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Christine Chapel had watched at least four hundred cumulative hours of horror vids, so she really should have known better than to ask a question like what’s that sound? It never ended well for anyone, especially not the girl who actually walked toward the sound. Regrettably, she was not an exception to this rule.
Now she was flat on her back in some sort of cavern, her leg was definitely broken and so were at least two of her ribs. And that wasn’t even the worst part.
The worst part was, when Spock saw her falling, he jumped in the hole right along with her.
***
She hadn’t been able to look Spock in the eye for two weeks, since their last shore leave on Starbase 1.
That was when she’d kissed him.
She’d already had a couple drinks when she bumped into him. Spock barely registered her presence; he was too busy staring into space.
Well, not into space. At the back of a familiar, well-coiffed head. Not that she’d ever looked up holos of Spock’s fiance. That would just be creepy.
“Holy shit, is that T’Pring? Is she with someone else?” She squinted into the distance. “Are they doing that Vulcan finger kiss thing?”
Spock finally looked down at her. “I do not understand the human proclivity for asking questions with obvious answers.”
“If she’s cheating on you, tell me so I can go knock some sense into her ridiculous head. Or get revenge. Whichever you prefer.” She meant it. Nobody cheated on her friends and got away with it.
Spock pressed his lips together. It was barely perceptible, but she noticed. She’d spent a lot of time looking at him.
“We dissolved our engagement two weeks ago. She is no longer under any obligation to me.”
Christine’s eyes widened. “She dumped you?”
“My career made our relationship difficult. It was a logical decision.”
“Logic’s a real bitch sometimes.” She spun Spock around quickly. “Alright, breakup rule number one. No good can come from staring at your ex.”
Spock nodded. “That is logical.”
“Breakup rule number two, we eat ice cream.”
“The micronutrient content is not sufficient to justify the caloric density.”
“That’s exactly the point.” She tugged on Spock’s sleeve. Starbase 1 had everything. There had to be good ice cream. She just had to find it.
“I do not believe an ice cream headache will improve –”
Spock trailed off, and she turned to face him.
“Vulcans do not easily admit –”
He stopped again, and she nodded encouragingly. “Come on, Spock. It’s me. You can say it.”
“I am experiencing a state of internal emotional dysregulation.”
“Well yeah, duh. You just saw your ex with somebody else two weeks after you broke up.” She tugged on his sleeve again. “Come on, I can help you take care of this.”
“You plan to meditate with me?”
“Obviously not. My mind is a bag of cats.”
Spock’s brow furrowed. “I do not understand this metaphor.”
“Oh come on, what do you think a bag of cats is like, Spock?”
The furrow in Spock’s brow deepened. “Unpleasant. However, I do not think your mind is unpleasant.”
Christine felt a familiar surge of warmth. It happened every time Spock complimented her, even though she knew it didn’t mean anything. “Thank you! I also like my mind, but it’s a weird and disorganized place. Always running off in lots of directions at once. Like a bag of cats.”
“Meditation promotes organization,” Spock offered helpfully. “I could teach you.”
“Maybe someday,” she said, surprised to find that she meant it. “But for now, an activity that helps both of us. Drinking!”
She gestured grandly toward the bar she’d chosen. It wasn’t her usual place. This one was quiet and a little snooty, more for wine tasting than tequila shots. Spock would be into it, she was pretty sure.
He stopped at the threshold. “As you are aware, I do not drink.”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
“Then it was illogical to bring me.”
“You don’t hang out with me for logic. And anyway, hear me out.”
“You will say it regardless of whether I listen.”
“But you always do listen,” Christine pointed out. “The thing is, you don’t have to tell yourself that every emotion is bad and wrong. You can just feel the emotions, and then they go away.”
Spock raised a skeptical brow.
Christine didn’t back down. “It’s an actual biological process. Sometimes it requires repetition, but it works. And anyway, aren’t you just a little bit curious?”
It was the same question she asked theoretically straight girls. She had a feeling it would work here too, and she was right. Spock followed her inside.
“I will sample a glass of wine on one condition.”
Christine beamed. “Name it.”
“You will meditate with me tomorrow.” He looked at her seriously. “Your mind should not be inhabited by unruly felines.”
“I happen to like my felines, Mr. Spock, but it’s a deal.”
She narrowly resisted the temptation to loop her arm through his and stroll into the bar like they were on a date. They weren’t on a date, she reminded herself fiercely, and she wasn’t happy that Spock had broken up with his fiance. He needed a friend right now, and no matter what else she wanted, a friend was what she would be.
An hour later, Spock had worked his way through most of a wine tasting flight. To Christine’s eyes, it couldn’t have totaled more than a glass or two, but his body had loosened and his normally pristine hair was ever-so-slightly mussed. It was a good look.
Well, except for the part where he was annoying the bartender with tasting notes. Really, so many tasting notes.
To be fair, she was annoying the bartender too. As predicted, this wasn’t the sort of establishment where one was supposed to do tequila shots, but Christine rarely let those sorts of expectations get in her way.
“Tell me how to meditate,” she said, breaking into Spock’s discourse about the hints of woodsmoke in a bottle of aged cabernet.
Spock swiveled toward her instantly, eyes alight. Bingo. He was pleased by the question.
But he said, “You are drunk.”
“Yes, that’s a thing I do on shore leave,” she confirmed. “But drunk people can still learn about meditation.”
Spock muttered something to himself. It sounded suspiciously like a flawed beginning is better than no beginning, but Christine decided to let it slide.
Soon she was sitting fully upright at the bar, breathing in deeply and inhaling the aroma of her many empty shot glasses. Spock gave her lots of instructions about mindfulness and appropriate inhalation technique, all of which sounded a lot like her mother’s terrible new age meditation vids. Normally she would’ve dissolved into derisive snickers by now, but it was Spock. He never did anything unless he genuinely believed it was in someone’s best interest, and trying was the least she owed him.
Even if her mind was a bag of cats.
“It is a common misconception that Vulcan do not feel emotion,” he said. “In actuality, one must first identify emotions accurately in order to purge them.”
Christine didn’t need Spock’s help to identify what she was feeling. It was the same thing she always felt around him, which was a mix of warm comfort and tingly excitement. The tingly part was winning now, because she was drunk and he was very, very close. Her treacherous brain focused on one thought only: the object of her desire was single at last.
“You are breathing too shallowly. Breathing from the diaphragm is essential.”
Spock’s sharp voice interrupted her thoughts, and then he did something she never expected: he seized her wrist and pressed her hand against his stomach.
“You should feel your stomach rising and falling. Like this.”
Christine’s brain short circuited. He was still holding her hand, pressing it against his stomach. Even through his shirt, his skin radiated heat. His grip on her hand was tighter than she expected – Vulcans were strong – and the pads of his fingers pressed into her skin.
She’d closed her eyes during their breathing practice, but now she cracked them open. Spock’s own eyes were closed, his face perfectly serene beneath his rumpled hair.
Then she did the unthinkable: she leaned in for her kiss.
It wasn’t the kind of lascivious kiss she could’ve brushed off as a drunken accident. No, this was a soft, delicate brush of her lips against his, full of all the feelings she’d repressed for the last nine months.
Spock went rigid and dropped her hand.
Christine jerked back.
“Spock, I’m sorry. So sorry. It was a mistake. I should never have – I mean, if I wasn’t drunk – oh god.”
Then she bolted out the door, leaving him with the tab.
Later, while she suffered through a hangover without the benefit of medication, she tried to transfer him the credits. He declined, and she spent the next two weeks avoiding him.
The problem was, the Enterprise was a small ship. She couldn’t stay away from him forever.
***
Now Spock was in a cave with her, leaning over her with a tricorder in his hand. His face betrayed no hint of emotion, not even the tiny ones she’d grown accustomed to seeing. The ones he used to let her see, she realized.
“You are fortunate your head fell onto a pile of leaves,” he announced. “Though your fifth and sixth ribs are fractured, they do not appear to have punctured your lungs. I will call for emergency medical transport.”
He flipped open his communicator, but Christine heard no answering chirp. Dark rock walls soared above them, probably made from some exotic element that inhibited the comms – and probably the transporter as well.
Then Spock said something very alarming. “Your medical kit appears to have fallen into a pit of bones. Locating the contents will be difficult at best.”
“There’s a bone pit?” Christine tried to sit up. Her body rewarded her with a vicious stabbing sensation and a wave of nausea.
Spock’s eyes widened a fraction. Only enough that she would notice. “It is important that you remain immobile.”
“Yeah, you might have a point.” She leaned back against the leaf pile, the better to avoid the stabby feeling.
“I wish to impart additional information that is important for our survival.” He fixed her with a reproving glare. “Do not attempt to rise, regardless of your emotional reaction.”
“Your bedside manner sucks.”
“Yours is unorthodox as well.”
Was Spock bantering with her? Bantering was one step away from flirting, which would mean – Nothing, she reminded herself sternly. Because Spock wasn’t bantering with her. She was just delirious from pain.
“Lay it on me,” she said. She even managed to sound a good ninety-five percent normal.
“Many of the bones appear to be fresh. I believe our best course of action is to stabilize your injuries and retreat to a more protected location.”
Christine wasted no time agreeing. It would hurt, but probably way less than being eaten by the keeper of the bone pit.
“Your lack of hesitation is admirable,” Spock said.
She didn’t really try to contain her eyeroll. “Come on, I don’t need the officer pep talk. Let’s get on with it.”
Spock’s lips pressed into a thin, flat line. “That is not the ‘officer pep talk.’” He did the thing where she could practically hear the air quotes around the words. “It was sincere admiration.”
Christine felt her cheeks flush hot. She was doing an excellent job fucking up this whole friendship.
He didn’t give her a chance to apologize. “With your consent, I will share the pain.”
“What?”
He stretched a hand toward her, and his long, elegant fingers hovered over her face. “It is a common practice in Vulcan emergency training. However, it requires a mind meld.”
“I can’t ask you to do that, Spock.”
His brow furrowed. “You did not ask me to do that, Christine.”
She shook her head and tried to scoot out from under Spock’s outstretched hand. The movement sent a spider web of pain across her midsection, but she pushed through it. Now all she had to do was sit up. It was going to hurt, but if it would prove to Spock that she could move, she’d do it. She forced herself up in a single motion. Sweat broke out across her forehead and her stomach roiled as the blinding white light of pain filled her vision, and she collapsed backwards with a groan.
Spock leaned over her, one eyebrow cocked. “That was not logical.”
“Okay,” she managed finally. “I think I might need help with the pain.”
It wasn’t any different than what she asked of her patients every day – no need to be modest, it’s just medical care, take off your clothes and show me what hurts. Of course, her treatments never required exposing her patient’s thoughts, and she certainly never agreed to take on a share of their terrible, blinding pain.
Spock’s fingers settled gently against her face, and his eyes drifted shut as he murmured ritual words. A second later, she felt his mind brush against hers. It wasn’t the invasion she’d feared; it reminded her of the way you could know a friend was standing next to you, even when you couldn’t see them. That sensation alone was enough to mitigate the pain, and she was about to say so, but suddenly the stabbing sensation in her midsection faded to a dull throb.
Spock inhaled sharply and his body tensed, but he gave no other sign that he’d absorbed the pain of multiple broken bones. Soon he was kneeling beside her leg, improvising a splint from a sturdy branch. She steeled herself for a surge of pain when he tied it on, but none came – or rather, he felt it for her somehow, managing the whole thing with nothing more than a sudden sharp inhalation.
Much to her horror, she realized she was crying.
Spock’s head jerked up. “I have failed to adequately manage your pain.”
“No, no, it’s not that,” Christine said hastily. “It’s just –”
She stopped. She hated talking about her childhood; it hadn’t been that bad, and complaining always made her feel weak.
“Your mother did not provide adequate care,” Spock said softly.
She shook her head. “She was alright. She was just…disorganized. Forgetting to pick me up from school, coming to my art shows and spending the whole time swooning over her boyfriend, stuff like that. It could’ve been worse.” She shrugged. “I just got used to handling things on my own, I guess. And now you’re here, doing this...”
It was like she’d been cold her whole life without knowing it, and then Spock had wrapped her in a blanket and made her a hot cup of tea. He’d do it for anyone, she knew, but somehow that made him even more admirable and more –
She cut the thought off hurriedly, wrenching her mind back to the situation at hand. No need to make things more awkward by exposing her ridiculous crush.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to look far for a diversion. A scratching noise echoed from one of the passages branching off from the cave, punctuated by heavy breathing.
“The master of the bone pit approaches,” she said.
“And thus we depart.”
Spock wasted no time hauling her to her feet. They both winced when she took her first step, but soon they’d worked out a system – which was mostly just her leaning on him – but they moved into another passage surprisingly quickly. Terror of being eaten did wonders for her hobbling speed.
“I apologize for intruding on your childhood memories,” Spock said quietly, once he’d scanned with the tricorder and determined that nothing was following them. “I tried not to look, however…”
“I think loudly?” Christine guessed.
Spock nodded, and she glimpsed the tiny smirk he got when he was pretending not to think something was funny.
“I told you, mind like a bag of cats,” she said, but this time Spock shook his head.
“The metaphor is not fitting. Your mind is quite focused. Earlier, you were comparing a past experience of neglect with a present experience of receiving appropriate care, which is a logical form of mental categorization. Now you are engaged in a logical deliberation of how best to arm yourself against an unknown creature.”
Christine nodded. “I was looking for something stabby, but now I’m thinking heavy and blunt is a better bet.”
“Blunt objects require less precision.”
“And stabbing wouldn’t be useful if the creature has a hard exoskeleton,” Christine added.
“A logical consideration.” Spock bent and offered her a heavy palm-sized rock. “However, you are overlooking a more obvious defense plan: I have a phaser and am not physically disabled.”
“Yeah, but now I’ve got your back,” she said cheerfully. She punctuated it by stumbling over a hollow in the cave floor.
Spock caught her easily, still betraying no hint that he was voluntarily sharing the pain of many broken bones. His face was serious, but his hair was mussed, and there was a streak of dirt on one of his cheekbones.
Nope, nope, nope. She wasn’t going there.
Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day, Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day, Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day…
“Why are you imagining naked twentieth century political leaders?”
“Old custom,” she said hastily. “Used to distract from unpleasant situations.”
It wasn’t quite a lie.
Spock cocked an eyebrow. “How did your interest in twentieth century history develop?”
Thank god Spock could always be counted on to choose the nerdiest possible avenue of discussion.
“My brother got tetanus when he was seven.”
She was about to explain, but Spock jumped in. “A bacterial infection that causes severe muscle spasms in the neck and jaw, often interfering with breathing. It was eradicated in the late twenty-first century, was it not?”
“There are reservoirs. Like rusty nails you find when you’re playing apocalypse in an old nuclear fallout shelter in the outback.”
Spock raised an eyebrow so high it nearly touched his hairline. “That sentence requires explication.”
Christine snorted. “Like pretty much everything about my childhood. My mom was big into meditating in yurts in the wilderness. Not so much into supervising small children. So we found all kinds of weird shit, like old fallout shelters and poisonous spiders. Anyway, it was really lucky the doctor was into historical medicine.”
“And therefore you became interested in both history and medicine.”
“And various combinations thereof.” Christine smiled wryly. “Knowledge is never wasted, right?”
Spock nodded seriously, and for the first time, she felt something through her end of the mind meld. There was a Vulcan word she didn’t know, but if she could punch it into a translator, she guessed it would be something like ‘satisfaction in finding a like-minded companion.’
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Your mind is not a bag of cats. It is an octopus.”
“This conversation is really helping me forget that we’re trapped in a cave with something that wants to eat us, so I’ll bite. Why is my mind an octopus?”
“Octopi use eight arms to engage in continuous, purposeful exploration of their surroundings.” Spock sounded so much like a nature holo host that Christine could barely suppress her laughter. “Your original metaphor – a bag of cats – implies that your mind is random and at odds with itself, but that is untrue. Through a collection of unusual childhood experiences, you learned to be curious about a variety of subjects, and you combine that knowledge in a way that may outwardly appear random to others, but actually results from many years of determined exploration.”
Not for the first time today, she felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She wrapped her hand around Spock’s and squeezed. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her, and since she knew words would fail, she tried to push all her warmth and gratitude through the thread that connected her mind to Spock’s.
Maybe she’d never have what she wanted with him, but this was enough.
Well, almost enough. The impulse to kiss him crackled along her skin like electricity. Knowing that it was the wrong thing to do only made the thought more appealing. Impulse control, not her strong suit.
Fortunately, just as she turned toward him, a strange scritching sound invaded the silence. Somewhere in the distance, talons scraped over stone.
Spock turned toward her incredulously.
That’s the sound you went to investigate?
Okay, so they were communicating telepathically now.
Christine rolled her eyes. Yes, yes, I know it was a bad idea.
The sound grew closer. There was no place to go. A dark passageway stretched ahead of them, a faint breeze holding out the promise of light and air ahead. But they were much, much too far away. Spock drew his phaser, and Christine hefted her rock.
Heavy breathing echoed down the passageway, along with the sound of something heavy dragging over the stone.
It’s hurt, Christine thought at Spock. It sounded just like her, dragging her wounded leg behind her.
Excellent, Spock thought back.
Christine shook her head. Whatever the creature was, she was sure it wasn’t the master of the bone pit. That was why she’d gone to investigate it in the first place: it sounded wounded.
Spock’s finger twitched on the trigger of his phaser as the sound grew closer.
Don’t shoot! Christine thought as loudly as she could. Apparently it was very loud indeed because Spock winced and shot her an annoyed look.
It was just enough time for the creature to drag itself into the dim glow of Spock’s emergency torch. Its hard shell reminded Christine of a horseshoe crab, though it was much larger. Amber eyes gleamed in the darkness, and it limped forward on two claw-like paws, dragging its wounded hind legs behind it.
It chirruped feebly, and Christine ached for her lost medkit. Surely she could’ve done something for it.
Spock, meanwhile, stepped backward and tried to drag her along with him.
Now that they’d been communicating telepathically, his thoughts were easier to read. Potentially poisonous, unknown capability for subterfuge, may attract other predators…
Spock’s litany of concerns was nearly endless, but Christine stood her ground.
“Come on, is suspicion any way to greet a new lifeform? That’s not the Starfleet I heard about!”
“You brought home a wounded snake. It did not end well. Someone must balance your optimism.”
“Come on, Spock, that was only one time! And also, stop reading my mind.”
Suddenly the creature broke into a chorus of high-pitched chirps. It launched itself against Christine’s ankles and she fell backward, rolling into a low-ceilinged passage she hadn’t been able to see before. Spock flung himself afterward, and the creature lunged toward them. Sharp, silvery teeth glimmered in the light of his torch, and she felt him fumbling for his phaser.
Just then, a new sound split the silence. Heavy breathing echoed through the passage, the sound of a predator on the hunt for prey. Its footsteps were barely audible – in fact, they weren’t audible to Christine – but she heard them through Spock’s more sensitive ears.
The creature beside them stiffened and went silent, then slowly backed up. It lay on its side, wedging its hard shell against the narrow opening in the passage wall.
The footsteps were growing closer now. Christine wasn’t certain whether she heard them, or whether she simply felt the vibration of the hunter’s massive feet on the ground.
The creature’s breathing quickened, but it didn’t move away from the opening in the wall.
Christine squeezed Spock’s hand. It’s protecting us, she thought at him, along with a strong dose of I told you so and aren’t you glad you didn’t shoot it, you asshole?
Spock made an exasperated sound. She felt a small jolt of triumph at rattling his control, followed by a stab of guilt. She wasn’t testing his control; the pain was. Collapsing and rolling across a rocky floor should have hurt. Instead, a jab of pain flared and disappeared just as quickly. Spock had taken it all.
The breathing was right in front of them now. All at once, a terrible grinding noise echoed across the cave, like metallic claws scraping across the rock. The little creature in front of them buckled and rocked as the claws scraped across its carapace, but it didn’t move away from the entrance.
Spock held his tricorder out for her to see. “Do not be alarmed. The creature’s chitinous exoskeleton can withstand the attack.”
“But it’s so scared.”
Christine couldn’t wrench her eyes away from the creature’s wide amber ones. She stretched her hand toward it, and it wrapped its good paw around her finger. Spock’s thoughts echoed through the mind meld, warning her about the dangers of physical contact with unknown life forms, but she didn’t care. In fact, the creature’s skin felt like sandpaper, and she could feel the first pricklings of an allergic reaction where its sharp claws dug into her skin. She pushed both sensations out of her mind and tried to send all of her warmth, gratitude, and love through the finger it held.
Thank you, she told it, over and over again. It was all she had to give.
Before, the mind meld had felt distant, as if Spock were connected to her only through a long, narrow cord. Now, his presence felt like a direct transmission through a commlink in her ear. It was the sort of infinite calm that made her think of a flat ocean on a hazy morning. He knew that something terrible was happening, but it didn’t trouble him. When she turned toward him, she saw that his eyes were closed. His hand bumped against hers, and she realized he was holding the creature’s other uninjured paw.
Gratitude flooded her. It didn’t matter that her relationship with Spock would never be what she wanted; she was lucky just to know him.
Suddenly the creature’s grip on her finger relaxed, and she realized the terrible scraping noise had stopped. Heavy footsteps shuffled over the rock, and then the sound of phaser fire shattered the brief silence.
A cool breeze caressed her face as the creature pulled back from the opening. Captain Pike was looking down at them, blood dripping from a gash across his chest.
“Looks like you two had an adventure,” he said, extending a hand toward Christine.
La’an appeared close behind him, clucking her tongue at his torn uniform. “Really, sir, I had a phaser rifle. Did you really need to charge a rock monster?”
“It had my crew,” Pike said. “Any decent captain would.”
Then a hypospray hissed against Christine’s neck, and the world went fuzzy for a little while. When she opened her eyes again, she was out in the larger passage and strapped onto a stretcher. Her mind felt empty and alone.
She could only barely see Spock out of the corner of her vision. He was leaning against the cave wall, his face turned away from the group. His skin looked terribly pale, and his knees began to sag.
The stretcher didn’t give her much room to move, but she stretched her hand toward him. Two of his fingers brushed against two of her own, and then he passed out.
***
If Christine had known that Spock would be at her door, she probably would’ve put on a bra before she answered the chime. She definitely would’ve thrown something over her dance shorts, which were barely more than glorified underwear.
Did Vulcans even care about nipples? Maybe not, but she crossed her arms over her chest anyway.
“If you are indisposed, I can return later,” Spock said, carefully avoiding eye contact.
She guessed he was responding to her obvious unease more than her outfit, and she shook her head and invited him inside even though she wasn’t ready to see him yet. Obviously she owed him an apology, for kissing him and avoiding him and exposing him to mortal hazards; she just hadn’t formulated the right words yet. Her Starfleet Interplanetary Cultures handbook said Vulcans apologized by publicly admitting flaws in their logic, but that didn’t really seem right for their particular situation. Then she’d considered giving him a piece of art or trying to cook a Vulcan dish, but cooking rarely worked out for her…and now here she was, twenty-four hours after being released from sickbay, still with no apology in hand.
“I understand congratulations are in order,” Spock said, and Christine’s head snapped up. “Captain Pike told me you completed your enlistment paperwork.”
“Oh, right.” Christine snatched a hoodie from the pile of clothes on the floor while she tried to organize her thoughts. “I just have to wait for the criminal conduct waiver to clear.”
Spock’s brow furrowed. “Leaving an away team to pursue a strange noise is a violation of regulations, but hardly criminal. In any case, I believe you have already completed your punishment detail with Captain Pike.”
“Yeah, we cleaned the sludge out of the matter generators all morning,” Christine confirmed.
All’s well that ends well, Nurse Chapel, but there’s a reason we don’t take off by ourselves on away missions. And to make sure you remember that, we’ll be doing some maintenance work together. He really had done it with her, and not just to lecture her. Just because they were part of a team. She’d filed her enlistment paperwork as soon as they finished.
Spock was still looking at her expectantly and Christine flushed. “I, uh, participated in an unauthorized public arts project when I was younger.”
“You vandalized a building.”
“Very artistically. Not that the government of New South Wales agreed.”
She hadn’t intended to share that particular piece of her past with her crush, damn her mouth. Now Spock’s gaze was traveling around her horrendously messy bunk, landing in the corner where she’d projected the Starfleet enlistment brochure on the wall. When she’d come aboard, she thought it was all cheesy propaganda, but now she wanted a lifetime of new civilizations and bold adventures and being saved by mind melds and friendly creatures with durable chitinous exoskeletons.
“I am pleased you will be remaining with the Enterprise. Your presence would have been missed.” His voice was low and quiet, and he paused for a moment. “I would have missed your presence.”
Christine smiled. “I would’ve missed you too.”
She took a breath, ready to start her apology, but Spock beat her to it.
“I owe you an apology,” he said. The softness she’d detected a moment before had vanished, replaced by a solemn and formal mask.
“Uh, what?” Good job, very articulate, she thought at herself. At least Spock couldn’t hear her interior monologue anymore.
“I failed to maintain appropriate boundaries between our minds.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I behaved as though we were romantically attached. I was aware that you do not wish to pursue a relationship with me, and you were dependent on me. My offense is therefore doubled.”
“You are aware I don’t want a relationship?” Christine repeated slowly. She hadn’t thought subterfuge was high on her list of skills, but apparently it was, because Spock nodded vigorously.
“You kissed me and said it was a mistake. You then left the bar and severed communication. The statement was quite clear. While I became aware of lingering physical attraction during our mind meld, it was inappropriate for me to act on it.”
Vulcans apologize by publicly admitting flaws in their logic. Oh god, was that what was happening?
“Nope, nope, nope,” Christine said hastily. “You’ve got this all wrong.”
Spock’s eyes widened slightly. “Please, illuminate my error.”
“I hid from you because I do want a relationship with you. Wow, that sounds bad. Very illogical, I know. I was embarrassed. You were my friend, you needed support, you were drunk, and I acted on my own feelings without considering yours. ” She inhaled and drew herself up straight. Come on, Christine, you can give Spock the apology he deserves. “I want you to know that I’m sorry. You’ve only ever been a good friend to me, and I should have apologized immediately. I never should have avoided you. If you need some distance from me, I respect that, but I hope that you’ll consider allowing me to earn back your trust.”
There. Done. She hadn’t broken eye contact once, no matter how hard it was. Spock, alarmingly, hadn’t broken eye contact with her either. It was probably the Vulcan thing to do, but damn, it was a lot of staring and emotional intensity for someone who’d dedicated most of her adult life to avoiding serious relationships.
“I do not desire distance from you,” Spock said. He cocked an eyebrow. “Though I confess I do not understand your behavior.”
Tension slid out of Christine’s shoulders. “I told you, mind like a bag of cats.”
“With respect to relationships, that metaphor may be accurate.”
Christine laughed. Spock didn’t, but he watched her laugh, and she could tell that he liked it. Feeling bolder, she took a step toward him.
“When you said you behaved like we were romantically attached, what did you mean exactly?” she asked.
A faint green flush appeared on Spock’s cheekbones. “I could have maintained greater separation between our minds. In Vulcan relationships, it is not uncommon to explore one another’s thoughts and memories.” His head dropped. “I found I could not resist yours. My behavior was intrusive.”
“I liked it,” Christine said quickly. The thought that he’d seen her whole messy brain and wanted more of it was intoxicating, but she reeled herself back to reality. “But you just broke up with T’Pring…”
“Had you communicated your feelings more clearly, I would have requested the customary two to four week window to consider the lessons I might learn from my past relationship.”
“Right, very logical.” Christine wondered if she should be writing this down. “And since two weeks have passed…”
“I have determined that much of my regret was not related to my attachment to T’Pring.” Spock spoke in the same tone she’d heard him use to describe small scientific mysteries. “While I found her companionship stimulating, I must admit that I pursued the relationship in large part to validate my Vulcanness.”
“Which I could never do.”
Spock nodded, and Christine’s stomach plummeted.
Then he said, “You validate my half Vulcanness.” His eyes softened, and his voice dropped low. “Christine, you have never asked me to change my behavior to make yourself more comfortable. You have only ever suggested I change in order to avoid hurting myself. In this respect, you are unique.”
Christine shook her head. “You shouldn’t consider that unique. That’s just…not being an asshole. It’s the absolute minimum level of respect you deserve from anyone, not a dating criterion.”
“You continue to seek my welfare,” Spock said. He cocked his head. “It appears you are attempting to convince me that you are not an ideal partner, however, the attempt itself demonstrates that you are. With your permission, I will review the evidence with you.”
Christine expected him to begin oral arguments, but he extended a hand toward her face.
“Is this customary?” she asked, and Spock shook his head.
“We may discuss verbally if you prefer.”
Now it was Christine’s turn to shake her head. She felt like she did in middle school, the first time a really hot girl liked her – except better this time, because Spock wanted her whole messy brain, not her body or some made-up persona she’d put on to look cool.
His fingers settled gently against her face, and her eyes flickered shut. His mind brushed against hers, and images bloomed across her mind’s eye: her, cradling his face in her hands, telling him it was okay to be angry; her again, smiling while she ate a perfectly seared duck breast at the captain’s table. She hadn’t even known that he was watching then. The images didn’t stop. She saw herself hunched over lab consoles, rushing to a patient in sickbay, and finally in the cave, offering all her strength to the creature that saved their lives.
You have made abundantly clear that you like me the way I am. Spock’s voice drifted across her brain. I wish to reciprocate.
Christine didn’t trust herself to speak, verbally or otherwise. Slowly, she raised two of her fingers, and Spock met them with two of his own.
To new beginnings, she thought, and then she did something she’d never imagined she would get to do: she stood on her toes and pressed her lips against Spock’s.