In Your Bed

By Djinn

Part 2 of 2

In your bed, I feel betrayed. "We built this crew together." Well, the parts Starfleet Command didn't dictate. "And you bring her on board."

Ilia. Your great love. A fucking Deltan.

"Christine, calm down. It wasn't my doing. Delautro elected not to re-up—he has a new baby and he decided at the last minute he didn't want to miss her first years."

"So they send us her?" I can hear the bitterness in my tone and wince. "At least her oath of celibacy is on record." I looked that up the minute I heard she was coming aboard.

You laugh in a way I can't quite read. "Those oaths are bullshit. Deltans do without sex just about as well as we do without water."

I stare at you. I'm naked in bed with you, your lover for months now, and you say this? "If you're going to end this, just do it. Don't use me until she gets here."

Your smile is your normal, sweetly lustful one. You push me to my back and kiss down my body until...oh, sweet Jesus you're good at this.

"Will, please."

"She was angry when I left her. She may not want me." You reach up and take my hand, squeezing it gently. "And even if she does, Deltans are into groups, Christine. No one's going anywhere."

"So you want us both?"

You give up what you're doing and move back so we can look each other in the eyes. "Maybe. If she wants me still. She may not—I left her, after all. Ran from the intimacy." You make a face because this isn't how the story went when you told it to me the first time. "Ironic, since now I can envision having her and you, too."

"You're not even going to ask me if I want to be part of a group?" It's not the first time you've gone around me—you're turning out to be more ambitious than I thought, and your "aw shucks" manner hides a man willing to do just about anything to get what you want—but each time seems like a new blister being torn open. You're starting to remind me of Roger. "Will, this isn't what I signed up for."

You sigh and say, "Let's just see what happens, okay?"

I already know I've lost you, even if I stay with you and this goddamn, no doubt very sexy, Deltan. I'm angry and hurt and wishing I'd never become your CMO or your lover.

But I murmur, "Okay." Because I'm an idiot and I love you.

And maybe if you think this can work, it can.

##

In your bed, I feel wary. You say you want me, that V'ger made you more open to me. But I was in sickbay. I witnessed you finally getting your emotions back. The way you were with Jim.

This simple feeling.

I have a feeling I'm an idiot for being here. I pride myself on being driven and focused and getting things done and yet I throw everything that matters aside when you express the least amount of interest.

I'm beyond pathetic at this point.

But the sex...oh, God, it's so good. If I close my eyes, I can pretend that you love me. That you see me and not Jim or one of the countless women who made you forget him for a moment when I couldn't. I could think that, but nothing is going to erase the last time, when you called out Zarabeth's name instead of mine. Or the time before that, when you called out Jim's.

"Are you thinking of him?" you ask, your tone neutral.

"Why would I be?" Shit, am I broadcasting?

"Your eyes are closed. I know you were involved with him, and now he is gone."

Oh. Crap. We're talking about Will.

What are the odds a woman can lose a man she loves to a machine twice? Because I think I'm beating them.

"I loved him." I try to use the words as a weapon. Both to hurt you and to get you off the track of Jim. Jim who hugged me and told me he was sorry Will was gone, and actually sounded like he meant it.

Why the fuck can't I love Jim? Do I have a problem with emotionally available men?

And if so, why? My father was a good guy. I'm not seeking to replace him. Or find a better replica of him. I loved him. I cried when he died, but the normal amount.

Why do I find cold men so appealing? Roger wasn't always warm. And you, well, you want cold? Find a Vulcan who doesn't love you to sleep with. It'll freeze your heart right in pieces.

"So you were thinking of him?" you ask again.

"Shouldn't you know who I'm thinking of?"

"The meld with V'ger—it left my psi abilities overwhelmed. The amount of extraneous noise is extreme."

"So you can't read me?"

"If we were to meld, then of course I would be able to. But by touch alone, I'm sensing at the most basic level only."

I nod, exhausted suddenly, overwhelmed by the choices that have been made on top of mine. I should be CMO for Will. We should be travelling the stars together—maybe worrying about how to fit a Deltan into the bed. Instead I'm back exactly where I started except I'm a doctor instead of a nurse and I'm down one more lover.

"I'm leaving the ship," I say before I can call the words back.

"I see."

"I'm leaving you." I say it so you get it—I don't want this to be unclear because you can't read me well enough to understand.

"I see," you say again and this time you sound hurt.

I sit up and reach for my uniform.

"You could stay the night," you say, and I turn and stare at you.

"Why in God's name would I want to do that?"

You have no answer. The hurt expression on your face grows. I dress and flee.

##

In your bed, I feel good. I stretch and practically purr as you kiss your way up my stomach.

"This is not how I envisioned our lives working out when I recommended you to Decker."

"No kidding." Being with you feels right, on my last night on your ship before I head back to Starfleet Medical to weigh assignments.

"You were with Will?" You're fishing—I know you well enough—and if Spock didn't know the truth, I'd lie to you. But he does know and I don't feel like being caught in the lie sometime in the future, so I nod.

Then I meet your eyes. "Ilia was Will's Spock."

The hit registers. That even if I'm in bed with you, even if we've given each other many lovely orgasms, you're not my great love.

It's cruel. But I'm feeling that way after Will's defection, after Spock's trial run.

Then I immediately feel bad because none of this is your fault. Only, it sort of is. Would Will have been able to beat V'ger on his own? I've run the options and don't see a happy ending for humanity or any other species if you hadn't taken command. So you didn't set out to make me unhappy, other than by demoting me.

I shake it off and murmur, "I'm sorry. That wasn't nice."

"It's all right. We're honest with each other, right? We don't pretend this is more than what it is."

"Right." I meet your eyes, and I see the hurt in them, and I wonder if there's a similar pain in mine.

I'd probably be a happier woman if I could just fall in love with you and call it a day. You might be a happier man if you could have me. But I know your policy about crew and romance.

"It could have been great," you murmur as you push the covers off and reach for your uniform.

I'm not sure if you're talking about us or the future that might have been with Will in command and me as his CMO. Your face gives nothing away.

"We could go a bit longer—I could stay the night," I say and as the words come out, I hear Spock saying them to me.

"No thanks." You smile gently as if to take the sting out but I nod, understanding.

And I'm sorry. So very sorry.

##

In your bed, I feel less alone. We're cuddling, not having sex. We haven't had sex since that one time. It never hurt our friendship. But the truth might.

But if we can't have truth what kind of friendship is it?

"I slept with the captain." There, it's out, and I wait for you to react, to push me out of your bed, to yell at me. "Did you hear me?"

"I did." You turn to face me. Your expression is untroubled. "I gave up on him a long time ago."

This isn't what I expected. "Okay."

"I wish you could give up on Spock. You'd be a happier person." You lean in and kiss my cheek. "Thank you for finally telling me."

"You knew?"

You nod, but you don't tell me how you knew, and I'm so relieved we're not fighting that I don't want to pursue this.

"Was he good?" you ask as you slip to your back and stare at the ceiling. You've painted it with stars that glow and that surprises me.

Only maybe it was this way when you got it. Maybe you're not longing for space but some other renter was.

"Very good." I should be honest. You would be with me if you were with Spock. Only you wouldn't sleep with Spock.

Or would you? Is that why you're so calm? "Did you ever...with Spock?"

You slap my arm without looking at me. "You're an idiot," is all you say.

My arm stings. Your slap was harder than I expected.

Maybe you are a little bit mad.

##

In your bed, I feel powerful, the way I used to when Roger and I just started and I felt like I was Queen of the Lab.

"You should come to ops. I think you would like it. And admit it, you're bored with medicine."

You're a force of nature. Moving quickly. Declarative statements rule your vocabulary. We met at a party Jim and Antonia threw.

He's happy. She's beautiful and loving and everything he deserves. I was surprised to be invited, but she made me welcome so I don't think he ever told her about us.

And he introduced me to you. "Chris, meet Cartwright."

"Matthew, to my friends," you said with a twinkle in your eyes.

We've been together since.

You know about Spock. I know about your ex-wife who left you out of the blue, nursing a broken heart and a love that still beats strong.

We're under no illusions this is love. But it is compatibility in so many ways. I get you and you get me and this feels...easy.

"But you're in charge of ops. Wouldn't we have to quit doing this?"

You shrug. "How discreet can you be?"

"Pretty damn discreet." Or at least I think so.

"Then I'd say the answer to that is no, we don't have to stop." You lean in. "Or we can. If that makes you feel better? I'd rather have you working for me than in my bed, if you want the truth."

If any other man said that, I'd be crushed. But you have no stronger compliment than for those you think are good to work with. You're stingy with that accolade.

"I think it might be better if we quit." Oh my God, did I just say that? Who am I becoming? I almost laugh.

You nod as if I'm being wise. Then you kiss me. "Might as well enjoy ourselves tonight, then."

I smile, loving how easily you let me off the hook. "Or until I actually get assigned to you."

"Or that."

"I have a friend who would also be good for ops." I owe Jan for so much, not least for sleeping with Jim and not telling her till now.

"If they're anything like you, I'm interested."

##

In your bed, I feel heartbroken and I know you do, too. You clutch me to you and murmur, "He's gone, Chris," even as you thrust harder.

And I hold you tightly and urge you on and whisper back, "I know. I'm so sorry. I know."

He's everything to both of us, and you were there with him when he died. He died so you wouldn't. And now he's gone.

He'll always be gone, and I'll never have him, and maybe you're wondering if you should have, but it doesn't feel that way and you've never chosen him. You had Lori and Antonia and God knows how many other women—and I'm not going to throw stones because I've had God knows how many other men.

But you never had him. Not as far as I know.

Although it's not like you'd tell me. Or he would. But I think I would just know. Like, somehow, I'd find out.

Or Janice would. And she doesn't think you were with him, either.

You bury your head in my neck as you come, and you say my name over and over and it's nice, that you do that, that you make sure that I know I still exist here for you, even in the middle of all this pain.

"How long have you been awake?" It's a doctor's question, and it's been awhile since I've been that, but I care about you. So much.

So much I think if I'd never fallen in love with Spock, I'd be in love with you. I think you know that, too. I think you'd welcome it. And I think it's why you've never pushed me harder for something when we've had plenty of opportunities over the years.

Because you want to come first. I certainly understand that. T-fucking-Pring taught me that nasty lesson.

"Do you want a sedative?" I ask.

"Do you have the counter-agent if I need to get up?"

I kiss you and say that of course I do, and you nod and let me grab it from me drawer in my nightstand.

You make a funny face and ask, "Was that for me or do you have problems sleeping?"

"You work in ops for long and try sleeping after all that death."

Which is a stupid thing to say because you just lost your best friend, and I feel like a bitch, but you nod as if I've said something wise and murmur, "Point taken." Then you guide my hand to your neck and say, "Give me some peace, Chris. Just for a moment."

And I do. I let it hiss into your bloodstream and watch your eyes close, and as you let go, I stroke your cheek and murmur that I won't leave you until you wake up.

And I don't.

##

In your bed, I want to take away your pain. You're ten years old and you're our last patient.

Last as in the last to die, not the last to get well. We developed the vaccine too late for most of the sick. I'm covered now, so I don't have to use the biohazard suit, thank God. I can be here with you, flesh to flesh. My hand on yours, my lips on your fevered forehead.

Usually I do better at staying detached, but you remind me of Jan—blonde hair and big eyes and a forthright way of speaking, even for a child.

I'm lying on top of the covers, reading you a story my mother used to read to me when I was a kid. I've told the other doctors and nurses to clear out.

They need the rest, and I want the room. For us. Just us. We've bonded. If you'd survived, I'd have adopted you. If we couldn't find your family, I mean.

I...I love you. I never really wanted kids until now.

"Christine, stop reading." Your hand is hot on mine. "What happens after we die?"

I hate this question. I don't know the answer, and I'm a terrible liar when it comes to the afterlife or lack thereof. "What did your parents think? Were they religious?"

She nods. "But I don't know if I believe it."

I try to imagine Roger in some heaven, picture Len with Spock's katra in his head. Sometimes the dead do come back to life.

But not this time.

"I think heaven's a beautiful place. It's bright and happy and it's full of people who are nice. There are kittens and puppies and ponies." All the things I wanted when I was a kid.

"Is there candy?"

"All your favorite kinds." I blink back tears and hope you can't see me doing it. "There's music and everything fun that you like to do. And all the people you love." I bite back a sob, and you squeeze my hand.

Your breathing is growing more labored. I can hear that even as I make up lies for you about heaven.

"Thank you for staying with me."

"I love you." I somehow manage to get it out. It's been so long since I've told anyone this. And now it's tearing me apart.

And then you're gone. I scan, just to be sure, and then I curl into you and let myself cry for real.

How long am I supposed to do this? How many people can I watch die before part of me dies too?

I get up and dry my eyes. There are things to be done, documents to be completed. You were a patient, not my child.

I walk out and find the other doctors. One of them pulls me into a quick hug, then lets me go without a word.

Another says, "The Enterprise is on her way."

And I smile. Maybe there is a God.

##

In your bed, I feel comforted. I told you about Sarina, and you held me while I cried.

And now we're curled against each other. We've made love, and it was gentle and sweet, and I wish more than anything that I loved you and only you.

"Do you believe in heaven?" I ask softly enough that you can ignore the question if you want.

"I don't know. Do you?"

I shake my head.

"I want to think that David's in a better place. I don't want to think he only lived that short time and then that was it."

"Reincarnation's appealing. No waste." I frown, thinking, and you smile and stroke the lines that have no doubt appeared between my eyebrows. "Souls are real. Or at least Vulcan souls are. So are human?" No scientific evidence exists, no medical map to the soul.

"It would be nice to think so." Your eyes are closing, and I know you've had a busy week.

I can feel my own eyes closing and cuddle into you. "Did you know? That I needed you?"

"I wish I had," you whisper so gently that I start to cry again.

But only for a moment. This is my life. People die. I go on.

##

In your bed, I feel like I'm losing my best friend. Excelsior awaits and this is our last ops sleepover.

"Don't you dare cry." Your voice is firm. "It's time for me to go. It's probably time for you to go, too."

"I know. But Cartwright's moving up and rumor has it so am I."

You frown. Not because you're not in the know—that's never bothered you. But because you think I'm burned out and leading the show is not going to change that. It's going to make it worse.

Although the travel is less. The feet-on-the-ground aspect will be mostly gone. I actually think it'll be easier, and Matthew has told me it will be. Other than losing team members that I will have sent out.

That part will tear me apart, but I know it going in. Jim's talked to me about that, too. Given me coping mechanisms. Things that work for him.

You turn to look at me and you laugh. "You're thinking of him."

"Which him?"

"The accessible one you're too stupid to go after."

I nod because you're not wrong. Then your look changes and I ask, "What?"

You lean in close and murmur, "Hikaru doesn't have a not-in-the-nest policy—when it comes to me, anyway." Your smile is a beautiful thing.

"You and him?"

You nod, and I wonder where the hell I was when this was happening. I'm the world's shittiest friend.

"Is it good?"

You nod again and your look is wicked. "I'm happy, Christine."

I pull you into a hug, our last for a while. "Then so am I."

##

In your bed, I feel happy. You pull me to you and kiss me in a way you haven't before. Free and joyful.

You came to ops yesterday, a month after Khitomer.

I smiled as you stood in my doorway. "All hail the conquering hero."

Your rolled your eyes the way you do when you're uncomfortable with praise. "Can you come over tonight? I'd like to talk."

"Sure."

I came over and you hustled me to bed. And it's been hours. I rub your neck, under your hair, and you sigh. "I thought you wanted to talk."

"I do. I waited. After Khitomer. After Valeris. I waited for Spock to come to his senses and choose you. But he didn't, did he?"

"Sure didn't."

You pull away so we can see each other clearly. "I'm not the guy who thinks I have to be your first love or your greatest love. I'm older and I'm wiser and I'm fatter."

I laugh because so am I.

"And I want you. To be my love now. Whatever kind. I want to be with you." You take a deep breath. "Have you given up on him?"

I nod.

"I want to make a difference, Chris. I'm retiring soon and I've listened to you say so many times that ops can only do so much. That the same things happen over and over because once the emergency is done, the teams all leave and people go back to doing stupid things or dangerous things. I want to start a foundation. One that can get teams on the ground after ops leaves. Teams that stay and work to make a difference.

"I'm tired of being shot at. Of being put in alien prisons." You grin but it's a bittersweet expression. "I want to have a legacy and I want you to help me."

"Me?"

"You. I know you have a few years left before you retire, but by then I'll be up and running with donors lured by my charm and star status." You laugh, at yourself, never afraid to.

I love that about you. "It's a great idea."

"And we can do it together. Work...and love. What do you say?"

I smile because even if you're older, you're still such a handsome man. "I say yes. I say I love you." It's not untrue. You're not my greatest love, but you are a love of mine.

And you've been there. For so long you've been there.

We've been there for each other.

"Then it's settled. It's going to be great, Chris."

I believe you.

##

In your bed, I feel like a substitute. I imagine in some ways you might feel that way, too.

You came to my office door, while the news vids were running the endless headlines. Captain James T. Kirk dies saving new Enterprise.

You stood at my door, your face no longer a Vulcan mask, misery clear and I opened my arms and said, "I'm so sorry."

And you went into them as I called for privacy.

We went back to your place because I couldn't face Jim's apartment without him there. With him never going to be there.

We didn't make love. I think it felt like a betrayal to both of us to do that to him.

But you're holding me, and your lips on mine are more helpless than passionate. You're trying to find some piece of him in me and I know it.

"Take some time off, Christine. Come to Vulcan." You sound almost human in your urgency.

Any other time, I might have said yes. But not now, not when he's gone and I can't run to him to save me. "I can't."

"You love me."

I won't debate this with you. "And you loved him. And you need to mourn, not move on to me with no time spent alone. Grieve, Spock. And if you really think I'm what you want when you get done, then come find me."

There will be no foundation now. No way to make things better. No lasting Kirk legacy. "I won't be hard to find," I murmur, already feeling the loss of my future, not just my man. "I'll be in ops."

I'll die in ops, or at least I feel that way. One of the real old timers, the lifers, who work one emergency too many and make a last big mistake—or get so hard they might as well have died.

"Stay with me tonight." You sound tentative, and I wonder if you're remembering a time when I wouldn't.

I wrap my arms around you and nestle in. I don't sleep. I don't think you do either.

But it's a comfort even so.

I leave you in the morning. I leave you and face the world as Jim's bereaved girlfriend, the poor thing, the sad woman.

I clean my things out of his apartment—I never kept that much stuff there since my place was so much closer to Command. I only stayed at Jim's on my days off.

Usually he stayed with me.

His smell is still on my pillow. I curl up with it and wonder how long before it disappears the same way he did.

##

In your bed, I feel like a fraud.

You're sweet and lovely. The kind of man women and men look at. You remind me a little of Jim and nothing at all of Spock. You say what you feel like you're being paid by the word.

This is what I wanted once upon a time. To be loved and love in return.

Only that second part...it's not happening and I never expected it to.

You're not Spock or Jim or Will or Roger. Or even Janice. You're just another lover who'll stay for a while until you realize how broken I am.

"You should leave ops," you murmur, and it takes me a minute to process what you've said.

"Why would I do that?" Ops is my touchstone. It's the only thing that's solid. Which is ironic because nothing's ever the same other than we're cleaning up a mess somewhere. But I know how to do that. It's...easy.

"Because you're getting hard."

Seriously? You've got a lot of nerve. Is this because I won't love you? "Am I?" is what I settle on saying in response.

"You are. I love you. Stay with me. Think of the good we could do."

I imagine the future with you. Rescuing endangered species on some faraway world or fighting for the rights of beleaguered populations on some other. You love a cause—and truth be told you reminded me of Jim when you talk about those causes—and it suddenly occurs to me that I may just be the latest one you've added to your list.

"I like ops. We do good."

"You react."

"You're not exactly Mr. Proactive." My tone is the ops one, and you hate it. The slightly mocking nature. The hard shell.

Yes, you're right. I'm a stone-cold bitch at times, but that's not a bad thing in my line of work.

And you're too fucking soft. There, it's said. You were my kneejerk reaction to losing Jim and walking away from Spock.

And not having him find me. It's been a year. How long before I give up on Spock?

But I want him. There, I've said it, if I'm going to settle down with anyone, it's going to be him.

Even if he doesn't even want me, so it won't ever come true.

It's good to know what you want. Even if you'll never get it.

##

In your bed, I feel dangerous.

Or I would if Starfleet Security didn't know I was sleeping with you and had encouraged a little fact-finding.

Sadly, you seem to be on some weird kind of info mission also, since all you can ask me about is Spock.

"Does he ever speak of my people?"

Your people, that look so much like Vulcans but aren't. I could tell you that Spock doesn't really talk to me all that much. That he and I have probably fucked more than conversed over anything except work over the years, but that's a pretty embarrassing thing to admit, so instead, I just shake my head in what I hope is a regretful way.

You're handsome for a Romulan. And you've been damned easy to work with on this experimental joint venture the Empire and the Federation have embarked on. But I think you've gone out of your way to be easy to talk to—this is not my first rodeo and I can recognized someone who's targeted me.

But I thought it was to get Federation secrets. Or some nasty thing in my past I'd rather not come to light that you could try to blackmail me about.

Instead, we're yakking about Spock.

But at least the sex is stellar. If Starfleet Security wants to know what I learned, I can tell them, "He fucks like a god and seems to be obsessed with Spock."

Maybe we should start a fan club?

##

In your bed, I feel safe. I turn, my injured shoulder protesting slightly, and you pull me to you in this hut that's clear of the firing zone. Your diplomatic team and my ops team are stuck here until these idiots we're supposed to be helping stop shooting at each other. I wince again, and you say, "When the firing stops, we must get this attended to." Medical assistance is, unfortunately, on the other side of the firing zone, and I lost my med kit in the bug-out.

So I settle for nuzzling your neck. "You mean before or after the sex?"

"After. I will be careful." And then you kiss me and for once, finally, I don't feel like it's Jim you're thinking about or some stupid Vulcan woman who will make me feel gawky and ugly.

It's me. You finally want me.

And you slayed the goddamn dragon to get me. Okay, fine, it was only a lizard, but it was a scary looking one. And okay, you didn't slay it, you captured it and let it loose in a logical place away from both us and the firing.

But you got rid of the monster under the bed. Something my parents were never able to do.

I didn't expect you on this mission but then you showed up.

"You don't, as a rule, work with me." I crossed my arms and tried to look imposing.

"I believe that will change," you said, and your eyes were light, and your lips almost ticked up.

And that's when I felt it. Something shiny and beautiful and I'd thought long gone: hope.

"Have you mourned?" I asked.

"I have. You were most wise."

We stared at each other and finally I said, "Okay, then. Let's get to work."

And the rest of the mission, while you weren't doing your own thing, you trailed me around like a hound on a favorite scent. It was just shy of obvious—but I couldn't miss it. And damned lucky, because you're the one who got me out when my shoulder was injured—even bandaged me up with some handy Starfleet-required field-medic training.

"Why now?" I whisper.

Your face is untroubled, your touch soft and sweet.

"Why now?" I ask again, even though I know Vulcan ears could hear me the first time, but just to be clear, that I'm not afraid to ask this at full voice—that I want to know.. have to know.

You don't give me a quick answer or make a face—not that a Vulcan would be likely to, but not even the slightest indication that you find the question annoying or strange. You push me to my back, and you ease the hair away from my eyes, and you say, "Because now is ours."

"You're a goddamn poet." I use my ops tone because you seem to like that, and you almost crack a smile, but I also see a tenderness in your eyes that's new and makes my heart speed up. And I know, since you're touching me and you have magical, telepathic hands that you can sense that I actually mean that you are a goddamn Vulcan poet.

And I love you.

And you're right: now is ours.

FIN