Path: newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.atl.earthlink.net!elnk-atl-nf1!newsfeed.earthlink.net!prodigy.com!news.glorb.com!postnews2.google.com!not-for-mail From: a.q@gmx.de (acidqueen) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: N2U TOS "Breaking the Spell" [PG-13] Mc/Ch Date: 5 Sep 2004 13:44:36 -0700 Organization: http://groups.google.com Lines: 124 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: 195.143.225.130 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-Trace: posting.google.com 1094417076 6464 127.0.0.1 (5 Sep 2004 20:44:36 GMT) X-Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 5 Sep 2004 20:44:36 +0000 (UTC) Xref: news.earthlink.net alt.startrek.creative:160647 X-Received-Date: Sun, 05 Sep 2004 13:44:37 PDT (newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net) And since I reactivated my googlegroups login now, I can just as well share some of my newer fic...sorry for reading so little here, I wish my days were twice as long... *** Title: Breaking the Spell Author: Acidqueen Pairings: McCoy/Chapel Series: TOS Rating: PG-13 Summary: Old habits can die. Archive: Chapel Fest, my own website at http://www.syredronning.de/ , ASCEM, all others ask, please. Acknowledgement: Special thanks to Lyrastar for even two beta rounds this time! All remaining errors are mine! *** Two minutes. Two minutes since Rand told her that he was back onboard, and she watches the seconds run by on her small digital clock and her thoughts run with them and with her ex-boss and ex-lover, step by step closing in on the place she thought she might call home. In her mind, she hears him mumbling, about engineers and nurses who think they can take over and run his Sickbay. She opens the medical roster and puts his name on the top of the list, noticing with some part of her brain that she once again surrenders too quickly, old habits resurfacing with old acquaintances. Two minutes. Two minutes since he stepped through the door, and she stands and watches as he shaves off his beard, then changes clothes, leaving the back of his much-too-slim body for her to see. With every word they exchange, with every little joke they make they are connecting with the warm friendship of the past, his compliments on her doctorate and her hair style drunken in by her. She watches him go as he leaves for the bridge, the remnants of his touch on her arm a shadow and a promise. Two minutes. Two minutes since they entered the lift, surprise with an underlying note of happiness in both their eyes. Time pours like wet sand in an hour glass, slowly dropping in unsteady chunks, and she wants to clasp his hand and ground herself, but doesn't. And when they face the long- absent Vulcan, the idea of homecoming shatters on the icy walls that rise in front of them, set by the blank mask of his face. Her fear of renewed longing dies under this silence, leaving the pain of the man at her side more real to her than her own, before it's gone like Spock is gone. For a heartbeat, she takes in the stunned faces of the other officers, before she returns to Sickbay, alone. Two minutes. Two minutes, before he will enter through her door, and she sits on her bed, staring at the soothing grey of the floor. She never knew what they built in those few nights at the end of the five-year mission, if there had ever been more than simple need and consummation of longing, unanswered by others. Not once did he ask if she thought of Spock those nights, and never did she ask of whom he might have dreamed, fearing the knowledge would be harder to swallow than a vague guess. She leans back and runs her hands over her chest, remembering the unexpected moment when the touch of friends had turned into more, wondering if tonight they would finally find the love for each other they had never sought in the first place. Two minutes. Two minutes since he fell asleep in her arms after another day, leaving her alone with her thoughts, naked body and naked soul. In her mind the image of Spock clasping Kirk's hand in Sickbay, causing an unexpectedly painful knot as the thought struck her that it was something they could've had, Spock and her. Flashes of lost chances overlie the picture and replay like erratically switching vid channels, frozen images and shattered words wrapped in the long-forgotten fog of misery. She reaches over to the man at her side and buries her head in his neck, stirring him out of his sleep to make love to him again. Two minutes. Two minutes since Kirk stepped into his office, and she stares at his back, filling the door. Behind the figure, she can see her boss slumped in his chair, arms open wide. She counts the seconds, wondering if he will tell his captain of his decision to leave the Enterprise again. But she waits in vain as the sorcerer spins a net of friendship and duty, offers and pleas, and she can see his arms being tied, his defenses broken. Then the captain's hand touches his shoulder and, unconsciously, he tilts his head down on it. It's that little gesture that makes her turn away to write the final acceptance letter for her new position at Headquarters. Two minutes. Two minutes ago, she shook Kirk's hand. One and a half minutes ago, Spock gave her a stiff nod with his head. A minute ago, she kissed him on his cheek and wished him all the best for the future, closing her hand around his for a split second before he pulled away and stepped back behind the captain. The last thing she sees is the glow of Kirk's victorious smile as it melts into the bright light of the transporter. A moment later, she steps down the platform and goes her merry way, free. ***** NewMessage: