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The familiar whirring and humming of the tricorder is soothing and distracting, and Christine really needs both of those things right now.
She knows she has a tendency of feeling trapped in her own body sometimes; even on the best days, it happens, almost at random. A shirt cuff might chafe her wrist too roughly, a crewmember might smile at her a fraction too wide, a patient might touch her arm for a second too long, and suddenly her mind would go blank except for a deep sensation of discomfort and disgust, and all she'd want to do is leave her physical form behind and float away for a few seconds until she had herself back under control. It doesn't work that way, of course, and she usually manages to chase those moments away quietly with a smile and one of the breathing exercises Nyota taught her.
This time, after having been telekinetically controlled by a hostile two-and-a-half-millenia-old eugenically enhanced philosopher king on a foreign planet without any warning at all, she suspects it might take her a little more than breathing exercises.
“Healthy as a Rigelian cowhorse that's been left unattended in an apple tree yard,” Doctor McCoy declares when the tricorder falls silent. “Well, you can see the readings for yourself, nurse, but physically everything's fine.”
“Thank you, doctor,” she replies, sitting up from the biobed. “I'm glad.”
“So am I.” He stills her with a hand on her shoulder; instinctively, she flinches back. He raises his hand in apology. “Sorry, I – ”
“No, I'm sorry, it really shouldn't be so – it shouldn't affect – ”
“I watched all of it happen, Christine,” he cuts in. “It's completely normal to be affected.”
She takes a deep breath and nods. “I know. I do know that.”
The doctor gives her an encouraging smile; she tries to smile back. It's not very hard. Something in Doctor McCoy's face makes smiling at him quite easy. “As I was saying, mentally, you'll have to see what's best for you. If you want, I can take you off the roster for a few days and schedule a session with counsellor Al-Rashid.”
“I'll make the appointment with her myself,” Christine says quickly. “But … some leave would be nice. Wouldn't want to space out in the middle of a delicate operation.”
McCoy snorts. “You mean like Williams kept doing after Safiya broke up with him? I swear to God, I'm not letting that man near an operating table ever again. Hell, might be a good idea to keep even the hyposprays out of his reach.”
She rolls her eyes at the familiar grumbling. “He's not that bad, really – ”
The sound of the sickbay door swishing open draws their attention.
Commander Spock is standing in the doorframe, back somewhat stiffer than usual. A vague feeling of dread rises in Christine's gut.
“Spock,” McCoy starts, “we've already finished your physical – ”
“May I speak to you, Nurse Chapel?” he says, completely ignoring him. “Privately.”
It's not difficult to guess what it's going to be about; not much has happened since their return from Platonius. Then again, it would be highly unusual for the commander to want to discuss anything resembling emotions, so maybe it is something else entirely. Either way, Christine finds that, while the discomfort and the dread are still sticking to her, Spock has gone through the same experience. He might have something important to say.
McCoy doesn't seem to agree. “Don't you think this can wait until you're both back in – ”
“We can go to my quarters,” she cuts him off, immediately regretting how it sounds, but Commander Spock doesn't show any reaction, not even anything small.
“That would be adequate, if it is all right with you,” he replies. Doctor McCoy throws his hands in the air in exaggerated surrender.
She bites back a well, I suggested it, didn't I? and leads the way.
Her quarters are strange with Commander Spock in them. She can't say she hasn't once or twice entertained the wishful thought of him coming over, but that was a long time ago; now it's just uncanny. Still, she gestures towards one of the chairs at her desk. He sinks into it stiffly and folds his hands in front of him.
She sits down in the other chair and decides to feign ignorance. “So, what is it you wanted to talk about?”
He opens his mouth, closes it for a moment, then opens it again. “I would like to preface by saying that this is not a kind of conversation I am used to having. Still, in light of the things that occurred … it seemed important that I ask about your well-being.”
Christine raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Did the captain tell you to come see me?”
Briefly, a light frown passes over the commander's face, gone again in a second. “It seems like a logical assumption. However, the idea was entirely mine.” He hesitates for a moment. “I did ask the captain what he thought of it. He was rather encouraging.”
Of course Captain Kirk would be; he'd briefed them on the way out of Platonius' orbit on what had been happening on the planet, with a gentleness only he could work into a dry retelling of facts. He's been busy discussing Alexander's future with him since then, but Christine is sure he's already talked to Nyota.
“Well, then I'm practically under orders to answer your question, aren't I?” She places her hands on the table in a controlled gesture. “I'm fine, commander, really. You needn't worry.”
She half-expects something along the lines of 'worrying is illogical', but Spock completely fails to react to the comment.
“Are you certain?” he asks instead. “The experience seemed to be quite distressing to you. As were some of the things you said.”
Now I just want to crawl away and die. Yes, Christine remembers saying that. It wasn't her finest moment, but it had been true. Her jaw clenches shut at the thought of having to explain it to the commander, who would no doubt ask a thousand questions and be clinical and detached and so damn logical about it –
Spock seems to take her silence as an answer. “If you do not wish to speak about it, you need only say so and I will leave. I understand that I – I may not be the best person to address. However,” he adds with a deep breath, “I would like you to know that I'm open to conversation, as the events were also quite distressing for me.”
Well, that's unexpected. Christine blinks a few times at the Vulcan in front of her, just to let it sink in. Spock, admitting to feeling distressed? All in an effort to get her to open up? Maybe she's misjudged him.
“I think it would help me,” she says, slowly testing the waters, “if you could speak more about your own – distress first.”
Spock looks like that's the last thing he wanted to hear, but he soldiers on regardless. “Very well.” He presses his fingertips together in front of his face, as if summoning an invisible list. “It was distressing to lose control over my own actions, and, more deeply, my own body. Moreover, it was distressing to know that this body was being used to hurt another person, especially a pleasant acquaintance and valued crewmember. It was equally distressing to know said crewmember to be in the very same situation, likely experiencing the very same distress, probably more intensely, and to be unable to help her, or to stop myself.” He pauses for a moment, seemingly gathering himself. “Neither of us was responsible for the way things unfolded, and it would be illogical to feel that way. But I was an instrument in hurting and humiliating you, and for that I am deeply sorry.”
Christine, who had nearly smiled when she heard herself described as a 'pleasant acquaintance' (what a terribly Vulcan thing to say), is at a bit of a loss in the face of so much honesty, let alone from Spock of all people. This is definitely not a formality; putting all of this into words must have cost him a lot. The least she can do is share a bit of her thoughts in return.
“I agree with what you described,” she ends up saying. She almost leaves it at that, but then the words just tumble out of her. “The loss of control – knowing that anything could happen, and you'd be powerless to stop it – knowing that you could hurt others, or be hurt by others, even if they don't want to – and I'm sorry, too, commander,” she finishes quietly. “Having someone else force themselves onto you is a horrible thing, even when logically you know that they don't want it either.”
“I do not think logic applies in these sorts of situations, Nurse Chapel,” he replies, to her surprise. “In fact, a strong emotional response to them seems quite valid, if potentially unproductive. In any case, thank you for the apology. If it is of relevance to you – I place the blame on Parmen entirely.”
Christine finds herself smiling. “Oh, but that does sound like a very logical thing to do.”
“As I said, it is more productive in the long run.”
“You're probably right.” She fiddles a bit with the sleeve of her uniform, pushing through with what she still has to say. “And, for the record – I did mean it, back there, when I said that I once wanted to be close to you. But that's a long time ago. I appreciate you as a colleague and a commander, and I'd like to keep it that way. So, you really needn't worry about that.”
There it is, the “Worrying is illogical,” but he says it with something like humour in his voice. “Furthermore, word has reached me that you are currently in a fulfilling relationship with Lieutenant Uhura, which would make worry of any kind even less logical than it already is.”
It seems almost like Spock is determined to surprise the hell out of her today.
“How do you – ” Christine stops herself and thinks for a second. “The captain told you, didn't he.”
“Possibly.”
“I ought to explain the concept of privacy to him.”
She doesn't really mean it, but Spock still replies seriously. “He was quite excited to share the news. The well-being of each of his crewmembers matters immensely to him.” He pauses for a moment. When he continues, there is a strange sort of awe in his voice. “He agreed with my idea to come speak to you, saying it might not only benefit you, but myself as well. I dismissed his assessment originally; now I find it to be quite true.”
Christine smiles again. “That's good to hear. You should tell him that. He does care a great deal about you, you know, beyond crewmembership and all that.”
Spock lowers his hands to the table, face smoothing out completely.
“He does,” he says, and it's exactly half a statement and half a question.
The door to her quarters chooses this moment to slide open. Nyota's standing in the doorway, timing perfect as usual; Spock begins to rise from his seat immediately.
“Oh! Commander, I didn't mean to interrupt …”
“It's quite alright, Lieutenant,” Spock says before turning to Christine once more. “Thank you for the conversation, Nurse Chapel. It was very enlightening to me.”
“And to me,” Christine replies, smile still on her face. “You should give yourself more credit for handling emotions.”
The commander raises one eyebrow. “I will choose to take this as a compliment.”
Nyota waves him goodbye on his way out, then comes to gracefully flop down on Christine's bed.
“That looked like quite the official visit,” she comments while stretching her shoulders.
Christine pushes her chair back and goes to join her on the mattress. Idly, she notices how well Nyota fits into this room, how obvious it seems for her to be here.
“It really wasn't,” she says. “We talked about feelings. Can you imagine?”
Nyota laughs. The sound roots something in Christine, shifts a part of her back into place. “I can, actually. I'm not so sure I want to.”
“It wasn't as awkward as it sounds, I promise.”
With a non-committal hum, Nyota raises one of her hands to Christine's face. “I've been looking for you in sickbay, Leonard said your physical was finished. Are you alright?”
“Everyone seems set on asking me that today.”
“And with good reason.” She strokes a thumb down her cheek; another part of Christine shifts.
“No, I'm not alright,” she admits, finally, to herself and to Nyota, because she knows they can handle it. “I feel disgusted and helpless, and I'd really like to vanish into thin air for a minute.” She swallows and tries to smile once more. “But I know I will be alright. Eventually.”
Nyota grins and presses a kiss to her nose. “That's my girl.”
“And you?” Christine continues, fingers idly playing with the hem of Nyota's uniform. “It can't have been easy for you, either.”
Nyota considers it for a moment. “Still a bit in shock, I think. But I've talked to the captain, and that helped a lot. I'm mostly just glad it's over. You know I'm not one to brood.” Her grin comes back, but this time, it's a more cheeky one. “Above all, I'd very much like to kiss you now. Captain Kirk is alright, but he really doesn't compare.”
“Well,” Christine says, unable to do anything but mirror the grin, “since Doctor McCoy has just prescribed me a few days of leave, I'd say I can spare an hour or two for that.”
It's not over, not by a long shot. But with each of Nyota's kisses, every stroke of her hands through her hair and down her side, Christine feels a little more like herself again.