Disclaimer: I think you should all know by now that I don't own Star Trek.

A/N: Yeah, yeah, I know. Long time, no update...Sorry, I just started up school again and things have been rather hectic. But, I will update much more quickly now that I have things under control.

Short chapter...Yeah.

"You alright, lass? You look a tad disheveled, if I may say so." Christine glanced to her other side to find Chief Engineer Scott.

She smiled, realizing that she hadn't seen him since her departure fifteen months prior. "I'm fine, Scotty. How are you?"

"Aye, I'm fine…Especially after I got the call this morning. I wasn't sure if I could survive much longer without my bonnie lass."

"Ah, shut it, Scotty. First goddamn shore leave back home in over a year and we get called back in less than twenty-four hours…Starfleet's off their rocker."

"Doc, it sounds like you've got a few tight screws in that head of yours. Maybe some juice will loosen you up a bit," the engineer observed, unscrewing a silver flask that he had pulled from his jacket pocket.

Christine, who was stuck in the middle of this illicit transaction, swiftly demean them. "I thought we've been over this? If someone sees you --"

"Cool it, Chapel," McCoy said, the bottle drawing closer to his mouth with every word. "If anything, Jim'll mosey on over here for a sip or two."

She merely rolled her eyes as McCoy passed the flask back to Scotty, who was beginning to start up a conversation with one of the yeomen, a brunette woman named Mira Romaine. Christine seized the chance to speak with McCoy.

"Er, I wanted to say…About last night --"

"Ah, it's alright, Chapel. I know I'm a handsome man and all, so I know it's mighty hard to resist. I'm just glad to see ya in one piece. I'm guessin' that guacamole-for-blood hobgoblin got ya home safe." He had a look in his eye that definitely said more than his mouth did.

A long silence passed between them. She then smiled.

"Shut up. What the hell are you even doing here? I thought we established last time we were on a shuttle that you hated space."

McCoy closed his eyes, attempting to block out the sudden vibration from underneath them. "Gotta pay my child support somehow."

Christine rolled her eyes and leaned back against the headrest. Realizing after a couple of seconds that the turbulence was too rough for her to sleep through, she scanned the faces of the crewmen who she had departed from fifteen months ago.

Suddenly, she recognized a pair of brown eyes that she had seen much more recently. Her headache resurfaced, causing her to divert her attention elsewhere.

"McCoy, get off my arm rest," she grumbled, knocking his trembling hand from the metal bar separating them. Reclaiming it, she gripped it with as much intensity as she was able to afford without her fingers falling off from lack of blood circulation.

"Go away, Spock, just go away…" she whispered, hoping that it was quiet enough for no one else to hear.

"Ah, home sweet home," McCoy sarcastically remarked as Christine followed him into the sickbay.

They were both finally in uniform, though Starfleet felt bent on torturing the young woman with assigning her a dress uniform. She was constantly pulling down at the bottom, not used to the feeling of her skinny legs being bare for all the Beta Quadrant to see.

"Quit messin' with your dress, Chapel, ya look fine. Heck, ya even look like a gal for the first time since I've known ya."

"Thanks, McCoy, you're so insightful," she glared at him as she went through the PADD on one of the medical counters. She began to open up the cabinets for an inventory check. "I'll be sure to come to you for fashion advice."

"Hey, I'll take care of the inventory if ya buzz the bridge and tell 'em we're all set down here."

"Alright, fine with me," she remarked, handing him the PADD and heading over to the small screen mounted on the wall next to the main computer. She pressed the small button underneath. "Sickbay to bridge."

"Bridge here," the ensign assigned to communications answered, fiddling clumsily with his earpiece. "Can you here me?"

"Yes, I can hear you clearly. You don't need the earpiece for intership communications…Never mind. Just tell Captain Kirk sickbay is all set in case anyone decides to keel over."

"Er, yes ma'am, right away."

Suddenly, an off-screen voice corrected the young man. "Ensign, readdress Lieutenant Chapel with her correct rank. Aboard this ship, she is your superior officer, not a fellow cadet. You will address her as either Lieutenant or Doctor, not as a civilian title."

"I apologize, Lieutenant Chapel, my fault…" stumbled the embarrassed ensign before cutting off their line.

"Yikes, what ruffled Spock-o's feathers?" came McCoy's perturbed voice.

Christine sighed, turning her back on the screen and returning to help McCoy with the inventory despite their agreement. She needed to get her minds off things. As she went through the various respirator mouthpieces and subsequently checked them off the list, McCoy commented, "So I guess Nyota's stayin' home with Mikey?"

"Moe-zee," she said, enunciating. "His name's Mosi. And yes, I suppose she did."

"I wonder how that's gonna fit. I'm not too sure what our shore leave schedule is, but that don't sound like an ideal environment for the kid." McCoy sat down at his computer and began to log in.

"As if you should be giving out parenting advice," Christine commented, looking through the bottles of terakine. "I'm sure they know what they're doing. It's for the best, anyways. Jim's a captain, he can't just give up his job like that."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Uh-huh," Christine acknowledged Suddenly, as she began to monitor the green Vulcan blood packets kept in the small fridge along with the human blood, she wondered what really was wrong with Spock.

The last time he went off on someone like that was…No. She would not think about fifteen months ago. She would not think about that night.

She slammed the fridge door closed and avoided McCoy's cautious gaze.

As far as she was concerned, Spock was well on his own if he needed help with anything, personal or professional.

A/N: AH. The tension. Sometimes, I just want them to get over themselves and have lots of hot and angry sex. In the recreation room. In front of everybody. Just kidding. Or am I?