NEW TOS: That's What Big Girls Are Made Of (Pike/f, Spock/f, Ch) [PG-13]
Lyrastar
Author: Lyrastar
Contact: http://liquidfic.net, watergal at liquidfic dot net
Series: TOS
Characters: Pike/Number One, Spock/Number One, Ch
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Paramount...blah blah blah
Summary: Musings on The Cage and a few other things.
Notes: I wanted this to be weird...but not quite as weird as it came
out. Such is life.
THAT'S WHAT BIG GIRLS ARE MADE OF
"Chanton, no!" Her voice rings in a strange echo to her own ears like
falling down, down, down a rabbit hole, but she fights through it
because she must. His life depends upon her, and the captain has
entrusted her, and so she fights her way back up to him.
The captain trusts her; she will not let him down (down, down,
down...).
Her feet move across the tidy floor as if through quicksand. She
reaches Chanton, wrenches the phaser from him and flings it across the
room. Now he is attempting to snap his neck with his own hands. How
much must a man want to die to do such a terrible thing? She's not
strong enough to stop him but she must be. The captain is counting on
her, and she will not let him down.
The room is changing colors, shapes and sizes. Where are the aliens?
They're everywhere!
Will this rabbit hole never end?
I'm gro
w
in
g
l
a
r
g
e
r
.Ho
w
v
e
r
y
q
u
e
e
r.
The captain! Her communicator is calling. Her communicator! It must
be somewhere in the room. The room is made of green cheese. No that's
the moon.
It beeps again. The communicator, not the moon, that is. She giggles
like she hasn't done since she was a little girl. She reaches for it
(the communicator, not the moon, that is) and discovers her phaser
instead. She whaps Chanton across the head with it--the phaser, no the
communicator, that is. He slides to the floor, his hands useless and
limp but his neck and life and breath intact. Yes! One down and none
to go. What was she doing again? She was doing something. Everyone
has to be doing something, so she must necessarily have been....
Her communicator beeps again. This time she opens it.
"Number One, what's going on in there?"
"Number one two three four!" she giggles. "I can count too three four
five. Look at all the green cheese!"
"Number One! I'm coming!" Pike's voice sounds as alarmed as she as
ever heard it. Damned if she knows why. Something to do with her?
He's counting on her. The mission. The aliens!
"No!" she shouts. "No, Captain, don't come in! Something very bad and
green! They're everywhere!"
His voice crackles in her palm. "Pike to Spock! Emergency beam out
of landing party! Get the two inside the structure first, then us.
Number One, hang on; I'm coming."
He's just outside the door!
"No!" He can't come in; it's all green! He can't! He mustn't! The
officer in her battles part way back up the rabbit hole. Frantic, she
looks around and spies what could be a security lock. She phasers it,
and it explodes, a blast of conjugated quantum radiation hitting her
fully in the face.
Pike and Tyler hit the dirt-but it's dirt outside where they can't
see the green. When the tremors cease, they try the portal, but can't
make it in. They discuss trying to phaser their way in, but aren't
sure it would be safe.
A few seconds later, before all the debris has even settled, the
Enterprise beams her crew members home.
"Receiving linguacode at a quite advanced level, Captain. Aside from a
standard friendship message, the inhabitants wish us to know that they
were not hurt by the explosion and express sorrow that members of our
party appeared to be adversely affected by the interaction. They
express eagerness to cement good relations, and offer to submit to any
physical isolation precautions deemed prudent for our safety."
Spock turns from the console and hands the paper printout to his
captain. "Interesting. From what I can deduce from telemetry, they
exist in an extracorporeal state, but have a highly sophisticated
culture. They should make fascinating allies and have much to teach
us."
"And they want to get to know us. So the mission is officially a
success. Oh, joy." Without reading it, Pike passes it the printout
back. "Transmit this report on to Starfleet Command. Have them
send...someone who isn't us.
"Number- Mr. Spock." Correcting himself, Pike turns to his side.
It strains his neck. He's used to the easy way his gaze fell on his
first in front and just where he expected and needed her to be. "Take
us out of orbit. Set course for the Makus system timewarp, factor 4.
You have the Bridge. I'll be in Sickbay." Pike spins out of the
center seat, leaving it for the turbolift.
"A race of geniuses so ugly that the sight of them drives men mad. Is
it possible?" Tyler muses from navigation.
"I would prefer not to use such a subjective term as ugly, but at this
juncture, it does appear that the sight of the aliens is in someway
toxic to the Human nervous system. It may be a neuroelectrical
phenomenon of their unusual photoelectronic manifestation." Spock
continues his report on the first contact. It was a fascinating
species. He wishes he had been the one to beam down.
"They say one look at the gorgons would turn men into stone," says
Harper. He's been assigned the helm this shift. The helm was Number
One's station whenever she was on the Bridge. He always liked the helm
before, but today it won't handle right.
"The crewmen are not petrified, Mr. Tyler, merely incapacitated for
now. Your analogy is inappropriate," Spock says in a tone that puts an
end to that conversation.
Innercraft communications crackles. "Pike to Bridge. Mr. Spock, report
to Sickbay, please. We have a casualty."
"On my way."
Now all conversation stops. The Bridge is eerily silent but for the
normal beeping of instruments that right now is wearing on everyone's
last nerve.
Harper turns to Tyler. "What was the name of that Gorgon queen?"
"Medusa."
God knows how Tyler knows this stuff. It's probably what he was off
reading when he was busy failing Klingon 101 at the academy. "Yeah,
that's the one. Not a bad name for this race."
"They beheaded her." Tyler makes a slashing gesture across his throat.
"Good." Harper stabs a blinking button on the helm unnecessarily hard.
The button stops flashing and there is one less beeping noise.
"What happened, Phil?" Pike paces when he doesn't know what else to
do.
April did the same thing. Boyce thinks it must be a trait of men with
too much testosterone-too much drive to be cooped up on a vessel this
size for this long. He thinks it might make an interesting study
sometime when he runs out of critically ill crewmen to treat.
The study will have to wait. "I don't know; he just died. I think it
stems from the madness itself. The radiation burns were bad but not
critical. I can't find anything else to explain it. The brain is a
powerful thing." Boyce doubts that he can make Pike comprehend how much
of an understatement that is. Two thousand years of medical knowledge
and they haven't even scratched the surface of the brain.
With a reverence he has never lost in has many times he has done the
same to others, he covers Chanton's body with a sheet.
"And Number One?" Pike glances to her bed.
"At risk. She has the worse burns. She'll need extensive treatment
and surgery. And yes, since I can't explain this madness, I can't
treat it. No known Federation medicine can. She could die from it.
Like Chanton."
"Recommendation?"
"Transfer to tertiary medical facilities. Starbase III. At maximum
warp." Boyce sounds like he doesn't even have to think hard about it.
"There is another option: Talos." Pike spits out the word like a dart.
He looks to his most senior officers remaining to see how it landed.
"And that option comes with the death penalty, or have you forgotten
that? Not only for you and her, but for everyone on this ship," Boyce
blusters at the words. He doesn't bluster often, but like most medical
men, the topic of needless death tends to get under his skin.
"I'd take a shuttle. Go alone. " Pike paces faster. April used to do
that as well when he felt the most trapped.
"You could not." Spock interrupts. "The Talosians kept you once before
and might well again. If the decision is to deliver her to Talos IV, I
will do so and accept any sequellae of that act."
Pike gives Spock an odd look. "You're reading too much into your
current role as second in command. This is not an official act. You
don't need to volunteer in my stead."
Spock remains impassive. "Any choice I make in this would not be for
you."
Pike regards him harder. There have been rumors, of course. There are
rumors on every ship about every one. But two of his most senior
officers? And Number One is...was...is!... so...
He would know...wouldn't he?
Spock looks at the wall.
Boyce shakes his head. "You're forgetting the radiation. That needs
real treatment, not illusion-maybe not this second but within a week
or two or it will be fatal. And who knows if the Talosians can work
with a mind damaged to this kind of insanity? It's as foreign to them
as our so called primitive emotions were. No, while I respect your
commitment to her, Talos is not the first best option."
"It's not commitment; it's just a soldier's pact of sorts. She'd have
done the same for me. Any officer would."
"You don't know that." Boyce looks at him strangely.
"You're a doctor-and a good one-and therefore not a soldier. Phil.
I do know that. I don't expect you to understand." Pike looks to
Spock and sees that he does understand, but the moment doesn't last
long.
The monitor clangs. Number One rolls and moans. It's a pitiful sound.
Boyce jumps to give her a hypospray, and the monitors stabilize but at
a lower level. A level noticeably lower even to non-medical eyes.
"Phil?"
Boyce slumps against a vacant bed. "I've never seen a condition like
this before. I just don't know. I can keep her partially sedated, but
the problem is in her mind and the brain controls the entire body. I
can't fix the brain so I can't fix that." Boyce looks to him for
absolution, or at least for understanding.
"No, you can't. No one can."
Pike squares his shoulders. He opens a communicator and calls the
Bridge. "Set course for Starbase III. Make your timewarp factor
seven." He returns to the bedside and gently brushes her hand. "Do
what you can for her, Phil." The gesture is so unlike his usual
brusque mannerisms, it serves as a reminder how easy it is to forget
that the captain is also just a man.
"Captain," Spock sounds hesitant. "Despite greater than seventeen
years immersed in Human culture, the subtleties of romantic interplay
often evade me."
Pike looks up. Despite everything going on around them, he seems
amused. And he still holds her hand. "I wouldn't jump to blame the
Vulcan factors, Mr. Spock. Despite forty-two years amongst Humans I
have the same problem." Adam and Eve. The Talosians as much told him
that she wanted him, and if he had stopped for half a second and paid
attention to something other than his reports.
Yes, she was different all right. Like no other woman he had ever met.
And here he is figuring it out just now.
"Do you love her?" Spock presses.
"Does it matter?" Pike asks it with no bitterness, only pragmatism.
"It might. I cannot save her career, but I might well be able save her
life. To save a life for her. It has risks, and it would require your
authorization. You must ask yourself whether you want her back, or
whether you want what is best for her."
"That's an insulting suggestion!" Pike's eyes flash at his acting
second in command. The officer who is currently taking her place.
"What risks? What can you do that Phil can't? Can you cure her?"
"I don't believe so; the Human mind is not strong enough to withstand
such an onslaught intact."
"So why are we having this discussion?"
"I can strip her mind."
Pike sucks in his breath.
"The Vulcan mind meld?" Boyce asks. "I've heard of it. I didn't know
it could be used on Humans"
"No. The mind meld is a sharing. This would be a taking. It would
strip her mind of everything the madness as well as everything she was
before, but she would be alive and could be retrained...reeducated."
"And you?" Pike asks.
"Unknown. Exposing ones mind to insanity does present certain risks."
Spock's eyes grow distant.
"They aren't your risks to take. They're mine. You are all under my
command, and I won't lose another officer to this mission." It is the
command tone.
The monitor alarms again in a sickeningly discordant tone.
Boyce looks to Pike. "We won't make it to Starbase III. I can't save
her, Chris."
Spock stands by the bed with his hands locked behind his back. "I
believe I can wipe her mind and remain functional."
Pike looks one last time amongst the three of them. "Do it." Now it
is the voice of a mere man, but apparently it is also the last word.
Spock flexes his fingers.
Boyce steps in front of him. "Mr. Spock. I need to speak to you for a
moment."
"Phil?" Pike jerks his glance from the bed. He is not used to things
going on behind his back on his ship.
Boyce doesn't exactly lie. "Vulcan mind techniques of this intensity
are strenuous., and I don't want a second patient. Let me do a quick
check first. Stay with her, Chris. The alarms will call me if
something changes. We'll be back in a minute." With a steely gaze,
Boyce leads Spock into the dispensary.
Pike takes her hand and holds it tight. When he is certain that no one
can see, he bows his head and drops it to her breast.
Boyce comes directly to the issue. During his time on Vulcan he
learned that that is best. "I've been told that on Vulcan, women are
often considered property-chattel. Is that so?"
"We are wasting time."
Boyce holds his eyes dead on Spock's. "I'll take that as a 'yes'.
You know most things about your shipmates that are public record, so
maybe you already know that I did a rotation on Vulcan. Then maybe you
won't be surprised to hear that I am also aware that you will doubtless
have a...dilemma in some indefinite amount of time.
"I'm here to let you know that I won't let you take advantage of that
poor girl. I know you have...feelings for her and that she doesn't
return them for you. I will not let you use this situation to implant
anything in her head anything that will make her return those feelings
or draw her to you at any...time.
"I'd prefer to leave the captain out of this. He has enough to deal
with already. But if I need to make him aware of this complication to
alter his decision, I will."
Spock's voice is distant and impassive. "I was unaware you thought so
poorly of me, Dr. Boyce, to believe I could take such action as you
propose. My ethics prohibit me taking such action against anyone, much
less a friend a fellow officer whom I hold in the highest esteem and
regard. One for whom I prepared to offer my life and sanity if need
be."
Boyce's voice softens. "No, it's not that. I don't believe you would
do anything you thought was wrong. It's just that I'm not clear on
what's considered 'wrong' on your planet. This might not be, and in
that case I have to protect my patient. I didn't mean to offend you."
"You did not. I respect your dedication to your patients. If my
personal ethics are not enough for you, will you accept my oath as a
Starfleet officer that I intend to do nothing to her but what I have
proposed: wipe her mind of all of its contents?"
Now it's Boyce who sounds like he is trying not to concede hurt. "Of
course I will. That's all I wanted to know." Boyce heads back for the
main ward.
"Dr. Boyce." Spock stops him with his tone. "Since you studied on
Vulcan, you may be aware that the Vulcan mating...cycle requires mental
coupling as well as physical. In that case it may be of some interest
to you to realize that if successful, I must never contact her mind
with mine-particularly in that uncontrolled state--lest she discover
the mindwipe and the insane persona be rekindled. That is: what I am
about to do will put her forever out of reach as a potential mate for
me despite any future...dilemmas of my own--as you put it-or any
desires on her part, implanted or otherwise. Do you have any other
questions?"
Boyce's throat feels very full. He shakes his head to stall for time
until he can find the words. "Mr. Spock, if I have been unfair to you,
I sincerely apologize."
"To my knowledge, you have never been less than fair and gracious to me
or any of your charges, Doctor. In the interest of fairness to her,
shall we now proceed?"
When they step through the door, Pike is standing straight up again
watching the monitors slowly drop.
Spock puts his hands to her temples. His eyes roll back and his
breathing synchronizes with hers. The monitors jump and freeze at the
top of the display. Spock draws in a ragged breath and his body
stiffens.
Number One opens her eyes wide, throws back her head and screams.
It's been two days, and Phil still says he doesn't know. Pike thinks
he could take hearing one way or the other, but this uncertainty might
kill him or drive him crazy.
No it won't. He's fine. She's the only one in danger. He should learn
to choose his words and thought better than that.
He blames himself of course. Captains always do, but this time not for
doing what he had to, but for breaking his routine. It was not
something he usually did, sending her down to unknown planets. If
the contact was to be risky his protocol was to leave her manning his
ship-not to protect her, but because she was the only other one her
really trusted with his warp-powered girl.
He tells himself he's being stupid. If it wasn't her making first
contact, it would have been some one else. Another life just as
valuable if not as close to his. If not for her quick thinking, it
might have been all four of them in Sickbay. He probably should be
grateful it had been her level head.
Or maybe, had he done things differently, it would have been no one but
him who bore the brunt.
What was that the Talosians had said about making him feel protective
being necessary to propagate the species? Perhaps those big brains
weren't only for show.
Pike activates innercraft and calls Sickbay. "How is she?" Spock
listens from his station, Pike notes. Of course he's listening; the
whole Bridge is listening.
"Why don't you come down here, Chris?" Boyce's voice sounds tired, as
an old man's might.
Pike bounds for the turbolift. Without asking leave, Spock goes with
him.
In Sickbay she is sedated. The burns are bad, but she looks much
better than she did-calm and serene. Pike is tempted to touch her
face. You are permitted to do that with sick people right? A
captain never can touch his crew, except maybe here.
Except still he doesn't. Even sedated, she has certain...barriers that
way.
And Boyce has an enormous cerebro-stimulator on her forehead. That's a
bit imposing, too.
"What's the verdict, Phil?" Pike asks.
"It worked. She's medically stable for now, and the engrams are all
flat. She still needs radiation treatment and microstructural repair,
but that can wait for a full treatment team."
"So why the long face?"
"I have her under audiovisual psychostim. She thinks she's on the
Martian Colonies. I had to disconnect her audiovisual input from the
current situation. Apparently that's what distressed her when she
awoke."
"Why?" Pike shoots a look to Spock.
"I don't know." It's Boyce who continues to speak. "My best guess is
some kind of mnemonic resonance causing dissonance. She isn't supposed
to recognize this-us-but she does." He pauses
"She can't be rehabbed here, Chris. She's going to have to leave the
ship."
Pike takes it well. "Where? I want her to have the best."
"Sol system would be best, but not her home city or the Academy
hospital. But it should be started within a week. If we can't get
there in time, then any-"
Pike gives a terse nod. "We will. I'll make the arrangements." He
strides off.
Spock also turns to go. "Thank you, Doctor."
"Mr. Spock." Boyce lays a hand upon his wrist.
Spock stops and stiffens. He pulls his hand away.
"Spock, she's my patient, yes, but you are too. In a bed or not. And
like you say, I have an obligation-a regard for all my patients. I
know this is difficult for you, but one thing I learned on Vulcan is
you aren't going to tell me anything you don't thing I need to know, so
I'll keep this short and sweet: can I help?"
Spock studies him so carefully as if he had never seen him before. "I
don't think so."
Boyce nods. "Okay."
"There are Vulcan methods of dealing with such stresses."
Vulcan methods. Yes. He has been so dispassionate-- so Vulcan--since
the mindwipe. Spock's never been exactly graceful with balancing the
Vulcan and the Human aspects of his personality, but Boyce can't
remember seeing him smile even once, or shout, or do much of anything
besides his job. Not that that's a problem for a deep space crew. But
Boyce finds the change of the past few days...worthy of further
investigation.
"I see. Well, you're under orders to come to me if you think there is
any possibility I can help."
"Noted," says Spock hands jammed stiffly behind his back.
Spock walks off, and Boyce watches him go, thoughtfully.
"Chris, talk to you a minute?"
Pike stops in mid-stride. If it were ships' business, Phil wouldn't
have put it that way. "What?"
"Why don't you step inside?"
"What." Louder now and not to be mistaken for a request.
"I received information from a friend at Luna Station. I asked him to
keep me in the loop. She's picked up an infection-they think a
reactivation of a deep space microbe exposure from the radiation or
from the radiation treatment which is sometimes just as bad as the
disease-"
Pike draws in a breath and pinches his lips. "Bad?" It's a stupid
question; hey wouldn't be having this discussion otherwise.
"Yes."
"What can I do?"
"I've made some comm calls, but your influence would help. There's a
Doctor Roger Korby -a specialist in exotic medicine-he usually
sticks to academics and research, but he's brilliant and on the cutting
edge of this sort of immunology. He might have an idea."
"I'll get him in," Pike says.
"Chris-"
"What!" It comes out as a snap. "What?" Pike tries again, softer
now.
"Is Spock all right?" asks Boyce.
"Spock? Why?" Pike's words are clipped.
"He was...fond of her too, you know. "
"Of course. We all were. Are."
There is a long pause. Boyce doesn't see any point to elaborating.
"He's all right. I'll tell him."
"I will if you'd rather." It's the offer of a doctor giving terminal
news to a family.
"No need. I'm heading there now." He wasn't, but now he is. Pike
takes a sharp right at the next fork in the corridor and takes the
turbolift back up to the deck he just left.
"Good news and bad news, my friend," says Boyce. He sets down the case
and opens the vermouth. "She's being discharged, and therefore we're
being cut off from reports."
"I'd call it all good news," says Pike. He throws himself down on the
bed and imagines her in pastel crinoline skipping and dancing free down
the sunny streets of the Luna biosphere. Not that she ever seemed like
the skipping and dancing in crinoline type, but it pleases him to think
that in her new life she might have the chance.
"You'll be interested to hear that she's going by the name
'Christine.'" Boyce plops in the olives and waits for a reaction.
Pike slugs down half his drink. Chris-tine. "Coincidence. It was
probably randomly assigned to her in pyschorehab."
"Mmm. Maybe." Boyce swishes the liquid around in his glass and
studies his patient over the rim.
"Christine what?"
Boyce nails him with a glare.
"Okay. I get the message." But he can't help himself. Christine
Pike. Chris and Christine Pike... Captain and Mrs. Christine Pike...
"None of us can contact her. If this is going to work, the new life
has to be allowed to take firm hold without interruption.
"I know." His voice is full of more irritation than it should by
rights hold for his friend. "I wasn't going to. I was
just...curious."
He wouldn't risk damaging her future for the galaxy...but he had
contacts. He'll find out. Just out of curiosity.
When the message comes through, Pike is not prepared. It's like his
first time in zero G sim. He thinks he's ready for it, but he's not.
He reads the news, and things he never knew he wanted all fall away.
The little brick ranch in Mojave with the picket fence and the pair of
quarter-horses that they ride out across the miles; the bright-eyed
children with his insane ambitions and their mother's solid good sense
who drive their teacher's crazy doing nothing but talking about space
all day; the nights wherein he blocks out the ship, the crew, his
troubles, and the whole rest of the galaxy and buries himself in her as
she kneads her fingers unabashedly against his backside and barks harsh
whispers into his ear to do her deeper still.
In a flash all of that is gone.
He crumples the printout in a fist and drops it to the deck. Mrs.
Christine Korby: what a stupid name.
"I've received a message from Earth. I thought you might be
interested." Pike stands at Spock's cabin door. Spock's been
different since all this happened--much more distant, almost cold at
times. If he didn't know his first officer was half-Human, he'd swear
he was all Vulcan.
Still, he doesn't doubt he'll be let in. Whichever race Spock wants
to model for the time being, the man is still a top-job first officer
and one of his best friends.
Right now he needs a friend.
"Come in." Spock says, and steps to the side.
"She's engaged to be married." Pike notices that Spock doesn't ask what
they are talking about. Who they are talking about. There was only
ever one 'she' for Spock. For him as well, he might as well admit,
since it doesn't matter anymore.
"It is gratifying to hear that her new life is taking an agreeable
course." Spock sounds about as gratified as Pike feels.
"Yeah."
"Are you off duty, Captain?"
"I could be. Why?"
"Although I am inexpert with the emotional nuances manifest in
interpersonal situations, I do have a bottle of Tarkelian liqueur, and
I wonder if it would be appropriate to offer to open it-in her
honor."
"What does it taste like?"
"I have no idea. But it is 63.28 percent ethanol."
"You've got those emotional nuances down all right." Pike makes a face.
It's not a smile, but under the circumstances, it would pass for a try.
He flips his communicator up. "Mr. Tyler you have the Bridge." He
closes his eyes and tries to be a bigger man than he wants to be at the
moment.
Like it or not, he is the captain.
When Spock came aboard Enterprise, he researched Captain Pike. Upon
finding he was from Mojave a verdant city reclaimed from blowing sand,
he had hoped he and the captain might find much in common. For Spock
had turned his back on the desert too, in search of greener lands. It
turned out he was right and wrong-they did have much in common-but
not that, for Pike had never known the desert, never been of it. To
him Mojave had always been a treasure of rich parklands and pastures
ready for the ripe for the any time one chose.
He had never given a thought to the arid sands that once lay beneath.
Unlike Spock who found the contrary was true: that having been reared
on ascetic values, one cannot simply choose to turn away--not even to
find oneself. Oddly enough, oneself, is typically right where one
is.
Spock takes down the two glasses and pours. In a way it is illogical
to keep the two glasses out. In his eight years, three months and
fourteen days aboard Enterprise, this is the first time he has had
occasion to use more than one at a time. He tells himself he keeps the
second in case the first breaks, but logic dictates in that event he
should keep it wrapped and stowed away.
The truth is one ritual glass seems lonely. Two seems...right. And so
although he needs only one, he left both sitting by the decanter.
Sitting and waiting-the glasses already cheerfully paired and
patiently waiting-for some indefinite future time that their owner
might not be lonely anymore.
The liquor looks pleasing as it swirls in the glass. It has an
interesting iridescent blend. The aroma is sweet to the nose, but it
burns the throat.
"That's terrible," says Pike.
Spock moves to put the bottle up.
"No," says Pike. "Fill 'er up again. Terrible is good. That's sort
of the point. And don't tell me it's illogical."
"I had not planned on it," says Spock. He takes a second sip from his
own glass.
"It's one of the doctors who brought her through the infection. She's
going into nursing, too. Might even work under him, I guess." He
makes crude laughing noises into his glass and wonders if Vulcans get
jokes like that. He figures that they are probably too smart not to,
but are probably too snooty to admit to it.
"A not uncommon phenomenon," says Spock.
"Huh?" Pike wonders if they are on the same page.
"She would have very few attachments in this new life of hers. To form
a strong bond-to fall in love with--one who has saved her life is not
uncommon, as I understand it. For Humans, that is."
"You saved her life-risked yours to do so."
"And she saved your risking hers, Captain"
"Not for the first time. We're all a team. Were a team. It's what we
do. Did."
"Precisely."
"So what's your point?" Pike is beginning to sound angry now. This
subject hurts and he doesn't like having it dragged out. He's tough
enough when he has to be, be he is no willing masochist.
"I have none, except that I am not surprised to hear she would fall in
love with someone who has saved her life." They stare at each other
for long seconds.
Pike gets up and fills the glasses. "Sometimes a man can tell his
drinking buddy things he can never tell his captain. Anything you want
to tell me, Spock?"
"This liquor is upsetting my stomach."
Pike glares at him. "Funny, that line worked real well for Boyce." He
drains his glass.
"Dr. Boyce is a skilled and professional analyst."
"I'm a professional too!" Pike slams down his glass. "I'm a
professional, and a person. And I could have loved her. I have loved
her. I'd like to think I'm not the only one who knows what we lost."
"You are not." Spock's voice is very soft. "She was a valued member
of the crew is missed by everyone."
"That's not what I mean."
Spock studies the firepot on the wall. "Captain, I am not a free man.
I was not when I came aboard Enterprise, and I continue not to be."
"Neither am I." Pike reaches out and strokes a bulkhead. "But that
didn't stop me from falling anyway."
"Vulcan ways are different. We do not couple as you do."
Pike grunts. "Don't tell me. Storks?"
Spock questions with an eyebrow.
Pike lets it go. It was an elementary school joke at best. "Never
mind. The point is, you very neatly evaded my point: if you were
free?"
Spock swallows. "If I were free, she was precisely the sort of woman I
would hope to share myself and my life with. Our minds and our
intellects were compatible in ways I had all but despaired of ever
finding in a Human female and I should daily mourn her loss in manner
too deep for words."
Pike stares at him over his glass.
"If I were free." Spock finishes.
They toast and swallow hard as the burn makes its way down their
throats.
"I should go," says Pike. He stands. His cheeks are flushed, but his
stance is steady. "That stuff's not bad though. Thanks."
Spock puts the stopper on the bottle. "I will not be consuming any
more. You may keep the bottle."
Pike waves it away. "No, you keep it. I'll come back here."
"That is illogical."
"Nuances, Spock." Pike winks at him.
Raising an eyebrow, Spock puts the bottle back on a shelf.
Captain's Log Stardate 1317.3 Leaving Starbase 11 with the new medical
staff. The transition will be difficult, no doubt. Dr. Piper and all
of the others we have come to depend upon will be sorely
missed-especially coming so close after the tragic loss of Dr.
Dehner-but I have full confidence in the adaptability of the best
crew in Starfleet. We trust each other with our lives as a given; as
soon as we get to know each other as individuals, it'll be fine.
"Do I know you?" Chapel studies his face intently.
"I have heard it said that we all look alike." Spock offers his best
stone wall impersonation.
In the background, someone snickers.
Chapel's face wrinkles in consternation. If one looks just right-and
knows to look--one can make out the microsurgery scars in the strong
Sickbay light. The surgery took years off her appearance. Other than
the hair, she looks not much different than she did eleven years ago.
Spock now comprehends enough about women to believe that she would be
pleased to know how much younger she seems than her actual age. How
ironic that the very process that has led to this happy fact requires
that it be kept concealed.
"It may have been said, but not by me." Now her voice has an edge.
"I'm not bigoted. In fact, if anything, I have a soft spot for
Vulcans. They tell me that a Vulcan was kind to me once." She smiles.
"Besides, I'm a xenonurse, remember?" She gestures to her uniform
badge. "I can even see that you aren't really Vulcan. The cant of
your lips, the line of the supraorbital ridge, the zygomatic arch-"
She reaches a finger out to illustrate her last point and strokes it
over his cheek. The touch is diagnostic and professional, but not
impersonal. She lets it linger, and traces it around the curve of his
jaw as well.
To the surprise of those watching, Spock makes no move to pull away.
"My mother is Human," he offers.
"Mmm." She nods as if that explains it all. She studies his face
some more, then smiles. "Then I need to read up on your file in case of
emergency. Most of the standard Vulcan treatments will make you pretty
nauseous, if nothing worse. And I guess you're right: if I'd met a
Vulcan/Human hybrid before, I'd definitely remember. I'm Christine."
She extends a hand.
"I am usually right." Spock says coolly. He pointedly ignores the
hand and leaves.
In the process of recovering from the acidic snub, she fails to notice
that he never actually denied having met her before.
McCoy whispers in her ear. "Two hundred forty seven single men on
board and you have to go for the Vulcan? Now that's what I call a
hopeless case." He rolls his eyes "Wait 'til you meet Dr. M'Benga.
Now there's a hottie for you!"
Chapel shakes her head in annoyance. "I'm not 'going' for him. I'm
engaged and I'm onboard for one reason. I just thought-" She shakes
her head again, but this time it's not annoyance. She rubs her
forehead. The headaches seem to be coming back. She'd thought they
were gone, but she's been under so much stress since Roger
disappeared-"
Chapel is still watching Spock. Her gaze is clinical; she's studying
him, not admiring him, that's certain. McCoy relaxes a little.
Still, this is going to be a doozy of a cruise.
"I don't know. I'm probably imagining things. "Chapel turns back to
McCoy as Spock leaves the Hangar Deck. "Maybe it's déjà vu from a
textbook or something. I've been so lonely since Roger left. With him
missing now--"
McCoy lays a sympathetic hand upon her shoulder.
"Sometimes I think I'm losing it completely. You don't know what
loneliness can do."
McCoy gives her a quick hug. He does know. One day he'd tell her about
the divorce, but now is not the time. "Come on; let's go get set up."
Spock is still in the passageway. Chapel watches him walk away.
She'll read his file as soon as she gets a chance. Vulcan/Human, eh?
That should be fascinating. Her head hurts just a little, but it's
the good kind of pain like just a mild sunburn that tells you that
you've had a good day at the beach.
She doesn't know why.
Spock does, but he will never tell.
~Lyrastar
June 2006
Rocky
Lyrastar wrote:
> Title: That's What Big Girls Are Made Of
> Author: Lyrastar
In a word, fascinating.
spoiler space
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Wow. The way you got so much disparate events in canon to fit together
is incredibly impressive. The way Spock 'assumed' Number One's own
aloof, computer-like personality, why Christine Chapel bore such a
strong resemblance to Number One, Roger Korby, even the Medusans (and
Spock's immunity to them). Some ride you took us on!
Thanks for posting.
-Rocky
Visit Rocky's Road to Voyager
http://www.angelfire.com/yt/rockyroad
Ster Julie
everything that Rocky stated.
I had the love theme from "A Chorus Line" (What I Did for Love) echoing
in my head as I read their solution to the crisis. <sniff> Thanks you
for sharing this gem with us!
(And I was beginning to dispair of the lack of TOS stories here....)
Peace!
Julianna
Lyrastar
Rocky wrote:
> Some ride you took us on!
>
> Thanks for posting.
Just one of those itches that had to be scratched. Thank you for
reading. I do love the Mothership. It's hard to believe it's been 40
years!
Regards,
~Lyra
Lyrastar
Ster Julie wrote:
> This is an exceptionally good story,
Erp, I dunno. I kinda wish I had gone back and rewritten it--you
know--normally, but frankly I ran out of time. But I am glad that you
enjoyed it.
>
> I had the love theme from "A Chorus Line" (What I Did for Love) echoing
> in my head
AAAACK! It's like a virus! Now I have it!
HOW? COULD? YOU?! ;)
> (And I was beginning to dispair of the lack of TOS stories here....)
*giggle* I heard something once about one being too many and one
thousand never enough...but the first step is to admit powelessness,
and I have done that.
Thanks for reading and I am glad if it gave you some enjoyable fodder.
Regards,
~Lyra
http://liquidfic.net
Ster Julie
Lyrastar wrote:
> Ster Julie wrote:
> > I had the love theme from "A Chorus Line" (What I Did for Love) echoing
> > in my head
>
> AAAACK! It's like a virus! Now I have it!
> HOW? COULD? YOU?! ;)
But I LIKE that song. I sang it for my best friend when he moved far
away from those who loved him so that we wouldn't see him die of AIDS.
<sniff> I also sang it at my farewell from a church where the pastor
fired me (That was the same weekend I soloed Panis Angelicus and
brought tears to his eyes. Take THAT, Padre!)
Ahem.
I will be remembering this story when voting time comes 'round again!
Peace!
Julianna
Lyrastar
Ster Julie wrote:
> (That was the same weekend I soloed Panis Angelicus and
> brought tears to his eyes. Take THAT, Padre!)
Ah. A much more pleasant earworm; thank you for the exchange! Have
you heard Aled Jones's version? 'Tis ambrosia to the ears. *loves you
and the song*
*goes to bed humming*
Regards,
~Lyra
http://liquidfic.net
Ster Julie
Lyrastar wrote:
> Ah. A much more pleasant earworm; thank you for the exchange! Have
> you heard Aled Jones's version? 'Tis ambrosia to the ears. *loves you
> and the song*
Where can I hear a clip?
Peace!
-j-
Lyrastar
Ster Julie wrote:
> Where can I hear a clip?
http://www.yousendit.com/transfer.php?action=download&ufid=D9E84EC925BF4BAE
If a wonder lasts for nine days, what happens to boy sopranos after
puberty? Ah well, enjoy the recording and don't worry about the tenth.
Regards
~Lyra
horribly off topic, but the music is lovely so bother the topic!
Ventura33
> Wow. The way you got so much disparate events in canon
> to fit together is incredibly impressive.
I'm incredibly impressed too! Even at its maximum weirdness, everything in
the story flows together in a natural and unforced way; a Vulcan couldn't
have come up with a more logical plot! Very nicely done.
Ventura33
Lyrastar
Hey, Meg, thanks! That means a lot, especially coming from one of my
heroines in creative canon-anchored plot weaving. It was fun to piece
together, although I still do regret not taking the time to transpose
it from the weird style.
But, eh...
I am very glad if you enjoyed things about it.
Regards,
~Lyra
http://liquidfic.net