Message-Id: <6.0.3.0.2.20040717150533.03d30130@popd.ix.netcom.com>
To: ascem-s@yahoogroups.com
From: ASC Archive Team <asc-l@ix.netcom.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Mailing-List: list ASCEM-S@yahoogroups.com; contact ASCEM-S-owner@yahoogroups.com
Precedence: bulk
Date: Sat, 17 Jul 2004 15:05:47 -0400
Subject: [ASCEM-S] NEW: TOS Revenant [R] 3/6  K/Ch, ChFF
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit

TITLE: Revenant
AUTHOR: Djinn
CONTACT: djinn@djinnslair.com   http://www.djinnslair.com
SERIES: TOS
RATING: R
CODES: K/Ch, Chapel Fic Fest
PART: 3/6
DISCLAIMERS: Paramount and Viacom own these characters--I'm just
warping canon--and trying to explain some things.
SUMMARY: Sequel to "Commander" and the final installment in the look



Spock brings her tea, setting the cup down next to the Ka'Vareth
board.  "Have you had any patients yet?"

She laughs.  "Nope."

Sipping at the tea, she studies the board.  Spock's been reading up
from the look of his opening moves.  She doesn't remember him ever
taking such a sideways tack before.

She counters with a safety play and sees him almost smile.  She has
obviously fallen for something; she just can't see what it
is.  "Reading in your spare time, Spock?"

"It is possible."  He moves another piece quickly, almost casually.

She knows she's in big trouble.  He spends far too much time on
shuttles these days.  He could have read half a dozen Ka'Vareth
books while she was sitting in the courtyard or her empty little
clinic and watching Klingons walk by.

"There are more Klingons loitering around the clinic though."  She
decides to be daring, moves several pieces at once.  "So they are
either getting a feel for me or are planning to raid the joint."

He almost smiles again.  "I believe it is the former."  He moves
another piece quickly.

"Damn it, Spock.  What are you doing?"  She studies the board and
finally sees what he is planning.  "Oooh, sneaky."  She smiles at
him and sees his expression lighten.  "Did you think I wouldn't see
it?"

"I have long since learned to abandon any hope of fooling you
indefinitely."

She moves to counter, making sure there isn't a second trap waiting
for her.  He takes his time moving, and she knows she made the right
play.

"I will be off world for a time."  He looks at her.  "You will be
all right here?"

"I'll miss our games."  She smiles at him, knows it is true.  How
can anyone hurt her if no one will even talk to her, much less need
her services?  Only Hehnak stops in to actually see her, not that he
talks to her either; he just follows her around instead of attending
his history lessons.

"If you are uncomfortable staying, you could come with me."

"Where are you going?"

He almost smiles.  "Cardassia."

"Oh, yes, please.  I want to go there."  She laughs.  "I'd just be
trading one hellhole for another."  She moves a piece in a rather
boring move just to see what he'll do.  "I will miss our games,
Spock."

"As will I," he says easily.

They've both opened up since she got to Qo'noS.  As if their pain
together somehow cancelled each other out, and they ended up
healthier than when they were alone.  He seems more interested in
his work; she knows she is too, even if she has no patients.

A heavy knock on the front door surprises them both.  "Were you
expecting anyone?" she asks Spock as she gets up.

"I was not."

She opens the door, sees Khorta standing in the dark.  "Hello."

"There has been a brawl--a result of a blood feud.  I thought you
might like to come help me pick up the pieces."

"And you probably mean that literally, don't you?"  Christine is
surprised when Khorta laughs.  Grabbing her medkit, she looks over
at Spock.  "Don't cheat; we can finish when I get back."

An eyebrow is her only answer; he is already reaching for a padd, no
doubt reading up on his next mission.

"It is the Houses of Tennor and Prelek."  Khorta leads her to a
small flitter.  "They have been feuding for so long most of us have
forgotten any other state between them.  But they normally pick at
each other, a fight here, a duel there.  This is much bigger than
any of us expected.  It will not be pleasant."

Christine takes a deep breath.  "I can handle it."

"We'll see."

"You could tell me what to expect.  Will they even let me near them?"

"That is for you to find out."

Christine laughs bitterly, the expulsion of air the only sound in
the flitter.  She imagines an already irked warrior taking issue
with her treatment.  "How many healers lose hands in these parts?"

Khorta smiles.  "Agility is a job requirement.  Just move any
weapons before you start any sort of treatment."

"My new rules of thumb.  First, do no harm. Second, allow no
weapons."

Khorta smiles again.  Evidently, Christine is funny even when
translated.

She touches the flitter down, looks appraisingly at
Christine.  "Ready?"

"Sure."  She's not, but then she probably never will be.

She strides into the hall after Khorta, trying to cover as much
ground as the Klingon woman does.  The scene stops her short.  "Holy
shi--"

It is just like the planets they used to visit after a Klingon
raid.  Parts...everywhere.

"Why?" she says softly, as the doctor in her takes over and she goes
to a young woman whose arm is bleeding badly but is still attached.
In fact, she appears to have all her limbs, and Christine wonders if
she should bypass her, but she really doesn't feel ready for a mercy
killing.

She scans the woman, who looks up and pulls away.

"Human?" she says, nearly spitting at Christine.

"You will sit still, Talinna," Khorta says sharply from across the
room, and Christine realizes she is looking out for her.

"This won't take long," she says, scanning quickly.  The woman has
two long cuts, one on her arm and another on her cheek.  Christine
goes to work on the arm.  "I suppose you want to keep the scars?"
she asks softly.

The woman laughs scornfully.  "I earned them, p'tak."

Christine knows she's been insulted when Khorta looks over and
scowls at the woman.  "Just making conversation," she mutters as she
adjusts the regenerator to close the wound without healing the
injury completely.  She moves on to the woman's face, then steps
away.  "There you go.  No more blood, plenty of scar.  You'll be the
envy of all your friends.  You'll get my bill."

The woman stares up at her as if she has gone insane.  Christine's
not sure how the translator ended up rendering her ribbing, decides
to move on just in case she has mortally insulted the woman.

Khorta motions her over.  A warrior's arm is partially severed, he
is groaning, while another warrior holds him down.  "What would you
do?" Khorta asks her.

She scans it quickly.  The damage is reparable, but there are so
many other people to help, she can't afford to spend all her time
with him.  It would be faster to amputate.  But everything in her
rebels at that idea.  She scans again.

Perhaps she is overthinking this.  Klingons are robust and used to
far rougher field medicine.  She looks up at Khorta.  "I'd
regenerate the tendon and main artery, then I'd close and let fate
decide the rest."

Khorta nods, as if pleased at her answer.  "Yes, do it."  She gets
up and moves on, leaving Christine with the warrior.

The warrior's bat'leth lies close to him.  "Can you move that out of
his reach?" she asks the other warrior.

He smiles as if she has made a joke, but moves the weapon out of his
injured friend's reach.

She works quickly.  The artery is the hardest, but once she stops
the bleeding, she can see two more small veins that if closed will
make the healing more likely.  Sealing them shut, she works on the
tendon, watching to make sure that the blood is flowing through the
repaired artery and veins before closing his wound and applying an
antibacterial spray to the area.

She pats the warrior on his good arm.  "Good luck."

His eyes narrow and he shakes his head.  "Qapla'."   Her translator
renders it as "Success."

"Qapla' it is ."  She leaves him and moves on to a child who looks
too young to have been actually fighting.  He has a bruise on his
face and is holding his ribs.  Scanning him, she sees no major
damage.  "Sorry, kiddo.  You're on your own."  She'd at least offer
a human a painkiller, but he doesn't look disappointed when she
moves on.

She catches up with Khorta, who is working on a woman with a
disruptor burn across her chest.  The healer looks over at
Christine, who scans the woman.  The damage is too great, major
systems are already shutting down.  That she is still alive is more
a technicality than anything.

Khorta leans down.  "Sto-Vo-Kor awaits you.  Will you go now or stay
a while?"

The woman closes her eyes.  "Send me now."

Khorta looks at Christine, then she draws her Daqtagh and plunges it
into the woman's heart, killing her instantly.  Christine forces
herself not to turn away.  This is what she is faced with.  This is
Klingon medicine at its most lethal.

"You'll do," Khorta says as she stands up.  "There are more to help."

Christine tries not to laugh in what she is afraid is hysteria.
Help is such a relative term suddenly.

She gets up and follows Khorta to the next patient, praying that
this one is not bound for the Klingon afterlife anytime soon.  She's
not sure her stomach or her psyche can take it.

---------------------------

Hehnak sits on the stool by her microscope, watching as she makes up
some medicine.  He comes everyday but he never talks to her.  She's
gotten used to having him underfoot, sometimes forgets he's there
and talks to herself.

"My mother says you were Kirk's parMach'kai."  His voice sounds
strange in the usually quiet clinic.

Christine stares down at him, then goes back to mixing the meds.  "I
was."

"But you are not a warrior," he says, practically spitting the words
at her.

"That's right."  She glances down at the boy.  He is staring up at
her, as if he cannot figure out why anyone would want to be with
her.

"Kirk was a great warrior."

"Yes, he was.  But he was also a man of peace."

Hehnak frowns.  Peace is obviously not a concept he wants to dwell
on.  "Kirk did not like Klingons, did he?"

She decides to be honest.  "Not particularly."

The boy thinks about that.   "Laranda says that his actions before
and after Khitomer ensured our survival."  He shakes his head.  "I
do not understand why he would do that for people he did not like."

"There are a lot of people who wonder the same thing, kiddo."  She
looks down, sees that the youngster is frowning, as if trying to
come to terms with Jim's actions.  "Hehnak, sometimes a warrior must
fight for causes he does not believe in because it is the will of
the House, isn't that so?"

"Yes."

Christine smiles, glad she's paid attention to Spock's lectures on
honor and House politics--and watched Hehnak's father, Gramton, in
action.   "Well, sometimes you have to fight for a cause you believe
in, even when the ones you are fighting for are your enemies and the
ones you fight against are people you love and trust."

"Why?"

"Because it is the right thing to do."

He digests that.  "Am I your enemy then?"

"I don't know."  She looks down at him.  "What do you think?"

He smiles fiercely, touches the small mek'leth he wears.  "If I am,
you don't stand a chance."

She laughs.  He is no doubt right.  She has an urge to ruffle his
hair, decides it is probably a very stupid impulse--she likes her
hands where they are and attached.

She hears a noise at the door, looks over and sees a Klingon woman
with a toddler.

"What do you want?" Christine asks, still feeling strange using the
Klingon greeting.  It is so...harsh.

"My child is sick.  Khorta said you might have an opinion on her
illness."

Christine tries not to smile at the phrasing.  God forbid these
people should actually ask for help.  "I might indeed.  Bring her
in."  Without thinking, she hands Hehnak the bowl of meds she's been
mixing.  "Stir."

He stirs.  She realizes she gave the order like a Klingon would have
and smiles.

She scans the toddler, who sits lethargically on the table.
Christine hasn't seen all that many Klingon children, but this one
seems far too quiet.  The scan shows that her lungs are partially
filled with fluid.   The Klingon version of pneumonia from the look
of her other symptoms.

"Is she having trouble breathing?"

The Klingon woman does not answer.  Christine sighs.  She supposes
it is wrong to admit any weakness.  She will have to ask Spock if
Klingons cull the weak.

She scans again.  "She is having trouble breathing," she says,
making the statement as if she is declaring war.

"Yes," the Klingon agrees.

"Her fever is too high, it must come down," Christine says again,
trying not to cough from the force she is putting into her words.
No wonder Klingons sound guttural--they're probably just hoarse from
nearly yelling at each other all day.

"I have given her the traditional herbs.  They have not worked."
The Klingon looks at her as if daring her to contradict her.

"I have better."  Christine goes to the cabinet she keeps the
medicines in and chooses several.  Loading the first into a hypo,
she holds it against the girl's arm.

The child looks up at her, eyes appraising.  Even barely out of
diapers, these people are fierce.  She loads the other--an
antibiotic--and shoots it into her arm.

Hehnak puts down the mixture he has been stirring and walks
over.  "My mother recommends Var'kellik tea for chest conditions."

Christine smiles.  "You have Var'kellik tea?"  Before she can
rephrase it as an order, the woman nods.  Perhaps not every question
is bad?

"She will sleep from the medicines.  Elevate her head, and make sure
she does not get chilled."

She looks down at Hehnak to see if he is going to add anything to
her recommendations.   He merely nods and goes back to his stool.

The woman gathers up her child and leaves.  No "Thank you"
or "Welcome to Qo'noS" or any other nicety.

Christine doesn't care.  They're still her first real patients.  She
feels a warm glow and smiles at Hehnak before she can think better
of it.

He hands her the bowl.  "It is stirred."

She looks down.  It is indeed well-stirred.

Hehnak says softly, "That was Pirella.  She is the first lady of the
House of Volahk.  She carries much influence in this region."

"In other words, as long as the baby survives, I can expect more
business."

"Yes."  Hehnak pulls himself back on the stool.  "I am bored with
talk of medicine.  Tell me more about Kirk."

Christine smiles.  She and Spock don't talk about Jim even though
she knows they both miss him intensely.  She begins to tell Hehnak
about him, realizes that she wants to tell the boy about him.  And
it is the most natural thing in the world to tell him.

Even if the boy keeps urging her to skip the boring parts and get to
the next battle.

She wonders if Jim is looking on from wherever he is.  If he is, she
knows that he's laughing.

---------------------

Christine trudges back to her house, crossing through dingy allies
as she makes her way from the middle of town.  She is tired and
covered with rosy Klingon blood and other not so rosy Klingon
things, and the few Klingons she passes give her a wide berth as
they eye her medical bag and her clothing.  She isn't sure if most
of them know that the Klingon equivalent to the local flitterbus
went out of control and crashed in the central square.  Or if
they're aware that the vehicle was packed.

She closes her eyes, trying not to see the injured, most of whom
were halfway to Sto-Vo-Kor by the time she got there.  She'd
followed Khorta to the scene.  Even the Klingon woman had looked
slightly sick at the carnage in front of them.

Lost in that thought, Christine turns a corner, nearly crashes into
a warrior.

"Watch it," she growls, too tired to care how he reacts.  She looks
up, sees it is one of Gramton's lieutenants.  "Sorry, Malshrak.  I
didn't know it was you."

He falls into step beside her.  "Khorta wanted me to see you home."

She wonders how he found her.  Is her route so predictable?  "She
thinks I can't look out for myself?"

"I do not know."  His voice is surly.  He does not seem to relish
chaperoning her any more than she wants a bodyguard right now.

She makes a gesture of dismissal.  "I relieve you of this
obligation.  Go on."

"You are not first in my house, Doctor."  He slows his pace
somewhat.  He studies her.  "Something is wrong?"

"Good call, Sherlock."  Her translator gives up on translating the
last word.

"An insult?"

She nods.  "But not a good one.  You didn't miss anything."

He nods, and she thinks he does not care one way or the other.

"How many people have you killed, Malshrak?"

"Many."

"In battle?  Or after?"

He looks at her.  "This was your first time delivering Hegh batlh?"
The translator gives her the words in Standard: "honorable death."

She nods, forces herself to keep her face even.  She must not cry.

"It was a good thing to send those wounded on to Sto-Vo-Kor.
Without that"--he points to the Daqtagh that Khorta gave her--"only
Gre'thor would await those who fall so meaninglessly."

She nods.  "I am honored to be chosen."  She does not feel honored.
She feels sick and dirty and wants to wash her hands and her face
until they are scrubbed raw.  She forces herself to keep walking, to
stop wiping her hands on her pants.

Her house comes in sight, and Malshrak bows slightly.  "I will leave
you."

Klingons as a rule do not say "Thank you," so she nods, tries to
smile in gratitude but knows the expression comes out half
hearted.   She turns into the house, gets the door shut before she
breaks down, leaning against it and sobbing.

"Christine?"

She whirls, sees that Spock has finally returned to Qo'noS.  He is
coming up behind her, and she throws herself into his arms.

"Shhh.  Christine, what has happened?"

She realizes what she has done, how dirty and bloody her clothes and
skin are and tries to pull away.  "I'm sorry, Spock. I didn't think."

He does not let her go.  "What has happened?"  He pulls her closer,
his hands moving slowly up and down her arms, comforting her.

"I'm sorry."

"You said that."  His voice is still concerned.  "I returned at a
good time, I see."  He starts to move her to the couch.

"No.  I'm covered with blood."  She pulls away and this time he lets
her.  "And you are too now."

He looks down, seems to just be noticing the blood.  "There was
another fight?"

"No.  A flitter accident.  I had to--"  She turns away from him,
rushes to the bathroom and makes it in time to throw up over and
over again.

Spock stands at the door, watching her.  When she seems to be
finished, he walks to the sink and wets a small towel, handing it to
her.

"What did you have to do?"

She meets his eyes.  "I killed them, Spock."  She begins to cry,
long terrible sobs that seem to come out of her very soul.  She
pulls the Daqtagh out of its scabbard, lets it fall to the
floor.  "With that."

He crouches down in front of her.  "Was there anything else you
could have done?"

She shakes her head.

"Did they wish you to do it?"

She nods.

"Did it end their suffering?"

She can still smell the burned flesh of the ones who had been too
close to the engine when the flitter hit ground.  "Yes."

"Then you did your job, did you not?"

She meets his eyes again, searching desperately for some judgment in
his dark gaze, something she can hold onto, can label herself with.
She is an animal.  Or she is not.  She did wrong.  Or she did not.

He touches her cheek.  "You did what you were called to do.  This is
a hard world, Christine.  I warned you of that."

She nods.  "I know.  I just didn't think that I'd have to..."

"I know."  He hands her the dagger.  "You should clean this off."

She takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet, looking down
at the plain white medical uniform--it used to be white
anyway.  "This thing's ruined."

"You have others."

"What if I wreck them all?"

"Then you will wear the local clothes until we can get you more."

She nods; he is so logical.  It is a comfort.  Moving to the sink,
she lets hot water wash the blood off her dagger.  She will put it
in the sterilizer tomorrow.  For now, it is clean enough.  She sets
it down on a fresh towel.

He pulls her close again, surprising her with a warm hug.  "If you
were not a good person, this would not hurt so badly, Christine."

"Thank you, Spock.  I'm glad you're home."  She lets herself hold
onto him for a moment, then pulls away.  "I need to shower."

He eyes his own robe.  "I will put this in the refresher."  He
touches her cheek one last time, then leaves her alone.

She stays in the shower for what seems like forever.  But even then
she doesn't feel clean.

-----------------------

Gramton's house is more like a stronghold--but the doors are open
and the loud, raucous Klingon equivalent of mood music is blaring.
The party he has thrown for Hehnak's seventh birthday is in full
swing.

"Christine," Gramton's huge hand comes down on her shoulder,
squeezing painfully.  For some reason, he has decided he likes her--
he called her by her first name long before Khorta or Hehnak
would.  "You honor my house.  This is a historic event.  Worthy of
such a feast."  He glowers happily at the heaping tables of food.

"You say that about every occasion, husband," Khorta says, a
tolerant edge to her voice.  She shoots Christine a look.

Christine laughs softly.  Khorta's right; Gramton is pretty liberal
when it comes to finding an excuse to party.  Last week, he threw a
feast because the moons all decided to rise on time.  She can smell
the delicious aroma of roast targ from the central courtyard, and
she tries not to salivate.  She can't say she minds the frequent get-
togethers--the man does know how to barbeque.

She looks over at Spock, watches him checking out the table.  It
isn't easy being a vegetarian on Qo'noS.  He ate a big meal before
they left the house.  Fortunately, none of the Klingons seem to take
offense when he won't try something.  They just expect Vulcans to be
finicky.  Christine on the other hand is not offered any such
mercy.  Humans, apparently are expected to try everything.  Each and
every time.  She prays she can get by the gagh table without Gramton
loading her plate up.  So far she's been lucky, at past feasts she's
told him she tried gagh and finished it already.  Despite his
dubious looks, he could not prove her wrong, and it would be the
height of rudeness to call his guest a liar.

Hehnak laughs at her for her elaborate ploys to get out of eating
gagh.  But she senses that he admires her deviousness in a way, even
if he does call her a sneaky Romulan.  And she knows that's no
compliment on Qo'noS.

A servant offers her a tankard of bloodwine, and she accepts.  It is
an acquired taste, but she's grown used to it.  And learned the hard
way to go easy on it.  She's not sure Spock will ever recover from
her attempt to recreate the Klingon opera from the Festival of
Kot'Baval.  She wasn't sure she was going to recover from the
hangover the next day either.  She sips at her wine, sees Spock
almost smile as he does the same.  Naturally, he is a master of
moderation.

"No Klingon opera tonight, I hope," he says softly as he moves away
from her.

She resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

"I think you see a different side of him," Khorta says quietly,
coming up with a small plate of appetizers that she knows Christine
likes.

Christine picks one and pops it in her mouth.  "If Gramton keeps
throwing feasts, I'll never fit into my uniforms."  She sees
Khorta's face and laughs.  "I know, you think I'm too scrawny
anyway."

"I am getting used to the oddness of your looks," Khorta says, a
smile on her face.

"Yeah.  Well, right back at you."  Christine can see by Khorta's
puzzled look that the translator doesn't do that phrase justice.  "I
am as well," she says and sees the woman's expression clear.

"Vulcans are so cold.  Jim Kirk was rumored to be quite passionate."

Christine smiles.

"I guess the rumors are true.  Or are you trying to say that Vulcans
are not cold?"

"Well, I don't think they are, if they like you.  But I was reacting
to the Jim part of your statement."

Khorta nods.  "You miss him?"

"Every day."  It is true, even if missing him no longer translates
into the bottomless and hopeless ache she felt when Spock came for
her.  Qo'noS, in some strange way, has helped her.

"Kirk was good to you?"

"Oh, yes.  But we had our fights.  And we weren't always together."

Khorta smiles.  "We Klingons prefer a volatile relationship.  Fire
is beneficial to passion."

"Well, we had plenty of passion." Christine smiles.  "I'll never get
that back."

"One never recaptures a great love.  But there are other loves."
Khorta looks over at Spock.  "Cold, passionless Vulcans, for
example?"

Christine gives her the Chapel equivalent of the Vulcan eyebrow of
disbelief.

"Or, if that option does not appeal, Klingon warriors are quite
passionate."

The eyebrow goes higher.

Khorta looks a bit offended.  "Are you saying you don't find Klingon
men attractive?"

Christine laughs.  "No, I'm not saying that.  Although, when I first
came here I might have."  She smiles.  "But I can't believe you
think one would find me his cup of tea."

She hears the translator translate that as something to do with
blood.  It makes Khorta laugh, and Christine hopes it came out right.

"Malshrak finds you intriguing."

"He does?"  Christine glances over at Gramton's lieutenant.

He glowers back at her, same as always.

"You sure about that?"

"Quite sure," Khorta says.

"I'll take your word for it."  She sips at her bloodwine, buying
time while she finds the right words.  "I'm not ready.  I'm not sure
I ever will be.  But I'm flattered."

Khorta sniffs.  "Passion with a warrior could take your mind off how
not ready you are."

Christine laughs.  "Probably so.  But I think I'll pass.  Besides,
Spock needs me around the house.  What good is a House of one?"

"Good point."  Khorta studies Spock, her eyes narrowing.  "He seems
so far away.  Are all Vulcans like him?"

"Pretty much."  Christine smiles.  "He does love though.  He loved
my ParMach'kai."

"And I think he loves you, Christine.  In his own way."  Khorta
looks over at Gramton, who is making noises for people to dish up.

"You better hurry if you are to avoid the gagh," Khorta says, doing
something odd with her eyes that Christine realizes is the Klingon
equivalent of a wink.

"You don't have to tell me twice."  She heads for the table.

Hehnak trails behind murmuring, "Be sure to try the gagh, Christine."

Klingons.  They're such comedians.  She gives Hehnak her best glare,
which is pretty good now--she's been practicing.

He almost looks scared.  Or so she's willing to believe.


End part 3 of 6




Messages from this list are mirrored on the ASCEM newsgroup.
Read http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCEML/files/faq.txt for
more information about your subscription to ASCEM/L.
Yahoo! Groups Links