Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: 12 Feb 2004 19:34:42 -0800  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: djinn@djinnslair.com (Djinn) 
 

TITLE: The Lost Years: Release (Slayer Series)
AUTHOR: Djinn
CONTACT: djinn@djinnslair.com http://www.djinnslair.com
SERIES: TOS
RATING: PG-13
CODES: Ch, K, U, Others
PART: 1/2
SUMMARY: The fourth in the Lost Years series.



Kirk walked into his office pleasantly tired from his latest lesson
with Weasel.  Despite the mental drain--he'd never concentrated so
hard or long in his life--he felt good, felt strong.  It wasn't that
he'd made all that much progress since that first meeting when he'd
been tested.  But it felt as if he was finally doing something
positive with his life.  Finally doing something that might make a
difference to someone someday.

"Sir?"  His assistant stood at the door.  He had to reach for the
name.  Lieutenant Commander Hall.  His assistants seemed to change
with alarming frequency.  Just when he'd begun to get comfortable with
the current one, he or she would be shipped out.  Kirk had a feeling
that the timing was not coincidental.  Someone--Nogura, he suspected
now--wanted to keep him isolated.  "Yes, Commander?"

"This came for you, sir."  He handed Kirk a small package.  "I need a
signature for receipt."

He held out a padd and Kirk laid his thumb against it.  "Where did
this come from?"

"I'm not sure, sir." 

"Okay.  That'll be all, Commander."

"Yes, sir."

Once the door closed, Kirk tore the package open, wondering if he
would find more data modules like the one he was still hiding for
Carl.  But the box held two padds.

He picked up the top one and turned it on.  A video started on the
small screen.  "Admiral Kirk."  He paused the recording.  His heart
started to beat impossibly fast.  It was Spock on the small screen. 
Just a recording, but still Spock.  The first glimpse he'd had of his
friend in months.

"Spock," he whispered as he resumed play.

"In the box you have received are two padds.  The one you are watching
now is for you.  There is a second recording after this one concludes.
 The other padd is for Christine.  I am unsure if she is still at the
address at which I last found her.  You, on the other hand, seem to
always be aware of where she is."

Kirk closed his eyes.  Spock's words stung.  He gave up any hope that
this was a message of reconciliation and forgiveness.

"I ask you to give her the padd.  It is the last thing I shall ever
ask you to do.  I hope you will honor it as you would any other last
request.  I know that in human terms, such a thing is important."

"You're not dead, Spock," Kirk muttered, his lips tightening.

The Vulcan could still read his mind, or at least anticipate his
reaction.  "While I might not, strictly speaking, be dead, I will be
changed.  Totally and irrevocably changed when I master the Kohlinar
discipline.  So this is, indeed, a last request from the Spock that
you knew.  Please see that Christine receives the padd in a timely
manner."

Kirk grinned sourly.  Spock knew how to word it too.  Kirk had been
considering not giving it to Christine until later...much later.  He
wasn't sure he even wanted to listen to his own message, could only
imagine what a message to Christine might say.

"You are, of course, free to watch her recording if you wish." 

Kirk shook his head.  Spock was pulling out all the stops.  Every word
seemed designed to demonstrate both how well he knew Kirk and how
little he trusted him anymore.

The recording ended.  No goodbyes.  Just ended.  Kirk took a deep
breath and began to play the second recording.

"Admiral."

The word was said so formally, so tightly.  No hint that this man had
ever called him anything else, that he had ever called him Jim.

"As you know I am beginning my study of the Kohlinar discipline and
this will take me to a path of pure logic, a place where emotions are
purged.  Truly purged, not just controlled.  I believe I will finally
find peace.  I have tried, in the past, to live my own way, but it did
not, in the long run, set me free the way I thought it should.  In
fact, it made me a prisoner of emotions that I would rather not
experience ever again."

Kirk sighed.  He knew it was only going to get worse.  He could feel
himself getting angry, angry that his friend couldn't have called,
couldn't have let this be a dialogue rather than a monologue. 
Couldn't have let Kirk have his chance to say how guilty he still
felt, how sorry he was that he'd hurt Spock.

But not how sorry he was that he'd kept Chris's location from him. 
And that was the crux of their problem.  He regretted hurting his
friend, but he'd made a promise to Chris.  He wasn't sorry he hadn't
broken it, and Spock would never forgive him for that.

Spock continued, "The hardest emotion I find is this anger inside me
for you and for Christine.  This immense sense of betrayal.  Soon,
that feeling will be gone, but for now it consumes me.  And so,
according to the instructions of the priestess, I must prepare for the
purging by reaching some form of closure.  It is not forgiveness, nor
will I forget.  To be more clear, the Spock who I am right now will
not forget.  To the Spock who I will become, this anger will be beyond
irrelevant.  But for now, I must give it the attention it deserves.  I
must tell you how you have hurt me, acknowledge the great pain I
feel."  Spock actually swallowed hard.  He obviously did feel a great
deal.

"Don't lose that, Spock," Kirk said softly.  Would his friend
anticipate those words?

"I am filled with betrayal, and it poisons me.  This love inside me
for you, for Christine, it is not a good thing.  It is not healthy or
life affirming.  It weighs me down, makes my logic questionable, makes
my behavior erratic.  There is nothing good in this love.  And I do
not know if it is because I do not know how to love, or because I
chose to love two people who were completely undeserving of my
affection.  I shall not try to answer that question.  But perhaps you
already know--you who are such a master of emotions."

"Damn you, Spock."  Kirk looked over at Chris' padd, tempted to smash
it to bits, to spare her this.

"Christine was my bondmate, Jim."  Spock's voice cracked, his use of
Kirk's first name seemed accidental, driven by emotion.  "You knew
what that meant and still you kept her from me?  Why?  Did you not
want me to be happy?  Did you believe my love for her was not real? 
Did you think I would hurt her?  You did not even give me the chance
to try with her.  And when I finally found her, it was far too late. 
Did you know that?  That she was lost to me when you finally admitted
the truth?"

"I was just protecting her, Spock."  

"I will never understand your actions, Admiral.  Nor hers.  But soon,
I will not have to try to understand those actions.  They will be
beneath my notice.  The Spock you knew, the one you called friend,
will be dead, and a new Spock will arise."  Spock's expression was
wry.  "Not unlike Christine's vampires.  Ironic."  His expression
faded to the neutral, stoic face that Kirk was coming to hate.  "Spock
out."

The screen went dead.  Kirk could feel his lips trembling in anger. 
He threw the padd across the room.

"Sir?"  Hall came running at the sound.  "Is everything all right?"

"Yes."  He picked up Christine's padd then he walked over to the other
padd, picking it up and dropping it in the recycler.  He never wanted
to watch that message again.  "I have to go out for a while."

"Yes, sir."  

He walked down the halls of Command, going faster than was normal,
noticed that people were getting out of his way, moving to the other
side of the hallway as he barreled down the corridor.  He turned, then
turned again, weaving through interior hallways that would link up
with Starfleet Medical.  Finally, he was in the main reception.  The
nurse on duty looked up, probably thinking from the way he was
hurrying that he had an emergency.

"Where can I find Doctor Chapel?" he asked.

She checked her roster.  "She's doing rounds on the fourth floor." 
Kirk started to turn for the elevator.  "Sir, I can page her."

He nodded.  Yes.  Yes, that would be better.

He walked over to the waiting area, perched on one of the chairs,
turning her padd over and over in his hand as he waited for what
seemed like forever.

"Jim?  Is everything all right?"

She looked so good to him.  He wanted to pull her down, to hold her
and hide the padd and not let Spock hurt her the way Kirk knew that he
would.  "Chris."  He sounded lost and old and defeated.

She sat down next to him.  "Jim, what is it?  Is it Carl?"  She'd
checked on his friend for him, hadn't been able to determine a cause
for his rapid decline.  But she'd told him that the attending
physician had prescribed some additional supportive measures, and Carl
had seemed to rally a bit for a few days.  But when Kirk had visited
him earlier in the day, he'd looked weaker.

"No.  Not Carl."  He pressed the padd into her hands.  "I don't want
to give this to you.  But he said I had to."

"Who said that?"

He shook his head.  "Don't look at it until you get home.  Promise me
you won't look at it until you get home?"

"I promise."  She touched his hand.  

Her fingers on his skin were so soothing.  He could sit this way
forever and be happy with just her touching him, never moving, never
having to hear that he was a bad friend, that he'd chased his best
friend into hell.  And that he'd kept his woman--his wife--from him.

What would Spock say to what was happening between them now?  How
would he feel knowing Kirk wanted to do worse than just keep them
apart?  He wanted her.  Wanted Spock's wife.

He snatched his hand back, afraid to accept even such simple comfort
from her.  Afraid of what it could mean.  Of how much he longed for
it.

To want her was wrong.  

"Jim?"

He stood up, looked down at her.  Almost against his will, he touched
her face, let his hand cradle her cheek for a long moment.  "I'm
sorry."

Then he fled.

-----------------------------

Christine finished one last circuit through the cemetery closest to
Emma's house.  She'd staked five vamps already.  None of them had
appeared to have had a clue how to fight, or even where or what they
were.  Wharton had to be behind this.  Killing random strangers,
making these ignorant monsters to stand between her and him.  Cannon
fodder.  Slayer fodder.

And a waste of her time.  She killed fledgling vampires while he did
god only knew what.  But whatever it was, it would be about Emma and
it wouldn't be good.

She'd stopped at Emma's when she'd begun her patrol, but her watcher
had begged off on training or even just a bit of company, pleading a
headache.  She'd looked paler than normal.  Pale and afraid.  She
wouldn't admit that she'd received any messages from Wharton, but
Christine suspected that she had and just wasn't telling her.

Or maybe not receiving anything from him but knowing he was out there
was worse.

Christine heard a noise, saw another vamp rising, grave dirt spilling
up as the creature fought its way free.  This one hadn't been on
Christine's list of suspicious kills.  It was a homeless person
possibly, one of the lost ones that the Federation liked to pretend no
longer existed.  Christine knew better.  So did the vamps.  They loved
to prey on the lost ones.  Wharton had probably killed this one and
stuffed her in the nearest grave to rise when she was ready.

Rise alone.  All alone.  Christine stalked over to where the vampire
had pulled herself halfway out the ground.  She staked her before the
woman could even look up.

No one should have to be that alone.  To wake up in a shallow grave,
to panic, to claw and scratch and scream only to have dirt fall into
your open mouth.

Spike had told her that when Buffy had been brought back to life, her
friends had at first thought they had failed, had left her alive in
her grave.  She'd had to claw her way out.

It was Christine's worst nightmare.

It was probably every slayer's worst nightmare.  To be turned.  To
wake up in that box and be one of them.  One of the things that
slayers hunted.

There were scores of slayers who had been turned.  They made the most
vicious vampires.  The most cunning, the most deadly.  They didn't go
down easy; they often took their executioners with them.

Christine sighed.  Her hunt was going nowhere and she was just
depressing herself with thoughts of being turned and shallow graves.

She turned for home, the walk more pleasant than she expected.  The
stars were out in force, the beautiful balls of fire that looked so
cold from here.  Did she want to be back out there?  Freed from
patrol, from the daily grind of killing and hunting and doing things
that normal people didn't even know took place in their safe,
civilized cities.

She could be with Uhura.  With Sulu and Chekov and Rand again.  All
the people who were uncomplicatedly her friends.  Not her boss, or the
first officer she had loved and bonded with, or the captain she was
falling in lov--  She clamped down on that thought.  Like digging out
of her grave, it was a thought that was not helpful, not productive.

Her apartment felt stuffy and cold to her.  She sat down at her table
with a cup of coffee.  It still felt odd to not have homework to do,
to be free of classes.  Even odder to be called Doctor now.  But she
loved it.  She'd finally made it.

She dug out the padd Jim had brought by.  He'd looked so lost.  Who
could it be from?

She hit play.  Felt her heart skip a beat as Spock appeared on the
screen.

This could not be good.  

"Christine."  Spock's voice held no warmth.  "I have recorded a
similar message for Admiral Kirk."  His voice sounded even colder as
he said Jim's name.  Now she understood why Jim had looked so crushed.
 Had he really thought Spock would forgive him--forgive them?

"I believe you know that I am at Gol.  Here, I will undertake a
discipline known as Kohlinar.  I will purge all of my emotions.  Or,
to put it in terms that you will relate to, I plan to slay them."  The
look he shot her was an odd one.  It seemed laced with irony, and just
a hint of cruelty.  "I will do that because I think they were, if not
evil, then at least wrong for me to hold, to carry.  I have been in a
dark place since you left me.  You betrayed me when you ran,
Christine.  I know I did not consult you when I severed our bond, but
that action was not the crime that running, that letting me hunt for
you has been.  Could you not have met with me face to face?"  He
stopped, swallowed hard.

"Like you're doing here, Spock?"  She could feel herself shutting
down.  Did not want to hear anymore.  She hit stop.

She took a deep breath.  Why should she listen to this?

Some masochistic tendency made her hit play again.  

"I did everything I could to be the man you wanted me to be.  I loved
you as I have never loved anyone.  I gave you everything I had.  And
still you ran.  We both know my actions at our last meeting were
dishonorable.  I am ashamed of what my love for you made me do.  I am
ashamed, in fact, of that love.  Soon, I will not feel anything, not
for you, not for Admiral Kirk, not for anyone.  I will be a creature
of pure logic.  And I welcome that."

He stopped.  Stared at her.  His voice was very soft, his expression
one of controlled misery, when he said, "What did I do wrong?  That is
the only thing I wish I knew."  He seemed to shake himself.  "That
will soon be irrelevant.  I wonder if Spike will please you any longer
than I did?"  The screen went blank.

She could feel her mouth twisting, knew her expression was ugly.  "Go
to hell, Spock."

But she knew that he was already in Hell.  And she'd put him there. 
She and Jim.

Jim.  He'd gotten a message too.

She ran out the door and down the stairs, realizing only when she was
halfway to his building that she'd left her stakes behind.  She
laughed and it was an awful sound.  She pitied any vamp that tried to
take her on tonight.

She slowed to a walk as she came up to Kirk's street.  The doorman saw
her, opened the door for her.  She forgot to thank him, yelled it from
the elevator, unsure if he heard her, not really caring.  The ride up
seemed to take forever, she ran down the hall, her boots making too
much noise in the quiet hallway, but she didn't care.  She hit his
chime, hit it again and again.

He opened the door, stared at her.

"Let me in, Jim."

He shook his head.  When she tried to move around him, he blocked her
way.

"We both know you could get by me easily.  But you won't try, will
you, Chris?  Don't try that."

"Jim, please?"  She didn't move, didn't try to push him.

"If you come in, we both know what will happen."  He closed his eyes. 
"We're hurt, and we're mad.  And we want to hurt him."

"No.  That's not it.  Not for me anyway."  She looked around his
hallway.  "Jim, do we have to do this here?"

He nodded.  "Yes, we do.  Out here is safe.  In there"--he looked into
the darkness of his apartment--"isn't safe at all."  He swallowed
hard.  "See, I'm in love with you.  I want you.  Want you so much. 
And I can't ever have you."

"Why not?"  She reached for him but he shied back.  "I love you too. 
I want you too."

She moved closer, touched his neck, her hand falling on the scars from
Anacost's bite.  He shuddered.  Then he pulled her to him, his lips
desperate on hers, his hands roaming frantically down her body.  She
tried to ease him back, get them safely into his apartment, but he
pushed her away with a strangled, "No!"

She reached out for him, breathing hard, trying to get back the
moment, if she could just get back into his arms they'd be okay.

He drew away even more, said, "No.  We can't do this.  Not ever."

She swallowed, her throat was too tight.  "Jim, I need you."

"Not like this.  I can't."

"I know you feel guilty.  But he's gone.  Spock's gone, Jim."

"I don't feel like he is.  All I know is that I hurt my friend.  And I
won't do it again."

They stared at each other helplessly.  

Finally, she whispered, "You're my friend too.  I depend on you."

"Well, don't."  He laughed--if she'd thought her laughter had been
awful, his sent chills down her spine.  "I shouldn't have destroyed my
padd.  Should have let you listen to what a great friend I am.  How
you can depend on me."  His expression was twisted, as if he was
fighting pain back with sheer will.  "Release.  That's what he wanted.
 Release."

She shook her head.  "No.  He wanted revenge.  Can't you see that?"

"Well, he's getting it."  Kirk looked down.  "Go away, Chris.  I can't
do this anymore.  None of it."

"Jim?"

He stepped back.  The door closed between them.

She rang the chime again, but he didn't open the door.  She held the
chime down, knew he must have disengaged the sound.  She was tempted
to use her medical override but knew that he'd never forgive the
trespass.

She beat softly against the door.  "Jim," she whispered.  "Jim, please
let me in."

Finally she left.  

She didn't realize she was taking the wrong way home until she saw
that she was on Emma's street.  She looked up at her watcher's
townhouse; all the lights were off.  Emma had probably gone to bed,
trying to sleep off her headache.  She didn't need some lovelorn
slayer bothering her.

Christine walked on home.  Alone.

----------

Kirk sat on the floor by his door.  Chris had finally gone away.  He'd
turned off the audio to the chime, but had left on the intercom.  He'd
heard her perfectly.  It had been so hard, so very hard, to sit and
not open the door to her.  If she'd started to cry...he'd have been
lost.

But she hadn't cried.  And he hadn't opened the door.

And now she was gone.  Forever.  She was gone forever.  

He wanted to run after her.  Stop her.  Bring her back and love her
and take care of her and let her take care of him and never, ever be
alone again.

But he couldn't.  Not now, not after seeing himself through Spock's
eyes.  He knew intellectually that Spock had a biased view--his own
view.  But it had hurt, hurt more than Kirk would ever have imagined
to listen to his best friend take him to task.  Maybe, if he still had
McCoy, Spock's words wouldn't have hurt as much?

But McCoy was gone, angry at Kirk for yet another bad decision--the
one that had tied him to his desk, to this cold, lonely apartment. 
The apartment he wouldn't let Chris into anymore, that he'd never tell
her only seemed welcoming when she was in it with him.

He sighed, pushed himself up.  It took too much energy, and he felt as
if he were ancient.  He checked the chrono; it was late.  Chris had
stood at his door forever.  She hadn't been willing to give up.  Not
easily anyway.  But even a slayer knew when to quit.

He grabbed his coat, opened the door, found himself hoping that she
would still be there, waiting silently for him.

The hallway was empty.  She was gone.

He didn't want to sleep, didn't want to lie in his empty bed and stare
at the ceiling.  Better to go check on Carl.  He'd looked so much
worse this morning.

This morning seemed a million hours ago.

He was a block from Starfleet Headquarters when he heard a noise
behind him.  He looked in the blackened store window he was passing. 
Nothing was behind him.  Again the noise came.  Closer this time.

He turned slowly, pulled the stake out.  "It's a bad night to do
this."

The vampire just smiled.

"See, I'm in love with this woman.  She loves me too.  She told me
that tonight.  Normally this would be a cause for celebration--"

The vampire rushed him, ran right into his stake and blew into dust. 
Kirk looked around, hoping for more.  There weren't any more.

He shoved the stake away, brushed the dust off his shoulders.  

Even a vampire didn't want to listen to his side of the story.

The rest of his walk to Starfleet Medical was uneventful.  He nodded
to the night nurse on duty, made his way to the intensive care ward.

Carl's bed was empty.  He stood staring at it stupidly.

"Sir?  Can I help you?"  The nurse's voice told him everything.

"He left, right?  Felt better and got up and walked out.  He'll be at
staff meeting tomorrow.  Cracking jokes.  I've missed that."

"Sir, Admiral Richter passed away this even--"

"--No."  He turned, walked out quickly.  "No."

His last friend.  His last friend was dead.

And someone had killed him.  

That someone would pay.  

He headed for the motel, for Weasel.  Weasel would know what to do. 
He just had to get to Weasel.

Women and men propositioned him as he walked.  He didn't even answer
them.  Just hurried past them.  One of them tried to stop him, took
one look at his face and backed away slowly.

He didn't look at her, just kept walking.  

Weasel.  He had to get to Weasel.

A couple waited in the lobby of the motel, Weasel was handing them a
key.  He saw Kirk standing outside, looking at him through the window.
 He held up a finger, finished his business, then walked outside.

"You're a lot of hours early, Mac."  He glared at Kirk.  "And
projecting pain for all you're worth."

Kirk didn't answer, unsure why he'd thought this man he hardly knew
would be the one to help him.

"And you've got vampire dust in your hair.  That's very bad for
business."

Kirk looked at him stupidly.  "You rent to vampires."

"Hey, they need a room too."

"Do you take care of the disposal afterwards?"  Kirk shook his head. 
Did nothing in his world make sense anymore?

"No.  They don't kill here.  I run a nice, safe place.  Transactions
happen; blood and money change hands.  But nobody dies."  He turned
back to the lobby.  "Now shake your hair out and then come in.  I've
got fresh coffee brewing."

Kirk shook his head, brushing at his hair, then followed Weasel in.

The sorcerer looked up from the coffee pot.  "You like it black, Mac?"

"My name is Jim."

Weasel seemed about to launch into the same lecture he'd given Kirk
the day they met, then he closed his mouth, staring at Kirk hard. 
"Okay, Jim.  What the hell happened to you today?"

"Friend died.  Friend hates me.  Friend left me."

"Is this all the same friend?"

"No."  Kirk thought of what he'd felt when he'd tried to protect Carl
with magic.  "Can you poison someone?  Supernaturally, I mean?"

Weasel nodded.  "It takes more than just a spell though.  You need
constant reinforcement of it."

"Like a witch nearby, all the time?"

"A witch without a conscience, but yeah, that would do it.  Any kind
of focus would, as long as it was something near the victim that the
person casting the spell could project into."  He fell silent for a
moment, then he asked, "You think your friend was killed with magic?"

"He got sick," Kirk said, taking too big a sip of coffee and scalding
his tongue. It didn't seem to hurt any worse than his heart did.  "For
no reason.  He wasn't sick.  Not at all."

"Where is he?"

"He's dead, I told you."

"His body, Jim.  Where's his body?"

"I don't know."

"Can you find out by five o'clock?"

Kirk looked at him, not understanding.

"Be discreet and find out where they've taken the body.  If we do it
soon, there'll be some residue.  If it was magical."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Color me curious, Mac."  Weasel shot him a small grin that dared him
to challenge the name.

Kirk just nodded.

"What about those other two friends?"

Kirk shook his head.  "Not magical.  My fault."

Weasel waited.  When Kirk didn't say anything more.  "One of them has
to be a woman."

Kirk nodded.

Weasel stood up and refilled his mug.  "You know, you're not exactly
Mister Forthcoming here."

"I love her.  I can't have her.  I sent her away."

"I thought you said she left you.  Or is this the one who hates you? 
Cuz what with all the lack of details, I'm getting mixed up."

"The one who hates me was her husband."

"Ah.  The light dawns."  Weasel put his feet up on the counter.  "My
friend, don't you know not to mess in a friend's nest?"

"Yes.  Yes, I do. And I didn't."  Kirk stood up, his coffee splashed
him.  He registered that it was hot, but didn't react otherwise.

"Okay, sit down."  Weasel sighed.  "So, you didn't do anything with
her?"

Kirk shook his head.  "Not while they were together.  But now...we're
friends and I like her.   And there's more than like--I love her."  He
was rambling like a teenager.  He shut up.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah."  He finished his coffee, put the mug on the counter.

"Why can't you still be her friend?"

"What?"  Kirk took a deep breath.  "Weren't you listening?  I love
her."

"Mac, the essence of magic is self-control.  If you don't have enough
to keep your paws off a woman you value as a friend, then you don't
have enough to master what I'm going to teach you."  He waited for
Kirk to think about that.  "You really think you can't be her friend?"

Kirk shrugged.

"Go find out where your other friend's body is.  We'll check it out
instead of working downstairs today.  Your personal issues can wait
till you can think straight again."

Kirk nodded, walked to the door.  

"Hey, Mac.  Why'd you come to me?"

He turned around.  Stared hard at Weasel.  "I just knew you'd help
me."

"Why?"

Kirk frowned.  There was a correct answer to this question.  What was
it?  "Because you're my teacher."

It must have been the right answer because Weasel nodded.  "Get out of
here.  I'll see you at five."

--------------

Christine stalked through the cemetery.  She'd just been trying to get
home and have a good cry and Thompson had found her.  Since he
wouldn't let her be, she'd decided to patrol.  She'd even borrowed his
stake.

"I just don't see why I can't help you?"  Thompson was practically
running to keep up with her.  "You're always alone.  These people that
make you do this, don't they ever send any back-up with you?"

She turned around, saw that he was breathing heavily and took pity on
him.  "Nobody 'makes' me come out here, Bob."  She sighed, stuck his
stake back in her jacket.  If Wharton had been here, which Christine
doubted, Thompson's yelling would have scared him away.

She sat down on a nearby bench.  

Thompson sat down tentatively beside her.  "Now I've ticked you off."

"I've had a really bad day.  And you spoiled my hunt."

He frowned.  "Is that what this is?  A hunt?"

She sighed.  "I'm trying to find someone very dangerous.  You being
here is not helping.  Come on, I'll walk you back to the entrance."

"I want to help you.  You're always alone."

He had no idea.  Jim had just made it clear he couldn't be her
friend--or whatever it was he thought he was to her--anymore.  Uhura
was working overtime lately with the engineers on the final plans for
the comm system on the Enterprise.  Emma was preoccupied with the
search for Wharton--she and Christine barely even trained together
right now.  Thompson might be a bit of a stalker, but he was company.

"I'm always alone because I have no friends here," he said softly. 
"Why are you alone, Christine?"

She shrugged.  "Job specification, I guess."  She suddenly pulled out
the stake and in frustration threw it overhand like a knife,
pretending that Spock had been turned into a vampire and stood in
front of her.  The stake buried itself deep into a tree trunk, right
where his heart would have been.

Damn Spock anyway.

"Maybe if you talked about it?  I'm here if you nee--"

Thompson's offer was cut off by a jaunty, ""Nice shot, pet.  Good to
see you haven't lost your touch with the pointy sticks."

She looked up, a huge grin on her face.  Spike was walking down the
path, black leather coat billowing behind him.  He looked quite the
proper bad boy.  She grinned and stood up, as he yanked the stake out
of the tree.

"You've got company, I better go."  Thompson was up and halfway down
the path before she could respond, his ungainly walk seemed the very
picture of unhappiness.

"Got a new partner in my absence?"  Spock handed her the stake, then
pulled her in for a kiss.  It was a sweet kiss, full of affection and
a hint that if things had been different it would be much, much more. 
"I've missed you, Christine."

She pulled him tight, for once not having to worry that she'd hurt the
person she held.

"Hey."  He pulled away, studied her.  "You don't look good.  I mean,
you look smashing, don't worry about that.  But you've had some kind
of day, haven't you?  What's wrong?"

She shook her head.

He kissed her again, the way he'd done when they lived together and he
was trying to worm something out of her.  Soft little kisses along her
neckline that tickled and made her giggle.  She didn't giggle this
time.

"Christine?"

"I'm fine.  Really."

"No, you're not.  Is it Spock?"

"When isn't it?"  She shook her head.  "Even from another planet he
can interfere in my life.  It's amazing."

Jim loved her.  She was still processing that.  Jim loved her.

Spike looked down the path, the way Thompson had gone.  "Don't think
your boy likes this much, our standing so close, my kissing you."

At first she thought he was talking about Jim, then realized he meant
Thompson.  "Oh, him."

"I take it he's an admirer of yours?  Of the geek kind."

"He's a nice guy.  Lonely.  Sort of a puppy dog type."

He nodded, stared hard at Thompson.  She turned to look, saw that
Thompson was looking back at them.  Then he turned, moving quickly
down the sidewalk, back to town hopefully.  She was relieved to see
him go.  She didn't need to be worrying about him when she had a
watcher turned vampire to find and kill.

"What are you doing here?  Do you need a place to sleep?"  She almost
hoped he'd say yes.  Knew what would happen if he did.  And didn't
care.  Just wanted to forget for a night that she hurt.

He shook his head.  "I'm on my way up to Sunnydale."

"Sunnydale?"  Would he never get over his Buffy obsession?

"Got wind of some demons that are going to try to reopen the Hellmouth
there.  Angel doesn't think it can be done, but I'm meeting him and
his latest team of do-gooders there, just in case.

"Angel's alive?  You never told me that Angel was alive."

"Well, no.  I'm frankly sick of everyone I like preferring him over
me.  If I didn't know it was over between us, I'd have never brought
him up."  He lit a cigarette; the smoke curling up between them was
soothingly familiar.  "So other than your groupie, you seeing anyone? 
And is that what Spock ruined and got you so upset?"

The problem with Spike was that he was so damned perceptive.  "I know
you didn't stop here just to find out if my love life is going all
right."

"Well, no.  I have another reason for being here.  But it's not half
so interesting as hearing what you've been up to."

She tried not to think of Jim.  "I've been good.  No impulsive affairs
since..."

"Me?  Or that last time with Spock?"

She nodded.

"That's good, I guess."  He seemed to read something in her
expression.  "Come on, tell Uncle Spike what's really going on?"

She laughed.  "If you're my uncle then we have a very odd
relationship."

He didn't reply, just took a deep drag off the cigarette, clearly
waiting for her to spill the beans.

"I've been spending time with someone.  I really like him.  He's
become a great friend.  But..."

"But he doesn't feel the same way about you?"

"No, he does."  

"Are you both stupid then?  Just tell him you want him, that you'll
die if you can't have him.  Then shag him till all he can think of is
you."  He shrugged.  "Works like a charm."

"Your world's such a simple place at times, Spike."

"It is, love.  And that's how I like it."  He stubbed out his
cigarette.

"There are things...other people"--at his look she started
over--"Spock is in the way.  I don't think this man will ever let
himself think of me that way.  But I seem to be losing him as a friend
too and I don't know how to stop that."

"That's a harder one.  Honesty works most of the time.  Sometimes it's
the only thing that works.  Have you tried it?"

She laughed.  She was getting relationship tips from a vampire who'd
started dating during the Victorian Age.  And he was probably right on
target.  She was too tired now to think about whether she'd been
honest about how much she needed Jim, she had been so sure--as
usual--that reaching out with her gonads would solve everything.  "You
said you had something for me?"

"Oh, yeah."  He dug into his pocket and pulled out an amulet.  "Got
this off a dead watcher."  At her look, he said, "Hey, I didn't kill
him.  A werewolf did.  I killed the werewolf.  And he was a pretty
bloody focused one, if you want to get technical.  They're usually all
grrrr and rip your body apart.  I've never seen one stop to rifle
through someone's belongings before chowing down."

"Neither have I."  She studied the amulet.  It had a light stone that
reminded her of Laura's portal ring.  The metal was dull, but had
probably once been silver.

He moved next to her.  "And I think the watcher lifted it from a
private collector.  I heard rumors of their being a break-in of the
supernatural kind in the vicinity."

"Why give it to me?"

"Turn it over."

She saw an inscription in some sort of kanji symbols.  "Spike, I can't
read this--is it Chinese?"

"Japanese."  He handed her a slip of paper.  "There's a great sushi
shop I go where the owner's daughter's a bit sweet on me.  I had her
translate."  He pointed to one word.  "This was what made me think of
you."

"Kirsu" jumped out at her.  She shot Spike a look that she tried to
keep confused rather than suspicious.

"You talk in your sleep, love.  You used to call out names--this was
one of them.  I don't know what it means, but I thought you might."

She stared down at the translation.

"Look, I have to get going if I want to reach the meeting place before
daylight."  He reached for the amulet.  "If you don't want this, I can
always pawn it for walking around money."

She closed her fingers over the amulet.  "No.  I want it."  She shoved
it in her pocket next to the stake, then she leaned in and kissed him
on the cheek.  "Thank you, Spike."

"So the name does mean something to you?"  

She nodded.  

She didn't tell him that another name had jumped out at her too.  

Nogura.

"And probably best for you to not talk about it?" she said, letting
her expression turn deadly serious.

"Mum's the word."  Spike reached out, touched her cheek very gently,
then he smiled sadly.  "Sometimes I wish..."

She let him pull her closer.  "I know.  I do too.  Life would be a lot
simpler if you were still here."

"Simpler but not real.  I'm not your destiny, love.  I was just a rest
stop along the way."  He smiled.  "If you hold with that whole destiny
crap."

She laughed, squeezed him again, then let him go.  "Have a good trip. 
Say hello to Angel for me."

"I will not.  You've been known to go for the tall, dark, and broody
type before."  He walked back the way he came, into the interior of
the cemetery.  He turned around, walking backwards as he yelled out,
"If you ever need me, try Angel Investigations in Los Angeles.  Think
I might settle down there for a while.  Fight the good fight again
with my grandsire and all that."

"Maybe I'll pop down," she yelled back.

"Don't you dare.  He has a weakness for slayers.  The acorn never
falls very far from the tree, eh?"  He lifted a hand, then turned and
strode away.

She watched him disappear into the night, then walked to the entrance,
sticking her hand in her pocket to hold the amulet.  She had the
feeling she'd just been given something lethal.  But lethal for whom?

"Is that your boyfriend?"

She saw Thompson sitting on a bench just out of sight of where she and
Spike had been standing.  "Used to be."  Her answer was terse.  She
didn't feel like talking anymore.

"Kind of young for you, isn't he?"

She could feel her eyes widen.  "Well, that was nasty, Bob.  But given
my night, not unexpected.  You could take lessons from a Vulcan I
know, though.  Compared to him, you're strictly an amateur."  She
started to walk away.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean that."  He hurried to catch up with her. 
"I guess I just wanted to think you were alone.  More like me."

She turned to look at him, saw that he was looking at her intently,
his blue eyes clearer and more focused than she could remember seeing
them.  She blinked and the old Bob was back, the one who could barely
meet her eyes.

"It's been a bad night, Bob.  I'm very tired."

"I don't doubt it.  You spend all your time at work, or here.  When do
you sleep?"

"I don't need much sleep."  It was true, but she was keeping hours
that were excessive, even for her.  She felt like she could lie down
on the cold pavement and sleep for a year.  "But I'm just so tired
right now," she said again.

"I'm sorry."  His voice was very gentle.  "Have you ever thought of
quitting?  This nighttime thing you do?  You seem to light up when you
talk about medicine, but this always makes you sad and sort of
grumpy."

She laughed bitterly.  "I did quit once, Bob.  But it didn't last."

"Was it nice?  While it lasted, I mean?"

"I don't know anymore.  It wasn't me.  I had to hide so much to be
that woman who didn't have the nighttime thing." She smiled, included
him in the look.

He smiled back. The expression lit up his face.  She was struck again
by how attractive he could be, if he were altogether different than
who he was.  And that was the problem, wasn't it?  Sometimes the
change was too much.  Sometimes you just had to be who you were.

"Do you believe in darkness, Bob?"

"You mean darkness like evil?"

She nodded.  "But inside.  You think some people are just darker
inside than others?"

"I'm not sure I've ever thought about it."  He touched her arm, his
fingers just barely landing on her jacket sleeve before he drew them
back.  "I think you need sleep.  I think you're tired.  And you seem
sad."  He looked down.  "I know sad.  I'm good at that."

"You need to go home now, Bob.  It's really dangerous out here right
now.  Someone is making vampires, lots of them.  Just random people,
as far as I can tell.  If you don't take more care, the next one could
be you."

"Would that make you sad?  If it were me?"

She realized she would miss him in some odd way.  "Yes.  It would make
me sad."

He smiled, a softer smile but one that still made the gawkiness
disappear for a moment.  "Thanks, Christine.  That's nice of you to
say.  I'll be okay, I live nearby."

She tried to hand him his stake.  

He waved it away.  "You keep it."

She watched him walk down his street, before forcing her weary feet to
head for home.


End part 1 of 2

--
Stephen Ratliff
ASC Stories Only Forwarding

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