. His eyes narrow and his fingers clutch now,
rather than steeple.
"Yes, Spock. It
is."
He stands. "Is it that
other man? Do you want him?"
She wonders if he would duel
with Westin. Call him out to the hot Vulcan sands and fight him to the death
for her.
"No, Spock. I'm just not
interested in being used again."
This seems to deflate him. He
moves slowly to the door. "I think—"
"I know. You never want
to see me again."
"That is not what I was
going to say." He opens the door. "But it is not important now,
anyway."
He's gone before she can tell
him she agrees.
##
The sound of fighting
intensifies. Out here, on the border planets, life isn't easy, and death is
even uglier. Christine misses the peace of Caspian. Peace she hasn't known for
nearly six months. She tries to stabilize the patient she's working on. A young
woman, hit by the backlash of some kind of energy weapon, who's slowly dying.
The shelling gets closer. These
new weapons are causing havoc and now their field hospital has become a target.
The other doctors are packing things up, readying for the move, while she and a
nurse try to save this last patient.
"We've lost her,
ma'am."
Christine wastes no time
worrying, she throws her equipment into the bag that sits waiting, helps the
nurse push the gurney, no longer having to go slow for fear of hurting the
woman further.
There's a flare in front of
them, and something explodes. Christine sees the waiting transport going up in
flames, and then something hits her, knocking her back.
She blacks out.
When she wakes, she's in a
hospital room. There's no place on her body that doesn't hurt and she can't
move her head or shoulders. She tries to speak, but only a moan comes out.
From her side, there's the
sound of movement. Then a hand on hers, a voice she doesn't expect, saying, "Stay
still. I have called the nurse."
"Spock," she tries
to say, but his name comes out as garbled sounds.
"Christine, be
still." He moves so she can see him. "You have been hurt quite badly.
But you will be fine. If you listen to me and stay still."
She realizes her head is
being held by something and thinks of all the reasons that might be. None of
them are good. She lies still and does as he says.
"I was very worried
about you." His voice is off. He sounds tired. How long has he been here?
Then there's the sound of
footsteps, the murmur of voices, and Spock moves away. A doctor is there,
taking readings, shining lights in her eyes, muttering something she can't
catch to the nurse. There's the sound of a hypospray
and her pain fades away.
"I'm very pleased with
her progress," the doctor tells Spock.
"I'm the doctor. Talk to
me," she says, but again, her thoughts don't make it into actual language.
She sounds like an animal.
The doctor must speak animal.
He moves back into view, staring down at her with a gently amused look. "Doctor
Chapel, you're going to be fine. One more day of immobilization just to be
safe, and then you can move around all you want."
He and the nurse leave, and
Spock moves back into her field of vision.
"Why?" This time it
comes out almost sounding like what she meant to say.
"Why are you here?"
"No." She knows why
she's here. She got hit by one of those damned shells. Or the backlash of one. She's
just luckier than that woman she was working on.
"Why am I here?"
"Yes." Her words
are getting clearer.
"Because you needed me. You
have always been there when I needed you. I am not sure I have ever returned
the favor."
"Oh." It's not the
answer she expected.
Nor does she expect him to
move in, to brush her cheek gently with his hand. His fingers settle on her
hand, twining with hers, and she blinks in surprise.
"We have been hard with
each other, Christine."
She lets her fingers tighten
around his, expecting him to pull away, but he doesn't.
"I wish to remedy
that."
"Maybe it's too
late." But the feel of him holding her—even just her fingers—is soothing. And
she loves the idea that finally the thing that has driven him to her is her.
"I do not believe it is
too late." He leans back in his seat but doesn't let go of her, and she
feels the drugs making her sleepy. "Rest now, Christine. I will be here
when you wake up."
"You never have been
before."
He leans in, and his lips touch
down on hers. Gently. Tenderly. "As I used to tell Saavik,
for everything there is a first time."
She wants to kiss him
forever. She wants to close her eyes and give in to sleep. She fights the
sleep, intent on the feeling of his lips back on hers. He's never touched her
with such care.
"Close your eyes,
Christine."
She does what he says, and
when she opens them again, he's still there.
FIN