Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I in any way associated with, Star Trek. But really, let's face it, fanfiction originated with ST and that franchise has only grown as a result. I'm doing a good thing here.
AN: Yes, I know, I'm posting something during NaNo. My S/C bunnies started going all crazy a few days ago and this happened.
AN2: References to "Plato's Stepchildren" and "The Naked Time." (Goodness, every time I think that last episode title I giggle. It makes me think of small children who hate clothes and Potter Puppet Pals.) If you're wondering what the heck happened in those because you're only an AOS fan, you can find both episodes on hulu and youtube.
Betrayal
It feels like a betrayal. He tries to remind himself that it isn't him, it isn't her, and, perhaps most importantly, he is a Vulcan and shouldn't be feeling bad about anything at all, but none of it works. At the end of the day there is still a Spock existing in some universe who is able to open up to his emotions at least enough to have a romantic relationship. That in and of itself is betrayal enough, but that the other Spock is with someone who is not her makes it all the worse. At the very least some form of her in some universe should be happy.
Perhaps it would not have been so bad if the shuttle taking him to the new Vulcan colony had not found itself in the path of an ion storm. Enterprise had come to the rescue, saving the crew and passengers, if not the ship itself, and for the injuries he had endured Spock was forced into McCoy's sickbay. It was an ordeal he had missed dearly over the years, but being back here now, in this world that is not his, pains him more than he can bear.
This McCoy is different from his, but only slightly. He is still gruff with the other Spock, still the best doctor the ship could ask for, but there is something lighter about him. He seems happier somehow, which is horrifying. The thought that McCoy would be happier in a world where Jim's father died the day he was born, where Vulcan is a singularity, and where the eventual death of Romulus' sun still hangs over the quadrant like a knife is disturbing on levels Spock prefers not to contemplate.
Regardless, McCoy sees to the other Spock's wounds, berating him for actions that they both know could not have been avoided. Spock, the first Spock, the old Spock, wonders if his conversations with his McCoy were ever so pointless and knows they were.
"Look at me." The order is direct, but kind.
Spock starts, momentarily wishing Nero had killed him simply so that he would not have to live this one moment.
"Nurse Chapel," he says and immediately regrets it.
She smiles brilliantly as she looks into first one of his eyes, then the other. "You were on the Enterprise before, weren't you?" She asks it gently, knowing that the emotions involved will be intense, even for a Vulcan.
Of course, she assumes he knows her because of the Enterprise's work in saving a few of the surviving Vulcans. He nods, wishing she would go away even while hoping she doesn't. He watches her work, almost desperate to take in every nuance of her.
She is dead, he reminds himself. He remembers when he first heard the news. McCoy came to him on Vulcan, a bottle of half-drunk Romulan ale in his hand. He had known instantly what was wrong and felt something deep inside of him go small and cold in that moment.
Part of him, the human part he is sure, cannot help but rejoice that she is here. Not the same, but it is her nonetheless.
She gives him an injection and smiles at him, preparing to move on to the next patient. He is distressed by the knowledge but pushes the feeling aside.
"You'll be fine," she says, "just --"
"For Heaven's sakes! This is a sick bay not a high school gym on prom night!"
Spock looks up just in time to see Uhura back obediently away from his other self.
"Your analogy, while colorful, does not seem prudent, doctor," the other Spock says. "Loved ones often show their affection for the injured in sick bays and hospitals."
"This is my sick bay and I say visiting hours are over."
As an argument begins Spock chances a glance at Christine. If she ever lost control of her emotions, that moment had long passed. He can only see a small glimmer of regret in her eyes, and that only because he knew the other her. The part of him that is Vulcan is proud of her. The part of him that is human is breaking for her.
The doors open behind her and Kirk walks in. There it is, the look on his face when he spots Uhura and the other Spock. That is the final part of the betrayal.
He had always known of Jim's feelings for Uhura, and hers for him. That nothing, aside from a painful ordeal on Platonius, had ever come from them was beside the point. This James Kirk clearly has similar feelings for his Uhura, wears them far more openly than Spock's Kirk had.
As Jim walks across the bay Christine looks up, their eyes meet, and that moment of shared pain, shared longing, is almost too much.
When he reaches the other Spock's bed Jim easily dissolves the argument and discussions on what will be done next are begun. Spock ignores them, returning his focus to Christine. She is gathering up her instruments, taking far longer than she should given how quickly she is moving. He watches the way her hands move, placing the tricorder in her medkit only to take it out a minute later and put a hypo in its place. She repeats this nearly a dozen times, moving every object in the kit before she finally stops and looks up at him. The look on her face is direct, ordering him to answer her, and he is surprised. His Christine never looked at him this way except when there was a medical issue in which she required his assistance. It helps him, somewhat, to know this small difference between them.
"Did you know me?" she asks.
He is taken aback by her question. It is clear what she means but he had thought his identity hidden to all but a select few members of the crew. Of course, if anyone were to see him for who he is, it would have to be her. A long moment stretches out as he takes in her question, knowing a simple yes to be too much of a lie, yet knowing that disclosing all of the facts would be far too much truth.
"No," she says, shaking her head and snapping the medkit closed. "Never mind. I'd rather not know."
She is at the foot of his bed when he says, "Yes."
He can feel the echo of her emotions and foolishly wishes she were facing him so that he could remember each one as it moves over her face. Slowly, she turns, takes a step closer to him. She flounders for a moment, her mouth opening and closing with questions she immediately reconsiders, and he can see her asking herself if she really wants to know more.
"You served aboard the Enterprise," he hears himself saying and wonders at his own lunacy.
She nods as if she already knows this.
"You were Dr. McCoy's most trusted nurse and a fine member of the crew."
She tenses and he knows he has said the wrong thing.
"Wait," he says before she can turn away. "I said this once to my universe's Nurse Chapel and I would like to say it to you now." He takes her hand, remembering when he said these words to her, the other her. It had hurt him more than he knew to here her say she loved him and in the aftermath he had doubted very much that the disease was all to blame for his emotional response. He meets her gaze, so painfully familiar, and finds that he has to force each word out.
"I am sorry. Christine."
He adds the last more for his Christine than for her, but it makes her smile all the same. It is a sad smile, but it is enough. Enough for her to know that this infatuation is not unique to her alone. Enough to make her feel better. And enough to give him some measure of peace.
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