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) 2006 by Djinn. This story
is Rated PG-13.
They All Fall Down
by Djinn
Spock saw Nurse Roberts at
the far end of the corridor. Her back was to him, so he eased out of his room
and down the hall, trying not to let the rubber tip of his cane fall too
heavily as he limped his way to the exit. His leg pinged with each step,
reminding him of how seriously injured he had been when they had brought him to
this convalescent center. He frowned as he took a bad step, could feel the new
skin on his cheek protesting a little at the expression. He looked down and saw
the shininess of the skin on the hand that held the cane.
The Moroshan
rebels had shot him several times and left him to die in the burning wreckage of
the outpost he had been visiting. His government contacts had warned him that
following the rebel's negotiator, who had stormed out of the negotiations, was
too dangerous; Spock had not listened.
Or maybe he just had not
cared.
He knew he had been taking an
increasing number of chances on his diplomatic missions. He knew why, too. But
knowing why had not made it any easier to stop.
He got to the door, and it
swooshed open, warm, pine-scented air rushing in. He was out of breath after
just that short walk and could feel the sweat beading up on his temple. He
could not remember the last time he had been this weak.
Moving out of the doorway, he
saw a bench in the sun about twenty paces ahead. A week ago, he could have
covered the distance in moments. Now, he measured every painful step in ragged
breaths and force of will.
He was not supposed to be out
of bed. He was not yet cleared for walking on his own outside of his therapy
sessions. But lying in bed had left him too much time
to think about what was gone.
To dwell on who was gone.
He sank gratefully onto the
bench, his legs trembling with the effort he had put them through. Closing his
eyes, he rested, enjoying the feel of the sun on his skin. He felt his sweat
evaporating and knew it was cooling him—also knew that Nurse Roberts would
lecture him on getting chilled in the light breeze. His hospital-issued
clothing was damp, but the sun compensated enough to keep him comfortable.
He needed this. Needed to be
active, to be doing something. Anything. Anything but thinking about how he had
failed Jim. In his room, he could not seem to think about anything else.
He should have been at the
launch. But he had been too focused on preparing for his latest mission. He had
not been able to get away, he had told Jim. He could have, though. And if he
had—would things have turned out different? Better?
He heard the sound of slow
footsteps coming toward him, opened his eyes, and blinked.
It could not be. She could
not be here.
Christine was staring at him,
and she did not look happy. She continued to approach, and he held up his hand
as if to keep her away.
She seemed to take in his
cane; her lips twisted in a smirk as if she knew he had snuck out. But she did
not say anything.
"I require no
assistance, Doctor Chapel."
He saw a look of puzzlement
in her eyes, and her forehead creased.
"Fine." She kept
walking.
He realized her steps were
nearly as slow as his own. That she was holding her left side as she walked. That
her white pants and shirt were hospital issued, not a uniform.
"You are hurt?" His
voice came out rough, harsh.
She stopped but did not turn
to look at him. "Would you care if I was?"
"I am not sure I care
about anything." The words came out too fast, rushing past lips that had,
up to now, kept the truth fettered.
She still did not look at
him. "Fair enough." She started walking, faster than was probably
good for her.
He saw Roberts come out of
the building, her face pinched as she looked at him. But
she left him alone, saying something to Christine that made her slow down. Roberts
watched her for a moment as if checking to make sure she would continue on at a
wiser pace, then she turned and walked to where Spock sat.
"It is most pleasant out
here," he said. Jim had taught him that sometimes the best defense was a
good offense.
"I'm sure it is. But
you're not cleared for takeoff, Captain." Roberts sat down on the far side
of the bench. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun.
"I always get the difficult ones. You. That stubborn woman—no worse
patient than another healer."
"Doctor Chapel is badly
injured?"
"She was sick. She's in
the homestretch now."
He nodded. He had heard
Doctor McCoy use that term a number of times.
"You know Commander
Chapel?" she asked.
Commander. Christine had
given up medicine. For the lure of Ops.
"I do." Although it
was not really true. While he had known her once, he did not know much about
her any longer, except that she had managed to emerge unscathed from the
investigations of those behind the Khitomer
conspiracy. In fact, she had profited. There had been a leadership hole when
the coconspirators had been rounded up. Christine and those like her had filled
the void.
"I take it she's not a
friend?" At his look, the nurse smiled. "Do Vulcans even have
friends?"
Spock thought of Jim. "We
do." He turned away, his face to the sun, his eyes closed to keep out the
ghosts of friends lost forever.
"I'll be back out in
twenty minutes with an antigrav chair. Don't you dare walk on that leg anymore
today."
He nodded. His leg was
throbbing. More than it had after therapy. It had been illogical to come out
here.
There was little logic to any
of his actions lately.
##
"Did you get him
settled?" Chapel asked as Roberts came into her room, loaded with meds. "And
I'm not taking all of those."
"They're not all for
you." Roberts glared at her. "I don't remember ordering an extra
helping of cranky with my day."
Chapel remembered how she'd
felt when she'd had a difficult patient. "Sorry. Didn't expect to run into
him."
"He's a nice enough guy.
For a Vulcan." Roberts was studying her. "Is there a reason you two
give each other the willies?"
"Natural
anti-chemistry." Which would only be true if she weren't attracted to him.
Still— her stupid little heart had insisted on speeding up at the sight of him
even though she'd given up on him years ago.
"Anti-chemistry
huh?" Roberts laughed as she loaded up a hypo. But her smile faded. "And
what the hell did you think you were doing out there?"
"Going for a walk."
"All the way down to the
beach?"
"Is the beach off
limits?"
"It is when you were
legally dead a week ago."
Chapel exhaled slowly. "I've
been legally dead before."
"Not on my watch, you
haven't." Roberts held the hypo to Chapel's arm and hit the trigger.
Chapel analyzed the
sensations, trying to decide what they'd given her this time. Muscle relaxants,
probably, which was good—her body ached and she had a stitch in her side that
was really bothering her. Some kind of sedative because she was already yawning—trust
Roberts to figure out she hadn't been sleeping as much as she should. Antivirals.
Even if her fever had broken, she was a long way from cured. As maladies went, Palevian Heart Fever was a bitch of a disease. And hardly
fair reward for wading through disease-tainted rivers to rescue innocent
civilians caught in the line of fire.
Then again, Chapel had gotten
off easy. Commanders Trannin and Forenza
had not been so lucky. They were still legally dead.
Nobody had warned the rescue
crews that the rivers were disease laden. They'd all been brave without even
knowing it.
"Too much thinking going
on in that head of yours," Roberts said. She held up another hypo. "This
one's just vitamins."
"I was back on Paleva."
"Maybe you should stay
here instead." Roberts' smile was gentle. "It's much nicer."
"Well, it was until a
few minutes ago." Spock had to be here?
"One man bothers you so?
And a Vulcan at that?"
"It's...complicated."
And Chapel had no intention of going into exactly what she meant by that. Yawning
again, she scooted down in bed, getting more comfortable. "And I didn't
need a sedative."
"I know you're not
sleeping."
"All I've done is
slept." But it was a lie. All she'd done was dream. Odd, fevered dreams. Of
people in rivers—people she tried to save, but couldn't. Sometimes Trannin and Forenza floated by,
their bodies bloated, their eyes open and staring. The inhabitants had known
the rivers held death. But they'd chosen that over the military coming from the
other direction.
"Christine, if you're
having nightmares...?"
"I'm not."
"It had to have been
scary there."
"It's scary lots of
places. They don't, as a rule, dispatch Emergency Ops teams to Risa."
"Fine. Hide in
sarcasm."
Chapel shook her head. There'd
be no hiding this time. Sleep was calling, so she closed her eyes and prayed
that her dreams would be gentle ones.
They weren't.
##
Spock sat on the far side of
the center's mess and watched Christine. She was rubbing her eyes, gulping what
was probably coffee. She didn't talk to anyone, didn't seem to be truly
"in" the room. He didn't remember her appearing so distant when he had
seen her several days before.
He stood carefully, leaving
his tray for the room attendant to gather up. Moving slowly but steadily, he
walked toward the entrance. The route he had chosen would take him by her
table.
Why had he chosen this route?
She was facing the window. Unless
he spoke to her, she would probably never know he had been this close.
He would just not speak to
her.
"Are you all
right?" he asked, stopping at her table.
She looked up at him, her
eyes dead. She seemed about to answer, but then turned and gazed out the window
again. He sat, noticed her cup was empty and motioned for the attendant to come
fill it again.
"I don't need anything
from you, Spock."
"I did not think you
did."
"Then why are you
sitting here?"
"An excellent question. I
myself am unsure of the reason." He studied her as the attendant refilled
her coffee. "I was told you have been sick."
"I was sick. I'm fine,
now."
She did not look fine. But he
did not think he should say that. He waited, curious to see if she would break
the uneasy silence between them.
She did not. She just drank
her coffee and stared out the window. The skin under her eyes was dark, but
everywhere else it seemed pale to him. Her hand shook as she lifted the cup. She
turned, aware of his scrutiny apparently, and her brows knit as she looked at
him.
"Christine, I—"
"What do you want?"
He could not answer that. Getting
up slowly, leaning on the cane more than he liked, he said, "I apologize. I
should not have disturbed you."
She looked down,
attention seemingly fixed on the now empty cup of coffee.
He did not ask the attendant
to bring her another.
##
Chapel saw Spock sitting in
the sun, on the same bench he'd used before. She walked over, happy that her
muscles and joints had quit aching, even if she was so tired that even a short
distance tired her out.
He looked up as she stood in
front of him, blocking the light. "Doctor?"
"I'm sorry. I was rude
in there."
"I am not certain rude
is what you were. You seemed...distracted."
"Such a careful
word." She looked at the bench. "May I?"
"Yes."
She sat, trying not to show
how good it felt to not be standing. "I'm just very tired."
"The disease has left
you weak?"
It had, but not this weak. But she went with the nice, comfy lie. "Yes."
"Then you will become
stronger in time." Problem solved, apparently.
"What about you? How did
you end up here?" She knew; she just wanted to hear him say it.
"I underestimated the danger
of a diplomatic situation."
She'd taken the liberty of
looking at his file—a perk of still having medical accesses. It had looked like
he'd underestimated quite a few diplomatic situations recently. Only none as
seriously as this latest one. She had a feeling she knew why he might be acting
that way. "You must miss him."
Spock glanced at her,
surprise showing on his face. Didn't he know that his friendship with Jim Kirk
was of legendary proportions? Many—including her, at times—had wondered if
their relationship had been more than friendship.
"I do miss him." Spock
said it as if it was a great concession to admit it.
"You must wonder what
if...?"
"What if?" His
expression changed; his voice grew tight.
She wanted nothing more than
to close her eyes, to not be sitting here trading what were probably cruel
observances with this man. But he was staring, his eyes locked with hers, so
she said, "What if you'd gone to the launch?"
He looked away, and she knew
she'd hit the mark.
"You might have saved
him."
Spock moved his cane,
positioning it the way someone would to get up.
"You also might...just
have died with him."
His fingers clenched on the
cane, then he stood. His expression as he looked down at her was unreadable. "That
would have been acceptable."
There were no words she could
think of to follow that, so she didn't say anything.
He seemed to shake his head a
little, as if coming out of a dream, then he turned and walked off, leaving her
alone.
##
Roberts watched as Spock
packed his carryall. "Ready to move?"
He was ready to get off this
planet. But the doctors had not yet cleared him to resume duty. At least he
could get out of the main ward and into one of the more private, if small,
dwellings. "Thank you for your care."
She smiled. "I'll see
you around. It's a small place."
He knew that too well. He had
been unable to avoid seeing Christine. Not that they had interacted. Since
their last conversation, she would turn and walk the other way whenever she saw
him.
"Is Commander Chapel
moving into the residences, as well?" he asked.
Roberts shot him a glance he
could not interpret. "She sure is."
"She is not recovering
as quickly as you hoped?"
"You'd have to ask her
that, Captain. I'm sure you wouldn't want me talking to her about your
case."
He felt the sting of the
gentle rebuke, then a surge of embarrassment. Why was he asking about Christine
at all? "It was improper of me to inquire."
"She asked about you, too,
by the way." Roberts grinned at him. "So, you want to tell me why the
two of you are so interested in each other but can't stand to be in the same
room?"
"Perhaps you should ask
her."
"Uh huh. That's what she
said."
He was not entirely sure why
he cared about Christine's status. She had been so many things to him, most of
them unpleasant. Her infatuation with him during their first tour had made him
uncomfortable, had made it impossible to be even civil to her without her
making more of the interaction than what it was. And later, after V'ger, when
they had served together again, she had seemed to hold it against him that
those early years had been as difficult as they were.
But he had thought they had
reached some kind of detente after Khan. He'd decided that dealing with his
death had allowed her to finally let go of any unrealistic desires. They had been cordial to each other when forced to interact—cordial
without being friendly. It had been a comfortable ambivalence.
So why could he not leave it
at that? Why worry about her?
Was he
worried about her?
He looked over at Roberts. She
was smiling the way McCoy used to when he had been trying not to laugh at
Spock.
"You have something to
say, Nurse?"
"Me? Not a thing, Ambassador."
She hailed an orderly coming down the corridor and handed him the carryall. "Monroe
will take your bag to the transport out front. You catch the same transport to
get back here for physical therapy." She gave him a stern look. "And
we will know if you don't show up."
"Of course." He let
his eyebrow rise slowly, which made her smile.
But then her smile died. She
leaned in, pitching her voice low. "I am worried about her. If you could
help her..." She shook her head. "Listen to me. Such a busybody. I'll
see you around, Captain Spock." She hurried out.
"Ready, sir?"
Monroe asked.
Spock followed him out of the
ward. Christine was on the transport also. She saw Spock as he got on the
vehicle and stared at him for a long moment before looking away.
She looked worse than before,
her eyes drawn and bloodshot.
He walked to the seat
opposite her and sat as Monroe stowed his gear. As the orderly left, Spock
looked over at Christine. She was still staring out the window, as if the view
of the center's front entrance was mesmerizing.
"I am pleased to be
leaving the ward," he said.
She did not answer.
"I am sure you are,
too."
Christine still ignored him.
Feeling a bit like she must have
when she had been trying to get his attention all those years ago, he forged
on. "Nurse Roberts—"
"Is a goddamned
troublemaker," she said, never turning away from the window. "Leave
me alone, Spock. You're usually very good at that."
He felt as if she had slapped
him, but was not sure why. Nothing she had said was untrue. Taking a deep,
calming breath, he decided to follow her lead and find solace in the view from
his window.
##
Chapel paced, trying to keep
herself awake. She'd ordered coffee from the replicator—had found herself
restricted to decaf. "Caffeinated beverages are not allowed before rest
period," the replicator had told her.
She'd tried to order several
herbal beverages that had no caffeine but would still keep her awake. The
replicator hadn't been fooled.
So she was reduced to pacing.
The room became smaller the
more she paced, and she finally gave up, going out to the small patio in the
hope that fresh air would wake her up.
"Are you all
right?" she heard from the patio next to hers.
She peered into the shadows—he
had the lights out and was sitting in darkness. But she knew Spock's voice. And
of course he was in the dwelling next to her—Roberts
probably made the room assignments.
She stepped around the low
hedge that divided their patios and stared at him. Even up close, she could
barely make out his expression.
"Would you like some
tea?" he asked.
"Will it wake me up or
put me to sleep?"
"The latter."
"Then no." She was
about to turn, to head back to her own place, but she heard him shift, and then
his hand settled on her arm.
"You do not wish to
sleep?"
She could shake him off. He
was sitting and she was standing; gravity was on her side. But it felt good. That
he'd touched her. That some part of him cared.
And she hated that it felt
good. She jerked her arm away as she stood staring down at him, still not able
to see his face.
"Sit," he said, his
voice even, as if she hadn't just rejected his overture.
Perhaps it hadn't been that? But
when had he ever touched her?
She found the other chair and
sat down.
"Sometimes Jim did not
like to sleep. He would fight it, any way he could. Often through vigorous
exercise."
"In your bed?"
The silence was horrible. Why
in God's name had she just asked that?
"No. Not in my
bed." He sounded more than a little angry. He was probably asking himself
why he'd wanted her to stay.
She rose. "I should
go."
Again he grabbed her, this time he held on firmly. "You
did that on purpose? Struck out to anger me so I would forget my original
question?"
She tried to pull away. Gravity
was not helping this time.
"When Jim fought sleep,
it was because of the dreams."
She exhaled slowly. "I'm
fine." She moved back toward the chair, as if she was going to sit down,
but as soon as he loosened his grip, she pulled away and hurried to her own
patio. "Good night, Spock." The quick closing of her door cut off his
reply.
If there even was one.
##
Spock stared into the night,
replaying what had just happened. Slowly he rose and stepped around the hedge
the way Christine had. He took a step, then another. Two more carried him to
the door.
What was he doing?
He knocked. There was no
answer. He knocked again.
She opened the door; she was
crying.
He did not say anything. Just
stood and waited.
"I'm sorry," she
whispered.
He eased her aside so he
could step in, closed the door behind him then realized he had left his cane on
the patio. The therapists had said he did not need it any longer. They appeared
to have been right.
Christine looked over at him,
wiping at her eyes as if she was angry he had caught
her crying.
He let out a long breath—breath
he had not realized he had been holding. "What is wrong?"
"I don't know." By
the way her voice trembled, he knew she was telling him the truth. She turned
away from him, moving to the couch. She sat, drawing her knees up tight,
hugging them with her arms. As if she was protecting herself.
From what? From him?
Sitting down in a chair
across from her, he waited. She smiled at him, and it was the first real smile he
had seen on her face. Even if her lips trembled and the smile died almost
instantly.
"Was it this last
mission?" he asked.
"Do you care because you
couldn't help him?"
"Possibly. Was it?"
"Helping me won't bring
him back."
"I am aware of that. Answer
my question."
She seemed to give up as she
leaned back and stared past him, at something very far away. "It was bad. But...I've
seen worse. Much worse. I've been hurt worse." She met his eyes. "I
died. For a few minutes."
"I did not realize
that."
"I've died before."
She gave him another shaky smile. "It's a trend for us Enterprise
types."
"Not for all of us."
His friend was never coming back. Jim's face swam in front of him with that
disappointed look he used to wear. A look that Spock would never see again
because he had failed him. He could have gone to the launch. He should have
gone.
"I'm sorry," she
said. "I didn't mean that one to hurt."
"I know." He leaned
in. "Are you sleeping?"
"Not if I can help
it." She looked away. "You were right. It's the dreams. About this
mission. About other missions. Things that went right that suddenly go wrong in
the dreams. Things that went wrong that go even worse."
"Has it occurred to you
that you may be burning out?"
She swallowed hard. Then she
nodded.
"And you do not wish to
be finished with Ops?"
"Maybe I don't want Ops to
be finished with me. I can do this."
"No doubt you can. But
should you?" He looked down. "Perhaps, at a subconscious level, you
are tired of being constantly at risk."
"You realize the irony
of that coming from you? The man who can't seem to stop himself from taking
risks lately."
He frowned and met her gaze. "You
read my file?"
"I did." She said
it as a challenge, and he realized she was doing it again—trying to anger him
to divert him from the real question.
On the other hand, his
recklessness might be the real question. "I was not there when he needed
me, Christine."
She looked surprised he had
called her that. "Killing yourself won't change that."
"Logically I accept the
truth of what you say."
"But you were never very
logical when it came to the captain, were you?"
"No. I was not." He
leaned back and let his eyes close. "Why do you not wish to leave
Ops?"
"It's my home. I have a
lot invested there."
"Ops is not a home. No
matter how much of yourself you have invested."
"I'd get upset with you,
but I think you're calling the kettle black, Spock. Where's your home?"
"I do not have
one."
"Ah."
"Ah." He opened his
eyes. "The question is, then, can a person live with no home?"
"A person? Or you?"
She smiled, but this time it was biting. "There is a difference."
"Do you hate me?" The
question seemed to take her by surprise, so he forged on. "Or do you hate
yourself for still loving me?"
"Your sense of
self-preservation may be shot to hell, but there's nothing wrong with your
ego."
He let a small smile show. "That
is not an answer."
"What makes you think
I'll give you one?"
"After our last
interactions, I truly have no idea."
Another smile, real again,
broke through, and she laughed softly. "You're a masochist. Who knew that
all I had to do to get you was to be mean to you?"
He ignored the comment. "Have
you told the doctors about your dreams?"
She seemed to shut down.
"They must be logging
your activity. Nurse Roberts alone—"
"They know. They
suggested I talk about it. I declined. End of story."
"Perhaps that is why
they have not released you?"
"That and the fact I
look like death warmed over." She got up suddenly and walked to the
kitchen. "Can I get you something?"
"I am fine."
"I bet the doctors doubt
that, too. You're as big a mess as I am. Only you hide it better."
"I am Vulcan."
Turning to look at him, she
said, "You just agreed with me, you know?"
"I realize that." He
rose and walked to the door. "I should go."
"Thank you...for coming
over here."
He nodded and saw the sweet
smile break through again, realized he was glad to see it. She was probably
right, however. He was in danger of making her a project. Even if it would not
bring Jim back.
"Goodnight, Christine. Try
to sleep."
"Yeah, I'll get right on
that." She appeared to be trying to bypass something on the replicator.
He left her to it.
##
Chapel saw Spock getting off
the transport; he barely limped as he made his way to the entrance, and he
wasn't using his cane. He hadn't used it last night, either, when he'd come
over. She considered getting up from the sunny spot she'd chosen, but decided
it wouldn't hurt if he saw her watching him.
He walked over and dropped
into the chair next to her without preamble, stretching his long legs out and
closing his eyes as the sun beat down on him.
"Hello to you,
too."
His lips tilted up just so
slightly. She realized he enjoyed the more acerbic Christine that had grown up
in Ops. Chapel liked her a lot, too. If only her screwed-up psyche would decide
it liked that Christine, life would be good again.
Life had been good, hadn't
it?
"Did you sleep?" His
voice was soft, as if he was utterly relaxed.
"'Fraid
so."
"Were the dreams
unpleasant?"
"Oh, yeah." She
turned to look at him; he still had his eyes closed. "Next time, I'll
pound on the wall and let you know I'm up."
"Our bedrooms share a
wall. I heard you cry out."
"Oh. I'm sorry." She
hadn't heard him through the walls at all. But then he was probably quiet, and
she didn't have Vulcan hearing. "I'll sleep on the couch next time I
surrender to the sandman."
"That is not necessary. Is
there nothing the doctors can do?" He looked over at her.
"Oh, sure. There are
ways to suppress dreams, but that isn't wise. The dreams are trying to tell me
something."
"What?"
"If I knew that, they'd
probably stop."
"I see." He sighed,
a strangely evocative sound. One she didn't think she'd heard him make before. "I
dream, too. Of launches I choose to attend this time."
"Launches you change the
outcome of?"
"Yes." He shook his
head. "I do not, as a rule, dream."
"Aren't we the
pair?" She realized how that sounded and made a face. "Or not."
Again his lips tilted a little.
"I amuse you?"
He seemed to think about
that. "You do."
"Even when I'm being
mean to you?"
"You are not being mean
to me right now."
"Well, you know that can
change in a flash."
He leaned back, closed his
eyes again—the picture of unconcern. "I believe we have forged a new
understanding."
"You do, huh?"
"I do."
"One fucked up officer
to another?"
His eyebrows slanted down for
a moment. "That is not how I would choose to phrase it. But empathy is a
component."
"Spock, I get why you're
upset. You lost a friend. You lost your best friend. And you feel guilty about
that because you could have been there. Your disregard for your own safety is
actually quite logical given how adrift you must feel." She took a deep
breath. "What I don't get is what's wrong with me."
"You, too, have lost
friends, have you not?"
"I lost people on this
mission, yes."
"That is not what I
meant."
She frowned. "I don't
follow."
"Admiral Cartwright? You
were his protege, Christine. Did you have to disassociate yourself from him
during the inquiries? Did you have to put aside friendship and loyalty to save
yourself?"
"I wasn't involved and—"
He held up a hand. "I
believe you. But perhaps you feel guilty? Perhaps you believe you betrayed
him?"
"I did what I had to. I
had no part in the conspiracy." She realized she was starting to cry.
Spock was regarding her with
such sympathy it made it even harder to fight back the tears.
But she did fight them back.
"I had heard rumors that
you and Admiral Cartwright were involved."
"He was my boss."
"That hardly precludes a
romantic relationship. Were you involved?"
She clenched her fingers and
made a fist. She wished she could use it to beat off the rumors that wouldn't
die. "We weren't. We were just friends."
"Ah. Just as with Jim
and me."
She could feel herself flush.
"I should never have said that."
"You only verbalized
what others have also wondered. And you were interested in me at one time. I
imagine you were jealous of him."
"I was." And Rand
had been jealous of Spock. Kirk and Spock's friendship of legend—it was easy to
mistake it for love. She and Matthew—everyone had assumed their regard stemmed
from romantic interest and not a more straightforward affection. Protege had
come to mean mistress, girlfriend, lover. Not just friend. Not just trusted
officer.
"Are you alone,
Christine?" Spock asked. "If you aren't with Cartwright, do you have
someone in your life?"
"Do you see anyone in my
life?"
"No."
"Right back at you,
Spock."
"Well, I admit I am
alone."
She leaned in. "Why? Why
are you alone? You had Len. And Saavik."
"I still do." He
sighed and leaned in toward her, so their heads were very close together, his
words hushed. "When Jim died, it was as if all the air went out of the
room. I have other friends. I have family and those who care about me. I just
cannot..."
"You just can't forgive
yourself for not being there for him, can you?" She touched his hand; he
didn't jerk it away. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I feel bad about
Matthew."
"It would be natural, I
think." He gently freed his hand. "You knew Valeris, as well, did you
not?"
"I did. But she and I
weren't friends."
He glanced at her. "No?"
"Spock. Come on. Given
how close you two were..." She knew she was admitting she was still
interested. But in this new spirit of friendship, it seemed right to do so.
"Ah. Of course. So no guilt for you on that count."
"No." She tried to
stifle a yawn.
"I will sit with you. If
you want to close your eyes?"
"To sleep, perchance to
avoid the hell out of dreaming?"
"A different venue might
keep them away."
"And having someone to
watch over me?" She looked away. That had been going too far.
She felt his hand on her arm.
"Close your eyes,
Christine."
She leaned her head back
against the soft headrest on the chair and closed her eyes. Spock didn't pull
his hand away, and she smiled.
"You'll give me the
wrong idea, mister."
"Sleep." He gave
her arm a gentle squeeze and then let go.
She slept. Not for long, but
the minutes that passed were free of any dreams.
##
The night breeze was growing
uncomfortably cool, and Spock considered going inside. He looked into his small
unit but knew he was too restless to retire this early. Then he heard
Christine's door open and glanced over, waiting for her to come into view.
"Are you there?"
she said very softly.
"I am."
"I have goodies."
"Define that."
"My Ops comrades sent me
a care package. And I'm willing to share. If you want me to come over?" Her
voice was very tentative.
"Please."
She stepped around the hedge,
cradling a shipping package. "Do you like cookies?"
"Not particularly."
"Good. More for
me." She pulled a bag out and handed him the package. "Go nuts."
He could just make out what
was inside by the light spilling onto the patio from inside. He saw fruit and
pulled it out. "You are sure?"
She glanced over. "The
grapes are all yours."
He bit into one; it was tangy
and full of juice. He realized she was handing him a napkin and took it,
nodding his thanks.
"See. They are
family." She shot him a look.
"I did not say they were
not family. I said Ops was not a home. The people will move on eventually. The
next group might not be family."
"Quit raining on my
parade. I have a big, beautiful care package from home. End of story."
He decided not to argue with
her. She seemed so...happy.
They ate in silence for
several minutes, then she sealed her bag and put it back in the package. He
started to do the same with the grapes, but she said, "No, you keep
them."
"Thank you."
She smiled and leaned back,
closing her eyes. For a moment, he thought she might fall asleep right there,
but she jerked up.
"You should sleep."
"Out here?"
"Out here. In your
apartment. Wherever you are comfortable."
"Comfort has nothing to
do with it, Spock. It's a matter of..." She sighed. "I wake up and I
don't know where I am. I don't know if the dreams are real. Sometimes I only
think I wake up, and then I realize I'm still in the dream. Those are the worst
of all."
He did not answer, just
watched as she fidgeted in her chair.
She glared at him. "I
napped earlier."
"You slept for less than
an hour."
"Well, it was a quality
nap."
He let an eyebrow answer
that.
"Spock, I don't see you
offering to tuck me in, so lay off the bedtime crap."
"Would it help if I
tucked you in?"
She stared at him, her
expression darkening. "Very funny."
"I was not joking. Would
sleeping with someone be beneficial?"
"With someone?"
She exhaled loudly, a bitter sound.
"With me."
"Right. We'll have a
slumber party all so little Chrissie can get her Zs."
He leaned back. "I do
not remember you being this sarcastic."
"I wasn't. And stop it
with the bizarre questions."
"If it was bizarre, I
apologize. But I am asking you to think as a doctor, not as the woman who once
pursued me. Do you believe you would sleep better if you were not alone?"
"I don't know, okay. Probably
not. You'd just end up getting mauled to death when I tried to wake up." She
stood up.
"I believe we are past
you storming off into the night."
"I wasn't going to
storm; I was going to walk." She grabbed the box. "I'm going in now. This
conversation is not good for my mental state."
He watched her leave, eating
a few more grapes as he considered the fact that he was a bit disappointed that
she had not taken him seriously.
##
"Christine?"
She woke. The room was dark. Pitch
black. And it was freezing cold. What was wrong with the environmental
controls?
"Christine, help
me?"
She felt around and realized
she wasn't on her bed. She was on a rough, earth floor. On furs that felt
matted with some substance she didn't want to identify.
"Christine, for the love
of God."
"Matthew?" She
reached over and felt someone reaching back. Bones bit
into her hand, the lights suddenly went on, and she was holding on to a
skeleton dressed in Starfleet red.
She screamed. In the dream
and all the way into waking. She cut off the scream as soon as she realized she
was awake. Sitting up in bed, she tried to catch her breath as her heart
hammered in her chest.
There was a knock on her
patio door. She ignored it.
Another knock, this time
louder.
She got up and walked to the
door, opening it and moving aside so Spock could come in.
"You woke me." He
was in his pajamas, hadn't even put a robe on.
"I'm sorry. It won't
happen again."
"I am not sure that is
true." He turned her, pushing her toward the bed.
She resisted, and he just
pushed harder.
"You can't be serious,
Spock."
He pulled her hand up,
holding it at the wrist, so they could both see how badly she was trembling. "You
cannot go on like this. You need sleep."
She jerked her hand away, but
he pushed her again, toward the bed, with a face set in stone when she turned
to glare at him.
"I don't want to sleep
with you."
"I am not sure that you know
what you want, Christine. You are too tired." He settled his hand on her
back, rubbing gently—it felt much too good.
She spun on him. "You
shouldn't do this. You were right. I am still in love with you. And I'll read
into it and it'll be just like it was and you'll be so sorry if—"
His hand came down over her
mouth. Firmly, but not in a mean way. "Be quiet, Christine." He
pushed her into bed and settled in beside her. Pulling the covers up over them,
he said, "The meld might keep you from dreaming."
"No. I don't want to
share consciousness again."
"Was it so
unpleasant?"
She couldn't answer. It
hadn't been unpleasant when it happened. It had been a dream come true then. But
not now. And especially not like this. She turned on her side, away from him,
and felt him nestle against her. He pulled her closer, her back to his front.
"Spock. This isn't—"
"Shhh."
He rubbed her hip, his hand
moving down, then back up in a soothing rhythm. His touch was warm, even through the fabric of her pajamas. She dropped her arm,
giving him better access, then immediately regretted it.
"Spock."
"Be still."
But he wasn't being still. Everywhere
he touched felt like it was on fire—her face felt like it was on fire, too. She
knew she was getting aroused, then she realized he was, too.
"Spock. Please."
"Shhh."
He stopped stroking her, letting his hand sit on her waist, then slip around
her, to nestle under her breasts.
She moaned. "Why are you
doing this?"
"You need to know I'm
here. Your body needs to know I'm here."
"My body is fully aware
of that fact." She pushed back, wriggling a little, trying to pay him back
for making her so hyperaware of his nearness.
He let his breath out slowly,
blowing slightly against her neck. "Close your eyes," he finally
said.
"This isn't a good
idea." She realized she'd put her hand over his, as if part of her was
afraid he'd leave. And didn't want him to.
"Close your eyes,
Christine."
She closed her eyes. "Now
what? You want me to count Vulcan sheep?"
He began to murmur something.
It took her a moment to realize it was a complicated physics problem.
"You've got to be
kidding me."
But his voice, so low, so
close to her ear, going on in that quiet, soothing tone was too much. She
yawned, and felt him tighten his hold.
He didn't let up, just kept
talking, explaining how force and mass and energy and other things could make a
grown woman fall fast asleep.
She moaned and shifted a
little to get more comfortable.
And then she was gone.
The dreams came for her. But
not until it was light out again. And he was there, easing her out of the false
waking, stopping the dream from getting worse.
She didn't think, just turned
and nestled against him as he soothed her. Then she realized what she was doing
and tried to pull away. "I'm sorry, Spock. I shouldn't have done
that."
"Do I appear unduly
disturbed?"
She met his gaze and could
tell he was assessing her. And he did not appear at all disturbed.
He touched her cheek, his
finger moving lightly to the skin under her eye. "You look better."
"Define better." She
smiled and saw his expression lift a little. Giving in to her own bad impulses,
she cuddled against him, sure that this time he'd push her away.
He only pulled her closer and
held her, until she grew self conscious at the way
their bodies were pressing together and drew back.
She smiled, feeling awkward. "I
should make you breakfast or something."
"I have a therapy
appointment this morning."
"A wise man always has
an escape plan." She gave him her best Ops grin. The breezy look that said
nothing mattered. Nothing could get to her.
He didn't appear to like that
look. "I will see you later," he said, as if she was very dim.
She stopped him, her hand on
his as he started to get out of bed. "You don't have to."
"I realize that." He
pulled his hand away very gently and left her alone to enjoy the first morning
since she'd gotten sick that she felt almost human.
##
Spock was just finishing up
his therapy when Nurse Roberts walked in.
"You're looking
stronger."
He looked down at his leg as he
worked the exercise machine the way the therapist had showed him. His leg ached
less each time.
"Ready to get out of
here?"
"I am being
discharged?"
"Well, eventually. Not
right this minute." She grinned at him. "Why, were you in a rush to
get out of here?" At his look she laughed and walked out.
He realized he had actually
been disappointed at the thought that he might soon be discharged from the
Center. He knew exactly why that was. He closed his eyes as he worked his
healing muscles, thinking back over the night he had spent for the most part
awake. In bed. With Christine.
Enjoying being in bed with
Christine.
Wanting to do more than just
lie still and hold her.
He knew that his empathy for
her—his need to be useful, to make up for letting Jim down—was driving him to
her. But it had not been empathy or any feeling of helpfulness that had kept
him next to her, holding her close against him. He had wanted her, and when she
had cuddled against him when she woke, he had wanted her even more.
He had never wanted her
before. But they were different people now. Broken, perhaps, in some
fundamental way. Helping each other put the pieces back?
He finished his exercises and
showered, in a hurry to get back to the residence. The transport was quick, and
he felt no pings from his leg as he hurried through the lobby and down the hall
to his room. He walked out to the patio, expecting for some reason to find her
on hers. But she was not there. He looked at her door—the curtains were drawn
and he could not tell if there were any lights on inside or not—and decided to
catch up on the comms that he was slowly working through.
A few hours later, he went
back out to the patio, sitting this time, eating more of the grapes she had
given him. As he sat, enjoying the gentle breeze, he saw her coming up the
walk, her hair wet, her white t-shirt damp and clinging to her in some spots,
going transparent over her dark bathing suit.
He would not have noticed
that a week ago. Or he might have noticed, but would not have enjoyed the
sight.
She saw him and stopped, then
she headed for him, her shoulders set, her lips very tight. "We need to
talk," she said, as she sat down.
"Do we?"
"Yes. Last night...I
appreciate what you did for me but—it can't happen again."
"I see." He picked
a small bunch of grapes out and handed it to her; she took it and started
eating as if not realizing how casually they had done that.
When had it become so easy to
share things with her? Grapes. Her bed. Their secrets.
"It's not that I didn't
enjoy it."
He let one eyebrow rise.
"A lot. Well, except the
nightmare part. But the other..." She frowned as if frustrated with the
way she was saying whatever she was trying to say. "It's that..."
"Yes?" He knew he
was not making it easy for her, found that he did not overly care.
"It's not just
therapeutic—or whatever you thought you were doing—for me."
Could lying beside a woman he
had wanted so badly that he ached be considered therapeutic?
"You could say
something." She popped a grape into her mouth.
"Was the water
nice?"
"What?"
"You were swimming. I
have not swum for some time. Was it a pleasant swim?"
"Uh. Yes." She sat
back. "Did you hear a word I said?"
"I heard every word you
said. I could, if required, repeat each one." He rose, handing her the bag
of grapes. "I will change. Do you wish to swim more or are you too tired
to walk back down?"
"We're going
swimming?"
"You can sleep in the
sun while I swim if you like. I do not plan to lie next to you, so it will not
cause you any undue strain."
"This is not a
joke."
"I did not say it
was." He left her with her arms crossed and her mouth set tightly. But
when he came back out, she was still there. "Are you ready?"
She got up, not looking at
him, clutching the bag of grapes to her until he took them away from her and
stuck them inside. "I don't understand why you are doing this."
"Swimming? The therapist
told me several days ago it would be excellent therapy for my leg."
"Not what I meant."
"Yes, Christine, I know
that." He realized she had moved closer to him, as if afraid he would slip
as they headed down the hill. "I am much stronger. But I appreciate your
concern."
She immediately moved away. "You
are much stronger. You'll be leaving soon."
"Eventually."
"Well, that's something
to think about, too."
Fortunately the beach came in sight before he had to reply. He
waited for her to get settled on a lounge chair and then walked into the water.
It was just cool enough to refresh, but not cold enough to chill. He swam for
much longer than he had first intended, enjoying the feeling of movement with
no pressure. Finally, he left the water, walking over to where Christine lay
sleeping in the sun. He adjusted the umbrella over her, keeping her in the
shade so her skin would not burn. Then he took the chair next to her, using no
umbrella, letting the sun bake him.
She began to moan softly, and
he shook her just enough to pull her out of the dream. A few moments later, she
groaned again.
He sat up and leaned over,
his fingers finding the meld spots almost without effort. He did not go deep. Just
found his way in enough to try to settle her into a light doze that would keep
the dreams away. It felt comforting to be in her mind, welcoming despite her
words. Some part of her knew he was there—and did not mind.
"Sleep," he
murmured, then he let go of her.
She smiled, her mouth tilting
up slowly, and she shifted a little in her sleep.
He watched her for quite a
while before closing his eyes and letting himself doze, too.
##
Chapel saw Roberts coming and
rolled her eyes. "I thought you were off shift?"
"Nope." Roberts
picked up the padd and studied Chapel's work-up. "You peeked at this while
Doctor Stevens was out, right?"
Chapel shrugged.
"Yeah, you peeked at
this." Roberts studied it for a long time.
Too long.
"You're taking an awful
lot of interest in me."
"Any less than you would
have taken when you were a nurse?" Roberts looked down, but Chapel could
tell she was grinning. "So, how's the new place working out? Nice
neighbors?"
"Not bad. I guess I have
you to thank for me and Spock being so close?"
"I assigned the rooms. But
it wasn't my idea. Good friend of yours—of both of you—thought it might
help."
"Len."
"Good old Len." Roberts
grinned at her.
"Was this before or after
you told him I wasn't sleeping?"
"Discussing your case
with him would be improper." There was the glint of a loophole in her eye.
"Not if he referred
me."
Roberts just laughed and went
back to studying the padd. "Your levels are much better. And you've lost
that 'I died and forgot to fall down' look. You must be sleeping." She
smiled gently. "Seems like our mutual friend may have been right about
good company making for a healing environment."
"Spock is not good
company." Which was a lie. Spock never used to be good company. But he was
now.
And it scared the hell out of
Chapel how much she liked being with him.
She'd awakened on the beach
to find Spock dozing in the chair next to her. He'd opened his eyes as she sat
up, his expression gentle. She'd been able to feel a trace of him in her mind
and remembered sensing him helping her.
"The meld?"
He'd nodded.
"Without my
permission?"
"I did not go deep. And
you did not feel threatened—I would have sensed that."
And she'd known he was right.
She hadn't been sleeping deeply. If the touch of his mind had been unwelcome,
she'd have awakened. So she'd let it drop, leaving him
and heading back to her rooms to change for her check-up.
She watched as Roberts
puttered around, filling hypos and entering data into the padd. "It's not
real, you know?"
"What's not?" The
nurse didn't turn around.
"What's going on. It's...a
project for him. I'm a project."
"Hmm."
"Hmm?"
Roberts turned, administering
the first hypo before she met Chapel's eyes. "Is it helping you?"
"You just said it
was."
"Is it helping
him?"
"I don't know." She
looked down. "Yes. Maybe. I don't know."
"Okay, then, Commander
Wishy-Washy. Is it hurting him any?"
Chapel thought of how
peaceful Spock had looked as he'd watched her. "No."
"Then what's the
problem, Doctor?" Roberts gave her the second hypo and smiled. "Not
many more of these and you'll be out of here."
And it would be over. The
project—Spock's "fix Christine" experiment—would end and be nothing
but a memory.
"You can get down now,
Christine." Roberts touched Chapel on the hand, her skin warm and
surprisingly soft. "I've enjoyed getting to know you. I'm glad to see
you're getting better."
She started to let go and
Chapel stopped her. "Why didn't Doctor Stevens make me talk to the
shrinks? He knows I haven't been sleeping."
"Would you have talked
to them, or just sat in their offices for an hour wasting good golf time?"
She laughed. "Probably
the latter."
"Yeah, we all thought
so, too. Len included. And he thought a certain other person would also reject
that option. And that's as much as I'm going to say about this." She
patted Chapel's hand. "Go on. I'll see you tomorrow." She headed for
the door.
"Thanks..." Chapel
frowned. "I don't even know your name."
Roberts turned and smiled. "It's
Sheila."
"Sheila." Chapel
shook her head, ashamed that this was the first time she'd even cared enough to
know. "I'm sorry. I should have asked sooner."
"You've had a lot on
your mind." With a last smile, Roberts left her alone.
##
Spock looked up from his
terminal and realized he had worked through what had been left of the afternoon
and into the night. He wondered if he should go check on Christine. Decided if
she wanted to see him, she would come to him. The fact that he wanted to see
her was something he could ignore.
He turned back to the
computer, working away another hour before there was a soft knock on his door. He
opened it and felt a surge of pleasure when he saw Christine there.
"Len set us up,"
she said, pushing past him.
"Elaborate?"
"He and Roberts and
Stevens are in cahoots. Apparently, he's been keeping tabs on us lately. You
probably worried him with your complete lack of concern with personal safety. And
he's been waiting for me to burn out on Emergency Ops since I first walked
through the door." She was pacing, talking very fast. "I wasn't sure
if I should tell you, but I'd want to know if I were in your shoes."
"That was most
considerate."
She whirled then stopped
moving and just stared at him. "Aren't you upset?"
"Should I be?"
"He set us up."
"Yes, you said
that." Spock took a deep breath, steepling his fingers as he marshaled his
thoughts. "Knowing Doctor McCoy, he no doubt thought we needed help. He
saw a way to help us both with minimal effort on his part. While displaying his
usual capacity to meddle. It is a most efficient and logical plan."
"You sound as if you
admire him."
"I always admire a
diplomatic end run pulled off with such finesse." He stood and walked over
to her. "He has not hurt either of us."
"How do you know
that?" She looked like she was going to cry.
"I do not understand
what you mean."
"It'll be over soon. You
said that yourself. We'll leave and the rehab will be over." She looked at
him, her blue eyes piercing.
"It is no longer just
rehabilitation, Christine. Are we not friends now?"
"Friends who meld?"
"Friends do, under
extreme circumstances, meld. Jim and I shared consciousness more than
once." He turned and walked to the patio door. "I have been thinking
of him less. I do not dream of him."
"That's good, then. Obsessing
isn't healthy."
"I know." He turned
to look at her. "I did let him down."
"No, Spock. You chose to
not go to a launch. If nothing had happened, you wouldn't think twice about
that choice. And you shouldn't. You've moved on. And that's all right. Diplomacy
is where your heart is now. Jim's was always in space. On that ship. He had to
go. And maybe...you had to not go."
"There is a certain
logic to what you say."
"Yes. I know." She
walked toward him, compassion evident in the soft way
she was looking at him. "You didn't let him down. And you didn't let me
down. You helped me when I know that couldn't have been easy. We've never
been...comfortable with each other."
"That is not true."
He reached out and pulled her close. "We are comfortable now, are we
not?"
"It'll end. You'll go
your way and I'll go mine."
"And where will yours
lead?" He brushed her hair back, and she wrapped her arms around him and
nestled in.
"Back to Ops." She
looked up at him. "And you helped me get there."
"You are not there yet. You
were still dreaming this afternoon."
"And you have a plan to
get me the rest of the way?"
Calling what he wanted to do
with her a plan would be stretching the truth beyond all reason. So he just nodded.
She was looking up at him,
waiting, her face turned to his, her lips open slightly. She had a beautiful
mouth. He had never noticed that. He traced it and saw her eyes widen.
"We're going separate
ways, Spock. In days."
"I know we are. But we
are not leaving tonight." He kissed her, startled at the jolt he felt as
their lips met.
She reached up, twining her
arms around his neck, her body pressed tightly against his. He let his own
hands travel under her shirt, finding the warm, soft skin of her back. He
pushed himself against her and heard a low moan, then realized it had come from
him.
"What are we
doing?" she whispered.
"The final step in your
rehabilitation, Christine. And in mine. Saying goodbye to ghosts. Resolving to
do better in the future if we can." He began to pull off her shirt.
"Do you believe
that?"
"I do."
"It's a nice
thought," she said, as he tugged her pants down. "But are you sure
we're not just having sex?"
"We will, of course, do
that, as well." He kissed her again, felt her mouth open to his, her
tongue fierce against his own.
She was strong. Even sick,
even so tired, she was strong and loving in his arms. And she was pulling his
clothes off, not stopping until he stood naked, his bare skin to hers. She
pushed him down onto the couch and sank down on top of him. And then they were
joined. Easily. Almost effortlessly. She met his eyes, and hers seemed
unfocused at first, then she gasped as he began to lift her, making her move on
top of him.
They kissed as they made
love, their movements unhurried, tender. He stroked her back, kissed her neck,
fondled her everywhere he had tried not to when he had been holding her in
sleep.
"Was he right to do this
to us?" she whispered.
"He is not in this room,
Christine. It is only the two of us here." He smiled. Just a small smile
but she grinned back in reaction.
He reached down, helping her
pleasure along, learning what she liked. She cried out and he let her rest,
then he started again, touching her as she rode him.
"Are you spoiling
me?" she asked, biting down on his ear softly.
"The more relaxed you
are, the better you will sleep."
"Ah. Very logical."
She moved to his mouth and kissed him for a long time before pulling away. "And
the better I sleep, the better you sleep."
"Precisely." He
wanted to say more. But words were escaping him and he lost himself in her,
pulling her close, burying his face in her chest, breathing in the smell of her
as he cried out softly.
She pulled away a little,
stroking his face, running her hands through his hair. Her smile was lazy and
sweet. "I wasn't wrong. All those years ago. You were worth
pursuing."
"I was not the same man,
then. I might not have been worth pursuing." He drew her down to him, kissing
her deeply, knowing that she would not have been the same woman, either.
They had both been tested. Both
found wanting, perhaps. Both were fighting back from that position. He had to
find a way to care about life again—and she was helping him somehow. Or helping
her had helped him. And she would go back to Ops and make it her home.
And that would be that. He
suddenly felt cold. She rubbed his arms, and he realized he must have
shuddered.
"I bet your bed is much warmer,
Spock." She eased off him, pulling him up with her, leading him into his
bedroom.
Her smile was shy as she
pulled the covers down and climbed into his bed. He lost track of her smile as
he kissed his way down her body, finding new ways to make her moan. Then she
returned the favor, and he closed his eyes and gave himself over to her mouth
and hands.
They finally lay quietly,
cuddled close, and he held her tightly.
She kissed his cheek softly
and whispered, "This will be over soon."
"It does not have to be
over."
She nestled into him. "We
both know it will be, Spock. This is lovely but it's like a sunset. It won't
last long."
He wanted to argue with her. Tell
her she was wrong and that they could last. But they were on different paths. And
this wonderful healing sex might give way to something hurtful and lonely. He
had seen it happen to couples separated for too long. He was sure she had, too.
She pushed him to his back
and climbed on top of him. Her eyes were bright with tears, but her voice very
calm as she said, "A sunset might not last long, but it's a beautiful
thing while it's happening."
He touched her as she rode
him, deciding that this was a beautiful thing. Unexpected and lovely all at
once.
When she finally collapsed
against him, he held her tightly against him, still connected, feeling her
heart pump wildly as they lay so close.
"Close your eyes,"
he said.
"I can't sleep this
way."
"Close your eyes."
She closed her eyes. Moments
later, she was asleep. They lay that way a long time, her sleeping quietly, no
dreams disturbing her rest this time. And he watched her and marveled at the
whimsy of a world that had brought them together this late, in a way that
healed them both.
She moaned a little, and he
let up on her, easing her to her side, nestling close to her. He laid his head
on her chest and felt her arms come up to hold him.
"I love you," she
murmured, and he looked up to see if he had woken her.
But she was still asleep. Her
arms closed around him, her hands firm and comforting.
"I love you, too,"
he said, hoping that some part of her could hear it.
##
Chapel stood with Spock as he
waited for the transport, carryall in hand. She smiled at him, knowing she only
had a day before she would be leaving the planet, too. Roberts had obviously
not been in charge of departure plans, or Chapel and Spock would have been on
the same shuttle out.
But maybe not. Maybe this was
exactly how it was supposed to be.
How it was supposed to end.
She took a deep breath, met
Spock's eyes, and smiled. His expression was very gentle, and he moved a little
closer. She looked away, afraid she'd lose control if she gave in to the
sappier Christine and gazed into his eyes like a lovesick girl.
She stared at the sky,
fighting for control as she watched it darken, reds and golds coloring it where
the sun was sinking.
"The sunset will be
beautiful," he said softly.
She nodded. "You can
watch it on your way out, maybe?" But it would be gone by then. Over. Just
like them.
She swallowed hard. "Thank
you, Spock. For everything."
"This does not have to
be goodbye." But he didn't sound very convinced of that.
"Some things happen at a
certain time for a certain reason. And the combination of events can never be
replicated." She tried to smile but was afraid it came out crooked. "We
probably shouldn't try to recapture it."
He exhaled softly. "Perhaps
not."
"We should both give Len
hell when we see him."
"He will expect no
less."
She nodded, unsure what more
there was to say. They'd said what they needed to for the last few days. Said
it with words, but with their bodies, too. She thought Spock would have melded
with her, but she'd asked him not to. She'd known that it would be hard enough
walking away from what she'd experienced so far. Adding that level of intimacy
to it would make this just too difficult.
"I will see you from
time to time."
"I know." She
leaned in and bumped up against him just a little then felt him push back. "We're
friends now, Spock. Stop in anytime."
The transport drove up. She
met his eyes, blinking back tears he didn't seem to mind. "I'll never
forget this."
"Nor will I." He
seemed reluctant to move, so she gave him a little push.
"Take care of yourself,
Spock." It was more than just casual advice, and he almost smiled.
"I shall. Enjoy
Ops."
"I will."
He climbed into the
transport, and she watched as he made his way down the aisle, choosing a seat
that had a view of her. He did not look away until the transport pulled out.
Chapel stood,
eyes pressed closed to keep the tears away. It was over. Spock was gone. And he
would be all right. And she would be all right.
"Did you hear about the
cookout tonight?"
Chapel turned and saw Roberts
standing behind her. "Oh, I don't think—"
"Nonsense. You can't
turn down good beer and moderately unhealthy food." Roberts wrapped a hospital-issued
jacket around Chapel's shoulders. "Besides. What else have you got to do
now that he's gone? Sit in your room and cry?"
"Maybe I just need to
think, Sheila."
"You can think on the
way home. Tonight I recommend getting rip roaring drunk,
and then you can tell me Emergency Ops stories. I love those."
"I love those too. I—"
Chapel started to cry, the tears coming from a place that had less to do with
Spock and more to do with things deep inside herself.
Roberts folded her up in her arms,
murmuring, "Oh, sweetie. Let it out. It's all right. You're going home,
soon."
"What if I don't belong
there?"
"You'll find that out
once you get there, I guess." Roberts let her get herself together, then
linked arms with her and led her down the path to the beach. "But you know
what I think? No one fights this hard to get back somewhere they don't belong. Trust
me on that. There's burn-out and then there are just crisis moments. They don't
have to be one and the same."
"Thanks."
"All part of the
service. And besides, once you're drunk, you can tell me rip-roaring stories of
what it's like to be with a living legend."
Chapel laughed. "I don't
think so. Some memories I don't want to share."
"Fair enough." Roberts
sighed. "I don't mind saying I was worried about you Christine. I thought
Len was off his noodle suggesting you and Spock could help each other."
"Len knows us both
really well."
"Better than the two of
you know yourselves, I guess. Anti-chemistry ring a
bell?"
Chapel nodded, smiling in
defeat. So now the anti-chemistry was gone, and she and Spock had the real kind
of chemistry. It didn't matter. They still weren't going to be together.
But at least her memories of
him didn't have to make her cringe anymore.
##
Spock watched as the Delevian and Trilari flagships
pulled away from Starbase Thirty-Five. The peace
treaty was finally a reality, and Spock stretched tired muscles—muscles that
were hurting not because of his injury, but from sitting too long in one chair
while age-old enemies hammered out the details for a peaceful coexistence.
He pulled out his
communicator and hailed the Valiant.
"Finished already,
Ambassador?" Captain Moretti asked.
"I am."
"And you are well?"
"I am uninjured,
yes."
"Well, there's a first
time for everything. We'll have to hold these things on Starbases
more often." Moretti liked teasing him about his injury record, and Spock
let him. The man had no idea what had really been at play. And there was no
need for him to know.
"I will see you when you
arrive, Captain."
"Absolutely. Valiant out."
Spock let his aides gather up
the padds and other items, and left the conference
room they had been assigned for the last few weeks, walking through the
multiple levels of security until he was out in the main area of the Starbase. He walked faster, feeling the muscles in his back
and legs finally loosen.
"Sir," many
officers murmured, and Spock nodded back, accustomed to the routine. Like it or
not, he was a legend; he was used to being recognized.
He replayed the events of the
negotiations, all the way to a day early on when the Delevian
ambassador and his retinue had stormed out of the room. Spock had nearly gone
after them, even knowing the Delevian hair trigger
when angry. And a short while ago, he might have followed them as he had the Moroshans, might have tried to defuse the anger at great
risk to himself—because he would not have cared about his own safety. But this
time he had sat and waited, making small talk with the Trilari
delegation. And eventually the Delevian group had
come back in, acting as if nothing had happened, and the negotiations had
resumed.
They had been disrupted like
that several times, but Spock had not felt the same urge to intervene. He was
content to let the process run its own course, which was exactly how it should
be. And how it had been—until he had lost someone he cared about.
"Excuse me," he
heard ahead of him. A familiar voice, low and husky. He saw a tall woman in Starfleet
red. Dark hair falling to just above her shoulders.
He realized his heart was
beating fast, and he knew his mouth was turning up slightly. He hurried after
the woman, saying as soon as he was close enough, "Christine?"
The woman turned. It was not
Christine. Was in fact a much younger woman with dark eyes instead of blue. Olive
skin instead of pale.
"I apologize,
Lieutenant. I mistook you for someone else."
Her eyes widened. "Captain
Spock?"
He nodded. "Again. My
apologies."
As he turned, she said
softly, "I wish I was her,
sir." Then she blushed deeply. "No disrespect intended."
"None taken, Lieutenant.
Carry on."
His communicator buzzed. "You
ready to come aboard, Ambassador?" Moretti's voice held the good humor
Spock had missed when he had left Jim and McCoy behind.
"I am, sir."
"Well get yourself to a
transporter room, and we'll be out of here in no time."
Spock hurried to the nearest
transporter, beamed over to the Valiant,
and made his way to the bridge.
Moretti grinned when he saw
him. "Welcome back. A nice quiet negotiation for you, while we made sure
the Klingons didn't think the new peace between us means never having to say
they're sorry." He seemed to wait for Spock to get the reference, then
shook his head. "I gather you're not a classic film buff?"
"I am not."
"Well, you're still okay
in my book, Spock. You finished early so we're getting some shore leave. Planet
of our choice provided it's within reasonable distance."
"Terra is within
reasonable distance, is it not?" Spock could not believe he had asked
that. But he did not regret it exactly.
"Now, I know you're just
fooling with me, Ambassador. That fine Vulcan mind of yours has surely not
forgotten that Earth is at the other end of the sector."
"Perhaps I could take a
shuttle from the Starbase while you enjoy leave on a
closer world?"
Moretti studied him. "You
really want to go to Earth?"
Spock studied the viewscreen,
his hands behind his back, the way he had often stood with Jim when he was
trying to hide the fact that he was operating more under the influence of
emotion than logic. "I do."
"Care to tell me
why?"
"I do not."
Moretti sat for a moment, and
he looked a little like Jim. And a little like Chris Pike. And, of course, like
what he was: a new captain—perhaps a new friend?
Moretti leaned forward. "Sukara, how fast can we make it back to Earth if we don't
break any regs?"
She input a few things into
her station, looked back and said, "Twenty-one point three hours."
Even Spock was impressed.
"I plotted an
interesting route." She smiled a little sheepishly. "It's my
daughter's birthday, sir. I didn't think there was any chance I'd make it back,
but seeing as how you asked...?"
"I don't want to know."
Moretti gave her the little wave that meant "Go to it," in his sign
language.
She grinned and got to it. Then
she looked back at Spock. "It might help if you manned the extra station,
sir? You know, just in case there's anyone ahead that might wonder about my
flight plan?"
"I said within regs,
Commander." Moretti scowled at Spock. "This is all your fault. Go man
the damn station." As Spock turned to go, he whispered, "And this has
to be about a woman."
Spock turned, slowly raising
one eyebrow as he gave Moretti a look Sarek would have been envious of. Moretti
gave him the wave, not looking very chastened. And as Spock walked away, he
heard the captain say to Sukara, "Yeah, it's
about a woman."
She giggled.
Spock mustered as much
dignity as he could as he manned the extra console, looking for anyone who
might object to the very odd but not completely irregular route Sakara had plotted in. She might make an interesting chess
partner. Her flight plan showed a capacity for thinking outside the box. Well
outside the box. In fact, he was not sure the box was still in the same
dimension.
"Awful quiet over
there," Moretti said.
Spock did not reply; he did not
feel he had much to say in his defense. He wanted to get to Earth, and it was very much about a woman.
##
Chapel leaned over the comms
console, listening in as Captain Parker tried to explain why he'd forgotten to
load the spacedock call signals. Again.
"We had to stop to help
a freighter. It was losing life support and...having
to jettison its cargo. Good stuff, too. Hell of a thing to see it all spaced. So,
in all the fuss, we just...forgot."
There was a muted "I had
the freighter excuse" from the science station. Capra stood and bowed to
mock applause.
"We're transmitting the
signals again, sir," Smithers said, sending the comms and signing off. He
looked over at Capra and rolled his eyes. "The man always wins, Commander.
It's just not right. I think he and Parker are in cahoots."
"Are you in cahoots with
Parker, Capra?" Chapel asked.
"Right. Because he'd be
willing to be humiliated just so my drinks this week are on you."
"Man has a point,
Smithers." She patted her comms officer on the shoulder and turned to go
back into her office, then stopped dead in her tracks.
"Ma'am?" Capra
asked, following her gaze. "Oh, my." He swallowed hard.
Spock stood at the door. He
walked in, making a casual tour of the consoles, nodding to the officers. Then
he strode up to her. "Commander."
"Captain."
His face was calm, but his
eyes were anything but. He looked amused. And very, very glad to see her.
"This is a
surprise," she said.
"Yes." Again the humor glinting out of that stone-calm face.
"Would you like to
talk?" She gestured to her office.
He nodded and followed her
in. She didn't sit; he didn't, either. They stood in the doorway, neither
saying anything.
He glanced at the chrono,
then said, "I believe you are off duty in twenty-five point four minutes,
Christine."
"Memorized my schedule,
did you?"
"I did. Our helmswoman
is very good, but we were not precisely close when Moretti decided to indulge
my request to come to Earth."
"Your request?"
He nodded. He looked very
pleased with himself. Then his expression grew a little more serious. "We
do not have long to...interact."
"How much time?"
"Two days." He
moved closer.
"With a little notice I
could have arranged leave."
"According to the duty logs,
you are off for the next two days. Notice was not required."
"Logical. But I might
have switched shifts with someone. Not realizing you were on your way."
"An excellent point. And
duly noted. I will advise you of my ETA and length of stay the next time I plan
to be on Earth."
"The next time?"
"That is what I
said."
She smiled and glanced out at
the main room. Not one person was watching the big board or their stations. "Well,
you've given them something to gossip about for the next two weeks."
"Only two?" He
stepped slightly closer. "Twenty minutes left." He too glanced at the
room.
Her officers turned and went
back to work.
"Man, I wish I could do
that."
"You have an entirely
different dynamic with them. I was watching from the doorway for some time. I
was wrong, Christine. This is your home."
She smiled, wanting so badly
to touch him. "And how did your first mission back go?"
"Moretti noted I was
uninjured. Which he seemed to find a positive thing."
"I like him. He's a good
man."
"I...like
him, too." He met her eyes, and there was absolutely nothing hidden, not
the sorrow still for Jim or something that looked a little like hope for the
future.
"I'm glad, Spock."
"As am I." He moved
to the window and seemed to suddenly be a bundle of nervous energy, even if it
was locked in the Vulcan package.
"Where's your
carryall?" she asked.
He turned, smiling his almost
smile. "I was not aware I needed anything."
"I guess I could provide
most things you need." She gave him a slow once over, laughing at how his
expression changed as she did so.
She marveled that she could
do this, that he could react that way—that she and Spock weren't over.
That he'd made it so they
weren't over.
He walked to her—stalked to
her, actually. "Christine, are you not in charge here?"
"I like to think
so."
"Then I believe you can
leave fifteen minutes early if you are needed by a prominent member of
Starfleet's diplomatic section."
"Shall I phrase it that
way?"
"If you wish." His
hand was on her back, urging her out of her office. She palmed off the light as
she went. "The Ambassador and I have some business to attend to. So I'm cutting out a little early today."
There was a chorus of
"Aye-aye, sir" and "Enjoy your days off." Her staff stared
back at her with the innocent and hardworking looks that meant she'd soon be
the subject of a drinks pool.
"Capra, you're in charge
until Frazier gets in."
"Aye, sir." Capra
smiled at her, a warm, big brother smile. She hated to think what the details
of the pool would be.
"Let's go," she
murmured to Spock, following him out of Ops and into the busy corridor. "So,
you want to go to my place now?"
"Yes."
She laughed. "Anxious?"
"I have spent the last
twenty-one hours anticipating certain things."
"Ah." She smiled at
him and realized they were both walking quite fast but decided it was okay. They
just looked like there was a crisis. In the parts of her body that had missed
him very much, there was a damned crisis. "I didn't expect to see
you."
"At all? Or now?"
"Well, I knew I'd see
you around eventually. But...I thought what we had there, stayed there."
"Interesting." He
stopped as they walked out the main entrance. They stood on the walkway,
looking out over the city, to the water where the sun hung above it, the sky
looking like it was on fire. "They have sunsets here, too,
Christine."
"So
we burn just as hot and fast here and fade away?"
He started off again, and she
hurried to catch up. "Sunsets are very dependable, Christine. The sun sets
on a regular basis. It burns bright, and then it burns bright, and then it
burns bright..." He gave her a stern look.
"I think I get it."
"Good. I trust I will
not have to repeat the lecture?"
"I can't promise
that." Grinning, she moved closer. "I've missed you, Spock."
"And I have missed
you." He seemed to be studying her. "You are sleeping?"
"More or less." She
shrugged. "It's just...going to take a little time. But it's not like it
was. I'm not afraid to sleep anymore. And when the dreams come, I try to figure
out what they mean."
"Have you had success
with that?"
"Some. I think I did
suppress a lot of guilt about Matthew and the others. I think a lot of things
got shaken out when I got so sick. It was a crisis moment. The irony is I'm
great at dealing with crises. Provided, apparently, they aren't my own." She
turned into her building. "Did I mention I live close?"
He did not seem surprised.
"Looked that up, too,
huh?"
He nodded, a bit sheepishly.
"I like that."
"Yes?"
"Oh, yes." They
rode the elevator up to the top floor, and she led him down the hall to her
apartment. "Home sweet home."
He turned to her as soon as
the door was closed. Pulled her to him and kissed her, pushing her against the
wall, pressing himself close. She moaned, turning them so she could draw him
with her to the bedroom. They set a new record for removal of clothes—she
thought they might both have chafe marks from wool being yanked off with such
vigor.
He pushed her down, murmuring
her name in a way he'd never done. Then he was touching her, every way he had
before, only it felt different this time.
He'd come all the way to
Earth for this. For her.
She pulled him to her, wanted
him inside her. As their bodies joined, he held his fingers to her cheek and
forehead, pressing in lightly. He was going slow; she had time to tell him to
stop.
She didn't.
The meld was deep. As deep as
the time they'd shared consciousness. And then deeper. And she laughed at the
feeling and felt his amusement permeate the connection between them.
"I needed you," he
said or thought—she wasn't sure.
Then he
let go of her face, the meld subsiding. But for a few minutes, everywhere he
touched her tingled, and she felt as if she'd melted or was swimming in some
kind of dark, warm water.
She opened her eyes; he was
staring down at her. "I'm so glad you're back, Spock."
"I will come back
whenever I can."
"And I'll try to get out
your way from time to time."
"That would be
agreeable." His gentle tone was at odds with the way he was moving inside
her.
She gave herself up to him. To
whatever this was. To whatever it would become. She kissed him, and saw that he
was smiling. More than his almost smile, but nowhere near a full one. She
decided it was a smile that belonged to her—she loved the idea of that.
She loved him. But she didn't
think it was time to say that yet. Although he probably already knew.
When hadn't she loved him?
"Are you hungry,"
she asked as he lay sprawled next to her; he was rubbing her back, scratching
lightly and making her shiver. "I can make us something."
"Later," he said,
and pulled her to him, so he could do other things to her as she lay with her
back to his front.
Her stomach rumbled, she told
it to forget that they'd already skipped lunch.
Spock slowed his movements,
whispered in her ear, "Are you hungry?"
"For you." She
wiggled against him, reminding him of the priorities.
He did not lose track of them
again.
Hours later, his stomach
growled. "I believe you mentioned food?"
She laughed and pulled him
up. "Come on."
He pulled her back, so they were
walking together to the kitchen, and he kissed her, stopping their progress
midway down the hall.
"You're hungry,"
she said.
"I am. For so many
things."
"For life."
He nodded. "Yes. For
life."
"Me, too." And she
kissed him long and slow. "Thank you for giving me my life back."
"I gave nothing back. But
if I helped you find it, then I am glad."
They held each other until
she finally pulled away and said sternly, "I'm hungry. You do want me to
keep my strength up, don't you?"
"Your awareness of our
priorities is gratifying." As she began to move away, he stopped her,
laying a hand against her cheek, pressing gently. "I believe this can work
between us."
"I believe it can,
too." She smiled and knew that a month ago if they'd had a pool for Spock
and her making it as a couple, let alone wanting to be in the same room for
five minutes, she'd have taken the short odds against.
She'd never been happier to
be wrong.
FIN