Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. If I did, the next movie would be in production right now.

A/N: So, originally, Uhura or McCoy was gonna drag her home, so the idea of Spock doing the honors completely struck me by surprise. It wasn't until when I reread the chapter once it was posted when I was like "Wait, what?" This story has mind-controlling powers, I swear…

Oh, and after watching Amok Time, my dad now refers to Christine as the Busybody Soup Lady. Great.

Shortly after volunteering his night to assist Christine home safely, Nyota supplied him with her home address; moments later, a shuttlebus promptly arrived and he carefully maneuvered her up the steps and down the narrow aisle, sitting down beside her in the back. As the bus departed, he watched a composed Jim wrap a comforting arm around a frantic Nyota's waist and began to escort her back inside the bar.

While Christine pressed the right side of her face against the cool glass window, Spock repeated the address in his mind, careful not to miss the stop. He recognized it as belonging to an apartment building not more than two blocks from the Academy, making it very accessible to the young woman.

Spock looked over at Christine and pulled her away from the glass, which she had suddenly became intent on becoming rather intimate with, not unlike her behavior with Doctor McCoy. Suddenly, his mind wandered over to that moment in time that he had accidentally witnessed -- the spontaneous osculation of the doctor on his mandible. He did not know why, but it made Spock feel slightly uneasy; his Vulcan heart began to beat rather quickly, causing him to wonder if he was the only one able to hear it.

And then, he remembered her words shortly after this. 'Wrong blue shirt.' What she meant by that, he did not know, nor did he care to dwell on her sudden bursting of private thoughts. Her inner musings were not his concern.

After precisely 6.47 minutes of guiding an intoxicated Christine up three flights of stairs (the elevator lift was under repair), they arrived at the door of her apartment. She reached into her dress and flimsily pulled out a key card that she swiped through a small slot on the door. The door then buzzed, notifying her that she was allowed to enter. As she pushed open the door, she stumbled slightly, only to be steadied by Spock's strong hands on her hips.

Spock stood in the doorway and watched Christine walk into the living room and setting her key card onto the coffee table. Her movements, though much more coordinated than back at the bar, were sluggish. She was obviously still under the effects of inebriation and though Spock was going to originally let her handle herself once she reached her apartment, he suddenly decided against it. Taking a few step forwards, he allowed his hands to hover over her shoulders to keep her from falling over.

Moments later, she turned to him, her eyes glazed over. She had a peculiar grin that was beginning to settle upon her lips. Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around his midsection and pulled herself closely into him. His heart, though located in the place of a Human liver, was beginning to beat incredibly fast, which he quickly subsided; if it were not for his ability to control his biological functions solely with his mind, he was quite sure that it would resort in a heart attack.

"Mmm, you smell nice." Christine nestled her face into the crook of his neck, much to his discomfort.

Suddenly a loud snore into his ear confirmed her status of consciousness. He slowly looked down at the woman, who was beginning to slouch as she descended further into her alcohol-induced slumber.

And how someone could sleep standing up, he did not know.

Christine woke up to the loud beeping of her PADD. Groggily, she raised her head to find that she was on her sofa, still in the same dress from the night before. Turning off the alarm, she sat up on the couch and look around.

Trying to remember the night before, she rubbed her forehead, where a mind-blowing headache was beginning to form. And then she remembered.

"Ugh," she groaned. She usually didn't drink except for rare occasions, and she suddenly remembered why. She was never the best at holding her drink. She mentally reminded herself that a glass of water would suffice the next time around.

As she rose from the couch, she had to steady herself, careful not to bump into the coffee table. Christine wondered how she got home. After a moment of trying to remember the events of last night, her mind immediately drew to a single name.

Spock.

She vaguely recalled being on a bus with him, not long after she upchucked in the alleyway neighboring the bar. The next thing she knew, was stumbling into her living room, only to be followed by Spock. And for some incomprehensible reason, she hugged him. That was the last thing she could remember. Suddenly, her stomach began to churn. What if she did something regretful? She wasn't going to exactly call it a repeat of the night before her trial fifteen months ago, but what if something did happen?

Then, of course, why would she still be wearing her dress? She moved around slightly and found that her undergarments had not been removed, nor was her makeup smeared in any way. But, that did not exclude the possibility of "first base," a juvenile term that was frequently passed around in her high school days.

But suddenly, she encountered a rectifying truth -- this was Spock, not Jim Kirk or Leonard McCoy, nor any other emotion-based humanoid. This was Spock, and she knew he would not do a thing in the world -- or the universe, rather -- to defy his logical standpoint, no matter how inebriated she may have been at the time.

As Christine crossed the room to enter the bathroom, she slipped off the wrinkled material of her dress. A hot shower would do her good. Suddenly, just as she was about to step into the steaming water, her communicator began to ring. Sighing, she wrapped a towel around herself and went back into the living room to answer it.

Before opening it, she briefly scanned the caller identifier. Why on earth was Starfleet calling her, especially on a Saturday?

"Hello?"

Spock found himself scanning the seats once more.

Clad in his blue uniform and not a single hair on his head out of place, he was strapped in before the rest of the crew. Merely an hour before, he had received the notification that the Enterprise crew were to abort their shore leave. The reason being was because they had felt it would be prudent for Captain Kirk to get back to his post as Captain as quickly as possible. Starfleet offered the crew more scheduled stops at starbases in compensation, though that did little to appease the humans' needs for temporary asylum.

Spock, on the other hand, was ready the moment he was notified, willing to assist Starfleet in any way possible so that he would be able to fulfill his duties as science officer and second-in-command of the Enterprise. Though, he had to admit to himself, he was looking forward to the shore leave; the Enterprise had been on patrol for sixteen months, three weeks, and two days, and there was hardly a moment when he was not preoccupied with his duties as first-in-command.

"Hey, Spock," Jim greeted him as he passed by, slapping him on the shoulder. Spock took it as a form of friendship and nodded back at him, still not used to the affection that human friends often expressed to each other.

As minutes passed, he saw a very relieved Montgomery Scott; the Scotsman was notorious for his hatred of shore leave; he recalled him once saying that the Enterprise was his one true love, and to part from her would be a crime in itself.

By the time the shuttle was filled with the last of the crewmen not yet aboard the Enterprise, he once more searched the faces of the officers, though he was unsure why; as the door closed and it began to slowly rise from the ground, his ears pricked up, picking up a very familiar voice from the outside.

It wasn't until the door opened that he realized whose face he was searching for.

Christine ran into the hangar, duffle bag in hand. Looking around, she saw no remnant of a familiar crewmember in sight. Running an anxious hand through her messy hair, she approached a black-clad officer.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Christine Chapel, I think I'm a bit late…I wasn't aware that I was serving aboard," She looked around in worry.

The officer began to scan through a list of names on the PADD. "Ooh, Doctor Chapel, you're on the --"

"Yeah, yeah, as I said, I'm running late."

"Well, if I were you, I'd step up my pace, because the last shuttle is leaving right about…now."

Christine turned quickly to see a grey shuttle begin to slowly rise from the ground. "Oh, give me a break…" she groaned and immediately began to scurry in its direction. When it became clear that it had no intent on waiting on her, she began to viciously wave her arms above her head.

"HEY, STOP THAT SHUTTLE!"

Apparently, luck was finally on her side, because it finally began to descend from the air and landed back on the hangar pavement, the door swung open by a disgruntled Starfleet officer.

"Sorry, sorry," she said, entering the shuttle.

"Name?"

"Chapel, Christine," she answered, looking around the inside of the shuttle. She recognized a couple familiar faces, including those of helmsmen Sulu and Chekov, as well as Jim, who gave her a little smile followed by with a mock salute. She nodded at him, half-annoyed, half-rejoiced to catch the shuttle.

The officer nodded. "Alright, Doctor, you're all set."

Christine muttered a thank you and began to walk down the long rows of the shuttle, searching for a seat. Finally, she found one in the back.

As she sat down and busied herself with the buckles of the seat restraints, she was greeted with an eerily familiar Southern twang.

"Well, well, well, Chapel -- Just like old times, eh?"

A/N: Dun, dun, dun, it's a vicious circle! Just like old times, indeed, Bones.