DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the
property of Paramount Studios, Inc and Viacom. The story contents are the
creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2015 by Djinn. This story
is Rated R.
Live Long and Prosper
by
Djinn
Chapel
took a deep breath as she headed to Spock's quarters. He'd waited a week before
calling her to him. She'd expected a comm earlier, right after V'ger, when his
emotions were in full play.
She'd
expected it and had a hundred ways to say "Not on your goddamn life"
ready.
But
he hadn't commed, had only given her very gentle greetings when they passed in
the corridors, asked her how she was as he'd waited for Len in sickbay two days
ago, congratulated her on attaining her M.D.
And
now he wanted to see her in his quarters. Now that she wasn't pissed as hell at
herself for being so damned glad to see him that she'd practically squeaked out
his name on the bridge. Now that she wasn't sure anymore that this would be
just like the time in his quarters before he went to Vulcan to claim his wife. Or
when he came to her after the Platonians and she'd
sent him away—using willpower she hadn't known she had till then.
Willpower
that had made her sit down and fill out the form for medical school. Because
even if she'd turned him away, she still loved him, and he would never, ever
love her. Hell, he didn't even want her unless he had hormones of one kind or
another driving him.
She
stood a moment before his door, composing herself, then rang the chime.
The
door opened. The room wasn't dark and incense filled as she'd imagined it would
be. Spock was sitting at his desk, the lights on full, and he looked up at her
as she walked in, his expression one of ease.
"I
owe you an apology," he said, gesturing to the seat across from him.
"Don't
think you do." She decided to wander his quarters instead of sitting and
saw his expression change slightly, but then he took an audibly deep breath and
turned off his terminal.
"I
left without a word, Christine."
He
was calling her by her name? "I was already packing for Earth and medical
school when you took off for Gol. You didn't owe me a thing, Spock." She
turned to look at him.
He
rose and walked to her. "I believe I do."
"I
think you owe the man in the big chair an apology—and an explanation would be
nice, too." She'd heard Jim bitch enough about Spock leaving while she'd
been hanging out in bars with him before she reported to the Enterprise.
"Are
you in a relationship with him?"
"With
Jim? No." She laughed softly and it wasn't a very nice sound. "Are
you?"
"I
am not."
"Were
you?"
"I
was not."
She
waited for more, but he seemed content to just stand and study her. "Do I
meet with your approval, Spock?"
"You
do. Your confidence has grown. I believe Doctor McCoy will have finally met his
match."
She
laughed, this time not so mean a sound as before. "Not
when it comes to loitering on the bridge for no apparent reason."
"Agreed.
He excels at that."
"If
they gave medals, he'd win a gold."
Spock's
lips tilted up ever so slightly.
"Still
not completely over V'ger, are you?"
"I
believe I am. I do not need to be emotionally overwhelmed to find you amusing,
Christine."
"Mmm hmmm, you just keep telling yourself that." She
walked to his desk and sat down in the chair he'd indicated. "Why do you
think you need to apologize to me?"
"You
were one of the things I was leaving."
"Well,
we all were." She made a gesture to indicate the whole ship.
"No,
everyone was not. Jim was. You were. My anger at my father. My constant concern
that I was hurting my mother. Things...other things that occurred."
"Like
Zarabeth and Droxine and
that Romulan bimbo?"
"Her
rank was commander."
"Oh,
bimbo isn't part of the Romulan military hierarchy? My mistake." She
laughed and tried to bite it back, but the lightness in his eyes only made her
smile wider. "So I was one of the things you
left? Why wouldn't you run? I was your stalker."
"That
is not how I thought of you."
She
leaned back, crossed her arms over her chest, and said, "Then how did you
think of me?"
"As
a potential mate."
She
thought her eyebrow was probably giving his a run for
its money in showing surprise. "Since when?"
"When
you turned me away after Platonius. I was..."
"Hurt?"
She leaned in. "Spock, this is just 'the one who got away' syndrome. Men
always want the women who shot them down."
"I
am not a human male."
"You're
half human. And that part of you is probably more in control at the moment than
your Vulcan half." She stood. "You're forgiven, okay? That's what you
want to hear, right? We're fine." She walked toward the door.
"If
we are indeed fine, then I assume having dinner with me tonight will not be a
hardship?"
She
didn't turn. "I have plans."
"With
whom?"
She
reached the door, and as it opened, she glanced back at him. "None of your
business."
The
look on his face was priceless.
It
was even better when he saw her in the mess later, sitting with Nyota and
Janice. She winked at him as he walked by; he looked confused but...relieved. He
murmured, "Doctor," as he passed.
"What
the hell was that?" Jan said, jabbing her in the ribs with her elbow. "Did
you two just have a moment?"
"It's
just V'ger."
"V'ger
was a week ago," Ny said. "And he's shaking off those effects fast. It's
almost like having the old Spock back on the bridge."
"Still
means nothing."
"I
think that was something." Jan jabbed her again, then turned to Ny. "It
was something, right?"
"Oh
lord, child, for Spock, it was really something."
"Knock
it off. Physicians vow to first do no harm. I'm starting with myself. No
mooning over Spock. No over-analyzing everything he
says and does, wondering what every little look he throws me could mean."
"But
that was a really interesting look," Jan said. "Did he think you were
here with someone else—of the male variety?"
Chapel
shrugged but was unable to keep the grin off her face. "Mayyyyyyyybe."
Ny
held up her glass of water. "About damn time. Who's with me?"
Jan
clinked her ice tea against her glass. "Hear hear.
Guest of honor?"
Chapel
bit back a strangled laugh and clinked her mug against their glasses. "You're
both delusional."
"Then
why are you toasting?" Jan went back to her meal, her expression the one
that meant she knew she was right.
Chapel
glanced over to where Spock had taken a seat with Scotty. They seemed deep in
discussion. Then he looked up and met her eyes, and something in his
expression...softened.
She
could feel something in hers softening, too.
"If
you two get all goo-goo gaga, I swear I'll take you over my knee." Ny shot
her a look that meant she was serious. "And if you and he start something
up, you are not allowed to ignore us. I hate friends who do that."
"Well,"
Jan said, "if the captain wanted me, I'd be ignoring you two like crazy
while we holed up in his quarters."
"You're
not helping," Ny said, but her expression eased, and she grinned at
Christine. "I'm rooting for you."
"Thanks."
She forced herself not to glance over at Spock's table again. It was way harder
than it should have been.
##
Chapel
was pretending to be working when Jim sauntered up. "I'm busy," she
said, pretty sure what he was going to say.
"You're
not any busier than I am, Chris." He turned her and they walked along the
bluff that looked down on a lovely beach and water beyond. "You know, it's
an interesting thing: Spock decided on the crew complement for this
mission."
Captain
playing Cupid—what a shock. Only it wasn't. "Why's he having to do that,
Jim? You too busy getting over how much you drank last night at the goodbye
party on Iolitia to do that?"
"Meow.
And that just goes to my point. He picked you for that, too."
"Mmm hmm." She put the tricorder away. "There's
nothing for me to do. This area has been scanned before."
"Yes,
but after V'ger destroyed a lot of our outposts, these planets are of renewed
interest. Not unlike how certain women might be of interest to a man whose
quest to purge his emotions was upended by V'ger."
She
started to laugh. "Is he paying you to say this?"
"He
may have grilled me—in a quiet, Vulcan way—on the nature of my relationship
with you."
"What
did you tell him?"
"That
you let me bitch ad nauseam about Lori and my job so long as I sprang for the
booze. He seemed...happy that we weren't a couple."
"Sure he did."
"Well,
happy in a Vulcan way, not in a wacky 'I melded with a giant killing machine'
way." He started to grin. "Why, here he comes now."
Spock
was indeed walking to them. Quite fast. "Sir. Doctor."
"Spock,
beautiful planet. Neither Chris nor I are doing anything useful. One of us
should go back to the ship."
"I
will see you later, Jim." Spock eased her way from him with a rather
implacable hand to her elbow.
"Told
you," Jim said as he pulled out his communicator and asked for beam-up.
"This
was all your nefarious plan to get out of having to—" She stopped because
the transporter had taken him.
"You
are upset he is gone?"
"No."
She shrugged off his hand. "What do you want?"
"I
was hoping you would work with me." He held his tricorder out to her. There
was a list of minerals and plants on the screen. "This is close hold. It
is why you are here, as Jim well knew."
She
could see why the list was close hold. Many of the items were of strategic
value in one way or another—and the Federation would not want it known they
were now lacking some of these thanks to V'ger's
swathe of destruction. He copied the list to her tricorder, then moved along
with her, scanning basically the same area.
"You
do realize that this is hardly a model of efficiency, right? We're covering the
same ground."
"I
am aware of that." He met her eyes. "You led me to believe you were
involved with someone."
"No,
I led you to believe I was eating with someone. Which I was. My friends." She
gave him a smile that could mean anything. "One of us needs to find new
ground."
"Conversationally?"
She
laughed. "For the scans. And the old you would heartily agree. I don't
think you're as free of V'ger as everyone else—including you—seems to think you
are."
He
straightened up, the perfect Vulcan in place, but she thought it was all an act
because he never took his eyes off her.
She
leaned in and pitched her voice as low as it could go. "Tell me it's not
the Pon Farr."
"It
is not." He didn't even seem uncomfortable talking about "that which
is not mentioned."
"Okay,
good. I'm going to go over there so we really can divide and conquer the
area."
"Most
logical."
"And
how scary is it when I'm the one being logical?" She grinned at him and
walked away, losing herself in the job, working her way across the terrain,
keeping away from him and trying not to peek over to see if he was looking at
her.
Trying
and failing. She peeked. He was looking.
She
couldn't hide the smile when she turned back to her tricorder.
Just
before beam-out, he found her, looked at her results and transferred them over
to his tricorder. "Thank you for your assistance."
"Not
a problem."
"Am
I to take it you have plans for dinner again tonight?"
"I
actually do."
"With...?"
"Again.
None of your business."
His
face changed—a mixture of frustration and amusement. Damn, this would never,
ever get old. And she wondered what he'd make of her eating with Len—would he
realize they were just going over the crew complement or would he think he had
a rival?
Rival.
Spock caring who the hell she saw. It was all so...ironic. Now, when she really
was prepared to be over him, to not repeat her mistakes of the first voyage. Now
he had to decide to be interested?
Well,
better late than never.
##
"So
that's the last of my picks. Hopefully you agree with the staffing." She
didn't make it a question because part of her didn't give a rat's ass if Len
agreed or not. He'd been sitting on his porch in Savannah sipping bourbon and
getting friendly with the local belles while she'd put sickbay in order. Although
Starfleet Medical had as much to do with it as she did. The Enterprise was a prime posting and not every
selection was discretionary.
She'd
let Len know which of the doctors and nurses had been directly assigned by
Medical, but so far she didn't have problems with any
of the selections and didn't expect to. Prime postings went both ways. You
often got people you hadn't selected, but you rarely got people who weren't up
to the job.
"I
just have one question, Christine." Len leaned back and sipped his coffee.
Then he started to grin. "Why in the hell is Spock staring over here at us
so frequently and unabashedly?"
"He
thinks he's interested in me."
"Does
he now?" Len's look changed from amused to mischievous. "Should I
make a move on you to see if he'll come charging over?"
"Uh,
no." She made some notes on the padds they'd
been using, then looked up at him. "I think it's just V'ger."
"And
if it's not? He looks pretty intense."
"Well,
then I'll play it be ear."
He
laughed. "I'm willing to bet that's not the part you'll play." His
expression grew thoughtful. "Unless those pointy ears are an erogenous
zone?"
"Not
something I have cause to know."
"Well
if I'm reading his look right, you may be in a position to find out." He
took a deep breath. "Enough about Spock. We haven't talked about the
demotion. You know I didn't mean to rain on your 'CMO right out of med school'
parade, right?"
She
smiled. "I know. It wasn't much of a parade."
"So you don't hate me?"
"Well,
not for that." She laughed at his expression. "No, Len, I do not hate
you. Relax."
He
glanced over at Spock again. "Okay, he's giving me the willies. Just go
sit with him so he relaxes. Jim's waiting for me in the lounge." He stood,
then leaned in. "Anything I should know about Jim and you?"
"We're
just friends."
"Friends
or friends?"
She
rolled her eyes.
"I
had to ask." With a grin, he walked off and recycled his tray, leaving her
alone.
She
saw Spock looking her way and got up, stowed her tray, refilled her coffee, and
joined him, taking the chair next to him. "So, you were not subtle. Len
wanted to know why you were staring."
"I
know. I could hear everything you said."
"That's
unnerving. Where does your range end?"
His
eyebrow went up. "Would telling you that not put me at a
disadvantage?"
"No,
it'll be giving me some much-needed privacy—we were talking personnel
issues."
"Christine,
if they were serious issues, you would have held the discussions behind closed
doors in sickbay. You were briefing him on his new personnel."
"And
you didn't answer my question. How far away do I need to get to have
privacy?"
At
the level you were speaking, two tables farther would have been beyond my
ability to overhear."
She
laughed softly. "So, if we'd been whispering?"
"I
would not have been able to hear you."
She
took a sip of coffee before asking quietly, "Did you want to listen in? Because
you could have moved—gotten out of range and all."
"I
could have. Had you been doing more than briefing him on skills and
qualifications, I would have. But it was interesting hearing your opinions—for
all the years we have known each other, we have not worked together often. Hearing
how you characterized the doctors and nurses under your command allowed me to
understand how you think."
"Well,
at least you believe I do think. Not so sure you did during our first
mission."
"That
is not true. I have a great deal of respect for the work you did with Doctor
Korby."
"Ah,
the halcyon days before I lost him and fell for you. And got teased
unmercifully by Len for it."
"I
have often wondered if Doctor McCoy was harsh with us both because he wanted
you for himself and resented me for being the man you preferred."
She
started to laugh. "Len doesn't want me. He's just an asshole some of the
time."
"That
was an alternate theory." His eyebrow went up, making her laugh harder. "I
have always found the sound of your laughter enjoyable."
This
time she let her eyebrow go up. "How many times have you heard it?"
"I
have convalesced in sickbay. You laughed with the other nurses and with McCoy
at times. Not with me, I agree, but our relationship was not conducive
to...mirth."
"Mirth?
Okay, just hearing you say that word is a little scary."
"I
know many words. I do not have to embrace the emotions behind them to recognize
what they mean."
She
gave him a shrug-nod that meant she didn't feel like arguing the point. "Spock,
has it occurred to you that you have a type?"
"What
do you mean?"
"Leila,
Droxine—yes, I heard about her—and Zarabeth: all willowy blonde beauties. I'm none of those
things." She leaned in and took a cookie she was relatively sure he hadn't
chosen for himself off his plate. "I like to eat. I'm not going to bleach
my hair anymore, and I'm...well, I'm not a great beauty." She bit into the
cookie and sighed happily. "I'm all right with that. I have good legs and
no one's complained about other parts of me. I get enough attention to make me
happy. But...I'm not your type." She took another bite then met his eyes. "In
fact, I'm far more Jim's type than yours or Len's."
"Jim
assured me you were not with him."
"So he told me." She grinned at him. "We're
friends. Good friends."
"Which
is convenient since he is also my good friend." He handed her the other
cookie on his plate. "I will point out that I am not with any of the women
you cited as my type."
"Well,
with Zarabeth, you didn't have much choice."
"I
will concede that. But the other two I chose to not pursue." He took a
deep breath. "I know your favorite type of cookie, Christine. I know many
things about you. We shared consciousness."
"And
I pictured you bathing in antibacterial bubble bath for a month afterwards just
to get rid of my cooties."
He
looked amused. "Nothing so drastic. The experience was far from
unpleasant." His look grew more serious. "But, Christine, I could
tell what you wanted from me, and I was in no position to give it to you."
"T'Pring was ancient history by then."
"I
do not mean because of her. Your feelings for me were—"
"Dreadful?"
"I
was going to say overwhelming." He reached under the table and stilled her
leg—she hadn't even been aware she was jiggling it. "Christine, I do not
know if this will make sense to you, but I began my journey to Gol long before
I put in my request for acceptance. I could never choose you when I was so
concerned with maintaining what I felt to be some sort of Vulcan ideal."
She
eased his hand off her leg. "And now you've had the polar opposite event
as Gol, haven't you? You were inundated with emotions from your meld with V'ger,
which is ironic given it was a machine that didn't understand feelings. But you
do have feelings—clearly you do, and I've always known it. You just don't have
them for me." She held her hand up when he started to say something. "Let
me finish. I'm okay with that. I've given up, Spock. What you're feeling right
now, it's so much fun for me—you really have no idea—but it's not going to
last."
"May
I speak?"
"Yes."
"I
left Gol and I can never go back. I accept that fully. I will find my path in
some other way than purging my emotions."
"I
don't want to be your consolation prize because you flunked out of Kolinahr school."
He
looked amused again, his lips tilting up into what, for a Vulcan, was
definitely a smile. "I did not flunk out, Christine. I left. I heard V'ger
and followed its call. A call that led me here. To this moment. With you."
"That
sounds nice." She kept her eyes on the cookie, breaking it into smaller
and smaller bits.
"Look
at me."
"No.
Because more than anything I want to believe you."
"But
you are afraid."
"I'm
afraid it won't last. I'm afraid of having to deal with that, seeing you—how it
will hurt once you don't want me anymore. I don't want to have to transfer
off."
"As
a scientist, is it not premature to anticipate results so strongly? You will
taint the experiment."
"We
all go into an experiment with a working hypothesis, Spock."
"There
are hypotheses and then there is fear."
She
pushed the cookie bits and her coffee mug onto his tray and got up. "I'm
going to call it a night."
"How
much time must pass before you believe me?"
"I
don't know." She met his eyes. "I want to believe you. You must have
felt that when you stilled my leg."
"I
felt it very clearly." He seemed to dial back the intensity in his eyes
and said softly, "Goodnight, then."
She
gave him a real smile back, appreciating him letting go of this, even if just
for the evening. "Goodnight."
##
She
woke to blackness and fire, someone was pulling wreckage off her, and then she
tried to sit up. The pain that erupted in her head sent her back to the ground,
and she curled up and felt warm liquid slide down her cheek. Head wound. A bad
one. The doctor in her worked out what had happened while the rest of her
huddled in misery.
"Move."
A voice—Spock's voice—concerned and gentle but commanding. "You must crawl
but do it without moving your head."
"Crawl?"
"We
are still in the line of fire."
"Why
are they firing?" She felt him supporting her and crawled away from the
wreckage of the flitter they'd been travelling on. "Where are Duncan and
the prelate's assistant?"
"They
were behind us. Their flitter successfully turned back without being hit."
Spock pulled her with more urgency, and she felt liquid seep over her hand.
"Are
you bleeding, Spock?"
"I
am. It is nothing."
"Let
me see."
"Christine,
you can barely move without pain. Trust me when I say I am not badly
injured." She understood why they were crawling as weapons fired, hitting
the flitter. "Hurry," he said, and she tried to crawl faster.
It
wasn't fast enough, apparently, because he picked her up and tossed her as if
she were a sack of potatoes, diving after her as she came to rest behind a
boulder, her head throbbing from the abrupt motion
"Down,"
he said, pushing her, covering her with his body, and she heard the flitter
explode. He let out a sharp cry of pain that he cut off, and she asked,
"Were you hit?"
"It
is nothing."
"Stop
saying that. I'm the damn doctor." But she couldn't get free to check him,
and he was calling for beam-out, then the soft buzz of the transporter taking
them made her stop and wait.
She
pushed him off as soon as they were on the ship, tried to get up and said, "Oh,
holy crap," as pain exploded in her head again. When Len came running in
with an emergency team, she pointed at Spock and said, "His back, Len. He
covered me."
"I
am fine, Doctor. Please attend to her."
"Well,
if this isn't charming," Len said, as he helped her into an antigrav
stretcher. "Both of you wanting the other one helped first." He moved
away, very quickly, and stopped Spock as he tried to walk to her. "Lie
down on your stomach on the stretcher. You've been hit, and she'll be fine
without your help."
She
heard Spock muttering something, but the techs were pushing her out of the
transporter room, so she gave up and lay back and tried not to vomit as the
ceiling rushed past her. Len caught up with them, was scanning her as they
hurried to sickbay.
"How
bad?"
"Bad
enough that I'm glad we got you both beamed up. Why the hell does nothing ever
go the way Jim says it will?"
"He's
still down there." She started to get up. "He doesn't know—"
"No,
we beamed him up. He's safe. Duncan, too."
"Is
Spock okay?"
"He's
fine, hon'. Just has a lot of metal in his skin—his head's too hard to be
hurt."
She
laughed but said, "No, it's not."
"Doctor?"
Spock's voice from behind her, not sounding happy. "I trust this will not
take long?"
"It'll
take as long as it takes. Lie down and shut up." Len was actually smiling.
"You're
enjoying this."
"Just
the part where I get to tell him to shut up. I don't like seeing that much
blood, and I'm trying to get him to stay still the best way I know how."
"I
knew he was bleeding. He said it was nothing."
"It's
not nothing." Len gave her a sweet grin. "But neither is your head
injury. Now, be a good girl and stay down and keep quiet while Trhamh works on you, okay?"
"Yes,
father."
He
rolled his eyes but said, "Good. Glad we understand each other." Then
he was moving away, "God damn it, Spock. What part of 'lie down and shut
up' was unclear to you?"
She
laughed, which made her head hurt. Then they were in sickbay and Doctor Trhamh was scanning her, pulling instruments out and
telling her everything would be okay, her lovely Majrhing
accent making the words even more soothing than normal.
Len
was working on Spock, and that told Chapel exactly which of them was hurt
worse. He was still working on him when Trhamh
finished up and let her sit.
"You
want help, Len?"
Spock
looked over at her. "Rest."
She
looked at Trhamh. "Am I cleared for duty?"
"You
are."
She
pushed off the stretcher and walked over to Spock, grabbing the instruments Trhamh had been using. As Len worked on Spock's back, she
checked his arm, trying to find where the blood was coming from. There—a deep
abrasion on his upper arm. She cleaned it out and heard him sigh softly.
"I'm
fine," she whispered so softly she knew Len wouldn't hear her. "Relax
and let us work."
He
seemed to give in, exhaling loudly—probably for her benefit—and she closed the
wound then moved to help Len. There were shards of debris from the flitter
embedded along his side and upper back. The way he'd been lying had protected
his spine and head. He'd been lucky.
He'd
done this for her—covered her with his body. He hadn't even stopped to think.
"You
okay, Christine?" Len smiled gently. "Guess you weren't in the line
of fire thanks to our heroic Vulcan here?"
"I
can hear you, Doctor."
"I
know. And this is my way of saying 'Thanks,' Spock."
She
waited, expecting Spock to explain why it was logical to not lose a medical
officer that Starfleet had spent resources training, or that he'd done nothing
out of the ordinary, but he only said, "You are welcome."
Which
shut Len up, although he had a huge grin on his face as they finished. They let
Spock up, and Len said, "You're fine, Spock. Quit loitering in sickbay. Jim
no doubt needs you on the bridge."
As
he got up, Spock looked over at her. He seemed to be assessing where she'd been
hit, then he walked over and touched her shirt, where blood was drying. "You
will need a new uniform."
She
fingered his torn, green-drenched shirt, the back cut away by Len's laser
shears. "You, too."
He
didn't look away.
"Perhaps
the two of you should skedaddle to your quarters and get some clean ones."
Len was making shooing motions. "Git."
She
followed Spock out to the lift, riding it in silence, then leading him out when
they got to deck five. She stopped at her quarters and he stopped, too.
She
realized her heart was beating madly.
"Tell
me to go to my quarters," he said, his voice as intense as it had been
during the Pon Farr but with none of the strangeness
in his eyes.
She
palmed her door open and moved inside slowly.
"Tell
me not to come in."
She
held her hand out and he took it, the door closing behind him as he rushed
toward her, lifting her easily as he pushed her against the wall and kissed her
almost frantically.
"It's
okay. I'm okay," she murmured as he pulled away and stroked her face. "You're
needed on the bridge."
"Yes.
I am." He kissed her again, very quickly, then let her down and left.
She
stood for a few minutes, replaying what had just happened, before she peeled
off her uniform and grabbed a clean one.
Holy
shit. That kiss had been nothing like the one on Platonius.
Good did not begin to cover how it had felt.
She
forced herself to get moving, cleaning the blood out of her hair before putting
on her uniform, then headed out the door to the lift. She heard footsteps
behind her and turned to see Spock. They got in the lift together.
"Are
you free for dinner tonight, Christine?" He was not looking at her. It had
been a week since her dinner with Len and their talk. Spock hadn't asked her
since if she wanted to have dinner. She'd thought perhaps she'd been right—that
his feelings were cooling. "Or do you again have other plans?"
"I
happen to be free."
"Excellent."
He glanced at her, his gaze possessive and tender and everything she'd ever
wanted from him.
"In
the mess?" She smiled at him, wondering where he'd go with that question.
"If
you wish. Or your quarters. Or mine." His eyebrow went up in an adorable
way.
She
laughed, then said softly, "You protected me."
"I
will always do so."
She
wanted to tell the lift to stop so she could kiss him again, but he was needed
on the bridge and the lift was opening anyway to her deck. "There may not
be time tonight. Crisis and all," she said as she got off.
"Then
we shall wait until there is time." His slight smile stayed until the
doors closed.
She
hurried back to sickbay, saw Len look up with a knowing expression. "Everything
all right?"
"Everything's
great."
He
grinned and went back to his terminal.
##
As
she'd suspected, there was no time that night, or the next, or the next. Jim
had started calling this the mission from hell, and she was inclined to agree
with him. But she was too busy to dwell on much but the wounded who streamed
into sickbay, then finally slowed to a trickle.
"You
think it's over?" Len asked softly as they worked together on a young
security officer.
"I
hope to God it is." She heard someone clearing his throat softly and
turned to see Spock at the door to sickbay.
"Please
tell me you're standing there waiting to tell us that business in sickbay will
go back to normal, Mister Spock. I know you didn't come down here just to watch
us work." Len winked at Chapel as he finished sealing the wound he was
working on.
"I
did indeed come to inform you that the crisis is over. The terrorist faction
has been subdued. The prelate has agreed to Federation oversight of his next
election. All is at it should be."
"In
a pig's eye, Spock. People don't change overnight."
"Indeed
not." Spock moved closer, but not so close he'd contaminate the sterile
field. "People change slowly, as they realize the path
they are on is not as suitable as they once thought."
"Suitable—how's that for romance,
Christine?" Len muttered it, but Chapel knew Spock could still hear him.
She
glanced over at Spock and his eyes were very light, so she grinned. "I
think suitable is a fine word, Len."
"Indeed."
Spock went into her office, making no show of having anything more to do but
wait for her.
"Wow.
Ballsy move on his part. Guess he's serious."
"He'd
have to be to put up with your wisecracks every time he comes down to see
me." She grinned at the offended sound Len made, then stood up, the last
wound closed. "Can those reports you mentioned
earlier wait?"
He
started to laugh. "Yes, never let it be said I stood in the way of true
love."
"I'm
not sure that's what this is."
"Well,
whatever it is, go take care of it." He was grinning as she rolled her
eyes, so she left him and walked into her office.
"Did
you hear all that?" she asked Spock.
He
nodded. "You do not believe this is true love?"
She
shrugged, trying to show him she was willing to embrace the Vulcan concept of kaiidth.
"Do
you care if it is not?"
"Not
if that kiss was any indication of what else might be in store. Let's get out
of here."
He
rose and followed her to the lift, standing very close to her, his arm pressed
against hers.
"I
need to shower," she said.
"I
do, as well."
"So you want to do that and then meet up? For dinner or
whatever we've got planned?"
"No."
"Okay."
She waited, then turned to look at him, and was surprised at the amusement in
his eyes. "Oh, I'm supposed to guess what you want?"
He
nodded.
"You
want to take a shower and go straight to bed—to hell with me?"
"No."
The
door opened to their deck and she followed him out. "You want to come in
and shower with me?"
"I
find I do."
"Fascinating.
So I guess dinner is out?"
"If
you are hungry, we can go to the mess after our shower."
"What
if I don't want to leave my quarters after my shower?"
"Then
we will go hungry."
"This
ship should have room service. I'm going to mention that to Jim."
He
held up a finger in a "hold that thought" kind of way, disappeared
into his quarters for a moment, then came out holding several energy bars.
"Those
are horrible."
"They
are tasteless and unpleasant, but they will provide energy."
She
palmed open her door, could tell he was right behind her as she walked in, he
pulled her to him while also setting the door to privacy.
"Hell of a multitasker, Spock."
"As
are most Vulcans." He took the energy bars and set them on her nightstand,
then proceeded to pull off her uniform. Despite her protests of wanting some
equity, he had her fully undressed and was still in his uniform as he stared at
her for a long time.
She
grew uncomfortable and crossed her arms over her chest, but he said, "Do
not do that."
"Spock,
what are you doing?"
"Deciding
that you are wrong if you think you are not my type."
She
started to laugh. "Would you please get naked, too?"
He
undressed with an efficiency that did not surprise her in the least. "You
have a shower, I believe."
She
took his hand and led him into the bathroom, got the water the temperature she
liked it, then drew him into the shower stall.
He
pulled her into his arms, kissing her the same way he had before, as if he
could not get enough of her, and she relaxed—had she been afraid that moment was
still due to V'ger, was just an anomaly?
"Some day you will be sure of me, Christine." He
touched her face gently. "As I am sure of you."
He
reached for the shampoo, pumped some, and lathered up her hair. It felt so
decadent she closed her eyes and leaned into him, content to let him do that
all night if he wanted—or until her water ration ran out. But he pushed her
back into the shower stream, then turned them, his intent clear that she should
do him.
She
turned the lathering into a massage, heard him actually groan, and laughed,
surprised at how fun he was making this. She'd thought it would be serious and
anything but this lighthearted touching.
They
took turns with the soap, washing away more, she thought, than just dirt. Any
discomfort being with him this way was disappearing as they played. When he
finally turned the water off, they barely got each other dried off before he
was pushing her to the bed and she was pulling him down onto her and inside—and
oh holy crap.
She
wrapped her legs around him and whispered, "I fantasized about what you
would feel like. So many times. It was never this good."
"Perhaps
your imagination is lacking."
She
whapped him on the shoulder—he didn't lose a beat in the way he was thrusting:
these Vulcan boys really could multitask—and said, "You're supposed to
say, 'Oh, darling, I underestimated the sheer bliss of this moment, too.'"
Then she started to giggle—a silly sound that made him stop and kiss her and
murmur, "You delight me."
She
tightened her legs. "Delight? Really?"
"Really.
And I will never call you darling." But the way he kissed her after he
said it sort of implied darling, and she decided she didn't care what he called
her so long as he made her feel this way.
But
just to keep things on an even keel, she whapped him again on the shoulder and
muttered, "Putz."
"Perhaps
you should alternate shoulders if you plan on doing that throughout the
night."
She
was about to give him a smart-ass answer, but he'd found the sweet spot, and
words were suddenly beyond her. She made a nice amount of "gone to my
happy place" sounds, though.
He
looked very satisfied with himself as he finished and kissed her. "That
was remarkable. It will be even better with the meld."
"Yeah?"
She ran her fingers down his back, lightly touching, and he closed his eyes and
arched like a cat under her caress. "I still love you."
"I
know. I can feel it every time we touch." He met her eyes, his so gentle
it made her feel safe and warm. "I believe I will be able to say it in
time. Will that be acceptable?"
"I
think so. And I don't want you to say it if you don't mean it."
"I
can say this. I want you. Even now that I have had you, my desire has not
abated."
"Well
I hope not after only one time." She pushed him off her and began to
nuzzle his neck, working her way up to his ears—oh yeah, they were definitely
an erogenous zone.
Not
that she was going to tell Len that.
FIN