Chapter 8
"Always do what you are afraid to do." Ralph Waldo Emerson
He wasn't sure about the adventure that he was about to embark on, but he reasoned that the best adventures always started with uncertainty. So when the car came to pick him up outside of his hotel in Lucerne, he screwed his courage to the sticking place, got into the car and took the ride. Surprisingly, he was alone in the car and no one was there to blindfold him, as he expected for the meeting he was about to have. The black Mercedes was unassuming and the driver no one that the man noticed. The area where he was travelling was familiar, but not so much so that he'd be able to find his way back without getting lost. The tragedy about Lucerne and most of Europe was that even to the well-travelled American eye, all of the buildings looked the same.
In moments, the car was out of the city and driving along the Swiss countryside, easing around the airy and winding roads of the Autobahn. The car maneuvered slowly and into the secluded hideaway roads of the Alps, and despite the anxiousness that he felt upon getting into the car, all of the trepidation started to fade as he concentrated on the scenery. Leonard McCoy knew that he owed Le Chevalier a great debt; though he figured that the handsome monetary reward was good enough, but apparently the world-renowned thief needed a more specific medical need.
McCoy, up until the moment his coveting of the Ruby Pendant got the best of him, had never ventured into the foray of criminal mischief. In fact, the good doctor was the very epitome of the perfect son. If he didn't have a penchant for brash language, Tennessee Whisky, gambling, and loose women, he could have been nominated for sainthood. The good doctor, having been born and raised in the Southern United States of America, had a swagger and charm that would rival that of Rhett Butler, a down-to-earth mentality, and a soft spot in his heart for hard-luck cases. This last issue was what caused him his first divorce from a horrid woman whom he rarely even thought about. Conversely, that deep human empathy was what also called him to be a Doctor and a damn good one. He was an avid philanthropist, starting four different universal charities. He became a professor at his Alma Mater of Old Miss, served four consecutive terms on the board of the AMA and two years on a panel of the American Surgeon General and all of this before he was twenty-nine. He also, in his many accomplishments, considered his upcoming marriage to Nurse Christine Chapel to be at the top.
What he loved and conversely hated about Christine was the eerie way that she could understand him better than he understood himself. She knew he loved her long before it dawned on him, but instead of pressuring him like many other women may have, she simply shook her head, kissed his cheek and smiled. When he'd come to her with the idea of stealing the Ruby Pendant from Pike, she reacted with positive affirmation and the valuable suggestion of getting in contact with Le Chevalier. And when he'd left their hotel suite this morning, nervous and fearful about the outcome of this small meeting, she simply ruffled his side-parted hair and pushed him out of the door with only these words to follow him:
"You bought the ticket, now take the ride."
She was definitely the perfect choice for him. Her calm moods suited his gruff moodiness, and realizing that she wasn't averse to a little bit of adventure made his blood burn for her even more. McCoy knew that no matter where this meeting took him, that Christine would be right there next to him "taking the ride."
"We're here, sir" the driver said, pulling up a long, pristine driveway set against the crisp backdrop of the Swiss Alps. The car came to a smooth stop in front of a semi-secluded Baroque-style building shaded with a neatly manicured row of Alpine and Cypress. The driver opened the door, and McCoy was instantly gratefully that he'd brought his heavier coat. Even though spring was in early bloom, the cooling, dry affect of the mountains lent a crisp chill to the air. Without saying a word, the driver closed the door behind him, got back in the car and drove away leaving McCoy alone outside of the small, beautiful ancient building.
There was a comforting blissful silence free of the white noise he usually was used to, and despite his reservations and complete confusion, he walked forward up the gravel pathway between the trees that jutted and prayed to the clear, blue sky. The silence allowed McCoy a few clear moments to enjoy the scenery, and coming upon the beautifully constructed structure, McCoy realized that the building he once thought of as a house was indeed a small, ancient abbey long abandoned by the Benedictine monks that he imagined once dwelled there. Now, it was only him and the distant calls of hawks to keep him company. The large, foreboding door was surprising easy to pull open, and inside of the edifice was an intricately, yet modest chapel kept cheerful by the natural light seeping through ornate stained-glass windows. He closed the door behind him, which presented a noticeable diminishing of the light, but added a whole new aspect to the chapel as large wall-hung candles twitched and danced, flicking ambient light against the pale rose colored stone.
The chapel was set up as expected with wooden pews on each side of a short aisle that led to the unassuming pulpit holding the usual religious iconography. The Doctor walked slowly, taking in the architecture, remembering every slight curve and turn of chiseled stone, carved wood, and colored glass. When he reached the front of the chapel, he simply sat, content to just be in the present moment, though still anxious. It wasn't long until he heard strong, confident footsteps coming up the aisles behind him, and turning he spotted the familiar face of Jim Kirk.
"I'm glad that you decided to come, Doctor, as is my friend and colleague. I understand that you are anxious to meet him, but there are some things that we must discuss before this happens," Jim sat gracefully next to McCoy but at a modest distance as not to intrude on personal space.
"What is there to discuss?" McCoy asked, looking Jim directly in the eye.
"Confidentiality is of the upmost importance. There are very few people who know his true identity; he would like to keep it that way. And any information that may be imparted to you during this meeting should be kept in the strictest confidence."
"That is completely understood, and I would have it no other way," McCoy replied genuinely. Jim stood quickly and both men shook hands.
"Let me take you to him, he is waiting in the rectory," Jim said, leading the way to the right of the pulpit and through another large, wooden door. Jim held the door as McCoy entered in front of him, and to the left of him, sitting in a large, crimson red, tufted back chair was Spock. McCoy stopped short, though he couldn't say that he was surprised to see the Vulcan sitting in that seat; he'd had inklings about the Vulcan ever since he'd met him at Pike's party. Spock didn't say anything, only inclined his head to the chair across from him, inviting McCoy to sit down. McCoy took the invitation, getting comfortable and noticing that there were two cigars and a flask of whiskey sitting on a table between them. He took the flask and poured himself a drink in a snifter and lit the cigar, Spock followed suit.
"I'm sure you have questions, I will allow you a moment to indulge your curiosities," Spock said.
"Why am I here? I thought our business was finished," McCoy snarked, but his mood lifted considerably when he tasted the alcohol and the cigar.
"After much consideration of your character, and doing an extensive background check, I have decided that you would be a valuable addition to the group. A doctor is a valuable commodity, especially in this line of work."
"And what exactly is your occupation, I assume it's not just owning that tacky antique store," McCoy said taking a sip, causing a noticeable laugh from Jim and an arching of the brow from Spock.
"That is a large part of it; despite what you may expect only part of my garnered wealth has come from being Le Chevalier. As you may assume, I am no regular man."
"No shit. Tell me why I should just drop my own projects, ambassadorship, philanthropy… my life to be a doctor that makes house calls for a band of universally wanted thieves. This cigar and whisky ain't that poetic."
"The choice is entirely yours, as there are no amenities that I can provide you that you cannot achieve yourself. However, hear me out, listen to my story, and then make your decision. No matter the answer there will be no hard feelings between us, as long as you take my secrets to your grave."
McCoy took a large puff of his cigar, released a massive cloud of smoke into the atmosphere, copped a cocky grin and replied:
"Hit me with your best shot."
There she sat in another illustrious ball gown: a two piece affair consisting of an antique cream, raw silk, strapless sweetheart bodice with rouching just touching underneath the bosom, and a straight, pencil-cut antique cream colored skirt that had a train in the back and fell just at the toe line in the front with a design of scrunching that reminded all who would see it of exquisite, Victorian curtains. Though the dress flattered her body and skin tone tremendously, it was not something that she would have ever chosen. In the back of her mind she knew that Spock would never have looked twice at the frock when considering her either.
She was alone in Pike's grand bedroom suite, with all of the over-elaborate masculinity in deep scarlet and high-posted, stringent mahogany furniture. It was dark and brooding, reminding her of a cross between a Baronic lothario and the Catholic Church during the Spanish Inquisition. She imagined this is what the bed chambers of the Vatican looked like: cold, old, pretentious, and dark. The only light was the one she'd turned on to illuminate the window as she finished applying her makeup and jewelry. Her hair was pulled up in a high, tight French roll with baby-fine tendrils falling in exacted and designed places (a style of Pike's choosing). She wore pearls: a simple strand around her neck, a double-stranded bracelet, and tear-drop earrings with modest diamonds at the stud. Her makeup was light and unassuming; the only flamboyant piece she wore was the engagement ring. She applied a simple musky scent to her pulse points and caught her reflection in the mirror. And though the likeness was beautiful, it was a doppelganger. The person staring back at her was Camille, but a muted, closed version of that lady. A courtesan without her court, and yet trapped in the most exquisite prison. Nyota wasn't even present in either the lady standing in the flesh or the reflection. And though the moment could have been profound, an awakening of sorts, it didn't bother her at all that she was becoming the very manifestation of an empty vessel.
It had been a full month since the engagement ball and subsequent theft of Pike's prized artifact, and the man had been insufferable. He'd put so much of his time and energy into investigating the theft and the men that allegedly took the piece that he'd almost forgotten about the wedding, which was to take place in two days. Despite his obsession with punitive action against Le Chevalier and the money he'd thrown into the manhunt, he still found time to throw another lavish party as a pre-wedding celebration. She snorted as she recalled the conversation about why it was necessary to save face and show that he was not in the least bothered by the happenings of the last party. He regaled her with reasons, each more insipid than the next. Her only orders were to be her "normal, charming self." She did not plan to disappoint him.
"Camille, the guests are arriving, we must go meet them," Pike said, walking over behind her and smiling at the sight he saw. He was not fazed by the clear tension between the two of them as she physically shivered and shrank away from his touch. She knew he wouldn't care; she wasn't a person to him. As he'd clearly stated, she was just a whore. Without a word, she stood, linked her arm in his and trudged towards the staircase where the guests were arriving. With every step she shrugged off the last bit of her that was human and became his property; his beautiful ventriloquist dummy, a doll for him to dress up and show off. She played the part well, smiling and charming the guests with her beauty and poise, and all the while dying inside.
After greeting the guest, she mingled listlessly, making small talk with the various diplomats and other dignitaries that were always in attendance at Pike's functions. She clung to Pike's arm, making toasts with expensive Champagne and plastering a smile to her face that never reached her eyes. She made nice with the women and even elicited coos about the upcoming wedding that sounded genuine. She even kissed Pike's cheek and patted his forearm like a good fiancé would; never giving any indication that she was absolutely broken inside. She had accepted her fate of living this false life long ago. It was what she'd chosen, and though it was not what she knew she wanted and needed and desperately craved, she would have to embrace the decision. So she swallowed down the champagne along with her dignity and memories of a true love in order to keep her sanity.
It was only by some small miracle that Pike was cornered by the Alton brothers who were looking to take advantage of the Admiral's good mood and hook him into an investment deal. She gracefully excused herself to retrieve more champagne, and slipped away from the ballroom to find a more secluded spot. Everything in Pike's home, though lavish, felt heavy and intense: after a month of living within Pike's melancholy domicile she missed the airy femininity of her small pied d' terre. She craved the crisp, white walls and the splashes of pink and green much like she craved a quiet place away from the party. She knew exactly where she could go to get away from those people; the courtyard with the aviary was just the place to find her reprieve. She'd never walked so fast in her life, and was blessed to find a full bottle of chilling champagne on her way. With bottle in hand, she opened the door, allowing the rush of the crisp air of the spring night to rush over her.
She finally exhaled.
The night was clear with a high, waxing gibbon so clear and white that it was the only light needed to guide any traveler. She popped open the bottle of champagne and released her hair from the high up-do, taking a swig straight from the bottle as her hair tumbled down past her shoulders. She felt like herself for a small moment, and then she noted the covered aviary and heard the still coos of the inhabitants. Like everything else in Pike's life and in his home, the aviary was a slave to a fashionable fad he's fallen slave to. Nyota imagined that if the avant guarde Mont Vert community found it the new vogue to own platypuses as pets then Pike would search the universe over for the largest and grandest. The aviary and every bird in it were meticulously chosen and the man enjoyed visiting his prized possessions regularly, and genuinely loved the creatures intensely for a very short period of time. And after the initial avian allure had worn off so did Pike's attention to his feathery pets, as his interest had shifted to another fashionable trend.
Nyota always thought the act of owning birds as pets was foolish and the people who chose to do so a bit too hedonistic, even for her tastes. And as she gulped down a large swig of champagne and tossed the heavy cover from atop the aviary to the ground, she found that her opinion about the subject hadn't changed. Immediately the birds came to life in a flurry of ruffling feathers and drastic chirping. She understood the reasoning behind owning the little beauties: having something this rare and beautiful in your possession was like owning an original Picasso. You could marvel at the beauty and elegant mish-mash of bright colors and cheerful song until your heart was full of awesome contentment. Yet, even as she considered the other side of the argument, the voice in the back of her head reasoned that unlike the Picasso whose natural habitat was on a wall to be marveled by generations to come, these creature were existing in an unnatural place. And though they were breathtaking creatures, the bars took away from their brightness and dulled their song. Despite not being where they belonged and yearned to be, they still sang and flapped their wings in hopes that someone would one day set them free.
You wouldn't hide a Picasso underneath a blanket.
"Teach me how to keep singing," she said, feeling silly for talking to an animal that couldn't understand her. All at once everything she'd been feeling for the past month hit the limit in a glorious crescendo of tears. She didn't stop them, she needed to cry, she needed to feel.
"For a woman that is to be married in two days, you do not seem to be in the best of spirits," the voice was strong, solid, and slightly familiar. She turned around with a start, her eyes blurry and red from the unstoppable tears. Her heart caught in her throat, as she came face to face with probably the most notable Vulcan in the universe, Ambassador Sarek.
She wanted to be charming and stately as she'd been earlier, as he was standing before her now. Yet, she couldn't find a way to smile through the emotions she was feeling. She was sure she was breaking some intergalactic mores of showing too much human emotion in front of a Vulcan. She knew that she was probably offending him with her outward scene, but she couldn't find the will to turn them off, and definitely didn't know if she knew how.
"Ambassador, what are you doing out here?" she asked with a shaky voice and tear-streaked face.
"Lady Camille, I could ask you the same question," his face didn't flinch as he offered her a handkerchief from the pocket in his stately, traditional robes. She took the offering and took a moment to compose and clean up. Sarek allowed her a moment of privacy, walking to sit on a bench that was secluded by a weeping willow tree behind the aviary. When she'd finally come to her senses, she walked back to him and gave him back his makeup stained and tear-soaked handkerchief. He took it back without even so much as a bat of an eyelash.
"I needed to be alone with my thoughts," she said sitting next to him on the bench.
"In my experience with this as a human tradition, the bride is generally in a much greater humor."
She smiled at this, noting that he had the same dry humor as his son. She took a moment to take in the Ambassador. The man had a stately face, which was placid and serene as many Vulcan's tended to. His skin was a deeper olivine than his son's, but they shared the same rigid posture, kingly nose, and strong jaw. Nyota reasoned that Spock's deep, soulful eyes was one of the few things he'd retained physically from his mother, as he very much favored his father.
"Generally, you are correct. But I needn't bother you with that. You are a guest in my home and I do not wish to involve you in my personal troubles, forgive me," she replaced her raw emotion with the charm she wore so well, and found that it slipped on almost as easily as an old t-shirt.
"I find the party to my liking, but I also find being away from the revelers to be more enticing," he responded with what she thought was genuine kindness.
"It can be quite stifling."
"Indeed, it is providential that we are both able to enjoy the solitude of this space. I have been out here for quite some time, and though it is customary at these events to stray away from conversation that may seem too heavy, I require company that is more academic at this time."
"I apologize, but I do not think that I will be able to help you with anything more intellectual than a conversation on wedding dresses," she tried to joke, standing, grabbing the bottle of champagne and walking to stare at the birds, her back to him.
"I do understand, though I do have it from a high authority that your intellect, much as your beauty could rival that of any woman from my planet," he stayed seated and watched her back. She could feel his stare at the back of her neck, and it reminded her too much of Spock and the memories that she so dearly wished to suppress.
"The flattery is appreciated, but I am afraid that your high authority is sadly mistaken. I'll leave you to enjoy the scenery," she responded without turning. She couldn't look at Sarek or even be near him; his very scent was all too similar. She started to pad away slowly, making her way back to the party. She heard the rustling of his robes as she imagined that he stood up to follow her.
"My source was not mistaken in the assessment of your beauty, so I do not see how the other judgment could be in error."
"Maybe you have my name mistaken with someone else," she shot over her shoulder, determined not to look back.
"Indeed two names were mentioned in the appraisal. I do not take the words of my authority lightly, as he's spent many years cultivating life in Montreal society. I was instructed that if I were to ever visit the city, to seek the company of Lady Camille Pike, as she is as charming as she is radiant and able to melt the ice of the Vulcan resolve with a simple sideways glance. And that if you were not available, to seek out the company of one Nyota Uhura who is equally as beautiful but possesses a wit that will compromise my natural inclination toward stoicism. As you are not available, do you happen to know if Nyota is?" the words stopped her and she turned and walked towards him slowly, in awe of what she'd just heard. He stood before her with a look that likened to Spock's smartass smirk.
"I know where you can find her. She doesn't tend to come to parties such as these," she finished standing an arm's length away from the tall man.
"That is unfortunate, as I have a written message to be delivered to her. If you could pass it on to her for me," he lowered his voice to a tone that was almost conspiratorial, and removed a sealed letter from the pocket of his robes and handed it to her. Without think she grabbed Sarek's hand and pulled him into the seclusion behind the aviary and the willow tree. She found that holding a letter from Spock made her blood begin to race and her breathing increase, and she wondered how she could have denied herself this experience for even a second let alone a month.
"He told you about me?" she asked, feeling herself becoming overwhelmed.
"He informed you of me; it was only fair that he repay me in kind, Ms. Uhura." She tore open the letter with a fervor she hadn't felt in a month. The paper smelled like Spock, woodsy, musky, like copper and cedar and sandalwood. She held the thin sheet up to her nose and inhaled. She noticed his characteristic scribble, despite his Vulcan upbringing it was a mishmash of cursive and print, elegant with the loops and whirls in the ess's and ells. The letter was brief, having only three words quickly scrawled:
"Come to Me."
-S
"Where is he? How do I get to him?" she asked.
"Are you certain that you wish to do this? This is not a decision to be taken lightly."
"How did you make your decision?" she asked, sinking onto the bench. He followed suit and exhaled loudly and long.
"I knew that Amanda, Spock's mother, was all that I wanted. Electing to bond with another of my kind may have been the prudent choice but it was neither right nor logical. I realized that the very basis in which I lived was threatened, but without her my ability to reason was void. Is that how you feel about my son?"
"If he wants me to come to him, I will not rest until I find him. He is the only thing that makes sense to me."
"Then you must come with me now. Do not worry about your clothing, you will not go without. Follow me, there is a car waiting to take you to him. Be advised, there is a long journey ahead of you. I will not lie to you, this is a test, but I am confident that you will pass," he led the way towards where the car was parked to take her away.
"One moment," she said running over to the aviary. First she said a silent prayer and ripped the engagement ring from her finger, throwing it to the ground with a clang. And then she thrust open the doors to the aviary, setting every bird free, and watching in awe as their colors and song illuminated the sky.
"Now, I'm ready."
