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Date: Sat, 17 Jul 2004 15:05:31 -0400
Subject: [ASCEM-S] NEW: TOS Revenant [R] 2/6  K/Ch, ChFF
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TITLE: Revenant
AUTHOR: Djinn
CONTACT: djinn@djinnslair.com   http://www.djinnslair.com
SERIES: TOS
RATING: R
CODES: K/Ch, Chapel Fic Fest
PART: 2/6
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



She can tell Len is watching her from the other side of the ward,
ignores him as she sits with the little girl and reads to her.  It's
late and she has a few minutes before rounds start up again on this
hell hole of a planet.  Plague has wiped out a tenth of the
population already, and the Pan-Relief teams are barely making a
dent in the latest cases.

It would help if they knew what kind of plague they were dealing
with.  The best they can say is it's not endemic to Remelia IV.
Other than that, they've been operating in the dark.

The little girl reaches up and pulls at her face mask.  Christine
doesn't even try to stop her, just lets it fall down around her neck.

It's not the first time it's happened.   And she doesn't care
anymore.  Not with Jim gone.  If this child wants to see her face,
who is she to say no?

She smiles, then slowly pulls the face mask up before Len can come
over and read her the riot act.  He's tired of her apathy, tired of
lecturing her.  She wishes he would just leave her alone.

The little girl presses against her, and Christine wonders what her
name is.  She's too small to tell them herself, and her parents were
dead when the scouting team found them.  Christine plays with her
curls, and the girl closes her eyes, finally falling asleep.

Her hair is golden like David's was.  Her eyes though are brown,
nothing like David's, or even Jim's.  Dark, rich brown starkly in
contrast with the golden curls.  Christine strokes her face.

"Christine, can I have a word?"

She sighs.  Len never wants just a word.  There will be too many
damn words about one thing only.  Her.  The way she doesn't care.
The risks she takes.

Doesn't he know?  She inherited the Kirk luck when Jim died.
Nothing she has done has even gotten her sick, much less killed
her.  And she's not above doing stupid things--she just can't kill
herself outright, but to invite death close, to wait for its kiss,
that's allowed.

Trouble is death wants nothing to do with her.

She gets up carefully, easing the child back on the bed and off her
lap.  Ignoring Len until she is closer to the door, she finally
turns and waits for the lecture.

"This can't go on, Christine."

She stares at him, giving nothing away.  Which is only fair since
she has nothing left to give.

Not since Jim died.  Jim is dead and she is alive and there is utter
wrongness to that.  She should have been able to follow him.  Is
trying to now but the door won't open.   Death is supposed to be a
simple fellow, but he has eluded her at every step.

Len shakes his head, frustration clear in the way his mouth twists
as he watches her.  "Damn it, Christine.  I know you miss Jim.  But
do you think he would have wanted this?"

"I don't know.  Do you think he'll come tell us?"   She smiles, the
expression is utter mockery.

"I know you don't care about anything right now.  But you have to
try.  For him."

"For him?  He doesn't care, Len.  He's gone."  Jim doesn't even come
to her in her dreams.  She was sure he would.  Sure that theirs was
a love that would laugh at death.  That they'd be together, even if
only when she slept.  But he doesn't come.

In fact, she can't even remember her dreams most nights.   She
sleeps, sleeps too much, in fact.  But if she is dreaming, she's not
allowed to keep the memories.

Just like she wasn't allowed to keep Jim.

"He's gone, but you're not.   And you need to take more care.  I
need you here."

She smiles.  He always tries this appeal.  The personal.  The one
that would have moved her when she was a nurse, maybe even when she
was first a doctor.

But now?  Nothing moves her now.  Nothing but suffering children and
adults who just want to see a face, not a sterile white mask staring
down at them.  She is moved by people who want to touch skin, not
ugly rubbery material.

Len sighs.  "You touch them, and they start to expect it from the
other doctors and nurses.   You're putting everyone else at risk."
His face is stern, his tone unyielding.

She's putting them in danger.  She can feel her resistance
crumbling.  He's right.  The little girl will reach for his mask
next.  She should have stopped her.

Moving her gently toward the entrance, he says, "I know it's hard,
darlin'.  I can't believe he's gone, either.  And I wasn't in love
with him.  I can't imagine how hard it is for you.  But Jim wouldn't
want this.  He'd want you to go on."

"We aren't doing any good here, Len."

"Yes, we are.  If you'd open your eyes and look around, you'd see
that.  But you're too focused on what's inside you, Christine."  His
look is full of compassion.

She knows he loves her, that he just wants what's best for her.

They just happen to disagree on what that might be.  She thinks
oblivion looks very inviting.  If she could just find it.

"I'm not getting to you at all, am I?"  He is angry now.  His voice
becomes as mocking as hers was.  He drags her through the first
biofield, over to where they keep the medicines.  Loading painkiller
into a hypo, he hands it to her.  "There.  It's enough to take down
an elephant.  Do it, if you don't care.  Why prolong it?  Just end
it now."

She hands it back to him. She wants death to come to her--a gift,
not some dark force at the end of a hypo she jams into her own
skin.  "Suicide's against my religion, Len."

"You don't have a religion, Christine.  That's part of the problem.
You don't seem to believe in anything."

She smiles.  "I believe in pain.  Does that count?"  She walks to
the bench and sits down, pulling the mask off her face.  Studying
the gloves, she looks up at him.  "What do you think I should
believe in, Len?"

He sits down next to her, sighing as he leans back against the side
of the enclosure.  "Hell, I don't know.  In doing good, maybe?"

"I do believe in that.  I'm here, aren't I?"

"You're here.  But I don't get a warm fuzzy that all of you is
really present."  Putting his arm around her, he pulls her
close.  "Grief is a funny thing, Christine.  It makes us think we
don't care.  And we push people away.  But eventually it lets up and
then you find that the people you pushed away really are gone.  I
don't want you to end up truly alone."

"I thought it would help being here."

"It's not?"

She curls against him, feels him wrap his arms around her more
tightly.  "No.  It's not." Realizing how that must sound to him, she
squeezes him gently.  "I don't mean being with you.  You've helped."

He laughs softly.  "I sure don't feel like I have.  Ever since you
got here, I've been at my wit's end how to get through to you."  He
rests his chin on her head, sighs.  "Am I getting through to you
now, or is this just a momentary truce?"

"I'll be more careful."  She sniffs back tears.  "I just miss him,
Len."

"I know you do, Christine.  But this isn't doing anyone any good.
Except maybe that little girl."  He rubs her arm.  "She seems to
like you."

"We both know that little girl who seems to like me will be dead
soon."

"Yeah.  We do."  He is quiet for a long time.  Then he says
softly, "And maybe that's why this isn't the best place for you now."

"You've got a better idea?"

"I do."  Pulling away, he gently tips her face up to his.  "Will you
trust me to do what's best for you?"

"You mean because I'm doing such a bang up job of deciding that for
myself?"

"Something like that."  He frowns slightly.  "I want to help you.
Let me?"

She shrugs.  She is touched by how much he cares.  She wishes she
could care more about her own life, her future.

She has no future.  Not without Jim.

"Just give me a few days," he says.  "Promise me you'll be careful
until then?"

She laughs.  It is ludicrous that she has to promise him she'll
follow basic containment practices.  But he's probably smart to make
her promise.  "I'll be good."

"Go get some sleep."  He studies her.  "You've been sleeping?"

"Oh yes.  I do that better than anything these days."

"Well, I suppose it's preferable to having you haunting the wards at
all hours.  But not by much."  He gets up, touches her face
softly.  "I only want what's best for you."

"That sounds ominous."  Standing, she lets him pull her into a hug.
She wishes she could pretend his almost frail frame was Jim's.
Wishes she could imagine it was Jim holding her, Jim's arms
surrounding her.

But she can't imagine that.  Jim's arms will never surround her.
Not ever.

Jim is gone.  And she's more alone than ever.

And she doesn't foresee that ever changing.

-----------------

She is sitting outside the enclosure, trying to enjoy the late
afternoon sunshine instead of obsessing over how many patients
they've lost in the last week, when she senses someone coming up
behind her.  She turns, is stunned to see Spock.

He sits down next to her.

She stares at him.

"Doctor McCoy commed me."

She frowns.  This is Lens's solution?  "Why?"

"He appears convinced you no longer care if you live or die."

"Maybe he's right."  Sighing, she turns back to the sunshine,
closing her eyes and ignoring him.  She's forgotten how long he can
sit in silence, finally says, "You're here to save me?"

"I would not be so presumptuous."

"Then why?"

"I made Leonard an offer, which he does not feel he can accept.  But
he suggested you would be an acceptable alternative."  His voice is
dead.

He sounds like she does.  Hopeless.  Empty.  As if all the life was
sucked out of him by that terrible moment when Jim gave his life to
save the Enterprise B.  When Jim was lost to them both forever.

"What's the offer?"  She feels a kinship with him. Thinks she could
sit forever next to him, feeding off his pain.  She wonders if he is
feeding off of hers.

"I have been working on Qo'noS, as you know."

"I remember."

"The Klingons are suspicious of doctors, yet they need one who can
work with their own healers to improve the state of medicine on the
planet."

"The whole planet, Spock?  Nice to see that you're ambitious."

"It will start in one place, then move on.  It is how these things
work."

She nods.  He isn't wrong.  But the Klingons?  He can't be serious.

"And Len isn't jumping at your offer?  Go figure."  She sighs as she
closes her eyes again.  Len must have been snorting some powerful
drugs to suggest this as a solution for her problems.

"To be honest, I am not sure the Klingons would accept him.  He did
not have the best results with Chancellor Gorkon."

She bursts out laughing, and several nurses turn in alarm.  It is
not a sound they have ever heard her make.  "You're still the master
of understatement, Spock."  Glancing over at him, she sees he has
lifted an eyebrow at her words.

She feels a warm rush.  Somehow, being with him, she feels closer to
Jim.

"I know that you miss him."  Spock turns to her, his eyes holding
hers.   "I do as well."

She nods.  "It's been lonely.  Very lonely."

"For me as well."  It is a monumental concession.  He breathes in
deeply, turns away from her.  "Are you trying to kill yourself,
Christine?"

"Maybe."

"If you do not care whether you live or die, perhaps Qo'noS will be
as good a place as any for you?"

"And what makes you think they'll accept me any better than McCoy?"

He almost smiles.  "You mean other than that the Chancellor did not
die under your care?"

She does smile.  "Yeah, other than that."

"You are Jim's parMach'kai."

"His what?"

"The closest human term is beloved.  But it is more violent than
that term implies.  At any rate, you were Jim's mate and they will
accept you for his sake."

"Big with the Klingons, is he?"  She studies him.  He can't be
serious.

"Many of them consider him a true warrior and their savior.  Others
still hate him, but as a worthy opponent.  In either case, you will
have credibility."

"You've gone round the bend, Spock.  I hate Klingons.  They killed
David.  I'd rather die than go to Qo'noS."

"Would you?  Because death may well find you there.  It is a violent
place."  He is staring at her, as if appraising her death wish.

"You trying to scare me?  Or is that your idea of a sales pitch for
the suicidal girlfriend?"

She starts to get up, but his hand on hers stops her.

"Do not go," he says softly.

"Haven't finished yet?"  She wrenches her hand away from him.  "The
Klingons killed my friend.  Matthew is dead, Spock.  Because of
them."

"No, Matthew is dead because of Matthew."

"And Valeris?"  She thinks of the young woman still fighting for
survival on Rura Penthe, wonders if Spock ever thinks of her.  At
one time, she thought he might have been falling for her protege.
But he has never said her name, not since Khitomer, not since she
betrayed them all.

He does not say her name now either. "She too pays a price of her
own making."

"You haven't given me one good reason to go with you."

He sighs, and she turns to him in surprise.  He shakes his head
slightly, as if giving up on her.

"You said you were lonely, Spock?"

He nods slowly, not looking at her.

"Do you think we could make it better for each other?  I haven't
really...connected with anyone since Jim died.  I know Len's tired
of trying."  Laughing bitterly, she leans back, resting her head on
the back of her chair.

"I have not played chess since he died."  His voice drops.  "I have
not wanted to."

"I know.  I can't imagine going riding without him."

The silence stretches between them.  But for once it isn't painful
or full of unsaid recriminations as it often is when she sits with
Len or the others.  It's just possible that Spock is the only one
who really understands her pain.

"Ka'Vareth was ours alone," he says softly.

"Yes."

"I should like to play again."

She realizes she misses their games.  "I won't last a minute there,
Spock.  I'll say something and piss someone off and that'll be it
for Jim's parma--what did you call it?"

"His parMach'kai."

"Right.  That."

"Is that not what you want?  Someone to bring you death?"

She decides not to lie to him.  "Yes."   Turning, she studies
him.  "Do you want that too?"

He shakes his head, his lips pursed--the Vulcan equivalent of a
shrug.

"Taking any unnecessary risks?"

"There are some who would say that living on Qo'noS is an
unnecessary risk."

"True."  She sighs.

They are silent again, until she says softly, "It feels good to be
with you."

"Yes.  I agree."  His hand steals out, covers hers lightly for a
moment.  "You will come then?"

"Why the hell not?  At least if death comes, it will be quick.
Right?"

He nods, some dark amusement in his eyes.

"Alright then.  Count me in."

She's insane.  But at least she'll be in good company.  Spock
doesn't look like the picture of mental health these days either.

Len comes out of the enclosure and walks over to them.  "Looks like
you two worked out a solution?"

"We did."  Spock looks up at him.  "Christine will come to Qo'noS."

"Better you than me, darlin'."  Len sits down on the other side of
Spock.  "You're both crazy, you realize that?"

"It is a distinct possibility," Spock says.  He does not sound
unduly concerned.

She finds herself smiling.  It's comforting to not be alone in this.

Or less alone anyway.

-------------------------

Qo'noS is ugly.  It's hot and dry and it smells funny.  Christine
stands in the doorway of Spock's house, staring out at the dusty
square.  Across the way are the even dustier rooms Spock has secured
for her clinic.  As far as she can tell, the concept of a
housekeeper does not exist on the Klingon homeworld.   Maybe whoever
loses at arm wrestling has to tidy up?

"Do you want me to stay?"

She turns, sees Spock gathering up his things.  He has given her the
spare room in his house.  She objected at first, until he explained
the concept of "House" as the Klingons understood it.  As long as
she lives here, she is under his protection.

And Spock is well regarded on Qo'noS.  Even if it is hard to tell at
times.

"No.  I don't want you to stay."  She's followed him around for a
week now.  Getting to know the locals, learning what foods to eat
and what to stay away from.  Everyone who's anyone on Qo'noS knows
who she is and why she's there.  Even if they grin mockingly at the
idea of a Federation doctor in their midst.

Len's little fiasco trying to save Gorkon hasn't done her any
favors.  One warrior actually teased her and said if she tried to
pound on his chest, she'd find herself without hands.  It wasn't
funny.  Although the other warriors all laughed uproariously.

She thinks a Klingon laugh could curdle milk.   Knowing them, they'd
deem it a delicacy and serve it at their next feast.

She follows Spock out to the square, watches as he gets in his
shuttle.

Before he closes the door, he says gently, "I will not be gone long."

"I'll be fine," she says with more bravado than she really feels.

He nods and turns away as the doors close him off from her.  Feeling
a moment of panic, she picks up a broom and walks over to what will
someday be her clinic.  The rooms are unlocked, but the furniture
and supplies they brought with them are still there.  No Klingon
appears willing to darken her door, much less steal anything.

It came as a surprise to her to learn that there is little theft on
Qo'noS.  Little petty crime of any kind, unless you count constant,
meaningless violence.  That there is plenty of.

She is almost done sweeping when the room suddenly becomes darker.
Turning slowly, she sees a Klingon woman standing in the doorway,
watching her.  Their eyes meet, and the Klingon throws her head
back, her smile grows mocking as she stares.

Christine wants to blink, wants to sigh and turn away.  But some
other part of her, the part that is sick and tired of life, seems to
be in control.  Striding up to the Klingon woman, she gets in her
face and says, "Is there a reason you are blocking my light?"

The woman looks stunned for a moment, then bursts out laughing.  It
is no more pleasant a sound than the laughter of the men.

Christine turns away, never quite turning her back on the woman as
she sweeps an area that is already clean.

The Klingon steps into the room, following Christine around, staring
at her, head tilted and eyes narrowed as if Christine is some
interesting new animal.

Prey, probably.  She forces herself not to swallow too visibly.

"You are Kirk's ParMach'kai?"

"That's right."

"Hmmm."  It does not sound like a favorable sound.

"You have a problem?"

"You seem...scrawny."

Christine looks down on a frame she considers frighteningly more
ample than it used to be and laughs.  "Really?  Thanks."

The Klingon smiles, a bit uncertainly but still a smile.  "You take
insults well."   She wanders over to the table full of medicines and
equipment.  Begins to go through it.

Christine is about to tell her to leave it alone, when she sees the
woman make an adjustment to one of the scopes.  Sweeping her way to
a better angle, Christine sees the Klingon finger the carton of
hyposprays, then gently pick up and engage a laser scalpel.  The
sudden beam of light doesn't seem to surprise her at all.

"You're a healer?"

"I am." The woman turns.  "I am supposed to work with you."

"You have my condolences.  I'm a real bitch."

It takes the translator a moment to find the right word for bitch.
But when it does, the Klingon beams at her.

Christine wonders if it translated correctly. Then again, knowing
Klingons...

She leans the broom against a table, and holds her hand out.  "My
name's Doctor Christine Chapel."

The woman stares at her hand for a moment, then takes it.  "I am
Khorta, first lady of the house of Gramton.  I am healer for this
region."  She lets go of her hand quickly, as if she finds the feel
of Christine's skin distasteful.

Christine eyes the weapons hanging from Khorta's clothing.  "I take
it you're a warrior too?"

"Well, of course."  Khorta holds up a scary-looking dagger.  "But
these are also tools of the trade.  My Daqtagh brings honor to the
fallen."

Spock has explained that a Klingon healer is often called in to
deliver a death blow, that there is very little healing to be done.

She has seen evidence of that.  Warriors with missing arms, puckered
eyes, and half cut off ears.  No limb replacements for these tough
guys.  They wear their battle scars with pride, it seems.

"You seem to know your way around a microscope."

The woman actually seems embarrassed.  "I may have used one upon
occasion."  She is saved from having to say more when a young boy
steps into the room.

The child's expression is pure warrior, even if he looks barely six
years old.  Christine can feel her eyebrow going up in a perfect
rendition of Spock's at this mini version of the warriors she has
met.

"I am Hehnak," he tells her fiercely.

"My son," Khorta says, a note of pride filling her voice.  "Heir to
the house of Gramton.  And a mighty warrior in the making."  She
lets her hand fall to his shoulder, grips it a bit savagely to
Christine's mind.

He only looks up at his mother and grins--the expression making him
finally look like a little kid.  He looks back at her and his face
is once again fierce.  "And you are?"

Christine tries not to laugh at the imperiousness of his tone.  "I
am Christine.  Doctor Chapel."

"So many names?"

Khorta laughs.  "Why are you here, Hehnak?  Did your curiosity about
this new member of Spock's house overcome you?"  Her voice drops as
she says, "And did you forget that you are supposed to be studying
with Laranda now?"

"I forget nothing.  I am bored with history."

"It is the history of our house and all the others.  You must know
it, if only to keep track of the blood feuds."  She ruffles his
hair.  "Go now.  I don't want to have to tell your father that you
deliberately missed a lesson."

He frowns but does as she says.  Khorta turns back to Christine, a
soft smile--one that makes her look far less alien--on her
face.  "Do you have children?"

"No," Christine says, looking down.  "I regret that sometimes."  It
is an odd confession for her to make to anyone, much less this
Klingon woman.  She picks up the broom, begins to sweep again.

"You are busy.  I will let you finish."  Khorta strides to the
entrance, then turns.  "You realize no one will come to you for
treatment?"

"They'll come."  Christine glares at her.

Khorta just laughs.  "If you want to scare anyone here, you'll need
to work on that.  We're taught to glare before we are out of
swaddling clothes."  She turns and walks out.

Christine sighs, feels her hackles relaxing and walks to the
doorway.  A few Klingons are passing by and they look at her
curiously.   She stares at them, trying to out glare them.

She knows she's failed when they burst out laughing.


End part 2 of 6




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