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) 2015 by Djinn. This story
is Rated R.
Beyond Their Ken
by
Djinn
The
sun gleamed, turning the still water into a reflecting pool—beautiful but too
bright. Chapel reached for her sunshades, trying not to move her pounding head
as she did it.
"Doctor,
I come bearing antitox." Scotty sat down beside her on the sand, his eyes
bloodshot.
She
dug a pill out of his hand and slipped it under her tongue. "How much did
we have to drink?"
"I
counted four bottles on the table."
"How
many of us were at the table?"
"Well,
it was variable. Average: about six."
She
leaned her head back and groaned. "What the hell were we thinking?"
"I
don't believe we were thinking, Christine. That was probably the point." He
slipped the other pill into his mouth and lay back in the sand. "And we're
both lovesick fools."
She
whapped him on the side of his thigh. "Speak for yourself."
"Oh,
lass, you went on and on about Spock. Just like during the first mission. I
grew sick of it, to be honest."
"And
you? You'd think Lieutenant Powlin shit roses out of
her ass the way you talk about her."
He
laughed, just like he always did when she called him on his crap.
"For
what it's worth," he said, turning to look at her, "Spock's a fool."
"That's
what I tell myself when I need a pep talk." She could feel the antitox
working. "And your Lorraine? What was the problem? I don't remember?"
"She's
leaving. Like Carolyn and Mira and..." He laughed, a self-deprecating
sound. "I'm very easy to leave."
"Mmm, you and me both, friend." Not precisely true. Most
of her men parted company by mutual agreement. She didn't go into her arrangements
looking for love—or anything long term. She sighed and shifted in her chair to
get more comfortable. Scotty was unaware of her extracurricular activities,
which amused her the same way hiding her relationship with Roger used to, so
she asked, "Is it us? Are we...annoying?"
"I
think we must be. I mean I don't know about you—you're not exactly spilling
secrets about any other men you might have set your cap on—but I've had dismal
luck at this whole romance thing."
She
patted his leg. "She'll come along someday, Scotty."
"Aye,
that's what my mother says. It's no more comforting coming from you."
She
laughed and murmured, "Sorry," as she surrendered to the antitox, to
the lovely feeling of not being hung over, and to the glorious sunshine.
##
Chapel
could feel Spock's eyes on her and turned around to figure out where he was in
the rec lounge, spotting him playing chess with Kirk. She took her drink and
moved around the lounge, aiming to get somewhere that wouldn't be such a
straight shot for Spock to see her. She did it slowly, not wanting to look
obvious.
By
the time she looked back at him, he was ostensibly deep in the game. Then he
leaned back, stretching his neck as if he had a crick, and seemed to be
scanning the room where she was until their eyes met.
She
could feel one side of her mouth going up. It was not her nicest smile, but she
was finding Spock didn't bring out the best in her.
She
hadn't expected this to happen again. Not after Gol, when he went to purge
every bit of emotion from his human side—and his Vulcan one. His leaving had
been a slap, even if Kirk had probably been more hurt. He was Spock's friend
after all. She'd never been that.
But
she was something. Ever since they'd shared consciousness, things had changed. Oh,
at first, she'd been in a bit of a funk knowing that he didn't love her and
didn't want to love her. But then she'd realized that underneath the rejection
was something else.
Lust.
Pure, raw, unadulterated lust. It seemed linked somehow with the time in his
quarters, just before he'd beamed down to Vulcan to his...wife.
It
had occurred to her that it was probably the Vulcan half of him that wanted
her, while the human part was the one holding her at arm's length—well, more
like half a corridor's length. But it was ironic. She'd always thought his
Vulcan side would be the one that would prove difficult.
She'd
given up once he went to Gol, applied herself to medical school, found
temporary fun with some very accommodating partners, then dedicated herself to landing
the CMO slot with Decker on the Enterprise.
But
then V'ger had come, and Kirk had returned, and Len had taken her job. And
Spock had come back.
Empty,
he was so empty at first. But then...slowly, the signs began to show.
He
still wanted her, and he still didn't want to be with her.
So
far, she hadn't been able to crack the shell of disinterest that lay over the
lust, but these interactions—him watching her, her knowing he was—were
increasing in frequency.
"Ah,
lass, give it a rest, will ya?" Scotty came up
and eased her toward a corner that afforded them some privacy. "I think we
need a pact of some sort."
She
shook off his arm. "I'll do what I want. I'm not with you. And even if I
was, I'd still do what I want."
"I
didn't say you were with me. I said we needed a pact—an agreement: not to make
utter asses of ourselves. But if you're bound and determined to do that, don't
let me get in your way." He raised his drink to her and walked off, and
she thought he was trying not to stomp.
"What
did you do now?" Uhura asked as she came up, her expression the one that
said she was well ahead of Chapel in
alcohol consumption. "Let's find a seat where you can stare at Spock and I
can stare at the captain."
Chapel
laughed. "Officer thinking, Ny."
"I
see Scotty with you a lot. I think he likes you."
"Yes,
as a pal, a bud, a...fellow loser in love."
"You
only lose because all you want is Spock. There are a lot of guys who would love
to spend time with you." Ny's face changed, the way it did when she tried
to do advanced calculations while inebriated. "Not that you're ever lonely
for long. This voyage or last. Guys like you. A lot of guys like you. A lot, a
lot."
Ah,
the ever-scientific damnation of "a lot, a lot." Chapel shook her
head and laughed softly. "Not that many." And certainly not until she'd
lost Roger. She might like to have fun, but she was fully capable of being
faithful when it counted. But if there was no overarching reason for fidelity,
and the men were game and looking for the same, temporary thing, what harm was
there in it? She glanced at Ny, who appeared to be still deep in thought. "Did
you hear what I said, Ny? Not that many."
"I
need to go to my toes to count them."
Chapel
decided not to mention those were only the ones that Ny knew about. "Our
beloved captain is just as free with his affections. I don't see you
complaining about that."
"Yes,
I do. I complain all the time. Just silently, in my head." She took a deep
breath. "But that's because I
want him. You're discreet, Christine. I'm not judging. And I'm sure people who
aren't your closest confidant don't know how busy you are. Plus
you pick really good guys who never badmouth you. Why do none of them work out for
you?"
"I'm
not really looking for love, I guess?" She'd never told Ny or Jan about
her realization of Spock's lust for her. She'd kept it her secret, like she
kept other things that way. They thought she was open and told them everything,
but as had always been the case in her life, her friends really didn't know her
all that well.
One
man did. The human part of him seemed to be repelled. The Vulcan part,
however...
"I
don't know, Ny. The guys I've been with weren't looking for anything serious
either. Why would they badmouth me? Certainly your
argument is a good reason not to take up with Scotty. He's not known for being
able to stay in the friends-with-options zone."
Ny
laughed. "No, no he's not. Do you think he'd be good?"
"I
don't know." It was a question Chapel had often pondered. Scotty had an
amazing amount of focus, which often translated well into giving pleasure. He
had a sharp wit and a sense of humor she resonated with. On the other hand, there
was a streak of misogyny that surfaced at the weirdest times, and who knew if
bed would be one of those instances. Better to just be the pal he whined to
about his lack of love than the cause of his angst.
Ny
leaned back in the couch, her shoulder against Chapel's. "The captain
looks good, doesn't he?"
"He
generally does." She might prefer his best friend, but she wasn't blind. And
he'd been kind to her, ever since she'd talked him into letting her aboard to
look for Roger. He had a sweet center that she might not have minded exploring
if her two best friends didn't have such raging crushes on him—Jan so much so
that she'd transferred off rather than live through not having him again.
"Spock
looks good, too," Ny said, as if trying to give her something.
"He
generally does, as well." Chapel laughed. "How much have you had to
drink?"
"Not
sure. Was just in the mood tonight, you know?"
"I
do." She held her glass up and was happy to see Ny didn't have any trouble
clinking hers against it. There was happily drunk and stupidly drunk, and Ny
didn't drink often enough to know the difference at times. But that's why
Chapel usually had antitox with her when a lounge night was in order. She'd
make Ny take one in an hour or so: friends didn't let friends make fools of
themselves when they could prevent it.
##
Chapel
hurried into the mess, intent on finally getting some lunch. It had been an
unusually busy day in sickbay and she was starving.
The
mess was packed. Either everyone was lingering or lots of sections got a late
start on lunch. She looked for an empty table but there weren't any. She'd
usually just grab and go, but if she went back to sickbay, she'd end up leaving
her lunch to help Len or the nurses. She wanted to eat her entire lunch in one
sitting.
"Christine."
Scotty motioned her to a table near the door. "You look like you could use
a place to rest your weary feet."
"You're
right. Am I welcome? You still mad at me?"
"I
wasn't mad at you. I was just tired of trying to rescue you."
She
sat and began to eat, too hungry to argue for a moment. Then she put her fork
down and said, "I don't recall asking to be rescued."
Was
that Scotty's problem? He thought women needed him to rescue them? From what? Him,
possibly, judging by how quickly and permanently his lady loves took off.
"I've
been your ear for years now, Christine. From the time of that bloody virus to Spock
coming back from Gol. I've heard about every woman he's been interested in. Like
when he and Doctor McCoy were marooned in Sarpeidon's
past with that woman."
Zarabeth. Who also apparently shit flowers,
based on what Len had told her. Chapel rolled her eyes.
"You get me drunk, and I spill my guts. It's not like I tell anyone else
about the women." Well, other than Ny and Jan.
"There's
no one twisting your arm and saying, 'Take a pull from this bottle, lass.' You
do just fine in the drinking department on your own."
"It's
why you like me. It's how we started sharing secrets." Some secrets. Safe
secrets.
"Aye."
He played with his food, then said softly, "Back then, Doctor McCoy told
me some of what went on when he and Spock were in Sarpeidon's
past."
"You
mean the ethereal Zarabeth?"
"Must
have pained you to hear he could love."
She
laughed. "I've always known he could love, Scotty. There've been plenty of
signs of that. Nothing about Zarabeth was a
revelation." And from what Len had told her, Spock had reverted to a
primordial Vulcan. Chapel had wondered what would have happened if she'd been
on the mission, too. Would Zarabeth have looked so
enticing if Chapel had been available for Spock's Vulcan half to finally slake
his lust? It amused her to think of Len getting a go with the woman he couldn't
say enough nice things about. Len had about as much luck as Scotty when it came
to locking down a relationship.
Chapel
frowned. "Why are we talking about this?"
"Because
shore leave is coming up, and I was wondering if you've made plans."
She
studied him. "Are you asking me as a friend?"
He
nodded, but something was off. So she waited and he
finally said, "At least, I think so."
Which
meant "No" in Scotty-speak.
"I
have plans most days." She and Ny were meeting up
with Jan since they'd be back on Earth. And she had other assignations with
several of her special friends—some of the ones Ny didn't know about. "But
if you want to go to dinner, we could. I have some evening's free."
"Don't
strain yourself working me in."
"Scotty,
we'll be home. I have family." Family she never, ever saw, but always a
handy excuse that no one questioned—or wanted to go with her to.
He
looked chastened. "Of course. I'm sorry. Not sure what's wrong with me."
He had the look he often got when someone had ticked him off in his crew—and when
the someone was a woman. This was the side of him Chapel didn't like.
"I
got a comm from Mira. She's getting married. Invited me to the wedding. It's
the last day of shore leave. I was hoping that you'd get dressed to the nines
and make her jealous."
She
smiled—she could understand how that would make him peeved and was relieved
that she'd been wrong about the women engineer issue. "I could do that. Do
I have to hang all over you?" Not that Mira would know it was out of
character. Chapel and she hadn't frequented the same groups—and Scotty tended
to disappear into a relationship. So Chapel had lost
her role as his drinking pal during his time with Mira or any of his ladies of
the moment.
"It
would be appreciated if you would. My ego took a beating with that one."
"Fine,
but I'm not dressing cheap for you."
"Of
course not. You'd more than do the way you look right now."
She
laughed. "In a uniform? In these god-awful new uniforms?" At least
the miniskirt had showed off her best assets. The new pajamas masquerading as
uniforms that Starfleet had made standard issue were unforgiving and clung in
the worst places. "I can do better than that."
His
eyes were dancing, the way they usually did when they were drinking. This was
the Scotty Chapel liked. "Thank you, Christine."
"You
owe me."
"I'll
happily pay off my debt any way you like." He was flirting, but it was low
intensity and the mischievous gleam was still in his eyes. She decided she
liked it, too.
##
Chapel
pulled on the blue and white dress she'd brought for the wedding, leaving her
hair down and wavy, and her make-up subtle but perfectly enhancing her eyes,
making them more cat like than they normally were.
"You
look terrific. Are you sure you have to go?"
She
laughed and turned. Meeting Mark at the hotel hadn't been in her plans, but he'd
been a friend she'd blown off stress with during med school, and he'd been only
too happy to resume their relationship. "Yes, I have to go. Promised a
friend."
"A
friend doesn't merit such a knock-out." He tried to hug her and she held
him back.
"You
have not even showered. I am not going to be someone's plus one smelling of
sated CMO."
That
stung a bit. That Mark was a CMO when she wasn't. She hadn't been shy about
announcing her posting when she'd got it. She'd worked damned hard to secure
such a plum assignment so why be shy? Not that people hadn't talked. Just out
of med school and getting the flagship: clearly close to the captain, closer
than his other officers possibly?
She
studied herself in the mirror, the slight smirk, the defiance in her eyes that
told her she still didn't care what people thought. Then she turned back to
Mark. "This was fun."
"Yes it was. Can we meet up again?"
"I
don't know. Is your ship going to be anywhere close to the Enterprise?" It was snotty to say it that way. She might not
be CMO, but she was still second medical officer on the flagship. He was on a
frigate.
"Ah,
Chris, how I've missed your inner bitch." He moved past her, and grabbed a
towel. "I assume I can shower now?"
"You
can." She moved around him, letting her hand linger on his backside until
he laughed and blew her a kiss in the mirror before getting into the shower. She
didn't want to alienate him; the sex was terrific.
She
enjoyed the view for a moment, watching him through the transparent shower door
until he started doing silly poses for her. "I'll see you around, Mark."
"Yes,
you will."
She
arranged for the hotel to get her luggage back to the ship, then commed Scotty from
the lobby and agreed to meet him at a nearby transporter station. He looked dapper
in a suit, and as they stood and waited in line, she tried to decide if she
liked his mustache. It wasn't normally her thing, but it sort
of suited him.
"Have
I told you that you look beautiful?" he asked, his smile a nervous one.
She
laughed. "Twice now."
"Oh.
Good." He peeked out, as if to see why the line wasn't moving faster.
"Why
are you even going to this? Why did she invite you?"
He
rolled his eyes. "They leave me on such good terms, Christine. I'm the
sweet guy—the 'it's not you, it's me' guy. The guy they give hugs to when we
meet unexpectedly."
"Would
you rather have drama?"
He
closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Some days, yes. The great loves
of our lives—do we really just let them go with a 'no harm, no foul' attitude? I
think it's the relationships that are never going anywhere we leave like that. Because
there's no passion, no..."
"Angst?"
"Or
something. I shouldn't be invited to my ex-girlfriend's wedding."
"No
argument here." She took his hand and squeezed it for a moment. "But
you're a good guy for going. And with a nice present even."
"It
was a gift from a friend."
She
started to laugh. "You're re-gifting Mira's wedding present?"
"Damned
straight, lass."
Was
he wonderfully vindictive or just cheap? She knew the stereotype of the frugal
Scotsman, but he'd never struck her as a miser. Then again, she'd never really
been that fond of Mira so what did she care?
Finally,
they were at the padd, and Scotty gave the tech their destination. They
materialized in a nearly deserted transporter outpost in the Adirondacks and
caught a flitter to the historic lodge Mira and her fiancé had rented out for
the festivities.
Chapel
saw that he was clenching his fists. "You really loved her, didn't you?"
"I
did." He met her eyes, and there was something very bleak in his.
"Do
you love all of them that way?"
"No.
She was special." He smiled sadly at her. "My Spock, I reckon."
"Maybe."
Except his Spock didn't seem obsessed with him the way her Spock did at times
with her. "So how do you want me to play this, Mister Scott? The
haughty—but not to you—intellectual? The woman who can't get enough of sex with
you? The sweet girl next door who has had a crush for years and finally it's
played out."
He
stared to laugh. "All those are in your repertoire?"
She
shrugged. "I'll wing it if it's not a role I'm familiar with."
He
took her hand, held it with both of his, and shook his head. "Just do what
you think best—but don't cause a scene."
"Have
I ever caused a scene?" She started to laugh at his expression. "Barring
that guy who wouldn't get out of our way when we were headed to the bar on
Omicron Delta, have I ever caused a scene?"
"You
have not." His death grip eased. "You gave that poor lad a tongue
lashing."
"I
asked him nicely to move. Three times. What's your favorite saying? Fool me
once, fool me twice...?"
"I'm
not criticizing, Christine." He looked away as the flitter turned into a
long driveway. Up ahead a beautiful mountain lodge was overrun by a sea of dark
suits and pastel dresses.
"So
glad I didn't wear something light."
"You
really are a sight for sore eyes." He laughed. "Or even jaded eyes would
find you stunning."
She
grinned. "There's my Scotty."
"Aye,
let's go knock them dead."
"Well,
not literally."
He
laughed. "The day is young. Who knows what might happen?"
She
grinned and let him help her out of the flitter.
As
it happened, Mira only came over to talk to them once, so Chapel made sure it
was very clear she was "with" Scotty and then they drank and explored
the lodge for the rest of the reception, missing the cake cutting and the bouquet
throwing, but managing to get back in time for the flinging of the birdseed.
"She
made a beautiful bride," Scotty said, his tone more than a little morose
as he called for beam-up to the ship.
"All
women make beautiful brides, my friend." She kissed him on the forehead,
then backed off, waiting for the familiar buzz of the transporter.
She
felt the pang she always did not seeing Jan at the transporter controls. It was
supposed to be Jan and Ny and Chapel. Having fun and taking no prisoners. No
Kirk. No McCoy. No Spock.
"Thank
you for saving me, Christine."
"I
didn't save you. And we were barely at the wedding."
"Mira
saw us. I did the right thing. Staying at the reception wasn't the point."
"Being
a nice guy was?"
He
nodded.
"Nice
guys finish last."
He
laughed softly and nodded. "Story of my life, lass. Story of my life."
##
The
ship had taken too many hits. Chapel fought to stay on her feet as more injured
limped into sickbay.
"I
don't know what the hell Jim is doing up there, but he needs to stop." Len
moved around her, pausing a moment to check her progress with a crewman's
broken arm before moving to the door to help the new arrivals.
She
took a deep breath, trying not to feel the panic that always came in these
situations. Panic she never let show on her face, that she forced down and
down, until it was buried so deep inside her there was no way it could get out.
This
was the life she'd signed up for. And she was good at this, good at
emergencies. She just really hated being shot at—or being aboard the ship that
was the target, at any rate.
"It'll
be over soon, right?" The crewman's voice shook.
"First
tour?"
"Yes,
ma'am."
"It'll
be over soon." She finished regenerating and put a stabilizing sling
around his neck, then helped him get his arm nestled comfortable in it. "You
have to wear this for twenty-four hours. Give your arm a chance to heal. All
right?"
He
nodded, and since he seemed eager to get out of sickbay, she logged in his
final readings and released him to his quarters. Where, she knew from experience,
it was way worse to wait out a red alert. But he'd find that out for himself.
Another
hit, and she tried to keep lunch down as the ship rolled more than usual. She
heard Len mutter under his breath. And then she heard, "Medical emergency
in engineering." Scotty sounded light years beyond frazzled.
"You
go. He doesn't have a crush on me so he doesn't listen as well." Len moved
on to the next bed.
"He
doesn't have a crush on me. We're friends."
"Uh
huh. You just keep telling yourself that, darlin'."
She
grabbed a medkit and an antigrav gurney and hurried
down to engineering. Scotty was doing...something—hell, she had no idea what
went on down here. Engineering was not her thing. But she saw a man down and
hurried to him. "What happened?" she asked, but he was unresponsive
despite his eyes being open. "Scotty?"
He
turned, his look drained and also full of something she thought was guilt. "I
was having him work on that panel. We had a power surge. It threw him halfway
across the room."
"Okay.
It's okay." She met his eyes. "I'll take care of him. Go be a miracle
worker."
She
didn't get a smile. But he nodded and turned back to his console.
She
scanned, not liking what she was seeing, so she filled a hypo with restoratives
that should help. Then she resumed scanning, checking for any damage from being
thrown. He was lucky: he'd stopped just short of another console, but he'd hit
his head hard when he'd landed on the floor. She eased him to his side and
cringed at the damage the scanner was showing under the skull. "I've got
to get him to sickbay."
"Will
he be all right?" Again the shattered look on
Scotty's face. "He was working in another section. I put him on that
panel."
"Yes,
because you're in charge here, and you needed him on that panel, and that's
what we do when we're in charge. You had no way of knowing that panel would
experience a power surge."
"I
should have."
There
was no arguing with him when he was determined to take the blame. "I have
to go. Help me get him on this gurney. I don't want to jar his head more than
necessary."
He
hurried over. "Is it bad, Christine?"
She
decided he didn't need to hear that it was—that she was very worried about this
young man's chances. Instead, she just said, "We'll know in a while. We're
going to do everything we can for him."
"His
name is Harold Lannett . His dream was to serve on this ship. Under me." His
jaw tightened as they eased Lannett onto the gurney. "I
trust you, Christine."
She tried
to hold back the reflex swallow, the one that showed fear. He trusted her: he
didn't need to know that she wasn't being entirely truthful with him. "Get
back to work, Scotty."
"Aye
aye, Captain Chapel." His grin was off, but at
least he tried.
##
Lannett's biobed readings were headed steadily in
one direction: down. Chapel closed her eyes and tried to think of something
else she could have done. Her restoratives had prolonged his life, but for
what? The power surge and the impact had combined to make any chance of
recovery nill.
Len
came over and stood by her, his hand on her shoulder. "Don't beat yourself
up. There's nothing we could have done for him."
"I
should have scanned him more thoroughly before I gave him the shot."
"You
were treating the electrolyte and neurotransmitter imbalance from the surge. Standard
protocol." He squeezed her shoulder, then let go. "Why don't you go?"
"No,
you go. You've been on longer." And this was her first patient that wouldn't
make it. The first one she'd lose.
"Loss
is inevitable, Christine. Comm me if you need to talk when this is over."
She
nodded and looked around sickbay. Red alerts played havoc with medical shifts. Beta
had been called in midway through alpha to help with the injured. Gamma was due
in about an hour. She should have been off eight hours ago.
She
saw Scotty at the door, and he met her eyes, then he took a deep breath, walked
over, and pulled a stool with him to sit on the other side of the bed.
"We're
losing him, Scotty."
"Aye.
I can tell by the way you're sitting, by your expression."
She
cocked her head and studied him. "You know me that well?"
"Yes."
He touched Lannett's shoulder and murmured things she
only half caught. About how proud Scotty was of him, of how he couldn't have
fixed the engines without him, of how much he'd miss him.
She
didn't interrupt, just watched the readings go down and down and down and—flat.
She
logged the time of death, ran final checks to ensure there was no error on the
part of the biobed, then had a corpsman take the body to the morgue.
Scotty
didn't move from the stool.
"Let's
get out of here," she said, pulling his arm, and he followed her without a
word, to the lift, to her quarters, to the bed, where they tore off each other's
clothing and fell onto the bed. She knew what this was: in the face of death,
it was natural to want to embrace life, and sex was the most life-affirming act
the body could engage in.
And
a drug of its own kind, as she well knew.
She
didn't realize she was crying until he stopped and murmured, "Am I hurting
you, Christine?"
"No.
It was...Lannett was the first one I lost."
He
kissed her gently. "I'm sorry. I wish he was the first one I'd lost. But
he's not. I hope you never catch up with me."
"Me,
too." She let him roll her to her back, let him do whatever he wanted. And
for once she didn't try to judge how good it was or if this was even a wise
idea. They were taking solace in each other and that alone felt nice.
As
he finished, as he rolled off her, she saw a tentative expression come over
him. He met her eyes and said, "I know this isn't...it's a reaction. Do
you want me to go?"
With
another man, she might have said yes. But this was her friend. She pulled him
closer and murmured, "No. Sleep. I'm so tired."
He
nodded, waited as she turned on her alarm, then pulled her back into his arms,
kissing her gently on the forehead. "Sometimes I feel so old, Christine. Like
I've seen it all."
"You're
not old. You're just exhausted and running on adrenaline. And sex." She
could feel her eyes drooping. "I'm sorry. I'd talk more but..."
His
eyes seemed to be drooping, too. "Go to sleep. Maybe we can have breakfast
before shift?"
"Sure."
She didn't know if that was a good idea. Might set up that this was more than
just comfort. But she was too tired to care.
##
She
woke to a gently buzzing alarm and a warm body around her—not that unusual, but
Scotty was holding on very tightly. She gently extricated herself from his
grip, silenced the alarm, and turned to study him.
This
had probably been a very bad idea.
He
opened his eyes. "Good morning," he said, with a smile.
"Morning."
She tried to give him a real smile, but she could tell by the way his
expression changed that her look had come off forced.
"Before
you start trying to get me out of here, Christine, let me say I know this is
just...sex. We were grieving—and stressed and exhausted and angry and a score
of other emotions, no doubt."
She
nodded.
"But
at the end of the day, we're still friends, aren't we?"
She
knew her expression was getting warmer by the way he seemed to be relaxing. "Yes,
we're friends."
"And
friends eat breakfast, and I'm starving. I came straight to sickbay, and I can't
remember when my last meal was. So...let's go." He
touched her cheek. "I'll meet you in the corridor in twenty minutes?"
"Sounds
good." She watched him go, strangely reluctant to let him see her naked
even though they'd spent quality time flesh on flesh. She hurried to the shower
once he was gone.
She
slipped on some makeup, threw her hair up into a damp bun, and pulled on a
clean uniform. She wasn't watching where she was going as she walked out of her
quarters and nearly collided with Spock.
"Christine."
"Sir."
His
eyes narrowed and she knew it was at the formality. It pleased her that she
hadn't squeaked out his name like she had when he'd first returned from Gol. Then
she realized he'd actually called her by her name.
"You
seem rushed." It was not like him to stand around stating the obvious.
She
decided to see if she could take advantage of that. "No, I'm just waiting
for someone."
Again his eyes narrowed, then he turned and
she realized he'd heard Scotty's footsteps before she had.
"Ah,
Mister Spock. Do you think the captain can avoid irritating anyone today? I
have repairs to finish and no desire to do it while we're under fire." Scotty
moved closer to her, and she wasn't sure if he was even aware how territorial
he looked.
"I
do not know what the day will bring." Spock turned to her and seemed to
want to say something, but she didn't give him the chance.
Instead she put her hand on Scotty's arm, said,
"We have to go. You understand?" and then pushed Scotty toward the
lift. She let go as soon as they were around the corner, but Scotty looked at
her, a hurt expression on his face.
"What
the hell was that?"
"I'm
hungry. Like you, I haven't eaten. And what the hell did he want anyway? It
certainly wasn't me." There, that was like the Christine he was used to
hearing complain.
He
seemed somewhat mollified. "You do get testy when your blood sugar drops."
"Like
I said." She pushed him onto the lift so he wouldn't think her touching
him in front of Spock was so odd. "We've had sex, Scotty. There's a
certain physicality to that."
"Does
that mean we'll have sex again?"
She
wanted to say they wouldn't. She knew she should say they wouldn't. But all she
could see was Spock's face as Scotty had...claimed her— there was no other word
for it—in the corridor. God help her, but if this could force Spock into
admitting he wanted her, she'd dangle a friend along.
Not
badly. Not enough to hurt him.
She'd
tell him how it was from the beginning.
She
wouldn't lie.
"That
wasn't supposed to be a hard question, Christine?" He looked puzzled.
She
didn't blame him. Her behavior was probably giving him whiplash. "If we
did have sex again, it'd just be as friends. I'm not looking for long term or
love or anything else. But it was fun. So yeah, maybe...?"
"Not
exactly a ringing endorsement."
"It's
better than 'Hell, no,'" she said with a grin.
"You've
got me there."
##
Chapel
was working in her office when she realized Spock was standing at her open door.
She looked up, let both eyebrows rise in an unspoken, "What do you want?"
way.
"I
am here for my physical."
This
wasn't unusual. Since the meld with V'ger, Len had made him come in weekly for
check-ups.
"Oh,
if Len isn't in his office, he'll be back soon."
"He
is on the bridge. You are qualified to conduct a physical, are you not?" The
way he said it sounded incredibly snotty.
She
laughed. "Last time I checked." Getting up, she walked around the
desk and gestured for him to precede her out of the office. She patted a biobed
and said, "Hop up," in her best clinical tone.
Let
him think she was over him. Let him think she was happy with someone else. Those
were usually concepts guaranteed to make a man crazy.
She forced
herself to focus on his physical. "Your levels are much closer to normal."
He
seemed surprised. "I thought perhaps they had not lowered since last time?"
She
kept her face as neutral as she could. "Why? Something wrong?"
"Not
as such. Nothing serious."
"Good.
And no, you look great." She smiled as blandly as she was capable of. "Okay,
you're done. Len will faint when he finds out you came here without any
badgering." She turned.
"Christine."
She turned
back, still making notations on her padd. "Hmmm?" She was enjoying
the "Over You" routine and could tell it was making him the slightest
bit angry by how his readings went up on the biobed.
He
slid off the bed, as if aware he was being outed by the tech. "We have not
spoken much. Since I rejoined the crew."
"We
haven't talked at all, Spock. I think this is the longest interaction we've
had." Other than him staring at her during their off hours. "Okay,
you can go." She grinned, turned on her heel, and walked into her office.
It
took him a moment to leave. She was trying not to laugh and prayed he wouldn't
come into her office. No way she could pretend disinterest if he did.
##
Chapel
was dancing with Scotty, a fast dance that didn't require a lot of groping or
grace. She knew Spock was watching her. So was Scotty, with a rather moony look
on his face. She rolled her eyes at him.
He
leaned in and said, "What'd you do that for?"
"We're
just friends dancing."
He
grinned. "But we didn't dance before. Not without a whole lot of alcohol
fueling us onto the dance floor. Sober dancing with you is nice."
"We're
just friends." And they hadn't been in bed since that first time. Another
round of sex too soon would send a message that more was possible. And she didn't
want to say that.
He
nodded and went back to dancing, seemingly unconcerned at being shoved back into
the friend zone. Then again, his inability to take "yes, but just for now"
as an answer might lie at the heart of his romance issues.
If
so, picking a woman who didn't like to commit except to powerful men was
probably not a winning bet. Chapel sighed. Was it wrong to know what she liked,
to understand how she'd act? Wasn't it some form of self-actualization if you
looked at it sort of squint eyed? She was honest with him. He knew she was in
love with Spock. And yet here he was making googly eyes at her again.
But
then he saved the moment with the one-sided grin that usually heralded a sharp
burst of hilarious sarcasm.
The
music ended and she headed for the bar, not caring if he was following. There
were plenty of other women to dance with and he seemed to get the hint. He
found an ensign Chapel didn't recognize and led her to the dance floor for a
slower number.
"You
appear to have lost your suitor." Spock's voice was pitched low; no one
around them would be hearing this conversation, and she smiled as she turned to
him, rising eyebrows his only answer.
He
met her eyes. His seemed...angry, almost. Intense, certainly. And full of what
she knew was desire. "If you are free tomorrow after your shift," he
said, "I should like to speak with you privately."
She
knew her smile was one of almost cat-like satisfaction. His eyebrow went up,
and he started to turn away. She grabbed his sleeve just long enough to stop
him, then said, "I didn't say yes."
He
glanced back at her. "But we both know you will. Good night, Christine. Enjoy
your evening."
She
watched him leave and felt rather than saw Scotty come up next to her.
"So.
What did he want?"
She
met Scotty's eyes; she wasn't going to lie about this. "He wants to talk
to me."
"Tonight?"
"Tomorrow."
He
took a deep breath, then sat on the stool. "Your dreams coming true?"
He sounded bleak.
She
shrugged, unwilling to hurt him.
"Well,
it took him long enough to realize what a lovely woman he had waiting for him."
He cupped her cheek, his palm warm against her skin. "I think I've had
enough dancing for one night."
"Don't
be sad over this—over me."
"Because
we're just friends? I've gotten the memo, Christine. Multiple times."
He
turned away before she could say it was because she wasn't worth it, that she was
never going to be the kind of woman he needed. But he was clearly more in the
mood for a sulk than actual conversation.
She'd
never lied to him. As she threw back her drink then headed for the door, she
kept telling herself that.
##
The
next day's shift took forever to finish. She went back to her quarters, feeling
on edge as she took off her uniform and tried on several outfits before she
decided to stop trying so hard.
Spock
wanted her. Finally: he wanted her.
But
he hadn't been very specific when after shift he wanted to see her. Was it now?
Was it after he ate dinner? Should she comm him?
The
buzz of her own comm terminal interrupted her nervous obsessing. "Chapel."
"I
am in my quarters."
"Okay."
The
channel went dead.
Man
of few words. That was good, right?
She
checked herself in the mirror one more time, then hurried down the corridor to
Spock's quarters. She rang the chime and heard, "Come," and the door
opened.
He
was lighting fire pots, his uniform traded for a dark robe. He didn't turn
around right away.
She
moved deeper into the room rather than stand at the door like a nervous
schoolgirl—she'd never been one back in the day, why start now?
He
finally turned around and seemed to be studying her. "You...initiated
something when you came to me during the burning."
"Can
you be more specific?"
"I
desire you. It is quite...primal."
"I
know. I saw it when we shared consciousness."
"I
am aware of that. We saw much of each other that day."
"Indeed,"
she said, using one of his favorite words.
"I
believed that after V'ger, after the meld with it had worn off, that I would be
free, or at least more in control of this....lust."
She
moved closer. "But you're not?"
"I
am not. And seeing you with another man bothers me on a fundamental level."
"I
don't consider that a bad thing."
His
expression didn't change. He was looking at her with very little tenderness,
but a great deal of intensity. "No, I imagine you do not."
"What
do you want to do about this lust?"
"Sex
would be the logical step."
She
laughed. "This is not romantic."
"I
realize that."
"I
love you. I never stopped loving you. And I want you. Now. Please." She
reached out and touched his face.
He
leaned into her hand. "Yes. Now."
And
then they were kissing, and it was everything she'd ever wanted from him. He
had her clothes off so fast she wondered why she'd even worried about what to
wear. She returned the favor, and pushed him toward the bed, following him
down, letting her hands and mouth roam, getting to know his body.
He
pushed her to her back and copied her actions, stopping when he found something
she liked, licking and sucking until she clutched the bedcovers and cried out.
And
then he was inside her, moving with purpose, his eyes screwed shut, quiet and
not saying anything. Not her name, or that what he was doing felt good.
"Look
at me," she whispered, and he did, but she wasn't sure it was an
improvement, so she pulled him down and kissed him, riding out his thrusting,
and then feeling more, another wave of pleasure—a wave that left her reeling,
lying helplessly under him as he finished.
He
lay on top of her for a moment, running his fingers across her face as if
memorizing the feel of her, then he rolled off her.
"That
was nice," she said softly, not sure if he wanted to talk.
"That
was exceptional."
"I
guess you didn't like seeing me with Mister Scott."
"I
did not." His words were what she wanted to hear, but he seemed to be
moving away from her, putting distance between them in the bed.
"What
are you doing?"
"This
is not the beginning of something, Christine. This is not a love affair. This
was sex. You are the thing I desire, and I have satisfied that desire. For now.
I believe in the future, it will flare again."
"I'm
a thing?"
"I
saw a great deal when we shared consciousness. You are a much keener
observer—and player—of others than I, or probably anyone on this ship realizes.
I know that you understand what I am feeling. And what I am not."
She felt
as if he'd slapped her. "You do realize that it's your Vulcan side that
wants me, right? You've wanted to embrace that. Give in to it."
"You
mean: give in to you?" He shook his head. "I have no wish to tie
myself to you. Although these interludes—if we continue them—will be quite
pleasant."
"Interludes.
That sounds so pretty. Until one remembers that an interlude is something they
play at intermission. Accompaniment for someone's basic needs."
"Sex
is a most basic need."
"Love
isn't."
"I
do not love you, Chris. To tell you otherwise would be most unfair to you."
He frowned slightly. "I am curious, though. It was clear through our
shared connection all those years ago that you have had other lovers that you
saw only periodically. I see no reason to think that you do not still have such
men. How is this different?"
"It's
different because I love you."
"Ah.
Perhaps you have men in this same situation. Wanting more from you, but you do
not want to give it to them. Do they berate you the same way as you are doing to
me?"
She
started to get out of bed, but he reached out, his grip like iron. "What
are you doing, Spock? I want to get out of here."
"I
am no longer certain we are finished for the night."
"I
am. And if you don't release me, this will become non-consensual, and I will
report you."
He
let her go with astonishing speed, surprise clear on his face, and she scuttled
out of the bed, nearly falling in her haste to get clear of him.
She
pulled on her clothes, not looking at him, biting back tears that were as much
from anger as hurt. "I hate you."
"Yes,
of course. Remind me of that the next time we are together."
She
wanted to throw something at him, but resisted the urge. Attempting to pull
what dignity she could around her, she hurried to the door—trying but probably
failing to look like she wasn't trying to flee.
##
Chapel
sat in Kirk's quarters the next day, watching as he sent a message to his
friend Captain Cartwright. "I appreciate this, sir."
"Matthew's
good people. And you deserve your CMO slot." His eyes narrowed. "And
to get away from Spock."
She
couldn't meet his eyes. She hadn't told him anything other than she needed a
change, but he knew. This shouldn't probably surprise her: he was a smart man.
"The
way he stares at you isn't lost on me, Christine. But it's not the...healthiest
of looks."
"No,
sir, it's not."
"Christine,
call me Jim. How long have we known each other?"
She
smiled. "Forever. Not that long. Both?"
He
nodded. "Both. Matthew's going places. Play your cards right and you'll go
places, too."
"Thank
you, sir. I really appreciate this."
"Just
be happy. You deserve it."
She
met his eyes and saw something beyond kindness in them. Had it been there
before? Had she been too blind—too fixated on Spock—to see it? "For what
it's worth, Jim, I wish I'd fallen for you."
"I
have a type. You're it. I'm a little...relieved you're leaving."
She
wasn't sure if he was serious or not, but she appreciated him giving her that,
making her feel desirable. "It's been an honor to serve with you again."
"Keep
my friend in line. He's been alone a while. Lost his wife in a Klingon attack. Been
years now but..." He met her eyes and smiled in a way she wasn't sure she
understood. "Let's just say he doesn't have the same rules about dating
people under his command. Provided, of course, that they're discreet."
"I
know something about that. But I may not like him—or he me."
"True
enough." He stood and pulled her in for a hug. "But he'd be a fool
not to like you. And you him."
"Yes,
sir."
"Jim."
"Jim."
She pulled away a little reluctantly—it felt good in his arms—and headed to her
quarters. She had an application to fill out. A new captain to impress.
She
didn't actually think it would be that hard. Especially not with Kirk's letter
of recommendation.
She
took a deep breath and got to work on her future.
##
Later
that evening she headed to Scotty's quarters. She found him sitting in the
semi-dark, nursing a glass of scotch.
"I
missed you last night." He threw back the rest of the scotch.
"I'm
sorry. I told you what was up."
He
nodded in a way that told her he'd probably wanted to visit her quarters a few
hundred times. She felt the chafing sensation of being owned, watched, made to
report. She hated that. It was why she'd avoided serious relationships with all
but a few men.
So of course she'd have gladly become serious with Spock—a man
who couldn't care less what she did or with whom, so long as he got to scratch
his itch occasionally.
"I'm
leaving." She couldn't bring herself to look at Scotty, hadn't meant to
blurt it out that way with no preamble, but now that it was out, she was
relieved. "I'm transferring off."
"What?
Why?" He stared at her. "What did I do wrong? You're my friend,
Christine. Tell me what it is I do wrong."
She
heard the pain in his voice, pain she should never have caused, and she
crouched in front of him, cupped his palm, and whispered, "It's not you. It's
not anything you did. I don't know why the others left you. But I know why I'm
leaving."
"Well,
why?"
"Because
if I stay with you, I'll be using you. You'll be nothing more than a thing to me. A thing I want but don't
love. And I will not do that to you."
"If
you want me—in time, you might you lo—"
"I
used to think that. About Spock. But I know better now." She didn't
protest when he pulled her up to sit awkwardly in his lap. "I like you too
much to do that to you, Montgomery."
He
shook his head, a strange expression on his face. "Not a name I use."
"I
like it, though. I mean I understand why you want to be Scotty. It's...light
and happy and conscientious and everyone's friend. But inside you is something sadder and darker, and I think that's the
Montgomery part."
"And
that's the part you like? The part of
me I can't abide?"
"No.
I like Scotty. I don't want to make the Montgomery part bigger. And I think I
will if I stay." She swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have
slept with you."
"Was
I...was I bad?"
She
laughed gently. "No."
"Was
there something I could've done differently? Made you happier?"
"Be
Vulcan. Don't love me. Be cold." She closed her eyes. "Don't be you,
in other words. Or anyone else who isn't Spock."
He
cradled her close, and she buried her head against his shoulder, wanting to
hide, to run from this woman she'd become.
This
woman she'd always been.
"When
I met Roger, he was with someone else. Her name was Andrea. She
was...beautiful." She took a breath, and Scotty sat silently, tightening
his hold but just listening. "He wasn't interested in me, either. She was
more his type, you see." Chapel had found that out on that horrible rock
of a planet when she saw Roger's mechanical geisha. "I made her go away. I
made him love me."
"By
go away do you mean...?"
She
started to laugh. "I don't mean I killed her and threw her into a ditch. I
mean I found out things she didn't want known and threatened to tell Roger. She
left him, not the school, though. That was the deal. But even once she was out
of his life, he didn't want me."
"But
you were engaged."
"Not
until I became everything that he wanted. Soft and pliable. 'Yes, Roger dear'
and 'No, Roger dear.' You wouldn't have recognized me. I barely did." She
took a ragged breath. "And then he disappeared. And the rest...you know."
Except for Roger's true fate. Kirk had kept that secret safe all these years. Kirk
and Spock.
"And
you fell for another Roger when you set your cap on Spock?"
"I
think I did. I have a type." She moved in a way that she hoped translated
to "Let me up," and it must have because he let her go. She stood and
began to pace. "I'm not a good person. I'm not a nice person. You don't
want me. If you really knew me, you would run."
"Why?
So you chased off his girl? What else did you do
wrong?"
She
laughed. "Didn't you wonder how I got this posting?"
His
face changed. Fell and then shifted into something harsher, more...judgmental. "Decker?"
"Decker.
Not exactly cold, but in love with someone else. Always and forever. I thought
I could make him forget Ilia. I was an idiot. Imagine my surprise when she
showed up." She closed her eyes. "Everyone showed up for V'ger."
"Aye.
A regular party."
She
grinned. "You can always make me smile. I do love that."
He
sat, just staring at her for a moment. Then he said, "I think you might
believe I'm a little dim when it comes to you. And maybe I was. I've always
envied Spock the...dedication you showed, the sheer tenacity of your affection
for him. Is it any wonder I wanted you? I thought you'd transfer that to me. Help
me break this curse I seem to be under."
She
was about to tell him it wasn't a curse, that he'd find a nice girl someday,
but he held his hand up. "Christine, I know something happened with Spock to
prompt this. He's the only person who could make you flee. Did he hurt you in
some way?"
She
remembered when Scotty was on trial for hurting women. She hadn't been sure
what to think back then: the Scotty she knew was so fun, but there were the
dark moments. But of course it hadn't been him, and
now here he was thinking of her.
"He
didn't hurt me. He gave me exactly what I needed: a wake-up call." She
swallowed hard. "I'll get over him now."
"Will
you? Do people like us really change?"
"Yes,
we really do. It just might take a while."
"Where
will you go?"
"There's
a CMO vacancy on the Dauntless. I
talked to the captain—I mean our captain—asked him where he thought I should
go. He said his friend—the captain of the Dauntless—was
going places. Good man to hitch my star to. Because...that's what I do."
"You
don't have to do that."
"You'd
rather I hitch it to you? And be here, with Spock? I don't think I'm that
strong. See...the wake-up call, it wasn't him not wanting me. And knowing he
does want me—even while knowing that the wanting doesn't include love—well, I'm
not sure I could say no indefinitely."
He
nodded, as if finally she was making sense to him. "So,
when do you leave?"
"Well,
I just put my name in the hat. If Cartwright likes what he sees in my file, I
don't know. Maybe a few weeks. Maybe a month."
"That
soon." He held his hand out and she took it, letting him pull her back
onto his lap. "Don't leave me till you leave this ship. I'm used to that. A
professional remnant, as it were."
"Don't
say that." She saw his face change, to the one that meant it was true so
why not speak plainly. It was what had drawn her to him in the first place. "Won't
me being with you make it harder?"
"It
will. But...we're friends. We're not in love." His face changed, a note of
chagrin. "Well, you're not and I know you're not. And...we'll
keep each other on the straight and narrow until you leave."
"You
mean you'll keep me from sleeping with Spock?"
"And
all your other men, lass. Do you think I'm blind?"
She
closed her eyes.
"Ah.
You do. Scotty may be, but Montgomery sees all. And doesn't much like it."
"I'm
sorry. It was easier to not talk about that."
"Whatever
lets you sleep at night, Christine. Now, speaking of sleep. Come to bed. We've
got much drinking ahead of us at goodbye parties that will surpass all previous
ones."
She
kissed him, not because she loved him, but because he was being so kind when
she didn't deserve it. When she'd used him and he probably knew that on some
level.
He
stroked her hair, smiling in a way that finally looked real, like he got it:
she was leaving and they weren't going to be together forever. She wished she
wasn't just another of his women who left.
"I
do care about you," she whispered.
"I
know, lass. We've had too much fun over the years for me not to know that."
He pushed her up. "Promise me one thing. While you're in my bed, show me
how to be better. I believe I could be. There's always room for improvement."
"So my sleeping with you will be an altruistic act."
"It
sounds like you could use a few. Karma and all that."
She
laughed. "All right. I'll help you—although you don't need much in the way
of pointers. I truly don't think sex is the reason your women leave. And for
what it's worth, I'll miss you so much more than I will Spock once I leave. Who
will I drink with?"
"I
have no illusions you'll find someone." His words weren't harsh enough to
be a verbal slap; in fact, he looked at peace. "You're not like my other
women, Christine. And that's good. You're leaving the ship and you're leaving
Spock, but you're not leaving me. We were friends first and we'll always be
that, right?"
"That's
right." She pulled him down and kissed him gently. "So...bed?"
"If
you were like those other women, I'd say that maybe I could make you stay, only
I know you won't."
"No.
I won't."
He
nodded. "A man can hope." It was lightly said, and his eyes shone
like the old times, but there was more Montgomery peeking out, and she knew
there was very little hope in him right now.
"I'm
sorry," she said. And she meant it.
Even
if it was worth nothing at all.
FIN