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)
2016 by Djinn. This story is Rated R.
Aftermath
By
Djinn
The worst is far behind us now
We'll make it out of here somehow
Meet me in the aftermath
- Jason Wade/Lifehouse
Part 1: Treading Water
in a Sea of Tears
Spock
wanders through his apartment like he has never seen it before, stopping to
pick up an item here and there in his journey across the carpet Valeris wanted
installed. It is beautiful and expensive, and he indulged her because carpet is
so rare a thing on Vulcan—the sand and blowing grit during the windy
season not conducive to soft floor coverings that cannot be lifted and pounded
out in the open air.
He
resists the urge to rip the carpet from the tack board that holds it down, to
roll it into great bundles and have them shipped to Rura
Penthe the way she was shipped this morning.
He
stops for a moment to gather himself, hands clenched and eyes closed, his focus
solely on regaining his breathing, on finding equanimity—if such can be
located after her betrayal.
He
loved her. He held nothing back from her. He gave her anything she wanted.
And
in return she used him. She lied to him, even in the melds they shared, and she
nearly had his closest friends killed.
He
is not sure which part hurts the most.
He
takes a deep breath, than another, afraid that if he is honest with himself, he
knows what hurts the most. It is something McCoy said once when Mister Scott
had become enamored of a woman much younger. ÒNo fool like an old fool.Ó
In
Vulcan terms, however, the age difference between Valeris and him is not that
great. In human terms, he is a foolish old man finding love with a nubile young
woman. As a Vulcan, this should not bother him. But his friends are humans, not
Vulcans, and he finds it hard to maintain composure if her name comes up when
he is with Jim or McCoy or Nyota.
They
all saw what he did to her. His...revenge, he imagines they must deem it.
Nyota
especially looks at him as if she can no longer be sure of him. Something in
her welcoming smile is different since he pillaged ValerisÕs mind and made her
cry out in a manner a Vulcan never would—never should.
He
has avoided Nyota lately. McCoy and Jim, as well. McCoy has been in Georgia, so
he is not difficult to elude, but Jim is relentless, seemingly unwilling to let
Spock disappear into his guilt and sadness.
Spock
has never been able to hide much from him, so he is often busy when Jim comms to suggest chess or dinner or any of the other things
meant to lure Spock from this apartment that still smells like her.
He
has slept with her favorite robe pressed against him. He hates her, even if he will
never admit such strong and inappropriate emotion to anyone. He has ignored
every message she has sent, comms pleading to be
allowed to explain herself. One even saying that she loves him—that one
sent last night, before the Klingons dragged her off this morning. He refused
her comm, sitting at his desk, trying to keep the
rage and sorrow and...pain away. He ignored the woman he loves and let her sit
alone in that cell while he curled with her clothing in their bed until he was
sure she was gone, off this world forever.
Does
that make him more of a fool or less?
His
comm terminal chimes with the particular pattern of
notes he has programmed in for Jim.
He
ignores the comm. For now he wishes to wallow, as his friend would say. It is
no doubt the human in him coming out, but he is going to indulge it.
##
Chapel
leaves the cafeteria and is halfway down the hallway before she realizes sheÕs
going the wrong way. With a sick feeling in her stomach, she turns and heads
away from Emergency Ops and to her new cubicle in the visiting officerÕs comms area. Her queue of information requests sent from
citizens all over the Federation sits just as she left it.
A
crap job. This is what sheÕs reduced to.
Because
she was MatthewÕs protŽgŽ and, some thought, his lover. The first is correct;
the second is just the rumor mill reacting to her rapid rise with the same boss
for so many years and making success equal sex. She isnÕt surprised some of her
peers believe this. Some of her peers will believe anything so long as it makes
her look bad and them slightly more competent. But she hopes most understand
that Matthew depended on her as an officer, not as a woman.
Hell,
if she were a man following him the way Spock followed Jim, no one would say
anything.
She
starts to laugh softly. That's probably a really shitty example. But there are
other captain/first officer teams that don't engender quite so much
speculation.
She
hears soft steps, then feels warm breath on her ear.
ÒWhat
the hell are you doing in here? I went to ops, and they said youÕd been
transferred?Ó
She
leans her head back and sighs. ÒLife is shitty right now, Jim.Ó Life is shitty,
but his smile is sweet, and he touches her arm the way he does when heÕs giving
comfort without it being too overt.
He
pulls a chair over from an empty cubicle and sits close. ÒWhatÕs going on?Ó
ÒFallout
from being MatthewÕs golden child.Ó
ÒItÕs
been months since Khitomer.Ó
ÒThey
donÕt believe it was only Matthew and Valeris and West. Security seems
convinced a rear guard was left behind. A second wave if the more direct approach
failed. IÕve been questioned a gazillion ways from Sunday. Most of them not so
fun, some of them horrible.Ó
ÒIÕm
sorry. IÕd heard the witch hunts hadnÕt stopped, but I never thought theyÕd go
after you.Ó
ÒYeah,
me either.Ó She points to her queue. ÒCan you believe IÕm doing this? Redacting
has always been my lifeÕs goal.Ó She closes her eyes. ÒJim, one morning I
walked in, headed for my office, and found two security officers waiting to
take me to their boss. ÔTime for you to leave,Õ he said to me. Like security
makes fucking posting decisions.Ó Her voice is rising and she sighs. ÒSorry.Ó
ÒDonÕt
apologize.Ó He rubs her neck as he says it, his hand warm and firm and
everything she normally craves from him. But today it feels like too much, like
she might break, so she eases away and says, ÒWhat are you doing here? I
thought you were in Idaho?Ó
ÒI
was, but I got roped into going to the Enterprise-B
launch.Ó
She
starts to laugh. ItÕs too funny: Jim has been nothing but negative about
Harriman to her and to the brass. ÒSeriously?Ó
He
nods.
ÒFuck.
Your life is as bad as mine.Ó She watches him to see if he'll wince at her
swearing—Len has told her that her language has gone downhill since she
joined ops—but he takes it in stride as usual.
ÒWell,
I only have to do this once and then IÕm free again. This on the other hand...Ó
He gestures to the terminal. ÒHow long did they say?Ó
ÒThey
didnÕt. Although I was encouraged to look for a nice medical posting. Somewhere
far from Command. A Ôquiet planet,Õ they said.Ó
ÒThis
isnÕt right.Ó He turns, and sheÕs pretty sure heÕs checking to see whoÕs in
their vicinity, but sheÕs knows itÕs not to cover his ass but to protect her. ÒItÕs
really not right.Ó
ÒMake
it better?Ó She gives him the mock sad look that normally earns her a kiss,
only sheÕs afraid mock sad will turn into real sad—that it probably
already has.
He
kisses her as if it has. His normal passion is missing; all she feels from him
is tenderness, and she pulls away quickly because sheÕs afraid itÕll break her
if heÕs this nice to her.
ÒI
can help you. After the launch.Ó He touches her cheek. ÒAnd youÕre coming to
Idaho when I get back. I miss you.Ó
ÒI
miss you, too.Ó They are casual lovers. She was ambitious and so was he,
neither really wanting a full-time relationship. Their friends-with-benefits mode
suited both of them fine for years. Maybe now itÕs time to reassess. She thinks
he might be thinking the same thing.
HeÕs
nice and fun in bed, smart and sweeter than most people realize. SheÕs his type
and heÕs hers and yet...
Spock.
Spock who is no longer with that Vulcan bitch.
Jim
has always known sheÕs never given up on Spock completely. She thinks itÕs another
reason heÕs been content to not push for more with her. She canÕt imagine James
T. Kirk settling for being anyone's fallback plan.
He
seems to be reading her mind. His look changes and he asks softly, ÒHave you
talked to Spock?Ó
ÒNo.Ó
ÒHe
wonÕt return my comms. IÕm going over there later. Force
the issue. IÕm not sure whatÕs eating him.Ó His look says differently, that he
does have an opinion on that, but she knows he wonÕt badmouth Spock more than
he already has.
ÒMaybe
heÕs embarrassed? He damn well should be. First he finagles his paramour into
the helmsman spot on your bridge—were you not paying attention the day
that assignment went through?Ó
He
shrugs. ÒI knew they were taking the ship away from me soon. I may have moved
my sights on to other things. And I was a little distracted by his bigger end-run
of making me the envoy to the Klingons.Ó
She
laughs and tries to make it not too mean of a sound. ÒIÕm not sure IÕve ever
seen you so angry at him.Ó She waits for him to roll his eyes and is not disappointed.
ÒBut you ended up saving the day. And Valeris ended up a big fat traitor.Ó
ÒA
fact you enjoy a lot.Ó Jim is grinning; he understands her so well.
ÒOkay,
I do. IÕll admit it. But the way I understand it, he and Valeris goddamn melded
on a regular basis. He couldnÕt read ÔIÕm going to screw you over so bad and I
donÕt mean in this bedÕ from her? What is it with his Vulcan woman betraying
him and him none the wiser?Ó
Jim
gives her a tight smile. She knows heÕs probably thought the same thing. ÒWho
told you that—about him being with Valeris?Ó He always phrases his
questions so neutrally when Spock's love life comes up, as if mentioning his
name will shine too bright a light on the spectre
between them.
Nyota
has no such qualms. Nyota whoÕs always seemed to enjoy a much closer
relationship with Spock than Chapel could ever achieve. Nyota, who has been
scarce lately—is she avoiding Chapel for her career's sake or is she
holed up with Spock consoling him with her body?
Neither
alternative is good. Will Spock go to Ny now? The woman he confides in?
But
why does it matter? Chapel gave up long ago that she would ever mean anything
to Spock. Valeris proving to be a murderous traitor is vindication for hating
the little bitch, but not a sign that Spock will seek her out.
Jim
leans in and kisses her gently. ÒI have to go. Launch stuff. Scotty and Chekov
are going to be there too. Spock weaseled out somehow.Ó
ÒProbably
too busy feeling sorry for himself in the bowels of the Vulcan embassy.Ó
He
laughs. ÒIÕm pretty sure heÕs at his apartment, not the embassy, which doesnÕt,
by the way, have bowels. Many upper floors though.Ó
She
smiles and hopes it doesnÕt come off bitter. ÒNot like IÕd know.Ó
ÒOh,
Chris, if only you could let him go.Ó
ÒThen
youÕd make an honest woman of me?Ó
He
shrugs, and she canÕt read hurt and uncertainty, just his normal sweetness. ÒIÕd
have done that long ago, if I thought it was what both of us wanted. You had ops.
I had the ship.Ó
ÒI
know. But witness: ops and the ship are very far away, but we're still here.Ó
He
looks surprised—does he not know how much he means to her? SheÕs always
known she can love more than one man at a time. She fell for Spock while she
was still looking for Roger.
She
pulls Jim back to her and kisses him as tenderly as she can. ÒI love you, you
know,Ó she whispers close to his ear, so only he can hear. ItÕs not something
they say to each other. They skirt around the word as if it has cooties.
He
smiles as he pulls away. ÒI love you, too. So, you want to think about
something more...permanent?Ó
She
nods. Spock may always be between them, but JimÕs had great loves in his past
that she'll manage to ignore. ÒI mean unless you donÕt?Ó She grins to take out
any real sting.
ÒIÕm
game.Ó His smile is a beautiful thing. Then he gets up, looks around, shakes
his head, and mutters, ÒWeÕre getting you out of here,Ó before turning and
walking off.
It
takes her a moment to realize he said ÒweÓ and not ÒI.Ó
Since
she isnÕt sure heÕll have any success, she decides not to dwell on the identity
of whoever else heÕs going to pull into his plans.
##
Spock
sits at his terminal, trying to concentrate on his next diplomatic mission. The
sound of his chime going off irritates him immediately, even if it provides
respite from reading the paragraph heÕs already read three times in the
pre-mission report.
He
walks to the door and opens it, composing his expression into one that will
graciously but firmly turn away whoever is at the door.
Except
Jim. Who stands with a smile Spock is not certain how to read, his head cocked
as if unsure whether Spock will let him in. ÒIÕve commed.
You wonÕt answer. So the mountain had to come to Mohammed.Ó
For
a moment, he does not know what to do. Then he moves aside and says, ÒCome in,Ó
more gruffly than he intends to.
Jim
walks to the window and stares out at the bay. ÒIÕve always admired the view
here.Ó
A
view Spock knows Jim saw very little of once Valeris moved in. Not that he
stayed away—Spock just stopped inviting him over.
And
Jim had Christine. Does he think Spock doesnÕt know this?
Spock
moves closer but resists joining him at the window. This man can read him too
well, and he has no desire for the roiling emotions heÕs feeling to be exposed
so readily.
ÒShe
was handed over to the Klingons today, Spock.Ó
ÒI
know.Ó His voice is even. He is keeping his composure.
ÒI
argued for not remanding her to their custody—to their form of justice.Ó He practically spits the words
out.
ÒYou
would support leniency?Ó
Jim
seems to bristle. ÒI was there, Spock. On that freezing hell-hole of a planet. Yes,
IÕd goddamn support leniency.Ó He turns and studies Spock. ÒDid you see her
before she left?Ó
ÒNo.Ó
Spock turns and walks to his desk.
ÒI
know she betrayed you, but you loved her. Pain doesnÕt replace love.Ó
ÒI
do not wish to discuss Valeris, Jim.Ó
ÒFine.Ó
JimÕs voice is tight with the sound of what Spock thinks is immense
frustration, a tone he usually does not hear. ÒI actually donÕt want to talk
about her, either. I want to talk about Chris.Ó
Spock
lifts an eyebrow. ÒShe is, I believe, your problem.Ó The words come out hard
and bitter, and it surprises him how much anger he feels. It is illogical, in
fact, since Christine wanted him, but he never wanted her back.
ÒAnd
IÕm making it yours, Spock. SheÕs been yanked out of ops because of her
association with Cartwright. SheÕs being encouraged to take an assignment
somewhere...safe—for Starfleet, not her.Ó
ÒSurely
you are more connected than I when it comes to the Starfleet brass. I fail to
see what I can do for her that you cannot.Ó
JimÕs
jaw gets tighter, and there is anger in his eyes. ÒShe and I are close, as you well
know. She's been my plus-one of choice to Command events for some time. Moreover,
I'm Cartwright's friend. A protest over her treatment would mean more coming
from you.Ó
ÒYou
are so sure she is innocent?Ó
JimÕs
surprise is so fast it cannot be simulated. ÒDo you think sheÕs guilty?Ó
ÒJim,
clearly my ability to recognize guilt in my associates is severely compromised.
Unless you would like me to meld with her? To rip the memories from her as I
did Valeris? Then I could be sure.Ó
Jim
turns, striding to the window again, and his grip on the frame is so tight his
knuckles turn white. ÒAre you ever going to forgive me for making you do that?Ó
ÒForgive...you?Ó
Jim
turns, and there is a helplessness in his eyes, an exhaustion. ÒI made you. I
made you hurt her.Ó
ÒYou
did not make me do anything. In fact, my own...fury over her betrayal led me to
be far more brutal in the meld than I should have.Ó He sits. ÒYou think that is
why I have not returned your comms? That I blame
you?Ó
ÒIsnÕt
it?Ó
ÒNo.Ó
He shakes his head, staring at the too luxurious carpet that he now detests. ÒMy
emotions are so strong—they...compromise me. I have been embarrassed at
my lack of control. I did not want you to see me this way.Ó
ÒYou
loved her. You loved her and she used you. Of course youÕre angry.Ó
ÒI
am Vul—Ó
ÒYouÕre
human, too, Spock. God knows, you have every right to be mad.Ó
ÒBut,
Jim. I melded with her. Numerous times. I never saw what was inside. The
truth.Ó The ugliness.
ÒAnd
you think thatÕs your fault? They set her on you, Spock. They must have known
youÕd meld. I imagine they put in place some kind of mental countermeasures to
keep you away from anything incriminating.Ó Jim moves over and sits next to
him, his hand on his shoulder, a gentle touch but also one that allows Spock to
read the primary emotions: compassion, sadness, anger—but not at Spock.
And
worry for Christine. It colors everything.
As
does JimÕs distaste for the launch of the new Enterprise and the way he loathes Harriman.
ÒAre
we all right, Spock?Ó
ÒWe
are.Ó And Spock can feel something inside himself settling down. His friend
does not judge him. He has not lost him.
ÒIÕve
got to go. More launch crap tomorrow and then weÕre off the next day. WeÕll
play chess when IÕm free, yeah? Figure out a way to help Chris?Ó
ÒWe
will, Jim.Ó
ÒThere
has to be a way to fix this.Ó He stands but the set of his shoulders and the
ease of his smile are very different than when he first walked in. ÒYouÕre
supposed to be the smart one, Spock. Find us a way to get her back where she
loves to be. Or at least free of suspicion.Ó JimÕs smile changes, and Spock
wonders how close he and Christine have become.
Their
eyes meet and Jim reaches out, grasping his elbow. ÒUse that brainpower thinking
about Christine, not Valeris, okay?Ó He frowns and with a little laugh, adds,
"Maybe I should rephrase that."
Spock
nods his understanding. ÒI shall consider her situation, Jim.Ó
ÒExcellent.Ó
With a last grin, Jim lets him go and heads for the door.
Spock
imagines Jim is going to ChristineÕs once his launch meetings are concluded. That
somehow he has managed to carve out the kind of domestic tranquility with her
that Spock thought he had found with Valeris.
It
is ironic. But it is SpockÕs experience that life often is.
##
Spock
is packing the last of his items for the mission to Pravesh.
The negotiations promise to be fruitful, but the process of coming to consensus
will no doubt be tedious. He was hoping for a more dynamic situation, one that
would keep his mind off Valeris.
He
checks to make sure he has the padds heÕs been working on, then fastens his
case and slings it over his shoulder. The shuttle for Starbase Seven is leaving
in an hour and as head of the delegation, he needs to be there early, to
welcome his team, some of whom he has never worked with before.
He
takes a flitter to Command and as he is heading for the main transporter to
space dock, he sees Christine standing in front of ops, a carton in her arms,
her expression stormy. He debates stopping, but she sees him, and her mood
seems to darken even more.
He
realizes that she is very little like the gentle soul he knew during their first
voyage. This Christine is ambitious, hard even—no doubt a function of
dealing with emergencies. Soft officers donÕt make it in ops.
He
debates letting her know Jim has told him she is no longer working in ops, but decides
discretion is called for and merely nods to her and asks, ÒDo you need
assistance?Ó
ÒMy
stuffÕs still in there.Ó She is staring at the office that he knows was once
hers, but she doesnÕt elaborate on why she needs to retrieve her personal items.
She seems about to walk away, but then meets his eyes. ÒMy replacement is in my
office. I thought heÕd have gone home by now. But ops never sleeps.Ó She closes
her eyes, a sigh escaping her. It is the sound and look of utter
defeat—diplomacy has taught him how to read others better than all his
years on the ship.
He
checks the chrono. He has plenty of time. ÒI could go
in with you.Ó
Her
laugh is bitter and loud. ÒAnd be seen with a traitor?Ó She takes a deep
breath—a rather dramatic gesture he is sure is for his benefit—then
stomps in.
He
waits for a moment, watching her, imagining what she and Jim have. Is it more
than what he envisioned he would have with Valeris?
Will
Valeris never leave his thoughts? Will she be the thing he measures everything
against? This traitor who may not even have cared for him?
ÒI
love you, Spock,Ó he can still hear that declaration, her normally proud voice
small and even frightened—a gift to him, he thought at the time. Or
manipulation. ÒI love youÓ could have merely meant ÒSave me.Ó
Someone
comes out of ChristineÕs office, not looking pleased at the interruption but
also not seeming to attempt to make a difficult situation worse. A moment
later, Christine walks past the man, murmuring something, and then hurries out
of ops.
ÒYou
retrieved what you needed?Ó
ÒFar
from it. But I got my stuff back.Ó She swallows hard, a fear response he isnÕt
sure sheÕs aware sheÕs made. ÒIÕm going to take this back to my cubicle in
no-manÕs-land. Thanks for—well, whatever it is you thought you were doing
by waiting here.Ó
ÒI
was helping.Ó
ÒPretty
broad interpretation of the word, but IÕll allow it.Ó She smiles and for a
moment, it is the smile he remembers. Then it dies, and she hoists the carton a
little higher in her arms and with a soft, ÒHave a good trip,Ó turns away.
ÒJim
will be home soon.Ó It is an odd thing to say to her, but he wants to help,
wants to make her feel better.
She
turns to study him. ÒHe will. And that matters to you why? I know youÕre not
jealous of him being with me—is it that you think you might give him a
try now that your girl has been shipped off to Klingon hell?Ó Her tone is
sharp, cruel even.
He
decides not to react to it. ÒNeither. I merely thought it would make you
happier once he is home again. He cares for you a great deal.Ó
ÒDo
you ever say ÔloveÕ?Ó
Her
words are even more pointed, driving into him in a way he does not like. ÒYes,
I do. But I understand your wondering. You certainly have never heard me say
it.Ó It is cruel. It is what he wanted to say to Valeris when she tried to
manipulate him by stating her regard in human terms.
But
Christine is not the enemy, and she does not deserve this. He tries to start an
apology, but she rolls her eyes, says, ÒNo shit,Ó and strides off, her boots
clicking loudly.
He
almost goes after her, but a quick glance at the chrono
shows that if he does not hurry, he will be the last to arrive, not the first. He
makes his way to the transporter, feeling regret but unable to do anything
about it. It seems to be his steady state these days.
##
Chapel
is working through the latest info request when she hears those around her
starting to chatter—or at least thatÕs how she thought of the sound in
ops, when suddenly everyone is reading the same message and itÕs bad.
She
stands, checks to see whoÕs in the room that doesnÕt appear to hate
her—or at least view her with deep distrust—and finds Captain Michann. SheÕs always been nice to Chapel and must have
just arrived back on Earth since she hasnÕt been in the room before now. She
walks over, waits till Michann sees her, then says,
ÒWhatÕs happening, maÕam?Ó
ÒChapel.
Sit down. I know you were close.Ó
ÒClose
to who?Ó Then she sees the headline flowing across the terminal. ÒNo.Ó The word
comes out like a little child might say it, full of hurt and disbelief and the
need for someone to take it back, to say theyÕre just fooling.
But
theyÕre not. Jim is...gone.
Chapel
realizes sheÕs put her hand over her mouth and is blinking back tears. ÒNo,Ó
she says again, and this time the adult is speaking, and the word is full of
everything she's lost.
Taken.
By space. Again.
ÒThank
you,Ó she says and tries to get up, but Michann holds
her down. ÒNo, really, IÕm fine. IÕm just going to go home now. I think thatÕs
best.Ó She canÕt see very well and dashes at her eyes.
ÒChristine,
IÕm so sorry.Ó
Those
words. Those damn horrible words. She heard them a thousand times when Roger
disappeared. Now at least there arenÕt as many who know she was with Jim, no
one to realize they were going to move on to something more—to something
good.
Why
does everything good get yanked away from her?
ÒIs
there someone I can call?Ó
She
wants to say Ny, but imagines her friend is already hightailing it to Spock, so
she murmurs, ÒLeonard McCoy.Ó
ÒIÕm
going to comm him. DonÕt move.Ó
Chapel
watches the screen as Michann calls up LenÕs comm address and pings him. He doesnÕt answer at once and
looks confused when he sees Michann, but is fleet
enough to ask, ÒCaptain, what can I do for you?Ó
Chapel
canÕt see anything on his face. No anger, no grief, no disbelief. He canÕt hide
these things, so she whispers to Michann, ÒHe hasnÕt
seen the news yet.Ó
He
perks up. ÒIs that Chapel with you?Ó
Michann nods. ÒYou need to watch the news vids. And
then I think Commander Chapel will need you. And uh, youÕll probably need her,
too.Ó
ÒLen,
where are you?Ó
ÒIÕm
in Savannah.Ó
ÒYou
shouldnÕt be alone.Ó
There
is something off in his expression, something she used to see on the ship when
she stopped by to shoot the shit and realized he wasn't alone in his quarters. ÒYouÕre
not alone. Len, IÕm sorry. IÕm fine.Ó
Suddenly
Len is pushed aside, and Ny is staring at her. ÒYou are not all right. What the
hell is going on, Christine?Ó
It's
clear Ny doesnÕt know, either.
ÒNy,Ó
she says, and her voice breaks strangely on her friendÕs name, Òwatch the
news.Ó
Then
she hears Len say, ÒShit,Ó and Ny turns and her expression crumples—she
must be reading the headline.
ÒWhereÕs
Spock?Ó is the first thing Ny says.
ÒYou
mean you donÕt know?Ó The words come out sharply and Chapel winces because she doesnÕt
want to be mean, not now.
ÒWhy
would I know?Ó Ny seems to gather herself. ÒIÕll find out. ItÕs what I do.Ó
Chapel
could have found out even faster if she still had her ops accesses, but she
doesnÕt and she wonÕt ever.
ItÕs
gone. ItÕs all gone.
ÒIÕm
going to let you go,Ó she says. ÒTake care of Len.Ó Then she reaches over and
cuts the connection.
Michann watches her closely. ÒThat probably wasnÕt the
best choice you could have made. Being with friends helps.Ó
ÒYeah.
Well. ItÕs complicated.Ó
ÒOkay.Ó
Michann looks like she doesn't think it can really be
that complicated.
ÒThank
you for trying to help me. ItÕs...itÕs not the norm these days.Ó
Michann reaches out and squeezes her hand. ÒFor what
itÕs worth, Christine, I donÕt believe youÕre a traitor.Ó
ÒThank
you.Ó She waits for Michann to let go, doesnÕt want
to jerk away when the woman has been so nice to her. Finally sheÕs free, and
she goes to her terminal, turns it off, and leaves.
If
Starfleet even cares that sheÕs gone, they can send security out to find her.
And
she pities the security officers who try to take her on today.
##
Spock
does not even try to pay attention to the incessant posturing of the two sides.
He motions for an aide to move up to the table, looks pointedly at the padd the
man carries so he will know Spock intends him to keep notes beyond the
transcripts. Questions, interpretations, the things that go beyond the words.
The
things Spock cannot care less about at this moment.
Jim
is dead.
He
wants to get up, to excuse himself, to go to his quarters and try to find some
measure of internal composure to match an external front he hopes is
sufficiently Vulcan. He wants to call McCoy and Nyota and find out what
happened.
He
wants to berate Harriman. He is sure the man is somehow at fault. Even if the
logical part of him notes that his dislike of the man is primarily due to
listening to Jim talk about him in the most disparaging way possible.
But
Jim reads—read people well. Spock takes a ragged breath and knows his
aide is looking at him sharply.
He
doesnÕt care.
His
friend is dead, and he can't help but think that if he'd gone to the launch, if
he'd been there to help, Jim would still be alive.
The
head of one of the delegations is yelling, but Spock barely pays attention. He
rises and says, "I believe a recess is in order. We will reconvene
tomorrow."
Eighteen
hours to gain some measure of control back. He is not sure he can do it. He is
not sure he wants to do it.
But
he must. There is nothing left to him but this, this job he enjoys—even
relishes—most of the time.
He
stands and sweeps out of the room in the way he has seen his father do so many
times and has never been able to emulate. Could it be that Sarek was spurred by
the emotion he feels? He finds that thought unlikely, if comforting. Sarek
would tell him Kirk's actions were brave and honorable. He would quote the
needs of the many.
Spock
does not care about the many right now. Only the one.
Only
Jim.
He
can hear confusion behind him. He does not slow, and the door closes, and
finally, in this barren hallway, he finds the silence he craves. He hurries
down the hall to his rooms, desperately searching for peace and privacy.
Desperately
needing to find out what happened. And to mourn.
##
Chapel
hears footsteps coming down the aisle to her cubicle and does not look up. If
it's security wanting to talk to her about her many absences since Jim died,
they'll have to make her look at them.
"Christine?"
A soft voice, her friend's voice. A voice that should make her happy but
instead sends the rage that's boiling inside her up a notch.
She
looks up and meets Ny's eyes. "Slumming?"
She
expects to see anger on Ny's face, but instead she
only sees hurt. She should say she's sorry. She should get up and hug Ny.
She
should do a lot of goddamn things instead of sitting at this terminal, unsure
what to do or where to go since she lost Jim and the last nail was slammed into
her career.
"Christine,
can we go outside and talk?" Normally Ny is sure of herself and takes the
lead in their friendship, but she seems to be walking on eggshells.
Chapel
wonders if she looks like she's about to explode. It's possible. But not here,
not in this chair, in this room that no one ever decorates with personal items
because for everyone else, it's only a temporary resting place.
She
gets up and motions for Ny to lead them somewhere—anywhere will be an
improvement. Ny finds them a bench in the shade, far from the main paths.
"To
what do I owe this pleasure, Ny? You haven't exactly been present lately. But
then you've waited for Spock for a long time. I guess once Valeris was safely
out of the way..."
"You're
an idiot." In the past, this would have been a throwaway insult, all in
good fun, but Ny's doesn't sound amused in any way. "I'm
not with Spock. I'm with Leonard."
"McCoy?"
"No,
Bernstein. Of course McCoy."
Chapel
laughs softly. "Well that explains why you were there when I called about
Jim. But I was right. You disappeared into a relationship—just not the
one I thought."
"Like
you never did that with Jim? Give me a break, Christine." She sighs and
looks away. "Why are we fighting? Jim is dead. And I know you're hurting. Even
if all you seem to care about is Spock."
Chapel
feels as if she's been punched in the gut. Not because it's mean, but because Ny's right. These are the times she wishes she could find a
way to end her obsession with Spock, but it isn't something she controls. If it
were, she'd have driven a stake in it long ago.
"I
do care that he's gone, Ny. It's tearing me up inside, which is probably why
I'm being such a bitch. Who you're with...it's none of my business. And if
you're happy, that's good. For both of you." She takes a deep breath and
realizes she's letting go of a little of the anger inside her. "Jim and I
were moving toward something. It was good. It was great."
And
he was going to help her.
"I'm
sorry, sweetie."
"I
know you loved him too." She reaches out and wouldn't blame Ny for not
reaching back, but she does, and her grip is warm and firm like always.
"What
are you going to do, Christine? You can't sit in that godforsaken office and go
through document requests forever."
"I
keep hoping they'll come to their senses and reinstate me." She shakes her
head and laughs. "But they've already replaced me. So that's stupid, isn't
it?"
"You
were there a long time. Even if this isn't the way any of us would want it to
happen, you need to move on."
"I
find that ironic coming from you."
"I
know. But I'm moving on, too. The new Enterprise
is out there and I have no plans to be on it. Nor do they want me to." She
moves closer and puts her head on Chapel's shoulder. "Why don't you come
to Savannah for a while. I know you have more leave than God. Len would be glad
to see you."
"I'd
cramp your style."
"Well,
you wouldn't stay forever." Ny chuckles, and it's the sound of a thousand
inside jokes, of nights on shore leave around a bonfire or a table in a bar on
a hundred different planets.
"IÕm
sorry."
"For
what? For being sad? This isn't easy and it's not going to be easy for a while.
But come stay with us. We can all be sad together. Sometimes that's the best
way."
"I'll
think about it."
"That
just means no. Don't think about it. Do it. Get away from here for a while. Jan
and Sulu are coming by next week. It'll be good to be together."
Chapel
imagines Jim's laugh, the way he would pour her a scotch and add ice with a
dramatic shudder like he did the last time she stayed over. "But he won't
be there, so it won't be all of us, will it?"
"Oh,
baby." Ny pulls her into a hug before Chapel realizes that she is crying,
weeping in fact, much harder than she's allowed herself to cry alone, possibly
because she's been afraid that she'll go under and never come back up. But Ny's holding her, an anchor just like always, and Chapel
gives up and lets herself go.
Ny
doesn't say anything, just strokes her back and when she finally pulls away,
wipes away the makeup that has smeared. "Savannah. I want you there
tomorrow. Got it?"
"Yeah.
I think you're right."
"I
know I'm right. You want me to go in with you?"
Chapel
laughs softly, imagining Ny seeing her safely to her desk the way her parents did
on her first day of school. "No, I can handle it on my own, Mom."
"Shut
up. Who else do I have to nurture?"
"Well,
Len, apparently. So...how did this happen?"
"When
he was in Rura Penthe, I
realized I wasn't just normal worried about him. I was extra worried. And all
these feelings came up and"—she laughs and looks
away—"then I started acting like an idiot around him trying not to
let him know that I liked him because I didn't think he liked me back that
way."
"But
he did—does, I mean?" Chapel smiles. She can imagine the crazy
two-step these two must have engaged in until they caught on that they were
both hearing the same music.
"Yeah.
And it's good. And I'm really glad we had each other when we found out about
Jim. And we're worried about you."
"And
Spock. He was the first thing you
asked about."
"I
know. I'm not going to apologize for being concerned for him. Jim was the
closest friend I think he's ever had."
"I
know."
They
fall into a silence, but an easy one, filled with sorrow shared. Chapel finally
gets up and says, "I'll see you guys tomorrow."
Her
head hurts from the crying, but another part of her feels better for having
finally let go.
##
Spock
sits in McCoy's front parlor, trying not to feel ill at ease being part of this
impromptu memorial. The others have drinks in their hands and seem relaxed and
ready—even eager—to share anything that comes to mind about Jim.
He
is content to sit quietly. To nod occasionally when someone says something that
resonates with him. To mentally note how different things will be from now on. The
weight of Jim's absence is significant not just by the lack of his physical
presence but in the dynamics between members of the group. The times when Jim
would have taken the lead, people are now floundering until someone else steps
up.
Finally,
the others tire of sharing—or the alcohol has set in enough that they no longer
know what to say—and they wander off in groups. Mister Scott is with
McCoy and Nyota, who Spock surmises are now romantically involved given the
ease with which she is serving as hostess in his house. Sulu, Rand, and Chekov are
gathered over a screen with holos that Nyota gathered—times
they all have shared over the many years of their association. Spock gets up,
intent on sharing the moment with them, but then sees Christine sitting on the
porch, her back against a column, her mood unreadable.
He
leaves the living room, walking the short hall to the porch, then opening the
door loudly enough that she'll know he is there. "May I join you?" It
is a human custom that always strikes him as Vulcan. Humans so often charge in
with "I need you" or "Guess what happened?" or some other
selfish reason for imposing one's presence on another. But this courtesy gives
the other person control.
"Suit
yourself."
And
just like that the other person can throw control back into the asker's lap. Spock
is not sure what to do. A Vulcan would simply have said yes or no.
Finally,
he sits on the railing, far enough away from her that he will not be perceived
as crowding but not so far, he hopes, that she will think him unsupportive.
They
sit in a silence that becomes rapidly more uncomfortable as it grows. He is
used to gauging silences. In diplomacy, the nature of silence is an excellent
indicator of progress or lack thereof.
But
in diplomacy, he would have studied the involved parties. He has not studied
Christine, has done nothing to help her as Jim asked. He knows only what Jim,
and McCoy in his kitchen last night, have told him about her current situation.
And
he has learned nothing from her—Christine has barely spoken to him since
he arrived.
She
shifts, stretching her legs out, and in the past he might have thought it was
to become more comfortable, but now he sees them as a wall between them.
"Jim
asked me to help you," he says softly.
"Bully
for Jim." There is pain in her voice. Pain and an anger he wonders if she
is aware of.
"Christine,
I wish..." What does he wish? Other than that his friend did not die? "I
would like to help you."
She
meets his eyes, and hers are as hard and distant as Sarek's have ever been. "Why?"
"Because
Jim—"
"Yeah,
I heard you the first time. Jim wanted you to. So what?" She turns, her
jaw clenched, and he thinks she is trying not to cry.
The
Christine he dealt with on the Enterprise
would have cried. Her tears would have flowed freely, but this Christine is
nothing like that woman. Ironically, this Christine makes him vastly more
uncomfortable than the old one.
He
finally murmurs, "It was his last request of me." On Vulcan that
means something. On Earth, it does, too.
"You
know"—her voice is pitched strangely, raspy and dark and as she
turns to him, her eyes shine in a way he has come to associate with
malice—"if you'd just gone to the launch instead of sitting around
moping over your stupid fucking traitor of a girlfriend, Jim might still be
alive and he could help me himself."
He
wants to strike her. He wants to tell her she is wrong. He wants to get up and
leave.
He
does none of these things because she is not wrong. If Spock had gone, Jim
might still be alive.
It
is a sign of how she has changed that she does not rush to say she's sorry. Instead,
she just sits, her hard eyes boring into his, and he thinks this is why she
excelled at emergency operations. He would not want to be the planetary
administrator who got in her way.
"Nothing
to say?"
"There
is nothing to say. You are correct." He takes what he hopes is a steadying
breath, but it comes out ragged.
"Would
you have helped me if he hadn't asked? Would you even have noticed that
anything was going on with me?" Her questions are asked in a tone that
tells him she knows the answer—accepts it, even.
But
he answers her anyway. "No."
"Well,
there you go." She gets up. "Any debt you feel, you're relieved of
it. We're not friends, Spock. We're not even very good ex-shipmates. And I'm
okay with that."
For
the first time, he thinks she is lying, but he doesn't argue with her. A gentle
"As you say," allows her a graceful exit.
He
sits on the porch, thinking about all the different decisions he could have
made over the years, not moving until Nyota calls him in for dinner.
##
Chapel
gets up early so she can see Jan and Sulu off. Spock is up, too, as she
expected he would be, but she ignores him as if dismissal is an interstellar
Olympics event. It's something she perfected in ops, the ability to look
through instead of at people. She's been told it's profoundly unnerving.
Spock
doesn't appear unnerved, but then she's never been that good at reading him.
"You
know," Jan says softly as she pulls Chapel into the kitchen, "you two
have the look of a one night stand that was awful."
"Right."
"It'd
be natural. You're both grieving. Reaching out, maybe?"
"Quit
fishing, Jan. Spock and I didn't fuck." She closes her eyes and leans her
head on Jan's shoulder the way she used to in ops, when things were beyond
screwed up. "Although maybe we should have. Put a cap on how horrible my
goddamn life is."
"You
need to move on—any direction is okay, just don't get stuck. You're angry
and you're bitter, and I understand that. I can't imagine having Jim and then
losing him." She strokes Chapel's hair, and her touch is as soft and comforting
as ever. "Look, our CMO isn't leaving anytime soon, but we have science
billets coming open.
"I
miss you."
"I
miss you, too. So let's remedy that."
To
be on the Excelsior would not be a
step down. Chapel knows that intellectually. But the rage inside her demands
she keep trying to get back what she had. "I'll think about it, Jan."
"No,
you won't." Jan's smile is the one of hundreds of emergencies they shared,
the one that knows Chapel will take stims and drink
too much coffee even beyond what's healthy, that she won't go home no matter
how much she needs to sleep until her people are relieved. Jan has seen her at
her worst and still likes her.
Loves—Jan
loves her. Jan is family, more than the others, even if she'd probably count
them as family if asked. But she and Jan were the first ones to leave, to get
off the ship and try new things.
Unless
you count Spock attempting to purge his emotions as a new career thing. Which
she doesn't. She has no idea why he went to Gol and
doesn't care. It's ancient history.
She
walks Jan out to the front door where Sulu is talking to Spock. He breaks away
to give her a hug, whispering, "Jan talked to you about a science
posting?"
"She
did. I'm thinking about it." She eases away.
By
his expression, she can tell he doesn't believe her, but he doesn't try to
convince her, just gives her a gentle smile, then rests his hand on Jan's lower
back as he urges her toward the front walk.
They've
been together a while now. Chapel likes how they act, how happy she knows her
friend is with Sulu.
They're
gone before she's ready, and without Jan's steadying presence she feels adrift.
Not looking at Spock, she turns to go back inside but is brought up short, and
she realizes Spock has taken her arm and is turning her.
"What
the hell are you doing?"
"We
should talk, and a walk sounds pleasant."
"Maybe
to you."
He
ignores her, simply pulls her along without appearing to manhandle her—probably
a Vulcan art form—and then lets go of her when they are far enough from
the house that she can't make a quick break for her room.
"Why
are you doing this?"
"Because
Jim asked me to. I was not at the launch—you were right that I might have
changed the outcome of those events—but I am here, as are you. Let me
help?"
"How?
How exactly are you going to help me? My job is gone." Damn it all. Her
job is gone, with a new officer
filling the billet. Command's not going to remove him just to appease her. Hell,
they clearly don't give a shit what she does.
"I
need someone with your skills on my next mission."
"Oh,
bull." She tries to stride away, but again he catches her arm. "Damn
it, Spock."
"Christine.
Please. Let me help you. It's all I have left." There is a note in his
voice she's never heard—a desperation that she knows could be her
undoing. The need to help—it's why she stayed in medicine after she found
Roger, why ops held her for so long.
"Spock,
please. You and I—it's not going to work. I feel..." She sighs. "I
loved Jim."
"I
believe that. I also believe that you still love me."
"Which
is why you can't help me. Because I do and you'll never love me back. I don't
want to be your project out of pity or guilt." She gently pushes his hand
off her arm. "What I said about the launch might or might not have been
accurate, but it was definitely mean, and I'm sorry for that. Some things just
don't need to be said."
"I
cannot forgive what I consider truth."
"Then
forget I said it."
"I
am Vulcan. I do not forget." He looks like he wishes he could, though.
"Spock,
I don't have anything left, either, okay? The two people who just went back to
their ship and the ones still in this house are it for me. If you give me the
chance, I'll latch on to you in desperation, and I think you'll do the same
right back. And that's wrong, Spock."
For
once, he appears to have nothing to say.
She
cups his cheek. "Thank you for wanting to help. It means a lot." Then
she turns and walks away from him, going past the house and for a long walk
around Len's neighborhood.
Spock's
gone when she gets back to the house, headed back to San Francisco. After
dinner, she sits on her bed, pulls out her personal communicator, and sends a
message to Jan that reads, "I want to come home."
She
imagines what that would mean if Ny or Len said it. For Ny, it would be the Enterprise. For Len, she's never been
sure if the ship or Georgia is what he really considers his true home—she
knows what he says, but he's logged more years in space than in Savannah.
Jim
might have been her home. She takes a deep breath, knowing that this stasis
she's put herself in is not something he'd approve of. Jim was action. Jim was
"make it right." And she believes with all her heart that he would
have found a way to help her.
But
he's gone now. He's gone, and she's got to do it on her own. The same way she
did after she lost Roger.
But
doing it on her own doesn't have to mean doing it alone, and for years she and
Jan were home to each other, in a way that Ny will never understand because she
wasn't in ops.
Chapel's
communicator buzzes. It's a message from Jan that says, "Just finishing up
dinner with H. We're thrilled. Welcome home."
She
puts the communicator down, curls into a ball, and weeps as silently as she
can, her tears caused as much by relief as grief for what she's leaving behind.
Part 2 – Trying to
Land in Your Atmosphere
Chapel
wakes to the too familiar feeling of a ship under her. But this time it's not
someone else's ship that she's just a temporary passenger of. This is her posting
now. The Excelsior is home.
She
lies for a moment in bed, enjoying the feeling of knowing there isn't an
emergency just around the corner, and then gets up and takes a longer shower
than she ever did on Earth and heads to the mess. She's through the line and
debating where to sit when she hears, "You lost or something,
newbie?"
She
laughs: Jan said the very same thing to her when Chapel first showed up at ops.
"Sir, yes, sir."
It's
said in jest, but while Jan doesn't outrank her, her position as first officer
definitely trumps Chapel's science position. For the first time, she'll be
taking orders from her friend.
Her
friend who is rolling her eyes and saying, "Cut that shit out when we're
off duty." She refills her coffee and leads Chapel to a booth in the back
of the mess, then leans forward and asks, "How'd you sleep? First night on
board and all."
"I
slept great. Thank you for—"
"Whatever
you're going to say, stow it. We brought you here because you'll enhance the
performance of our ship, not because we needed to bail out a friend. Got
it?" She sounds exactly like Jim, and Chapel grins.
"Got
it. And 'we,' huh?"
Rand
shrugs. "We like to make decisions as a team. It's nice."
Chapel
nods and busies herself with fixing her oatmeal. She imagines she and Jim might
have made decisions as a team. Maybe she would have retired and moved to Idaho
with him. Or they could have gone off planet. To one of the relief agencies
that seem to inhale ex-Starfleet officers for their executive boards.
"What
are you thinking about?"
"Jim."
She meets Jan's eyes. "Do I look sad?"
"Yeah.
Yeah, you do."
"It
seems strange to say I miss him. We were so casual, right up until the end. And
then..."
"You
lost the future, Christine. Of course you're sad. He was a remarkable man and I
believe he loved you." She looks down.
"What?"
"I
would have wanted more from him a lot sooner than you did. But then I had the
big crush on him, right? And yours
was on Spock." Jan sighs. "What the hell? Are we going to be maudlin
on your first day at work?"
"Seems
like maybe we are."
"Well,
fuck that."
Chapel
laughs. The ops language seeps in so often for both of them. They actually used
to blush at some of the fouler things that were said by the ops lifers. Now
they barely blink. "What's the mission de jour?"
"Transport
haul. Some kind of strategic mineral. Borrrrring, if
all goes right."
"Does
it usually go right?"
"Yeah,
it usually does. We're long past the wild west days of our first voyage."
Chapel
glances at the viewscreen, at the stars that seem to
stream by. "Is it stupid to say I miss those days?"
"No.
Sometimes Hikaru does, too. I can tell. But after ops, you're due for a little
down time."
Chapel
holds up her mug to Jan in an impromptu toast. "Roger that."
##
Spock
sits in the embassy, listening to his father brief him on a mission he knows
nearly by heart. It is unusual for
them to be assigned together and he regrets that Starfleet has done it.
"Are
you listening to me, Spock?"
"I
am." It is not a lie. He always listens to Sarek—he
spent too many years not and learning the consequences. Sarek can humiliate him with barely any
effort. "Father, I of course
intend no offense, but I have been working on this issue far longer than
you."
"So
you should lead the mission?" Sarek steeples his fingers, his
expression the one of a thousand tainted interactions. "I am, of course, the senior ambassador."
There
is no answer for this. And not for
the first time, Spock thinks his father illogical. But then their relationship has always
been colored by emotion, even if it has taken Spock years to realize that. It is ironic. As a child he thought his father the
role model for logic, the Vulcan ideal.
Now, now he knows better.
"Sarek,
are you done with him yet?"
His mother's question is welcome distraction. He thinks, not for the first time, how
similar Christine's voice is to his mother's.
Sarek
seems poised to say he is not finished, so Spock rises and says, "Yes, we
are both sufficiently prepared."
He
sees a moment of shock on his father's usually perfectly stoic face. Is this the first time he has defied
him? Surely not.
But
perhaps it is the first time he did it with so little emotion—so little
resentment. This is what it
is. His relationship with his
father will never be what he wants but it would be the height of illogic to
think it will ever change after so many years.
His
mother takes his arm and eases him from the room as if she too knows he has
done something remarkable.
"How have you been? You
were so sad the last time I saw you."
It
is a testament to her ability to read him that she almost always knows how he
is feeling. "Time heals. Is that not the saying?"
"It
is. Sometimes it's not true,
though. Has someone helped it
heal?" She squeezes his arm. "Someone human this time."
He
can feel his lips ticking up. His
mother detests Valeris and has barely warmer feelings for T'Pring. "Did you have a human in
mind?"
She
shrugs. "I'll leave that up to
you." She is watching him closely.
"Do you have a human in mind, Spock?"
He
is about to say no when he thinks of Christine, sitting on the porch of McCoy's
home. It is the image that has
stayed with him. How lost she was. How strong, too. A dichotomy that fascinates him.
"You
do." She squeezes his arm even
harder. "Do I know her?"
"Mother,
I do not intend to discuss this with you."
She
laughs. "I do. I know her. If I didn't, you'd just say
no." Smiling broadly, she
pulls him along in her wake.
She
has never had any problem manhandling him or his father, despite how tiny she
is. He allows himself to enjoy her
gentle tyranny and proceeds to evade her guesses about who the person is.
At
least until his father joins them and all talk about feelings is banished.
To
his great relief. His mother is
frighteningly perceptive and Spock does not wish to talk about Christine to
her.
Not
when Christine appears to wish nothing to do with him.
##
Chapel
brings another round of drinks up for Jan and her and takes a seat in the empty
upper level, waiting for Jan to get off the dance floor. Hikaru has a glass of beer at their
table, but he's too busy mingling to come up and drink it. That's normally the way, Chapel is
finding. He loves his crew and
doesn't seem to need quiet time to decompress like she used to when she was in
charge of ops.
She
wanders over to the railing and watches her friends dancing, then chatting with
the head of engineering and the CMO.
She feels a pang and tries to bite it down. This isn't her show, and she's not part
of the senior staff. She could go
down there if she wanted to, but she isn't one of them. Not like she used to be in ops.
God,
must everything come back to ops?
She
realizes she is tapping her finger on the rail and takes a deep breath.
Bored. There. She'll admit it. She's just a little bit bored. The pace on Excelsior is taking some getting used to.
But that's normal. She'll get used
to it. She'll get used to just being part of the crew, not the one running
it. Won't she?
"May
I join you?"
She whirls, mentally counting how many glasses of wine she's had and coming up
with not enough to make her hallucinate Spock's voice. He isn't aboard, is he?
He
is. He's standing right in front of
her, a look she can't read on his face, but that's nothing new. She's never been able to read him.
"What
do you want?" The question
comes out almost panicked, and she backs against the railing. "Why are you here?"
"The
Excelsior was heading in the right
direction." He is holding a
glass of what she supposes is water, and he sips it as if buying time.
"Oh. Do you hitch a ride often?" Because Jan would have mentioned that,
wouldn't she?
"From
time to time."
"Oh. Well. Okay." Like he needs her permission to be
onboard. "What do you
want?"
"Simply
to talk to you."
"Why?" There is a flatness to her voice that
she can't help. What the hell is he
doing?
His
expression changes, grows stiff, and she thinks he is about to turn around and
leave her in peace, but he says, "Why are you being so unpleasant? There was a time you would have welcomed
my company."
"I
think we've established that time is over." She moves closer. "Whatever Jim asked you to do, that
time to help is past. Don't you get
it? Move on. I sure as hell have."
He
looks around. "I see no one up
here but you."
"Get
over yourself."
"Ambassador." Jan's voice is warm, but the look she
throws at Chapel is anything but.
"Join us, why don't you?"
"Commander
Chapel appears to prefer I do not.
I will talk to you later, Commander." He nods to Jan, manages to ignore Chapel
as perfectly as he ever did before, and walks down the stairs, Vulcan dignity
intact.
"Thank
God, Jan. Thought he'd never
leave." She heads for the
table but is brought up short by Jan's hand on her arm. "What?"
"I
could tell you were arguing from down there. He's a VIP. He merits special treatment."
"Good
for him." She shakes off Jan's
arm and sits.
Jan
takes the chair next to her.
"From all of us. You do
not get to treat a Federation ambassador like shit."
"I'm
off duty."
"No
one is really off duty when they are on the ship interacting with crew. I know that because you taught me that
back in the day—or have you forgotten your manners since then?"
"Fine,
fine, I'll try to be nice to him next time he approaches with some creepy
request to join me."
Jan
closes her eyes and shakes her head.
"Shit. You're really
going to make me do this, Chapel?
That was a goddamn order, not a request. You will be polite to Spock. Or, if you can't be, you will limit your
interactions to places where other crew can't see. Got it?"
Chapel
feels the burn of a blush, the sick feeling in her stomach she used to get when
Roger dressed her down in front of her peers. "Way to throw your weight
around."
"I
haven't. I've been careful because
I know you're used to being the boss.
But this is important. I
have no idea why you're so mad at Spock—maybe it's all those years of
rejection. Maybe it's losing
ops. I don't know and I don't
care. Be polite. Is that too much to ask?"
Chapel
shakes her head and takes a long drink of her wine.
"Christine. It was hard for me, too, when I first
got here. The pace was so different
than ops and we donÕt party the same way here. I know you feel...isolated. Ops was one big happy family because we
had to be. It was too crazy not to
be. This ship is huge, but you'll
find where you fit. I happen
to know your department head is thrilled to have you."
"Could
have fooled me."
"She
doesn't gush. Get over
it." Jan laughs. "Remember when you told me that
about Cartwright."
Chapel
nods and laughs softly, feeling anger and embarrassment fade in the face of
Jan's gentleness. "You were so
afraid of him."
"Well,
yeah. But I got over it and I fit
in, and you will too." Jan
looks past Chapel and smiles.
"Our valiant captain must have finally tired of
mingling." She pats the chair
next to her. "Take a load off,
sir."
He
sits with a happy sounding groan.
"So, what are we talking about?"
Chapel
looks at Jan and gives her the most apologetic smile she can. "Adjusting."
"Are
you having a hard time?" He
looks sincerely surprised, and Chapel realizes Jan hasn't talked to him about
her.
She
feels a rush of love at her friend's loyalty . "Little bit, yeah. But...I'll get used to it." She holds up her glass. "To saner paces and fine
ships."
He
grins; he's like Jim that way, never tires of hearing how lovely his duranium
lady is. "I'll drink to
that."
##
Spock
is working in his quarters when the chime goes off. "Come."
He
expects one of his aides, or possibly Sulu. He does not expect Christine.
"Soooo, here you are, back on our ship."
"Do
I need your permission to be on the ship, Commander?" His tone is sharper than it should be,
but he is finding she brings out his frustration nearly as effortlessly as
Sarek ever has.
"Yeah,
about that." She sits without
asking and meets his eyes, and he realizes the anger he saw last time during
their unpleasant encounter in the lounge is gone. "I'm really sorry. I was out of line."
She
is blushing, so he thinks she means it.
He is not sure, however, what to do with the apology. "All right," he finally says,
then goes back to his terminal.
"And
I deserve that. I really, really do."
She gets up and he lets her get to the door before he asks, "Was
there something more you wished to talk about?"
She
stops and turns. "I ummm.
I..."
He
waits, deliberately does nothing to make this easier on her.
"I'm
sorry."
"You
said that."
"No,
I'm sorry for other things. For not
saying thank you when you tried to help me. I know you were just doing it because of
Jim, but it was kind of you and I was not gracious." She is looking at the floor as she
talks, but finally looks up when he
does not respond.
"You
were right. I would not have even
known you needed help but for Jim."
"I
know. But still. I could have been nicer." She moves tentatively toward him. "Can I sit for a sec?"
He
motions to the chair.
"You're
in charge of your own fate."
She meets his eyes.
He
is unsure where she is going with such a strange statement so he waits.
"I
used to be. Once I got off the
ship, I mean. As a doctor at
Starfleet Medical. And then in ops, for years—Cartwright gave me a lot of
leeway. Some might say I got away
with murder." She laughs, and
the sound that comes out seems nervous.
"A lot of people thought I was with him romantically, but it was
never that."
He
is still not sure where she is going, so he says nothing but tries to keep his
expression open.
"It
was really hard to come here, Spock. To just be...one of the crew. I mattered in ops. I knew the brass and
they said hello to me in the halls.
I was at their parties with Jim or on my own." She looks down. "Now...now I find I'm jealous of
the department heads."
"Jealous?"
"I
spent so much time being ambitious, Spock.
I didn't pursue more with Jim because ops was everything. And for what?" Her eyes are tearing, and she dashes her
hands across them as if she has no time for tears. "It's been an adjustment. So many things I've had to let go
of. Goals and dreams
and..." She shrugs. "I guess what I'm trying to say is
I wasn't mad at you the last time you were onboard. I was mad at the world—and at
myself."
"But
you chose to come here."
"I
know. And for a while it was
wonderful just to be safe again.
But then that wore off, and I was back where I started. Having to get used to a new steady
state. And not doing a very good
job of it." She shakes her
head. "I know you won't
understand. I just need to tell
you—to tell someone."
He
thinks she is about to get up and leave, so he murmurs, "I walked out of a
negotiation."
She laughs softly, her look confused.
"After
Jim died. I walked out. I did not
care." He thinks of the carpet
he finally had ripped out, the hard wood that now covers his floor. It is a shade Valeris hated. "Valeris hurt me in a deeply
personal way and I have been angry about that. To some extent, I do understand what you
are saying."
"Then,
we're okay?" Her smile is shy
and sweet, and for a moment he is reminded of the nurse who loved him seemingly
without reservation. "Not that
there was much of a 'we' before.
But, I mean, now, we're okay now.
Right?"
"We
are fine, Christine."
"Good. Good. Jan will be relieved." She blushes again and stands. "Okay, I'm going to let you get
back to work." She is up and
out before he can say anything.
He
stares at the door for a long moment before turning back to the terminal.
##
Chapel
weaves down the corridor, trying to get to her room and find her damned antitox. She is
halfway there, when she hears, "Commander?"
She
turns. Spock stands before her, so
she blinks rapidly in succession, trying to make the hallucination go away.
It
doesn't. "Are you really
here?" Again?
"I
am." He walks with her toward
her quarters. "You have, I
take it, been drinking."
"Yes,
and I left my antitox in my quarters. I'd be run out of ops for
that." She starts to giggle
and tries to bite the sound back, which only makes it worse. "Oh, wait, they already did
that."
She
palms her door open and looks at Spock.
"Did you want to come in?"
"Yes."
"I'm
not sleeping with you."
Although if she can't find those damned pills, she might.
"I
still would like to come in."
"Suit
yourself." She smiles as
prettily as she can to take any sting out of the response. "Just hang on one sec while I
find—" Her stash is
empty. God damn it. She has some others; she saw them when
she unpacked. Where did she put
them? "Well, until I remember
where I put the rest of my pills, you'll have to deal with moderately intoxicated
Christine."
"Jim
used to say that truths lay at the bottom of a bottle."
"Yes. And so do bed spins and if you're really
cursed, vomiting and dry heaves."
"I
will never understand the human propensity for consuming items that cause so
many unpleasant side effects."
"The
high is wonderful. It's like
suddenly not caring about anything while also being open to the world."
"I
will take your word for that."
He sits on her bed, and since the bed is closer to her than her desk,
she flops down next to him.
Moderate might have been too mild a word for how drunk she is.
She
expects him to move when she stretches out on the bed, resting her head on her
arm, but he doesn't. His expression
seems gentle, so she asks, "Did you love Valeris?"
"I
did."
"And
she loved you." As he starts
to protest, she waves him off.
"I saw her with you. A
woman—even a Vulcan female—gets a certain look. She loved you."
"It
did not stop her from betraying me."
"But
from what I heard, she thought you would join her, that she could convince
you."
"That
is true." Spock shifts and
ends up closer to her. He smells
good, the scent of his incense wafting up from the robe he has on. "I will never know how much she did
or did not care. I was her target
and she was set on me because she was the type of woman I would resonate
with."
"She
was pretty. Sort of severe. Would she be a great beauty on
Vulcan?"
"No." He seems very far away.
"IÕm
sorry. This is none of my
business."
"That
may be, but it is a relief to finally talk about this. My mother never cared
for her and Sarek..."
"Sarek
doesn't approve of what you do, anyway, so this will only confirm what he
thinks?" At his look of
surprise, she laughs. "Hey, I
fully understand the screwed-up dynamics families can create."
She
reaches out and touches his leg, then pulls her hand back quickly. "We've never been this close. Not without some outside force acting on
us."
"That
is true." He leans back and
closes his eyes long enough that she wonders if he's fallen asleep, but then he
asks very softly, "Did you love Jim?"
"I
did. He was special. He made me feel good." She pretends to be entranced by the
pattern on the coverlet.
"But...?"
She
rolls to her back so she can study him better. "You're getting better at the whole
emotional ambiguity thing."
His eyebrows tell her he doesn't plan to argue and he wants an answer.
"But
I never let him in all the way.
Part of it was that we both had careers we loved. But part of it was you." She sighs. "But at the end, we were going to
try. We might have been
happy."
"I
think you would have. It was clear
he cared for you greatly."
He reaches out and tips her chin up so she has to look at him. "You seem at peace. And not just from the intoxicant you
have consumed."
"I
think maybe I finally am at peace.
I was mingling like a champ tonight. Talking to department heads."
He
nods, clearly understanding.
"Wait,
I know where they are." She slides
over his lap to open the lower of the two drawers in the nightstand. Seeing the antitox,
she snags a couple. "Eureka."
He
does not seem perturbed that she is flopped over him, and at one point, she
thinks she feels his hand on her hair. Surprised, she stays in that position
for a moment to see if he'll do it again.
He doesn't; what he does do is get up and say, "I have an early call
tomorrow to catch the shuttle to Rudin IV."
"Of
course." She can feel her head
clearing. "Did you really come
in here to shoot the shit?"
"That is not how I would phrase it, but yes. We have never talked."
"No,
we haven't." for a moment their eyes meet and she forgets how to
breathe—and then reminds herself forcefully that he is not, not, not
interested. "Good night, Spock. Have a good mission."
"Thank you." And then he
is gone, but the incense smell lingers as she gets ready for bed. She tries and fails to ignore the urge
to cuddle into the covers where he was sitting, where his scent still remains.
His
visit meant nothing. She needs to
be clear on that. He doesn't like
her—or if he does, his overtures aren't romantically motivated. It would be wonderful, though if he
turns into a friend: she's a firm believer that you can never have too many of
those.
##
Spock
wakes to weapons trails streaking through the sky. His midsection aches and as
he tries to push himself up, his left arm jolts with sudden pain. He stops
trying to rise and assesses the damage by moving his arm to see how badly he is
compromised.
"It's
broken. So are your ribs. Stop moving around," Christine says from behind
him, and she does not sound panicked, which assures him in a way nothing else
would. He knows she has worked emergencies; he has faith in her medical
expertise. He sits back and lets her work on the others while he tries to
figure out what went wrong on this mission.
What
hasn't gone wrong on this mission? Some missions are doomed before they start. Something
he has come to accept despite his often ridiculous belief in people's ability
to rise above their petty concerns for the good of the whole. But why did he have to include her on
this mission? It was not his
intention to put her in harm's way.
He
turns to watch her, and asks, "Situation?" when she appears to have
completed looking over the other members of the mission.
"You're
the worst off, amazingly." Her voice is pitched low, only for him. "But
then you did insist on standing up and delivering a pompous motivational speech
about why leaving was better than staying and beating the shit out of the
planetary administrator."
That
was her suggestion. She was tactful enough to only broach it to him in private.
And he knows, had she been in charge of the mission, as she would have if this
were an ops mission, she would never have suggested it at all.
She
pushes him down, scanning his abdomen with a frown. "I've called the ship.
They'll be within beaming range in five minutes."
"And
the rebels?"
"Lazarro says they're fifteen minutes behind us, probably. If
we're lucky—do all your missions go this badly?" Christine smiles,
an expression he thinks is supposed to reassure him in some way, but he is more
concerned with the blood trickling down the far side of her face.
"You
are hurt."
"It's
fine."
"There
is great deal of blood." A disconcerting amount, in fact. The collar of
her uniform is soaked.
"Head
wounds bleed a lot. It doesn't mean anything other than I got hurt."
He
reaches for her hand, and she gives a small gasp as he clenches her fingers.
"What
the hell are you doing, Spock?"
"Ascertaining
the veracity of your self-assessment."
She
laughs, and he feels the brief slap of her amusement and also a resounding
headache that she is somehow ignoring as she works. But he senses no worry for
herself. She believes her head wound is not serious, so he must believe it,
too.
He
lets go of her.
"Am
I cleared to continue, sir?" She rolls her eyes at him as she works
without waiting for his permission.
"I
beg pardon for the intrusion."
"You
know, maybe your need to rely on 'reading' someone is part of your problem in
seeing what's right in front of you?"
He
closes his eyes, waiting for the surge of anger he has come to associate with
any mention of Valeris, but it is missing. "Elaborate."
"How
do you know I'm not well versed in hiding the truth? I've worked on planets filled
with telepaths and still done my job. Maybe I've been trained to
shield—or to actually misdirect."
"Have
you?"
Her
smile is one he's never seen on her. Full of satisfaction and amusement but at
his expense. T'Pring occasionally looked as Christine does now.
And
she does not answer even though he waits.
"Have
you?"
She
finally shows mercy; her expression changes to something more like what he
remembers. Tenderness and compassion. "No, I haven't. Well, not to
misdirect psychically. But to shield, yeah." She finishes working on him. "I
just find it ironic that you are the master of logic, and yet your sure-fire
way to get to the bottom of a situation like this is to sense it rather than
consider it."
"You
may be right. But I am half human. It taints my actions whether I like it or
not." He raises his eyebrow the way he used to with McCoy. What Jim deemed
his "gotcha" expression.
She
grins but there is something off, and she hits her communicator. "Chapel
to Excelsior. Now would be better
than later."
Spock
realizes his abdomen is beginning to hurt far worse than it did, and he looks
at her in surprise. "How bad is it?"
"It's
bad. You're bleeding internally."
And
she hid that. When he touched her. He'd been so intent on her state that he
missed the clues to his own. And then she'd furthered the misdirection through
her conversation.
Fascinating.
And disconcerting how easily he'd been manipulated. Revelatory in some ways.
"Excelsior to landing party. Ready to
beam up. Medical standing by."
"You'll
be fine, Spock." For a moment, there is something in her eyes that he
reads as devotion and worry and every other emotion he rejected from her in the
past. The irony is that he is not sure any of those things are there, or if he
just wants them to be.
##
Chapel
sits with Jan in the mess, eating a rushed breakfast.
"So,
how are things going with Spock?" Jan's expression is the fake neutral one
that verges on cracking up, so Chapel just rolls her eyes and keeps eating.
"Christine,
he could have had any science officer on that mission."
"I
know."
"Good
thing you were there. Your medical expertise and all."
"I'm
sure that's why he asked for me." She tucks into her eggs, not meeting
Jan's eyes.
"Riiiiiiiiight." Jan is laughing now.
"Quit
it. I didn't even visit him in sickbay. He beamed off without saying goodbye. In
other words, status quo. And I'm good with that." She meets Jan's eyes
finally. "I don't want to go back to that place where I'm pursuing him
like he's the gazelle and I'm the hungry lion." Even if she was so worried
about him she wanted to hover in sickbay like she used to. It took a herculean
amount of willpower to stay away from him.
"What
if he's pursuing you?"
She
almost sputters her coffee. "Riiiiiiight,"
she says, giving Jan a taste of her own medicine.
"I'm
just saying that maybe you'll be seeing him again sooner than you think."
"And
maybe pigs will fly." Just as Len likes to say—his homespun wisdom
has rubbed off on her after all these years.
Len
is wise, and Chapel will embrace his philosophy, which is easy to do until she
walks out of the mess and toward the lab only to meet Spock coming out of the
transporter room with his satchel slung over his shoulder. He visibly brightens
upon seeing her.
She
laughs, not even trying to hide how happy she is to see him. "You know, there are easier ways to
get where you're going than always riding Excelsior
Spaceways."
"You
do not know where I'm going."
She
grins at that thought: ignorance, after so many years knowing everything, is
turning out to be pretty damn blissful. "You're not wrong about that,
sir."
"Sir?
I cannot remember the last time you called me that."
She
laughs and then stops as he continues past a fork in the corridor to walk with
her. "Guest quarters are thataway, Spock."
"I
know. I am well acquainted with the layout of this ship." He takes a deep
breath, and she almost laughs at his intense look of concentration as he says,
"I was...hoping—"
"That's
kind of an emotion, isn't it?"
"Anticipating."
"That's
calculated."
His
lips actually tick up. "You have a preferred term?"
"No,
please continue. What were you hoping for?"
"Dinner.
Tonight. You and I."
She
has to give him points for keeping it simple after her interruptions. "Why?"
"Why
not?" He looks extremely proud of himself. And he should be: it's a James
T. Kirk worthy response.
But
Spock isn't Jim, and there is a lot of weird history between them. "I'll
need more than that."
His
eyes are extraordinarily gentle as he says, "I find that I regret certain
decisions I have made in the past."
"Like
sleeping with a traitor?"
He
closes his eyes and nods, but there is more resignation than anger or hurt in
his expression. "Yes. That. I
was, however, referring to choices not made."
"Jim?"
He
actually sighs—the most frustrated sound she's ever heard him make.
"Ny?"
His
jaw tightens.
"Oh.
Me. It is me, right?"
"It
is." He gives her a look far sterner than she thinks he actually feels.
"I'll
think about it." She laughs softly as she walks away, then turns and walks
backwards so she can see if he's watching her or if he headed off to guest
quarters.
He's
still in the corridor, watching her intently.
She
stops walking. "Okay."
"You
are saying yes to dinner? Not to something else?"
"I
am saying yes to dinner. Don't faint." She turns on her heel and leaves
him, dying to look back again, but knowing it's better to leave him hanging.
She
should not be enjoying this so much, should she?
She
thinks of Jim and feels a pang of guilt. But he's gone. He's gone and he always
knew how she feels about Spock. Even though she doesn't want to. Even though
she isn't sure they're really compatible.
But
the fire she feels inside when she's around Spock can't be denied. Jim would
understand.
He'd
want her to be happy. And if he weren't around to make her happy, he'd want her
with someone who could. He cared too much about connections, about having
people in your life that you love, for her not to know that she's right.
##
Spock
watches Christine as she twirls a strand of hair around her finger as they talk
in the lounge. Dinner passed pleasantly and she agreed to accompany him here,
not seeming to realize he is attempting to replace the memory of their first
encounter in this room with something more to his liking.
But
why would she realize it? It is an extremely emotional thing to do, and she
clearly has no idea how much he feels—in general or about her.
She
laughs and says, "Why are you staring at me like that?"
"Because
I can." He wonders if she understands just how much he is saying.
She
seems to, for she blushes and looks down. "You always could have,
Spock."
"I
was not... It was not our time."
"And
now it is?" Her expression grows less pleasant. "And you of course
get to decide that."
He
feels a retort rising, something cutting and sharp, but she is right, so he
pushes it down. "Then you decide. Is it our time?"
She
seems off balance, as if his asking her that was entirely unexpected.
"Christine,
I want more. Do you?"
"I
always have. That's not the point."
"Then
what is the point?" He can see it in her eyes, though. The doubt. "I
am not here with you because Jim asked me to salvage your career. You did that
on your own. I am here because here is where I wish to be. As you noted, there
are many ships I could find transport on, and yet this is the one I arrange my
schedule to be available for."
"You
arrange your schedule for me?"
"I
rearrange it for you, even."
She
laughs, and he is struck by how lovely she is. How lovely she always has been,
but he did not want to reach out.
"I
like that," she murmurs as she takes a sip of her wine.
"I
thought that you might." He reaches for her hand and touches it for just a
moment. "We have never really spoken about Jim. About you and Jim. Do we
need to?"
"I
loved him. Not as much as I love you, but I did love him. Is there more to talk
about than that?"
"I
do not believe there is." He takes a breath, though, knowing there is
more, knowing he should say this even if it is uncomfortable: "I
was...jealous."
"Of
me getting him? Or of him getting me?"
He
can feel his lip tick up and does not try to stop it. "Possibly
both."
"At
least you're honest."
"Honesty
has been in short supply. Valeris lied to me about so much." He waits for the pain and anger to flood
in but it doesn't. Perhaps,
finally, he can let Valeris go?
"She
lied to everybody, Spock. So did Cartwright. They were traitors, and it's sort
of a given that they'd use and hurt us."
"Indeed."
"You
loved her, though." There is something forlorn in her voice and he wishes
that he could tell her that he did not love Valeris, but he can't.
He
can hedge the answer, though. "She made herself easy to care for. So much
of our interaction was...an act." So much on her side; he never hid
himself from her.
"Nice
deflection," she says, with a knowing look.
He
thinks the nurse he knew first would have accepted the answer happily, but this
Christine is used to looking through easy answers, to the root causes, to the
foundation.
"She
was Vulcan, Christine. I wanted to
love her."
And
finally he has said something that pleases her, for her eyes go soft and her
smile is gentle. "And I'm human, so you never wanted to love me?"
"Precisely."
"You're
stupid." She says it with a grin, the look daring him to argue.
"Undoubtedly
accurate."
"Wow.
You're also mellow tonight."
"It
is the company."
She
makes a face he can't read. "Not sure that's a compliment. You could be
saying I put you to sleep. 'Soothing' isn't the adjective most women want to
hear from the guy they like."
"Nevertheless,
I meant it in a positive way." He pushes his water to the middle of the
table. "I can think of other scenarios where your presence would not be
soothing, but provocative."
"Do
those scenarios take place in your quarters?" She is laughing, but he
thinks she is surprised where he has taken the conversation.
He
is a little surprised himself. But
if Jim's death has taught him anything, it is to seize the moments when they
arise. "They do take place
there. Do you object to that idea?"
"Hmmmm." She looks down and then back up, meeting his
eyes, hers so sensual he actually makes a small moan of desire. "I don't
object, Spock." She slips off the chair, murmuring, "Shall we?"
He
follows her out of the lounge and to the lift, letting the door close and
debating the wisdom of telling the lift to hold, but then he hears her say,
"Hold lift," and she is in his arms.
Her
lips are soft and her skin soft and cool as she rubs against him in a way
Valeris never would have.
He
moans again, and marvels that she can make him do that.
"Resume,"
she says with a laugh verging on cruel, and a wink that reminds him of Jim's—right
when he was going to call checkmate.
"You
are enjoying this?"
"Isn't
that the point?" She slips her hand into his, until the lift stops and she
eases away, although she is kind enough to position herself so the crewman who
gets on cannot see the visible evidence of Spock's desire.
Once
the crewman gets off she begins to laugh and Spock tells the lift to hold and
pushes her into the corner, holding her in place with his body as he kisses her
urgently. Until she moans and seems almost incapable of standing.
Then
he steps away and says, "Resume," knowing his expression is one of
satisfied retribution.
She
looks delighted. "You surprise me."
"And
you me."
"That's
not a bad thing."
"I
quite agree."
There
is no one on their deck, so when she reaches out for his hand, he lets her take
it, squeezing firmly as he follows her to his quarters.
He
has her shirt off before the door is fully closed, her shoes and pants and then
underwear following quickly. As he pushes her to the bed, she laughs and says,
"I appear to be naked. You appear to not be."
"Your
perception of the obvious is well honed."
He
thinks she has a retort ready, but it is swallowed by a moan as he kisses down
her body, not stopping until...there.
He
can read everything from touching her. Where to touch her and how hard. He
senses she is holding back and tells her, "Make noise. As much as you
want. I enjoy the sound of your pleasure."
And
she stops holding back, writhing under him in a way Valeris never did, her
hands reaching, pulling his hair, her skin flushing rose. His name sounds sweet as she calls it
over and over again.
He
has ample time, through the course of the night, to judge the different ways
his name sounds depending on the position they decide to try.
It
is a lovely sound no matter how she says it, one he thinks he will never tire
of.
##
Chapel
wakes to the feeling of lips on her shoulder, then Spock's voice, gravelly she
thinks from the number of times she made him cry out during the night, saying,
"It is time to wake up."
She
shifts so she can see him, running her hand down his cheek and smiling when he
closes his eyes. "Good
morning." With a glance at the
chrono, she laughs and whaps him softly on the arm,
"Lying sack of shit."
He
does not appear perturbed by the ops insult. "Did I read the time wrong?"
"Right,
because you're so prone to doing that.
We have at least an hour, as you well know."
His
expression changes, becomes more tender as he asks, "Would you rather
sleep? I did not let you rest last
night."
She
wishes she could go back in time and tell her younger self that someday she
would get him, and he would be sweet and warm, and he would look at her like
this.
Instead
she pushes him to his back and murmurs, "Sleep is for pussies."
An
eyebrow is her only answer, especially since she is lowering herself onto him,
watching him close his eyes and clutch her sides tightly. "I could do this forever."
"Eventually
we would need sustenance of some less carnal type." He pulls her down, his kisses easy now,
as if they have spent a lifetime and not just a night making love.
"Also
showers." She laughs at his
expression, happy that he can be silly with her, albeit in a Vulcan way. She wants to tell him she loves him, but
it's early and they have time.
She's not sure she would have thought so before and probably would have
blurted it out. But she's slowed
down in ways other than just leaving the ops tempo behind, and as he rearranges
her so she's under him, so he can thrust, she closes her eyes and just feels.
"Are
you all right?" he asks as he finishes and eases off her, then pulls her
in close to cuddle.
"I
am." She wriggles against him
and groans when he rubs her back the way she likes. "You?"
"I
am." He kisses her
forehead. "I was not sure I
would feel this equanimity again."
"I
know. Me neither." She kisses his ear and then takes it in
her teeth after whispering, "Also, equanimity is not a word that makes a
girl feel special."
She
hears a puff of air and realizes he has laughed. Letting go of his ear, she kisses her
way to his mouth.
When
he finally lets her up, he murmurs so softly she can barely hear it,
"Happy, then."
Happy. She'll take it.
FIN