INTIMATE AS A KISS
by ardavernport
OOO == OOO Part 2
With a crew of 430, space on the Enterprise was at a premium. So much so that even the senior officers' quarters doubled as living and office space.
Except for the Chief Medical Officer, whose official duties could require genuine privacy. There was only the desk and a couple chairs, but it was large enough for several people to attend a briefing, if needed.
"No, I think, we have everything we need. Thank-you for asking," Christine Chapel told Dr. McCoy as she closed the door. His mouth was open, hand raised, when the gray door hissed, sliding shut over whatever he was going to say.
Chapel used the privacy lock while Spock took the seat at McCoy's desk to read the draft of her report on the viewer. The lock was perhaps overkill. She knew that McCoy would never barge in on them.
She sat on the other side of the desk, quietly reading as well. For long moments, there was silence, except for the subliminal, low thrum of the ship.
She read his report draft on a note board. He did not have much to report. Most of the time he had been completely isolated in Henoch's receptacle. After that, the rest of it was an outline of the bare facts up to and including Sargon and Thalassa's departure. Nothing else.
Chapel looked up to find Spock looking back at her. He read faster than she did.
"Well, it could use a little . . . filling out," she offered.
"Yours is . . . accurate," he responded.
"Thank-you." A favorable comment about her accuracy was high praise from Mr. Spock.
Frowning, he took a moment to continue. "I note that you attribute our continued telepathic connection with me after Sargon and Thalassa had departed to some lingering effect of Sargon's mental powers." He looked to the side, toward the viewer, but she got the impression that he was really deliberately looking away from her.
"I don't know what else it could have been." She shrugged. It had been similar to what she felt when sharing Spock's consciousness, except that instead of two people with one body, it was two people, each with their own bodies, but still feeling the other. And one of them very grateful to be returned to his own body. And they were no longer constrained to total neutrality in any thought and action that might draw Henoch's attention.
"The feeling went away after I left the bridge."
"That would be due to the increased distance between us. Proximity natters for telepathy. At least for Vulcans." He continued to not look at her as he spoke, his eyes still aimed toward the viewer.
"So, that was you. Not Sargon," she concluded.
He nodded. A bit guiltily, she thought. He cleared his throat. "Yes. I believe so."
It had not been invasive that time, just a continuation of a dire necessity. They shared their consciousnesses with common goals, conceal and hide. But without any thought or knowledge of how they would defeat Henoch, other than their trust in Sargon. They dared not exchange any conscious thoughts at all, lest Henoch become aware of Spock's presence, which he could have snuffed out with barely a mental twitch.
Christine was sure that Sargon had somehow given her the ability to know that Spock was with her, sharing the senses of her body. And not care. Just as he had silenced Spock's frantic need to act against the enemy as soon as he was freed from his imprisonment. Their unity had been the perfect camouflage.
As they following Henoch as he began his takeover of the ship, a solid, emotionless confidence grew between them. They would succeed. Overconfident, Henoch had no idea of the danger lurking nearby. Or even that he was literally surrounded by Sargon and Thalassa in the ship's computers. Even if Henoch realized that Chapel was no longer entranced to be his mindless puppet, Sargon would still finish him, even if it was through their sacrifice.
"So, it happened again, this morning," she stated. He nodded, looking more guilty than ever.
"It was completely unintentional, I assure you. I was as surprised as you were."
"Hmmm." She sat back in her chair, looking about as if to find answers in the gray office, or the weird, decorative medical curios on glass shelves or hanging on the walls. "Well, you're not doing it now," she ventured with a positive tone.
He nodded. "Yes. I have suppressed it. But it should not have happened at all. So, I am uncertain about preventing it from happening again. The effect on me, of you harboring my katra was much stronger than I thought."
"Katra." Her brow furrowed, "I know that word." Wonderingly, she looked at him. "It's Vulcan."
"Yes. The rough, Human translation for the concept would be, 'soul'". He again looked back at the computer terminal on the desk. For the first time she wondered, what else did she pick up from him? What did he pick up from her?
"Is this why you are having trouble writing your report?"
"Possibly. I am finding it difficult to . . . summarize what happened."
"How does it compare with my report?"
"Similar. But you do not describe some essential elements of my experience. Which is understandable. Your experience was quite different from mine."
"I was wondering." She leaned forward on the desk, chin propped up by her hands. "How could you survive in the receptacle? Complete sensory deprivation can drive people mad."
"The receptacles themselves provided some minimal sensory input. The captain described the experience in his log as being in a void with many rooms. And an outside. And some sense of time passing. The experience must have been more fulfilling for Sargon and the others with their greater mental abilities, especially since they survived in them for thousands of years. Regrettably, Sargon needed to completely destroy them to prevent Henoch from escaping to one of them." Spock's brows rose. "It is a loss. A study of their mechanism would have been fascinating."
"I suppose." Chapel had no interest in the receptables or how they worked at all. "So, how was your experience different?"
"My experience was essentially the same as the captain's. In the receptacle. It was my release that proved to be so . . . extraordinary."
She thought back. "Well, you were first upset about Henoch." He frowned at the word 'upset' (which she thought was a wild understatement) but did not correct her. "But Sargon put us together and made us understand what we had to do."
"It was more than that." Spock spoke softly, as if the words themselves were a personal discovery. "We had complete unity of purpose. Complete focus. No emotion. No distraction. It was the most perfect state of calm that I have ever experienced."
"Well, there's nothing like the threat of imminent death to focus your mind."
He shook his head. "There was no fear. No anxiety. Henoch would have sensed that."
"Well, no," she had to agree. An appreciate of how close to instant and possibly painful death they had been was a luxury that they could afford only after the danger had passed.
"I tried to recall that perfect sense of purpose and logical action in my meditations last night, but was unable to. And I realized how badly I failed this morning. With you."
He sat back and exhaled, his brown eyes turning back to her.
"Nurse Chapel . . . Christine," he amended. "I have a request. It is very personal, and you should feel free to decline.
Would you consent to a mind meld for a joint recollection of what happened to us?"
Taking a breath, she sat back in her chair. She was not overly fond of telepathy. It was incredibly intrusive, like being stripped naked, mentally. And it was too similar to mind control. And so soon after Henoch . . .
"I see." He seemed to take her hesitation as a denial.
"No, wait." She stopped him. She looked directly at him, reading his face. "Will this help you resolve what happened this morning?"
"I believe so," he answered immediately. "I am asking only to share yesterday's memories. Nothing more."
He wants to do it again, she thought; his perfect moment of logic. Was that what he unconsciously thought he would see this morning?
"If it will help you, then, yes. Of course."
He nodded. The chair scraped on the bare floor as he moved it and sat so they faced each other.
.
He raised his hands. "Please, clear your mind."
She tried not to think of anything even though his outstretched fingers made her think of a giant spider coming right at her face. His fingertips on her temples and jaw were warm.
"My mind to your mind," he intoned. His eyes bored right into her and instantly she felt like she could not look away.
"My thoughts to your thoughts."
All at once, he was all around her, as if he had become air and she was in the middle.
/ This is not right. This is not how it was. /
She recalled leaving Sickbay. Sargon's warnings fresh in her mind.
They switched. He was inside her. Together.
They calmly watched. Observing. Waiting.
When Henoch called them, they went. Joining him on his way to the bridge. The sight of Henoch, wearing Spock's Vulcan body, blue science uniform shirt with gold commander's stripes at the cuffs, made no impression on their calm. It was a fact that would be dealt with.
Henoch knew that Captain Kirk and Ann Mulhall had been restored. The receptacles were destroyed. That mattered little to Henoch. He would never hide in Sargon's bodiless prison again, even if he had to go through every body of every person on the ship. Assuming that Thalassa was now hiding in a new body and was using Kirk and the rest of the crew to move against him, he accelerated his plans to take over the ship.
They obeyed Henoch's commands with no wasted thought. Henoch's complete unawareness of them increased their calm determination. Henoch only saw Her. Henoch's over-confidence would give them more opportunities to act when the time came.
Kirk, McCoy and Ann Mulhall arrived at the bridge after Henoch took the command chair. He casually disabled Kirk and Mulhall. He stopped McCoy, who was the real threat. At Henoch's command she took the poison hypospray from his immobilized hand and aimed it to inject him.
They stood right behind Henoch, in easy reach. Injected Spock's body. There was no hesitation. Henoch was the greater threat than the death of a body.
Then Sargon returned. Not felt as before, but seen in Henoch's fear. Sargon overpowered and stopped him from jumping to another person as he fled the dying body.
Then Sargon returned to merge with them one last time, to restore them.
She felt faint with the loss. He revived and stood, in the body that Henoch had fled, fearing the faked poison.
But the connection between them remained, even after Sargon and Thalassa departed. He puzzled over it. She left the bridge with McCoy and the connection faded. . . .
This is memory.
Do you know what I really think?
You were clinging to me this morning. Subconsciously searching for that perfect logical moment that we shared. Only you could think that was sexy.
I'm not the person to look to for emotionless logic.
You are as good and noble and kind as I ever thought. Even abandoned in Henoch's receptacle, you only wanted to warn others of the danger. You are strong, beautiful, slim and handsome, exotic and manly. I love you as you are. I so wish you could find peace with the Human part of you that I know you have. I saw so much of it when we were younger. And I carelessly worried that you might hurt me without thinking about how badly I have hurt you. Can hurt you.
I won't.
I will keep you safe.
Staring into his eyes, she raised her hands and took his wrists.
She wasn't sure when she had gotten the upper hand in the mind meld. Probably through the memory when she was hiding him from danger.
Very carefully, she gently took his wrists and slowly pulled his hands away from her face. The meld dissolved and they were two people in their own bodies again. His eyes were wide with surprise. She turned her hands around and took his.
"It was Sargon who helped us and kept us together."
He lowered his hands and she let go, her hands dropping to her lap. He calmed his shocked expression.
"Yes," he agreed. "It would appear so." He nodded somewhat nervously and returned his chair to the desk.
"So, we won't have any more incidents like this morning," she stated.
"No," he agreed hastily, taking his seat. Then he sat for a long time, head bowed.
"Shall we finish the report?" she prompted.
"Yes, of course." He minimally adjusted the viewer angle and then stopped. "Nurse Chapel - - - Christine - - - " he corrected himself before she could " - - - you still harbor strong feelings for me."
"Yes."
"Even though you accept that there is no likelihood for us to have any type of relationship in that direction."
"Yes," she answered in an agreeable tone. "That doesn't mean I still don't care. Or want to."
"Unrequited love, in Humans, is usually considered a painful condition."
"It can be. If you take it too far. But it can be rewarding in some ways, too."
He shook his head in wonder. Or possibly disbelief. "Illogical. Totally illogical."
"Spock, I'm not the person you should go to for logic."
Nodding, he agreed, quite sincerely. They both turned to his report. It did not take long for him to narrate the details to the computer, filling his outline. And while she listened, she watched; he so easily relaxed into the routine of report-writing. He looked so relieved. His reflex telepathic lapse had been some subconscious reach toward that perfect logic that he idealized. She was pretty sure that his subconscious had learned its lesson now.
And he would meditate on what happened and . . . she wondered; if she picked up things from him, what had he picked up from her? And would he just discard it as illogical? Probably.
If she meditated on what happened, what would she find? But meditation of not really a priority for her. But if she reviewed Vulcan culture from the library computer, what else would look familiar? That might be very revealing.
"Nurse Chapel?"
The formality had returned to his voice.
"Yes."
"Do you think there is anything to add?"
The text of his report had appeared on her note board. She scanned the words. It was more personal that she would have expected from him. But she supposed he would not mind discussing being in a state of perfect logic. Even with her. While they waited for their opportunity to defeat Henock.
"It looks accurate," she pronounced.
He inclined his head, silently accepting her praise. He cleared the screen, saved and sent both their reports. Then they got up and left the office.
And almost ran into Doctor McCoy and Park, one of the technicians for the medical lab.
"Are you finished with my office?" he demanded without any preamble.
Chapel turned to him., "Yes," she answered pleasantly. Then she turned to Spock. "I'm glad I was able to help with your report."
McCoy narrowed his eyes, but he only saw what she meant him to see. One person offering another person, who they knew well, a handshake, a universal gesture for, 'We're just friends.' But Spock raised an eyebrow.
To a telepath, a touch telepath like a Vulcan, physical contact, even just a handshake, could be as intimate as a kiss.
He only hesitated for a second, before he accepted her handshake. "Thank-you, Nurse Chapel."
His hand was warm in hers. But nothing more. He nodded to her, and McCoy, and left for the bridge. With a pleasant smile, holding her note board to her chest, Chapel moved on as well, leaving the Chief Medical Office to wonder what might have happened.
He was sure he had missed something. But he wasn't going to waste any time figuring it out. Ushing Park in before him. he went into his office.
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Disclaimer: All Star Trek characters and situations belong to Paramount, CBS and/or whatever corporate entity owns them; I'm just playing in their sandbox.