Part 21

Nurse Chapel stood at the edge of the shore, inches from place the highest wave could reach, as if daring the tide to catch her. Starlight reflected off the dusky water and an ephemeral silver puddle rippling across the surface was all the evidence she needed to know that the moon sat high in the sky, unencumbered by clouds.

Not a moon, she corrected absently. Beta Koris 2.

She wriggled her toes in the soft, warm sand and looked around with a deep sigh.

Initially, she had not understood what the two doctors and Captain Kirk had tried to tell her. Exhaustion and disbelief had clouded her mind to their words until Doctor M'Benga had asked her to think carefully about her interactions with the dying first officer to see if she could remember any point where he had manifest in her mind as if a meld had been performed.

It had taken her some time - she had never melded with any Vulcan, so had no basis for comparison. The sharing of consciousness that had occurred between herself and Spock a year previously did not seem to apply to this situation. That had been something beautiful, something outside of space and time, something outside of the limitations of mere physical experience. On the Bridge, she had heard his words in his mind and a few muted echoes of his emotions that she still wasn't certain she had truly felt. At no time could she remember him manifesting in her mind.

And then she had remembered. The beach. The fantasy beach on Beta Koris 3 that she had created in her own mind while gazing at Beta Koris 2 on the viewscreen. Spock had told her it was an illogical fantasy. How could he have possibly known about that beach? A touch telepath could pick up thoughts and emotions without a meld. But images?

She had agreed to try and find Spock's mind, to try and make him realise what he was doing and that it was past time to release her, to allow her to rest. She had then realised that agreement was easy. Honouring the request, on the other hand, was not.

How did a psi-null Human reach an unconscious Vulcan's mind?

Letting him feel her emotions on the Bridge in order to keep him alive had been relatively simple. All she'd had to do was to feel them as strongly as possible and focus all of her attention on him. His ability to shield himself had been what had mattered not her ability to find his mind.

For a while, she had sat there, trying to project every emotion she could think of - love, respect, loyalty, irritation, anger, and finally frustration. Nothing had worked. Even the biobed monitors had failed to register any changes in his body. It was as if she hadn't tried anything at all.

In the end, feeling distracted and embarrassed, she had asked everyone to leave them alone in peace so she could relax and think of a way to reach him. With them standing over her, she had felt pressurised, as if she was working to an urgent deadline she couldn't afford to miss.

She had reflected that sensation probably wasn't far wrong.

But it had given her the inspiration - the memory of him recognising the beach in her mind, of him actually bothering to comment on it. She didn't know if it was the location or the sheer illogic that had prompted him to pay attention but something had and she wanted to recapture that if at all possible.

Relaxing had proven harder than she had imagined, harder than the sense of calm she had managed to capture and hold onto when on the Bridge, when helping him to recover from choking to death on his own lungs. She had found that calm then because it had been what he needed, her motivation had been solely for his benefit. But now, facing the fact she was doing this more for herself, with no idea of what severing the link would do to his health, she found herself struggling to find any peace at all.

Try not to think of it as severing. It's not life-support. You're not turning off the machine. You are not a machine, Christine. Relax. Centre yourself. You have good memories, you've had times when you've been at peace, when all you've known is calm and a sense of a belonging. Find them.

She thought about all those times her family had brought her calm. The way her mother would rock her back to sleep after she had suffered terrible nightmares; or of the way her father picked her up and carried her up to bed when she fell asleep on the back porch in the evenings. The times when her fiancé had held her in his arms all night, whispering of his plans for the future - plans that were intended to include her. She remembered the sound of his voice coming across Main Bridge communications - the first time she had heard his voice for five years and felt tears sting her eyes at the bittersweet taste of the memories.

She moved on quickly, hesitating briefly before plunging into her memories of Omicron Ceti III and the wonderful sensations the spores had evoked in her. How she had wandered the meadows without a care, marvelling at the beauty in a blade of grass, giggling with pleasure at the feel of the sun on her skin. She knew these were memories he had experienced too - she knew that for a time, he had been happy there as well, revelling in the same emotions and feelings everyone else had been experiencing. Relaxed, open, content - perhaps for the first time in his life. It did not matter that it had been with another woman. What mattered was the peace she was trying to conjure up, the tranquillity that would open the door back to her fantasy beach. If that meant reminding him of the peace he had found with someone who was not her, she would encourage it. It was the right thing to do.

Her lips curled up into a gentle smile. It was the logical thing to do.

Before her thoughts could become tainted with more bittersweet echoes, she moved on. She concentrated on her experiences with Sargon's transferral of Spock's consciousness to her own. The sense of awe she had experienced at the raw power of the Vulcan's mind, the beauty of his ordered thoughts, the indomitable respect for life that kept raw power and ordered focus locked into a balance that ensured he could never, would never, harm other living creatures. She held on to the sense of a memory that to this day still echoed in her mind like a sleepily-acknowledged musical chime.

And then there she was, back on her fantasy beach, inches from the lapping water, watching the moon glide gracefully over gently bobbing waves, feeling more at peace than she had for days.

And utterly alone.

With a sigh, she began to walk along the beach. In her fantasy, she had created a long strip of golden sand, that shimmered with a metallic sheen in the light. One that seemed to stretch on forever, one that could be walked across and enjoyed for hours.

Had she known that she would end up having to search every inch of it for an errant Vulcan consciousness, she might have made her fantasy beach a little bit smaller.

She felt like she had been walking for hours. Her feet hurt from sliding across the loose grains, her muscles were aching, and she was feeling like an idiot flapping her arms around for balance every time the shifting sands caught her by surprise. Now her stomach was growling.

She was fairly certain fantasy beaches weren't supposed to make the dreamer feel quite so wretched. "Wonderful, Christine," she grumbled as she stumbled, slid and hopped across the sand. "That's just wonderful. You're the only woman in the galaxy whose fantasy beach is hell. Congratulations."

She stopped for a moment to catch her breath and looked around. The beach continued to stretch on for miles in either direction. She couldn't tell from where she had come, or where she was going. She couldn't tell how far she had walked, no footprints marred the sand behind her to indicate she even existed.

"You're a masochist, Christine. That's got to be what this is all about. Masochism."

With a deep sigh, she turned to continue on and then spotted him.

Spock was lying on the sand, one arm cradled underneath his head, the other flung comfortably across his abdomen. He was stretched the full length of his body, ankles crossed lazily and looking utterly peaceful. For a moment, she thought he was stargazing. Then she realised he was asleep.

She stared at him incredulously. For a moment, she was rooted to the spot, torn between two opposing emotional reactions. One that couldn't help but to melt at the sight of him, the one that wanted to drop down on the sand, cuddle up next to him, and fall asleep using his chest as a pillow.

The other impulse was a nearly overwhelming urge to strangle the living daylights out of him for being inside her mind, on her fantasy beach, and apparently enjoying the experience a hell of a lot more than she was.

With another sigh, she trudged across to him and sank down onto her knees. Then she paused, slightly unbalanced. Although she had seen him asleep or unconscious many times in Sickbay, this wasn't quite the same. Despite a slight pallor, he looked quite healthy. His sleep was gentle, natural, his face relaxed in a way she never before seen.

He was far too beautiful to wake, she decided sadly, unable to resist extending a hand to touch his cheek, trailing a finger lightly down his skin until she reached the jaw line. He didn't stir and without really thinking about it, her finger dropped lower, to his neck, to check his pulse.

His eyes flew open and she jumped like a startled cat, instinctively snatching her hand away. For a moment, he stared at her, a bemused look in his eyes. She stared back, fascinated. Never had she seen his eyes quite so black - deep dark sleepy pools, abyssal in their depths. God. Was this what he looked like when he woke up in the mornings?

No wonder Leila and Zarabeth had been so desperate to hold onto him.

"T'Vis?" his voice was soft, barely audible and, unconsciously mimicking her earlier gesture, he reached out with his own hand to brush her cheek with a thumb.

She swallowed and sat very still, feeling that light touch leave a trail of electricity across her skin, frozen by the wonder she saw in those dark eyes.

Then, suddenly, his gaze snapped back to its usual deep brown focus and he sat bolt upright, snatching his hand back as swiftly as she herself had done only moments before. "Nurse Chapel?"

That was his best first officer's tone, she noticed, regaining her own focus and blushing furiously.

Then she wondered what on earth she had to blush about when he was the one that had just been caught daydreaming.

He stared at her as if he had somehow telepathically reached into her mind and casually plucked out what she was thinking.

Oh.

Yes.

The reason why she was here.

One eyebrow rose. "I do not remember melding with you," he said at last.

"I don't remember you melding with me either," she replied, suddenly irritated with him. He gazed curiously at her, as if fascinated by the conundrum and that only made her angrier. She had no idea why but, right now, he was possibly the most infuriating man alive. "Doctor M'Benga thinks it has something to do with that consciousness transfer Sargon did last year."

"Interes--"

"And the fact that Vulcans have a powerful survival instinct."

"I ..."

"And the fact you seemed to think my mind makes a really great blood bank for you to leech off."

"Nurse ..."

"I don't mind helping you, Mr Spock, but you could at least give me a break once in a while!"

"Miss Chapel!"

She subsided, glaring at him. He could act like a Starfleet Commander all he wanted to but they were inside her mind and she hadn't slept properly for three days. She was not going to let him boss her around inside her own mind. He didn't even have her permission to be here.

There was a stunned look in his eyes, she realised suddenly. She had never seen him look so shocked. Well, except for that one time when he had returned to the ship from Vulcan's surface to find Captain Kirk still alive, maybe...

"Christine, must you think so much?" The Vulcan's voice was suddenly a weakened mumble. He had closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his own meld points, a faint frown of concentration on his face. Suddenly his skin flushed green and he leaned forward slightly, breathing harshly, as if about to throw up.

"Mr Spock?" She reached out to steady him but he brushed her off roughly and scrambled to his feet, putting distance between them as if she had suddenly contracted a contagious disease.

For a moment, she sat there, numb with shock. Never in her life had she imagined he of all people could behave so rudely. And inside her own mind!

She surged to her feet, suddenly furious. "Yes! I have chaotic thoughts, Mr Spock! I don't follow Vulcan disciplines, I don't practice a philosophy of logic. I'm a flawed, emotional Human being that can't measure up to your Vulcan standards. I get it, Mr Spock, really I do. But considering the fact you're inside my mind, I think you could grant me a little respect while you're here! I didn't invite you in - if you don't like what you're finding, you're welcome to leave. No! In fact you're encouraged to leave! That's why I'm here - to tell you to get the hell out of my head so I can actually get some sleep for a change!"

She crashed to a halt, suddenly aware she was inches away from him, her fists clenched at her side and glaring up into his face as if she could laser him to death with her own eyes. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she wondered where all the anger was coming from. Exhaustion was not a new sensation for her, given the job she did and the life she led, and while it could make her short-tempered, she had never really exploded at anyone ever before. And while he had been rude, he was also very sick and locked inside a Human's mind with possibly no strength to defend against her uncontained psyche. He was in telepathic hell - Platonius had proven that.

Part of her, however, was too incensed to care.

He flinched. "The reason you are unusually angry is because I am here without your permission," he said very softly. He swallowed slightly but didn't back down from her glower. "It is ... " he hesitated, momentarily dropping her gaze as he fought for the right words. "... a survival instinct, I believe you might say. Even psi-null individuals possess a certain ... territorial need to protect their minds from unwanted intrusion. I have violated that," he looked back at her, deep within her eyes, with a strength of genuine regret, self-recrimination and even horror, that her rage was quenched almost as quickly as it had flared up. "My behaviour is unforgivable. I cannot make this right. I can only apologise."

She slumped. This was so unfair. She never could remain angry with him. Even when he deserved it. She sighed in frustration. "If it's any consolation, Doctor M'Benga thinks what happened was instinctive and outside your control, given how sick you are. Constant physical contact, a lingering connection from Sargon, and almost dying, triggered a survival instinct of your own, apparently," she grinned. There was some genuine amusement in her expression, but it was also an expression of frustration. "In other words, Mr Spock, you took the only logical option available to you."

She noticed he didn't raise an eyebrow at that. Somehow, she had expected him to. "How deeply have I injured you?" he asked quietly.

The nurse blinked. "You haven't injured me at all, Mr Spock."

He threw her a look of near frustration. "Miss Chapel, you referred to me 'leeching' off you and then alluded to the fact I have not allowed you to sleep for three days. I am clearly doing something to you."

"Oh, that," she looked slightly embarrassed and his eyebrow shot into his hairline. She wondered if her mind really was unusually illogical or whether he had this much trouble with all Human minds. Of course, lack of decent sleep for three days was never going to show off her mind in a very good light. She never functioned very well without sleep.

She really was in the wrong job, she decided.

And he was staring at her again.

"Mr Spock, why do you keep doing that?"

He blinked. "Our minds are linked, Miss Chapel. I ... do not think you are aware of the fact I know all your thoughts."

Chapel studied him for a moment, but this did not appear to be some strange, off-kilter Vulcan joke. He was serious. "You mean... the ones I don't speak too?"

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes that wasn't frustration, irritation or apology. It looked like amusement. "Nurse, the words you think you are 'speaking' are merely thoughts you are consciously expressing. We are inside your mind, are we not?"

She swallowed. "And the thoughts I'm not 'speaking'?"

"You are unconsciously expressing," he said gently. "I did not mean to offend you when I moved away from you. I was attempting to re-establish some of my disciplines to protect your privacy." He stopped suddenly, a little perturbed. "My strength was insufficient. I do not appear to be maintaining my disciplines at all well at the moment. I should not be here, and I cannot afford you privacy while I am here. I must apologise for that also." He stared silently at her for a few moments, then took a step forward. "I will repeat the question, Miss Chapel. What am I doing to your health?"

She sighed. Great. Now she had to work out how to tell him that the only thing that had stopped him dying for three days was some wacky t'hai'la bond that had her pouring her strength into his mind so he could keep fighting the kirisine. That every time she left the room, he'd enter cardiac arrest. That she was fast sliding towards sleep deprivation so he needed to get out of her mind soon. Oh yeah, and that she was terrified he'd die if the connection was severed.

She needed to find a much more diplomatic way of phrasing all that.

His lips curled upwards, a tiny ghost of a smile. But it seemed quite sad and not at all amused. "Lack of self-expression is not one of your weaknesses," he observed.

"Oh God," she groaned, realising she didn't have to find another way to phrase herself at all. "I'm sorry, Mr Spock. I'm really not used to having a telepath inside my head."

"This situation is not one you need to apologise for," he reminded her. "This is my error to correct." He looked around the beach thoughtfully for a few moments, before his gaze fixed on the sand dunes she had found him sleeping near. There was a path winding its way through the dunes and disappearing off out of sight. "Miss Chapel, I really am very sorry for the unacceptable nature of my behaviour over the past three days," he gave her a very intent stare as if about to add something else, then seemed to think better of it.

Her eyes widened as she realised he had been going to offer the traditional Vulcan platitude - the request for forgiveness. Did he really think he didn't deserve it? "Forgiveness is thine, isn't that the correct response, Mr Spock?" she asked tartly.

He stared at her again.

She rolled her eyes and strode over to him. He took one step back before coming to a halt. She was holding tightly to his shirt, preventing him from escaping anywhere.

"Look, Mr Spock," she snapped impatiently. "You're a good man. You're honest, you're loyal, you value integrity, professionalism and kindness, and you don't like hypocrisy, so you try and practice these traits yourself. And it's not because you're a Vulcan, or a Human, it's who you are as a person. A whole person. You're not half of anything, Mr Spock. Not in the ways that matter. I think I've told you all this once before, but I'm going to tell you again - while I'm not stoned out of my skull by an alien virus and while you're inside my head, so you know I'm not lying to you."

The longer she spoke, the more passionate she seemed to become. Her eyes were locked on his but he didn't need to see the conviction in that gaze - he was inside her mind. He was smothered by it.

"The trouble is, Mr Spock, you are your own worst enemy. I don't know who in your life has told you you're not good enough for either full-blooded Humans or Vulcans, but you really need to stop listening to them! They're being illogical! Yes, you make mistakes sometimes - you're not perfect, you're not supposed to be. You're a scientist, Mr Spock. You know the best discoveries are learned through error rather than success. The mistake is not as important as the learning curve, and I know you've got a learning curve. Therefore, I forgive you and I think you should forgive yourself!"

She sucked in a ragged breath, feeling slightly dizzy and light-headed. She wondered if she had bothered to take a breath somewhere in all of that - she couldn't, for the life of her, remember.

Spock was silent. She could feel his hands gripping her arms tightly, as if he had initially planned to push her away from him. Instead, his body was as still as stone. Her words had frozen him. That stunned look she had seen earlier was back in his eyes. In fact, he looked a little punch-drunk.

"I wasn't planning on leaving you speechless, Mr Spock," she admitted, after several moments of watching him completely fail to respond.

Slowly, he seemed to come back to life, his body stirring restlessly, his eyes gradually regaining their focus. He didn't release his grip on her arms and the gaze he shot her was suddenly piercing. "If that was not your intent, why did you repeat a speech that had that effect on me once before?"

"I didn't exactly repeat it," she tried to pull free of his grip but failed. He was as immovable as a locked docking clamp. "I thought I'd try improving on it a bit. Just to make a point."

"Indeed. I did say lack of self-expression is not a weakness of yours."

She was almost certain she could see a faint curl of humour at the corners of his mouth. "You're laughing at me," she mumbled. She could feel herself sag. Or maybe she had just become aware of the fact she was already sagging.

"Vulcans do not laugh, Nurse."

"You do. You are. Inside my own mind. It's not fair, Spock. Mr Spock, sorry," she paused. "Am I tired?"

He shot her another piercing look. "You are exhausted."

She nodded in agreement. "I haven't slept for a while," she told him.

"I know. You said." He took her weight as she sagged again. "Where are our bodies?"

"Huh?" She looked up at his face, confused by the question.

His face was quite expressionless now. "Our physical bodies. Where are we?"

"Oh, right," she nodded and dropped her gaze back down to her waist. She was leaning against his chest, and he had one arm wrapped tightly around her body. It was the only reason why she was still standing. Had her speech really been so passionate that it drained her this much? If she were a Vulcan, it would have been fascinating. Correction. If she were more awake, it would have been fascinating. "ICU 1. Biobed 1 for you, a chair next to it for me."

He nodded thoughtfully. He knew as well as she did that ICU 1 had three biobeds. His free hand lifted up to brush her dark hair away from her face, the tips of his fingers lightly caressing her temples - whether by accident or design, she didn't know. It was a nice gesture all the same, she decided. She considered her desperate attempt to drop off the radar after Platonius, how it had backfired because the male crew members seemed to prefer her as a brunette. How annoying their interest was.

Not one of them ever considered doing what Spock just did, she thought. I'd even date Lieutenant Rivers if he was that good at it. Well, maybe. Only once though. And in a public place. With Nyota along. Make that Janice too. Safety in numbers, after all. But he'd have to beat this. Which he can't. God. I'm rambling. How tired am I?

Spock pressed his fingers to her meld points. "Is Mr Rivers still a problem?" he asked in a mild tone.

"No, not really," she replied, subconsciously pulling her face away from his hand. "Bumped into him in Sickbay yesterday, and he told me that he's always impressed by someone who can scare a person to death but he's never seen anyone scare a person to life before. I think watching me bully all the senior officers on board made him nervous. Either that, or he doesn't see a future with someone who's going to spend the rest of her commission in the brig. If I'd known that was what it took to get rid of him, I'd have done it sooner."

"Bully the senior officers on board?" He moved his fingers back to her meld points.

"Yes. Just need a reason to yell at Captain Kirk now, and then I'll have the whole set."

She started to pull away again, but his fingers pressed against her face a little more firmly. "Relax," he murmured and, despite the soft tone, it was definitely an order.

"Hey," she mumbled. "I said I wasn't going to let anyone boss me around inside ... oh!" She broke off to stifle a sudden yawn, as the desire to crawl into bed and forget the whole universe for a few hours became overwhelming. Her skin was tingling with the need for rest. Even her hair felt sleepy.

"Once I have left your mind, you will find a spare biobed and relax," he was lying her down in the warm sand and moving away. His voice was quiet, seemingly drifting across thousands of miles of empty space to whisper against her ear. "You will sleep for as long as your body requires rest and your dreams will be pleasant."

"They will? That's nice." She was fairly certain there was something very wrong with this scenario but she couldn't work out what.

"Christine," he said firmly, as if he could feel her fighting his soothing voice. "Good night." He was heading for the path, she realised.

"Wait a minute! If you go back to your body..."

"I will sleep. As will you. Good night, Miss Chapel," and he disappeared amongst the dunes, like a ghost that had never really been present at all.

Chapel stared in the direction he had disappeared in for a moment, her eyes blurred with sleep, then she clambered to her feet to stumble back onto the beach proper. She almost tripped over the chair that was in her way.

A chair? On the beach? Since when?

She was in Sickbay again, standing beside the chair she had so recently occupied, and still holding Spock's hand. She squinted at the monitors suspiciously, and stared in surprise. The readings were looking very healthy. She stared at the Vulcan's face and there was colour back in his cheeks. He didn't look unconscious anymore, he looked asleep. She peered a little more closely at him.

He was asleep.

She yawned and felt her knees tremble in response. "Night, Spock," she mumbled and, releasing his hand, she stumbled over to the nearest biobed to collapse into an exhausted slumber.

They were both still sleeping when two worried doctors and a quietly panicking captain arrived an hour later to find out what had been taking so long. When the three men eventually left, they carried with them a lot less tension and a lot more hope.