Grief by Djinn
Prologue
The pleasure planet is as lovely as you remember it. The last time you were here was after you found and lost Roger again. Only it wasn't him. The thing the aliens conjured up for you was more him than that android was.
Primarily because they build the "people" you interact with from your own memories. So it's true as can be—if totally subjective.
And now you're not here for Roger. You're here for Jim.
Why do your lovers disappear? Will you find Jim years from now? Only, no. People saw what was left of the portion of the Enterprise-B he'd been working in. No one could have survived that. It's not that he was lost; it's that he was obliterated.
You hate the Enterprise-B more than you thought it was possible to hate a ship. You despise Harriman even more.
You make your way to the welcome center that's been put up since the first time you visited this place during the initial five-year voyage. You weren't in love with Jim back then, even if you were grateful and respected him.
It took decades for you two to move beyond colleagues to lovers. But when it finally happened, you knew he was what you'd been waiting for. And then he was ripped away from you, just when he was finally going to be home, on Earth, with you.
But you can get him back. If only for a little while.
The aliens who run the planet hand you a small disk with a red light on it. They tell you when you come to the area that has been designated for you, it will turn green. They point you down a path and you hurry.
If this were really a fantasy world, your spot would be a cabin, just like the ones Jim used to show you on the real estate listings. A-frame and rustic, lots of glass to take advantage of the pine trees, with room for a big dog. But this planet isn't about atmosphere. It's about who you interact with.
You near a grove of trees, conveniently thick enough to hide those inside and the light on the disk turns green. You duck inside it and see there are cushions on the ground next to a picnic basket.
And he's standing next to them. Turning at your approach. Looking just as he did when he took command of the new Enterprise, after Spock died and was reborn. He convinced you to leave ops and take a science billet, and you did, and then you both started to fall in love and you were together until you had to leave, about a year before Khitomer and that fateful voyage.
"Chris."
His voice. You close your eyes so you won't have to blink back the tears. His dear, dear voice.
"Chris, what's wrong?" He's to you, holding you, kissing you.
You laugh as he sinks down with you to the cushions, as he peels off your clothes, as you're together again, finally.
As if you never had to look up while at your desk at Starfleet Medical and see the news ticker announcing his death. As if he never sacrificed himself for a ship that wasn't his own.
As if you haven't been floundering since then. Trying to move on. Roger disappeared on a voyage but you'd known he'd been leaving you for a time. Jim was lost just as he'd been coming back to you.
"Chris, come back to me," he murmurs and you try to forget what it's been like, the pain, the loneliness. You focus on him, his lips, his beautiful eyes, the way he feels when he's touching you.
You lose track of time. You eat when you're hungry—food appears to replace what the two of you have used—and even sleep in his arms. His snore is the same, the way he holds you, his hand light on your side as he spoons you.
You find it hard to sleep without him now. You were with each other on the ship for so long. Free to explore new worlds and your relationship. And even once you got back and he was still on the ship, you talked every night if it worked with your schedules. He was never far away even when he was halfway across the quadrant.
This make-believe Jim shifts to his back, murmuring, "You awake?"
"I want to stay here forever," you whisper, wondering if you have enough credits. Wondering if anyone will come to find you.
"That would be nice." He sounds half asleep.
"Isn't he a little young for you?" It's Jim's voice again but not next to you. He's standing by the entrance, and you look over and see the man you lost. Older, heavier, more wrinkles, but still with the intensity in the gaze, the velvet in the voice.
The younger version sits up.
"Beat it, fella." Older Jim isn't smiling.
The younger version gets up and pulls his clothes on then hurries out.
"You had to go younger?" His smile is the one you remember him using when he's hurt.
The last thing you want to do is hurt him. Even if—"You left me." Your voice breaks and you close your eyes.
"Is that why you didn't want me? You wanted him?"
"He is you."
"No, he's not. And neither am I." He cocks his head. "The Jim Kirk you know wouldn't like this. He wouldn't want you getting lost in this...fantasy."
"You don't get to say that."
"Why not? Because you told me not to go to the launch and I went anyway?" He moves closer to you. "Because the last thing we did was argue?"
You can't keep the tears back now. They're half from sorrow and half from rage. "You hated Harriman."
"Going to the launch wasn't about that."
"No, it was about that damn ship that you loved more than me." You close your eyes.
You hate that you think that way. But you do.
And this Jim can't give you the real reasons if they were any different than what he told you. There's nothing inside him that wasn't pulled from you or what they remember of him during his previous visits.
Did he die mad at you? Or hurt because you couldn't understand? Did he think of you when he was working? He probably didn't even know he was going to die. He got the deflector working—how could he know it was the last thing he'd ever do?
He moves in, pulling you close, his cheek pressed against yours. "I love you. You know that."
You don't answer. Because while you know he loved you, he's not saying he didn't love the ship more.
For Spock, he blew up his ship. Would he have done that for you?
"I imagine you've had to be very brave, Chris. 'Yes, it was a heroic thing he did.' 'Yes, my lover was a hero.'" He pulls you to look at him. "'No, I don't hate him for abandoning me.' Just. Like. Roger."
You want to push him away. But he's right—and he's also holding your hands because he knows you.
Or this version of him—drawn from your own memories—knows you might do that.
"What do I do, Jim? I miss you."
His look is stern. "We talked about this, Chris."
"No."
"We knew this could happen—to either of us. We agreed the other shouldn't be alone."
"I'm not going to Spock."
The irony is that Spock grew to love you after you were with Jim. The two of you found things in common when a relationship was off the table. You found that you really liked him.
You occasionally would look up from the cribbage board and find him staring at you in a way that you'd have killed for in years past. He never said anything—and he always looked away quickly—but you've been around the block more than once.
You know interest when you see it.
Jim knew it, too. It never bothered him, though. He used to joke that he was glad he got you first, but you think Spock never would have gotten there if he hadn't. That he'd have never let down his walls if you hadn't been so safe and off limits.
"Chris. I want you to be happy. Mourning me forever is no life."
You agreed with him back when he was alive and you discussed this as an abstract concept. But now, when you're missing him so badly, and he's right here you can actually envision a life alone with frequent returns to this planet.
Even if you know that's no life at all. And the real Jim would have hated that idea.
But you're so angry at Spock, even if it's unfair to feel that way. "He should have been at the launch."
"Why? So he could die with me?"
"You might not have been killed if he'd been there." But the words are meaningless. Spock's mother had been dying; what was a launch compared to that? No one had thought it would claim one of Starfleet's greatest sons.
"Chris, you need to go to him. He's hurting."
"That's me saying it, though, Jim. Everything you say—it's just an echo of what I want."
"Then do it."
"It's betrayal."
"Says the woman who fell in love with Spock before Roger was found." His tone is gentle, he's not judging.
He knows you. Or you know you and this Jim is made from you. God, you wish you didn't understand how this place works. You wish you could just fall fully into the fantasy.
"I love you. I love him." He holds his hand out, his voice the one you heard him use countless times when he was trying to convince someone to do things his way. "It makes sense."
"I'm not ready."
"I didn't mean you had to run to him right this minute." He grins. That heartstopping grin you loved the best. And then he kisses you tenderly. "You mind if I take up where that younger version left off?"
You laugh softly, because this is typical of you, that you'd banish the version that was pure pretense and be with this Jim. The one who loves you but isn't going to take your bullshit.
The closer thing to the real man. "I miss you. I'm lost."
"I know." His smile is gentle as he pushes you down to the pillows and shows you what loves is.
When you wake in the morning he's gone. Easier that way, you suppose, than some prolonged goodbye. But on a padd left near your clothes, it says only, We agreed.
Part 1 - I Grieve with Thee
You're about to head off to lunch when you get a page. "Doctor Chapel to CR-7."
With a sigh, you tell your empty stomach to wait and head off to the conference room. You expect an impromptu staff meeting, maybe a patient discussion with other doctors. It won't be a patient because you didn't leave Jim just to be a doctor, you did it to be administrator of emergency medicine and urgent care here at Starfleet Medical. Because while Jim could retire, you had a few more years to go.
So you expect a lot of possibly tedious things that will keep you from getting lunch.
You don't expect Spock.
He looks like shit.
He starts to get up and his movement is so slow that you wave him back into the chair. "Christine..." He seems unsure what to follow that with.
"You're sick."
"I am recovering. It is immaterial." He gives you the look that never was very successful on the ship at stopping you from treating him.
Pulling the scanner you still carry even if you generally don't see patients from your pocket, you frown as you see what he's recovering from. You know they put him in the conference room because he's a dignitary and he probably didn't share jack shit about why he wanted to see you. But there's no way you're going to treat him in here so you ease him up and say, "Come on."
Walking slowly to a treatment room, you try to assess what you're seeing. Massive bacterial infection on a wound that's been treated in the most rudimentary of fashions. "Do I want to know where you got this injury?"
"You may want to know. I cannot, however, tell you."
"Swell." You fix him with a glare that would make McCoy proud. "I'm going to find out if the bacteria isn't from here."
"No doubt you will." He seems so tired and closes his eyes as he sits on the exam table.
You have a sudden urge to lay your hand on his forehead, to soothe him the way you used to Jim.
It's been two months since the pleasure planet. You've left Spock alone. To his goddamn detriment, it would seem. Jim was right, of course. He needs you.
You let the bed do its work, supplementing with the scanner so you can analyze the bacteria offline where it won't go into his records unless you want it to. You get the result back and while the bug can be found many places, it's not a surprise to see the Klingon home world is lousy with it.
Of course he'd be there. He's their savior, after all.
"You pick strange places to vacation, Spock."
His lips tick up ever so slightly. "A mission."
"Gone wrong, it would seem."
Again the tick of the lips. "Surprisingly the opposite."
Knowing Klingons, you suppose this is true. "It's infected. Badly."
He shrugs in a way that reminds you of Jim when he was at his most exhausted.
"Do you even care that you're sick?"
"I am here, Christine. I am letting you work on me because I trust you both personally and as a person I know to be discreet. Is that not caring in some way?"
"You may just be in enough pain to want relief." This time you do lay your hand on his brow, feeling how hot he is—far past Vulcan normal. "Or maybe you're beyond steering your own course. Maybe you just ended up in here because it was as good a place as any?"
"Quite possibly." He takes a ragged breath. "I...I miss him, Christine. I know you must also be adrift."
Adrift. Such a good way to put it. Moving but not in control of the motion. Feeling everything and nothing.
But you got to say goodbye—even if it was to a replica.
"I am."
He reaches up, pressing your hand down, no doubt reading a great deal from you.
"I miss you, as well, Christine."
You smile but gently pull your hand away. "Let me get you some meds."
He doesn't open his eyes, just nods in a way that seems forlorn.
You come back with a hypo you shoot him full of and some small ones to take home. "One every three days. It would help if you rested. No missions for a while." You turn away but he reaches out, stopping your progress. "Christine, I regret that I was not on the ship with him. I wish..."
"Oh, Spock. I wish, too. But I know why you weren't. I understand. So did he. And I'm so sorry for your loss."
His grip on you tightens. "Your words are kind, but I feel your anger...buried."
"Can you feel that part of it is at Jim?"
He looks surprised.
"That part of it is at myself?" You ease away. "It's an emotional indulgence to blame anyone. It happened. It was his time."
"Do you believe that? In destiny?" His eyes are drooping. You put some relaxers in the meds but they're affecting him more than you expected. "I died. Was it not my time? Yet Jim found a way to bring me back?"
"There's no way to bring him back." Except on a planet of imitations.
His eyes droop even more.
"Spock, I don't like how you're reacting to the meds I gave you. I'm going to admit you."
He nods too quickly—where is the man who dodged physicals, much less being admitted? "I am so tired, Christine." There is a world of sorrow in his voice.
"I'm sorry." You process him in and before you're finished an orderly is knocking at the door, pushing the antigrav chair in once you move aside, but then he stops, clearly unsure if he should help a Vulcan the way he would a human.
You save him the trouble. "Up we go, Spock." Taking his arm, you ease him up and he stands and sits heavily in the chair. "I'll come check on you before I go off shift."
He meets your eyes, and you can't read his expression, so you motion for the orderly to get him upstairs.
A moment later, Admiral Julaba pops his head in. "It's funny how quickly you can turn a courtesy call into an admittance." He walks in. "I saw him come in. Something I should know? Being head of Starfleet Medical and all..."
"Bacterial infection secondary to a combat injury. Location and details of incident restricted."
Your boss rolls his eyes. "It would only take a quick scan."
"Actually it wouldn't. It was inconclusive as to origin." Sometimes honesty is the best way to lie.
"Okay." He shares a look with you—he was in ops for a short time. He knows what it means to not be able to share—or delve too deeply—so he's probably not fooled by your ploy but won't push it. "If he's here for more than a night, there's going to be high-level interest. You realize that, right? I mean...this is Spock. After Khitomer..."
You nod, because of course you know this. Starfleet Medical used to grill Len every time Jim or Spock logged any significant sickbay time on the ship. "I'll keep an eye on him."
"Good. You had lunch yet?"
"Was on my way when I got the page."
"Cafeteria?"
"You're on." You follow him to the cafeteria, find some food that looks interesting and join him at a table near the windows.
"How are you, Christine?"
"Kovo, you don't need to worry about me."
"But I do. I know what you're going through. I know how it hurts."
You nod because there's nothing you can say to that. He lost his first wife on a landing party. The way you sometimes feared you'd lose Jim.
The way you assumed you'd lose him. To a cause or a mission, not to a goddamn ceremonial activity.
"It just takes time," he murmurs.
"I know."
He steers the conversation to less emotionally laden topics for the rest of lunch.
##
Spock is sleeping when you check on him so you analyze the biobed readings—bad but no worse—and pull a chair up to his bed to catch up on some personal mail. When he says "Christine," in the raspiest voice you've heard since V'ger, you put the padd down and lean in.
"You, my friend, are very sick." You smile gently, and can tell by the way he smiles back at you that he is also very, very stoned. "You've never reacted this way to pain meds before."
And you've seen him in almost every possible state. Near emotionless, happy, stoic, reborn. This is new.
And troubling. You check to see what they gave him and how much, and when it's not anything other than what you'd have done, you order tests that aren't standard for a bacterial infection. Julaba is going to want to know why if he checks into the case. And you know he might. Knowing what's going on in his domain is how he got where he is.
"You sounded like Jim when you said that," Spock whispers. "My friend."
"I'm not Jim."
"Nor am I." The intensity in his eyes belies the softness of his voice. "I...I do not know how to feel, Christine. I was needed at home. But to lose him..."
You lean in, let your lips settle on his forehead before you can think too hard about whether you should be touching him. "I know," you whisper into his skin. "I was harsh with him, Spock. I didn't want him to go to the launch. So we fought. Our last words were angry ones."
"You had a premonition?"
"No. I just hate Harriman. I know Jim detests—detested him. I couldn't understand why he needed to do this. Except it was that damn ship." You take a deep breath. "So the anger you felt. A lot of it is at me. But it's easier to blame you for not being there than myself for being such a bitch when I should have been kissing him goodbye for the last time." You take a deep breath. You've told no one this. Not Ny. Not Len. Not Jan. Only the fake Jim they created from your memories and guilt.
It's clear Spock isn't sure what to say.
"I went to the pleasure planet—the one we went to early in the first voyage?"
He nods. Not the nod of a nostalgic frequent visitor, more the kind that says he's aware but has no idea of the appeal.
"I saw him. I...I got to say goodbye." You lean in. "When you're well, maybe you should do that too?" You indulge yourself, brushing his hair back.
He doesn't tell you to stop. But why shouldn't he indulge you? You may have just given him permission to live out a fantasy. You've never been sure just how deep his love for Jim runs, and Jim got mad the one time you were drunk enough to ask—another angry moment—and you never brought it up again.
"It would not be Jim."
"It might be the next best thing."
"Will he not only tell me what I want to hear? They create the facsimiles from user memories and desires."
"And regrets. And yes, I know he's not real, but he won't just tell you what you want to hear. He'll tell you what you need to hear. Because that's the kind of man he was. For both of us, I think." You ease away from him. Primarily because you're getting too close too fast to a man in no shape to receive more than professional care, but also because one of the scans you've ordered is done.
As you read it, you see nothing unusual in the results. You've already checked his hormones to rule out the Pon Farr. Maybe the other tests will be more illuminating. But they won't be done for quite a while.
"I'm dead on my feet, Spock. I'm going to leave unless you need anything."
"I will be fine." He meets your gaze. "Your eyes. So kind. I have always thought so. Never said. Too slow to realize what was in front of me—and then you were no longer in front of me but at the side of my friend."
Wow, he's going to have this conversation? Then again, maybe flying on pain meds is the only way he ever will. "Timing is everything."
"Indeed." He sighs and closes his eyes. "You comfort me. You always have."
"Everyone's favorite nurse." You wait for his next comeback but he's fallen asleep.
##
You check on Spock when you first get in, and he's awake but listless. His vitals though are looking much better and you smile in relief.
"Christine, if I said anything to offend you last night..."
You sit and smile gently at him. "You were on pain meds."
"That would not have mattered in the past. I could always exercise restraint." He actually sighs and his eyes are...dead.
You wonder how much loss it takes to break a Vulcan.
"I wasn't offended."
He nods, but he looks away, out the window. His room has a lovely view. Pays to be a VIP.
"Why do you think you would offend me?"
"I dishonored Jim's memory."
You lean in, letting your hand settle on his so he can feel your emotions. "Jim never left anything to chance. People thought he flew by the seat of his pants, but he was a planner."
He nods.
"He knew he could go first. He didn't want the people he loved to be alone." You wait to see if he'll add up one and one and get the two of you.
His eyebrow goes up. "He would not be opposed?"
"No, he wouldn't be. Well, okay, to be precise, right now I imagine he'd want me to act like the doctor I am and take care of you. I'm worried about you, Spock." Especially since all his scans had come back normal; you read them over breakfast. "Have you ever heard the term 'mired in grief'?"
He nods. "You think I am? Pathological grief is another, not so agreeble, term for it, is it not?"
"I prefer complicated grief, but yes. Have you considered seeing someone—to talk things out?"
"Who would you have me see?" His tone is harsh—one he hasn't used on you in decades.
"A counselor, maybe?"
"Are you seeing one?"
"I'm not the one that let a simple wound get morbidly infected." You don't try to modulate your tone. You're not going to take his bullshit and he has to understand that.
But you do care about him. Too much possibly. "I know someone. He's very discreet. He helped me a few times when ops got to be too much."
You can tell he's surprised you've said this. And no one else knows. Not even Jim knew you had a therapist you saw from time to time. Jim might have been able to tell you were burning out by his own amazing instincts for assessing people, but he never knew how many times before you actually left that you thought of requesting reassignment.
You're glad now that you stayed and worked through your shit. Because you don't think you'd be surviving Jim's death if you hadn't.
Spock has his eyes closed so you try to ease your hand away, but he turns his over, interlacing his fingers with yours, clearly reading you—this isn't a romantic thing.
Does he think you're making this up to get him to comply?
He opens his eyes. "I would like his name."
"Doctor Assif Youssad. He's civilian but on contract with Starfleet so you can be as open as you need to be."
His lips tick up, and you realize that he's amused.
"Okay, you and your super-duper special missions can stay secret. But you can talk about less sensitive things. Now, can I have my hand back? I have a job downstairs, Mister."
He lets you go.
As you get up, he says, "You do not have to take care of me."
"You mean just because Jim wanted me to?"
He nods.
"Spock, when haven't I taken care of you?"
He has no answer for that. You didn't think he would.
##
You go up to visit Spock in the evening and find several Vulcan healers and Sarek in the room.
"Doctor." Sarek doesn't sound pleased. You're used to him being happy to see you. And using your first name.
"Ambassador." Courtesy seems the best route given the two healers. Plus if he wants to rely on titles, you're game. "What exactly is going on?"
"You are not Spock's personal physician," one of the healers say. "We are transferring him to Vulcan."
"She is my physician and this is quite unnecessary." It's an annoyed sound, almost a growl. Spock is clearly not onboard with whatever his father's is doing. Enough to lie about your status—although you were the referring so technically it's probably not as big a lie as it might have been.
You wonder if he doesn't want Sarek figuring out where he was on his last mission more than he resents the parental meddling. Although with these two...?
You take a quick look at the biobed. He's much improved since the morning, so you figure he can take a little conflict on his behalf. Pushing your way in, you say, "If the patient doesn't want a second opinion, I suggest you honor his wishes."
Twin Vulcan stares descend on you but you ignore the healers and turn to Sarek. "He's Starfleet, Ambassador. We have jurisdiction."
You hear Spock's quick intake of breath. You know exactly what you've said and how it will tick Sarek off. You've heard the history of how Spock went his own way and chose Starfleet over the Vulcan Science Academy.
Sarek's eyes narrow for a moment, and you think what you're seeing is rage under the otherwise calm exterior. You glance at his hands—balled into fists.
Yes, you've just royally angered the preeminent Vulcan. But it's on behalf of the second most famous one.
He moves closer, his voice pitched low, so only you can hear—well, and any Vulcan in the vicinity, so pretty much everyone. "I have lost my wife. I will not lose my son."
You're shocked he'd take such an emotional tack, but the healers do not react so maybe it's simply a logical sentiment in their eyes. Possession being an important concept on Vulcan.
"And I will not let your son be lost. But he wants to remain here. And so he shall." You've taken on any number of hostile leaders, administrators, and other types of bureaucrats in your time. You've never gone head to head with a Vulcan, though.
You can tell he expects you to cave under his glare. But he's been on missions with you. He knows how you are.
You want to cross your arms over your chest, but he'll read that as weakness, as self-soothing, rather than the other human meaning of "I've had enough of your shit." So you stand firm and wait.
Waiting someone out is an underrated art. Most humans can't do it. They feel the need to fill a space with words. To seek harmony in the conflict that grows in a hostile silence.
But you learned from Jim. You learned from Spock. And you even learned from the man you're facing down.
He slumps, ever so slightly, but you wait a little longer. Rushing in to claim victory is generally a mistake.
He finally nods and turns to Spock. "My son, do you wish to remain in this medical facility?"
"I do, Father." Spock's voice is at its most neutral, probably to counter how much damage you've potentially done.
Sarek used to be your fan. You think he won't be championing you in the future.
"Then you shall." He motions for the healers to go away and the way he gestures leaves no doubt that he doesn't want to hear any argument—not after having lost to you in their presence. "I assume I may sit with my son, Christine?"
Your name now? Interesting. "Of course. Spock, do you want me to get your padd from the security locker? You're well enough to catch up on messages if you want."
"Most kind."
As Sarek sits, you mouth, "Sorry," to Spock, and he nods, almost imperceptibly. His eyes are untroubled.
You have saved him. For once, you're his hero. "I'll be back in a little while."
You leave Sarek and him to talk about whatever it is fathers and sons discuss at moments like this.
You're an only child and your parents doted on you. Moreover, you really liked them. You had your disagreements, but the cold gap that exists between Spock and his father is a mystery to you. You were devastated when your parents died when you were on the second voyage, after V'ger. It was partially grief over them that led you to flee the ship and head for the excitement of ops. Anything not to feel.
Especially when Spock was full of post-V'ger emotion but still not interested in you. And you and Jim hadn't figured out yet what a good match you'd be.
How much time did you waste?
Although you've always believed things happen as they're meant to. You had Jim and you loved him and you lost him before anything could get in the way of your happiness. It's a horrible way to think—that he might have left you, or you him—but it's a way of making sense of losing him. Of sort of sidestepping around having to hurt.
And it works. Until you get home, to the closet full of his clothes, still smelling of his cologne. That you sometimes curl up with in bed, trying not to think that the scent of him will fade until eventually they are nothing but old clothes.
You aren't sure you'll ever be able to recycle them. But then, there's no one demanding you do.
Youssad told you grief is personal. How you mourn is unique to you. When you're ready, you'll deal with Jim's things. But if you're never ready, that's your right.
You didn't tell Spock you'd seen Youssad for grief. You're not sure why. Maybe to make it easier for him to go—if he thinks that you only saw him for issues during your Ops time it might not seem so weird, sharing the same therapist.
Or maybe because you don't want him to know how much you're struggling.
One of you has to be unbroken. Or at least seem it.
##
By the time you get back with the padd—and you linger near the lockers, nursing a cup of coffee in the staff lounge to give Spock some time with his father—Sarek has gone.
Spock meets your eyes, and he closes his and actually sighs.
"I'm sorry. I may have come on too strong." You sit and put the padd on the table that hovers near him, holding water and some of the nutrition crackers you know from experience he prefers.
"He is the one overstepping, Christine, not you. Clearly I wanted your support." He takes a deep breath, seems to hold it, and then lets it out slowly. "All during my youth he tried to control me—to dictate what I would and would not do. I rebelled. Over and over. Until finally he let me make my own choices." His voice gets softer as he speaks. "Now he attempts to make me come to heel. He has talked of me leaving Starfleet and joining his team. As if it is a reality, nothing we need to discuss. Nothing he needs my opinion on—my assent."
You take his hand because he's agitated, and you think he needs to feel your support. "He's lost your mother. He's terrified he'll lose you, too. You heard him."
"We are not compatible. Working together would be a grave error. I do not..."
You squeeze his hand. "You don't like him?" You laugh so softly it's only a soft exhalation of air. "Do you think he likes you?"
"No."
You nod. "I think he loves you, though."
"It is not logical. How can esteem grow without affection or respect or tolerance?"
"Loving someone you don't like is pretty much the definition of a lot of families." You shrug. "It's not logical. And you know that." He doesn't look convinced so you try another tack. "As we age, as we create our own lives separate from our families, we form non-blood families. They're people we liked first and then loved, not the other way around. We were never dependent on them to keep us alive when we were helpless infants, or to fight our battles when we were children. They know us the way we want to be known. They're our family in spirit."
"Yes."
"I do not think your father has that. He had your mother. He has Saavik, yes?"
"He does. But she is stationed at a facility on the other side of Vulcan and is often away."
"My point exactly—I think he's very lonely, Spock."
"Do you think I should work with him?"
"No. But maybe, once he understands that you're not going to uproot your professional life for him, carve out some personal time to spend with him?" You can see he's about to protest so you lean in. "I really do believe he loves you, Spock."
"I am his son. That is all that matters. How I reflect on him." He sounds like a cranky child and you glance at the biobed. He's exhausted.
"You're very tired." You wonder what he'll say, but he doesn't argue, even squeezes your hand gently. You think he can feel the caring coming from you.
Care—just call it what it is: love. You never lost it, even if you found someone new who you cared for just as much. Love doesn't disappear, it just...adjusts.
"I am lonely, too, Christine. I can feel that you are as well."
"We've all been leveled, Spock. There are holes in our worlds." You blink back tears almost before realizing you are crying. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to push this on you." Easing your hand back, you try to spare him, but he doesn't let go. "I miss him."
"I miss him as well."
"You loved him. I know that." But do you know that—do you really understand what that means? "Did you...love him?" You wonder if he'll understand.
His eyes soften in a way you believe they wouldn't if he wasn't able to read that you really want to know. That you're not mad, just curious, just trying to answer a question that never has been fully covered. A question that perhaps Jim couldn't—or wouldn't—answer.
"I did. But he...I am unsure if he was disinclined because he preferred women or if he did not want to do anything to disturb the rapport we enjoyed as a command team."
You see the uncertainty in his eyes—this has been a question he may need answered as much as you do. "You never asked him?"
"No. Not when he had already sacrificed everything for me. His son, his ship—so that I could live. It does not matter that our relationship was not physical, Christine. I will never have a closer friend."
"I know how much he loved you. I never doubted how much real estate you owned in his heart."
"Highly inaccurate from a medical professional." His eyes are soft, his expression...grateful, even as he seems to be eager to get you both to less emotional ground.
"You know what I meant."
"Indeed." He squeezes your hand again softly, then lets you go. "I believe I should sleep."
"I believe you should, too. Don't get on that padd till morning, understood?"
"Yes, Doctor." As you rise and turn for the door, he says, "Christine?"
You turn back to look at him.
"He was extremely happy with you. I envied him his contentment. The way he looked at you. How much he loved you." He is couching his statement in a more emotional way than you think he normally would.
"Thank you."
You share a long look, soft and lacking any strangeness. You're talking about a man you both loved.
You're think you might also be talking about loving each other. In the most roundabout way possible.
"Go to sleep." You wait until he's settled in and pulled the covers up, then leave him in peace.
##
You're running late the next morning and have to wait to visit Spock, but you sneak a look at his charts before your first meeting, happy to see that he's still improving. The attending physician—a man you like—has noted good progress.
Spock may be improving, but he seems grumpy when you use some of your lunch break to visit. Grumpy for a Vulcan, of course, but you're used to reading his moods. He never hid them from you and Jim once you were together, so you saw the real Spock. How open he could be—again, for a Vulcan, but more than you'd imagined back when he'd been all you thought about.
He puts the padd down and says, "I am much improved."
"Oh, did someone make you the physician now?" You smile and check the biobed readings.
"Doctor Chapel?" It's a soft voice you don't recognize immediately, and you turn and see Nurse Liu. "Our patient is much better." She smiles softly and turns a charming shade of pink.
"That he is. Did you need...?"
"Oh, no. Just checking to make sure he doesn't need anything." The flush deepens.
"No, he's fine right now." You wait until she finally mumbles something about other patients and leaves
"You see. Nurse Liu agrees with my assertion." Spock stares up at you, tapping his fingers slightly on the blanket, not seeming aware he is doing it.
"Yep.
"She is most attentive."
"That's because she has a huge crush on you, you big dope." You're laughing as you scan him, liking to get a second opinion to the bed. Len taught you that. Every now and then it paid off—and in the field, there were no beds. Some doctors lost their skill with the scanner if they relied too much on a bed to diagnose.
"How do you know this?"
"No one blushes that much otherwise." You know the look. You were once a nurse with a crush on the unattainable Vulcan, after all.
"Christine, am I well enough to go home? I am tired of the hospital. The intercoms are loud and wake me. It is difficult to sleep or meditate with the interruptions. Doctor Harper says I must stay here but I do not want to." He meets your eyes and you see frustration in his.
"Spock, you're really not ready to go home."
He seems about to argue.
"It's not debatable. You'll go right back to work—I know you." And so does Harper because you told him that restraint isn't Spock's strong point in recovery. "I know you're bored. I know you're stuck with nothing to do but think about what you've lost."
He says nothing. Just stares out the window, his jaw set tightly.
"You know, Youssad has an office in this building. If you want to reach out...?"
He shakes his head.
"Okay."
"I am sorry, Christine. I do not mean to be short. I am..." He waves off whatever emotion he was going to claim.
"Bored? Then I suggest you flirt with Liu. I have to get back downstairs for a staff meeting."
"You have barely been here."
"Spock, I'm on my 'blink and you'll miss it' lunch break. And I'm hungry so I'd like to get some of the lunch part of lunch break, if that's all right with you? I'm sorry but you can't always be the center of my world." Even if you did think of him first thing.
"At one point I believe I was." His grumpiness is growing.
You glance at the chrono on the biobed; you really do need to go if you want to eat. "Yeah, well, those were different times."
He looks so put out, you settle your palm against his cheek, knowing he can read you this way, sense your frustration from having too many meetings booked because that's your life now. "What you're feeling is not about you, Spock. I have a life and today it's sort of a shitty one. Okay?"
He nods and looks chastened. "I am sorry if I am being selfish."
"You're sick of being here. I understand that. If you progress today like you did yesterday, I can discuss discharging you tomorrow with Doctor Harper, okay?"
"Thank you." As you turn, he says softly, "If I am no longer the center of your world, could you send Nurse Liu in?"
You glance back at him, laughing, happy to see that he's finally not so cranky—that he can joke, the way you remember him doing with you and Jim. His expression lightens for a moment, but there is something in his eyes, something intense and questioning.
"Do you want me to tell you not to flirt with her?"
"Flirting is not in my nature."
You let an eyebrow go up because Jim told you all about Droxine. And you've teased Spock about it more than once.
He appears to realize his mistake. "Generally not in my nature."
"Well, I'm not going to tell you what to do. I'm going to grab some chow." You grin and head out the door, and hurry for the elevator.
It stops on every floor. Looks like lunch will be a nutrition bar.
You and Jim lived on those the first year you were together. Sex during lunch was always so much more attractive than food.
You close your eyes, feeling a weird mix of nostalgia and crushing pain. Memories bring pleasure until you remember he's gone forever.
Maybe you should be the one to go visit Youssad. You ping him as you walk to the cafeteria, set up an appointment for later in the week. He's used to that from you. You refuse to commit to an actual schedule. You don't want to admit you need that much help.
Even if you probably very much do.
##
You track down Harper before you visit Spock. His smile is as warm and sweet as ever. You suspect he has a little crush and maybe, if things were different, you'd have one too.
But you had Jim. And now...now you don't. And there's the Vulcan who's currently his patient that you do have.
"Christine, our patient wants to leave."
"I know. He was surlier than surly this morning." You sit across from him in the lounge. You haven't checked on Spock's readings this afternoon. Been too busy, and then too tired.
You're not his damn doctor, after all.
"You look all in." He pushes a package of cookies toward you. "Have one. The sugar'll do you good."
You laugh and take one. Caffeine and sugar. The medical world runs on it.
And on some less benign things as well, but you've managed to stay clear of that. You had Jim and if it was a really bad day the two of you had booze to end the night with. But most of the time you just had each other. To sit with, to talk to, to touch and kiss. To just be with.
God, you miss that. It was equal, the giving and taking of support. And the sad thing is you never realized how much he bolstered you until he was gone.
"Spock can go home tonight. He's out of danger. Provided he takes his meds like a good boy." He laughs at his own phrasing.
"I'll make sure he does." Then hasten to add, "Not trying to do your job."
"That wasn't what I was thinking. Why do you need to take care of him? Or do you want to?"
You can tell there's a level of personal interest in his question. He has no idea of your history with Spock. You're not that close.
"We served together." Normally that can explain away a world of bad decisions or enabling.
"You've had a long career. I imagine you've served with a lot of people. This one seems different."
You shrug. You're too tired to get into it. "He was my lover's best friend, Carl."
He actually looks relieved. Like that's all this is. "Oh, sure. Duh." His smile is back to the old one, sweet, intrigued—with more energy than before.
Jesus, you just lost someone.
Just. Months ago at this point. But still. It feels like yesterday. Do they think you should get over it faster? Youssad said some people might want that. Grief is often uncomfortable for others. The accompanying emotions: anger, despair. The acting out. The saying whatever you want because what's the point of not?
You decide not to tell Harper to slow the fuck down. Just ask, "He can go now, then?"
He pulls his padd close, checks something and then pulls up the discharge screen.
You get up before he can finish. "Thanks for the cookie." You can tell he wants to talk more but you get the hell out before you alienate another friend.
You can still hear Len when you wanted to know where he thought he was going to get with all his concern right after Jim died. "I was just checking on you, Christine. God damn it, how hard is it to believe I might care about you as a person?"
You've never been Len's type. You're not sure why you thought you suddenly were. Why you were short with him. But it's why he's not here now. Although he's also working a lot off world. His absence may have nothing to do with you—and you know you're prone to taking things way too personally right now.
You make your way to Spock's room. He's working on his padd and his expression lightens when he sees you.
"Good news. I got you sprung."
"When?"
"Now, if you want it?"
He's out of the bed immediately, grabbing his clothes from the closet and going into the bathroom to change. You're about to grab his padd but then decide not to. You're not his woman. Or his mother. He doesn't need you to help. And more importantly he may not want you to.
He comes out, takes his padd, and indicates you should lead him out.
"You need to check out at the nurses' station."
He veers off in the direction you point, is back quickly with a small bag of meds, and as you near the exit says, "My apartment is on the way to yours. Will you walk with me?"
"Sure." You're ready to get out of here. Ready to collapse. But you have an early presentation for a new treatment protocol and you need to run through it a few more times once you get home.
"I am relieved to be free of that room."
"I'm sure you are. They told you about the importance of keeping up with your meds, right?"
"Christine, I am a scientist. I understand how these types of medicines work—how detrimental not finishing the full course can be."
"Yeah, well, you wouldn't be the first scientist who didn't follow the plan, so I have to ask."
"I appreciate your concern."
You nod and then wait. You want him to ask you about your day. Or ask you anything.
When he finally speaks it's when you're a block from his building and he says, "You will come up?"
It's barely a question. More an assumption.
"Why?"
He stops and studies you. "I think we both know why." He reaches for you arm—no doubt to read you.
You shy away. "Wow. That's romantic."
"Did I misinterpret your actions while I was sick. Your...devotion. What you let me feel through touch. And what you have said that you and Jim discussed. I took it to mean you were interested. That you cared."
"I do care."
He looks relieved. "Then come up. We can...forget. Together."
You stand still, remembering a time when you and Jim stood in just this place. Jim laughed as he pulled you in for a quick kiss before heading in to play chess with Spock. You were meeting Ny and Jan for a rare girls night when everyone was in town.
You can feel his lips if you let yourself. Hear his laugh as he brushed your hair away from your face.
"I don't want to forget."
He looks immediately contrite. "I did not mean forget Jim. I meant the pain. The...loss."
"He is the loss. He is the pain." You study him. "Does it even matter to you that it's me? Would Ny do? Or Len? Or Saavik?"
"Christine, we are both suffering. It is logical to comfort each other."
"Comfort? That's rich. How was my day, Spock? What's tomorrow look like? I've been comforting you but where the hell were you when I needed some love?" You think it's a mixed message to be so mad at him and then speak of love, but this is you now. Honest but with a hair trigger.
This is why Ny stays away. You're too angry, she says. You're unpredictable.
She fucking said that to you. She'd be a goddamn basket case if she'd been the one with Jim.
"Spock do you know why Jim and I were so happy?" Before he can posit a reason, you lean in. "Because we weren't running away from anything. We were just running to each other."
"I did not mean to offend you, Christine. I have feeli— I am interested in you, not anyone else."
"That's great. Really. But I had a horribly busy day. And I've been worried about you and it's exhausting especially when I'm just trying to make it from one day to the next. And tomorrow is going to be another busy day. So no, I'm not coming up and fucking you so you can forget. I'm going home to prep for tomorrow and get some sleep."
"Of course. I am s—"
"Don't say you're sorry. I know you're sorry. I'm just not equipped right now to deal with you being sorry." You touch his cheek, not caring you are in public, and apparently he doesn't care either because he leans in, his eyes narrowing, no doubt reading a world of things from the contact.
"You have to care about me, too, Spock. You have to support me, too. I don't think that's where you're at. Maybe work on your issues, okay? I'll do the same. Then we can talk about me coming upstairs." You can feel tears threatening and jerk away. "I love you."
And then you push past him and walk away, toward your apartment, your lonely apartment filled with memories and pain and Jim's things. Your prison and your sanctuary and a place you're not ready to leave yet.
Not even for a man you've been in love with for so very long.