He comes to me in the middle of the ship's 'night', buzzing insistently at my door until I drag myself out of sleep and groan at him to come in.
"Okay," Bones says, as I'm still waking up and trying to figure out why my CMO is in my quarters at easily one in the 'morning' and looking like he needs a drink. "Okay, so the Enterprise is haunted."
I blink, then blink again, raising the lights.
"What changed your mind?" I ask, thankful I sleep in sweatpants.
He waves a hand at the ceiling- his face is all Bones, irritation and aggravation and under it, the faintest touch of the fear he's trying to hide. "Bones," I say, more gently, "You alright?"
"No. I don't think so." He mutters, running a hand over his face and sitting on the edge of my bed. "Jim, this ghost of yours- she's a…..well, a she?"
"As far as I can tell." I say. "What happened?" I harden my voice, firm it a little, and he instinctively responds to the tone of command. It's a very good way to snap someone out of shock; subconscious takes over for them, and they seem to calm down.
"I heard your girl's voice." He says, "But I swear to goodness, Jim-it sounded like Joanna."
I stop, jaw working, trying to make sense of this. The voice had never sounded like anyone specific, to me. "What did she say, Bones?" I ask, gently, reaching over to put a hand on his shoulder.
"She just- said my name, then giggled and was gone." He shakes his head. "And she-touched my face, brushed it. It was almost….soothing." He looks up at me, blue eyes dark with confusion and exhaustion.
"Soothing?"
"Like-" He motions helplessly, then runs a hand over his face. "Like it really was Joanna, there, somehow on the ship. It sounds crazy." He chuckles weakly. "It is crazy."
"No." I say, tightening my grip on his shoulder. "Bones, it's not."
"It can't be a-a-Jim-"
"Why not?" I ask, throwing my hands up. "We don't know everything that's out here. We've seen things, places, people, that someone else might call 'made up' or 'impossible'. We found Jack The Ripper, for heaven's sake, and he wasn't human! Apollo, remember, Bones?" I twist him to face me. "And people who can manipulate any and everything with their minds, and a portal to any time you can imagine-"
"I know, Jim, I know," He returns, cutting off my rant. He doesn't pull away from my touch, though, partly because he knows my quirks too well and partly because he's taking comfort in the contact, too. "but it's like Spock said, all those things had a rational explanation."
"That's not true." I snap. "Give me your rational explanation for the Guardian of Forever, Bones. Okay, technically, it's a machine. If you're being purely technical, you can explain it. But why is it there? Why is it sentient, to a point? Who made it? Why? Where are they now? Why would they leave it? What happened to them? When you get down to the bare bones of it, you don't know, and we can't explain it."
Bones now pulls away, slowly, pressing his fingers into his eyes with a slight groan. He's old-fashioned, at heart; no matter how long he's been in space or what he's seen and done, he always will be, as he often says, an old country doctor. I'm not as surprised as I'm pretending to be that he's having trouble swallowing the idea of a ghost- or whatever this thing really is.
"And why," He asks, after a moment, "are you so sure that this thing is a ghost, and not anything else?"
"I'm not." I say, and I'm not- it could be anything. Some kind of anomaly that was causing apparition like occurrences on my ship- someone, somewhere, playing with us, myself going slightly crazy (although Bones had heard it, now, too), hell, even something in the ship itself. "It's just- the best explanation I have right now." I'm not a superstitious man, not really. I'm a religious one, yes, but not 'superstitious'. But sometimes- just sometimes- I wonder. And there is no part of me that says this can't be a ghost. I'm no one to say what can or can not be with no room for compromise.
"That is your best explanation?" He barks a laugh, the sound rough and humorless. "We are in trouble then."
I scowl playfully and swat at him. "Wait until Spock says that, then you can worry." I tell him, and he snorts.
"If he starts hearing ghosts, I will worry." He mutters.
I chuckle and pat his shoulder again. "Look, this- ghost, or whatever you want to call it- it seems like it's harmless. It's played some jokes, scared the pants off us, but it hasn't tried to hurt us. In fact, it seems like….it wants just the opposite." I admit to what I'm thinking rather stiffly. But Bones nods almost instantly, pressing his palms into the bed.
"Like it's-curious and shy." He agrees slowly, and I relax because Bones is no longer treating me like a mad person, at least.
"Right. So it's harmless, so go back to bed." I say, giving him a gentle push. "We'll collect Spock tomarrow, tell him you heard her, too."
"And watch him try to logic away the whole situation." McCoy snarks. "I'm not looking forward to what our space elf is going to have to say."
"Bones." I scold, but I'm laughing. Everything seems just a little easier to handle when I've got at least one of my two best friends on my side. I'm suddenly very tired again, and I notice he looks that way, too. Apparently, I'm not the only one that feels the sudden shift in weight. It's almost as if, by yourself, things like this are far too heavy, too strange, too much- but the moment someone else you trust, and love, and respect steps in under the burden, too, it's much lighter. "Go back to bed."
"Alright, Jim." He says quietly, patting my leg. "I'll see you in the morning."
"'Night." I return, already squirming my way back under the covers. I'm asleep I think before my head hit's the pillow, getting the last four hours I will before I have to wake up for real.
_________________________________________________________
Morning comes far too soon after my little wake-up call via Bones. I'm not a morning person-never have been. I can snap awake, fully aware, when I have to-and it leaves me feeling sick and bad-tempered for hours afterward, particularly if it's a false alarm. I prefer to crawl towards consciousness, take my time and wake up like a cat, slow and steady.
I don't have the luxury today, because someone is petting my cheek.
I snap awake and instinctively grab for the unfamiliar hand. It's small, delicate, female, and there is a smell like crisp, cool air and growing things; flowers, plants, trees. Outdoors.
My hand grasps someone's delicate, soft arm, and in one smooth motion, still not fully awake, I yank downward, meaning to flip her onto the bed. I do, and then I stop in shock when I see what I'm not straddling.
She's beautiful.
No, I mean, all women-I mean, I appreciate beauty. Male, female, I have an eye for it and I'm never afraid to openly express my thoughts on the subject if I know it's welcome. Particularly female beauty-women are beautiful, inside and out, soft and strong, delicate and complex, and so painfully easy to fall in love with. But this person, woman, below me-I can do nothing but stare.
Her eyes are black. Black black, like space, but there is a glowing, cat-slit pupil that is as silver as the hull of the Enterprise. There are no whites in her eyes that I can see, just that rich blackness and the silver pupils. Her hair is white, a stark contrast, and her skin is chocolate, a richer brown even then Uhura's. High cheekbones, sculpted, strong features. Full lips, shades lighter then her skin, and long lashes as white as her hair. There is pure, naïve innocence on that beautiful face, no fear of me at all- simply child-like curiosity. It reminds me of the way Gem looked at me, the empathic girl Spock, McCoy and I discovered once.
She is wearing nothing but a white slip, almost a dress but not quiet. Her breasts are small, her figure delicately curved, slight- she looks like a dancer. Long, endlessly long legs rest blow mine, leading into a pert behind and a gently curved spine.
And just below her shoulder blades are two, translucent butterfly wings.
I kid you not. Butterfly wings. They were pale, shimmering, almost non-existant, but brilliantly gold, and the moment I noticed them, she gives them a flutter and me a playful wink.
"Jim Kirk!" She chirps, reaching for my face with the hand I do not have pinned. Her long, slender fingers trail over my cheekbone. "J-i-m- K-i-r-k!" She's smiling brightly, not at all concerned. But her face screws up, then, brow furrowing, and the light, piping little voice changes, suddenly.
"Jim. James Kirk." She tries again, and I'd know Edith Keeler's voice anywhere. I yank back in shock, unable to stop the reaction, and she blinks wide, startled eyes up at me. She tips her head, like a dog confused as to why it's been punished. "James Kirk should not be…..fr-frightened? No harm." Still in Edith's voice, but with halting, awkward sentences.
"Stop that," I tell her. She blinks in confusion. "Stop it, right now."
She clamps her lips shut, looking hurt. "You like the pretty." She says, in her own voice again. "Pretty pretty lady."
"She's dead." I say, trying to stay calm. "Don't use her voice."
"Why?"
"It hurts, that's why." She honestly doesn't understand. There is no comprehension in her eyes, in her face, and I wonder if she even understands death or pain.
"James Kirk likes." She says, confirming what I just thought and using Edith's voice again instead of her own. She nods once, firmly. "He likes pretty, pretty lady."
She gives her wings another flutter, tipping her head at me and then leaning up. Her lips press to my cheek in the softest of kisses, and, just like that, she fades away through my bed.
I reach up to slowly touch my cheek where her lips had pressed, so briefly, and realize that my hand is shaking.
I reach over, using the comm to reach sickbay. "Bones," I say, when I do, "Are you sure I'm not loosing my mind?"
