The characters aren't mine but the story is. And I'm making not a penny from it.
Thank you to Djinn who first opened my eyes to the possibilities of this character pairing…
This is now a complete story. Those of you who read earlier versions, apologies. I've tweaked a bit, especially first chapter –- the conversation in the car - so Chapel doesn't have as much information as we do…
On the road
He sees the uniform before he sees her. The doctor's plain white is incongruous among the multi-coloured tourist t-shirts.
She's arguing with the man at the ticket window. He's too far away to hear what she's saying but the body language is clear. Even clearer is the closed sign on the blind the clerk pulls down to put a full stop to what's evidently a fruitless conversation.
It's only when she turns that he realises with a shock he's looking at Christine Chapel, and she's crying.
"Chapel?" He hurries across the crowded booking hall. "What on earth?"
She looks up. Seems even more shocked to see her former commanding officer than he is to see her. She looks...different. Taller, more assured somehow, despite the tears.
"Captain! Captain Kirk..."
"It's Admiral now, Chapel." Now why did he say that? Sounds like he's pulling rank and bragging about a promotion. If she only knew... He tries again, keeping it friendly. "Chris, Wow - it's great to see you. How long's it been? Must be getting on for two years? And you're a doctor, congratulations."
He's burbling but she doesn't seem to hear him. Surreptitiously wiping her eyes, she's looking round for her backpack, for her med kit, for an escape route. Like him, she's talking too fast.
"Sir, it's great to see you too." She's not seeing him, though. She's not making eye contact. "How have you been? I heard you were back on earth. Didn't expect to see you in Bilbao though... What are the chances?"
"Bet Spock could work that out for us. He'd give us the exact odds."
He's doing it again. Lori was right. He's always harking back to the good old days. Automatically trying to remind Chapel of the years she spent as part of his crew. It's absurd how pleased he is to see his ship's nurse, or rather former ship's nurse. Particularly now. But she doesn't seem pleased to see him. She's barely looking at him.
"I'd love to catch up, sir, but I'm afraid I have to dash. We must get together for a drink when we're back at the Academy. Comm me."
She's gathered her stuff, picked up her padd and is making for the exit. Suddenly he's really keen she shouldn't go. She's upset. The Christine Chapel he knows doesn't get upset easily. And he finds after events this morning he wants company. He grabs his own bag and strides along beside her.
"Where are you off to? You know the transporter stations are all closed? I've just come from there."
She nods curtly.
"I've got to get to the shuttle bus station. Trains are full. Apparently."
They're outside, blinking in the blinding Spanish sunlight. The midday heat and dust remind him of Vulcan. A lot seems to remind him of Vulcan recently.
"Anyway, Captain...Sorry, Admiral... I won't keep you."
She's squinting down the street, looking down at the directions on her padd and trying to orient herself. The woman who's handled a hundred sickbay crises seems flustered.
"Chris. Are you ok? You look like you could use some help."
She's still refusing to meet his eyes.
"I'm fine. I just have to..." She spots an air taxi as it hovers round the corner, hails it but the car ignores her.
He pulls out his own communicator and points it at the cab. Obediently the taxi glides up to them. He grins at her.
"Being an Admiral has some advantages. Priority hailing frequencies for one..."
She doesn't smile back. "Thank you, sir. Now I'm sure you have things to do, places to go. Do you mind if I just grab this and go?" She's not really asking. Already she's piling her stuff into the cabin and about to press the close button.
"Actually I do mind." She looks startled. "And my plans just changed. I find myself at a loose end." He leans forward, touches her arm. "Chris, let me help. It feels like you could use a friend."
For the first time she looks him full in the face and he can see what she's thinking. He was never her friend. He was her captain, her boss's boss, her patient. But never a friend.
He thinks he had her respect, even on occasion her admiration. She certainly had his - he knew McCoy thought she was the finest nurse he'd ever worked with. Thought that, with several degrees already under her belt, including biochem, she was wasted on a nursing post. He's glad to see she's achieved what she'd planned when she left the Enterprise. He'd heard on the grapevine she'd got her MD in record time.
But back then, back on the ship, his ship, he'd kept his distance, the way he had with all his female crew. Now he's wondering why he'd been quite so uptight.
She looks furious, seems to be on red alert status. She's staring down at his hand on her arm as if she might hit him. But there's a hint of desperation too - an urgency he can't quite fathom.
He's worried - this is more than a missed train. "Chris, what is it? What's wrong?"
Quite suddenly, the fight goes out of her. She sits back, waves her hands vaguely at the seat and makes room.
"OK...what the hell...Get in then." Her voice is weary. He shoves his bag onto the seat and sits opposite, giving her space. She's grabbed the console and punched in their destination. As the taxi takes off she stares out of the window. They're passing the Guggenheim museum on the river front but he can tell her mind isn't on the scenery. There are dark circles under her eyes. He wonders how long it is since she slept.
"So, Doctor Chapel, are you on your way to a patient?"
She looks at him in surprise. "How did you...?"
He gestures at her doctor's whites. "You don't look dressed for a vacation."
She looks down. "Oh... no. I just didn't have time to change. I was on shift
when the call came in..."
"Call? Last I heard you were based at the Academy teaching hospital. Are we sending emergency medical support to Spain now? That seems a bit..." He tails off. She's looking out of the window again. She sighs, her eyes dark.
"No, it's my mom. She lives here now... Well, near here - in the Picos. She's in hospital. A cerebral infarction ..." She pauses, sees his incomprehension. "A stroke. Shouldn't have been a problem but she was alone. The neighbour didn't find her until..."
Her voice breaks slightly and he watches as she brings herself back under rigid control. Keeping to the facts. It reminds him of the umpteen cool medical reports she's delivered when surrounded by chaos.
"Anyway, she's in Oviedo now - they've managed to stabilise her. The team there told me to come. They said to get here as soon as possible. But the transporter..."
"Chris, I'm so sorry." He resists the urge to lean forward, offer comfort. She's sending out 'don't touch me' signals they could probably pick up on Starbase 9.
No wonder she's so desperate to get moving. He understands now. National and local transporter stations are out all over southern Europe since last night. Only the main international routes are operating - and then just a skeleton service.
He knows Federation engineers are pulling out all the stops to sort out what seems to be some sort of software glitch. He'd called Starfleet to get briefed first thing even though he was supposed to be on vacation. That's what started the row with Lori.
"Five days, Jim. That's all I wanted. Time alone, just the two of us, without Starfleet playing gooseberry. And you can't last five minutes. I could understand it if you had a ship to think about. But dammit, you're behind a desk now. We don't need you to leap in and solve every crisis that comes along."
That had stung. She seemed to know exactly how to get under his skin, push his buttons. But that didn't excuse his reaction. His over-reaction now he can look back with a cooler head.
No wonder Lori's on her way back to San Francisco. He wonders what he'll find when he can face going back to their apartment. He has a sneaking suspicion she'd already started moving her stuff out. Neither of them had admitted it out loud, but this holiday in Spain was make or break.
He sighs and pulls himself back to the present. They're at the shuttle bus station. As the door hisses open hot air pours in, together with the noise of several hundred sweaty and frustrated would-be passengers. The bus station is mobbed, and judging by the empty docking bays it's likely to stay that way."
Thinking fast, he grabs Chris before she can leave the cabin.
"Hang on. I'm not sure this is a good idea."
The air taxi's already surrounded by a small crowd who all seem keen to replace them. One Andorian has almost got his antennae through the door before he hits the close button.
"Sir, what the... I need to get out."
His voice is firm. "No, Chris, you really don't. I've just had a better idea." He grabs the console and punches in an address.
The taxi takes a soaring U-turn and starts heading back towards the city centre.
She's staring at him and her voice is cold.
"May I remind you, Admiral, this is a taxi not a starship, you're not in charge here and I am no longer one of your crew?"
Ouch. He doesn't remember ever seeing this side of Christine Chapel. Two years in medical school appear to have given her more than an MD. They've given her an attitude. He rather likes it.
"Chris... I..."
She's fuming. "You never stop, do you. Always have to play the alpha male, the big I am. Well, I haven't got time to stand back and admire James T. Kirk in action. I've got to get to..."
"Oviedo. Your mother. I know. I really am trying to help." To his dismay he sees her eyes fill with tears again. She turns away, angry he's seen. He continues as if he hadn't noticed. "Look... The buses, the trains - they're all mobbed. With the transporters down our chances of getting anywhere by public transport are slim to nil. Even with Admiral hailing privileges." He's trying to make her smile. It's not working. Her eyes are stony.
"So - Admiral," she makes it sound like an insult. "This taxi can go no further than the city limits. What do you suggest?"
He lifts his eyebrows and grins...
-oOo-
"You have got to be kidding me..."
"It's a classic, Chris."
"It's a three hundred year old antique. I can't believe you really thought..." She's walking round the gleaming blue sports car as if it's a new form of alien bacteria. "A... C...Cobra," she reads. "Yeah, sounds about right - certainly looks deadly. And if you think I'm going anywhere in that pile of..." Her communicator whistles and with one last withering glare she walks away to answer it.
He turns to the elderly man wiping his hands on an oily rag beside him.
"Look, Felipe, I know I only originally booked her for the day but things have changed. We may need her for longer. Two maybe three days. And we'll need a lot more gas. Can you compress it for us?"
The mechanic hesitates then smiles. "No problem, Jim. She's all yours. She could do with a good run out. And you're one of the few people I trust to bring her back safely."
Kirk gives him what he hopes is a trustworthy grin. He'd first met Felipe not long after the mission to Sigma Iotia II - the planet hopelessly compromised by their earlier encounter with the Horizon and its book about Chicago gangs. Getting behind the wheel there had whetted his appetite for twentieth century gas powered automobiles, and made him determined to learn more. He hated doing anything as badly as he'd driven that Cadillac.
He'd turned to Scotty for advice. When they were back for refits, the engineer had introduced him to an old friend from the Academy who was as obsessed with ancient combustion engines as Scotty was with warp drives. Despite the age gap, Felipe and Kirk bonded immediately over pints of Alhambra Negra and a mutual passion for speed. One afternoon at the track in Felipe's treasured Ford Thunderbird was all it took to turn a starship captain into a self confessed 'petrol head'.
Back then Felipe was a guest lecturer in mechanics at the Academy, but his heart wasn't in it. He'd gone back to his native land and built up a restore and hire business. And his collection had grown since the last time Kirk had dropped by. He'd already spotted an MG midget from the mid 20th century and what looked like a Porsche from around 2015.
Now Felipe nods towards Christine who's talking urgently into her communicator. "Your wife - she's not so keen on this idea, I think..."
Kirk looks over at Chris, trying to gauge how the conversation is going. Looks like she finally got through to the hospital. "She's not my wife."
Felipe looks at him, eyebrow raised. Kirk laughs uncomfortably. "No, old friend. It's not like that. Lori had to go back to San Francisco." That's one way of putting it. Not exactly accurate, but he's not going to air his romantic troubles on a garage forecourt. "This isn't a treat day anymore, more an errand of mercy. We need to get to Oviedo and the transporters are down."
A cloud passes over his friend's face. "Si. I know. And now the freeway network's got problems too."
He gestures towards the telecast running just inside the office door. Pictures of stationary shuttles, flitters and auto cars fill the screen. "Believe it or not there's a traffic jam along the coast - something to do with the traffic management software. Auto cars can't go anywhere while the network's scrambled." Felipe's expression lightens. "Hey, but that won't affect my girl. You can take the back roads over the Picos. They're pretty overgrown in places, but it's a hell of a ride. Let me get you a map..."
Felipe disappears into the office. By the sound of it he's demolishing his desk drawers.
"A map?" Kirk's nonplussed. Even more so when Felipe reappears with a torn and yellowing book.
"Some of the roads you'll need have been deleted from the mapping database - but they're still there. Locals use them."
The two of them are still poring over the road atlas when Chapel picks her way through some rusty, unidentifiable engine parts and stands looking over his shoulder.
"Here be dragons..." She's pointing at the map. Kirk looks at her, startled. Her voice sounds different, lighter.
"What did the hospital say?"
"It's good - good news. She's awake. And talking - I talked to her." It's only now that some of the tension has left her face that he realises just how worried she was. She's almost smiling. "She still sounds like mom. Bit groggy but she knows where she is and she's making sense. I talked to her doctor too. Sounds like she's in good hands."
"Chris, that's great."
She looks at him. Feels like it's the first time she's really looked him in the eye since the train station. And he thinks he detects a hint of the old sparkle.
"I'm sorry, sir. I know I was out of line back there. I was just so..."
He cuts her off. "Forget it, Chris. I have. And we're a long way from Starfleet. Call me Jim."
She nods, thoughtful. "Okay...Jim." She looks uncomfortable. They've never been on first name terms - well, not mutual first name terms. "Now listen... I want to thank you for trying to help. But you've done enough. You're supposed to be on leave and this isn't your problem. I can take it from here. I'm sure the transporters will be back online soon. And I can pull a few Starfleet strings..."
"Chris - you can stop right there." His voice is firm. He sees her react - tones it down from bridge to rec room. "Listen. The roads are a mess. God knows when they're going to fix the network - and your mother's waiting for you. Meanwhile, I can think of nothing I'd rather be doing than giving you a ride." She raises an eyebrow. He tries a grin, knows it usually works when he's trying to get his own way. "No, really, Chris. Do you have any idea how much I've been looking forward to getting back in the driving seat?"
Right on cue, across the forecourt, the Cobra leaps to life with a throaty roar. Felipe climbs out and shouts across the noise. "You're all packed - trunk's full of fuel so I've jammed your bags behind the seats. And the map's in the glove box."
Kirk holds out both hands in invitation. "Come on, Chris. I dare you. It'll be fun."
-oOo-
He was right. She had to admit it was fun... at first. Once they were out of Bilbao traffic, there was something oddly satisfying about sailing passed the backed up shuttles and flitters in a relic from the 20th century. The wind in her hair, the sun in her face, the flies in her mouth. Oh yes, the flies. Low flying insects - that was the first downside.
Second downside - the realisation that this is going to be a long journey. The fast coastal freeway is out of bounds to antique cars, and anyway it's backed up all the way to Santander. They head inland on roads that haven't been resurfaced for what looks like decades, stopping every few miles to consult Felipe's map. She hasn't needed map reading skills since she was a teenager at adventure camp.
And the further they drive from the coast the hotter it gets. Third downside to open topped sports cars - no air conditioning. And the wind in her hair bit. She doubts she'll ever get the tangles out.
But it's the journey time that worries her most. The relief at talking to her mom is starting to fade. That was nearly three hours ago and a lot can happen in three hours. She'd tried a couple of times to get through to the hospital again but comms were overloaded - whether because of the volume of stranded travellers, or the same software problems that had knocked out the transporters, she's not sure. A journey that would have taken seconds by transporter, less than hour by train, was stretching into a day long trek.
She looks at Kirk gripping the steering wheel. She can't quite get used to seeing him out of uniform. He's completely focused on the road ahead. Has to be to avoid the pot holes. And he's a skilful driver, she'll give him that. No surprise there. James T. Kirk always has to be the best at everything he does - including charming former crew mates into joining him on madcap expeditions. Why the hell had she agreed to this? If she'd stuck it out in the city and waited for the geeks to sort things out she'd probably be there by now.
He looks across at her, grinning. At least one of them is enjoying themselves. But the grin fades when he sees her set expression.
"You okay? We're more than half way there by my reckoning."
She nods. Would love to let rip with some sarcastic comment but bites her tongue. He is trying to help after all. She still can't figure out what he's doing in Spain and all on his ownsome. Everyone knew he was married to his ship, but it's been two years since he captained the Enterprise. Surely he can't still be a bachelor boy. And surely he's got better things to do than play the Good Samaritan.
"Sorry to muscle in on your Jack Kerouac moment, sir. I know you weren't expecting to play taxi."
The grin is back. He gets the reference. "I've told you - call me Jim. And I wasn't planning a road trip. Just booked her for a few hours as a bit of a treat. We were going to have a run along the coast to Comillas. This is better. Just look at that!". He gestures ahead.
She hasn't been paying much attention to the scenery, but now she realises her ears are popping and the road's getting steeper by the mile. Ahead and above are the Picos de Europa, still snow capped even in June. Below, a green valley studded with sheep and the occasional stone building. If you ignored the flash of solar panels it could be a scene from 400 years ago.
"Wow. Jim, it's stunning." She turns back to look at him. His mood is infectious. She tries to push away her worries and live in the moment.
Jim. It feels odd to call him that. She can't quite accept the familiarity, the lack of distance. He'd always been somehow removed from her on the Enterprise. Even when he was at his most vulnerable, flat out with some awful injury on the biobed, even then she'd felt it - the gulf between crew and command.
And on board ship that felt right. It was right. It was essential even. In five years she'd watched him make some tough decisions - the toughest. He'd watched men and women die because of those choices. Risked his own life countless times. There was a reason James T. Kirk was a Starfleet legend. And to do that, to command his crew, he needed to keep his distance.
But this is a different James Kirk. An earthbound Kirk. And he wants her to call him Jim - he's closing the gap. She's not sure how she feels about that.
She'd never lusted after their captain the way so many of the crew had, the way Janice had. She recognised the charisma, of course she did. He'd been kind to her over the whole Roger debacle. And there was no-one she'd rather have in charge. She was proud to serve under the best starship captain in the fleet.
But the same confidence that equipped him for that role made him rather cocky in her eyes, rather too full of himself. He'd created his own new world on board ship, a crew that would follow him to hell and back, and friends who'd back him every step of the way. Now that's gone, and suddenly she's wondering how he's coped the last two years.
He seems happy enough behind the wheel of his shiny boy's toy, but she can't shake the feeling it's all a bit forced. There's a restlessness... Hang on a minute... He'd said "we", as in "we were going to have a run along the coast."
"Jim, have you left someone behind in Bilbao? You said your plans had changed but I didn't ask..."
The grin has gone. His face darkens. "No, no-one's waiting for me in Bilbao. I doubt she's waiting for me in San Francisco either."
The car speeds up. He's pushing it expertly round the bends, but it's a good thing they're unlikely to meet anyone coming the other way. They haven't passed anyone for a good hour.
She should probably leave it. It's obviously a sore subject. But she can't resist.
"So is she Starfleet? Anyone I know?" She thinks that's unlikely. Anyone she knows who'd bedded Jim Kirk would have been unable to keep it to themselves.
"I don't think so. Lori Ciani. Admiral Ciani." He seems about to say more. Then apparently changes his mind.
She does know her. Well, know of her. Admiral Lori Ciani has quite a reputation - as an ambitious career woman who climbs the ranks by standing on the unacknowledged achievements of her subordinates. Time to change the subject.
"So have you heard much from Spock since you've been back? I heard he went back to Vulcan."
The car speeds up again. She can't help clutching the armrest on the door. Looks like she's gone from a sore topic to a truly painful one. He's positively glowering.
"Nope." He says nothing more while he negotiates a particularly tricky series of hairpin bends. Then they're over the summit and heading down towards the plain. He looks across at her. There's hurt in his eyes. "Spock just left, Chris. Barely a word." His voice is bitter. "I thought we were friends..."
She's shocked. Spock and Kirk. 'Friends' barely covered the relationship she and everyone else had witnessed on the Enterprise. The two men shared a connection so intense many on board believed they were a couple.
She'd never believed the wilder rumours. She'd shared consciousness with Spock - knew his feelings for the captain had nothing to do with romance. But love - fierce, protective, profound - that was there, from both of them. She knew she couldn't compete. That was one of the reasons she'd left the Enterprise before the end of the five year mission.
"What about you, Chris? You and Spock." It's as if he's read her mind. "Did you keep in touch? I know you were very... fond of him."
She appreciates him being so diplomatic about her crush. Doctor McCoy had no such qualms.
"No. I haven't heard from him since I started my MD. He wrote a glowing recommendation for me though." She'd been grateful for that. It was some comfort to learn she had Spock's professional respect, even though he'd gently rejected her romantically. Sometimes not so gently.
She sighs. She's over Spock. Med school, surrounded by a lot of 'live for the moment' horny as hell young cadets had turned out to be a perfect place to put unrequited crushes to rest. Life moves on and so had she.
"I'm sorry, Jim. You two went through a lot together. He changed over those years on the Enterprise - got far more human, I thought. But I suppose we forget - the Vulcan side always wins in the end."
He smiles tightly. Boy, she's really hit a nerve. His hands are so tight on the steering wheel his knuckles are white. And he's putting his foot down - warp factor six. The engine's now so loud it precludes any further attempt at conversation so she stares out at the passing – blurring - scenery. At this rate they should reach the hospital sooner than she'd thought. Then he's shouting something.
"What? Jim, I can't hear you."
"I said...can...you...smell something?"
She can. Something's burning. Suddenly it's obvious what it is. Black smoke pouring from the hood. It's so thick the road disappears from view.
He swears. Brakes, but they're going too fast. A sudden lurch. The smooth surface has gone. They're off the road.
"Hold on, Chris!"
The car is bucking underneath her, lifting, then falling. The noise is tremendous - the engine straining, the rattle and screech of metal on rock. A loud bang - then nothing.
-oOo-
Something is nibbling his ear. He turns his head to get away but that's worse. Something is stabbing his other ear. And it's hot. Blindingly hot. And smelly. Something smelly is nibbling his ear. And sticking a knife in his other ear. He's on Vulcan and this is part of a courtship ritual. T'Pring has chosen him as her champion and she's holding a dagger to his head and licking his ear. And she has a terrible case of halitosis. With a shout he sits up, blinking back his vision.
He's not on Vulcan. He's in a field. With a pointy rock to one side and a sheep on the other. A very friendly sheep, hence the ear licking. And the bad breath. He flails his arms and the sheep, already affronted by the shouting, runs off in a huff. Staggering he manages to get to his feet, coughing in the fumes. Who lit a fire? It's too hot for a fire.
But it's coming back to him. Spain, the car, the smoke, he was going too fast...Chris.
His stomach lurches. Where's Chris? Oh god, he's killed her. Another death to chalk up on the James T. Kirk memorial board.
He heads into the billowing smoke. The fuel - all that compressed gasoline in the trunk - it'll go up like an overloaded warp drive. He has to get her out.
But the Cobra is empty. Smoke still pouring from the hood, both doors open...and no sign of his passenger. Turning away, he starts scanning the ground, heads back towards the sheep. Then he sees it - a glimpse of red and white on the ground. It's Chris - her doctor's coat soaked in scarlet. Blood.
For a split second he's frozen. Then the training, the experience kicks in. Stumbling, he's down by her side, checking for vitals, barely pausing - there's so much blood. Lifts her head, a clear airway and then his lips are on hers. Her mouth is warm, soft - he has to get her to breathe. He lifts his head to start chest compressions and then...
Ouch! A stinging slap almost sends him sprawling.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
He touches his cheek. That was a hell of a slap. "Chris?"
She's sitting up on her elbows and looking remarkably uninjured considering the state of her uniform. "Not content with crashing the damned car, now you're trying to smother me. Or was that supposed to be your way of saying you're sorry?"
The wave of relief is huge - so intense after the controlled panic that he laughs. It comes across as slightly hysterical. But she's not amused. In fact she's furious.
"First, you drag me halfway across Spain in an antiquated rust bucket, then you drive us off the road, then I have to rescue your sorry ass, and then..." she takes a deep breath, "then you assault me!"
At that he manages to stop laughing. "Hang on a minute. You... rescue me?" He's still worried by the blood - maybe she's in shock, hallucinating. "Chris, we need to move away. The fuel."
"Why do you think I dragged you over there? I went back for the med kit - just got a bit dizzy that's all." She's getting to her feet, brushing herself down, looking at her red, sticky fingers in puzzlement. "What's this?"
He grabs her arm, drapes it over his shoulder, and drags her further upwind, away from the smoke. "You're bleeding, Chris. Better let me take a look."
She pulls away, irritated - then perplexed. She's patting herself down. "But I'm not...I don't..." She glances back at the car, and now she's the one suppressing hysterical laughter. "Jim, I think we hit something."
He follows her gaze. Sees the woollen bundle lying off to one side, the crimson spray across the windshield. Add one sheep to the Jim Kirk death tally. It can't have known what hit it. Who would have thought one small sheep could produce so much blood?
And now they're both laughing. Laughing so hard they have to sit down. Which is just as well, because, when the blast hits, it's enough to knock them both off their feet.
He senses the explosion a split second before the wave hits. Instinctively turns so his back is between the car and the woman beside him. He takes the full force across his shoulders.
For the second time in as many minutes he finds himself a lot closer to his former ship's nurse than he'd intended...and judging by her expression a lot closer than he's welcome.
But for a minute he doesn't feel like moving. It's odd how...right... she feels pressed close against him. She gasps...and he can feel her breath across his cheek. Her lips are just inches away. For just a moment the thought crosses his mind he'd like another chance to see what they feel like under his.
"Jim - are you okay?" Her question is more annoyed than solicitous. He realises where he is and what just happened. He must be more dazed than he realised.
"Sorry. Yes, of course. You okay?"
She grunts assent. "You're squashing me."
"Sorry. Here..." He holds out a hand to pull her up as he scrambles onto his feet to take stock.
God, Felipe is going to kill him. The A C Cobra is barely recognisable - a hunk of twisted blackened metal still cracking and groaning in the flames. It's irreplaceable. The craftsmen and automotive engineers who designed and built it have been dead for centuries.
For a moment Kirk feels real sorrow. She wasn't the Enterprise, but for a while there, back on the open road, that car had helped him forget what he'd lost.
She's squeezing his hand. He looks down startled - had forgotten he was still holding her, fingers interlinked. And this time her voice is soft. "Jim, I'm sorry. I know what I said. But it wasn't your fault."
"I was going too fast." It's a blunt statement of fact. She might want to let him off the hook. He can't let himself escape that easily.
"You were," she agrees. "But... Well, I know I'm no expert on the combustion engine, but I'm sure bursting into flames when you reach a certain velocity is not any part of the designs I studied back at school."
He says nothing. This isn't the first Cobra to catch fire at speed. He does remember reading in one of Felipe's crumpled auto magazines about the problems of putting such an oversized engine in a small car. But that's what made her such fun to drive. That's why he'd booked her in the first place. And now he's got a tough call to make.
Ignoring the odd stinging sensation across his back, he walks away and pulls out his communicator. But the signal's on red. He's still fiddling with the dial when she comes up behind him.
"It's no good. I've been trying to get through to the hospital again. Comms are still..." A sharp intake of breath. "Jim, your shoulders...!"
"What?"
"Here, let me take a look at that." Tutting, she touches his back, pulls at the material, and for the first time it really hurts. Apparently a t-shirt isn't much protection from an exploding car. He can't help but react.
"Hold still." She's gone all medical professional on him. "Wait here. I managed to get my med kit out of the car. It's back there...where you attacked me." At least she doesn't sound cross any more. She's sounds amused - and more than a little concerned.
"Chris, it's fine. Leave it." But she's back in seconds. Starts spraying something cooling, gently easing the torn fabric from what turns out to be rather sensitive skin.
"We should get this seen to. I can't use the regenerator without removing every thread of this material. When we get to the hospital you need to get yourself down to the burns unit and..." She stops.
The same thought has occurred to both of them. They're in a field. With a burnt out car. In the middle of one of Spain's more remote areas. And comms are down. Suddenly the hospital might as well be several light years away.
