Christine turned lightly.
The room, alight with candles and crystal seemed to be the silent vastness of space itself. Then from somewhere far away an orchestra began a Terran waltz.
Everywhere there were long gowns and formal suits that reflected the combined heritage of an entire starship. A formal ball in honor of the return of the legendary Enterprise. A great send off for the end of 5 years of history.
Christine was gliding across the floor to her table.
The Federation's President had a charming smile and glowing cheeks (from the freely flowing wine, no doubt). His laughter was light and musical and carried across the room. His Deltan companion courteously extended her hand to Christine. She had never met a Deltan before. They were such a beautiful people.
"Lieutenant Ilia." She heard herself say as she reached a hand in greeting.
The President swayed.
Several people tried to catch him before he fell but he tumbled forward nonetheless. His wine seemed to fly from the glass at her.
Christine looked down in horror at the zaffre velvet of her dress. Droplets of amber liquid hung on the fabric, sparkling like jewels.
A deep baritone voice spoke in her ear like a dream.
"Are you all right Miss Chapel?"
She turned slowly. Her eyes rose up from the floor taking in every inch of his beautiful form.
He wore dark almost charcoal colored trousers and a traditional Vulcan tunic in black with charcoal iridescent lettering down the front and circling the large sleeve cuffs.
In the light of the candles he was impossibly handsome, shining like carved obsidian.
"I'm fine, Mr. Spock. Just a little spill but I'd better go." She felt her heart race. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
It was the last night that she would have to endure the scrutiny of the Enterprise. She wouldn't embarrass herself by acting like a lovesick ninny.
"Will you return?" his words surprised her.
She faltered.
"I, uh. I hadn't planned on it. I really need to..." She wanted to tell him that the gown would be ruined by the wine. She wanted to say something intelligent. But all she could think was that everyone, every single person in the room, was looking at her.
"Then will you do me the honor of a dance before you depart?"
She tried to swallow, tried to speak.
Felt the words get stuck in her throat like sand.
She felt that if she did speak she would surely wake from this dream and she didn't dare.
She nodded slightly.
His hand was there quite suddenly, extended out to her.
She was reaching for him, to ...dance with him.
Finally to dance with him.
But she couldn't reach him.
The further she reached the further away he seemed.
He was just too far away.
She watched her hand as it tried to bridge the gap in the room.
A wave of cold terror flew through her.
She looked up and met his eyes.
He nodded imperceptibly and she spun around. There was a knife in her hand - there was blood everywhere - she screamed and her voice was that of a wild animal.
"Nooooooooo-"
Dark hands caught her.
Uhura.
She was here, on Earth. It was over.
It was just a dream. She was still shaking.
She blinked, struggling once again to breathe. 'It was just a dream, let it go.' She thought to herself.
Christine lay back on the crisp white sheets.
For a moment only the hiss of the circulation system and her thunderously pounding heart broke the silence. She raised her hand to her head, checking once again.
It was still bare, as she knew it would be. Smoother now than the pirates had left it. The cuts and scrapes healed by Starfleet's best medical care.
"Thanks Ny." her voice sounded strangely calm though her throat felt as if it was on fire from the tears stuck there.
Her friend patted her hand and moved back to the chair where she had been keeping silent vigil for the last two days.
She smiled in the same sad way that she had from the very beginning, but remained silent. No words were necessary between these friends.
Christine's eyes fell to the electronic pad on the table next to Uhura. She raised an eyebrow in Vulcan fashion quite unaware of how very alien she appeared, bruised and swollen with a shaved head.
Uhura lifted the pad into view.
The book list for Christine's medical classes.
Uhura smiled sheepishly, "You caught me. I was going to have them all loaded before you woke so you would be all ready for school."
Her friend chuckled in response. It was an odd sensation that seemed to catch with the tears in her throat. She tried not to think too much about its hollow sound.
It would take time.
Fortunately there was a commotion in the hall that distracted her from her train of thought.
Dr. McCoy could be heard swearing at Dr. Birdseye.
George Birdseye, the CMO of Starfleet Medical appointed as head physician for this case due to the high level of visibility.
Only Starfleet's best for its fallen heroes or something like that.
Dr. McCoy had cried foul but was outranked. Then he was immediately appointed consulting physician due to his expertise with these particular Enterprise officers.
The door to her room hissed opened.
A tall lanky gray-haired doctor entered, Dr. Birdseye. He was trying to distance himself from McCoy's unceasing verbal tirade.
"Damn it George, I don't care if he spent 2 months in a healing trance he wasn't ready to leave!"
The older doctor wheeled angrily, "Bones, he's an adult he can make those decisions for himself!"
"You're his doctor!" he spat back.
"There was no medical reason to keep him! Here, read his chart." He thrust a data pad at the Enterprise's physician. "Show me how I could have kept him!"
McCoy pushed it back. "You're his superior you could have ordered him!"
George sighed angrily through a clenched jaw. "Not anymore. He resigned his commission. I told you he's headed back to Vulcan and there's nothing we can do to stop him."
Christine gasped.
Spock had left? Just like that?
McCoy glared at him for a long time then stomped out angrily muttering. No matter what kind of head start that fool Vulcan had, he wasn't going to let him just run off like that.
As the door closed she heard something about finding Jim and getting the fastest shuttle for Vulcan.