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) 2004 by Djinn. This
story is Rated R.
Post-Traumatic Stress Desire
by Djinn
The bar was dark and far too
warm--the kind of place a person could escape to when she didn't want to face
the real world. The bartenders poured
liberally--and it wasn't synthehol they were
splashing into glasses--and the pounding music in the main room could drown out
even the most insistent inner voices. For
those who wanted to lose themselves, the dance floor promised oblivion. And the dance floor was where Rand and Sulu
found Chapel. They tried to get her to stop
dancing and to leave the bar with no success.
Sulu tried to reason with her, which would have worked better if Chapel
had been listening to him instead of to the staccato, electronic beats pouring
out of the sound system that gave him an instant migraine and put his teeth on
edge.
McCoy was the most resistant
to that idea; he actually tried to drag her from the bar, which had earned him
a laugh from Chapel--she was a good deal stronger than he was and always had
been--and a stern warning from a bouncer who outweighed him by a factor of
three. He left her alone then, but he called
out the big gun: Spock--her old flame
and maybe the one person Christine might care about disappointing. Chapel's current boss upped the ante as well,
ordering his old friend Kirk to go find his missing chief of emergency ops. Cartwright had commed
her several times, and Chapel had heard his hails but ignored them, finally
turned her communicator off since it was disturbing her bar mates.
Naturally, Kirk and Spock teamed
up, and had walked in a few moments ago, searching the bar for one errant
officer determined to drown her sorrows.
The regulars weren't sure what to make of so much red and black wool
traipsing through their watering hole.
Some of them were beginning to wonder if the neighborhood was taking an
upswing, and they'd need to find new digs.
From where she was sitting at the darkened rear bar, Chapel wasn't happy
to see more red and black either. She could imagine McCoy calling in Spock to
play on her emotions, but why Kirk? He'd
never been her friend, even if she'd been happy serving under him for years.
It might have been amusing,
watching Kirk and Spock navigate the bar--Spock looking massively
uncomfortable, Kirk at ease but his face set in determination. She should feel flattered that the legendary duo
was here for her. She threw back her
drink, signaling the bartender for another.
Flattered was a long way from what she felt. Settling back into the shadows, she watched
them search for her.
Kirk looked around the bar, trying to find some sign that Chapel was even in the
joint. "You're sure this is the
place?"
"Yes, this is where
Doctor McCoy said she was." The
music pounded into Spock's head, and the smell of perfume and incense flowing
from holders all over the bar made him slightly dizzy. "She will have taken a seat from which
she can see us but where we cannot see her."
Kirk shot him a look. "You know this how?" It's what he would have done in the same
situation--what he had done in the same situation--but he didn't expect Chapel
to act like him.
Spock shrugged. "She is an intelligent woman. It would be the logical thing to do if she has
grown tired of interference."
Kirk shot him a tight
grin. "You're no doubt
right." They looked in opposite
directions, peering into shadows until he saw a dark head suddenly whip out of
sight. "There."
"She will not be happy
to see us, Jim."
"Speak for yourself, my
friend." Kirk took a deep breath
and marched up the stairs, although he knew Spock was right. Chris would not welcome any impediment to her
finding oblivion.
Watching them coming toward
her, Chapel briefly considered running the other way, but it would take too
much effort to get off her stool.
Besides, she'd had quite a lot to drink, and she wasn't sure she could stand, much less run.
She touched the antitox pills in the pocket of her shirt--not ready to
use them, but glad they were there.
Although, she wasn't sure she was feeling this unsteady solely because
of the drinks. The doctor in her--the
doctor she'd left behind to take the ops job--told her that she had a
fever. It gave her a certain ironic satisfaction
to mutter, "Physician, heal thyself."
She lifted her drink--the only healing she needed right now.
"Commander Chapel,"
Kirk said as he sidled up next to her.
"You're not an easy woman to find."
She wasn't easy--period. The man next to
her, who was glaring at Kirk, had found that out when he'd tried to convince her
to go home with him.
"Get lost," Kirk
said softly to him. "We need to
talk to our friend."
The man looked at her, then
over at Spock, then back at Kirk. He saw
something in one or all of their faces that convinced him to take off. Kirk pulled his stool closer as Spock moved
to stand on her other side.
"Not
that this isn't a dream come true, gentlemen, but just say what you came to say
and then go away." She leaned up against Spock, rubbing his
arm. "Unless you came to get drunk
too, and then I won't mind if you keep me company."
Spock moved away so abruptly
that she almost fell off her stool. She laughed, the sound bitter and ugly. Of course, he'd hated her touching him. It was why she had done it. Now, what would Kirk hate?
Kirk watched her as she
pushed against Spock, saw his friend pull back, and sighed. This was going to be a long night. "Barkeep," he said to the man on
duty behind the bar. "Three
scotches."
"I don't like
scotch," Chapel said, her voice sullen and sultry all at once--Kirk found
it an intriguing combination.
"And I do not
drink," Spock added, wondering if Jim had taken momentary leave of his
senses.
"They're for
me." Jim threw Chapel an appraising
look. "I need to catch up with
you."
"You'll never catch up
with me," she said, reaching out, her hand touching his cheek softly, in a
way she thought he'd object to.
Kirk closed his eyes, letting
himself enjoy the touch instead of pulling away the
way Spock had. It would be the last
thing she expected.
And it felt damned good.
He was right; she yanked her
hand away as if he'd burned her.
Spock's eyebrow went up. Was Jim planning on seducing her? Or
letting her seduce him? And would he be
required to participate in some way? The
man next to him moved away, and Spock took his stool, watching as Doctor Chapel
appeared to regroup. "Why are you
here?" he asked her.
"I like it here. Why the hell are you here, Spock?"
"Because
McCoy and I made him come." Jim grinned at her, one scotch empty. His smile was the dangerous one Spock had
seen so many times--Doctor Chapel had better tread carefully.
"Why?" She tried to move away from Jim, but he put
his arm around her shoulders, holding her in place.
"No, you
don't." Kirk leaned forward, could
feel the heat rising off her as she got angrier. "Why don't you tell us the real reason
you're in here killing off brain cells at what I'd consider an alarming
rate. Wouldn't you, Spock?" He grinned at his friend, the dry, tight,
grin that had meant so many things in so many situations. "Now." Or "You take the guy on the
left." Or "Watch
this."
Spock seemed to sigh, as if
not quite sure what the grin meant in this particular situation. Or even if it was appropriate.
Chapel on the other hand,
leaned against Kirk, her hand going down and down and grabbing him. "How hard should I squeeze?" she
said, her voice as dangerous as he'd ever heard it.
Her hand was even more
dangerous, and he froze. Then he slowly
pulled his arm off her shoulder. When she
let go of him, he let himself breathe again.
Trying not to shake, Chapel
reached for her drink. Why couldn't they
just leave her alone? She glared at Spock
when he pushed her drink out of reach.
"You have had enough, I
believe," he said, his hand coming to rest on hers. He could read her misery through the light
touch, and her skin felt hot, almost Vulcan hot. Was she ill?
"I'll be the judge of
that." She blinked, and he thought
he saw tears, then she jerked her hand out from under
his. "Not that I should be the
judge of anything."
"Chris," Jim leaned
in, his voice caressing her name in a way that surprised Spock, and seemed to
surprise her too. "We all make bad
decisions. It's not a failure of
judgment, just a questionable call."
"Questionable? Forty people are dead because of me. I doubt their families are calling that
questionable."
"It is a part of being
in command," Spock said softly. "We
have all had to deal with being responsible for the death of a member of our
crew. It is not pleasant. But it is a fact of command."
"Nice speech,
Spock. Is that what you told your
cadets?"
"Yes," Spock
said. "And you know it is true."
Kirk nodded, his friend was
right, and his tack was sound--reason might be the way to go. Brute force surely wasn't going to get it
done. His balls were still tingling from
her fingers pressing into them.
"Chris," he tried
again, using the name that so few on the ship ever called her.
She turned to him, misery
clear in her eyes. "Forty people, Captain." A tear ran down her cheek, then another.
"Jim. My name is Jim." He smoothed the tears away, rubbing her
cheeks again even though no more tears came down--her skin was soft and so damn
hot. How much had she had to drink? And when was the last time she had
eaten? He let his hand stray up to her
forehead--she felt like she had a fever.
His eyes locked with hers,
and he saw something in her expression that looked like surrender. "It hurts, Chris. I know that.
And you feel guilty and miserable, like you deserve to die. I've been there. But you have to go on. You'll do better next time, and in the
meantime, you'll make sure that none of those deaths was in vain." He looked at the scotches still lined up in
front of him. "Drowning the loss in
booze? That's a waste." Not that it had stopped him when he'd been in
her situation.
"I know." Her voice was very small. She tried to say more, but felt her mouth
close up. "Captain--"
"--Jim." He pulled her
close. His arms were warm and strong--they
felt like forgiveness.
She relaxed against him and
quit trying not to cry.
"Shh,
it's all right." He held her,
letting her weep against him, her body shaking as great sobs claimed her.
Spock wondered if he was
necessary to whatever was going on between his friend and Doctor Chapel. She was leaning into Jim and was crying,
which Spock thought was a good sign. He
met Jim's eyes over Doctor Chapel's heaving back and let an eyebrow rise. His old sign for "Can I go now?"
Jim nodded, then seemed to pull Doctor Chapel in closer.
Spock suddenly wondered if it
was a good idea to leave them alone. On
the other hand, Jim was lonely, and the doctor was no longer serving under his
friend. Perhaps it would help them
both. He let his hand rest on Doctor
Chapel's back, felt her pain rising up and eased his hand away.
Kirk watched him go, surprised
that Spock had touched her. He'd often
wondered if his friend regretted not taking what Chris had offered him so many
times over the years. But Spock had always walked away, and had never
seemed overly concerned at his loss.
"Cartwright sent
you?" Chapel asked, knowing that her C.O. had probably ordered them to his
hospital bed. She wondered that he
cared--he'd almost been victim forty-one.
"Or
McCoy. I forget." Kirk smiled.
Bones had told them where to find her, but it had been an almost-frantic
Cartwright who'd called Kirk and told him what had happened, that she'd made
the only decision she could have made.
It hadn't even been a bad or questionable call--and Kirk planned to go
over that when she stopped crying and was ready to hear it. But bad call or not, forty men and women were
dead now because of her decision.
That was never easy. His first time he'd ended up in a bar too, on
the rough side of town. Alone. The blackest
night of his soul...and he'd been alone.
He didn't want that for her.
"Jim," she said
softly, having trouble using his name after so long calling him
"captain" or "sir."
She tried to pull away, felt him let go of her. "I'm sorry."
He looked down at his groin,
winced a little. "For that, you
mean?"
She nodded. "Should I kiss them and make it
better?" She hadn't really just
said that, had she? "I'm drunk,
sir."
"I'm not." He touched the front of her shirt, his
fingers dropping dangerously low before rising again and digging into her
pocket. "Here, take
these." He dropped the antitox into
her hand.
"I like the
fuzziness."
"I don't." He took back the packet, tore it open, and
held it out to her. "Open up,
Chris." He waited for her to do it,
finally had to glare at her. When she
opened her mouth, he dropped the pills in--they would dissolve on her tongue in
seconds.
As her head cleared, the
music in the club suddenly seemed too loud. She closed her eyes, saying goodbye to the
stupor that had put a lid on her pain.
"It doesn't help, not
really. It just masks the
pain." Kirk seemed to be reading
her mind.
She realized Spock was being
awfully quiet and turned to look at him; he was gone.
"He left."
"Why? This too much for
him?"
Her voice was bitter, and he
sighed. He wished he could make that
better for her too. "I don't
know. He probably just thought he wasn't
needed."
"He's not. This is all I need." She reached for her drink, and he slammed her
hand down on the bar harder than he meant to.
The look she shot him was blazing hot, as if her pain was being turned
into raw anger as she sobered up.
"Let go."
"No."
Her other hand shot out, low
and about to grab him again, but this time he was ready. He caught her, stopping her before she
reached his groin. "Fool me
once..."
She struggled, could not get
away. She'd never realized how strong he
was, had been too busy dreaming of Vulcan strength. "I hate you," she said, but wasn't
sure who she was talking to--him or Spock, or maybe herself.
"Fine, hate me. But no drinks. And no gouging." His grin was tight as if he was a little
worried what might happen once he let go of her.
And she did want him to let
go of her, was afraid that if he didn't, she'd start crying again and this time
she wouldn't be able to stop. But his
hands on hers were tight, and his eyes wary--he wasn't letting go of her any
time soon. She did the only thing she could think to make
him release her. She leaned in and
kissed him hard, passionately. She gave
him something he'd never ever wanted: herself, her lips, and her body as she
slid off the stool and pressed against him.
Kirk let go of her hands and
pulled her closer, overwhelmed by the sensation of her pushing against
him. Her lips were hot and full, and
they pressed on his relentlessly until he opened his mouth and let her in, and
that was probably a mistake because suddenly he couldn't think at all.
She felt his mouth open,
pushed her tongue against his and heard him moan. His hands were running up and down her back,
causing her to shiver. He finally pulled
away, and his eyes were startled as he stared at her. Then he stroked her cheek, his mouth finding
hers again, and this time the kiss was sweet and tender and it broke her into a
hundred million pieces.
He felt her control shatter,
held her close as she shuddered against him, pushing her away just enough so that
he could get down and get her out of the godawful bar
they were sitting in and somewhere, anywhere else.
She knew he was leading her
out of the bar, could tell they were outside when the music stopped and the
night air hit her--cold and harsh. She'd
forgotten her coat, hadn't cared enough to even think of it. Now she wished she had.
Cold, she was so cold.
He felt her shivering and
took off his jacket, easing it around her shoulders. "I think you're sick." He took her hand, held it up to her forehead.
Free of the stuffy, too-hot
bar, she could tell that she was burning up.
"I think you're right," she said, trying to pull away from
him.
He held her, then slowly let
go. "Only if you want to...don't
pull back on my account."
She studied him, unsure what
she was seeing. Did he want her? Because she suddenly wanted
him.
He saw her eyes soften, saw
desire in them and gently pulled her back to him. "Kiss me," he said, as he led her
up the hill toward his apartment.
She obeyed his order. It was easy, like old times. Only he'd never ordered her to kiss him
before, which was probably a good thing because now that she was doing it, she
didn't want to stop. They stumbled up
the hill, toward his place, she guessed.
Was he going to seduce her?
She found the prospect didn't
bother her at all. In fact, she wanted
it. Pulling him into a darkened doorway,
she pushed him against the wall, kissing him as if there would never be another
chance for them. He kissed her back, his
tongue and hands and lips and body all so warm against her and quickly becoming
her whole world. A world where things
made sense and people didn't have to die because she'd done what she'd had to.
"I didn't have a
choice," she said brokenly as she pulled away. "I didn't have a choice."
He nodded. "I know.
I know." He kissed her,
letting his words add emphasis to the kiss, letting his lips add power to the
words. "You had no choice,
Chris."
"I didn't want them to
die."
"I know." He turned her, supporting her as they walked
the rest of the way to his place. The
apartment was warm and welcoming, and he eased her down onto the couch. He planned to make her something hot--tea or
maybe cocoa--but she pulled him toward her.
"Warm me."
Her arms as they stroked him
were alluring, enticing. He wanted her,
wanted this. He pulled away. "You're burning up."
"I'm so cold. Please, Jim." She stared up at him, shivering and lonely
and afraid that what was happening would stop if she let him get away from
her. She tried to put everything she
needed and wanted from him in her eyes so he'd see it and come back to her and
love her if only for a little while and make her forget--and so that he'd be
there to hold her and tell her it was all right when she remembered all over
again.
"Not
here, then." He pulled her off the couch, led her to the
bedroom. "Let's do this right,
Commander."
Her title on his lips made
her remember, his hands on her clothes, gently easing them off, then stroking
her skin, made her forget.
"It's all right. You had no choice," he said, making her
remember again.
"Don't. No reminders.
I want to forget."
"You can't run
away." He pushed her to the bed,
following her down. "I'll hold
you. I'll make you warm. But I won't be oblivion." He stared down at her naked body, let his hand trace the wonderfully full breasts he'd
never once fantasized about. Why in hell
hadn't he imagined making love with her?
She arched underneath his
touch. "I keep seeing them."
"They'll haunt you for a
while. It's the way it is." God knew he'd had enough ghosts in his life,
his quarters, even in his bed. You had
to learn to live with them.
She nodded, knew he was
right. He was wise and had been
there. She'd seen him enough times in
this situation, had been with him in sickbay when he'd watched another crewmember
die.
And now she was with him in a
way she had never imagined. She'd been
so busy dreaming about Spock, that she'd never noticed how kind her captain's
eyes were, or how sensuous his lips were.
There was no way she could have imagined how his mouth would feel
against hers, or how his fingers and lips and tongue would make her arch and
writhe and finally cry out, unsure if the words she said made sense.
He smiled as she came
down. She'd called his name. He didn't think she even knew she'd done
it--he'd been afraid that he'd hear Spock's name on her lips as she came.
He let his hand rest on her
stomach, where the pink flush that also covered her breasts was receding. Her skin was so hot. Crawling up the bed, he lay down beside her. "You're sick, Chris. Maybe we should wait."
Her hand found him, so full
and strong and wanting her. This man, who had just sent her to a place where oblivion held sway
if only for a moment, wanted her.
She moved her fingers, squeezed--not the way she had earlier and not in
the same place and she saw his eyes close and his mouth open in pleasure.
"Chris," he said, the word barely more than a breath.
"Yes?" She moved closer, feeling a strange power as
he groaned when she pulled him onto her.
"Now.
No waiting."
And then he was with her and
filling her and moving over her, and she thought that the word pleasure must
have been invented just to describe what this man could do with his body. She wrapped her legs around him, trying to
pull him into her even more.
Kirk groaned, felt her lock
her legs around him and knew he could not control himself much longer. She was slick and hot and the fever only
made it more intense. And she wanted
him, her eyes as she looked up at him were dilated, and her lips were wild as
they found his. But her hands running
through his hair were softer somehow, soothing and loving, and she called his
name out again as she came. When he
followed her, he was smiling because of that and because he was calling her
name out too, and because it just felt so damned good to be with her.
He collapsed on top of her,
trying to keep most of his weight off her.
Her eyes were bleary from sex and exhaustion and probably from being
sick, so he eased off of her, cuddling next to her, holding her.
She rolled so she was facing
him, their bodies pressed tightly together.
He noticed she was sweating, and gently rubbed her forehead.
"Are you all
right?" he asked, and his voice was so tender it made her eyes well up as
she nodded.
He kissed her tears away, his
lips so gentle on her it only made her cry more. "I'm sorry, Chris. I'm sorry it happened to you."
She nodded, holding onto him
tightly. Letting him
guide her through this terrible pain.
His body, so demanding and sensuous a moment ago, was now comforting and
sturdy. She could fall, and he would
catch her.
"Sleep now," he
said, as she stopped shuddering, her fever-stoked skin pressing against him in
ways that made him want to take care of her forever. "Sleep. It will be just as bad in the morning."
She looked up at him, smiling
at how he wasn't going to lie to her even now.
It was what she needed, and he seemed to know that. Or maybe it had just been what he needed, so
long ago. "When you went through
this, who talked you down?"
His eyes seemed to darken,
and he didn't look at her as he whispered, "No one."
And she suddenly understood
why he'd come into that bar in the first place.
She could feel tears in her eyes again, but this time they weren't for herself. And this
time they didn't burn as they fell.
"I'm sorry."
He shrugged.
She thought his pain was like
an old wound covered in scar tissue but still aching at times. Impossible to heal, and not a bother most of
the time, but every now and then, like now, it must twinge a little.
"You're wrong, you
know," she said softly.
"Oh?" he asked, his
lips finding hers. He could get used to
kissing her. Could get
used to doing a lot of things with her.
"It won't be as bad in
the morning."
"No?" He was looking at her with such longing that
she wondered if he had any idea that he was doing it. This man was lonely, and that floored
her. This man wanted her, and she wanted
him, and it was possible that together they might be very, very good. And that
floored her too.
It was the last thing she
would have expected. "No. It won't be as bad."
"Why
not?" he asked.
"Because
you'll be there."
It didn't come out as a
question, but he could hear the question in it.
She was asking him if he wanted her there, if he wanted her to come back. If he'd want this again,
this fire and touching and kissing.
He wasn't sure how or why he was reading all that into her tender if
tentative gaze, but he knew he was right.
She watched his face--there
seemed to be a lot of things running across his expression: wonder, and worry, and an aching
loneliness. Then there was only utter
tenderness as he leaned down and kissed her.
It was a long and lovely kiss. It
said so much that she needed to hear. Somehow,
in a way she didn't understand, they were in this together.
"I like that," he said,
smiling. And for the first time in a
long time, he didn't feel alone at all.
FIN