Part 2 – Trying to Land in Your Atmosphere

Chapel wakes to the too familiar feeling of a ship under her. But this time it's not someone else's ship that she's just a temporary passenger of. This is her posting now. The Excelsior is home.

She lies for a moment in bed, enjoying the feeling of knowing there isn't an emergency just around the corner, and then gets up and takes a longer shower than she ever did on Earth and heads to the mess. She's through the line and debating where to sit when she hears, "You lost or something, newbie?"

She laughs: Jan said the very same thing to her when Chapel first showed up at ops. "Sir, yes, sir."

It's said in jest, but while Jan doesn't outrank her, her position as first officer definitely trumps Chapel's science position. For the first time, she'll be taking orders from her friend.

Her friend who is rolling her eyes and saying, "Cut that shit out when we're off duty." She refills her coffee and leads Chapel to a booth in the back of the mess, then leans forward and asks, "How'd you sleep? First night on board and all."

"I slept great. Thank you for—"

"Whatever you're going to say, stow it. We brought you here because you'll enhance the performance of our ship, not because we needed to bail out a friend. Got it?" She sounds exactly like Jim, and Chapel grins.

"Got it. And 'we,' huh?"

Rand shrugs. "We like to make decisions as a team. It's nice."

Chapel nods and busies herself with fixing her oatmeal. She imagines she and Jim might have made decisions as a team. Maybe she would have retired and moved to Idaho with him. Or they could have gone off planet. To one of the relief agencies that seem to inhale ex-Starfleet officers for their executive boards.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Jim." She meets Jan's eyes. "Do I look sad?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you do."

"It seems strange to say I miss him. We were so casual, right up until the end. And then..."

"You lost the future, Christine. Of course you're sad. He was a remarkable man and I believe he loved you." She looks down.

"What?"

"I would have wanted more from him a lot sooner than you did. But then I had the big crush on him, right? And yours was on Spock." Jan sighs. "What the hell? Are we going to be maudlin on your first day at work?"

"Seems like maybe we are."

"Well, fuck that."

Chapel laughs. The ops language seeps in so often for both of them. They actually used to blush at some of the fouler things that were said by the ops lifers. Now they barely blink. "What's the mission de jour?"

"Transport haul. Some kind of strategic mineral. Borrrrring, if all goes right."

"Does it usually go right?"

"Yeah, it usually does. We're long past the wild west days of our first voyage."

Chapel glances at the viewscreen, at the stars that seem to stream by. "Is it stupid to say I miss those days?"

"No. Sometimes Hikaru does, too. I can tell. But after ops, you're due for a little down time."

Chapel holds up her mug to Jan in an impromptu toast. "Roger that."

##

Spock sits in the embassy, listening to his father brief him on a mission he knows nearly by heart. It is unusual for them to be assigned together and he regrets that Starfleet has done it.

"Are you listening to me, Spock?"

"I am." It is not a lie. He always listens to Sarek—he spent too many years not and learning the consequences. Sarek can humiliate him with barely any effort. "Father, I of course intend no offense, but I have been working on this issue far longer than you."

"So you should lead the mission?" Sarek steeples his fingers, his expression the one of a thousand tainted interactions. "I am, of course, the senior ambassador."

There is no answer for this. And not for the first time, Spock thinks his father illogical. But then their relationship has always been colored by emotion, even if it has taken Spock years to realize that. It is ironic. As a child he thought his father the role model for logic, the Vulcan ideal. Now, now he knows better.

"Sarek, are you done with him yet?" His mother's question is welcome distraction. He thinks, not for the first time, how similar Christine's voice is to his mother's.

Sarek seems poised to say he is not finished, so Spock rises and says, "Yes, we are both sufficiently prepared."

He sees a moment of shock on his father's usually perfectly stoic face. Is this the first time he has defied him? Surely not.

But perhaps it is the first time he did it with so little emotion—so little resentment. This is what it is. His relationship with his father will never be what he wants but it would be the height of illogic to think it will ever change after so many years.

His mother takes his arm and eases him from the room as if she too knows he has done something remarkable. "How have you been? You were so sad the last time I saw you."

It is a testament to her ability to read him that she almost always knows how he is feeling. "Time heals. Is that not the saying?"

"It is. Sometimes it's not true, though. Has someone helped it heal?" She squeezes his arm. "Someone human this time."

He can feel his lips ticking up. His mother detests Valeris and has barely warmer feelings for T'Pring. "Did you have a human in mind?"

She shrugs. "I'll leave that up to you." She is watching him closely. "Do you have a human in mind, Spock?"

He is about to say no when he thinks of Christine, sitting on the porch of McCoy's home. It is the image that has stayed with him. How lost she was. How strong, too. A dichotomy that fascinates him.

"You do." She squeezes his arm even harder. "Do I know her?"

"Mother, I do not intend to discuss this with you."

She laughs. "I do. I know her. If I didn't, you'd just say no." Smiling broadly, she pulls him along in her wake.

She has never had any problem manhandling him or his father, despite how tiny she is. He allows himself to enjoy her gentle tyranny and proceeds to evade her guesses about who the person is.

At least until his father joins them and all talk about feelings is banished.

To his great relief. His mother is frighteningly perceptive and Spock does not wish to talk about Christine to her.

Not when Christine appears to wish nothing to do with him.

##

Chapel brings another round of drinks up for Jan and her and takes a seat in the empty upper level, waiting for Jan to get off the dance floor. Hikaru has a glass of beer at their table, but he's too busy mingling to come up and drink it. That's normally the way, Chapel is finding. He loves his crew and doesn't seem to need quiet time to decompress like she used to when she was in charge of ops.

She wanders over to the railing and watches her friends dancing, then chatting with the head of engineering and the CMO. She feels a pang and tries to bite it down. This isn't her show, and she's not part of the senior staff. She could go down there if she wanted to, but she isn't one of them. Not like she used to be in ops.

God, must everything come back to ops?

She realizes she is tapping her finger on the rail and takes a deep breath.

Bored. There. She'll admit it. She's just a little bit bored. The pace on Excelsior is taking some getting used to.

But that's normal. She'll get used to it. She'll get used to just being part of the crew, not the one running it. Won't she?

"May I join you?"

She whirls, mentally counting how many glasses of wine she's had and coming up with not enough to make her hallucinate Spock's voice. He isn't aboard, is he?

He is. He's standing right in front of her, a look she can't read on his face, but that's nothing new. She's never been able to read him.

"What do you want?" The question comes out almost panicked, and she backs against the railing. "Why are you here?"

"The Excelsior was heading in the right direction." He is holding a glass of what she supposes is water, and he sips it as if buying time.

"Oh. Do you hitch a ride often?" Because Jan would have mentioned that, wouldn't she?

"From time to time."

"Oh. Well. Okay." Like he needs her permission to be onboard. "What do you want?"

"Simply to talk to you."

"Why?" There is a flatness to her voice that she can't help. What the hell is he doing?

His expression changes, grows stiff, and she thinks he is about to turn around and leave her in peace, but he says, "Why are you being so unpleasant? There was a time you would have welcomed my company."

"I think we've established that time is over." She moves closer. "Whatever Jim asked you to do, that time to help is past. Don't you get it? Move on. I sure as hell have."

He looks around. "I see no one up here but you."

"Get over yourself."

"Ambassador." Jan's voice is warm, but the look she throws at Chapel is anything but. "Join us, why don't you?"

"Commander Chapel appears to prefer I do not. I will talk to you later, Commander." He nods to Jan, manages to ignore Chapel as perfectly as he ever did before, and walks down the stairs, Vulcan dignity intact.

"Thank God, Jan. Thought he'd never leave." She heads for the table but is brought up short by Jan's hand on her arm. "What?"

"I could tell you were arguing from down there. He's a VIP. He merits special treatment."

"Good for him." She shakes off Jan's arm and sits.

Jan takes the chair next to her. "From all of us. You do not get to treat a Federation ambassador like shit."

"I'm off duty."

"No one is really off duty when they are on the ship interacting with crew. I know that because you taught me that back in the day—or have you forgotten your manners since then?"

"Fine, fine, I'll try to be nice to him next time he approaches with some creepy request to join me."

Jan closes her eyes and shakes her head. "Shit. You're really going to make me do this, Chapel? That was a goddamn order, not a request. You will be polite to Spock. Or, if you can't be, you will limit your interactions to places where other crew can't see. Got it?"

Chapel feels the burn of a blush, the sick feeling in her stomach she used to get when Roger dressed her down in front of her peers. "Way to throw your weight around."

"I haven't. I've been careful because I know you're used to being the boss. But this is important. I have no idea why you're so mad at Spock—maybe it's all those years of rejection. Maybe it's losing ops. I don't know and I don't care. Be polite. Is that too much to ask?"

Chapel shakes her head and takes a long drink of her wine.

"Christine. It was hard for me, too, when I first got here. The pace was so different than ops and we don't party the same way here. I know you feel...isolated. Ops was one big happy family because we had to be. It was too crazy not to be. This ship is huge, but you'll find where you fit. I happen to know your department head is thrilled to have you."

"Could have fooled me."

"She doesn't gush. Get over it." Jan laughs. "Remember when you told me that about Cartwright."

Chapel nods and laughs softly, feeling anger and embarrassment fade in the face of Jan's gentleness. "You were so afraid of him."

"Well, yeah. But I got over it and I fit in, and you will too." Jan looks past Chapel and smiles. "Our valiant captain must have finally tired of mingling." She pats the chair next to her. "Take a load off, sir."

He sits with a happy sounding groan. "So, what are we talking about?"

Chapel looks at Jan and gives her the most apologetic smile she can. "Adjusting."

"Are you having a hard time?" He looks sincerely surprised, and Chapel realizes Jan hasn't talked to him about her.

She feels a rush of gratitude for her friend's loyalty . "Little bit, yeah. But...I'll get used to it." She holds up her glass. "To saner paces and fine ships."

He grins; he's like Jim that way, never tires of hearing how lovely his duranium lady is. "I'll drink to that."

##

Spock is working in his quarters when the chime goes off. "Come."

He expects one of his aides, or possibly Sulu. He does not expect Christine.

"Soooo, here you are, back on our ship."

"Do I need your permission to be on the ship, Commander?" His tone is sharper than it should be, but he is finding she brings out his frustration nearly as effortlessly as Sarek ever has.

"Yeah, about that." She sits without asking and meets his eyes, and he realizes the anger he saw last time during their unpleasant encounter in the lounge is gone. "I'm really sorry. I was out of line."

She is blushing, so he thinks she means it. He is not sure, however, what to do with the apology. "All right," he finally says, then goes back to his terminal.

"And I deserve that. I really, really do." She gets up and he lets her get to the door before he asks, "Was there something more you wished to talk about?"

She stops and turns. "I ummm. I..."

He waits, deliberately does nothing to make this easier on her.

"I'm sorry."

"You said that."

"No, I'm sorry for other things. For not saying thank you when you tried to help me. I know you were just doing it because of Jim, but it was kind of you and I was not gracious." She is looking at the floor as she talks, but finally looks up when he does not respond.

"You were right. I would not have even known you needed help but for Jim."

"I know. But still. I could have been nicer." She moves tentatively toward him. "Can I sit for a sec?"

He motions to the chair.

"You're in charge of your own fate." She meets his eyes.

He is unsure where she is going with such a strange statement so he waits.

"I used to be. Once I got off the ship, I mean. As a doctor at Starfleet Medical. And then in ops, for years—Cartwright gave me a lot of leeway. Some might say I got away with murder." She laughs, and the sound that comes out seems nervous. "A lot of people thought I was with him romantically, but it was never that."

He is still not sure where she is going, so he says nothing but tries to keep his expression open.

"It was really hard to come here, Spock. To just be...one of the crew. I mattered in ops. I knew the brass and they said hello to me in the halls. I was at their parties with Jim or on my own." She looks down. "Now...now I find I'm jealous of the department heads."

"Jealous?"

"I spent so much time being ambitious, Spock. I didn't pursue more with Jim because ops was everything. And for what?" Her eyes are tearing, and she dashes her hands across them as if she has no time for tears. "It's been an adjustment. So many things I've had to let go of. Goals and dreams and..." She shrugs. "I guess what I'm trying to say is I wasn't mad at you the last time you were onboard. I was mad at the world—and at myself."

"But you chose to come here."

"I know. And for a while it was wonderful just to be safe again. But then that wore off, and I was back where I started. Having to get used to a new steady state. And not doing a very good job of it." She shakes her head. "I know you won't understand. I just need to tell you—to tell someone."

He thinks she is about to get up and leave, so he murmurs, "I walked out of a negotiation."

She laughs softly, her look confused.

"After Jim died. I walked out. I did not care." He thinks of the carpet he finally had ripped out, the hard wood that now covers his floor. It is a shade Valeris hated. "Valeris hurt me in a deeply personal way and I have been angry about that. To some extent, I do understand what you are saying."

"Then, we're okay?" Her smile is shy and sweet, and for a moment he is reminded of the nurse who loved him seemingly without reservation. "Not that there was much of a 'we' before. But, I mean, now, we're okay now. Right?"

"We are fine, Christine."

"Good. Good. Jan will be relieved." She blushes again and stands. "Okay, I'm going to let you get back to work." She is up and out before he can say anything.

He stares at the door for a long moment before turning back to the terminal.

##

Chapel weaves down the corridor, trying to get to her room and find her damned antitox. She is halfway there, when she hears, "Commander?"

She turns. Spock stands before her, so she blinks rapidly in succession, trying to make the hallucination go away.

It doesn't. "Are you really here?" Again?

"I am." He walks with her toward her quarters. "You have, I take it, been drinking."

"Yes, and I left my antitox in my quarters. I'd be run out of ops for that." She starts to giggle and tries to bite the sound back, which only makes it worse. "Oh, wait, they already did that."

She palms her door open and looks at Spock. "Did you want to come in?"

"Yes."

"I'm not sleeping with you." Although if she can't find those damned pills, she might.

"I still would like to come in."

"Suit yourself." She smiles as prettily as she can to take any sting out of the response. "Just hang on one sec while I find—" Her stash is empty. God damn it. She has some others; she saw them when she unpacked. Where did she put them? "Well, until I remember where I put the rest of my pills, you'll have to deal with moderately intoxicated Christine."

"Jim used to say that truths lay at the bottom of a bottle."

"Yes. And so do bed spins and if you're really cursed, vomiting and dry heaves."

"I will never understand the human propensity for consuming items that cause so many unpleasant side effects."

"The high is wonderful. It's like suddenly not caring about anything while also being open to the world."

"I will take your word for that." He sits on her bed, and since the bed is closer to her than her desk, she flops down next to him. Moderate might have been too mild a word for how drunk she is.

She expects him to move when she stretches out on the bed, resting her head on her arm, but he doesn't. His expression seems gentle, so she asks, "Did you love Valeris?"

"I did."

"And she loved you." As he starts to protest, she waves him off. "I saw her with you. A woman—even a Vulcan female—gets a certain look. She loved you."

"It did not stop her from betraying me."

"But from what I heard, she thought you would join her, that she could convince you."

"That is true." Spock shifts and ends up closer to her. He smells good, the scent of his incense wafting up from the robe he has on. "I will never know how much she did or did not care. I was her target and she was set on me because she was the type of woman I would resonate with."

"She was pretty. Sort of severe. Would she be a great beauty on Vulcan?"

"No." He seems very far away.

"I'm sorry. This is none of my business."

"That may be, but it is a relief to finally talk about this. My mother never cared for her and Sarek..."

"Sarek doesn't approve of what you do, anyway, so this will only confirm what he thinks?" At his look of surprise, she laughs. "Hey, I fully understand the screwed-up dynamics families can create."

She reaches out and touches his leg, then pulls her hand back quickly. "We've never been this close. Not without some outside force acting on us."

"That is true." He leans back and closes his eyes long enough that she wonders if he's fallen asleep, but then he asks very softly, "Did you love Jim?"

"I did. He was special. He made me feel good." She pretends to be entranced by the pattern on the coverlet.

"But...?"

She rolls to her back so she can study him better. "You're getting better at the whole emotional ambiguity thing."

His eyebrows tell her he doesn't plan to argue and he wants an answer.

"But I never let him in all the way. Part of it was that we both had careers we loved. But part of it was you." She sighs. "But at the end, we were going to try. We might have been happy."

"I think you would have. It was clear he cared for you greatly." He reaches out and tips her chin up so she has to look at him. "You seem at peace. And not just from the intoxicant you have consumed."

"I think maybe I finally am at peace. I was mingling like a champ tonight. Talking to department heads."

He nods, clearly understanding.

"Wait, I know where they are." She slides over his lap to open the lower of the two drawers in the nightstand. Seeing the antitox, she snags a couple. "Eureka."

He does not seem perturbed that she is flopped over him, and at one point, she thinks she feels his hand on her hair. Surprised, she stays in that position for a moment to see if he'll do it again.

He doesn't; what he does do is get up and say, "I have an early call tomorrow to catch the shuttle to Rudin IV."

"Of course." She can feel her head clearing. "Did you really come in here to shoot the shit?"

"That is not how I would phrase it, but yes. We have never talked."

"No, we haven't." for a moment their eyes meet and she forgets how to breathe—and then reminds herself forcefully that he is not, not, not interested. "Good night, Spock. Have a good mission."

"Thank you." And then he is gone, but the incense smell lingers as she gets ready for bed. She tries and fails to ignore the urge to cuddle into the covers where he was sitting, where his scent still remains.

His visit meant nothing. She needs to be clear on that. He doesn't like her—or if he does, his overtures aren't romantically motivated. It would be wonderful, though if he turns into a friend: she's a firm believer that you can never have too many of those.

##

Spock wakes to weapons trails streaking through the sky. His midsection aches and as he tries to push himself up, his left arm jolts with sudden pain. He stops trying to rise and assesses the damage by moving his arm to see how badly he is compromised.

"It's broken. So are your ribs. Stop moving around," Christine says from behind him, and she does not sound panicked, which assures him in a way nothing else would. He knows she has worked emergencies; he has faith in her medical expertise. He sits back and lets her work on the others while he tries to figure out what went wrong on this mission.

What hasn't gone wrong on this mission? Some missions are doomed before they start. Something he has come to accept despite his often ridiculous belief in people's ability to rise above their petty concerns for the good of the whole. But why did he have to include her on this mission? It was not his intention to put her in harm's way.

He turns to watch her, and asks, "Situation?" when she appears to have completed looking over the other members of the mission.

"You're the worst off, amazingly." Her voice is pitched low, only for him. "But then you did insist on standing up and delivering a pompous motivational speech about why leaving was better than staying and beating the shit out of the planetary administrator."

That was her suggestion. She was tactful enough to only broach it to him in private. And he knows, had she been in charge of the mission, as she would have if this were an ops mission, she would never have suggested it at all.

She pushes him down, scanning his abdomen with a frown. "I've called the ship. They'll be within beaming range in five minutes."

"And the rebels?"

"Lazarro says they're fifteen minutes behind us, probably. If we're lucky—do all your missions go this badly?" Christine smiles, an expression he thinks is supposed to reassure him in some way, but he is more concerned with the blood trickling down the far side of her face.

"You are hurt."

"It's fine."

"There is great deal of blood." A disconcerting amount, in fact. The collar of her uniform is soaked.

"Head wounds bleed a lot. It doesn't mean anything other than I got hurt."

He reaches for her hand, and she gives a small gasp as he clenches her fingers.

"What the hell are you doing, Spock?"

"Ascertaining the veracity of your self-assessment."

She laughs, and he feels the brief slap of her amusement and also a resounding headache that she is somehow ignoring as she works. But he senses no worry for herself. She believes her head wound is not serious, so he must believe it, too.

He lets go of her.

"Am I cleared to continue, sir?" She rolls her eyes at him as she works without waiting for his permission.

"I beg pardon for the intrusion."

"You know, maybe your need to rely on 'reading' someone is part of your problem in seeing what's right in front of you?"

He closes his eyes, waiting for the surge of anger he has come to associate with any mention of Valeris, but it is missing. "Elaborate."

"How do you know I'm not well versed in hiding the truth? I've worked on planets filled with telepaths and still done my job. Maybe I've been trained to shield—or to actually misdirect."

"Have you?"

Her smile is one he's never seen on her. Full of satisfaction and amusement but at his expense. T'Pring occasionally looked as Christine does now.

And she does not answer even though he waits.

"Have you?"

She finally shows mercy; her expression changes to something more like what he remembers. Tenderness and compassion. "No, I haven't. Well, not to misdirect psychically. But to shield, yeah." She finishes working on him. "I just find it ironic that you are the master of logic, and yet your sure-fire way to get to the bottom of a situation like this is to sense it rather than consider it."

"You may be right. But I am half human. It taints my actions whether I like it or not." He raises his eyebrow the way he used to with McCoy. What Jim deemed his "gotcha" expression.

She grins but there is something off, and she hits her communicator. "Chapel to Excelsior. Now would be better than later."

Spock realizes his abdomen is beginning to hurt far worse than it did, and he looks at her in surprise. "How bad is it?"

"It's bad. You're bleeding internally."

And she hid that. When he touched her. He'd been so intent on her state that he missed the clues to his own. And then she'd furthered the misdirection through her conversation.

Fascinating. And disconcerting how easily he'd been manipulated. Revelatory in some ways.

"Excelsior to landing party. Ready to beam up. Medical standing by."

"You'll be fine, Spock." For a moment, there is something in her eyes that he reads as devotion and worry and every other emotion he rejected from her in the past. The irony is that he is not sure any of those things are there, or if he just wants them to be.

##

Chapel sits with Jan in the mess, eating a rushed breakfast.

"So, how are things going with Spock?" Jan's expression is the fake neutral one that verges on cracking up, so Chapel just rolls her eyes and keeps eating.

"Christine, he could have had any science officer on that mission."

"I know."

"Good thing you were there. Your medical expertise and all."

"I'm sure that's why he asked for me." She tucks into her eggs, not meeting Jan's eyes.

"Riiiiiiiiight." Jan is laughing now.

"Quit it. I didn't even visit him in sickbay. He beamed off without saying goodbye. In other words, status quo. And I'm good with that." She meets Jan's eyes finally. "I don't want to go back to that place where I'm pursuing him like he's the gazelle and I'm the hungry lion." Even if she was so worried about him she wanted to hover in sickbay like she used to. It took a herculean amount of willpower to stay away from him.

"What if he's pursuing you?"

She almost sputters her coffee. "Riiiiiiight," she says, giving Jan a taste of her own medicine.

"I'm just saying that maybe you'll be seeing him again sooner than you think."

"And maybe pigs will fly." Just as Len likes to say—his homespun wisdom has rubbed off on her after all these years.

Len is wise, and Chapel will embrace his philosophy, which is easy to do until she walks out of the mess and toward the lab only to meet Spock coming out of the transporter room with his satchel slung over his shoulder. He visibly brightens upon seeing her.

She laughs, not even trying to hide how happy she is to see him. "You know, there are easier ways to get where you're going than always riding Excelsior Spaceways."

"You do not know where I'm going."

She grins at that thought: ignorance, after so many years knowing everything, is turning out to be pretty damn blissful. "You're not wrong about that, sir."

"Sir? I cannot remember the last time you called me that."

She laughs and then stops as he continues past a fork in the corridor to walk with her. "Guest quarters are thataway, Spock."

"I know. I am well acquainted with the layout of this ship." He takes a deep breath, and she almost laughs at his intense look of concentration as he says, "I was...hoping—"

"That's kind of an emotion, isn't it?"

"Anticipating."

"That's calculated."

His lips actually tick up. "You have a preferred term?"

"No, please continue. What were you hoping for?"

"Dinner. Tonight. You and I."

She has to give him points for keeping it simple after her interruptions. "Why?"

"Why not?" He looks extremely proud of himself. And he should be: it's a James T. Kirk worthy response.

But Spock isn't Jim, and there is a lot of weird history between them. "I'll need more than that."

His eyes are extraordinarily gentle as he says, "I find that I regret certain decisions I have made in the past."

"Like sleeping with a traitor?"

He closes his eyes and nods, but there is more resignation than anger or hurt in his expression. "Yes. That. I was, however, referring to choices not made."

"Jim?"

He actually sighs—the most frustrated sound she's ever heard him make.

"Ny?"

His jaw tightens.

"Oh. Me. It is me, right?"

"It is." He gives her a look far sterner than she thinks he actually feels.

"I'll think about it." She laughs softly as she walks away, then turns and walks backwards so she can see if he's watching her or if he headed off to guest quarters.

He's still in the corridor, watching her intently.

She stops walking. "Okay."

"You are saying yes to dinner? Not to something else?"

"I am saying yes to dinner. Don't faint." She turns on her heel and leaves him, dying to look back again, but knowing it's better to leave him hanging.

She should not be enjoying this so much, should she?

She thinks of Jim and feels a pang of guilt. But he's gone. He's gone and he always knew how she feels about Spock. Even though she doesn't want to. Even though she isn't sure they're really compatible.

But the fire she feels inside when she's around Spock can't be denied. Jim would understand.

He'd want her to be happy. And if he weren't around to make her happy, he'd want her with someone who could. He cared too much about connections, about having people in your life that you love, for her not to know that she's right.

##

Spock watches Christine as she twirls a strand of hair around her finger as they talk in the lounge. Dinner passed pleasantly and she agreed to accompany him here, not seeming to realize he is attempting to replace the memory of their first encounter in this room with something more to his liking.

But why would she realize it? It is an extremely emotional thing to do, and she clearly has no idea how much he feels—in general or about her.

She laughs and says, "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Because I can." He wonders if she understands just how much he is saying.

She seems to, for she blushes and looks down. "You always could have, Spock."

"I was not... It was not our time."

"And now it is?" Her expression grows less pleasant. "And you of course get to decide that."

He feels a retort rising, something cutting and sharp, but she is right, so he pushes it down. "Then you decide. Is it our time?"

She seems off balance, as if his asking her that was entirely unexpected.

"Christine, I want more. Do you?"

"I always have. That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" He can see it in her eyes, though. The doubt. "I am not here with you because Jim asked me to salvage your career. You did that on your own. I am here because here is where I wish to be. As you noted, there are many ships I could find transport on, and yet this is the one I arrange my schedule to be available for."

"You arrange your schedule for me?"

"I rearrange it for you, even."

She laughs, and he is struck by how lovely she is. How lovely she always has been, but he did not want to reach out.

"I like that," she murmurs as she takes a sip of her wine.

"I thought that you might." He reaches for her hand and touches it for just a moment. "We have never really spoken about Jim. About you and Jim. Do we need to?"

"I loved him. Not as much as I love you, but I did love him. Is there more to talk about than that?"

"I do not believe there is." He takes a breath, though, knowing there is more, knowing he should say this even if it is uncomfortable: "I was...jealous."

"Of me getting him? Or of him getting me?"

He can feel his lip tick up and does not try to stop it. "Possibly both."

"At least you're honest."

"Honesty has been in short supply. Valeris lied to me about so much." He waits for the pain and anger to flood in but it doesn't. Perhaps, finally, he can let Valeris go?

"She lied to everybody, Spock. So did Cartwright. They were traitors, and it's sort of a given that they'd use and hurt us."

"Indeed."

"You loved her, though." There is something forlorn in her voice and he wishes that he could tell her that he did not love Valeris, but he can't.

He can hedge the answer, though. "She made herself easy to care for. So much of our interaction was...an act." So much on her side; he never hid himself from her.

"Nice deflection," she says, with a knowing look.

He thinks the nurse he knew first would have accepted the answer happily, but this Christine is used to looking through easy answers, to the root causes, to the foundation.

"She was Vulcan, Christine. I wanted to love her."

And finally he has said something that pleases her, for her eyes go soft and her smile is gentle. "And I'm human, so you never wanted to love me?"

"Precisely."

"You're stupid." She says it with a grin, the look daring him to argue.

"Undoubtedly accurate."

"Wow. You're also mellow tonight."

"It is the company."

She makes a face he can't read. "Not sure that's a compliment. You could be saying I put you to sleep. 'Soothing' isn't the adjective most women want to hear from the guy they like."

"Nevertheless, I meant it in a positive way." He pushes his water to the middle of the table. "I can think of other scenarios where your presence would not be soothing, but provocative."

"Do those scenarios take place in your quarters?" She is laughing, but he thinks she is surprised where he has taken the conversation.

He is a little surprised himself. But if Jim's death has taught him anything, it is to seize the moments when they arise. "They do take place there. Do you object to that idea?"

"Hmmmm." She looks down and then back up, meeting his eyes, hers so sensual he actually makes a small moan of desire. "I don't object, Spock." She slips off the chair, murmuring, "Shall we?"

He follows her out of the lounge and to the lift, letting the door close and debating the wisdom of telling the lift to hold, but then he hears her say, "Hold lift," and she is in his arms.

Her lips are soft and her skin soft and cool as she rubs against him in a way Valeris never would have.

He moans again, and marvels that she can make him do that.

"Resume," she says with a laugh verging on cruel, and a wink that reminds him of Jim's—right when he was going to call checkmate.

"You are enjoying this?"

"Isn't that the point?" She slips her hand into his, until the lift stops and she eases away, although she is kind enough to position herself so the crewman who gets on cannot see the visible evidence of Spock's desire.

Once the crewman gets off she begins to laugh and Spock tells the lift to hold and pushes her into the corner, holding her in place with his body as he kisses her urgently. Until she moans and seems almost incapable of standing.

Then he steps away and says, "Resume," knowing his expression is one of satisfied retribution.

She looks delighted. "You surprise me."

"And you me."

"That's not a bad thing."

"I quite agree."

There is no one on their deck, so when she reaches out for his hand, he lets her take it, squeezing firmly as he follows her to his quarters.

He has her shirt off before the door is fully closed, her shoes and pants and then underwear following quickly. As he pushes her to the bed, she laughs and says, "I appear to be naked. You appear to not be."

"Your perception of the obvious is well honed."

He thinks she has a retort ready, but it is swallowed by a moan as he kisses down her body, not stopping until...there.

He can read everything from touching her. Where to touch her and how hard. He senses she is holding back and tells her, "Make noise. As much as you want. I enjoy the sound of your pleasure."

And she stops holding back, writhing under him in a way Valeris never did, her hands reaching, pulling his hair, her skin flushing rose. His name sounds sweet as she calls it over and over again.

He has ample time, through the course of the night, to judge the different ways his name sounds depending on the position they decide to try.

It is a lovely sound no matter how she says it, one he thinks he will never tire of.

##

Chapel wakes to the feeling of lips on her shoulder, then Spock's voice, gravelly she thinks from the number of times she made him cry out during the night, saying, "It is time to wake up."

She shifts so she can see him, running her hand down his cheek and smiling when he closes his eyes. "Good morning." With a glance at the chrono, she laughs and whaps him softly on the arm, "Lying sack of shit."

He does not appear perturbed by the ops insult. "Did I read the time wrong?"

"Right, because you're so prone to doing that. We have at least an hour, as you well know."

His expression changes, becomes more tender as he asks, "Would you rather sleep? I did not let you rest last night."

She wishes she could go back in time and tell her younger self that someday she would get him, and he would be sweet and warm, and he would look at her like this.

Instead she pushes him to his back and murmurs, "Sleep is for pussies."

An eyebrow is her only answer, especially since she is lowering herself onto him, watching him close his eyes and clutch her sides tightly. "I could do this forever."

"Eventually we would need sustenance of some less carnal type." He pulls her down, his kisses easy now, as if they have spent a lifetime and not just a night making love.

"Also showers." She laughs at his expression, happy that he can be silly with her, albeit in a Vulcan way. She wants to tell him she loves him, but it's early and they have time. She's not sure she would have thought so before and probably would have blurted it out. But she's slowed down in ways other than just leaving the ops tempo behind, and as he rearranges her so she's under him, so he can thrust, she closes her eyes and just feels.

"Are you all right?" he asks as he finishes and eases off her, then pulls her in close to cuddle.

"I am." She wriggles against him and groans when he rubs her back the way she likes. "You?"

"I am." He kisses her forehead. "I was not sure I would feel this equanimity again."

"I know. Me neither." She kisses his ear and then takes it in her teeth after whispering, "Also, equanimity is not a word that makes a girl feel special."

She hears a puff of air and realizes he has laughed. Letting go of his ear, she kisses her way to his mouth.

When he finally lets her up, he murmurs so softly she can barely hear it, "Happy, then."

Happy. She'll take it.

FIN