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 is copyright (c) 2003 by Djinn. This story is
Rated R.
Excavating for a Mine
by Djinn
The air was dryer than normal, something Christine Chapel would have bet was not
possible. This part of Temeris IV would
give a dustbowl a run for its latinum.
She slipped her eye shield on, was as glad for the anonymity the dark lenses
gave her as she was for the relief they brought from the stinging grit. Fortunately, the walk from her office to the
bar was a short one. Not short enough, however,
to keep her from passing one of the town's more important citizens, apparently
out for an afternoon constitutional, dust be damned.
"Doctor," Mariah
Livingston cooed. As the author of the
deceiving little 'doctor needed' ad, she no doubt felt that she deserved the
credit for luring a former Fleeter out to this fleabag of a planet. Although the forests she had featured did
exist, and parts of the planet were quite pretty, the town where Chapel lived
was a desiccated, dust-ridden place. She
ended up working in the more scenic spots though, for the latinum mines that
spread like bad Verulian pox scars across the planet
were only found in the higher elevations, among the pretty trees that
But the ad hadn't been what
brought Chapel out, and if
"Doctor Chapel?"
the older woman repeated, this time with much less coo and more annoyed 'first
lady of the town of
"Mariah," Chapel
said, putting as little emotion as she could into the name. As the other woman started to reply, Chapel
held up her hand and shook her head emphatically. "Got an emergency. Can't talk."
"I know. Go figure." Chapel ducked through the doors of the bar,
was relieved when
"Which one's bothering
you now?" Ed was watching her from
the bar, his face contorting into what passed for a smile. He was at his nicest when he was talking to
Chapel, and he wasn't all that pleasant to her.
It was another reason she liked Temeris IV. You could be yourself on this planet, be who
you really were, or be something else if you were tired of who
you really were. Hell, you could be no
one if you wanted. Ed fell in that camp,
resolutely refusing to give out his last name.
As long as he kept the liquor coming, none of his customers were going
to complain.
"Mariah," she said,
rolling her eyes as she leaned into the bar.
"Damned
biddy. I remember when she worked off a mattress at the
Lucky Strike, she sure seems to have forgotten that. Hope her husband loses the election this
year. That would knock her down a peg." He slapped an empty glass in front of
her. "The
usual?"
She nodded and watched him
pour out a finger of whiskey. She raised
an eyebrow. "We
having an alcohol shortage?"
"Not last time I
checked."
"Then
how about being a little less stingy."
He smiled tightly and poured
out some more. "Sorry, didn't
realize it was that kind of day."
"Shows what you
know." She saw Ed's expression
change, knew by the warning look he threw that someone was approaching
her. She didn't turn as a man sidled up
to where she stood, his bulk pushing her against the bar and the stool to her
left. It, like all the other barstools,
was fastened to the floor--courtesy of a day Ed got tired of his patrons using
the barstools to brain each other--and between its unyielding metal and the
man's overly large body, she was trapped.
"You want something?"
"You
the doc?"
"Depends who's
asking." She slowly reached into
her left pocket, drawing out the thin metal rod she made it a point to
carry. She had its twin in the other
pocket. You never knew which hand might
be free. Turning to look at the
stranger, she favored him with her best 'don't crowd me' look. "So who the hell is asking?"
"My name's not
important. Are you the doctor or aren't
you?" He leaned on her harder, then
his eyes widened as he felt the metal rod against his throat.
Chapel could feel her heart
beating faster, could feel the anger inside her trying to take hold. Control, she had to keep control. She leaned into the man,
the movement might have been seductive if her tone hadn't been so deadly
serious. "This is a laser scalpel. If I hit this little button here, it will cut
away your windpipe in about half a second, making it pretty difficult to talk, much
less breathe. I know that because as you
guessed, I'm the doctor." She
smiled then, knew it was a smile that effectively broadcast how little she
cared about anything. "Now, you
want to back the hell up or shall I hit this red button and watch you make a
mess all over Ed's bar?"
He started to shake his head
then seemed to think better of it.
"Lady, I just need a doctor.
My partner's been hurt out at the mine.
I think his leg's broken."
He eased away from her.
"Which mine?" Ed
asked.
"The
Happy Fortune." The burly man looked sheepish. "Not my idea. It was LaTral's idea. Dumb name."
"LaTral's the one that's
hurt?" Chapel put the laser scalpel
away, and pushed the whiskey back to Ed.
"I'll be back for it."
"Right, Doc." He slapped a piece of plastic on the
glass. It fitted itself to the top,
forming a good seal. "It'll
keep."
"Always does." She looked at the miner. "What's your name?"
"Matson,
ma'am."
She didn't ask if that was a
first name or a last. It didn't matter
to her. Nothing mattered to her
anymore. "Well, Matson, we need to
go get my gear. Then we can fix up this
partner of yours. And in the future, when
you need a doctor, you ask me with a little more courtesy and a lot less
threat, you got that?"
He nodded.
"You make sure the
others know that too. I don't like to be
crowded," she said as she pushed on her eye shield. She saw him nod again as she led him out into
the dust and across the street to her office.
Grabbing her gear from inside, she turned and asked, "You have a
hover?"
"Yes,
ma'am."
"My name's Doctor
Chapel. If I like you, you can call me 'Doc.' And just for
the record, I don't know if I like you yet."
"Right, Doctor
Chapel." He led her to one of the
hovers parked off the main square, held the door for her as she got in, then
climbed over her, stepping heavily on her feet in the process. So much for chivalry.
She leaned back, closed her
eyes as they lifted off. Judging by the
state of the hover, Matson was fairly new to these parts. No doubt came out to Temeris IV to make his
fortune like a thousand before him. Odds
were against him being all that successful.
Few struck it rich, although the ones that did tended to strike it so
rich that they could get out of mining and make a life being bigwigs in
Clementine or other towns on the planet.
It was what Rotell Livingston and the other town
council members had done--they were all former miners who had hit it fast and
rich enough to leave that life forever. You
could never tell by the way they acted now that they'd once been as rough as
Matson here. Just like
you couldn't tell that their spouses used to be far less respectable--prostitution
in varying degrees being almost as popular a profession as mining on Temeris IV.
Matson glanced over at her,
gave her a shaky smile. "You been
here long, Doc...tor Chapel?"
"Long
enough to know not to ask nosy questions."
"Oh. Okay."
He busied himself with the hover's
controls. "Didn't
mean to intrude."
He sounded so uncomfortable
that Chapel almost took pity on him. Almost. Instead she
ignored him, staring out the window.
She'd been on the planet for a year now; Ken had left her a little
before that. She could still hear his
words. "I need to find myself." Back then, she didn't ask sarcastic questions
like "Don't you have to lose yourself first for that to work?" Back then she was still nice. Still sweet. Fat lot of good that did
her. Her husband had needed to
find himself. The next day, when she'd gone
back to the apartment they had shared to pick up some things, she'd discovered the
woman that he was finding himself with. Delara Nihiar had been an
associate of his. One he'd traveled with
extensively. One whose company he'd
always made it seem like he didn't really enjoy much. He'd sure seemed to be enjoying her company when
Chapel had walked in on them in bed.
She'd grown up quick that
day. Pain did that for a person. Pain and humiliation. Didn't help that all her friends had known
what had happened but hadn't seemed to know what to say. Some had just ignored it. Others--ones that had been their friends
rather than just hers--had chosen sides.
And a lot of them hadn't chosen her.
She'd grown sick of the pitying looks.
Tired of the carefully couched questions. And utterly frustrated with the looks she'd
gotten every time she'd become the least bit angry. She hadn't been due to retire for several
more years, so she'd cashed out as they used to say and searched for a world
where no one would know her, or her story.
Where no one would pity her. And she'd found it. No one gave a damn about her here, and that
was just fine. She could be as angry as
she wanted to and no one told her it was out of character, or just a
phase. No one suggested she see a
counselor or take some meds or maybe have a little nap. It had boggled her mind that nearly all her
friends had seemed to view the anger and pain inside her as something
illegitimate, something that should go away as quickly as possible. They hadn't wanted to hear about how Chapel
had felt suffocated by the emotions inside her, how she had wanted to strike
out at anyone and anything. Fine, they
didn't have to hear about it. She'd deal
with her pain her own way, far from anything or anyone she'd known before.
The hover slowed and she saw
the flags that marked Matson's claim. It
was in an area that had not been extensively mined. Maybe he would get lucky after all, strike it
rich one day and come striding into town with latinum dust trailing from his
boots. The planet was loaded with it,
even if the latinum itself was elusive, the triciclimene deposits that were found
in the latinum veins threw ghosts at the sensors, making the latinum impossible
to find through normal 23rd century methods.
So they took their laser pick-axes and started digging, hunting for the
mineral the way their 19th century counterparts would have.
She looked down, saw the
trees part in a clearing and realized that Matson was going to land there. He was good with the little hover, touching
down gently on the forest floor. As he turned
off the engine, she reached over and opened the door before he could crawl over
her to do it. She grabbed her gear and
strode off in the direction he indicated.
As she walked, a flicker of lights through the trees caught her
attention. "What's that?"
"Mountain lake," Matson said.
"Nice big one. Lots of fish."
"You go swimming in
there?"
"Hell,
no. It's too cold. Fed by streams coming
straight down from the snows."
It sounded wonderful to
Chapel. She loved swimming, hadn't done
it for a long time, especially not in water that cold.
"You're welcome to swim
in it," Matson said.
She shot him a look, trying
to figure out his motivation. "Didn't come here to swim."
He held up a hand. "You were the one that asked about
swimming."
She could tell he was
confused by her attitude. Again she felt
bad for him. "You're right, I
did. Sorry. And thanks.
Maybe I will someday." She
knew she wouldn't.
The mine came into sight and
she saw all the signs of newcomers in the equipment that wasn't locked up, the
food that was sitting out no doubt attracting hungry wild animals, and the gold
pans stacked in a pile in the back.
"Bought the stories did you?"
He blushed. "They said the latinum was everywhere. Panning in a creek sounded a hell of a lot
easier than digging."
She laughed. "Did you happen to notice those images
were left over from the Klondike Gold Rush?" The seller of the gold pans had never
actually come out and said that they could be used for Temeris IV, or that they
were good for panning for latinum. But he had implied it and there were plenty
of new and even some old-time miners who had a stack of useless gold pans in
their inventory. She pointed to the
laser axes lying out in the open. "You
should lock your equipment up."
"No one's going to steal
it," he muttered.
"You really want to
chance that? Believe me, I've seen it
happen."
He didn't answer except to
say, "Watch your head," as they came to the mine entrance. But she had already ducked under the low
beam. "Guess you're used to getting
around the mines?"
She nodded. "I'm in and out of them all the
time. You'd be amazed how many ways a
person can get hurt in one of these."
As she rounded a corner she saw a man sitting on the floor. He was leaning back against the wall, and she
could tell by the set of his jaw that he was in a great deal of pain. "You LaTral?" she asked without
preamble.
"That's me," he
looked her over. "You
really ex-Fleet?"
"Who told you
that?" She ran her scanner over his
leg. Matson had been right. Nasty break.
"Stories get
around. Ex-fleet docs usually don't end
up somewhere like Temeris IV." He
leaned forward. "Am I going to walk
again?"
She shot him a look, even as
she loaded a hypospray full of painkiller.
"Of course you're going to walk.
This may be the armpit of the galaxy, but last I checked, it's still the
23rd century."
"Barely," he said
with a grin. It made him look very
young, despite the dirt and dust streaked on his face. "Besides, a few more years and we'll be
in the 24th. I just hope I see it."
He looked down at his leg worriedly.
She relented a bit, smiled at
him reassuringly. "This leg won't
keep you from seeing it. Just be more
careful in the future. Did you have a
collapse?"
He nodded. It was an old story. If the latinum deposits had been easier to
find, then the Federation mining units would have been in with their
ultrasounds, and tunneling equipment, and huge laser drilling machines, and
people like Chapel and Matson would never be needed. But with the triciclimene making it
impossible to get a decent sensor reading on the latinum, the Federation had
little interest in dedicating a unit here.
Which left Temeris IV open to anyone willing to use the
old-time methods-- trial and error, dig with handheld laser picks and maybe
find a big vein. Even a small
vein was worth something. So the miners kept
looking until they found the latinum, then they cleared the area, and shored up
the tunnels they created with whatever supports they could find--logs were
preferred but sometimes they used junk metal or leftovers from the prefab
housing units. A lot of what they put up
was barely strong enough to support all that pressure bearing down and once
they began digging and the vibrations started up, it could be a disaster just
waiting to happen. She was surprised more
people hadn't been seriously hurt over the years. She was thankful though, that they hadn't
been. Crush injuries were tricky to
treat, if the victims didn't suffocate first.
"Better look away,"
she said gently, as she numbed his leg with a local. One of the bones had snapped and slipped out
of place; she needed to move it before she could begin healing his leg. It wasn't a pretty procedure to watch or to
listen to. The sound of bone grating on
bone didn't bother her, but she couldn't say the same for most of her patients. "This isn't going to sound nice. But it'll be over quick." She didn't wait for him to answer. With sure and careful movements, she moved the
bone back to where it should have been resting.
She didn't let go until she heard it snap loudly into place.
"Oh god," Matson
sounded queasy behind her.
She didn't turn around. "If you're going to throw up, do it
outside. If you're
going to faint, sit down now."
All she needed was that tree of a man toppling over on her. Why were the big ones always such
babies? She heard him sit and stifled a
grin, but LaTral had seen her.
"Big sissy," he
mouthed. The look he shot his partner was full of affection, and Chapel briefly
wondered what their relationship was.
Then she remembered she didn't care.
She ran the scanner over LaTral's leg again, confirmed that the bone was
indeed back where it should be. Reaching
into her bag, she pulled out a regenerator and began to work on the break,
slowly repairing the bone, then the torn tissue around it. Finally, she went to work on the
swelling. When she was satisfied with
her work, she wrapped some paris-tape around his leg
and watched as it set up into a hard cast.
"Keep this on for a week to let the bone finish healing. I don't want any strain on it. That means no mining, you understand?"
She looked over at
Matson. "I trust you can keep him
off his feet?" When he nodded, she
put her equipment back into her bag and stood up, brushing the dust off her pants. "Okay then, I'm done here, and there's a
whiskey screaming my name back in Clementine." She grimaced as she always did when she had
to say the name of the town. Trust
Mariah to name the place after the doomed heroine in an old song about the 19th
century
She helped LaTral up, watched
as he gingerly tried walking. Satisfied
that he was going to be okay, she led them to the surface. To her irritation, that damn song was still running
through her mind. Dreadful
sorry, indeed. Her mood was
blacker than normal, but it was nothing that a good stiff whiskey couldn't
fix.
-------------------------------------
Spock sat at the extradition
hearing, waiting for the decision to be handed down. He saw Kirk glance at him worriedly, then his friend looked down at Spock's hands.
"You okay?" Kirk
asked softly.
Spock slowly unclenched his
fingers, realized he had been grinding down with his teeth and let his jaw
relax too. "Of
course, Jim."
It was a lie. He knew it, and he knew that Kirk knew it
too. He was not okay, had not been okay
since that day he had discovered that Valeris, first his protege and later his
lover, had betrayed them all. She had
been responsible for the assassination of Gorkon, had
worked with others to bring down everything Spock had held dear. She had tried to ruin his great plan for
future peace with the Klingons, and Spock had been too wrapped up in his own
dreams to notice.
He felt his jaw tightening
again, forced himself to stop clenching his teeth. He saw Valeris turn around from where she sat
in the accused box. She searched the
crowd, her eyes finally settling on him.
He thought a shudder went through her as their eyes met and she turned
away. He knew why she shivered, remembered
with perfect clarity that moment on the bridge when he had taken her mind, ripping
through it and hurting her badly in the process. He had ignored her low mindvoice, so familiar
at that point from months of melding, as she had said over and over, *Spock,
no. Don't do this. I did this for you, for us. To secure our future.*
At the end she had not tried
to appeal to his logic or his sentimentality.
At the end her mindvoice had been screaming, even if the most her other voice
had ever betrayed was a tortured groan.
He had not just hurt her, he had
ravaged her, ripping and tearing in his haste and anger. She was fortunate--or not, depending on how
this hearing went--to have survived with her sanity intact.
"Spock." Jim's voice cut into his memories.
Spock realized he was
gripping the arm of the chair between them so hard that his fingers had turned
white. He let go, tried to seek peace in
an old Vulcan discipline, one for children.
But the rage inside him made it difficult to still his thoughts.
The
rage...and the guilt. Spock saw Valeris turn again, her eyes
seeking him out as if she could not turn away.
He had loved her. He had believed
she had loved him. He did not doubt that
even now. But she had betrayed him. His love had meant nothing to her when it
came time to make a choice. Her choice
had not been him. His mind went back further
in time, to hot Vulcan sands and T'Pring stopping him from finalizing their
marriage, calling for the challenge. Another betrayal. At
least, T'Pring had never loved him. Her
crime was less egregious somehow.
The panel came back into the
room and Spock forced his thoughts to still, listened as the head of the group,
Admiral Komax, said in a firm voice, "It is the
resolved opinion of this panel that the accused, Lieutenant Valeris, shall be
extradited to representatives of the Klingon Empire, to face justice for her
crimes there." The admiral shook
his head sadly. Spock knew this had not
been an easy decision; the panel had been deliberating for hours.
"Do you have anything to
say, Valeris?" The admiral waited
for her answer. When she shook her head,
he nodded curtly to the Klingon guards waiting, "You may take the prisoner
away."
As they approached her,
Valeris looked up at Spock one last time; she seemed to be pleading with him to
save her. From somewhere deep inside
him, fury erupted. *May you rot in that
Klingon hell,* he tried to send her. He
stood up and saw her eyes widen. Did she
really think he would help her? Then he
looked down at Kirk. "It is time to
go."
Kirk nodded tightly, followed
Spock out of the room and down the corridors.
"Spock." He hurried to
catch up. "Spock, dammit, wait."
Spock stopped but did not
turn around. Must fight this anger, must
gain control. His hands were clenched
into tight fists again and he tried to relax, but he kept seeing Valeris's
pleading eyes.
He had just let the woman he
loved be led off to her death. He was
not sure if that bothered him more because he did not want her to die or
because he wanted to kill her himself.
Anger seemed to swirl inside him, and he looked over at Kirk. "She will die in there."
Kirk pursed his lips. "Probably. Although she's resourceful. If they sentence her to Rura
Pente, she might find a way to survive. Even thrive." He shrugged, in what seemed less a callous
gesture than a helpless one. "They
may well execute her outright, Spock."
Spock nodded. His friend had offered testimony against
extradition. Kirk knew first-hand the
horrors of Rura Pente, of
the Klingon system of justice. He was an
honorable man. Despite what he had
suffered at Valeris's hands, he would not condemn her to that hell. Spock wished he could be as noble, that he
could find a way to put aside the anger and hurt long enough to feel sympathy
for her. But he could not. And these too-strong emotions were eating him
up inside.
He saw McCoy coming down the
hall. "I just heard. Is it Rura Pente then?"
Kirk looked at Spock, clearly
waiting for him to answer. When he did
not, Kirk nodded. "That or
execution."
McCoy grimaced. "After our short stay in that garden
spot, I think I'd prefer execution."
He shot a look at Spock. "What do you think of all this?"
Spock gave him the most even
look he could muster. "Justice has
been done."
McCoy shot him a knowing
smile. "Maybe I should rephrase my
original question. How do you feel about
all this?"
"Emotions are a human
failing, Doctor." Spock raised an
eyebrow. "I am fortunate to be free
of such things." Even as he said
it, he could feel anger and pain and guilt warring for control of him. He had a sudden urge to strike out. To hit something, perhaps
to knock the tropical plant off of its stand behind Kirk, or to wipe the smirk
off McCoy's face with a firm punch.
He forced such thoughts away.
"No
feelings, huh? Seems to be an epidemic of
that going around. First
Christine leaves everything she cares about and runs off to the back of beyond,
and now you're acting like this doesn't bother you any more than an
irregularity in one of your experiments might.
I don't buy it."
"Where is Chris?" Kirk
asked with a glance at Spock. He seemed
to want to turn the conversation to a less volatile topic.
McCoy shrugged. "Last I heard she'd shipped out to some
remote mining planet. Real
primitive. Lots of trees though, looks like the forest your cabin is in." He looked over at Spock. "You don't care about any of this, I
know."
"I did not realize
Doctor Chapel had left."
"Why does that not
surprise me?" McCoy turned back to
Kirk. "I'll tell you what,
Jim. I'm damn worried about her. She was so hurt, so angry when Ken left
her. I've never seen her like that. Almost out of control. And then it was like she just shut down. Didn't care about anything."
"It was a shock. It's never easy to lose someone you
love."
Spock could agree with
that. His body still wanted Valeris,
even if his heart and mind were united in hatred against her. They had very nearly bonded, were waiting
until the Klingon mission was over to formalize their relationship. And all that time that she was linked with
him in body or melded with him mind to mind, she had lied to him. How had she lied to him in the meld? He had loved her and she had betrayed
him. Mind to mind, she had betrayed
him. Spock would have thought it was
impossible, realized that he understood nothing. He had thought the meld was sacrosanct. He was a fool. An ignorant fool. He could feel his teeth clenching.
Spock saw that both Kirk and
McCoy were staring at him, twin expressions of worry and concern on their
faces.
"Spock. Do you think maybe a leave of absence might
be in order?" McCoy moved closer,
his voice low and only for the three of them.
"You've been working so long on this peace plan, and now this. I think it might be good for you to get
away."
"I am fine."
Kirk reached down, took his
hand, lifting it up and turning the palm so that Spock could see it. "If you're so damn fine, why are you
bleeding?"
Spock saw the wounds on his
palm, looked down and noticed green stains on his robe. He had not realized that he had torn into his
own skin. How had he not noticed that?
McCoy shook his head, began
to input something on the padd he carried.
"That's it, Spock. Six
months leave. Go back to Vulcan, or stay
here on Earth. Hell go
to Risa if you want, just get away for a while."
"A while is quite
different than six months, Doctor. It
sounds as if you are suspending me from duty."
"I could make it a
year." When Spock did not respond, McCoy
shook his head. "Blast it,
Spock. You don't have to take the full
six months. But I don't want to see you
back here in less then two, is that understood?"
Spock looked at Jim, ready to
argue, but the captain was wearing the expression that brooked no
argument. "He's right, Spock. You need some time away. This has been harder on you than on any of
us." When Spock opened his mouth to
argue, Kirk leaned in and said, "Dammit, for
once, just give in. We're not ganging up
on you, although it might feel like it.
God knows, the two of you have kicked my butt enough times in the past
when I needed a break and didn't want to admit it." He shook his head. "You need to get away, to find peace,
with no reminders of Valeris or Klingons.
Go home, Spock. Rest." He leaned
back, gave Spock a firm look.
"That's an order."
"My work--"
"--Can wait," McCoy
finished for him. "They haven't
assigned you a new mission have they?"
"They have not but that
does not mean that one is not waiting for me."
Kirk put his hand on Spock's shoulder, let it sit longer than anyone else would have
dared. "Get some rest, some
perspective. You won't be of use to
anyone until you do, old friend."
He sighed, and let his hand drop.
"I'll see you when you get back."
Spock watched them walk
away. He did not want to get some
rest. He did not need perspective. What he needed was a new mission, something
he could lose himself in. Something that
would take his mind off Valeris and how he would like to put his hands around
her throat and squeeze until her lovely eyes went dead. He looked down at his hands, saw that blood
was still seeping out from beneath his tight fingers.
Sighing in defeat, he headed
for his quarters. Very well, if rest was
deemed necessary, if perspective was what he needed, he would gain some. But not on Earth and not on Vulcan
either. He searched the federation
databases, looking for the perfect planet.
It was only after he made his reservations and was on the shuttle
heading for the far reaches of the Alpha Quadrant that he wondered why he had started
his search with the term 'mining.'
-----------------2-------------------
Chapel was hunkered down in her
favorite booth in the back of Ed's bar.
She had a cowboy hat she had liberated from the lost and found pile in
the general store pulled down over her face, and was slouching, feet resting on
the seat across from her. She was on her
second whiskey and by her estimation needed about two more before she'd reach
even mildly relaxed much less content.
It had not been a good day.
She heard the door open,
didn't look up to see who had come in.
Then she heard Ed ask in the voice he reserved for newcomers,
"Something I can help you with?"
"I am looking for
someone." The voice sounded eerily familiar. But there was no way the owner of that voice
was here on Temeris IV. No way. She frowned slightly, was about to turn
around when she heard him say, "Is that Doctor Chapel?"
"Who wants to
know?" Matson asked from his barstool.
He had appointed himself her unofficial protector since their first
encounter. She wasn't sure why she rated
such interest from him, but it amused her and did cut down on the number of
folks that harassed her in the bar for stupid reasons. Nobody wanted to try to get through her goon
squad of one for just a splinter or a hangnail.
She peeked over at the bar
keeping her hat low so that her face wouldn't be seen. Yep.
It was Spock. And he was staring
right at her. She reached for her drink.
"I served with her. We are old friends."
She snorted the whiskey she
had just swallowed, felt a burning in her throat and nose and tried not to
choke. Friends? Them? Yeah, right.
"Well, just don't crowd
her," Matson said in his helpful voice.
"She really hates that."
Some
bodyguard. She waited for Spock to get to her. His booted steps sounded no different than
anybody else's, boots being the footwear of choice in Clementine. He wasn't in uniform though. Why wasn't he in uniform? He was wearing casual clothes, no funky
Vulcan robe, just pants and shirt like anyone else would wear. Anyone else who wasn't the great Captain
Spock, savior of the universe--well co-savior, Kirk would have something to say
about his place in all that--and architect of the Klingon-Federation peace
treaty.
"Doctor Chapel?"
"I'm off the
clock," she mumbled. Go away, Spock. I really can't deal with you.
"It is Doctor Chapel, is
it not?"
"No, Spock. It's the goddamn tooth fairy." She pushed her hat up and glared at him. "What the hell do you want?"
"Your bedside manner has
degenerated somewhat since we last met," he said as he sat down, deliberately
knocking her feet off the seat as he did so.
She pushed herself up. "An insult,
Spock?"
He did not answer, just
studied her.
"Take a damn holo. It might last
longer." She pulled her hat back
down. Something in his expression was
off, and it made her uncomfortable.
Without thinking, she reached into her pocket, fingering the little
laser scalpel.
"And you are the doctor
here?"
"That's right. I'm the doctor. The only one in Clementine,
in fact, the only doc for this continent. Now over on the eastern side there's a Doctor
Finkelstein in
He did not move.
She leaned forward. "Show's over, Spock. I don't know why you're here, and what's
more, I don't care. I just want you to
go away and leave me alone."
He nodded agreeably. "Very well."
She watched as he got up
slowly, bowed slightly in what she could only describe as a mocking way, and
headed for the bar. Taking a seat a few stools
down from Matson, he asked Ed for some water.
He sipped at his water glass delicately, showing every sign of having
settled in for a while. A good long while.
She pushed herself out of the
booth, strode up to him and leaned in.
"This is not what I meant."
"I did not think merely
moving chairs was in the spirit of your words, although it does adhere to the
actual language of your request."
She saw Matson frown, as if
he were trying to puzzle out what Spock had just said, and figure out if there
was any threat to her included in the thought.
He looked over at her. "You don't like this guy, Doc?" When she glared at him, he said hurriedly,
"I mean Doctor Chapel?"
"Fascinating. He is
intimidated by you," Spock said under his breath. He was still looking at her, studiously
ignoring Matson, who she knew he could lay down in less time than it would take
her to throw back a shot of whiskey.
"Stand down,
Matson." She looked at Spock, saw that he was watching her with something akin to
humor. A bitter, black humor
though. She didn't think she'd ever seen
his eyes quite so cold. "What are
you doing here?" she asked.
"I am
vacationing." He took a sip of his
water. The look on his face became even
more sardonic. "I was told I needed
a vacation, so here I am."
"You had to come here
for your little holiday? To my planet?"
"Strangely enough,
Doctor Chapel, that is not how it was indicated on the Federation star
charts. Had it been, I might have
endeavored to pass it by."
She stared at him, unsure if
she was imagining the note of venom she heard in his voice. "Next time, I'll be sure to post a
warning sign so you won't make that mistake twice. And now that you know I'm here, you can drink
your water and go."
He turned to look at
her. The dark amusement was back in his
expression. She had the strangest
feeling that something inside him was feeding off their interaction. Was
disconcerted to realize something deep within her was also responding to it. "Get out." She walked back to her seat, pushed her hat
back down and took a huge gulp of her whiskey.
She heard boots hit the floor
then Ed asking, "Oh buddy, can't you just leave well enough alone?"
Six long strides later, Spock
loomed over her. "You cannot tell
me what to do."
"What? Are we nine years old now? She looked up at Spock, knew her expression
was the mocking one she had perfected lately.
"Can too." She
snickered, thinking that response put them down to the range of six year olds.
He set his glass on the table
and sat down.
"God, Spock. What is it about this that you don't
get? I don't want to talk. Go away.
Leave me the hell alone."
"I have not finished my
water."
She leaned in and grabbed his
water glass, downing the remaining liquid in one gulp. She slammed the empty glass back on the
table. "There, you're done. Now go."
He moved like a cat, his hand
capturing her wrist and pinning it firmly to the table before she could even
react. "Do not do that again,
Christine."
She had never heard so much
menace in his voice. His skin where it
touched hers felt hot, and she tried to pull away but he would not let
her. She reached into her pocket with
her free hand, pulled out the scalpel and held it up, igniting the laser as she
did so. "You like that hand, Spock? You want to keep it?"
His eyes met hers and she
nearly shivered at the emotion she saw in them.
He was angry? He looked down at
the scalpel and his lips curled up slightly.
"You have changed, Christine.
McCoy indicated you had, but I did not understand how much." He let go of her and turned his hand so it
lay palm up. There were wounds, four of
them, quite deep, still in the early stages of healing.
Self-inflicted, she
realized. And he wanted her to know
that. Why?
As she looked up at him, he
said softly, "I am here for a rest, Doctor. I do not need your permission to stay." He moved his hand, she thought to get away
from her but instead he pulled her hand back toward him, let his fingers linger
over her skin for a moment. It was
clearly a caress. But
a dark one. "In fact, it
would be in your best interest to stay away from me. I am not quite myself, you see." He let go of her and eased out of the booth.
"The Pon
Farr," she guessed.
His expression tightened. "No. Not that. And you will not speak of that again, do you
understand?"
Anger ran through her. This was her planet. She'd found it first. And how dare he try to dictate what she would
and would not say. "I'm not afraid of you. And I do what I please, Spock."
He glanced down at her, his
look now completely controlled.
"You must, of course, behave in the manner you believe is correct,
Christine."
He turned away, leaving her
to wonder what the hell was wrong with him.
And when he had become so comfortable with calling her
by her first name. Even if each
time he did it, it sounded like a threat.
--------------------------
Spock looked around the small
housing unit. His new landlady, Mrs.
Livingston, wrinkled her nose. "My,
it is a little rank in here, isn't it?
You give me a few hours and I'll have it smelling fresh and clean. Just needs a good airing out. It's been vacant since Ben Stillwell went
back to Mars."
From the staleness of the
air, Spock put that departure about five years ago. "If you can get rid of this smell, I
will take it." He wasn't sure what
he thought would stand as an alternative; this appeared to be the only vacant
housing unit in Clementine and he couldn't stay at the hotel the entire time--the
rooms might be cheap but the walls were too thin. He had heard everything that happened in town
last night. And a lot happened in Clementine
at night. A lot of
noisy things.
Not that he had to stay in
the small graceless town. He didn't _have_
to do anything. But he found he wanted
to stay. The reasons for that were
illogical and if he were honest with himself somewhat unsettling. But he knew that his recent interaction with
Christine had awakened something, had called to all the pain and anger inside
him. And they had responded.
"You know there's
another fleet person here. Although I
believe she resigned, not just on leave like you, Captain." Mrs. Livingston beamed up at him, clearly
both in awe of his reputation and also delighted to have scored another high-ranking
person for her small town.
He reminded himself that she
was the council chairman's wife and no doubt a political animal herself. There were similar men and women on Vulcan as
well, holding no rank of their own, but more than content to wield the power of
their mate's position. "Yes, Doctor
Chapel and I served together." He
wondered if the story of their first encounter had reached Mrs. Livingston yet,
judged by the approval she was beaming that it had not. He doubted she would be amused that her two
dignitaries had behaved in such a volatile manner not five minutes after reuniting. She would be appalled, just as he should
be. In fact, if he were thinking
rationally, he would catch the next shuttle out of here. Aside from the Pon
Farr, he had never behaved with such blatant disregard for logic. Had never pandered so to
the emotions that raged inside him.
He should leave.
"How
long will you be staying, Captain Spock?"
He turned to her, gave her
the thoughtfully composed face of a Vulcan who does not know the answer to a
question. "I am unsure." Inside, confusion reigned. Why did he want to stay? This was dangerous.
This was dangerous and he
found that he did not care.
He picked up his small
carryall, did not want it picking up the sour odor of the habitat. "I will be back in a few
hours."
In a few
hours. Even such lack of specificity was unheard
of. Would he back in two hours? Two point five? Three point two five? What did a few hours mean? He walked back to the main street of the town, saw Christine getting into a hover with a miner. No doubt answering a call. The bar would be a safe place to wait.
Safe? Did he feel
unsafe around her? Or did he feel that
he was not safe to be around. He was
unsure. Just as he was
unsure when he had begun to think of her as Christine and not as Doctor Chapel.
He should leave. Leave now before it was too
late.
He walked into the bar. The bartender looked up and shook his
head. "Well, you're a glutton for
punishment, aren't you? She's not
here."
"I am aware of
that." Spock sat down. "My quarters are not ready for
habitation."
"You
taking Ben Stillwell's place?"
Spock nodded, accepting the
water that the bartender set in front of him.
"Well, welcome to
Clementine. The water's free here,"
the bartender said with a smile. "You
don't even have to ask. But it would
make my day if you'd order something else."
"I require nothing else."
"Yeah, I pretty much figured
that." The bartender looked over at
the big man that had seemed so interested in Christine earlier. "You need a refill, Matson?"
"I'm waiting for
LaTral."
"Suit
yourself." The bartender looked
back at Spock. "You're that famous
Vulcan, aren't you? Captain Spock? So you and the doc go way back?"
"Yes." Spock sipped at his water, noticed Matson had
turned in their direction, was clearly listening in. He gave the man a disapproving look.
"Hey, you want to have a
private conversation, get a booth. The
bar is open territory." Matson
moved over a stool. "I gotta say, it sure doesn't seem
like you're on Doctor Chapel's list of favorite people."
The bartender laughed. "Do you think she has a list like
that?"
"She likes you, Ed."
"Doesn't
count. I pour her liquor."
"She likes LaTral, I
think. And me."
Ed laughed harder. "She doesn't like you, Matson, she
tolerates you. There's a
difference."
"Okay, so it's a short
list. Really short. But"--he stabbed out at Spock with a
meaty forefinger--"you are definitely not on it."
"I believe you are
correct in that assessment." Spock
took another sip of his water. There was
a time when he had been on the top of that list. When Christine Chapel's regard for him had
seemed like the surest thing in his universe.
He had not wanted her, but she had loved him and that had often been a
balm, even if he had never taken advantage of any of the things she had offered
him over the years. She was clearly not
offering him anything now. Did that
matter? The change in her was
surprising, but was it also, in some way he did not fully understand, a
disappointment? Had he needed that balm
after Valeris had so completely shredded his pride? Had he thought to find healing with a woman to
whom he had never even wanted to give a chance?
He accepted that it might indeed be why he had come here; he knew his
subconscious worked in odd ways. But now? What did he
want now? That sweet, giving woman who
he had rebuffed was no longer in sight. What
could he possibly want from this new Christine Chapel?
"Well, she may not like
you, but from where I was standing, things were getting pretty hot back
there." Ed shook his head. "Guess some folks just like it a little
dangerous. Didn't
expect that from a Vulcan though."
Spock did not dignify the
remark with a reply. He had never been
one of those people. He did not engage
in intimacy with a woman unless he cared deeply for her. And in his experience, other than the Pon Farr, sex was a logical way of increasing the intimacy
between two partners. A way to merge
passion and deep respect, and one he enjoyed immensely. He had certainly never considered it
dangerous.
But he had to admit that the
feelings his short encounter with Christine had dredged up were unquestionably
in that category. There was an anger
buried in her, an anger caused he presumed by her divorce, an anger that called
to his own.
He should leave.
"I am staying here for
an extended period. Do you know of any
opportunities for work?" he asked.
Matson stared hard at
him. 'You want to work? Aren't you on vacation?"
Spock nodded. "I believe physical labor would be a
useful activity." And an excellent outlet for some of his anger. "I am very strong."
Matson looked at Spock's lean
frame with disbelief. "Sure you
are, buddy."
"You do not believe
me?"
Matson thumped his right
elbow on the bar, his fingers spread.
"Prove it."
Spock resisted a sigh. How many times at the Academy had he had to
arm wrestle a bigger cadet to prove he was capable of some task that required
strength? He put his right arm on the
bar next to Matson's, took his hand.
"You realize you are at a disadvantage. Your leverage will be compromised by your
seating position."
"I'll risk
it." Matson tightened his fingers,
waited for Spock to do the same. His
eyes widened slightly at Spock's grip.
"Ed, you want to do the honors?"
Ed didn't even look up as he
said quickly, "One. Two. Three. Go."
Spock barely had to exert
pressure to get Matson's arm down; it hit the bar with a resounding thud.
"Two
out of three?" Matson asked
in a stunned voice.
Ed's head shot up. He took in the tableau. "He beat you?" He laughed.
"Damn. I owe you a
drink. You just broke the longest
winning streak in Clementine arm wrestling history. You sure you don't want something
stronger?"
When Spock indicated he was
sure, Matson said, "Hey, maybe you could use it to buy the doc a
drink? She likes whiskey."
"So I noticed."
"Used to drink it on the
rocks, but she gets called away a lot and the ice melts. She hates watered-down whiskey. Drinks it neat now." Ed seemed to realize he was passing on a
little too much information and busied himself with wiping some glasses down.
"She is a good
doctor?"
"The best," Ed said
with a nod.
Spock suspected he would not
lie about that. "She was always a
fine healer," he agreed.
"Surly as hell," Ed
went on. "But a
great doctor. I'm sure she'll
warm up to you if you buy her some expensive whiskey."
"It has worked for
others?" Spock felt an odd
emotional surge at the idea that she might be close to someone else on the
planet.
"Well, no." Ed laughed.
"But there's a first time for everything."
"So you really want a
job? Because me and my partner could use
some help, if you don't mind hard work?"
He looked at Matson. "When shall I start?"
"Well, how about
tomorrow? We're getting close to a big
vein. I can feel it in my bones."
Spock let an eyebrow rise,
saw Matson grin.
"You'll see,
Captain. It'll be the biggest one
yet."
"You may call me
Spock. And since you seem so certain, I
will not doubt your word."
Another man walked into the
bar, he saw Matson and smiled.
"What are you doing, Johnny?
Talking up our mine again?"
"This is my partner
LaTral." He pointed at Spock with
his drink, splashing some of it on Spock's shirt. "Spock's gonna
work in the mine."
LaTral studied him. "_The_ Spock? The Spock who brought us peace so we don't
have to worry about angry Klingons taking our latinum away?" He frowned.
"You're going to dig with us?"
"I am on vacation,"
Spock said, tired of trying to explain why he wanted to work on his
vacation. They had no need to know about
his volatile emotional state. Or that
hard work would be a very good way to make it less volatile.
LaTral seemed to accept the
weak answer. "Well, okay then. I have to say, I don't really get the
attraction of a dusty, airless mine shaft if you don't own the place. But suit yourself."
"Then it is
settled. I shall report tomorrow?"
Matson nodded. "Be here at
Spock nodded, feeling unaccountably
pleased with himself at having defined how his time would be spent. Or some of it in any case.
The door opened and Christine
walked in. She had dust on her pants,
from treating someone in the depths of a mine, he supposed. "You're still here." She shot him a resigned look. "No shuttle till tomorrow, I
guess?"
"He's not leaving,
Doctor Chapel. He's gonna
stay a while and mine for fun while he's on vacation," Matson said, with a
grin at his partner.
Christine's eyebrow went up;
Spock found himself wondering if that was a natural gesture or if she had
perfected it for him all those years ago on the
"You have no
comment?" he asked her.
"Yippee?" she said,
turning to Ed. "Where's my damn
whiskey?"
The bartender grabbed a plastic
sealed glass and peeled the plastic off.
"Here you go."
She took the drink and glared
at Spock. "Stay the hell away from
me." She punctuated each word with
a stab of her glass at Spock, but unlike Matson did not spill a drop. Then she
drained it and handed it back to Ed.
"Another." As soon as
he handed it back, she walked away from them, and settled into her usual
booth.
"Definitely hot,"
Ed muttered so low that Spock wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't had Vulcan
hearing.
----------------------------
Chapel patted Ezra Livingston
on the knee. "Okay, kiddo. You're good to go."
The ten-year-old looked over
at his mom. "See, I told you she
was nice."
Mariah Livingston looked
distinctly uncomfortable. "I never
said she wasn't, Ezra."
"Yes, you did. At dinner the other night
when you told Dad that--ow!"
"That will be quite
enough." She simpered. It was not a pretty expression. "Children repeat everything out of
context, don't they?"
Chapel shrugged. "They tell it like it is, that's for sure."
She rather enjoyed seeing Mariah squirm.
"He's good for his inoculations.
And this should help his cough."
She handed the woman a bottle of cough syrup. "Try to keep him out of the mines when
he's got a cold. All that dust isn't helpful
when he's sick."
"Oh, that's easier said
than done, Doctor."
Way ahead of you on that one,
sweetie. Chapel kept working on the
padd, so that Mariah wouldn't see her smirking as she said. "Yes, I heard that."
"You two know each
other?"
"Uh
huh."
"Well, I was thinking
that maybe you could encourage him to stay...you know, permanently."
Chapel gave her a sour look. "Why would I want to do that?"
"You don't like
him?"
Chapel sighed. She was trapped. Either way
Fortunately,
She prepped the room, which
consisted of spraying down the exam table, and called for her last patient of
the day.
It was LaTral. "Hey, Doctor Chapel. It's been a week, and I wasn't sure how to
get this thing off."
"How's the leg
feel?"
"Great. Good as new.
Maybe better." He grinned as he hopped up on the exam
table. "I can't wait to get back to
the mine. I mean, Spock's working out
well and all, so no worries there. But I
miss the work, the excitement."
She took in his black pants
and white shirt. "The dust?"
He laughed. "Well, maybe not that. It's been kind of fun to wear regular clothes
again." He pulled up the leg of his
pants. "So how are you?"
"I'm fine." She bent down and carefully cut the cast with
a small laser saw. It stopped as soon as it sensed flesh instead of manmade
material. She gently moved his leg and
worked on the other side.
"Johnny said you were
admiring the lake."
"Johnny?" She pulled the cast pieces away from his
skin, working them carefully so she wouldn't tear any skin.
"My
partner."
She laughed as she ran a
scanner over his leg. "Oh,
my faithful bodyguard. Didn't know Matson had a first name."
"Sure he does. Don't you?"
She smiled. "Yes."
"But you aren't going to
tell me." He shook his head. "I could just ask Spock."
She looked up at him, struck
again by how young he seemed. "What
do you want, LaTral?"
He smiled. "I have a first name too. It's Rene." His smile grew; he had to be aware of how
disarming it was. "I just wanted to
say you should come up and swim. It's a
good lake. Or you could have lunch with
us sometime."
"I'll think about
it." She pulled his pant leg
down. "You can get down now. You're all fixed."
"You won't think about
it. But that's okay." He took a few tentative steps, then smiled.
"You're good, Doc."
She didn't correct him on her
title. "Any first year medical
student could have done what I did."
"Not with your finesse." He smiled again. "I'm a fan, Doc. You're not going to get rid of me or Matson
very easily."
"Lucky me," she
said as she rolled her eyes. "Now, git. I have things to do."
"Okay." He stopped at the door. "See you at the bar later?"
"Is there anything else
to do here?"
He grinned wickedly.
"Forget I
asked." She watched him leave,
realized after he was gone that she was grinning. Shaking her head, she cleaned up the exam
room and headed for her office. She had
about an hour's worth of work if she wanted to do it tonight. She glanced across the street to the
bar. It looked so inviting, bright
lights shining into the early evening gloom.
Ed had upgraded his lighting again, she realized. Before too long he'd be rivaling the Vegas
strip or the pleasure sector on New Bangkok.
She decided to call it a
day. The wind had died down and for once
no dust blew into her eyes as she crossed the street. The bar was only moderately crowded, Spock
standing with Matson and LaTral. He and
Matson were both covered with dust. She
ignored them, saw LaTral wink at her even as he moved closer to his
partner. She shook her head and took her
drink over to her favorite booth, which was currently occupied by a group of
teenagers.
"You're in my
booth."
Three of the boys slid out
and hurried off to another table. But
the last one, a new kid she didn't recognize looked around the booth with a
sulky arrogance and said, "I don't see your name on it."
"It's there, if you know
where to look. Now get out."
"Maybe you should come
in here and show me."
"Perhaps we both
should?" Spock answered for
her.
"I don't need your
help," she said, trying not to sound shrill. She turned to face Spock and realized he was
standing too close, much too close.
"You're covered with dust, get away from me." She took a step back, toward the booth.
"I doubt that bothers
you, Christine. You are in and out of
the mines all day. I think something
else is bothering you." Spock took
a step toward her, forcing her back.
Another step and he had her pinned against the table. "LaTral said to bring you
this." He held up a general store
package.
She took it from him, looked
inside. A bathing
suit. Of
course. And it looked like her
size too. She closed her eyes, tried to
keep her voice controlled. "Fine,
you've brought it to me. Now get away
from me."
"As
you wish." He waited a second too long before turning
and heading back to the bar. She could
tell he had known he was making her uncomfortable and that he was enjoying
it. What the hell was wrong with him?
"That was weird,"
the kid in her booth said.
"Get the hell out. Now." She felt the anger rise, the anger she hadn't
been able to conjure the first time she'd told him to clear out.
The kid turned white, slid
out of the booth quickly. "Get a
grip, lady, it's just a booth."
She sat down, took a deep
gulp of the whiskey. "It's my
booth," she muttered to herself. "My booth, my planet." She glared over at Spock, wished she could
scare him off as easy as she had the teen squatter. So far it did not look like much of a
prospect. Like it or not, Spock was
here. She just prayed it wasn't for very
long.
She finished her drink and
gestured to Ed to bring her another--a triple this time. It was going to take a hell of a lot of whiskey
to turn this into a good night.
-----------3------------
"Time to call it a day,
Spock," LaTral yelled down the passageway to him. "You're putting us all to shame,
buddy. Even Johnny can't keep up with
you."
Spock turned back, saw that he had indeed cleared a great deal of
property. He put the laser axe down and
wiped his face. To his surprise, he was
enjoying himself. There was something
soothing about landing the solid blows, keeping a rhythm as he swung then
rested. And there was no reason to hold
back. He could strike hard. As hard as he wanted. For once, his emotions worked for him, urging
him on.
"We're going to the
bar. You coming?" Matson picked up Spock's laser axe to put it
away for the night.
Spock nodded. He knew his former shipmates would be shocked
that he would spend any time in a bar, much less as many hours as he had been
spending at Ed's. He liked the company,
the way they expected nothing from him, letting him be if he did not want to
talk, welcoming him into the conversation if he had something to say. And he liked to watch Christine. She was part of the group, yet apart. Like he was. It fascinated him. When had she become such a loner? He remembered her as being close to other
women in the crew, but here she appeared to have no close friends.
And when had she become
someone that could scare burly miners.
Not just out of her booth, he'd seen them give way to her in other matters. Spock wondered what she said. Or did something show in her eyes? The same thing he saw when she was angry with
him? It was anger. Pure, unadulterated rage. He recognized it as the same thing he was
fighting inside himself. He wished he
had asked McCoy about her. What had
happened to her marriage? He knew divorce
was difficult but this seemed like more.
His interaction with her the
night he had given her LaTral's present had left him feeling deeply satisfied,
much as he used to feel when he won a point in the eternal round of insults
that he and McCoy engaged in. He had put
her off balance, and he had enjoyed it.
And she had smelled so
pleasant. A mix of
medical soap and perfume and her own natural scent. Spock had noticed that her scent grew
stronger the angrier she had become. It
had been what made him move closer to her, made him push her back against the
table. He had enjoyed that moment, her
scent growing, her eyes dilating as her emotions grew, gathered strength. A small part of him had said to move back, to
give her room. But he had ignored that
more rational part. He did not know if
it was the primitive Vulcan buried deep within him or the Human that wanted to
push her, wanted to see what other emotions he could provoke. And he was not sure he cared.
But he knew that there was a
point after which this would no longer be harmless. There was a line he should not cross, no
matter how much he might enjoy pushing her.
So tonight he would leave her alone just as he had left her alone the
night before and the night before that and the night before that. She would sit in her booth, and he would stay
at the bar, and they would ignore each other as if there was a galaxy between
them and not just a hard wood floor.
The hover ride to town was
short and he followed Matson and LaTral into the bar. He saw Christine at the bar instead of her
booth, which sat empty. Curious. She was
smiling at him in an odd way. It was not
a welcoming expression. Indeed, it
struck him as more predatory than anything else. He turned away, took the water that Ed offered
him, tried to ignore her as she moved close to him.
"I understand now,"
her voice was low, husky. As if she was
trying to seduce him. "I made some
calls. Got the scoop on what's been
going on in your life." She drank
from her glass deeply, then put it down. "What was her name? Valerie?"
He could feel his mouth
tighten. Do not go there,
Christine.
"No...Valeris.
Yes, that was it." She had been looking down, now she looked up
slowly, staring at him forcefully, her expression
taunting. "The biggest traitor Star
Fleet has ever known was in your bed, Spock?
That is too rich." She
grinned. "You were screwing her and
you didn't even know."
"Leave it alone,
Christine."
She leaned in close, moved
her face languidly along his until she was whispering in his ear. "Don't like to hear about her, do
you? But you're going to. Every damn day until you go
away. This is my planet. I don't want you here."
She took the water glass and
put it down on the bar. "Spock was
just leaving." She smiled as she
turned him to face the door.
"Forever," she said so low that only he could hear.
He gripped her hand hard. "We are both going. Good night."
A chorus of good nights
followed as he pulled her out into the street.
Her shock wore off as soon as the door slammed behind them. She tried to pry his hand off her. "Let go of me," she said as she
gave up on moving his hand and reached toward her pocket.
"Not twice,
Christine. What was that saying of
Mister Scott's?" He pushed her up
against the wall of the bar, pinning her hand before she could reach her little
scalpel. "Shame
on you, shame on me? Is that not how
it went?"
She squirmed and the movement
was like an electric shock against his body.
He leaned against her harder. "What
will you do now? You cannot use your
laser scalpel. And your bodyguard
appears to have abandoned you."
"I don't need
Matson." She twisted one way then
another. Her knee came up and he moved
quickly to avoid it. She had the opening
she needed, pulled out the scalpel and said, "Give me a reason,
Spock."
He stared at her, putting
every inch of Vulcan disdain in his expression as he said, "It is
understandable that your husband left you." Then he let go of her, turned around, and
headed to his house.
He heard her coming up behind
him as he rounded the corner and headed the two blocks to his small house. "Go to bed, Doctor Chapel, you have
nothing that I want." He heard her
stop, thought he heard her sob. Why did
it feel good to hurt her? Why did it
make him feel alive, aroused? Why did he
want to pull her to him and touch her and insult her until there was nothing
left to say, or to touch...or to kiss?
To kiss. He wanted her.
He opened his door, turned as
he heard her coming up fast behind him. There
were tears in her eyes, but she was not crying.
He knew the difference between angry tears and tears of sadness. She was definitely in a rage.
"You bastard," she
said softly, the scalpel activated and shining in the low light of the front
room as it came flashing down at him. He
knocked it away as easily as he had knocked the phaser out of Valeris's hand in
sickbay that night when they had finally trapped her, finally found unequivocal
proof of her involvement. The night his
world had blown apart.
Christine looked at the
scalpel, as if assessing whether she could get it before he could get her.
"Go home,
Christine. You cannot hurt
me." He knew she would take it as a
dare.
"Did she love you,
Spock?" Christine was breathing
hard, her eyes were wild.
He had never seen her look
more alluring. "She did."
"She didn't love
you. She was just using you." She stepped closer to him. "After all, no Vulcan woman wants you
for very long." Her smile was a
slow, evil thing. He could tell that she
knew she had drawn blood with that one.
He reached behind her and
slammed the door shut. "What about
human women, Christine? Do they want me
for years? Or do they forget that they
once would have given anything to be touched like this?" He grabbed her, pulled her close.
She didn't answer, just
stared at him, tears in her eyes, breathing hard, her body pressing hard
against him.
Let her go, the small voice
inside him said. Let her go.
He ignored it. Kept seeing Valeris's scornful face as she'd
faced him down on the bridge, so sure he would never hurt her.
She had been wrong. He had hurt her.
"You can have me now,
Christine. Do you not want me? Want this?" He pushed her against the door and kissed her
hard. Then he pulled away, let her
go. "Get out."
Her eyes were like obsidian
sapphires, the pupils so dilated that he could not see any blue at all. "Screw you," she hissed, as she
walked up to him.
He took a step toward her,
meeting her. "As
you wish."
"Bastard," she
said, as she pulled his face to hers.
"Inaccurate," he
replied just before their lips met.
The kiss was like touching an
unshielded power cable. Electrical
current seemed to sizzle and snap between them.
He could taste her anger as she opened her mouth to him, feel her rage as
she pushed her body against his, grinding in a frenetic motion as he bent her
backwards. He heard a groan, realized he
had made the sound. He turned her and
pushed her into the bedroom, tearing her clothes off even as he maneuvered her
to the bed. She undid his pants then
looked up at him. "I hate
you."
He nodded. "I accept that."
She yanked his pants off with
one firm movement, tore the rest of his clothes off and pulled him down to her
as she fell backward to the bed. Her
legs came up, wrapping around him as he kissed her, bit at her neck, her lip. The feel of her skin against his, the taste
of her mouth, her scent coming up and surrounding him, it was all too
much. He moved slightly, found his way
into her, nearly lost control at the sensation she was provoking as she
tightened around him. He fought to
maintain some mastery of his own will; he did not want to hurt her, not that
way. She was human, not Vulcan. Not that he had ever been this way with
Valeris. Theirs had been a logical mating
filled with regard. Not this hot,
turgid, completely mindless lust that was threatening to strangle him as he
moved faster and harder inside Christine.
She was clawing his back and he looked down at her, forced himself to
make sure she was all right.
Her head was thrown back and
she was flushed. She suddenly clenched
around him and cried out. As he watched
her, spasms shaking her body, he increased his movements. She held on to him, her arms thrown around
his neck, her short fingernails again digging into his back. He cried out loudly as he reached completion,
his thrusts coming harder than ever.
When it was over, he rolled off of her, laid next to her on the bed. Close but not touching.
She looked over at him. Her eyes were languid but he thought he saw
confusion and some deep sadness there as well.
She seemed to be considering something, and he could not tell what it
was. Then she closed her eyes, and when
she opened them again, he saw the Christine from the bar.
"Better than
Valeris?" she asked scornfully. Her
eyes darkened, as she rolled over and stared down at him. "You were certainly better than I
expected." She started to rise.
He reached out and stopped
her, his hand in her hair causing her to grimace. "We are not finished here."
"That's not your
decision to make." She tried to
pull away but winced again when he did not release her hair.
Pulling her close to him, he leaned
over so he was covering her body with his own.
He let go of her hair, reached down and began to stroke her.
"I hate you," she
whispered.
"You have already
indicated that." He kissed her
deeply, hungrily, as if he could not get enough of her. "I am not overly fond of you either,
Christine. But your talent in bed seems
to offset your rather unpredictable personality." She bucked under his touch and he felt his
own body responding. He wanted her again. Wanted her so much. Too much? that little voice inside of him whispered. Let her go, it seemed to say. But it was drowned out by the feeling of Christine
reaching for him, her hand encircling him, bringing him pleasure, so much
pleasure.
Pleasure
that was supplanted by a greater one as she took him into her mouth. The sensations
overwhelmed him, warm and firm, moist and tight, so tight. He threw his head back, his hand again
finding her hair, this time to caress and stroke, not restrain. "Yessss,"
he hissed, the sound not something he knew he was even capable of making.
She slid up his body, her
flesh cool as she rubbed along his own hot skin. Climbing on top of him, she impaled him
inside her. "Spock," she
moaned, and he was not sure if she knew that she had cried out his name.
He reached up, let his hands
roam her body, touching and stroking and pinching lightly. She began to buck again, and he felt himself
stiffen and explode as she clenched around him.
She collapsed on top of him. A
moment later she pushed herself off him and crawled to the top of the bed.
He felt cold after having her
warmth surrounding him. Looking over at
her, he saw that she was staring at him, her expression unreadable. Her skin was flushed, her hair slightly
damp. He reached out, saw her
flinch. "Christine?"
He had the sudden thought
that this was a moment that could change everything, and Christine seemed to
realize that. She pushed herself off the
bed, and grabbed her clothes.
He sat up. "I will not try to stop you. There is no cause for panic." He could hear scorn settling back into his
voice.
"I'm not panicking. I'm disgusted. I want out of here." She hurried out to the other room and he
heard her rustling around behind the chair for her scalpel. Then the door opened and slammed behind her.
He lay where he was for a
long time, not moving, trying not to think about what had just happened. But he kept replaying it in his mind. He swallowed, realized his mouth was
unbearably dry. Going into the bathroom,
he splashed water on his face, then drank deeply,
filling the cup over and over. As he stared
at himself in the mirror, he wondered where the Spock he had thought he was had
gone. He had just had sex with a woman
who hated him, who he did not even know if he wanted other than in the way he'd
just had her. Who was he that he could
do this? And why wasn't he more
concerned? Why was he still thinking of
how he would like to pull her to him and--
He turned off the light,
cutting access to a reflection that gave him no answers. Walking into the bedroom, he crawled onto the
bed, breathing deeply as he tried to find her scent on the bedspread. Once he found it, he pulled the rest of the
spread over himself and let the warmth of the covers and the smell
of Christine lull him into an uneasy sleep.
----------------------------------------
Chapel looked away as Spock
walked past her office. It had been nine
days since that night...that awful-- She
couldn't finish the thought. It hadn't
been exactly awful. If she weren't
feeling so downright dirty, she'd be more willing to admit that it had been the
best sex of her life. Not the warmest
sex of her life though, it had stung when he had rolled off her, so clearly not
wanting to touch her. As if he couldn't
get away from her fast enough. But then he
had reached out for her? What was that
all about? Had he been offering comfort?
Because comfort sure didn't
seem to go with the sex--sex that had pure anger as the fuel. She'd never expected to see Spock lose
control that way...only, he hadn't really lost control, it
was as if he were in control at a different level. When he had been on top of her, thrusting
hard, she'd had a moment's fear that he would hurt her. But he had not, he
had eased off just enough that the pain she had been starting to feel
disappeared. There had only been
sensation then, sensation that had rocketed through her and turned into pure
erotic bliss.
She could feel her cheeks
heating up as she thought about him, knew she was blushing.
Have to forget what
happened. It won't happen again. Not ever.
I hate him.
And, as he'd said, he wasn't
overly fond of her. End of story. Time to forget and move on. Or try to forget and move on. Or forget about forgetting,
just get with the moving on. She should
not be thinking about this nine days later. Nine days that he'd avoided her as studiously
as she'd avoided him. It should not be
on her mind as she lay in her bed at night.
Should not be something remembered when she was alone and touching
herself. She needed to focus on what was
real, not this lurid moment that had been nothing but pure fantasy driven by
unadulterated one hundred percent lust.
That's all it had been. Lust. Because she had
been missing sex; she hadn't been with a man for over a year, and that was a
long time to go without.
Spock hadn't really been that
good. Had he?
She heard the front door open
and the sound of boot steps approaching.
"I'll be right out."
"No need," Spock
said as he stepped into the office.
"He appears, like Adonis
fresh from the morning dew." She
rolled her eyes to show him how much she didn't mean that.
"I wanted to make sure
you were unharmed by our..."
"Screwing fest the other
night?" Would two times qualify for a fest? She looked away, back at her padd. "I'm fine. And nice of you to wait over
a week before you asked me."
She looked up.
"You appeared to be fine
when you ran out into the night."
He sat down, stared at her hard.
She felt something flutter in
her abdomen. It was unfair that all it
took to make her respond was for him to look at her that way. The way he had that night. That night that must never happen again.
She stood up abruptly, walked
into the other room. "Do you need a
doctor? Because unless
you do, you have to go now. I
need to lock up."
"I am not ill."
"Then get out," she
said, her voice loaded with everything caustic and mean. "I do not want to see you in here unless
you have a medical emergency."
He walked over to where she
stood, seemed to think about that for a long moment, then he gave a strange
little sigh, and walked out.
She made sure her medicines
were secure, turned off the lights, and walked out, nearly colliding with
Spock. "What the hell?"
"You did not say that I
could not wait for you out here."
He turned away so he would not see the code she pressed into the alarm
pad.
"Why can't you just go
away?"
"I am uncertain of that
myself." He moved aside as she
turned to walk across the street. "The bar? We did
not do so well there the last time."
She glared and slipped around
him, heading off toward the residential area.
He was following her even though he lived on the other side of
town. "Stop it, Spock."
"Stop what?" He stayed just behind her, following on her
heels as she tried to think of somewhere else to go but her house.
She saw the general store,
thought about going in there to shop, to bore him so much he would wander
away. But her feet wouldn't turn in and
she realized she didn't really want to lose him. She also realized she was breathing hard,
that her face was flushed and her body felt as if it was burning up
inside. No, this is bad. Wrong.
I shouldn't do this.
She turned to look at him and
he stared back, his look implacable and totally focused on her, her face, her
body as he raked his eyes up and down her.
"Keep walking, Christine," he said softly, and she turned and moved
more quickly to her house. She paused at
the doorway, felt him come up behind her, his breath hot on her neck.
"Do you still hate
me?" he asked, his voice barely more than a
murmur.
"Yes."
"It is irrelevant,"
he replied.
She turned to face him. He was standing so close, his lips nearly
touching hers. "Why?" she
asked, unsure if she was talking to him or to himself. "Do you love me?"
"I do not." His tone was completely dispassionate.
"Do you even know what
love is?" She could tell by the look in his eyes that he did know. She tried not to react, tried to keep from
showing him that it hurt, but she could tell that she wasn't fooling either of
them.
He shook his head slightly,
as if chiding a slow-witted child. "Why do you ask questions when you already know the
answers?"
"Why do you want to
screw someone who hates you?"
He smiled then, it was only a
small upward tilt of his lips, but it was a smile. "I have had little luck with those who I
believed cared for me. How can this be
any worse?" He took the half-step
forward that brought their bodies together.
She moaned as he leaned
against her.
"Are we going to do this
in the doorway, Christine?"
She shook her head, felt a
strange despair fill her as she backed away.
He shut the door behind him and reached for her. As his hands touched her, despair gave way to
throbbing desire, desire that had never quite gone away since their first
night.
He pulled her in close,
drawing her against him and running his hands roughly down her body. "I wanted it to be here, do you know
why?" He kissed her hard.
She found it impossible to
think while he was kissing her, closed her eyes and clung to him, matching his
passion, his ferocity.
He pulled away, tilted her
chin so she was looking into this eyes.
"I wanted it to be here, so that I could be the one to leave when I
have had enough. That should not be
solely your right." He kissed her
again, and again. "I do not think
that it will be after only two times however.
Tonight, I am very hungry."
He pushed her against the doorway, pulled down her pants. "Very hungry," he said again as he
knelt, his head pressed against her, his tongue lapping fiercely at her.
Her legs nearly give out as
he began to suck at her.
"Spock," she moaned, then was immediately embarrassed that she
had called out his name. Her legs began
to shake and he pulled her down to the ground, drawing her hips closer to him
and resuming his licking, then he began to touch her with his hand as the other
caressed her breasts through her shirt. She
felt as if she was going to explode, but each time she was almost there, he
stopped, raising his head to watch her, his fingers moving in lazy motions that
kept the heat on but did not send her over the edge. How did he know how close she was, and when
to stop? They had not melded.
"Vulcans are touch
telepaths," he said softly, as he bent down to taste her again. "And you are an excellent
broadcaster." Over and over he
brought her to the brink, then pulled back, waiting as
she settled enough to begin again. He
didn't let her come until she asked him, practically begged him to. Then he took her to the edge and right
over. It was a long, lovely fall down.
Before she hit bottom, he was
inside her, pumping hard against her.
She closed her eyes and lifted her hips, trying to match his
passion. She thought she heard him call
her name and opened her eyes. He was
glaring down at her, his hands on either side of her head as he thrust harder
and harder until he came. This time she
was sure he called her name.
He rolled off of her as he
had the other time. Lay just out of
reach of her touch as he recovered. She
turned to look at him, realized that even though he was little more than an arm's
length away, his emotions were much farther than that.
"Was she so good? Your
Valeris?" She didn't know why she
asked it, had given up trying to control anything that her body or mind might
do when he was around.
"I loved her," he
said simply.
Chapel had never felt so
cold.
"But the sex was never like
this. This is better."
"Hooray for me, I screw
better." She turned to him, saw his
features fall into the frozen mask he had worn so many times on the
"You asked,
Christine. I merely gave you the
truth. If you do not wish to hear the answer,
then you should not have asked the question."
"I'll remember that,
Spock. Trust me. I won't ask again." She closed her eyes, squeezed back tears.
She could sense him moving
closer to her. His breath was warm on
her face, then his lips touched her cheek. "Am I better than your husband?" he
asked, and she wondered if he was doing it because he was truly curious, or if
he wanted to give her a chance to even the score. For all that he surprised her with his
capacity for cutting cruelty, he did seem to retain some basic fairness at his
core.
She turned so that they were
kissing, long deep kisses full of passion and very little tenderness. "Ex-husband. And yes, you are," she whispered. She watched his face as she said it, saw his pleasure at the answer. "But I never felt dirty after sleeping
with him." She felt a frisson of
triumph when his jaw tightened.
He pushed away from her, lay
on his back and stared up at the ceiling.
"Do you want me to go?"
He turned his head, looked over at her.
"I will go if you ask me to."
His expression was even, but his eyes burned. She could tell he still wanted her, that this
night would be even better than the first one.
Unless she told him to go. She knew somehow that if she told him to go,
he'd never come back, might even leave Temeris IV for good finally. And wasn't that what she wanted? Him gone, for good?
He stretched and his hand
fell between them as he arched up. She
slowly crawled over to him. He watched
her through half-lidded eyes as she moved closer. Finally she was lying next to him and she
rolled to her side. He moved so that he
was on his side, facing her. "Do
you want me to go?" he asked again.
She scooted in, lifting her
leg so that it was over his, opening herself to him. He smiled again, that barely there smile that
only she could see. Smiled and moved to
find entry.
"Enough talking,"
she said as she wrapped her arm around him.
"Can we get back to the sex?"
She kissed him, hard, passionately, angrily. She'd make him pay for what he'd said, just
as he would make her pay for what she'd said.
It was ugly and dark and bad and it was the best sex she'd ever had. She wasn't going to be the one to call it
off. She wasn't going to be the one to
blink first. "So how hungry are
you?"
When he started to answer,
she laid her finger on his lips.
"No words, stupid. Show
me."
His eyes narrowed for a
moment at the name she had called him.
Then he pulled her to him and kissed her. Kisses so deep and hot that she thought she
would drown in them if he didn't let her up soon. She heard him moan and smiled.
It was going to be a hell of
a long night. She only hoped they
eventually made it to the bed.
--------------4-------------------
Spock hacked at a large stone
blocking their progress, the laser on his axe engaging as it made contact with
the stone, cutting deeper than he could have done on his own.
"You're a machine, my
friend," LaTral said, as he hit the counterstrike. "Trying to keep up with you is a whole
new concept in exercise."
"Shall I slow
down?"
"Hell,
no. I'm going to have muscles that rival a Tarkellian weightlifter in no time." LaTral grinned. "Been slight all my
life. It'll be fun to have some
brawn of my own. I won't have to rely on
Johnny to do my fighting." Then he
laughed. "Not that I've made any
enemies on this planet. Or none that I know of anyway. The only one that seems to dislike me is the
doc. But then, I'm not sure she likes
anyone."
Spock chose not to
comment.
LaTral's smile grew
bigger. "But you like her, don't
you?" When Spock did not answer, he
shook his head. "Oh, I know. It's complicated. Isn't it always?"
"I do not know. Is it always?" Spock hit the rock harder, determined to move
the stone before he finished for the evening.
"In my experience,
romance usually is."
Spock thought about the
nights he had been spending with Christine.
He would not call their interactions romantic. "I believe you have misread the
relationship between Doctor Chapel and myself."
LaTral made a disparaging
sound. "Right." He lowered his axe. "You're not going to crack that tonight,
Spock. Let's knock off for the
evening. Christine's probably waiting
for you."
"She does not wait for
me."
"Uh
huh. And you don't look for her first thing we
walk in the bar either." LaTral
shook his head. "Come on, time to
go back."
Spock gave the rock several
more solid hits then headed up the tunnel.
Matson had already packed up his and LaTral's axes. He took Spock's and locked it up with the others,
then they made their way to the hovercraft, riding in
a companionable silence back to town. As
they walked into the bar, Spock looked over to see if Christine was in her
booth. She was.
"I rest my case,"
LaTral murmured.
Spock turned to him, his
eyebrow slowly rising. LaTral looked as
self-satisfied as McCoy always did when he won an argument.
Knowing there was no point in
trying to argue, Spock settled for saying quietly, "If you will excuse
me?"
LaTral waved him off, turning
away to join Matson at the bar. Spock
walked slowly to the booth, trying to judge Christine's mood before he got to
her. She was covered in dust and sitting
rather stiffly in the booth. She appeared
to be very tired.
"May I join you?"
"No," she said, not
even looking up at him.
He slid into the seat
opposite her.
"Your
hearing gone bad?" She drained her
whiskey. As she put the glass back down,
Spock noticed a long scratch on her arm.
"You are injured?"
She saw what he was looking
at and shook her head. "It's
nothing."
"You are unusually dirty
as well."
She brushed at some of the
dust that clung to her dark shirt.
"There was a collapse. It
was...it was worse than I expected. We
were digging out the miners and the supports kept giving out, dirt was trickling
down the walls and from the supports, and it was hard to breathe because of all
the dust." She played with her
glass, took a deep breath as if she was still having trouble getting enough
air. "Part of the mine fell in on
us. We had to dig our way back
out." She was speaking in a tone
completely devoid of emotion, staring sightlessly at her empty glass. "We didn't know how much of it had
collapsed at first. We just had to
dig. It didn't take long to dig
out. It just seemed like longer when we
were doing it. Nobody got hurt. Not really." She turned to signal for another whiskey and
Spock saw a long scrape on her neck. It
was bleeding slightly where it disappeared into her shirt, and he realized the
material was slightly darker where the blood had soaked in.
"Why have you not
treated your injuries?"
"We just got back,
Spock. I wanted a drink." She took the whiskey Ed brought over to
her. "And now I'm having
another."
Ed put a glass of water down
in front of Spock. "You missed all
the excitement, Spock."
"Yes, so it would
seem."
Ed nodded toward the
bar. "Calhoun just came in, Doc. He says the mine collapsed completely about fifteen
minutes after you left. Nobody was
inside, fortunately."
Spock thought he saw
Christine shudder.
Ed did not seem to notice her
reaction. "Calhoun's packing it
in. Tired of digging
for nothing. There'll be someone
to take his place in a week." Ed
shrugged. "Can't
get too attached to anyone here, that's for sure." He seemed to realize that Christine was not
paying attention to him. "You okay,
Doc?"
She nodded,
her face expressionless. Frowning
slightly, Ed left them alone. Christine
sat silently for several seconds then she drained her whiskey and slid out of
the booth. As she started to stand, she
grimaced and reached for her back, then dropped her hand when she saw Spock
watching her. "Good
night." She turned and walked away.
He eased out of the booth and
followed her. Her shirt seemed to be
stuck to her back, and he noticed darker stains on the fabric there too. As she walked out the door, she turned around
and said, "Leave me alone." But
she seemed to lack her usual vitriol, and was breathing hard, sucking in large
gasps of the night air.
As she started to turn away, he
steered her toward his house. "I am
closer."
"I don't want to fight
tonight."
"Nevertheless, we no
doubt shall." When she still
resisted, he said, "You cannot treat the wound on your back by
yourself."
"I don't need your
help." She shrugged off his hand.
"On the contrary, you do
need my help, unless there is someone else who can assist you?"
She turned to glare at
him. "I'm dirty and I smell
bad."
He had to agree with her
assessment. "I have a shower."
She did not answer, just turned
and walked to his house. He eased around
her, opening the door and taking her med bag from her as she walked past
him. Leading her to the bathroom, he
located the regenerator in the satchel.
She unbuttoned her shirt,
tried to draw it off and hissed in pain as it tore away from her back. When she turned, he saw a long gash running
from her shoulder blade to the small of her back. A much larger bruise was already forming
around the torn skin. "A support
hit you?" he asked as he began to work on the wound.
She nodded. Again she seemed to shudder, and he did not
think it was at his touch.
"Are you
claustrophobic?" he asked softly.
"Not until
today." She did not seem inclined
to say more, so he worked in silence.
When he finished, she took the regenerator from him. "I can do the rest myself."
He nodded, turning away from
her and stepping into the shower to wash off the day's dirt and sweat. A few minutes later, she stepped into the
shower. "I'm in here. Is that what you wanted?"
He nodded, moved to the side
so she could squeeze past him. Standing
under the cascading water, she stood staring at him, the blood running off her
now undamaged skin, changing the water to pale red.
Her expression
tightened. "Aren't you going to get
out?"
"No."
"Fine, then I
will." She tried to get past him,
but he blocked her escape.
"Wash your hair,"
he ordered softly.
She stared at him angrily,
tears coming to her eyes.
"Wash your hair,"
he said again, his voice implacable even as he wondered why he could not just
move aside and let her go.
She backed up, so that she
was under the water again and squeezed out shampoo, spreading it through her
hair quickly. Once she had rinsed off,
he held out the soap, waited for her to take it from him before saying,
"Slowly this time."
For a moment, he thought she
was going to throw the soap at him. Then
she closed her eyes, her breath again coming in a long shuddering gasp, and
began to run the bar over her body. She
opened her eyes, staring hard at him. He
did not look away. When she set down the
soap, he drew her to him, his body sliding against her slick one as he pulled
her closer to him, kissing her hard. He
felt her arms slip around his neck, her mouth opening beneath his. He pulled up one of her legs and pushed
inside her, moving against her with a slow, easy rhythm.
She moaned and kissed him
again, her hands running through his hair.
He held her more securely, as he kissed the place on her neck where she
had been hurt, his free hand stealing down to slip between them, touching her
until she cried out. A moment later, he
did too. He pulled away from her,
pushing her back into the warm stream of water to rinse off what was left of
the soap, rinsing himself off too once she was done.
She followed him out of the
shower silently, and he noticed that her eyes were drooping.
She frowned at his
scrutiny. Asked sharply, "Are we
done for the night?" It had become
a matter of honor that whoever was the visitor could not call time.
He decided he was not ready
for her to go. "No."
She nodded, looked down.
He took the towel from her,
led her to the bedroom. Sitting on the bed,
he told her to lie down near him.
She did not argue as she
stretched out on her back.
"Close your eyes. Do not speak."
She stared at him for long
time before she did as he said. He
watched her in silence; she seemed to be waiting for him to say more. When he did not, she appeared to relax. A few moments later, she dropped into a light
sleep.
He watched her as she slept,
knew that she would not have closed her eyes if she had realized how tired she
was. This was a weakness, to lie naked like
this in front of him.
As the hours passed, he resisted
the urge to run his hand over her body, settled for remembering what it felt
like to touch her. He had committed the
map of her body to memory, knew the contours for every gentle curve, the degree
of each sharp angle. He knew where to
touch her to give her great pleasure; he also knew where to touch if he wanted
to inflict a little pain. It was wrong
to want to inflict pain, even if it was small and insignificant pain. But she responded to it, and he enjoyed it
when she responded. He did not think she
would respond to pain tonight though.
She seemed unusually vulnerable, moaning in her sleep, moving restlessly
on the bed. He wondered if she was
dreaming about dark, airless caves.
She jerked awake and sat up,
her eyes bleary. "What time is
it?"
"It is early."
"You mean late." Her tone was sharp; she seemed to realize how
vulnerable she had been, sleeping near him.
He nodded. "Late in the night,
early in the morning. Which is
less offensive?"
She looked away. "Neither. They both offend." Suddenly modest, she pulled the bedspread over
her, wrapping it around her as she sat and stared at him. "Can I ask you something?"
He moved closer to her,
pulled the material away and began to kiss her.
"Do not hide from me."
"Fine. Can I ask you
something?"
He stopped kissing her neck,
said softly, "It has not been my experience that you need permission to
interrogate me." When she did not
respond, he said, "Yes, you can ask me something."
He pushed her down, traced a
bruise that he had caused the last time they had been together. He had sucked too hard on the skin above her
hipbone; she had given him a matching mark on his thigh. Visible signs that this was not a
hallucination, a hazy, torrid illusion.
He turned to her, "Are you going to ask your question tonight?"
"Yes." She pulled him down to her, kissed him
hard. He could feel her take a deep
breath, heard and felt her words as she pressed her lips into his neck and
asked, "Why no meld?"
He pushed her away, answered
without thought, "I have no desire to experience that level of intimacy
with you."
She scooted farther
away. "Well, I didn't say I wanted
it either, you arrogant bastard. I'm
just asking why. I
thought...with Vulcans...that there'd be a meld eventually. And it's been a while now...not every night,
I know but...awhile...and you were kind...sort of, tonight..." She trailed off, turned away. "You make everything so damned complicated,
Spock."
He took a deep breath before
answering. "It is difficult to hold
back in the meld. I assumed that you
wished to avoid any undue sharing."
She turned to look at him,
her eyes narrowing. "Difficult
to hold back? Difficult
to have secrets then?"
He nodded then, realizing
where she might go with that information, tried to change what he had said. "Not impossible,
however."
She frowned. "So you knew? About Valeris? You knew and didn't say anything?"
He pushed himself away from
her, backed up until he felt the headboard against his back. He resisted the
irrational urge to grab the spread and wrap it around himself as she had just
done. "I did not know. I would not have let her proceed with her
plans had I known."
Her expression changed again,
became mocking. "Then she hid it
from you? Your great love lied to
you...in a meld?" Short, poisonous
laughter erupted softly from her. "How
does that happen, Spock?" A coldly
brilliant smile grew as she stared at him, waited for him to answer.
He took another deep
breath. There was no way to answer
her. Standing up, he walked into the
bathroom. "We are finished for
tonight. Get out."
"You're kidding, right? You don't really want me to go just when it's
getting good?" She rolled off the
bed, walked over to him and ran her hands down his arms. "Don't you want to tell me how she
tricked you, how she played you like a lovesick boy? Don't you want to regale me with the tale of
how a perfect Vulcan lady played the greatest trick ever on her devoted mongrel?" She saw his hand rising. "That's right, Spock. Hurt me the way you hurt her on the bridge. You don't think they left that out, do
you? The people I talked to, the ones
that filled me in. Hurt me. I dare
you."
He clenched his fingers, did
not want to give in to the voice that urged him to do exactly what she had
said. Stop the mocking, it said, hurt
her, hurt her badly. "No," he
said out loud, although he did not mean for her to hear it.
She pressed against him,
kissed his neck seductively. "Come
on, lover, tell me all about it. Or
better yet, show me." She lifted
his hand to her face, tried to position his fingers on the meld points.
"Christine, no!"
the words exploded from him as he wrenched away from her. "Get out. Go home.
While I am still able to let you go. You do not know what forces you could
unleash, what emotions you toy with in this foolish game of yours."
He saw her face register fear
for the first time since they had started having sex. She pulled away from him, hurrying into the
bathroom for her clothes and bag. She
left without saying another word.
He turned away, sinking onto
the floor, trying to invoke one of the centering meditations. It was a long time before he felt any effect
from it at all.
-----------------------------
Chapel set the hover she had
borrowed from Ed down in the clearing near Matson's claim. She thought she heard yelling, and hurried
through the trees to the mine.
LaTral was jumping up and
down outside the mine entrance. He saw
Chapel as she came up and grabbed her, spinning her into an impromptu
reel.
When she caught her breath,
she said, "I take it something good happened?"
He laughed. "Something good, no. Something great, yes. We did it.
We hit the biggest, thickest vein of latinum you've ever seen. It's huge, Doc. Huge!"
Matson peeked out of the cave
opening. "Doc..tor Chapel."
He grinned at her as he pointed to his arms. They were covered with latinum dust.
"You're going to be
rich, Matson. I guess you can call me 'Doc.'"
He grinned and yelled back
into the tunnel. "Hey,
Spock. The doc is here. Come say hello."
She looked down, suddenly
very embarrassed. She hadn't talked to
Spock since she'd run out of his house a week ago. She didn't want to make
amends...exactly. What she wanted, and
hated to admit it, even to herself, was to get back into his bed.
But the things she'd
said...they were bad. Bad
and wrong.
And that pretty much summed
up their entire relationship. She was
suddenly a huge fan of bad and wrong.
She realized Spock was
watching her from the cave entrance.
"Hi."
He nodded,
his expression wary.
"Can we walk by the
lake? I've been meaning to, never seem
to get around to it, always too busy..."
She realized she was babbling and shut up, settled for smiling
guiltily.
He stepped out of the mine,
started off toward the lake.
Matson yelled out,
"Don't get lost, you two. We're
heading down to the bar just like always.
Don't want anyone realizing we've hit the big one. You don't want to miss the hover,
Spock."
Spock looked back at
him. "Doctor Chapel can take me."
She nodded. "We'll see you back in town."
LaTral shot her a knowing
look. "You two behave now."
Chapel didn't speak as she
followed Spock through the trees. The
lake was prettier than she'd expected, pristine and glistening. It lapped gently at the shoreline and she sat
down, pulled off her boots and socks and sank her feet into the clear water. "Cold," she said, wondering if she
could stand this on her whole body. She
did love to swim. She looked over at
Spock. "I don't bite."
"It has been my
experience that you do."
She smiled. "I won't bite. How's that?"
He walked over slowly, sat down
on the bank next to her. He dipped a
finger into the water, pulled it back out quickly.
"Too
cold?"
He nodded, staring out over
the lake as if searching for something.
"I went too far the
other night. I'm sorry." She looked down. "I didn't mean to push things that far,
to where you got frightened."
"I was not
frightened."
"Worried
then. Or concerned. Jesus, Spock, whatever. Pick an adjective that doesn't offend your
Vulcan sensibilities and let's move on."
She took a deep breath, struggled for composure. "I'm trying to apologize."
"Why?"
She looked over at him. "You mean do I feel bad about what I
said?"
He nodded.
She could lie to him and say
yes. But she didn't think he'd believe
it anyway. "I feel bad about not
seeing you since then. I miss our
nights."
He looked away.
"Would you rather I lied? Okay, god, yes,
Spock. I feel just terrible
about--"
His hand on hers stopped
her. "I do not want
lies." He lay back, stretched his
legs out and stared up at the sky.
"I miss our nights too."
She slowly stretched out next
to him, not touching him but far closer than a mere acquaintance would
lie. "I didn't mean what I said,
about you being a mongrel."
One eyebrow rose, as he
turned to look at her. "Yes, you
did. You meant it all, Christine. That is the horrible thing about what is
happening between us. It is true despite
the fact that it is dark..."
"And
sordid."
"Yes,
and sordid."
"And
tawdry. And foul.
And heinous."
"That will be
sufficient, Doctor Thesaurus. Thank
you."
She laughed, mostly in relief
that he was insulting her again.
"Sorry."
"Why did your husband
leave you, Christine?"
She didn't answer right
away. There was the reason Ken had given,
or the real reason. And not surprisingly
she was not eager to hand the real reason over to Spock. But maybe she owed it to him, after what
she'd said about Valeris and him.
The lie was easier. "He needed to find himself."
"He was lost?"
She laughed. "That's what I should have said. But I didn't.
He had...other reasons for wanting out." She saw him shoot her a confused look. He wasn't real good with vague hints. That was okay with her. "He didn't want to be married to me
anymore, Spock. What more is there to
say?"
He did not comment, just
stared up at the sky. "We should
keep one person at the mine until we successfully extricate this vein of
latinum. I will stay here tonight."
She frowned, unsure where he
was going.
He looked over at her. "Have you ever had sex in a mine,
Christine?"
She shook her head.
"Nor have I."
"Seize the day."
"Indeed," he agreed
as he stared up at the sky.
She watched him for a
moment. "I have to take the hover
back to town. It's Ed's, and he'll need
it. So I can't stay all night. But I could tell Matson and LaTral you're
staying here. Once we're done, I mean."
Spock looked over at
her. His eyes burned as they always did,
but she thought she saw something sweeter, something calmer in them too. He stood up, pulled her up after him. "Have you ever used ropes, Christine?" His question was mixture of pure innocence
and dangerous passion.
She shook her head.
"Have you ever wanted
to?" he asked.
She shrugged.
"I will take that as a
maybe." As he hurried to the cave,
he reached back, grabbing her hand and holding it fast.
It was a surprisingly tender
thing to do and Chapel felt something inside her do a strange little flip. Relentlessly she ignored the feeling, focused
instead on the sex she had been doing without for a week.
And a week was far too long,
she realized as Spock pulled her into his arms, pushing her back against the
cave wall and kissing her frantically. Too long for both of them apparently. She smiled against his mouth, nipped at his
lip before saying, "So. Tell me
about these ropes."
-------------------------------------
Spock saw Mariah Livingston
coming and tried to duck into the general store, which was unfortunately closed
for an emergency. He turned to go back
the way he came, but it was too late, she was standing right in front of him,
blocking his exit unless he wanted to be rude and push past her.
"Oh,
Captain Spock. What a pleasant surprise to run into you like
this. I hope the house is working out
all right?"
"It is fine, thank
you."
"I've been meaning to
drop by and ask you and Doctor Chapel over for dinner."
He could not imagine a better
recipe for disaster. He wondered if that
was what Mrs. Livingston had in mind.
"I am afraid that I am busy."
"But you don't know what
night." She eyed him oddly. "You know, I think Star Fleet makes a
person kind of strange."
"Why is that, madam?"
"Well that's exactly
what Doctor Chapel does every time I try to get her to come to dinner--she says
she's busy without ever knowing when it is first."
He found himself in complete
agreement with Christine for once. "A
doctor's work is rarely done. And I am
helping her. So if you will excuse me..."
"I thought you were working
with Mr. Matson and Mr. LaTral on their very lucrative claim?" News of the strike had traveled fast. Or maybe it was just the sight of a hover
filled to bursting with latinum. Mrs.
Livingston leaned in, smiled in a way that made her look like she had pinched a
nerve. "Helping them, helping her,
aren't you just the helpful little beaver."
"Beaver?"
"A small animal, builds
dams?"
"I am aware of what a
beaver is, but there are none on this planet."
"It's just a figure of
speech, Spock. God." Christine's voice sounded from behind Mrs.
Livingston. "Hello, Mariah. Spock's needed. Please move aside." Christine turned away quickly.
"Well, I was just
inviting the captain and you over for dinner on--"
"We're busy."
Mrs. Livingston turned to him
and shook her head knowingly. "You
see what I mean?" With a sad smile,
she turned away.
He hurried to catch up with
Christine. "I am needed?"
"Not really. Just felt bad for you being cornered by that
biddy." She raised an eyebrow at
him. "Shows you how much I dislike
her if I'll come to your rescue."
"Indeed." He debated whether he should follow her or not. Knew it was not a good idea, she appeared to
be in a bad mood, and mixing that with alcohol could lead them to only one
place. Well one of two--his place or
hers. He watched her as she walked away,
her hips swaying more than usual--did she do that on purpose when she was
around him? He thought back to the
previous night, how she had walked away from him like that, said she was going
to get dressed and leave. It had been
counter to the rules they had made and he had not liked it. He had caught her before she could get to her
clothes, bent her over the table, taken her that way, his hand tangled in her
hair, his hips pounding her as he had reached around and--
"Earth
to Spock." Christine was glaring at him.
"We are not on
Earth," he said, mustering his dignity back around him. "What is it you want?"
"I'm low on credits and
you're the one rolling in latinum since Matson's big strike. Buy me a drink?"
He nodded,
even as some more rational part of his brain warned that he knew what would
happen if he did. Truth be told, he was
rather counting on it.
"That's a good Spock." Christine beamed at him in what looked like a
deliberately insincere way.
The bar was crowded and
noisy. Christine leaned in, shouted in
his ear above the conversations and music, "How about you just buy me my
drink and then go home. I'll be fine
here. I see a single barstool that's
just calling my name." She smiled
nastily at him.
He leaned back in. "You do not mean that." She seemed on edge, more so than usual. It had been weeks since she had come to him
at the mine, wanting to put what had happened behind them. They had seen each other often since
then. Not that anything had changed
between them exactly. It was just that
after that day, she didn't bring up Valeris anymore. And she seemed less sharp, somehow.
"Trust me when I say I
do mean it." But she seemed to give
up the idea of him leaving her alone, allowed him to find them a quieter spot
near the end of the bar.
"The
usual for you two?" Ed asked,
giving Spock a despairing glance.
"You sure you couldn't learn to like something a bit more lucrative
for me than tap water?"
"I do not enjoy alcohol."
"Well, it doesn't enjoy
you either, Spock. So you're
even." Christine laughed at her own
joke.
He let his eyebrow rise as a
sign that he did not appreciate her attempt at humor.
She rolled her eyes and
turned back to the bartender. "If I
pay you, will you take that damn song off the playlist?"
"You know I can't do
that," Ed said. "It's the town
anthem. You're the only one that doesn't
like it."
"It is an odd
song," Spock said, feeling as if he should back Christine up on this
one. "Some of the words would seem
to express great sadness on the part of the narrator that the woman he loves
has been taken from him. But other
verses show a sardonic wit that seems intent on putting down Clementine."
Christine was staring at
him. "Are you for real?"
Spock did not stop. "And the end is most surprising, that he
would find happiness with someone else and forget all about Clementine seems an
illogical conclusion."
"Yeah, that would never
happen." Christine glared at
him. "Because the
other woman never ends up stealing your man."
"I hardly think it fair
to blame the heroine's younger sister," Spock said, realizing that Ed was
watching them both with a fascinated look on his face. "You wish to comment?"
Ed shook his head. "Not on your life." He went away, muttering something that
Spock's Vulcan hearing identified as having to do with foreplay.
Spock frowned slightly, then looked at Christine.
She was still glaring at him.
"I have said something to offend you. Again." He sipped his water. "Not that I am unduly disturbed by this
development, but perhaps you should tell me what I said this time that was so
wrong?"
She shook her head and turned
away. He moved so that she had to look
at him.
She smiled meanly at
him. "You're still in love with
Valeris, Spock. That's very noble, if
not really sick given how much anger she provokes inside you. But just because you're still carrying a torch,
doesn't mean that other men don't forget all about the women they said they'd
love forever when something younger and prettier comes along."
The missing
piece at last. It had not occurred to him that her husband had
been unfaithful. He had asked her outright
and she had not told him the truth. Why
had she not?
He studied her as she
drank. She was not beautiful, not the
way Valeris had been. But she was in
good shape, and very attractive, with a quick wit and a sharp mind. Why had her husband left her? Had they never had sex? Or was this new woman better in bed than
Christine? Spock marveled at that
concept for a moment, then realized that Christine had
turned away in irritation. He felt an
unaccustomed emotion, recognized it as regret. "Christine, I--"
She whirled, turned on him in
anger. "Don't you dare say a damn thing. Just keep
whatever Vulcan platitude you're about to spring on me to yourself."
He felt stung and ruthlessly
pushed his sympathy for her away, as she had just done. "I was not planning on using a Vulcan
platitude. Indeed, I do not think there
is one appropriate to this situation."
He could feel his own anger starting to rise, feeding as it had at the
beginning on her raging emotions.
"In fact, I was merely going to observe that, given your often
caustic nature, I can sympathize with his need to escape."
He saw by the look on her
face that his comment had hurt her. A lot. He felt a
surge of triumph. Then it was supplanted
with shame that he could take pleasure in hurting her. He pushed the more noble emotion out of the
way.
She practically spat at him,
"Screw you."
"Perhaps
later." He watched her face again register the
hit. "Are you sure you would not
like to return to an analysis of the lyrics of Clementine?"
Her hand
was up and out for what would have been a resounding slap if he hadn't caught it
before she could make contact.
They stared at each other. She
was clearly livid. He felt an answering surge of emotion.
He moved in next to her, his
mouth nearly on her ear. As he caressed
the inside of her wrist with his hand, he asked quietly, "Perhaps we
should adjourn?"
Her glare was still poisonous
but she followed him out. Spock glanced
back at the bar, saw Ed shaking his head at them
again. Spock could guess what the
bartender was probably thinking and knew he was right. What they were doing made no sense, and
probably would end up hurting one or both of them in the long run. But he found that he did not care. He could not fight the anger that was locked
inside him, and he knew that he needed a way to burn some of it off. Was that not why McCoy and Kirk had told him
to get away? And Christine's willing
body was as good a place as any to plant his anger. Probably better than most since
she was, in her own way, as angry as he.
They might be engaged in incredibly destructive behavior but it at least
it was by mutual consent.
----------------5---------------------
Chapel looked up, saw Spock standing in the doorway. How long had he been there? Didn't he know how creepy it was to sneak up
on people like that? "What do you
want?" She loaded as much scorn as
she could in her voice, waited for the cutting response to come, the
insult.
It did not come. Spock stood mute, staring at her with an odd
look on his face. She tried to identify
his state of mind, could only come up with helpless, and that just didn't fit
the Spock she was getting to know. The
Spock who helped himself to her body any way he could imagine...and he had a
better imagination than she would ever have given him credit for. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" She waited for the lecture on how there were
no cats on Temeris IV.
Again she was disappointed.
Spock did not answer her, just stared at her from where he stood in the
doorway.
"You know, you are one
creepy-ass son of a bitch. Come in if
you want to lurk, you're letting in the flies." She knew her words were overly harsh given
his behavior, but she still burned from his remark the night before about Ken
needing to escape her. It seemed like
every time their relationship appeared to be getting calmer, showing the least
bit of tenderness, one of them had to escalate the tension back up. The sex got hotter along with it, maybe that was why they did it? She wasn't sure anymore, had never expected
to be in a situation like this, or to see Spock in one either. The idea of the uber-controlled
Vulcan throwing her up against the wall of a cave would never have crossed her
mind. Throw in the ropes he'd used to
restrain her and his behavior was truly unimaginable. As was her own. She had never gone in for the kinky stuff,
had always been somewhat reserved in bed.
But not anymore. Long ago, when she had imagined sex with Spock,
it had been pretty, pastel-colored sex. Respectful and gentle.
Not this mindless rutting the two of them were engaged in. That was something that was reserved for the Pon Farr. And she
knew this wasn't that.
Spock's expression had tightened
while she was lost in thought; he stared at her accusingly now.
"What the hell did I
do?" She glared back at him. "Look, either talk or get out. I've got things to do and it's still a bit
early for screwing, if that's what you're here for."
He took a deep breath. The doctor in Chapel assessed it as
ragged. What was wrong with him?
Without a word, he spun on
his heel and left.
"Thank god. Big perv." She went back to her work, tried to shut off
a nagging feeling that something was very wrong. That was just stupid. Besides, why should she care? The only thing between her and Spock was
nasty mind-blowing sex. He'd made that
clear last night. If he'd wanted anything
else from her just now, he should have said so.
A few hours later, she
finished up her work and locked the office.
It was early enough that the bar wouldn't be crowded, so she headed over. As she walked in, she gave the room a quick
once over and sighed in relief. No
Spock. She really couldn't deal with his
silent lurking twice in one day.
"He's not here,
Doc." Matson was watching her from
the bar.
She nodded to Ed and watched
him pour out her usual. "Who's not
here?" she asked casually, as she slid onto a stool several down from
Matson's.
"Spock." The big man slid over so he was sitting next
to her. He leaned in
conspiratorially. "He hurried
out. I think he was upset."
"When was
this?" Not that she cared, of
course.
Matson shrugged. "I don't know. About an hour ago. Maybe two." Matson looked confused. "He headed over to your place. I was worried about him so I sort of followed
him. But then I saw where he was going
and I figured he'd be okay if he was with you." He frowned. "You didn't see him?"
Matson's simple logic touched
her, even if he didn't have the least idea how wrong he was that being with her
would be good for Spock. "I must
have been out."
So something in the bar had
upset Spock? Upset him enough that he
actually came to her for comfort? She
found that hard to believe, couldn't think of a single thing that would make
him act that illogically.
Matson nudged her, then pointed up to the trivid
screen. "This was playing then
too."
She looked up at the screen,
saw an image of Kirk on the screen, the caption, 'Launch Tragedy' pasted above
his face. Heart sinking, she told Ed to
turn the sound up.
"The Federation and Star
Fleet mourn the loss of one of Earth's greatest sons today."
Chapel shook her head. "No," she moaned, unaware until
Matson turned to her that she had said it out loud. She felt a sick feeling in her stomach, and her
head began to spin.
"Kirk died a hero. They've replayed this a million times. I know the story by heart." Matson looked down. "Spock served with him, didn't he? And they were close?"
"Close? You might say
that." It was a shock to realize
that Matson really did not understand the connection. She took it for granted that every Federation
citizen knew of the great friendship, understood what the two men meant to each
other. Obviously this one didn't.
"I have to
go." She rose, leaving her
untouched whiskey on the bar as she rushed out into the night.
------------------------
Spock tried for the fourth
time to fold the formal robe he'd had no occasion to wear on this planet into a
bundle that would not wrinkle when he put it in the carryall. He would need to wear this at the memorial. But no...that was
not right. He would wear his uniform, of
course. But he did not have one with
him. Because his
uniforms were back on Earth. Yes,
he had several of them there. Were they clean? He was sure that he had cleaned them. It would be out of character to leave them
dirty.
As out of
character as the violent sex he had enjoyed with Christine last night and all
the nights before that? As out of character as the
insults he used to get her in the mood for that sex?
He pushed thoughts of her out
of his mind. Picked up the robe and
shook it out then tried again to fold it.
The silky fabric slipped, causing the robe to wrinkle as he pushed it
into the carryall. Jerking it back out, Spock
closed his eyes, felt anger rise in him again.
He fought it, letting go of the robe and turning his back on the
carryall, searching frantically for some measure of peace, of control. But peace was more elusive than ever.
I should not have come
here. The thought was rapidly becoming a
mantra for him. No, he should not have
come here. He should have stayed on
Earth, should have been there when Jim needed him. If he had
been there, on the Enterprise B, maybe.... He could at least have died at Jim's side--died
a hero trying to save that ship with his best friend rather than playing this
vicious sexual game that he and Christine had become entangled in. Their last interaction had only reinforced
the darkness that they were embracing.
He had not been able to ask for her help, even though he had wanted
it...no, needed it more than anything.
She had been unable to see that he was even hurting...or perhaps she did
see and just did not care.
The knock on his door jolted
him out of his reverie and he slowly unclenched his fingers as he walked toward
it. He opened the door, saw Christine
standing there, her hand raised as if she was about to knock again. "Doctor Chapel," he murmured,
retreating to their public formality for the sense of order...the pretense of
control it gave him. "You have come
at a bad time." He waited for her
first insult the way he had waited for a return of serve in his academy days,
when his instructors had insisted he participate in a sport and he had chosen
tennis.
She chose not to hit
back. Just pushed past
him as if he were not blocking the door.
Too much time dealing with burly miners.
Spock had seen her get her way with men more than twice her mass. She was like Jim in that regard.
He almost groaned as the
thought of Jim sent him reeling back to the dark place he'd been trying to
avoid. He did not look at Christine as
he walked around her to take a seat on the sofa. He tried to appear composed. She must not know how badly he was
hurting. He could not afford to give her
that much ammunition, that much control.
He could imagine what route her mocking would take. What might he do this time if she taunted him
and pushed him too far? "Go
away," he said firmly, as if she were some apparition that was haunting
him, rather than the living woman he'd been having angry sex with for months
now.
"Spock." Her voice was unexpectedly gentle.
He knew it was a trick, did
not look up. "Go away," he
repeated as he tried to shift his thoughts to less volatile ground by
inventorying the remaining items he must pack before tomorrow. It was a small list, too small to fully
remove his awareness of her, of how close she was standing. Had she moved?
"Spock."
Must she repeat his
name? Did she think he had not heard her
the first time? He ignored how the
softness of her voice made him feel, reminded himself that she was deceiving
him as the others had. She was here to
hurt him, not help him. It was the way
of things, was it not?
He did not like the bitterness
in that last thought. Tried to purge it
and failed because Christine chose that moment to move closer to him again, her
leg bumping lightly against his knee.
Spock remembered the story of Perseus and Medusa. If he did not look at her, he would not be
turned to stone. Only in his case, he
wanted to be turned to stone. Stone did
not feel, did not hurt, did not wrestle with this anger
that threatened to tear him apart. Stone
was a preferable state. He would look at
her then. He would look at her and turn
to stone.
He slowly lifted his head, saw to his surprise that tears were streaming down her
cheeks. She was crying. Did Gorgons cry?
"Spock." This time his name was broken by a sob.
"Go away," he said
again, only this time, even to him, his voice seemed to plead for her to do the
exact opposite. He looked at her, shook
his head. "Stone."
"What?"
He looked down then. "I want to be stone."
She said nothing, but he
heard her sob even harder. He studied his
hands, held so tightly together so he would not reach out for her, would not
hurt her either. He was capable of
that. Capable of anything if he was angry
enough, lost enough in these black emotions. Look at what he had done to Jim when T'Pring
had called for challenge, look at how he had brutalized Valeris when she had
tried to hide what she knew from him. Look
at what Christine and he had done in this very room just last night. How he had treated her, how she had acted
toward him, even as their bodies had joined frantically. He clenched his fingers more tightly, felt pain
course through his hands.
"Go away." It was the last time he would say it. If she was too foolish to see the danger she
was in, then let her deal with what they had
wrought.
She did not go away. Slowly, as if she was taking excruciating
care not to touch him, she crouched down.
Her eyes were luminous, full of tears and starting to turn red from the
crying. The redness made the blue of her
irises nearly fluorescent. He found
himself fascinated by them, as if there were an answer in them somewhere for
him.
"Help me." The words were out, floating between them for
several seconds, before he realized what he had just said.
He wanted to take them
back. But his mouth refused to form the
words. He found himself reaching for
her, pulling her to him in a way that lacked their usual savagery. Her arms locked around him as she settled in
his lap. She pressed her face against
his, the wetness from her cheeks felt cool to his heated skin and he slowly rubbed
his face against hers, wanting to feel more.
"I'm sorry," she
murmured, her voice finally that of the woman he remembered. No mocking rise at the end, no harsh laughter
that poked fun at him even as it urged him toward her.
She sounded like the gentle
nurse he had come to the planet to find. The gentle nurse who he realized now he would
have either destroyed or been forced to leave alone after a single look. Only this damaged Christine could have taken
him into herself without breaking. And now
he was somehow certain that she was the only one that could help him.
"I'm so sorry," she
said again.
He did not answer, for there
were no words that he could let escape, no words that were safe, that would not
lead to collapse, to an explosion of pain and grief that he could not afford,
that she might not be able to bear. He
buried his face in her neck, burrowing against her as if solely by touch she
could offer him some form of succor.
She wrapped her arms around
him, holding him as tightly as she ever had during sex but now there was a
difference, a gentleness, a love--his thoughts shied
away from that word. He would be a fool
to think that there was any love between them.
But there could be kindness.
There could be gentleness. A
possibility for tenderness he had never imagined given the rough nights they
had spent tearing at each others bodies.
He felt her lips on his
cheek, on his neck, then back on his face, soft, cool, tender kisses that
soothed him. She did not kiss him on the
lips, instead let her caresses fall on less volatile
areas. He felt some of his anger
recede, felt grief rise up to take its place.
She murmured, "I'm so
sorry," repeatedly, as if it was a mantra of her own. He finally eased away from her, turned his
head so that when her lips touched down they did so on his lips. The electric shock of the kisses they had
shared during sex was replaced with something else, something comforting and
full of gentleness. He opened his mouth,
tasted her tenderness. When he felt her
start to pull away, he held her face against his, his other arm pulling her
body more firmly against him. She did
not resist, only opened her mouth wider to give him more access, and he found
such intimate action a comforting relief.
He let her go and she pulled
away, her eyes widening as if in surprise at his tenderness. She didn't say anything, just ran her hands
over his face, through his hair, her fingers glancing across the tips of his
ears with a touch that soothed rather than enflamed him. She leaned in, painting his cheek with little
kisses. He heard her sob again and
sighed. How much had they hurt each
other and for what purpose? Why had they
been so cruel when there was this pain waiting?
Pain he wanted to share.
He heard her gasp, realized
he had placed his hands on the meld points.
What was he thinking? Surely he
was not considering letting her feel his pain?
He started to pull away, but she reached up, pinning his fingers to the
meld points with her own strong grip.
She seemed to be reading his
mind when she whispered, "Share."
One word.
One word that meant so much. Did she have any idea how much?
"You do not know what
you ask." She would not be able to
withstand this. Pain and anger layered
on more of the same, all the emotions he had not allowed himself to feel, not
even in the rough darkness that the sex between them seemed to unleash. Even then, he had held back, kept up some
measure of control. Had
not wanted to hurt her.
He had not wanted to hurt
her. It hit him hard that he cared about
her. Even as she had insulted him, even
as he had mockingly replied, he had cared about her enough that he had not hurt
her then, and now, when he could have made her truly feel his pain, he did not
want to.
He cared for her.
Her fingers pressed down, digging
his fingers into her own skin more relentlessly. Her eyes were so determined, and he found
himself drowning in them. "Share,"
she said.
"It will be too
much." But he was already
initiating the meld, the feel of her skin and the faint pulse of her mind under
his fingers too alluring, too intoxicating after all this time of denial. He wanted her mind, he needed her mind. He needed her to feel for him, to take this
pain and shape it and make it something he could bear, even if he knew there
was no way she could do that. Knew that she would flee after just a taste. He wished that he had kissed her again before
he did this.
Her gasp of surprise as the
meld fired into being was soon overcome with a long moan. "Oh, god, Spock. So much pain." She writhed, as if she would escape.
He tried to let go of her
face, was shocked to feel her fingers still holding his to her cheekbones, her
forehead. "No, it is too much,
Christine. Stop. It is enough that you tried."
Her fingers did not release
him and he found that he was unwilling to force her away from him, even though
he knew he could do it easily. He wanted
her, wanted this. Needed
to share this pain with her. Needed her to want him to share it with her.
She moaned again, and even as
he expected her to shy away from the pain and anger he was slowly letting go
of, she opened herself up to him, let it pour into her, become her. The sensation of merging with her was
overwhelming, and he let her in completely, far deeper than he had ever allowed
Valeris to go. He savored the feel of
another soul touching the darkness that he had carried by himself for so long.
His mind called up all the
darkest memories. Read them off to her
one by one.
*Valeris.*
*You loved her.* Christine's
mindvoice was powerful, her resolve to help him stronger than her unfamiliarity
with the meld.
*What I did to her on the
bridge. The meld I forced.*
*You were hurt, you hurt her
back.* There
was no censure, but also no illusion in Christine's tone. She understood that he had made Valeris pay;
he had hurt her...because he had wanted to hurt her. Christine let him see some of the things she
had considered doing to her husband and his mistress, things that were cruel
and sadistic. *We are the same,* she
said.
*You did not do it. I did.
We are not the same.*
*The only difference between
us is that you had the opportunity to hurt her for an honorable cause. I did not.
We are the same.*
He could feel impatience
coming from her. She was right; this was
old pain, time to move on. He had
exorcised much of his love for Valeris in Christine's body. His guilt would take longer, but what was
done, was done. There was no logic in
obsessing over it.
*Yes. Let it go.* She seemed to be holding on to her own
pain, keeping it from him other than the brief bit she had just shown him.
*Share with me.*
She would not.
*Share with me, or it is not
right.* Frustrated, he deepened the meld, began to seek her memories. Then he stopped, remorse coming over
him. He had been about to take
them. As if she were--
*--No. You stopped
yourself just now. You are not the
monster that raped her mind. It was a
moment. An awful
moment, but only a moment.*
He was trembling but did not
fight her as he let her certainty settle over him. Then he felt her opening up to him, felt more
pain, more anger as she let her own emotions join his. They were both so hurt. They were lucky they had not destroyed each
other.
*I'm so sorry,* she said
again, the words causing the last wall, the most recently erected one, to come
crashing down.
Jim. Dead. Gone. Forever. Grief such as he'd never felt overwhelmed him
and he frantically tried to push it down.
*No. Let it out.
Let me have it.*
She took it on, the pain, the sadness, the guilt. All of it. He felt her fall away from the weight of it,
worried that she would not be able to bear it.
But then she fought her way back to him and held it for a moment. But he could feel how hard she was
struggling. It was too heavy for her to carry. He took it back from her, but felt as if it
had lightened just from that simple act of sharing.
He could feel exhaustion
coming up in waves from her. She was not
used to any meld, much less such an intense one. Even he, trained in the disciplines since
childhood, felt weary, was ready to pull away.
He slowly eased up on her temples and cheekbones. Felt his mind slip out of
hers, her regret at losing the intimate communion overcome by relief that it
was over.
She opened her eyes, looked
at him with perfect clarity. The last
traces of reserve were gone. "You
have to go back. For
the memorial." Her voice was
so soft. He could tell she was
exhausted. But she was also ready to
argue with him if he disagreed.
"Yes. I leave tomorrow morning. On the first shuttle." He urged her to her feet, followed her
up. "Stay with me until then?" At her nod, he led her to the bedroom. They took off their clothes quickly, any
self-consciousness at baring their bodies to each other long gone. He pulled her into the bed beside him,
tucking the covers around them as he pulled her close to him. "Sleep. We will sleep."
She nodded, whispering,
"I should have known you were hurting when you came to my office. I'm sorry for what I said. All the things I've said. All the anger."
"It is all in the
past." He felt a jolt from her,
some strong emotion making itself known through the
not quite disintegrated meld. It felt
like regret, loss, and a new kind of hurt bundling over some old pain. He did not have the will to explore it,
settled for pulling her closer, kissing her forehead gently. "Sleep."
She kissed his cheek then
settled in against him more closely. She
was asleep in minutes. He lay awake
until it was time to go, holding her to him and finding comfort in the unaccustomed
feeling of her sleeping body pressed against his own.
------------------------------
Chapel gently set the
hovercraft down at the landing area near Matson's claim. She had broken down and bought the hover the day
after Spock had gone. She was tired of
being dependent on Ed's good will to get around. She needed to get out. It would help her forget Spock.
She missed him. She didn't want to, wished she didn't, but
she did. Not that she had expected him
to stay. He'd needed to go back to Earth
for the memorial, had to have that closure. And then once he got there, she had known that
duty would beckon and he would be gone, out of her reach. And soon she would be nothing but a distant
memory to him, lost to time. It was the
way it was.
But their last night together
had been such a breakthrough, she'd almost allowed
herself to hope--
Stop it. Not healthy to think that way, not good at
all. Best to just move
on. Realize that in the end they had
been able to help each other. That all
the anger and hurt they'd inflicted on one another had led to something
good.
"Hi, Doc." As she walked
into the forest, Matson looked up from where he was fixing one of the mine
supports. "Came up for a swim
finally?"
She nodded.
"Still no word from
Spock, huh?"
"He's not coming back,
Johnny." Her tone was a thousand
times gentler than it would have been before Spock arrived.
He smiled when he realized
that she had at last called him by his first name. "Aw, I don't know about that. It's only been a few weeks."
Chapel wondered if the big
man wanted Spock back for her or for the help he'd been around the mine. Matson and LaTral certainly weren't going to
make the same kind of progress as they had when Spock was helping them
dig. "Trust me, he's not coming
back."
Matson threw her a curious
look, but she wasn't about to let him in on her less than illustrious
relationship history. Not that it would
have taken all that long to relay to him.
She could sum it up in two words:
'Men leave.'
He seemed willing to let it
go. "You want to come by later for
lunch? It's LaTral's week to do the
cooking." He grinned at her. "I wouldn't have asked you if it were
mine."
"I'll be by after my
swim."
He nodded and turned his
attention back to the support. Chapel
watched him for a second, feeling a fondness for him she would never have
admitted before, even to herself. Yes,
Spock's visit, as warped as much of their interaction had been, had proven good
for her.
She walked through the trees,
watching for the moment when the lake would come into view. It gleamed in the bright sunshine, the light
reflecting a hundred flickering shades of blue and green back to her. She stripped down to her bathing suit,
prepared herself for the bracing cold that would greet her as she stepped
in. Shivering she forced herself to walk
until it was deep enough for her to shallow dive completely into the icy water. She came up gasping and rolled onto her back,
staring at the sky as she floated. The
sun beating down on her warmed the bits of skin that weren't in the water, while
the rest of her got used to the cold.
She rolled onto her stomach and began to swim, long powerful strokes and
sharp kicks carrying her effortlessly across the water. She loved this feeling, power mixed with a
grace that only the water could give her.
It was the best feeling. She
thought of the wild sex she'd had with Spock and demoted swimming to the second
best feeling. Which
wasn't very smart, because given Spock's departure it was going to have to fill
in as the best feeling for the foreseeable future.
She floated on her back
again, letting the sun lull her into a state of total relaxation. She was trying to decide if it was time to go
back in or not when she heard someone call out, "Christine."
I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming and in my dreams Spock has come
back for me. He didn't leave me behind. She smiled at the whimsical thought.
"Christine," the
voice sounded again. Generally daydreams
didn't sound quite so annoyed. She
looked over to the shore, saw Spock standing at the
water's edge.
She was hallucinating--maybe
the berries she'd bought from that eastern miner the other day had been
toxic? "If you're really there,
then come in and get me," she yelled to the apparition.
"You know it is too cold
for me. Get out of the water."
No mistaking that tone. Harsh, annoyed, irritated. The Spock of the past few months,
but not the Spock of that last night.
Perhaps that had been the hallucination.
Perhaps she'd only imagined any breakthrough. She swam until she reached a point she could
stand, then she walked toward him, stopping just shy of the shoreline, the icy
water lapping gently around her ankles.
"You are wet." His expression gave nothing away.
"You like me that way,"
she said, the old mocking tone taking over without conscious thought from her.
"I do," he
surprised her by saying, a slight smile playing at his mouth. He took a step toward her. "You are cold. I should warm you."
She could feel her eyebrow
lifting as she dropped the sarcastic retort she had ready and just stared at
him. Finally, she said, "I'm late
for lunch."
He indicated a basket sitting
on a blanket he must have spread out for them.
It was near the trees, out of the direct sunlight. "I ran into LaTral on the way here. He packed us some food." He looked down at where she still stood in
the water. "Are you going to come
out?"
"Maybe I want you to
come in and get me?" The old
mocking tone was back in her voice.
"Do you think that I
will not?" Spock's voice was
calmer, more at peace than she'd heard it in a long time. The question was only a question, not an
exercise in scorn.
"I don't know
anymore." It was an honest answer finally
and she could tell by his expression that he recognized that.
He held out his hand. "Come out, Christine." When she still did not move, he took another
step toward her. "I said"--he
grabbed her arm, yanked her to him--"get out of the water." Then he kissed her. Not the angry almost painful kisses of those
wild nights. But not the tender touches
of their last night either. This was
something else, something new.
She found herself responding,
kissing him back as the hunger she had been resolutely pushing into the
recesses of her mind came to the fore.
She wanted him. She wanted him
more than she'd ever wanted anything.
And he seemed to want her too
because he was pushing her backwards to the blanket, was peeling off the wet
swimming suit and running his hands over her as if he was a dying man in the
desert and she was the water that would save him. She sank to the ground, felt the smooth fabric
of the blanket slip against her skin as she lay back. He followed her down, his lips never leaving
hers as he began to touch her, making her move against him with ever-increasing
ferocity. His kisses became wilder, more
savage and her body responded to him as it had been doing for months. She cried out loudly until his mouth came
down on hers, muffling any further sound.
She lay panting for a moment, lost in the place he'd sent her and in the
gentle kisses he was giving her. She
realized he was still dressed and began to tear at his clothes. He helped her pull them off, then he was
kissing her again, his body pressing against hers until they were joined, as
close as they could get. She gasped at
the feel of him inside her again, a sensation that she'd thought was out of
reach forever. "Spock," she
murmured. "I missed this."
"As
did I." He moved more firmly and she reached up, letting
her hands fasten on his back, then digging in as he
thrust harder and harder inside her. He
finished with a loud cry, collapsing on top of her, then
rolling to his side as he had done all the other times. Only this time, he pulled her with him,
bringing her to lie next to him, his arms tightening around her almost
possessively.
She looked up at him and he
kissed her on the forehead, then on her cheek, then on each eye. The whimsy of his movements brought
unexpected tears; they slid down her cheeks as he kissed her on the lips. She could feel his fingers on her face,
wiping away the tears, even as his tongue explored her mouth lazily. Then he pulled away, studied her face for a
long time. "I take it that my
return is not unwelcome."
She answered him with a kiss
of her own. When she finally pulled
away, he nodded as if in satisfaction.
"Came back for the hot
sex, eh?" She didn't like her cavalier
tone, then realized that she was afraid of his answer.
"Among other
things," was all he said.
They lay quietly for a few
moments, until she couldn't stand it and asked, "What about Star Fleet? Aren't they going to start wondering where
you are?"
"I have extended my
leave of absence to the full year allowed." He rolled to his back, tugged at her arm so
that she had to roll onto her stomach, half of her weight on his body. When she tried to move, he held her more
tightly. "I can stay here another seven
months, one week, and two days."
"Is that how long you
give us?"
His expression lightened, she
could tell he was amused when he replied, "No, that is merely how long I
can stay away from Star Fleet without giving up my commission." He kissed her. "I thought that by then you would perhaps
tire of this planet and wish to explore other options."
"Other
options?" She tried to push down the hope that was
rising, didn't want to be disappointed again.
"Yes. With me. As a civilian, you would be free to accompany
me on my diplomatic missions."
He was right, she could. "You'd want me to?" She hated how needy she sounded. Hated that she needed him to be more explicit
about what he was feeling.
He nodded, watched as her
reaction must have played across her face.
"I do care for you, Christine, but I may never be able to put that
into words, not the way you will want me to."
She started to protest and he
shushed her with a gentle finger on her lips.
"You are human." When
she looked away, he said softly. "But
that does not mean that I cannot share my feelings another way. If you want me to?" As he waited for her answer, his fingers
hovered over the meld points.
She looked back at him,
staring for a long time before she nodded.
His hands sank down, initiating the meld, and she pulled back slightly,
remembering how hard the other meld had been, how the pain and anger had nearly
overcome her.
*It is safe,* he assured her,
his mindvoice exquisitely gentle.
She slowly let him in,
waiting for pain that did not come. Not
that his darkness was gone, she could still feel it inside him. His grief for Kirk was especially vivid, the
pain from his friend's death still new and sharp. But the
darkness was not in charge any longer.
He was in control of his emotions again.
She relaxed and felt him open himself up. A feeling of warmth, of admiration and
affection, desire and gratitude rolled over her and she sighed. For her part, she didn't try to hide what she
was feeling for him, how much she wanted him or how happy she was to see him
back.
He was very serious when he
said, *I believe these emotions will grow into something stronger. If we let them. If we want them to?*
She relished the way he was
making her feel. Safe. Protected. Desirable.
*Do we want them to?* he
asked.
Chapel was about to say yes,
when other memories began to invade. She
had felt this way before. With Ken. Ken had
made her feel safe. And
protected. And
desirable. She started to pull
away.
He switched to words. "I am not going to leave you. And he was a fool to have done so. But I cannot regret that he did, for how else
would I have found you?" His hands
rubbed her back, his lips touched hers in a gentle kiss as if asking
forgiveness for the time he had not been so kind about Ken's choices. He made her look at him, before he said,
"Do you not want this? Because I
find that I do very much."
She smiled, a small laugh
erupting from her at his words. Spock being romantic.
Who knew? She kissed him with
more passion. "We can give it a
try, see how it goes?"
"That is
acceptable," he said, relief obvious in his voice.
"Can we get back to the
sex soon?" The words were from
their hurtful days, but her tone was different now. No longer mocking and
vicious.
"Would now be
appropriate?" He did not seem to
need an answer, was already pulling her up to sit astride him.
She moved to the rhythm they
had perfected over all those angry nights.
A rhythm that wasn't dependent on their dynamic being hateful, and that
was a relief to her--she had worried that the sex had been great because they
were so destructive, not in spite of that fact.
She leaned down, kissed him deeply then nipped at his lip.
He responded by forcing her
over onto her back, his body still joined with hers as he followed. He kissed her as he began to rock inside her.
"Yes," she said, feeling
that her first answer had not been sufficient.
He frowned slightly. "Yes?"
"Yes, I want whatever
this is that we're feeling to grow into something stronger."
She read his look to mean
that he was deeply satisfied with her answer.
"I concur."
She laughed, couldn't help
it, just gave up and laughed at his matter-of-fact tone. "Well, I'm glad we got that out of the
way." She let herself go and kissed
him like she'd always wanted to, not holding anything back, not worrying about
protecting herself. She was willing to
go as deep as he'd let her, and judging from the way he was kissing her back,
that would be mighty deep indeed. Hell,
maybe they'd strike it rich and find the mother lode. If nothing else, the digging itself was going
to be fun. Loads and
loads of fun.
And they were both past due
on that.
FIN