To the bulk of the crew beyond the select few of the inner circle, it was almost-died, but to Christine, it was died. Dead. Passed on. She knew dead when she saw it, and she knew their Captain had been tragically dead at a young age after saving all their lives and she might have cried a little. Okay, a lot, but it was alone, in her room, and at least part of the tears had been for him because when he carried the Captain in his arms not to the sickbay but to the morgue, he looked positively . . . emotionally compromised.
Then the Captain had come back from the dead, courtesy of some insane guy's blood and frantic work by the doctor and all medical staff to make this workdammitrightnow, and when the Captain's vitals moved from dead to barely alive to sleeping then finally awake, she had been the one to stop in the doorway, and Spock had been the one in the room.
And his hand had been curled around the Captain's neck, and Spock was looking, staring, drinking in the Captain's face, and their chests were moving with breaths the Captain never should have been able to take. A hand moved up to clasp Spock's wrist. The Captain would push Spock away with a laugh and it would be okay, the longing in Spock's gaze was okay because his friend had just come back from the dead and that would have an effect on anyone, Vulcan or no.
But the Captain did not push him away. Instead the Captain's grip on Spock's wrist tightened, the muscles in his hand tensing as he met Spock's gaze, eyes gleaming not with laughter but with a question. She stood silent, hardly daring to breathe lest she push in any direction this moment. It was Spock that moved forward and brought their lips together, but it was the Captain's finger's that carded through his first officer's dark hair.
Christine stood still, shocked. She tried to remember what pressing lips meant in Vulcan culture. It was not a kiss, that much she knew. But Spock was half human, and the way his body arched toward the Captain, the way he deepened the kiss, pulling them together such that Christine was worried the Captain would be unable to breath, told her this was much more than I am glad you are alive, or welcome back to a friend.
There was nothing she could do. She had turned and left, the familiar hallways somehow transformed, tighter, more claustrophobic. And when she brought the Captain his food half an hour later, Spock was gone.
"Welcome back, Captain." She placed the food on his side table.
He licked his lips. Lips Spock had recently kissed. The hair was the nap of his neck was tousled. Because Spock had dug his fingers in there. Christine swallowed.
"Thank you."
If someone had asked, she would have said she was not following them. She just made sure her work took them to the places they would be, the mess halls and hallways and meeting rooms. She observed.
She observed the way Spock watched the Captain eat, laugh, talk, smile, move, breath, exist, always with that intensity that now she realized he used for no one else. There was the way he shifted when others came, a slight movement of torso and shoulders that wanted to put himself between the newcomer and his Captain, and the way he pulled back after a few moments, the way he might look down at his plate.
And she was not the only one. Many of the new recruits, taken on since the fight with Kahn, watched the command team as well, for different purposes. Ambition. Hero-worship. Imitation. Many of the female ensigns were already smitten with the Captain. Christine found herself having many conversations with new arrivals on the topic. She suspected Alice had sent them to her, to dissuade them from their interest. Christine knew she had a reputation for being logical in areas of romance.
But Christine watched them for different reasons. And she noticed a routine. First one night a week, then eventually three, Spock and the Captain would leave the mess hall together.
"Where are they going?" She asked McCoy. Her voice was smooth and disinterested, she was sure.
At their table sat also a couple of ensigns who were watching them with curious eyes. Whenever any of the old timers spoke of the command team, the new recruits quieted and strained to listen. And when McCoy talked of the Captain there was silence. Everyone knew they had been roommates at the academy. Christine knew the attention occasionally irked him, but that he also didn't exactly mind all the young women who seemed to inexplicitly come to seek out his company.
McCoy stilled the sandwich halfway to his lips and his eyes followed the pair, backs beneath command gold and science blue, leaving the mess, the Captain laughing at something, one of Spock's not-jokes she remembered from class or just manifesting again that joie de vivre that she found so exhausting but could appreciate from a distance.
"Chess, probably," he took a bite again. It was not the answer she had been expecting.
"What do you mean?" She watched as the Captain touched Stock's sleeve, and, she observed with her increased attention lingered a few moments longer than necessary. "They are playing Chess?"
She wondered if this was some kind of euphemism.
"Yes. Spock's got one of those boards for three dimensional chess. They would play sometimes, before Jim, ah . . . almost died," McCoy threw the word out definitely, calling to her memory both the cool calm with which he had examined his dead friend, and his fevered frenzy as they worked to synthesize a serum to reverse the irreversible, and there beneath the words there was something of the doctor's appreciation for having defeated that final frontier. "They have started playing more ever sense Jim became undead. Why are you so interested?"
The last question was said to the sandwich, almost as though he did not really care about the answer.
"Until recently, I had thought they didn't really get along. I mean, I didn't think they were . . . friends."
McCoy's shoulder's loosened, slightly. Though his words were relaxed enough, she thought he was looking more tense than usual.
"Nah, they have been friendly for ages now. I can hardly see Jim anymore without that pointy-eared hobgoblin hovering around. You know, he even comes to Jim's physicals? And then Spock hunted Kahn down to get that cure."
"I had thought that was a team mission?" One of the ensigns said. Christine recalled her name was Tamara, and she had an earnest face and round dark eyes that made her seem to soak up her surroundings. She was in security and clearly ambitious.
"It was a team mission, if you count Spock doing most of the work, then Uhura beaming down to help at the last minute a "team" mission. Mostly he was running through the streets on his own, planning to track down and beat up a super-human with magical healing blood. Not his most logical plan."
"That does seem to break a number of protocols," Tamara said. McCoy shrugged.
"You will find that's par for the course around here. Don't tell command."
Christine started to observe patterns and she could not help but draw conclusions. The Captain made Spock act illogical. Not just when provoked or in specific circumstances, but frequently and systematically. This was a fact she was beginning to incorporate into her understanding of the world, but it was still unsettling, like someone had told her the proteins in her body could be reshaped if she just concentrated hard enough.
She continued to watch them. They rarely did anything that would be outside the bounds of friendship. She did not know what happened when they played chess, but she overheard enough talk of checkmates and discussion of moves to realize they actually were playing. Unless they were engaged in a particularly elaborate pretense.
Then one day she found them standing side by side on the observation deck. Again, not touching, but standing very close. She was too far to catch their words, but Spock was speaking. When Spock reached out a hand to touch the Captain, going not for the cloth covered shoulder but his bare lower arm, her eyes widened, as though seeking to pull in more light, as the Captain's hands came up to bunch in Spock's sleeve, tightening. They were talking low. She was hardly breathing when Spock leaned forward and tentatively brushed his lips against the Captain's. They stood still for a moment, the stars still visible between them. The Captain might have pushed Spock away but instead his fingers dug into Spock's upper arms, pulling them together. Christine heard the faintest of Vulcan sighs as they pressed together.
This was not like in the hospital bed, the quick passion abruptly cut short. This time she saw the Captain pull back, taking a breath and saying something a low voice of which Christine caught only confused and sex and death. Then the Captain stepped back, and though Spock maintained an outward calm to Christine, used to watching him, it was clearly difficult for him not to step forward, difficult not to pursue the contact, not to continue the kiss. She knew with his greater physical strength, he could have held on. He was forcing himself to let the Captain go.
It was strange, requiring a cognitive shift in the tectonic plates of her mind. There was the fact they were both men. But somehow that was the least of it. It was the fact they were so different, the fact that the Captain's choices time and time again were directly contradictory to what Spock would have wanted, should have wanted, would have done himself. She had thought they had reached a détente, a sort of mutual understanding. But she hardly would have expected such an arrangement to lead to kissing in hospital beds and confessions on the observation deck. Whatever was going on between them was confusing and unexpected and illogical, and if she had not seen it she would have never believed it possible.
But it was clear, a fact she could identify just as easily and with a similar sinking impression of a patient beyond resuscitation. She could not deny what she had seen. Therefore it was not only possible but a truth in the world. And she had no notion of how she might compete with James Kirk.
"The Sycurians expect visitors to come in pair bonds," Uhura was saying. Christine was one of eight in the room—the Captain, McCoy, Sulu and Spock. "They will expect male and female bond partners."
Christine carefully did not look at Spock. But she did look at the Captain, and he had pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at this pronouncement.
"If this negotiation is going to be a success, we shall have to conform to this ritual," Uhura concluded.
"What if we told them their expectation was a bit antiquated?" The Captain said.
"They would probably not take well to being informed by a group of alien visitors that their traditions are unacceptable."
"This is your professional opinion, as a communications officer?"
"This is my sensible opinion, as a sentient life form, Captain."
"Alright then," the Captain turned to the table. "Let's pair up, people. Uhura, you're with Sulu. Marcus, you're with me. Tamara, you're with McCoy. And Chapel, you will go with Spock. We leave tomorrow at 0800, so get some sleep."
The room cleared quickly and efficiently. Christine would have been out quickly as well if McCoy had not grabbed her arm. McCoy then called the Captain—Jim—and it was the three of them left in the conference room. The Captain looked a bit tired, bags under his eyes and his golden hair looking just the slightest bit too shaggy. Though she had still seen Tamara glance at him as she left. It was clear she appreciated his appearance.
"What's the matter, Bones? You don't like your date?"
Just the three of them. Christine was reminded of that time at the Academy, when she had been alone with McCoy and the Captain. It was a strange flash back, here in the dimmed light of the conference room. Instead of the deference he might have shown on the bridge—appearances for the crew, and all that—McCoy just rolled his eyes.
"Jim, please switch Tamara with Chapel."
"Why?" The Captain's look shifted between the two of them. "Bones, don't tell me you two are finally—"
The Captain was clearly laboring under a misapprehension about the nature of her relationship with McCoy, so Christine said quickly.
"No, Captain, we are not."
"It's not that," McCoy backed her up.
"Alright. Then convince me why it makes sense for our two medical officers to be paired together. I had hoped to spread you out."
"It just, does, okay Jim?"
The Captain's eyes narrowed. He really did look tired. There was a rumple in his command shirt and he had one hand on the table as though steadying himself, but he was watching them both with sharp, evaluating eyes. She usually interacted with the Captain when he was sick and even then he usually got his own way. Here when he was only tired he was definitely piloting the conversation.
"I shall need a bit more of an explanation than that before I call back Spock and Tamara and change my orders."
Of course she knew McCoy and the Captain were friends, had heard them talking like this before, but being the actual topic of such an informal exchange was making her uncomfortable. If they were not talking about her, she would have left. But as it was she would have to stay.
"It's fine, Doctor—"
"It's not fine, Christine, did you read through the mission brief? This thing is going to be five hours long. You are going to have to sit there, for five hours—"
"Eating food and engaging in conversation? I think Chapel is up for it, Bones," the Captain said. "And I am sure Tamara can give you some interesting conversation, you know she told me she is trained in klingon combat?"
"This isn't about me, Jim," McCoy let out an annoyed breath. "Look this doesn't have to be a big thing, I just need you to change the assignments so Christine is with me instead of Spock, it's not a big deal—"
"And I just need you to tell me why."
"Because—"
"Because?"
"Because she is in love with the pointy-eared hobgoblin!"
Christine stared at McCoy, hardly believing what she had just heard. It had been years, and he had never said anything to her about it. And now to blurt it out like this. He shot her a semi-apologetic, semi-frustrated look, the turned back to the Captain.
The Captain. Oh God, the Captain. McCoy did not know, but she knew. Turning back to the Captain was ten times, a hundred times worse, because looking into his eyes she knew, she remembered, all that she had seen over the last couple of months. Whatever the Captain's relationship was with Spock it had passed platonic a few stops back and she had no idea how the Captain might react.
"In love with Spock?" The Captain managed to say the words in a way that suggested skepticism and understanding all at once.
"I have been in love with him since I was a student at the academy." She was more grateful than ever of her work surpassing emotions, because the statement came out almost normally.
"Since you were his student? You took all his classes."
"I did. But not just because of my . . . emotions. Professor Spock was the best professor at the academy." You may have known that, if you had ever come to class, she might have added. But did not. There was no need.
This was more of a conversation than she thought. McCoy was now the one sending out discomfort waves. Good. He had put himself in this position, not talking with her first. She could feel the blood in her cheeks but also had to admit a certain excitement to be forced to have this conversation with the Captain. Because surly he would have to let, something, slip? She already imagined she could see heightened color in his cheeks, and was fairly certain if she could have taken his pulse she would have found an elevated heart rate.
"Chapel, you can tell me to stop at anytime, but I am going to ask you a few questions of this. How do you know what you are feeling is love, rather than admiration or appreciation?"
"Jim—" McCoy started, and Christine knew the doctor well enough to know he would rather be in any other conversation. "Why are you pressing her on this?"
Christine knew why. She knew why, and she would answer. "It is love, because I want him to, safe, happy, secure. And I want to do everything I can to ensure his happiness and success, both professional and personal."
"Does that mean you are you attracted to him sexually?"
"Jim!" McCoy sounded scandalized and he stepped closer to her. "Not everything is about—"
"I know that, Bones. Chapel, you don't need to answer if you don't want too, obviously, it's just that I—"
"Yes. Yes I am."
She might have added the are you to the end of the answer, because it was there, hanging in the air between them. But she thought she would spare McCoy the epileptic fit that would result from such a question. Plus there was the fact the Captain was not actually aware she had observed his interactions with Spock. If it had been anyone else but Spock under discussion, she would have been reluctant, afraid word might get back to him and create awkwardness. But he would not be like that. It was almost a release, to say it out loud, even knowing what she did of the not-strictly-platonic relationship between the Captain and his first. She wondered at herself for not being more self-conscious. It was positively Vulcan of her, she thought, and repressed the pleasure that arose with that reflection.
"Sounds like love to me, Jim," McCoy said, "Now will you please stop having incredibly awkward conversations with my staff and change the assignments? Please, for me?"
But the Captain's eyes had gone thoughtful. "Have you ever spoken to him? I mean about something other than class or science? Jokes, conversations on social occasions? Birthdays, celebrating holidays?"
"I—he is Vulcan. He does not enjoy what we might call personal conversations. We have rarely had them."
"Jesus, you even sound like him," the Captain was silent then for a long minute. So long McCoy began to shift next to her.
"Well, Jim? Are you going to switch her?"
"No. I think this may be good for them," even as he spoke it was clear the Captain was warming further to his idea, even as McCoy's scowl deepened with each word, "It will give Chapel a chance to get to know our first officer. And Chapel," He turned to her, again that direct blue gaze. "It is a myth that Vulcan's do not wish to have personal conversations. Just find the right way to ask them," he clapped her on the shoulder. "You'll be able to do it."
The male and female pairs on Sycuria wore clothes in matching colors. She and Spock were in blue. McCoy and Tamara were in green, the Captain and Marcus in red, Sulu and Uhura in yellow. A veritable rainbow of a delegation.
The Sycurian's had a dry planet, most of the water underground. Pockets of civilization had sprung up as population centers, reminding Christine of the heating vents at the bottom of Earth's oceans. The cities were powered by some crystals Scotty was salivating to examine. Learning more about the Sycurian power source was one of the goals of this delegation. They were kept mainly in mountains which the Sycurians referred to as religious temples, and outsiders were rarely allowed in. Though they were not the first humans the Sycurians had seen - the planet had rudimentary warp travel, and would trade minerals occasionally with passing ships - they were among the first. Their arrival was treated as a major event and families had lined the streets to watch them.
The Sycurian's themselves were as strange as any life forms they had yet encountered. They seemed to flicker around the edges. They said they were able to form themselves into the shapes they preferred. Some were obviously better at this skill then other, and they pair that greeted them were shimmering beautifully.
The introduced themselves as Sy'rin and Sycur'alla. They were the bonded pair in charge here at the settlement, and wore rainbow shifts over pale skin. They looked almost watery, a trait shared by all Sycurian, no matter what shape they adopted. Strange for a desert planet. They escorted the delegation to a twisting structure in the center of the city, across from the temple mountain. It looked like coral growing from the seabed, reinforcing the odd sense of simultaneously being in a desert and underwater.
The walls of the structure were laid with shimmering murals, all bonded pairs in various colors, and many images of temple mountains. In the murals the mountains shown bright like stars, and the red sands were dotted with yellow and green vegetation, and even some visible bodies of water.
She said as much to Spock as they sat at a low table for dinner. Marcus sat next to her, and the Captain beside her. Across from them were Tamara and McCoy, looking glum. She might have said at least they would get the chance to talk, but Sycurians took the seat beside Tamara and McCoy, and they were both soon engaged in conversation. Somewhere down the table Sulu was sitting beside a towering Sycurian female and already laughing about something.
Though she would not show it, Tamara would have to be jealous of Marcus. Since the battle with Kahn she had clearly been preferred. She was often chosen as well for missions like this, where the Captain thought it expedient to partner himself with a woman for the sake of negotiations. Christine had never seen anything between Marcus and the Captain besides a strong friendship, but that did not stop the speculation. But when she had once spoken with Marcus about it she had just laughed and shook her head. Not my type.
"Where do you think that light come from?" Marcus asked, motioning to the gentling glowing wall. It was very faint, but there was definitely a subtle light, other than the suns from above.
"Many stones will carry light properties. I would have to examine them more closely before venturing to speculate."
Marcus's lips quirked into the smile. She leaned in, whispering confidentially and glancing at Spock. "You do sound like him."
The talk was delicate. There had been a group from the federation there before them, but they had been unsuccessful, it seemed. And then they had disappeared. It leant the whole mission a rather mysterious air. The meal was indeed, five hours. The Captain was mostly taken with taken to various Sycurians. Once he looked down at them and raised a glass, then spent the next fifteen minutes explaining the significance glass-raising, toasting, and other drink-based Earth customs to the Sycurians. After that they probably had a new toast every fifteen minutes.
Christine did speak with Spock and it was wonderful. She enjoyed their quiet conversation, even if she did think Spock was watching the Captain, and McCoy was watching her. It was still wonderful to speak to Spock for half an hour about Vulcan herbology, and to hear his theories as to the properties of the foods they were consuming. It was not until dessert, a gelatinous product that glowed a powder purple, that she suspected something was wrong. With Spock.
At first it was a slight press of feeling, an annoyance at Marcus and a sadness and a sharpened observation that made everything more clear. Later she realized those impressions had, in fact, been Spock's mental shields breaking down as the narcotics in his foods somehow broke down his mental barriers.
"Are you, alright?" She asked, and then the Captain's voice shouting and then Spock had slumped and fallen to the floor, and the table was in pandemonium.
She knelt down, scanning for signs, and the Captain was beside her,
"What the hell happened?"
"He is fine, physically."
But there was something very wrong, and when she touched his skin she felt it—a rush that should not have been possible. It was a falling and a pulling and sudden pain, all in her head. The first wave nearly made her black out.
The abrupt silencing of a million voices, cut off at once.
The skin cooling from a mother's lost embrace.
The bright fire of a second mind, that he must stop himself from reaching as it was fragile fluid fire that shone like the combined light of a billion candles but would turn to smoke with the briefest wind and these would be like a hurricane—
With the thoughts came images, memories, of thoughts and sensations and she would almost say feelings except here in Spock's mind that human word was not right.
She had known, of course, that the command team faced dangers. Knew better than most the injuries they sustained, the blood and breaks of bones and the time when the Captain had actually, honestly died. But she had not known the sheer number of close calls, the number of times the Captain had saved Spock's life, the number of times they had relied on each other and the absolute trust that had spawned, there, together with everything and despite everything and now shown in Spock's mind like a fire.
Don't touch it. Don't hurt it, it will hurt you—
The contracting impulses pushed through her, and it was confusing and infuriating and thrilling and these were the feelings Spock held for the Captain and they were golden. It was aithlu nash-veh esthuhl and this Vulcan she knew among many others and it was a swirl of thought and pain, a pain that pinched and stabbed every time the Captain unthinkingly touched his skin, every time he sat too close and smiled too wide and treated other people the exact same way like the casual touches and smiles meant nothing at all to him when they meant everything in the universe—
Does he know? Has he seen this? She thought in what she tried as her strongest, more forceful but felt like a drop in a vast ocean of thought and time here and she was amazed again at the sheer scale. Has he seen you?
He can't know. The voice was not directed at her was a general ever-present imperative that kept all this shimmering golden light beneath the surface of a cool calm exterior and it hurt but it was a pain he would have to bear, to carry. Because a human male, especially a force as white hot as KirkCaptainJimfriend could never really find fulfillment bonded to a half-breed Vulcan and he was so certain he was right that she almost felt it as the truth. That the Captain would not, could not lay claim to this connection, that he would be better, happier not to know the burning fire of such an intensely focused mind.
Almost.
But there was something else there was well, memories of a white-hot fire and scents and sensations and sounds, and her body heated with the flashes of something that Spock fought to keep from her, and the shields slammed back into place just as she heard the moan and felt the tight pull of muscles around anatomy she did not possess. She was expelled from that powerful mind, ejected with an echoing, deeply treasured mine.
It was a moment, but in that moment she reached for the Captain's wrist, stopping him from pressing cool fingers to Spock's cheeks, from seeing everything that she had must been told, clearing told he must not see and it was half with Spock's voice she said,
"Don't, touch right now," and when he jerked defiantly she added, "It will hurt him if you touch him. He will be alright if you let me treat him."
The Captain's pulse was rapid beneath her fingers, and he looked angry, though the anger she knew would be properly channeled away from her, and she was right and he was flowing to his feet and shouting something at Uhura, then exchanging rapid words with one of their hosts, and McCoy replaced him at her side.
"What's wrong with him?"
"Something in the food reacted with the neutrons in his brain. His mental shields have been lowered. He seems to have shut himself down so that he does not have to feel everything, all at once. I have isolated the toxins, I should be able clear them from his blood."
"Good work, Chapel," he said, clapping a warm hand on her shoulder, causing a buzz from the Sycurian's around them, and McCoy removed his hand quickly.
"Thank you sir,"
"I have said, you don't have to call me sir. Makes me feel like your father."
"You are barely four years older than me."
"I know that. But sometimes it doesn't feel that way."
Spock was responding to her treatment, and she looked down at her patient. She could feel the swirl of emotions pull away from her, like a receding tide.
When Spock's eyes opened and saw her and realized what had happened she said, "Don't worry. I won't tell him."
Spock's eyes widened. His skin beneath her hand was too warm, his cheeks too green. He could not respond.
She did not know how long this connection between them about last, but it last past their negotiations on the planet, past Spock's treatments and then for days, then weeks on the ship. It was a slight connection, just the faintest touch of dual awareness. But she remembered the brightness of what she had seen, and she remembered its object. She became strangely aware of the Captain. She became alert to his presence, when he entered a room. His absence, when he failed to appear. It was a faint echo of the light she had seen in Spock's mind, and now when she saw Spock watching their Captain she wondered that people could not see the brightness shinning from his eyes.
She wondered that the Captain could not see it. Though then again, there was something there. She herself had seen them kiss, twice. And there must have been other opportunities, and there, when she allowed herself to remember, was the feeling of that place that Spock had closed to her, slamming like a gate and leaving her gasping.
The next week the away team beamed down to a planet called Crytel Vega. It had some mineral stores Scotty wanted to investigate. When the team returned, three hours late, Christine was waiting with McCoy in the transporter room. The party that returned looked dazed though mostly devoid of serious injuries, though the Captain's shirt has been ripped and there were scratches along his skin. Many uniforms were covered with the pieces of dried purple plant life, and there was a definite golden sheen to their skins.
"What happened down there, Jim?" McCoy asked, stepping forward.
The Captain dropped the box he was carrying onto the floor of the transporter room."We got what Scotty was looking for. Just took us a bit more time."
"You run into any trouble?"
"No real trouble, no," the Captain said. Though Christine noted the bond between herself and Spock felt taunt, straining, though the emotions around it were all calm control. She had grown used to Spock blocking the bond, but now she could feel him blocking it.
"So you just decided to take a few hours leave without telling anybody?"
"Sorry, mom, I should have called," the Captain said. He kicked a foot against the box he had dropped, as though punishing it for being the cause of his tardiness.
"We were really worried you know. We were about to send a search party," Christine said. The Captain blanched and let out a sigh, running fingers through his hair. She could see the entire right side of his shirt was ripped, and he winced as he raised his arm. It looked like he had fallen, and probably had a bruise.
"There were problems with communication. We lost track of time."
"You lost track of time?" McCoy sounded as skeptical as she felt.
"I know it was unusual and we did not mean to cause anyone to worry," the Captain glanced at Spock, who had been watching the entire exchange without speaking. "It won't happen again."
Christine caught the stricken look on Spock's face, and wondered for the first time whether the delay might have somehow been his fault. But no. Spock would never claim to have "lost track of time." This whole incident reeked of the Captain's carelessness. It was just one of the times when Spock had been unable to modulate the Captain's tendency to ignore things like schedules and protocols. He must be feeling bad about it.
McCoy stepped forward, running a regenerator over the Captain's cuts while muttering about crazy Captain's forgetting how to read clocks. It fell to Christine to treat Spock's wounds. He eyed her cautiously as she approached.
"Are you injured?"
"No."
"I would like to take a look. The Captain looks a little beat up, you probably did not escape unscathed."
Spock's face flickered for a moment with something that might have almost been an emotion, and Christine stilled. Even that much was unusual. Something had happened on that planet, and whatever it was the two of them did not want to share.
"You both outrank us," Christine said, running the regenerator over Spock's skin. "So you don't need to tell us what happened. But I hope you put a full account in your report."
"My report," Spock said the word as though he was sick. She scanned for microbes, but found none. It must have just been fatigue. "I am always through in my reports, Lieutenant."
She smiled, though she was sad. It was the same sense of ennui that had swept her occasionally at school, when she had spent all day on a project and hardly advanced a page, failed to remember a birthday or a holiday or had trouble remembering why she left home in the first place when a parent or grandparent or family member was ill. She should be happy right now with the return of Spock and the Captain. But she could not shake the sadness.
She realized it was coming through the thin bond with Spock.
It failed to dissipate over the next days, even growing. Outwardly Spock looked the same as ever, performed his duties to perfection. But afterwards he would retreat to his room.
"Do the Captain and Spock play chess any longer?"
McCoy shrugged. "I don't think so. I haven't seen them recently."
"I think Spock is depressed," Christine said. McCoy snorted.
"How can you tell?"
Maybe it wasn't just Spock, because a week later the Captain scheduled them R&R. The whole ship was excited. The Captain had picked a planet with an exemplary reputation for relaxation and entertainment.
"They have a display of plants from all over the quadrant," McCoy said, flipping through the pad. She images of large fluffy yellow leaves and spiky flowers flow past. They did look interesting. "You'll go with me?"
Christine nodded. It was on the planet that she realized they were not going to be alone.
For this trip to the planet the Captain had left behind the command golds and wore a plan black T-shirt, with grey pants. It looked good on him, and he seemed lighter somehow. It made him resemble more than usual McCoy's roommate from the Academy.
Alice and some of the newer ensigns were looking at her jealously, and it was funny really because neither she nor McCoy was overly eager for the Captain's presence at the moment. Since forming the thin bond with Spock, being too close to the Captain was, confusing. She found she was more aware than ever of the way his muscles moved beneath his uniform, the way his hair rolled in waves across his skull, a fascinating juxtaposition of fragility and strength . . .
She shook her head, looked around for Spock. Sure enough there he was, standing by a large yellow plant it great, hand-shaped leaves. They were at the entrance to the plant display.
The Captain was speaking. "Thought I could spend some time with you, how about it?"
He flashed one of those smiles, and Christine's pulse actually increased. She had never had this problem around the Captain before, and was annoyed to have it now, enough that she must have frowned at the Captain's suggestion.
"What, Chapel? You would prefer to be alone with Bones?"
McCoy just sighed, as the Captain turned, noting Spock by the plant. "Spock, you'd like this, right? Looking at these plants and stuff? Join us, I'd rather not be the third wheel."
Spock walked over carefully. "I would not have expected you to want to see local plant life."
"What? I like plants."
"You rarely spend time on the botanical deck of the ship."
"Sure, but that's because I'm busy on the ship. This is vacation, and I want to spend time with my friends." Alice was close enough to hear this and was now glaring daggers at Christine. "You know I have that plant you gave me in my room."
Christine tried to imagine Spock presenting the Captain with a plant, and failed.
Spock's lip quirked. "Based on my observations, it would have an 88.3 percent chance of perishing if left solely to your care. I believe it has only survived this long because I visit regularly."
"It's not my fault you gave me a difficult plant."
"It is not a particularly difficult variety."
"Well these plants will hardly be in any danger from me just looking at them, so shall we go?"
They were not the only ones in the display. The world was popular, and Christine saw many patrons of different species, most she had seen but some which were unfamiliar. She saw a group of Sycurian's behind a gnarled tree. There were Orions and a couple of Klingons, and many more she did not recognize.
They looked at the plant life. McCoy kept up a steady stream of commentary, joined with varying levels of enthusiasm by the Captain and occasionally Spock would speak as well. It was interesting observing the Captain and Spock up close—there was definitely a tension, and they would not infrequently brush together, and one of the other would jolt back with unnecessary abruptness. It was like they were two magnets orbiting each other, drawn together but constantly being pulled apart.
And she could feel it. Being close to Spock increased whatever this connection between them was, and she could feel a steady pressure of confusion and sadness. She knew she was just getting a small fragment of what Spock was dealing with in his mind. She remembered the strength of it, the brightness, and wondered anew at the Vulcan calm. It had been more than a crush. More than oneness, or need, or desire. It had been an almost feral need for possession. She had read about the old rituals back on Vulcan, how things had been before Sarek's reforms—could imagine when Vulcans had been ruled by such passions things must have been not only emotional, but dangerous. Because she could feel Spock's resentment even when she walked to close to the Captain. That he wanted to reach out, to separate them. Which was ridiculous, but strong enough that she kept instead close to McCoy.
A group of the newer crew members had also decided to visit the plant displays. It was a group of mostly women, though a few men were in the crowd as well. Christine figured they had hoped to get to know the Captain during their shore leave. She saw Tamara in the crowd. When their groups met—core members of the command team, plus her, meeting this group of ensigns—it was Tamara who stepped forward to speak with them.
"A group of us will be going downtown later, Captain," Tamara said boldly. "We were hoping you might join us. I heard you enjoyed going to The Narwhal back in San Francisco. We have asked around for a similar venue."
The Captain smiled. Christine recognized some of the ensigns in the crowd as those she had spoken to about crushes on the Captain—not to have them, that their lives on the Enterprise would be easier if they could expunge such emotions.
"Will they have white Russians?" the Captain asked.
"I asked them to get some ready."
"Well how could I refuse? I am sure we would love to too—" Christine noticed the slight falter. It was Spock he looked at, and she realized he had assumed Spock would come along. "Wouldn't we?"
"You should go out, Captain. You are in need of relaxation, and activities which have proven pleasurable in the past are the logical place to turn. Ensign Tamara's suggestion is a good one."
"You will come too?"
"I never visited the Narwhal during my time at Starfleet Academy. Such a visit would not have the same effect on me."
"Well, I'm not going if you are not going."
"That is hardly logical."
They were doing this. This argument was happening, in front of the ensigns. Christine wondered that they could not realize what they were watching—something dangerously close to a lover's quarrel. But she realized she was seeing it from a certain angle. From another angle, it might look like the Captain was just encouraging his first officer to take some time away from the ship.
"You can't seriously be suggesting you are not coming with me?"
"I am content to return to the ship."
"You are not returning to the ship, by yourself, when I planned this whole thing—look, Spock just come out with us."
"I have no wish to go out, Captain. I will not be returning by myself. I shall return with Nurse Chapel. I suspect she too has no wish to go out, from what I observed of her preferences in the past."
The Captain shot her a look. It was a strange mix of feeling she got. One, the part of her that was excited that Spock knew enough of her preferences to know she would much prefer not to go clubbing. The other the knowledge the Captain knew of her feelings for Spock. And his lack of knowledge that she knew anything about the less than platonic relationship between himself and his first officer, and then there was Spock himself who though their mind connection was weak could not have failed to pick up she felt more than friendly admiration for him and really things were much too complicated.
"Yes, Captain. I think I would like to return to the ship."
The group behind him was stirring. Used to waiting for their Captain's orders they were silent, but it was clear they wanted to get going. And that while they were keen on having their Captain join them, and receptive to having Spock join them—Spock in a club? Even she was a bit curious to see how he would handle it, though it would probably involve a lot of standing around, avoiding people and not talking.
"Well, that's fine then," the Captain did not quite snap, but his tone had become more abrupt. "If you change your mind, you know where we will be. I will see you when I get back."
Spock looked calm, sounded calm. But there was a vibration coming through their bond, like a bass string plucked, thrumming deeper every moment. There were emotions rippling through the vibration, resentment and irritation oscillating back and forth, completely invisible on the surface but humming through her.
In her opinion, he needed to get away from the Captain, or this obsession would simply grow. He was not yet what she would have defined as emotionally compromised, but that she could feel even through the tenuous tremor linking their minds the strength of that allure was a bad sign. To be living in that mind would be impossible. She wondered if Spock was aware of the persistence of their tenuous connection. Somewhere next to a huge orange flower plant he motioned she should stop.
"I do not know if you are aware. On the Sycurian planet, when my neurology was affected by the foods. I believe we formed a link, a link which has continued in a very weak form during our time on the Enterprise."
"I was aware, yes."
"I have been blocking my mind from you. And I have refrained from entering yours, out of respect for your privacy. But I think it would be wise to sever the bond manually at the earliest opportunity. I had expected the bond to fade over time. But something seems to be keeping it in place. It is not my intention to pry into your private affairs, but I believe you may be allowing your regard for me to strengthen the bond. Inadvertently."
His tone was neutral, but Christine took a breath. Keeping it in place. Yes, that might have been what she was doing. It was unintentional, but by focusing on it so constantly she might very well have reinforced its strength.
"Maybe I'm doing something," Christine paused. He was standing there, so close, and the flicker of that intense love, passion, need echoed in her head, tripping like static electricity through the air between them. Was he feeling that even now? Repressing that, even now? "Maybe I'm worried about you."
Spock did not say anything for some time. Then, finally, "There is no need to be worried about me. But I understand you might desire to discuss what you experienced during the first moments of our accidental connection. I am willing."
If it was anyone else, she would have thought this was a request for help or support. That Spock wanted to talk. But that was not what this was. Not solely. She knew he would have preferred to keep this part of himself private. But, it might do him good to talk.
"You are in love with the Captain?" Christine asked.
This was enough to provoke a slight physical reaction—a shifted of his feet and rearrangement of his hands.
"No. Love is a human expression."
It was an evasion. She might have pointed out he was half human. That she had seen inside his head. That he had been giving the Captain moon eyes all afternoon. She did not need him to say it, because she had seen it. She had felt it.
She had had conversations dissuading attachment to the Captain before, with Alice, with other women on the ship. They had come with their crushes and asked Christine to talk them out of it. He was too busy, too famous, too selfish, or too devoted to ship and career. There was no future. Sure, maybe for a one night stand, but it was not worth it and he did not engage in such things with the crew anyway (that was something she had noticed and appreciated). But this was different.
So completely, disturbingly, different.
Because Spock was not one of the smitten ensigns or one of the dozens of new recruits that had flooded the ship after the fight with Kahn. There was the fact he was a man, and if he was anyone else she would have pointed out that the Captain was famous, infamous, for his womanizing. But somehow that didn't matter. Because the thing was, Spock knew the Captain already. They relied on each other. They were the command team of the ship. Whatever the origins of their dynamic—and she was still angry at the Captain for his usurpation of Spock back at the very beginning—they had come to form a unit. She suspected it was the tightest friendship either of them had ever known. And of course it was not just a friendship, and that grey zone that they were inhabiting was the cause of this buzzing vibration in her bond with Spock. They had kissed, twice that she knew about, and probably more.
So instead of her usual litany of dissuasive phrases, she said, "How can you feel this way? You are so different -" You are too good for him, she might have said, though knew such words would not be helpful. Christine avoided the confusing feelings this all evoked. She went for one of the facts "You should be Captain of the Enterprise."
"Should is a normative term that has no meaning in this situation. I am content in my current position."
"But you were Captain until he took it from you. You can't have just forgotten about that."
"You are speaking of events that happened long in the past. The situation then was different, as were the positions of the parties involved. I have long sense ceased to think about that time and I advise that you do the same."
"He took your command, and with that he took a bit of your reputation. You used to be the best young professor at Starfleet Academy, and now you are just his second officer."
"I did not know you had such an aversion to the Captain. I had thought he was popular with the crew."
"It is not that I have an aversion to him. He is, a good guy, and has done well as a Captain. But he is not good for you. He has taken the future from you. He has taken the ship that should have been yours. By staying with him, you are giving up your own command, giving up a career, a position. You are slowing yourself down by tying yourself to him, and I don't understand why you would."
These were the facts of it. The facts of Spock's situation, and it was impossible to argue with the logic of facts. He would be given command of any of the new ships in the fleet, if he just asked. That was a fact.
"I have considered my future, though you seem to think I have not these considerations often enter my thoughts. I have considered the various avenues my life could take. I have been contacted numerous times by Starfleet command about resuming teaching, or being given command of one of the new ships. I have refused them all. There is no path that I prefer to the route by his side. I will stay by him. Vulcans you understand are not accustomed to speaking on subjects such as this, but I will add a few words to what you have seen in my mind. A life without him is something I will not accept. If he and I are both alive in this universe, I will find him and I will stay by him."
It was just so damned romantic. But, was it? Life long friends, or lovers? She knew which one Spock wanted. She had seen it, felt it. She had seen them kiss, seen a flash of something else too when her mind had touched Spock's. Sex. Or contact. Skin on skin and intense emotion, purple leaves and heavy air. But she also knew the Captain's reputation - womanizer - knew also it had been well deserved. She had never heard of him partnering with men. She remembered also Uhura's words, Nor do I want to see him pining for something he cannot have.
"Can he give you what you want from him?"
"I know the type of attachment I have formed is not optimal, and does not fit the Captain's typical pattern," Spock's eyes flickered for a moment, enough that Christine, watching him carefully in the colorful lights coming through plant leaves, saw the reaction clearly. "I have been working on suppressing these emotions and hope soon to be successful."
"You shouldn't need to suppress anything."
"You know that is incorrect. Consider rephrasing."
"What I mean is," Christine took a breath. "How you feel about him. You won't be able to stay by him without facing those feelings. You will need to resolve it with him."
"Sometimes it is necessary to suppress certain facets of a relationship when two people are not—I believe humans would say—on the same page. I believe you understand that."
He was talking about how she felt about him. He had seen it. The same way she had seen the bright light connecting him to the Captain. Because there was no way such a connection was a one-way street. Of course Spock would have a front row seat to her mind, probably had even the darkest corners clearly illuminated. She blushed but kept speaking.
"But it is not the same. You can't go back—I mean you two have already, had sex."
Spock's dark eyes turned to coals. "I have no need to discuss the physical aspects of our relationship. The Captain has made clear that I am not to expect such incidents to become a lasting feature in our interactions. I will respect his wishes."
That was unhealthy. If such incidents occurred with such regularity that Spock was referring to them in the plural—and so far after each one, the Captain had what, withdrawn? Made clear it was the last time? That he didn't want a physical relationship? Though she felt she had a window into this thing between her commanding officers, there was a gaping hole in her knowledge where the Captain was concerned. She had no idea of his feelings. Other than that he was probably taking the whole thing much less seriously than Spock. He must be. The brightness in Spock's mind, the ache—Spock's mind was full of the Captain, an ever present force that seemed entwined with every thought, almost as though—
"Are you bonded with him? Not like, us, but as a pair bond? I studied them, for my thesis. Their healing properties, for one, are known but not well understood."
"I have not asked him to bond with me."
"But you want to?"
"If you have studied the pair bonds, then you know their significance. If you are asking me if I want to engage in such a relationship with the Captain, I will merely remind you my wants are not the only factor in this equation. I must respect the Captain's wishes in this, and he had made himself plain. I will not pressure him with feelings he does not share."
"You don't want him to feel burdened by you. Obligated to you. People say love should be selfless. But love can be a burden to the other person. Expectations and responsibilities. Just because you love them doesn't mean they owe you anything."
"Yes."
"You should go to the bar with him. He wanted you to go. So you should go with him."
"I have no interest in such establishments."
"But you are interested in him. He will be happy to have you there. I will go with you, and we can be silent and morose together if you like."
"I am not morose."
They went to the bar. It was both like and unalike the establishments at home—there was an overlap in stock, but the clientele was certainly different, and the entire space was lit by some florescent plant-life that seemed engineered to cast a strange pinkish light over the surroundings.
"Spock!"
The Captain might have already had a white Russian or two. He came over with a huge grin—leaving Tamara, who he had been talking too near the dance floor—and actually gave Spock a hug. It was strange enough that those of the crew nearby looked at them, though Christine was the only one who saw the Spock's hand follow the Captain as he pulled back, as though seeking to prolong the contact.
"I guess it wouldn't do any good to ask you to dance, but maybe you'll, like, sway with me for a while? We can talk about what in the world is going on with these plants," the pink light had changed now to a purple, and Christine realized they were going to be cycling through colors. "I think it must be something in the carotenoids, shifting through the color spectrum by jumping between valances . . ."
This is something the Captain actually seemed keen on discussing, and Christine found herself alone at the bar, until Tamara came to join her.
"You convinced Spock to come. I did not think it could be done."
"He just needed the right form of inducement."
"The Captain talks a lot about him. I don't think he notices, but he is always saying he'll ask Spock about things. Like the plants here, he talked about them for about five minutes before concluding he would have to get Spock's opinion."
"They make a good command team."
"It is a good sign for both of them. Close friendships with male friends means a capacity for partnership—it makes for a better prospective mate. My mother always told me it was a good sign."
"You are ambitious," Christine said.
"No reason to aim low. I would never have gotten this post on the Enterprise if I were not ambitious. You are close to both of them, I think?"
"I am not close with the Captain."
"But you have been on the ship from the beginning. Would you tell me, has the Captain ever shown any serious, romantic designs on anyone?"
"Not serious, no. He does not have time for it. I do not think he is a good prospect for anyone in the crew at the moment."
"Yes you have a reputation for giving that advice. Some wonder if you are looking to save him for yourself."
It was so ridiculous Christine allowed herself a soft laugh. "I have no interest of that kind in the Captain."
"I think that is true," Tamara said, turning back to the dance floor. "I think you are interested in Spock. Which would seem a possibility, now he has broken up with Uhura. Do you think it is a possibility?"
"I think it better not to spend too much mental energy on speculations about romantic attachments with commanding officers."
It sounded like a rebuke, and it was.
"Do you know if Spock is interested in someone else?"
Tamara was watching Spock and the Captain. The Captain had leaned in and was speaking low in Spock's ear. One of the Captain's hands was curled into Spock's upper arm, and they were standing very close. The noise in the club was almost enough to justify the proximity, but not quite. They were clearly very comfortable with each other, physically. Christine didn't think she had ever seen even Uhura standing so intimately with Spock in public. It didn't need to be necessarily sexual, but for Christine, knowing what she did, they might as well have been making out.
"I cannot speak as to Spock's situation. I believe he is unattached at the moment."
Then the two of them left the dance, actually, left the room. They disappeared beyond some pillars. Christine knew it was wrong. But she followed. She followed them down a hall. Watched them slide behind a curtain. Then slid behind after them.
It was a dim lit room. Various soft surfaces lined the walls, and the floor was covered in something purple and fuzzy.
And the Captain and Spock were standing in the middle of it. There was a split second where the distance was maintained.
The Captain's eyes went wide when he saw her, and he was pushing Spock away. Spock was only a split second away in realizing her presence. He left before she could speak with him, and she started to move after him but before she could the Captain's eyes were on her.
"What did you see?"
"Can't you see what you are doing to him?" She hissed at him. "Sort yourself out, Captain. Decide what you can give him and consider being consistent."
Christine went back into the main room, but there was no sign of Spock. The crowd rolled on but she could catch not a glimmer of him.
"Has anyone seen Spock?" A dozen pairs of eyes stared back at the Captain, and everyone was silent. Sulu and Chekhov pointed in different directions. "Well, crap."
