Aftermath
By Djinn
The worst is far behind us now / We'll make it out of here somehow / Meet me in the aftermath - Jason Wade/Lifehouse
Part 1: Treading Water in a Sea of Tears
Spock wanders through his apartment like he has never seen it before, stopping to pick up an item here and there in his journey across the carpet Valeris wanted installed. It is beautiful and expensive, and he indulged her because carpet is so rare a thing on Vulcan—the sand and blowing grit during the windy season not conducive to soft floor coverings that cannot be lifted and pounded out in the open air.
He resists the urge to rip the carpet from the tack board that holds it down, to roll it into great bundles and have them shipped to Rura Penthe the way she was shipped this morning.
He stops for a moment to gather himself, hands clenched and eyes closed, his focus solely on regaining his breathing, on finding equanimity—if such can be located after her betrayal.
He loved her. He held nothing back from her. He gave her anything she wanted.
And in return she used him. She lied to him, even in the melds they shared, and she nearly had his closest friends killed.
He is not sure which part hurts the most.
He takes a deep breath, than another, afraid that if he is honest with himself, he knows what hurts the most. It is something McCoy said once when Mister Scott had become enamored of a woman much younger. "No fool like an old fool."
In Vulcan terms, however, the age difference between Valeris and him is not that great. In human terms, he is a foolish old man finding love with a nubile young woman. As a Vulcan, this should not bother him. But his friends are humans, not Vulcans, and he finds it hard to maintain composure if her name comes up when he is with Jim or McCoy or Nyota.
They all saw what he did to her. His...revenge, he imagines they must deem it.
Nyota especially looks at him as if she can no longer be sure of him. Something in her welcoming smile is different since he pillaged Valeris's mind and made her cry out in a manner a Vulcan never would—never should.
He has avoided Nyota lately. McCoy and Jim, as well. McCoy has been in Georgia, so he is not difficult to elude, but Jim is relentless, seemingly unwilling to let Spock disappear into his guilt and sadness.
Spock has never been able to hide much from him, so he is often busy when Jim comms to suggest chess or dinner or any of the other things meant to lure Spock from this apartment that still smells like her.
He has slept with her favorite robe pressed against him. He hates her, even if he will never admit such strong and inappropriate emotion to anyone. He has ignored every message she has sent, comms pleading to be allowed to explain herself. One even saying that she loves him—that one sent last night, before the Klingons dragged her off this morning. He refused her comm, sitting at his desk, trying to keep the rage and sorrow and...pain away. He ignored the woman he loves and let her sit alone in that cell while he curled with her clothing in their bed until he was sure she was gone, off this world forever.
Does that make him more of a fool or less?
His comm terminal chimes with the particular pattern of notes he has programmed in for Jim.
He ignores the comm. For now he wishes to wallow, as his friend would say. It is no doubt the human in him coming out, but he is going to indulge it.
##
Chapel leaves the cafeteria and is halfway down the hallway before she realizes she's going the wrong way. With a sick feeling in her stomach, she turns and heads away from Emergency Ops and to her new cubicle in the visiting officer's comms area. Her queue of information requests sent from citizens all over the Federation sits just as she left it.
A crap job. This is what she's reduced to.
Because she was Matthew's protégé and, some thought, his lover. The first is correct; the second is just the rumor mill reacting to her rapid rise with the same boss for so many years and making success equal sex. She isn't surprised some of her peers believe this. Some of her peers will believe anything so long as it makes her look bad and them slightly more competent. But she hopes most understand that Matthew depended on her as an officer, not as a woman.
Hell, if she were a man following him the way Spock followed Jim, no one would say anything.
She starts to laugh softly. That's probably a really shitty example. But there are other captain/first officer teams that don't engender quite so much speculation.
She hears soft steps, then feels warm breath on her ear.
"What the hell are you doing in here? I went to ops, and they said you'd been transferred?"
She leans her head back and sighs. "Life is shitty right now, Jim." Life is shitty, but his smile is sweet, and he touches her arm the way he does when he's giving comfort without it being too overt.
He pulls a chair over from an empty cubicle and sits close. "What's going on?"
"Fallout from being Matthew's golden child."
"It's been months since Khitomer."
"They don't believe it was only Matthew and Valeris and West. Security seems convinced a rear guard was left behind. A second wave if the more direct approach failed. I've been questioned a gazillion ways from Sunday. Most of them not so fun, some of them horrible."
"I'm sorry. I'd heard the witch hunts hadn't stopped, but I never thought they'd go after you."
"Yeah, me either." She points to her queue. "Can you believe I'm doing this? Redacting has always been my life's goal." She closes her eyes. "Jim, one morning I walked in, headed for my office, and found two security officers waiting to take me to their boss. 'Time for you to leave,' he said to me. Like security makes fucking posting decisions." Her voice is rising and she sighs. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize." He rubs her neck as he says it, his hand warm and firm and everything she normally craves from him. But today it feels like too much, like she might break, so she eases away and says, "What are you doing here? I thought you were in Idaho?"
"I was, but I got roped into going to the Enterprise-B launch."
She starts to laugh. It's too funny: Jim has been nothing but negative about Harriman to her and to the brass. "Seriously?"
He nods.
"Fuck. Your life is as bad as mine." She watches him to see if he'll wince at her swearing—Len has told her that her language has gone downhill since she joined ops—but he takes it in stride as usual.
"Well, I only have to do this once and then I'm free again. This on the other hand..." He gestures to the terminal. "How long did they say?"
"They didn't. Although I was encouraged to look for a nice medical posting. Somewhere far from Command. A 'quiet planet,' they said."
"This isn't right." He turns, and she's pretty sure he's checking to see who's in their vicinity, but she's knows it's not to cover his ass but to protect her. "It's really not right."
"Make it better?" She gives him the mock sad look that normally earns her a kiss, only she's afraid mock sad will turn into real sad—that it probably already has.
He kisses her as if it has. His normal passion is missing; all she feels from him is tenderness, and she pulls away quickly because she's afraid it'll break her if he's this nice to her.
"I can help you. After the launch." He touches her cheek. "And you're coming to Idaho when I get back. I miss you."
"I miss you, too." They are casual lovers. She was ambitious and so was he, neither really wanting a full-time relationship. Their friends-with-benefits mode suited both of them fine for years. Maybe now it's time to reassess. She thinks he might be thinking the same thing.
He's nice and fun in bed, smart and sweeter than most people realize. She's his type and he's hers and yet...
Spock. Spock who is no longer with that Vulcan bitch.
Jim has always known she's never given up on Spock completely. She thinks it's another reason he's been content to not push for more with her. She can't imagine James T. Kirk settling for being anyone's fallback plan.
He seems to be reading her mind. His look changes and he asks softly, "Have you talked to Spock?"
"No."
"He won't return my comms. I'm going over there later. Force the issue. I'm not sure what's eating him." His look says differently, that he does have an opinion on that, but she knows he won't badmouth Spock more than he already has.
"Maybe he's embarrassed? He damn well should be. First he finagles his paramour into the helmsman spot on your bridge—were you not paying attention the day that assignment went through?"
He shrugs. "I knew they were taking the ship away from me soon. I may have moved my sights on to other things. And I was a little distracted by his bigger end-run of making me the envoy to the Klingons."
She laughs and tries to make it not too mean of a sound. "I'm not sure I've ever seen you so angry at him." She waits for him to roll his eyes and is not disappointed. "But you ended up saving the day. And Valeris ended up a big fat traitor."
"A fact you enjoy a lot." Jim is grinning; he understands her so well.
"Okay, I do. I'll admit it. But the way I understand it, he and Valeris goddamn melded on a regular basis. He couldn't read 'I'm going to screw you over so bad and I don't mean in this bed' from her? What is it with his Vulcan woman betraying him and him none the wiser?"
Jim gives her a tight smile. She knows he's probably thought the same thing. "Who told you that—about him being with Valeris?" He always phrases his questions so neutrally when Spock's love life comes up, as if mentioning his name will shine too bright a light on the spectre between them.
Nyota has no such qualms. Nyota who's always seemed to enjoy a much closer relationship with Spock than Chapel could ever achieve. Nyota, who has been scarce lately—is she avoiding Chapel for her career's sake or is she holed up with Spock consoling him with her body?
Neither alternative is good. Will Spock go to Ny now? The woman he confides in?
But why does it matter? Chapel gave up long ago that she would ever mean anything to Spock. Valeris proving to be a murderous traitor is vindication for hating the little bitch, but not a sign that Spock will seek her out.
Jim leans in and kisses her gently. "I have to go. Launch stuff. Scotty and Chekov are going to be there too. Spock weaseled out somehow."
"Probably too busy feeling sorry for himself in the bowels of the Vulcan embassy."
He laughs. "I'm pretty sure he's at his apartment, not the embassy, which doesn't, by the way, have bowels. Many upper floors though."
She smiles and hopes it doesn't come off bitter. "Not like I'd know."
"Oh, Chris, if only you could let him go."
"Then you'd make an honest woman of me?"
He shrugs, and she can't read hurt and uncertainty, just his normal sweetness. "I'd have done that long ago, if I thought it was what both of us wanted. You had ops. I had the ship."
"I know. But witness: ops and the ship are very far away, but we're still here."
He looks surprised—does he not know how much he means to her? She's always known she can love more than one man at a time. She fell for Spock while she was still looking for Roger.
She pulls Jim back to her and kisses him as tenderly as she can. "I love you, you know," she whispers close to his ear, so only he can hear. It's not something they say to each other. They skirt around the word as if it has cooties.
He smiles as he pulls away. "I love you, too. So, you want to think about something more...permanent?"
She nods. Spock may always be between them, but Jim's had great loves in his past that she'll manage to ignore. "I mean unless you don't?" She grins to take out any real sting.
"I'm game." His smile is a beautiful thing. Then he gets up, looks around, shakes his head, and mutters, "We're getting you out of here," before turning and walking off.
It takes her a moment to realize he said "we" and not "I."
Since she isn't sure he'll have any success, she decides not to dwell on the identity of whoever else he's going to pull into his plans.
##
Spock sits at his terminal, trying to concentrate on his next diplomatic mission. The sound of his chime going off irritates him immediately, even if it provides respite from reading the paragraph he's already read three times in the pre-mission report.
He walks to the door and opens it, composing his expression into one that will graciously but firmly turn away whoever is at the door.
Except Jim. Who stands with a smile Spock is not certain how to read, his head cocked as if unsure whether Spock will let him in. "I've commed. You won't answer. So the mountain had to come to Mohammed."
For a moment, he does not know what to do. Then he moves aside and says, "Come in," more gruffly than he intends to.
Jim walks to the window and stares out at the bay. "I've always admired the view here."
A view Spock knows Jim saw very little of once Valeris moved in. Not that he stayed away—Spock just stopped inviting him over.
And Jim had Christine. Does he think Spock doesn't know this?
Spock moves closer but resists joining him at the window. This man can read him too well, and he has no desire for the roiling emotions he's feeling to be exposed so readily.
"She was handed over to the Klingons today, Spock."
"I know." His voice is even. He is keeping his composure.
"I argued for not remanding her to their custody—to their form of justice." He practically spits the words out.
"You would support leniency?"
Jim seems to bristle. "I was there, Spock. On that freezing hell-hole of a planet. Yes, I'd goddamn support leniency." He turns and studies Spock. "Did you see her before she left?"
"No." Spock turns and walks to his desk.
"I know she betrayed you, but you loved her. Pain doesn't replace love."
"I do not wish to discuss Valeris, Jim."
"Fine." Jim's voice is tight with the sound of what Spock thinks is immense frustration, a tone he usually does not hear. "I actually don't want to talk about her, either. I want to talk about Chris."
Spock lifts an eyebrow. "She is, I believe, your problem." The words come out hard and bitter, and it surprises him how much anger he feels. It is illogical, in fact, since Christine wanted him, but he never wanted her back.
"And I'm making it yours, Spock. She's been yanked out of ops because of her association with Cartwright. She's being encouraged to take an assignment somewhere...safe—for Starfleet, not her."
"Surely you are more connected than I when it comes to the Starfleet brass. I fail to see what I can do for her that you cannot."
Jim's jaw gets tighter, and there is anger in his eyes. "She and I are close, as you well know. She's been my plus-one of choice to Command events for some time. Moreover, I'm Cartwright's friend. A protest over her treatment would mean more coming from you."
"You are so sure she is innocent?"
Jim's surprise is so fast it cannot be simulated. "Do you think she's guilty?"
"Jim, clearly my ability to recognize guilt in my associates is severely compromised. Unless you would like me to meld with her? To rip the memories from her as I did Valeris? Then I could be sure."
Jim turns, striding to the window again, and his grip on the frame is so tight his knuckles turn white. "Are you ever going to forgive me for making you do that?"
"Forgive...you?"
Jim turns, and there is a helplessness in his eyes, an exhaustion. "I made you. I made you hurt her."
"You did not make me do anything. In fact, my own...fury over her betrayal led me to be far more brutal in the meld than I should have." He sits. "You think that is why I have not returned your comms? That I blame you?"
"Isn't it?"
"No." He shakes his head, staring at the too luxurious carpet that he now detests. "My emotions are so strong—they...compromise me. I have been embarrassed at my lack of control. I did not want you to see me this way."
"You loved her. You loved her and she used you. Of course you're angry."
"I am Vul—"
"You're human, too, Spock. God knows, you have every right to be mad."
"But, Jim. I melded with her. Numerous times. I never saw what was inside. The truth." The ugliness.
"And you think that's your fault? They set her on you, Spock. They must have known you'd meld. I imagine they put in place some kind of mental countermeasures to keep you away from anything incriminating." Jim moves over and sits next to him, his hand on his shoulder, a gentle touch but also one that allows Spock to read the primary emotions: compassion, sadness, anger—but not at Spock.
And worry for Christine. It colors everything.
As does Jim's distaste for the launch of the new Enterprise and the way he loathes Harriman.
"Are we all right, Spock?"
"We are." And Spock can feel something inside himself settling down. His friend does not judge him. He has not lost him.
"I've got to go. More launch crap tomorrow and then we're off the next day. We'll play chess when I'm free, yeah? Figure out a way to help Chris?"
"We will, Jim."
"There has to be a way to fix this." He stands but the set of his shoulders and the ease of his smile are very different than when he first walked in. "You're supposed to be the smart one, Spock. Find us a way to get her back where she loves to be. Or at least free of suspicion." Jim's smile changes, and Spock wonders how close he and Christine have become.
Their eyes meet and Jim reaches out, grasping his elbow. "Use that brainpower thinking about Christine, not Valeris, okay?" He frowns and with a little laugh, adds, "Maybe I should rephrase that."
Spock nods his understanding. "I shall consider her situation, Jim."
"Excellent." With a last grin, Jim lets him go and heads for the door.
Spock imagines Jim is going to Christine's once his launch meetings are concluded. That somehow he has managed to carve out the kind of domestic tranquility with her that Spock thought he had found with Valeris.
It is ironic. But it is Spock's experience that life often is.
##
Spock is packing the last of his items for the mission to Pravesh. The negotiations promise to be fruitful, but the process of coming to consensus will no doubt be tedious. He was hoping for a more dynamic situation, one that would keep his mind off Valeris.
He checks to make sure he has the padds he's been working on, then fastens his case and slings it over his shoulder. The shuttle for Starbase Seven is leaving in an hour and as head of the delegation, he needs to be there early, to welcome his team, some of whom he has never worked with before.
He takes a flitter to Command and as he is heading for the main transporter to space dock, he sees Christine standing in front of ops, a carton in her arms, her expression stormy. He debates stopping, but she sees him, and her mood seems to darken even more.
He realizes that she is very little like the gentle soul he knew during their first voyage. This Christine is ambitious, hard even—no doubt a function of dealing with emergencies. Soft officers don't make it in ops.
He debates letting her know Jim has told him she is no longer working in ops, but decides discretion is called for and merely nods to her and asks, "Do you need assistance?"
"My stuff's still in there." She is staring at the office that he knows was once hers, but she doesn't elaborate on why she needs to retrieve her personal items. She seems about to walk away, but then meets his eyes. "My replacement is in my office. I thought he'd have gone home by now. But ops never sleeps." She closes her eyes, a sigh escaping her. It is the sound and look of utter defeat—diplomacy has taught him how to read others better than all his years on the ship.
He checks the chrono. He has plenty of time. "I could go in with you."
Her laugh is bitter and loud. "And be seen with a traitor?" She takes a deep breath—a rather dramatic gesture he is sure is for his benefit—then stomps in.
He waits for a moment, watching her, imagining what she and Jim have. Is it more than what he envisioned he would have with Valeris?
Will Valeris never leave his thoughts? Will she be the thing he measures everything against? This traitor who may not even have cared for him?
"I love you, Spock," he can still hear that declaration, her normally proud voice small and even frightened—a gift to him, he thought at the time. Or manipulation. "I love you" could have merely meant "Save me."
Someone comes out of Christine's office, not looking pleased at the interruption but also not seeming to attempt to make a difficult situation worse. A moment later, Christine walks past the man, murmuring something, and then hurries out of ops.
"You retrieved what you needed?"
"Far from it. But I got my stuff back." She swallows hard, a fear response he isn't sure she's aware she's made. "I'm going to take this back to my cubicle in no-man's-land. Thanks for—well, whatever it is you thought you were doing by waiting here."
"I was helping."
"Pretty broad interpretation of the word, but I'll allow it." She smiles and for a moment, it is the smile he remembers. Then it dies, and she hoists the carton a little higher in her arms and with a soft, "Have a good trip," turns away.
"Jim will be home soon." It is an odd thing to say to her, but he wants to help, wants to make her feel better.
She turns to study him. "He will. And that matters to you why? I know you're not jealous of him being with me—is it that you think you might give him a try now that your girl has been shipped off to Klingon hell?" Her tone is sharp, cruel even.
He decides not to react to it. "Neither. I merely thought it would make you happier once he is home again. He cares for you a great deal."
"Do you ever say 'love'?"
Her words are even more pointed, driving into him in a way he does not like. "Yes, I do. But I understand your wondering. You certainly have never heard me say it." It is cruel. It is what he wanted to say to Valeris when she tried to manipulate him by stating her regard in human terms.
But Christine is not the enemy, and she does not deserve this. He tries to start an apology, but she rolls her eyes, says, "No shit," and strides off, her boots clicking loudly.
He almost goes after her, but a quick glance at the chrono shows that if he does not hurry, he will be the last to arrive, not the first. He makes his way to the transporter, feeling regret but unable to do anything about it. It seems to be his steady state these days.
##
Chapel is working through the latest info request when she hears those around her starting to chatter—or at least that's how she thought of the sound in ops, when suddenly everyone is reading the same message and it's bad.
She stands, checks to see who's in the room that doesn't appear to hate her—or at least view her with deep distrust—and finds Captain Michann. She's always been nice to Chapel and must have just arrived back on Earth since she hasn't been in the room before now. She walks over, waits till Michann sees her, then says, "What's happening, ma'am?"
"Chapel. Sit down. I know you were close."
"Close to who?" Then she sees the headline flowing across the terminal. "No." The word comes out like a little child might say it, full of hurt and disbelief and the need for someone to take it back, to say they're just fooling.
But they're not. Jim is...gone.
Chapel realizes she's put her hand over her mouth and is blinking back tears. "No," she says again, and this time the adult is speaking, and the word is full of everything she's lost.
Taken. By space. Again.
"Thank you," she says and tries to get up, but Michann holds her down. "No, really, I'm fine. I'm just going to go home now. I think that's best." She can't see very well and dashes at her eyes.
"Christine, I'm so sorry."
Those words. Those damn horrible words. She heard them a thousand times when Roger disappeared. Now at least there aren't as many who know she was with Jim, no one to realize they were going to move on to something more—to something good.
Why does everything good get yanked away from her?
"Is there someone I can call?"
She wants to say Ny, but imagines her friend is already hightailing it to Spock, so she murmurs, "Leonard McCoy."
"I'm going to comm him. Don't move."
Chapel watches the screen as Michann calls up Len's comm address and pings him. He doesn't answer at once and looks confused when he sees Michann, but is fleet enough to ask, "Captain, what can I do for you?"
Chapel can't see anything on his face. No anger, no grief, no disbelief. He can't hide these things, so she whispers to Michann, "He hasn't seen the news yet."
He perks up. "Is that Chapel with you?"
Michann nods. "You need to watch the news vids. And then I think Commander Chapel will need you. And uh, you'll probably need her, too."
"Len, where are you?"
"I'm in Savannah."
"You shouldn't be alone."
There is something off in his expression, something she used to see on the ship when she stopped by to shoot the shit and realized he wasn't alone in his quarters. "You're not alone. Len, I'm sorry. I'm fine."
Suddenly Len is pushed aside, and Ny is staring at her. "You are not all right. What the hell is going on, Christine?"
It's clear Ny doesn't know, either.
"Ny," she says, and her voice breaks strangely on her friend's name, "watch the news."
Then she hears Len say, "Shit," and Ny turns and her expression crumples—she must be reading the headline.
"Where's Spock?" is the first thing Ny says.
"You mean you don't know?" The words come out sharply and Chapel winces because she doesn't want to be mean, not now.
"Why would I know?" Ny seems to gather herself. "I'll find out. It's what I do."
Chapel could have found out even faster if she still had her ops accesses, but she doesn't and she won't ever.
It's gone. It's all gone.
"I'm going to let you go," she says. "Take care of Len." Then she reaches over and cuts the connection.
Michann watches her closely. "That probably wasn't the best choice you could have made. Being with friends helps."
"Yeah. Well. It's complicated."
"Okay." Michann looks like she doesn't think it can really be that complicated.
"Thank you for trying to help me. It's...it's not the norm these days."
Michann reaches out and squeezes her hand. "For what it's worth, Christine, I don't believe you're a traitor."
"Thank you." She waits for Michann to let go, doesn't want to jerk away when the woman has been so nice to her. Finally she's free, and she goes to her terminal, turns it off, and leaves.
If Starfleet even cares that she's gone, they can send security out to find her.
And she pities the security officers who try to take her on today.
##
Spock does not even try to pay attention to the incessant posturing of the two sides. He motions for an aide to move up to the table, looks pointedly at the padd the man carries so he will know Spock intends him to keep notes beyond the transcripts. Questions, interpretations, the things that go beyond the words.
The things Spock cannot care less about at this moment.
Jim is dead.
He wants to get up, to excuse himself, to go to his quarters and try to find some measure of internal composure to match an external front he hopes is sufficiently Vulcan. He wants to call McCoy and Nyota and find out what happened.
He wants to berate Harriman. He is sure the man is somehow at fault. Even if the logical part of him notes that his dislike of the man is primarily due to listening to Jim talk about him in the most disparaging way possible.
But Jim reads—read people well. Spock takes a ragged breath and knows his aide is looking at him sharply.
He doesn't care.
His friend is dead, and he can't help but think that if he'd gone to the launch, if he'd been there to help, Jim would still be alive.
The head of one of the delegations is yelling, but Spock barely pays attention. He rises and says, "I believe a recess is in order. We will reconvene tomorrow."
Eighteen hours to gain some measure of control back. He is not sure he can do it. He is not sure he wants to do it.
But he must. There is nothing left to him but this, this job he enjoys—even relishes—most of the time.
He stands and sweeps out of the room in the way he has seen his father do so many times and has never been able to emulate. Could it be that Sarek was spurred by the emotion he feels? He finds that thought unlikely, if comforting. Sarek would tell him Kirk's actions were brave and honorable. He would quote the needs of the many.
Spock does not care about the many right now. Only the one.
Only Jim.
He can hear confusion behind him. He does not slow, and the door closes, and finally, in this barren hallway, he finds the silence he craves. He hurries down the hall to his rooms, desperately searching for peace and privacy.
Desperately needing to find out what happened. And to mourn.
##
Chapel hears footsteps coming down the aisle to her cubicle and does not look up. If it's security wanting to talk to her about her many absences since Jim died, they'll have to make her look at them.
"Christine?" A soft voice, her friend's voice. A voice that should make her happy but instead sends the rage that's boiling inside her up a notch.
She looks up and meets Ny's eyes. "Slumming?"
She expects to see anger on Ny's face, but instead she only sees hurt. She should say she's sorry. She should get up and hug Ny.
She should do a lot of goddamn things instead of sitting at this terminal, unsure what to do or where to go since she lost Jim and the last nail was slammed into her career.
"Christine, can we go outside and talk?" Normally Ny is sure of herself and takes the lead in their friendship, but she seems to be walking on eggshells.
Chapel wonders if she looks like she's about to explode. It's possible. But not here, not in this chair, in this room that no one ever decorates with personal items because for everyone else, it's only a temporary resting place.
She gets up and motions for Ny to lead them somewhere—anywhere will be an improvement. Ny finds them a bench in the shade, far from the main paths.
"To what do I owe this pleasure, Ny? You haven't exactly been present lately. But then you've waited for Spock for a long time. I guess once Valeris was safely out of the way..."
"You're an idiot." In the past, this would have been a throwaway insult, all in good fun, but Ny's doesn't sound amused in any way. "I'm not with Spock. I'm with Leonard."
"McCoy?"
"No, Bernstein. Of course McCoy."
Chapel laughs softly. "Well that explains why you were there when I called about Jim. But I was right. You disappeared into a relationship—just not the one I thought."
"Like you never did that with Jim? Give me a break, Christine." She sighs and looks away. "Why are we fighting? Jim is dead. And I know you're hurting. Even if all you seem to care about is Spock."
Chapel feels as if she's been punched in the gut. Not because it's mean, but because Ny's right. These are the times she wishes she could find a way to end her obsession with Spock, but it isn't something she controls. If it were, she'd have driven a stake in it long ago.
"I do care that he's gone, Ny. It's tearing me up inside, which is probably why I'm being such a bitch. Who you're with...it's none of my business. And if you're happy, that's good. For both of you." She takes a deep breath and realizes she's letting go of a little of the anger inside her. "Jim and I were moving toward something. It was good. It was great."
And he was going to help her.
"I'm sorry, sweetie."
"I know you loved him too." She reaches out and wouldn't blame Ny for not reaching back, but she does, and her grip is warm and firm like always.
"What are you going to do, Christine? You can't sit in that godforsaken office and go through document requests forever."
"I keep hoping they'll come to their senses and reinstate me." She shakes her head and laughs. "But they've already replaced me. So that's stupid, isn't it?"
"You were there a long time. Even if this isn't the way any of us would want it to happen, you need to move on."
"I find that ironic coming from you."
"I know. But I'm moving on, too. The new Enterprise is out there and I have no plans to be on it. Nor do they want me to." She moves closer and puts her head on Chapel's shoulder. "Why don't you come to Savannah for a while. I know you have more leave than God. Len would be glad to see you."
"I'd cramp your style."
"Well, you wouldn't stay forever." Ny chuckles, and it's the sound of a thousand inside jokes, of nights on shore leave around a bonfire or a table in a bar on a hundred different planets.
"I'm sorry."
"For what? For being sad? This isn't easy and it's not going to be easy for a while. But come stay with us. We can all be sad together. Sometimes that's the best way."
"I'll think about it."
"That just means no. Don't think about it. Do it. Get away from here for a while. Jan and Sulu are coming by next week. It'll be good to be together."
Chapel imagines Jim's laugh, the way he would pour her a scotch and add ice with a dramatic shudder like he did the last time she stayed over. "But he won't be there, so it won't be all of us, will it?"
"Oh, baby." Ny pulls her into a hug before Chapel realizes that she is crying, weeping in fact, much harder than she's allowed herself to cry alone, possibly because she's been afraid that she'll go under and never come back up. But Ny's holding her, an anchor just like always, and Chapel gives up and lets herself go.
Ny doesn't say anything, just strokes her back and when she finally pulls away, wipes away the makeup that has smeared. "Savannah. I want you there tomorrow. Got it?"
"Yeah. I think you're right."
"I know I'm right. You want me to go in with you?"
Chapel laughs softly, imagining Ny seeing her safely to her desk the way her parents did on her first day of school. "No, I can handle it on my own, Mom."
"Shut up. Who else do I have to nurture?"
"Well, Len, apparently. So...how did this happen?"
"When he was in Rura Penthe, I realized I wasn't just normal worried about him. I was extra worried. And all these feelings came up and"—she laughs and looks away—"then I started acting like an idiot around him trying not to let him know that I liked him because I didn't think he liked me back that way."
"But he did—does, I mean?" Chapel smiles. She can imagine the crazy two-step these two must have engaged in until they caught on that they were both hearing the same music.
"Yeah. And it's good. And I'm really glad we had each other when we found out about Jim. And we're worried about you."
"And Spock. He was the first thing you asked about."
"I know. I'm not going to apologize for being concerned for him. Jim was the closest friend I think he's ever had."
"I know."
They fall into a silence, but an easy one, filled with sorrow shared. Chapel finally gets up and says, "I'll see you guys tomorrow."
Her head hurts from the crying, but another part of her feels better for having finally let go.
##
Spock sits in McCoy's front parlor, trying not to feel ill at ease being part of this impromptu memorial. The others have drinks in their hands and seem relaxed and ready—even eager—to share anything that comes to mind about Jim.
He is content to sit quietly. To nod occasionally when someone says something that resonates with him. To mentally note how different things will be from now on. The weight of Jim's absence is significant not just by the lack of his physical presence but in the dynamics between members of the group. The times when Jim would have taken the lead, people are now floundering until someone else steps up.
Finally, the others tire of sharing—or the alcohol has set in enough that they no longer know what to say—and they wander off in groups. Mister Scott is with McCoy and Nyota, who Spock surmises are now romantically involved given the ease with which she is serving as hostess in his house. Sulu, Rand, and Chekov are gathered over a screen with holos that Nyota gathered—times they all have shared over the many years of their association. Spock gets up, intent on sharing the moment with them, but then sees Christine sitting on the porch, her back against a column, her mood unreadable.
He leaves the living room, walking the short hall to the porch, then opening the door loudly enough that she'll know he is there. "May I join you?" It is a human custom that always strikes him as Vulcan. Humans so often charge in with "I need you" or "Guess what happened?" or some other selfish reason for imposing one's presence on another. But this courtesy gives the other person control.
"Suit yourself."
And just like that the other person can throw control back into the asker's lap. Spock is not sure what to do. A Vulcan would simply have said yes or no.
Finally, he sits on the railing, far enough away from her that he will not be perceived as crowding but not so far, he hopes, that she will think him unsupportive.
They sit in a silence that becomes rapidly more uncomfortable as it grows. He is used to gauging silences. In diplomacy, the nature of silence is an excellent indicator of progress or lack thereof.
But in diplomacy, he would have studied the involved parties. He has not studied Christine, has done nothing to help her as Jim asked. He knows only what Jim, and McCoy in his kitchen last night, have told him about her current situation.
And he has learned nothing from her—Christine has barely spoken to him since he arrived.
She shifts, stretching her legs out, and in the past he might have thought it was to become more comfortable, but now he sees them as a wall between them.
"Jim asked me to help you," he says softly.
"Bully for Jim." There is pain in her voice. Pain and an anger he wonders if she is aware of.
"Christine, I wish..." What does he wish? Other than that his friend did not die? "I would like to help you."
She meets his eyes, and hers are as hard and distant as Sarek's have ever been. "Why?"
"Because Jim—"
"Yeah, I heard you the first time. Jim wanted you to. So what?" She turns, her jaw clenched, and he thinks she is trying not to cry.
The Christine he dealt with on the Enterprise would have cried. Her tears would have flowed freely, but this Christine is nothing like that woman. Ironically, this Christine makes him vastly more uncomfortable than the old one.
He finally murmurs, "It was his last request of me." On Vulcan that means something. On Earth, it does, too.
"You know"—her voice is pitched strangely, raspy and dark and as she turns to him, her eyes shine in a way he has come to associate with malice—"if you'd just gone to the launch instead of sitting around moping over your stupid fucking traitor of a girlfriend, Jim might still be alive and he could help me himself."
He wants to strike her. He wants to tell her she is wrong. He wants to get up and leave.
He does none of these things because she is not wrong. If Spock had gone, Jim might still be alive.
It is a sign of how she has changed that she does not rush to say she's sorry. Instead, she just sits, her hard eyes boring into his, and he thinks this is why she excelled at emergency operations. He would not want to be the planetary administrator who got in her way.
"Nothing to say?"
"There is nothing to say. You are correct." He takes what he hopes is a steadying breath, but it comes out ragged.
"Would you have helped me if he hadn't asked? Would you even have noticed that anything was going on with me?" Her questions are asked in a tone that tells him she knows the answer—accepts it, even.
But he answers her anyway. "No."
"Well, there you go." She gets up. "Any debt you feel, you're relieved of it. We're not friends, Spock. We're not even very good ex-shipmates. And I'm okay with that."
For the first time, he thinks she is lying, but he doesn't argue with her. A gentle "As you say," allows her a graceful exit.
He sits on the porch, thinking about all the different decisions he could have made over the years, not moving until Nyota calls him in for dinner.
##
Chapel gets up early so she can see Jan and Sulu off. Spock is up, too, as she expected he would be, but she ignores him as if dismissal is an interstellar Olympics event. It's something she perfected in ops, the ability to look through instead of at people. She's been told it's profoundly unnerving.
Spock doesn't appear unnerved, but then she's never been that good at reading him.
"You know," Jan says softly as she pulls Chapel into the kitchen, "you two have the look of a one night stand that was awful."
"Right."
"It'd be natural. You're both grieving. Reaching out, maybe?"
"Quit fishing, Jan. Spock and I didn't fuck." She closes her eyes and leans her head on Jan's shoulder the way she used to in ops, when things were beyond screwed up. "Although maybe we should have. Put a cap on how horrible my goddamn life is."
"You need to move on—any direction is okay, just don't get stuck. You're angry and you're bitter, and I understand that. I can't imagine having Jim and then losing him." She strokes Chapel's hair, and her touch is as soft and comforting as ever. "Look, our CMO isn't leaving anytime soon, but we have science billets coming open.
"I miss you."
"I miss you, too. So let's remedy that."
To be on the Excelsior would not be a step down. Chapel knows that intellectually. But the rage inside her demands she keep trying to get back what she had. "I'll think about it, Jan."
"No, you won't." Jan's smile is the one of hundreds of emergencies they shared, the one that knows Chapel will take stims and drink too much coffee even beyond what's healthy, that she won't go home no matter how much she needs to sleep until her people are relieved. Jan has seen her at her worst and still likes her.
Loves—Jan loves her. Jan is family, more than the others, even if she'd probably count them as family if asked. But she and Jan were the first ones to leave, to get off the ship and try new things.
Unless you count Spock attempting to purge his emotions as a new career thing. Which she doesn't. She has no idea why he went to Gol and doesn't care. It's ancient history.
She walks Jan out to the front door where Sulu is talking to Spock. He breaks away to give her a hug, whispering, "Jan talked to you about a science posting?"
"She did. I'm thinking about it." She eases away.
By his expression, she can tell he doesn't believe her, but he doesn't try to convince her, just gives her a gentle smile, then rests his hand on Jan's lower back as he urges her toward the front walk.
They've been together a while now. Chapel likes how they act, how happy she knows her friend is with Sulu.
They're gone before she's ready, and without Jan's steadying presence she feels adrift. Not looking at Spock, she turns to go back inside but is brought up short, and she realizes Spock has taken her arm and is turning her.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"We should talk, and a walk sounds pleasant."
"Maybe to you."
He ignores her, simply pulls her along without appearing to manhandle her—probably a Vulcan art form—and then lets go of her when they are far enough from the house that she can't make a quick break for her room.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because Jim asked me to. I was not at the launch—you were right that I might have changed the outcome of those events—but I am here, as are you. Let me help?"
"How? How exactly are you going to help me? My job is gone." Damn it all. Her job is gone, with a new officer filling the billet. Command's not going to remove him just to appease her. Hell, they clearly don't give a shit what she does.
"I need someone with your skills on my next mission."
"Oh, bull." She tries to stride away, but again he catches her arm. "Damn it, Spock."
"Christine. Please. Let me help you. It's all I have left." There is a note in his voice she's never heard—a desperation that she knows could be her undoing. The need to help—it's why she stayed in medicine after she found Roger, why ops held her for so long.
"Spock, please. You and I—it's not going to work. I feel..." She sighs. "I loved Jim."
"I believe that. I also believe that you still love me."
"Which is why you can't help me. Because I do and you'll never love me back. I don't want to be your project out of pity or guilt." She gently pushes his hand off her arm. "What I said about the launch might or might not have been accurate, but it was definitely mean, and I'm sorry for that. Some things just don't need to be said."
"I cannot forgive what I consider truth."
"Then forget I said it."
"I am Vulcan. I do not forget." He looks like he wishes he could, though.
"Spock, I don't have anything left, either, okay? The two people who just went back to their ship and the ones still in this house are it for me. If you give me the chance, I'll latch on to you in desperation, and I think you'll do the same right back. And that's wrong, Spock."
For once, he appears to have nothing to say.
She cups his cheek. "Thank you for wanting to help. It means a lot." Then she turns and walks away from him, going past the house and for a long walk around Len's neighborhood.
Spock's gone when she gets back to the house, headed back to San Francisco. After dinner, she sits on her bed, pulls out her personal communicator, and sends a message to Jan that reads, "I want to come home."
She imagines what that would mean if Ny or Len said it. For Ny, it would be the Enterprise. For Len, she's never been sure if the ship or Georgia is what he really considers his true home—she knows what he says, but he's logged more years in space than in Savannah.
Jim might have been her home. She takes a deep breath, knowing that this stasis she's put herself in is not something he'd approve of. Jim was action. Jim was "make it right." And she believes with all her heart that he would have found a way to help her.
But he's gone now. He's gone, and she's got to do it on her own. The same way she did after she lost Roger.
But doing it on her own doesn't have to mean doing it alone, and for years she and Jan were home to each other, in a way that Ny will never understand because she wasn't in ops.
Chapel's communicator buzzes. It's a message from Jan that says, "Just finishing up dinner with H. We're thrilled. Welcome home."
She puts the communicator down, curls into a ball, and weeps as silently as she can, her tears caused as much by relief as grief for what she's leaving behind.
End Part 1 of 2