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Chapter 11

Christine palmed open the door to her quarters and headed straight for the shower. It had been grueling day in Sickbay with an unusually high number of injuries. Apparently her crewmates were more focused on the upcoming liberty than on paying attention to the performance of their duties which had translated to a virtual epidemic of contusions, concussions, strains, sprains and broken bones.

She programmed the sonics to the highest setting and allowed the pulse of the tingling waves to soothe her overworked muscles and clear the mire of confusion and uncertainty of the emotional rollercoaster she'd been riding the past few days. Spock's cryptic summons to his quarters was still weighing heavily on her mind. Was it possible that her plea had touched him and he was going to allow her to transfer from the ship? Or perhaps he was simply going to lecture her on the illogical nature of her request and tell her the needs of the ship would come first.

The soft beeping sound informed her that the unit would power down in ten seconds, and for a moment she considered using her medical override code to secure of few more moments of the peaceful comfort. Instead she climbed out of the shower and wrapped herself in the short fleecy robe hanging nearby.

She pulled her curly brown hair back from her face and secured it with a clip. She studied her reflection for a moment in the small mirror over the basin. The darker hair suited her and she wondered why she'd ever allowed herself to give in to Roger's preference for blonde hair. Had she really been so young, so foolish to change herself to please a man? It was hard not to cringe at the memory of the timid, naïve girl who'd set aside her own life to chase after the ghost of a man she had thought was her future.

Christine shook her head and laughed bitterly. The woman staring back at her was not the timid young woman who had signed aboard the Enterprise to chase after her lost love, but she was certainly just as naïve as that woman had been. It was a different specter this time, but in the end just another phantom of her mind. She had wanted to believe that Spock loved her, wanted only her and so she'd believed it never stopping to question his sudden change of heart.

"That was highly illogical of you doctor," she scolded the woman in the mirror. Taking a dollop of pale pink lotion she smoothed it over her face. She would be thirty three years old in a few months; she had at least three decades before her "biological clock" would demand a final decision.

She'd gotten over Spock before, well maybe not over him but she'd managed to move past her love for him, managed to create a life for herself outside of his orbit. The breakneck schedule she'd set for herself, finishing the five year med program in under three years, had left her little time for relationships with men, though she'd had more than her share of male interest.

"Was it a really a lack of time, or were you waiting for him…thinking someday he'd finally see you and realize…what exactly?"

Brushing a stray curl back she brushed her fingers along the soft curve of her ear and shook her head.

"You're human Christine, no amount of hair dye or makeup is going to change that."

She was never going to be what he wanted, she finally understood that now. Maybe that realization was what she needed to accept the truth move on with her life?

Acceptance, that was the final step in the grieving process. Accept him for who he is…and who he's not and let go of the fantasy that he could somehow love you.

Replacing the bottle of lotion she reached for one of the small containers of makeup. She regarded it for a moment then set it back down.

"It's not a date," she cautioned her reflection before removing the clip and gathering the dark waves of hair into a regulation bun. She clicked off the light in the fresher and moved to the closet. She selected a simple blue jumpsuit and a pair of fleet issued off duty flat shoes. She checked out her appearance in the full length mirror next to her dresser.

She was pleased with the look. It was neutral, impersonal, perfectly Fleet regulation, an officer attending to a summons from her Commander. She opened the comm from him yet again. "After shift", it was uncharacteristically imprecise for him to give such an ambiguous time frame for their meeting.

She probably should have simply gone to his quarters directly from Sickbay, but there was something in the slightly imperious way he'd summoned her, as though she were a recalcitrant child, which she'd found annoying. She decided to respond to his directive on her own terms. It was just delaying the inevitable, she realized, but the feeling of control the small act of defiance granted had helped her to calm herself and prepare for whatever he had decided.

As the door to her quarters closed behind her she felt her resolve slipping. Turning from the corridor that led to the First Officer's Quarters she strode briskly down the hall toward the turbolift. Entering she pressed the code for the Officer's Mess. There was no point in facing him on an empty stomach.

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