Hope you enjoy this, it's both a character study of sorts and an exploration of how a person that was not present for the main events might experience the WOK-TVH events. I chose Chapel because, well, I like her, and think she could have gotten more screen time after the first film. And especially with what we know about McCoy's experience with Spock's Katra, the fact that Christine had carried Spock's consciousness seemed more than insignificant in hindsight and I decided to explore the possibility of there being some lasting impression, maybe more than from a simple mind-meld. It's hinted in the novelisation of The Voyage Home, after all, that carrying one's consciousness leaves traces. But enough rambling, I hope you enjoy it and leave a review if you please!
Telepathic Echoes
Christine had felt it before she knew. She hadn't paid much attention to the feeling when it happened, the news themselves distressing her too much. But while she sat in the spacedock's observation lounge, mustering the black wounds of the Enterprise where the metal was grotesquely warped, disturbing the gallant, silver sheen of the otherwise immaculate hull, the feeling returned. She knew and she felt it now. Spock was dead. It was like Velcro ripping in her mind, separating some link she had not been aware of existing. And then there was something else still clinging to her, like an after-image, whispering against her consciousness like a far-flung echo. She clung to this echo because the Velcro meant pain. The thing whispering to her felt warm, comforting.
In a moment of lucidity in her grief, she wished she could talk to Spock about this. He would know the reason behind these telepathic echoes flaring up at this time. Even the others, McCoy, or Kirk, would have something to say because of their shared experience with Spock. And they must feel it even stronger, she thought. But the senior officers were caught up in debriefings all the time and were doubtless consumed by grief as much as she, if not more.
But there was a comfort in what she felt.
She had called it 'telepathic echoes' herself, surmising that came as close to it as her human understanding could grasp it. She had taken it for granted for a long time now: a soft presence, not quite a mind-link, but more than her own thoughts. She was familiar with rudimentary aspects of Vulcan telepathy and the traces that mind-melds, or close emotional closeness, left. The source of these traces had long since been known to her: Spock. And now she cradled this telepathic imprint as the last artefact remaining of him.
Shaking herself out of her reverie, she stood up and left the observation lounge to catch the next transport planet-side, preferring her private quarters for now.
With a sigh, she sat down on the bed of her temporary quarters in HQ, cradling her face in her hands and trying to breathe calmly. She felt a tear trickle down beneath her fingers. With her index finger, she brushed it away.
"It would be illogical to protest against our natures."
She laughed bitterly. Yes, that's what he would have said, and that was what he had said many years ago in his cabin while wiping her tears away. The echoes knew, and the shadows of his presence did not lie.
Sargon. The whole affair with Sargon, Henoch, and Thalassa had been the point of manifestation of these echoes. After Sargon had implanted Spock's consciousness in her mind for protection and duly removed again after the danger had passed, some traces had remained. She was not too troubled by it now and hadn't been concerned at the time. She was familiar with mind-melds leaving imprints, so why wouldn't a person's entire consciousness leave something? Since then, she had had a stronger awareness of Spock's whereabouts than usual, a heightened inkling of what he would say in a given situation, the recall of the information happening so spontaneous that at times it felt like another voice. At this moment, she positively relished it, like a parting gift made years in advance. The awareness had been only faint at times, stronger when Spock had been in her presence. But now, despite his obvious absence, the echoes sounded stronger than ever before, as if revolting at their creator's demise, or rather at one side of the link breaking away. That was the Velcro - feeling, she supposed.
"You would have something clever, and Vulcan to say about this, wouldn't you? But I don't know if you would actually talk about it."
She rubbed her temples, long since having given up to understand the science behind Vulcan telepathy.
"I'm sorry."
"Yes, yes, I know. I forgive you. Although I did wonder what you meant with that. Were you sorry about not loving me or sorry about not being able or allowed to?"
"I am in control of my emotions! I am a Vulcan. I am in control!"
"Sure you were, especially then. I meant it, you know? Loving both your Vulcan and human side. Even if I was ashamed at how the Platonians tapped into those feelings."
"You must resist them!"
"I tried, Spock. I tried to resist. But it all ended well back then, didn't it?"
"Christine."
"Oh, Spock!" She shivered involuntarily at the imagined sound of his voice calling her by name. Another tear was caught at her mouth as she smiled in recollection.
Spock had had a nice smile. He would have scoffed if she had told him, but she did think so. He never smiled like the human members of the crew did, but his eyes would narrow, his lips as well, the latter curving upward just so much that you could notice if you knew him and did not blink. It was mostly in his eyes: how they seemed to grow warmer, gentler when he was in an amiable mood. The sound of his laughter at the time of the V'Ger mission echoed through her mind, such an alien, unexpected sound triggered by his neurological shock at the time. But his smile was not as unfamiliar when you saw it for what it was. It was a nice, subtle smile, and so very kind to those who were in the position to receive one. It had been a nice smile, Christine corrected herself. He was gone now and she would never see him look at her or anybody else ever again. She could barely remember when she had seen him the last time. Trying to recall their last conversation, she failed miserably. Had it been on the Enterprise? Had she congratulated him for his command? Or had it been in spacedock? More importance than to any other moment seemed attached to his last words now, to their last encounter, to her last words to him, and his last command. And the greatest significance of all lay in his last act of duty.
Christine quickly steered away from thoughts that told her, in cruel medical details, what radiation in that quantity did to a living body. She had seen radiation victims before, but the sight that had met Jim's eyes when he had come down to the reactor room would probably haunt him for decades to come. Even she was haunted by it without having been present, and that was quite enough.
"Illogical."
"Yes, I know I should not dwell on it, but I am a human woman, Spock."
"Evidently."
"Oh, look at me, starting to talk to myself. I really have spent too much time around Leonard."
It had been only hours since the Enterprise had docked, but by then Spock's casket had landed on that new planet long ago: a mere corpse radiating lethal rays where it had once radiated life and wisdom, a life that had been destined to surpass them all. Christine had always found a singular comfort in Spock's life expectancy, as had all his friends. Sure, he got himself into serious trouble on a weekly basis, but he always came back. But even if Christine hadn't heard the report, Jim's face upon arrival today had been proof enough, and all that aside, she just knew.
She hadn't cried at first when she had heard. But she had accessed the medical logs of the Enterprise's five-year mission and the V'Ger mission. She had scoured through the medical reports on Spock by Leonard, M'Benga, and herself, and then she had listened to the old logs of the five-year mission, skipping over all the others to the ones recorded by Spock. And then she had realised that she had started crying, but could not remember when, and hadn't been able to stop for some hours.
Christine sighed, leaning back on her bed. The arrival of the battered ship today had made the report seem even more real. The bruises on the ship's outer hull served as a cruel reminder of the loss within.
Her doorbell chimed and she got up.
"Come in."
Janice Rand, newly promoted, entered.
"Hello Janice, how are you?"
Janice shrugged, and instead of answering verbally greeted Christine with a familiar hug, sharing more meaning than words could ever express.
"You saw her arrive, too, didn't you Chris?"
Christine nodded.
"Yes, I was in the observation lounge. Oh, she looked awful, didn't she?"
Jan nodded as well.
"Have you talked to anyone yet?"
"No, I have barely seen them. I wanted to check in with Leonard over the next days, he's not well, apparently."
"Leonard? Not well? What have you heard, Chris?"
"Oh…" Christine swallowed uncomfortably. "I've heard a rumour that he…that he broke into Spock's cabin, and talked nonsense. Don't quote me on it, Pavel only told me in passing what happened. He's resting now, I suppose."
"Poor guy. Must have hit him hard."
"Hm, yes…where are you heading now, Jan?"
"Oh, I won't be on duty for another hour. You?"
"I'm starting at Operations in half an hour. Let's catch up more tomorrow, alright?"
"Alright Christine, see you then."
Christine sighed relieved when Janice left again. She was not in the mood for talking about current events, and she needed a clear head for her first shift at Starfleet Operations.
Her new post was uneventful as it was therapeutic. Re-directing communications and fixing up an ensign who had fallen over a chair was the most eventful it got for her first few shifts, and they all blended into one comfortable blur of activity during which Christine let her mind wander, but not too much. And if she smiled to herself at times, her colleagues did not ask, in full knowledge of her connection to the Enterprise. Inwardly, she smiled at the recollection of nimble fingers pressing buttons in swift succession when she worked the frequencies, at the sound of a harp in the recreation rooms, at the smell of Plomeek soup wafting from the kitchen of a Vulcan restaurant. To these associations, she let her mind wander, accompanied by the random echoes of things Spock had said to her in days gone by.
But the languid routine soon changed as, shortly after starting one shift, the random com-chatter was replaced by one message.
"Alert, unauthorized access at spacedock!"
"What's happening up there, Commander?" her superior officer asked.
"They're…they're stealing the Enterprise! The Enterprise is being removed! Excelsior in pursuit!"
"They? Who?" Her superior seemed as baffled as everyone else around her. The theft of a starship from spacedock was a first. She shrugged her shoulders, despite the immediate hunch she had as to some particular officers' involvement.
"Well, if they're sending the Excelsior, they've got it under control."
Christine said nothing, watching her monitor instead. Uhura was up there, so much she knew, voluntarily assigned to a minor transporter room.
She tapped into the communications from spacedock, and the mention of one name was enough to grasp her attention: Kirk.
On her monitor, the Excelsior came to a halt and the Enterprise vanished into warp. Christine smiled. Whatever had been going on up there, she knew that, against ideas being raised around her right now, Kirk had not lost his mind. She had heard that he had talked to Admiral Morrow about Genesis and that McCoy had been caught by a civilian agent, also talking about Genesis. Being stationed close to the commanding elite at HQ had its advantages.
Christine leant back, reporting to her superiors what she had seen, but certainly not what she had thought. If the mention of Genesis was any indication, something more than they could grasp was afoot.
"Illogical."
Damn right it was. 'You would have done the same for them," she thought. 'Whatever they're about to do for you.'
The months that followed were a blur. The agitation left by the theft of the Enterprise and by reports that reached them, and the simply incredible events the general crisis culminated in overshadowed all the events her normal routine at HQ could have included.
First, there were the rumours, starting immediately after the theft of the Enterprise. There always were rumours, especially when it included events that were classified or areas that were restricted, and in this case, both applied. Since the report concerning the Grissom had come in, the rumour-mill had been running at full speed. Practically simultaneously with the Grissom-report had come the message that Kirk and his crew had gone into exile on Vulcan, perusing a stolen Bird-of-Prey, after the destruction of the Enterprise and the demise of Genesis. So much was sure, untainted by any rumours. But concerning certain other conspicuous reports, a revelation about their veracity was still wanting.
Wandering the hallways of HQ, Christine had heard various rumours including but not restricted to the theory that Jim Kirk had been sent to destroy Genesis and was now held on Vulcan against his will, that the grieving Kirk had destroyed the planet out of vengeance for his loss, and – the most outrageous of all - that Spock had not died at all but that the entire crew had faked his death to instate him as ruler of a new Vulcan colony on Genesis. The last one had amused her for days, even though the thought of Spock still being alive, however illogical, was still painful. However, Christine had a nagging suspicion that this whole scandal had something to do with Spock, if only for the reason that everything in this mess had to do with him in some way or other.
The most 'logical' guess the rumours had fabricated was that Kirk had embarked on a mission of conscience to retrieve Spock's body and give him a proper burial on Vulcan. This was one theory Christine could believe in, knowing how Vulcans cherished their ancient traditions.
But believing in burials and believing in resurrections were two different things. She had dismissed the message that Captain Spock was alive again as a cruel joke. But then again, she knew of no one on Vulcan capable of pranks, and it was a message sent by official channels. It was followed, after a while, by the message that Kirk and crew were on their way back to Earth, most likely awaiting serious charges.
Christine spent most evenings alone during that time. She would have said it helped her think, but she spent them mostly by quietly sitting on her balcony, gazing at the stars and letting her mind wander. It took her to the same places and questions every time: Vulcan, the Enterprise, 'What had happened on Vulcan?', 'What could motivate Kirk to blow up his beloved ship?', and other questions she dared not ask aloud.
"When you have eliminated the impossible…"
"I've read 'Sherlock Holmes', but the idea that you are alive is outrageously impossible, Spock!"
Sometimes she hoped fervently that her neighbours were not listening too closely.
"You cannot theorise without data."
"I have the data, Spock, there was enough radiation to kill the whole crew. There were official reports, a burial. But then there is also the report that you were resurrected, for lack of a better term. Oh, I wish they would arrive sooner, even if it's for their trial. Then I would know!"
She started to believe in the 'outrageously impossible' idea soon after rejecting it so fervently. She did not know why, but there was something about this series of events that made her strangely optimistic. When her old colleagues arrived, she thought to herself, she would meet with Len and Uhura and catch up on all that had happened, and clear up her persisting inner confusion and curiosity once and for all. Until then, it could not hurt to believe, even if that fantasy could be shattered again.
And then the probe came.
The day had begun more promising than she ever could have hoped a day to begin. She had been on the way to her regular shift when the doors to the turbolift opened to a familiar face.
"Ambassador Sarek. Greetings."
She had quickly composed herself at the sight of the Vulcan and joined him with a respectful distance.
"Greetings, Commander Chapel," he nodded.
The turbolift rode on, and both remained silent, Christine stifling her curiosity to not appear impertinent.
"We had not expected you back to diplomatic missions on Earth so quickly, Ambassador, after recent events."
"I am here for the upcoming trial of the Admiral. He is returning to Earth after having spent the last months on Vulcan."
"Indeed." Christine swallowed heavily, trying to suppress the urge of asking for more information that might be deemed too private for Vulcans. "I hope they are well and that they bring…good news." She kept her look fixed on the door of the lift but did not miss the raised eyebrow directed at her.
"I appreciate your diplomacy. Your human shipmates are well and Spock is alive. Good day, Commander." And he swept out of the turbolift in original Vulcan fashion, leaving Christine behind. The doors closed again, the lift resuming its short ride to the main floor. Christine let out a breath she had not noticed holding. Steadying herself against the bulkhead, she paused for a few seconds after she had left the lift. So, it really was true. Breathing through her nose a few times, counting the seconds, she continued her walk to her station. There, she quickly fell into her usual routine, well-schooled in not letting errand thoughts distract her from work.
She was having a regular shift so far when the screeching started to invade her routine. Reports of ships that were left dead in the wake of the visitor left her with a feeling of unease, the evolutionary response kicking in. The mayhem that ensued when the probe reached Earth rivalled all her past shifts on the Enterprise for the bulk of responsibilities that arose simultaneously. She lost track of time while she relayed messages, sorted through the storm of communications, ordered medical teams to necessary locations, interpreted environmental readings, sent distress signals, and helped prepare the planet for the worst. The only thing she was sure of was that her time at the console had far exceeded that of her normal shift, but that was of little consequence now. Every available personnel was on call. She breathed heavily while wiping the dust from her monitor. The lights began to flicker more heavily. She did not even remember when they had started to go out one by one.
A new signal came in, not on her console, but it was projected onto the main monitor of the control room. It was the only message playing now and she gave it her full attention.
She held her breath the second time that day as she recognised the face of Kirk, and tried to comprehend the meaning of his message. It was clear he had a plan. A plan that involved…whales? She let her eyes wander to the background of the grainy picture, deciding that whales were not a problem she had to spare any thoughts right now. She narrowed her eyes as if that could make up for the bad signal. Next to who she recognised as Leonard, she could see a white-clad figure with pointy ears. It was only her ingrained knowledge of him being deceased that made her take a second look before acknowledging who it was, alive and well, without visible radiation burns. Spock.
The message became garbled, the panorama window broke. They were too late. They were going to die, all of them, at least one for the second time.
"There!" she heard someone shout.
She looked out into the blinding sleet and could just make out a green silhouette, diving beneath the bridge. Then they waited. That green vessel had been a Bird-of-Prey, headed straight for the bay. Had they drowned?
Then, the screeching stopped. And slowly, but surely, the sky cleared, as people around her erupted into celebratory laughter and clapping.
Later, the silence and serious demeanour in the courtroom presented an uncomfortable difference to the spontaneous celebration she had rejoiced in earlier. But even so, the diplomatic conversations she had unwittingly, or not so unwittingly, witnessed made her believe that the situation was very serious for Kirk and his crew, but would not leave recent events and their role in them unnoticed. If anything, the presence of Spock two seats away made her believe in miracles.
Still, she pressed her lips together and slid to the edge of the bench as the charges were read. But just as quickly, she joined the laughter and clapping of everyone around her as it was announced that the only consequence was a demotion in rank for Kirk. Sharing a delighted grin with Gillian Taylor next to her, she filed out of the seats with other spectators, storming to greet the heroes of the day.
She greeted and congratulated Kirk enthusiastically, received a bestubbled kiss from Leonard, squeezed Uhura, threw herself around Pavel's neck, overjoyed to meet all her colleagues again, all in good health. And so it happened that when she saw Spock she flung her arms around him as she had done with all others before, forgetting Vulcan aversion to physical contact for a moment and forgetting also the people around them, so glad was she to see him, had it been all but an impossibility before. And he looked healthy, not just alive, but well and content.
"You seem likewise well and content."
The voice in her head had been louder than ever, so loud in fact, she flinched.
"I apologize. I did not mean to read your thoughts or startle you by answering them."
It had not been in her head this time, then, how embarrassing. But she could see the amusement twinkling in Spock's eyes after she had quickly pushed away. Oh, how she had missed those eyes.
"I…it's alright, I thought it was in my head and it's normally not that loud there."
Spock raised his eyebrow at her in mock concern.
"Not that loud? My voice? You hear my voice in your head on a regular basis?" he asked.
"It's more like an echo, barely more than a strong memory," Christine explained, almost convinced he would think her mad. "I've called it telepathic echo or imprint, as it started after Sargon had put your mind in my head. I only talked to it after…you know…you died."
"Such an imprint is perfectly normal after telepathic contact. I am sure the Captain and the Doctor, for instance, experience similar sensations," Spock assured her. "But you could have talked about that years ago if you were interested in its source."
"I know, but it did not worry me because I had an explanation for it, and…" Her smile faltered slightly, unsure as she was of how to explain such a trivial, human thing to Spock.
"And?"
"Well, I did not want to share it and be ridiculed as the damsel in distress who's pathetically in love with the resident Vulcan again."
Spock shook his head. "You never were."
"Oh, I was in love, Spock," she laughed, both in pity for her past self and at the sheer absurdity of the present situation.
"I know. But…You never were pathetic."
Christine sobered up, looking at Spock's serious face. He meant it.
"Thanks, Spock."
With a nod and a very slight quirk of his lips, Spock took his leave from her and vanished into the thinning crowd.