Archive of Our Own

It is precisely five minutes and an equal number of seconds into his acquaintance with her that Spock realizes knowing Christine Chapel is going to be most problematic in the most fascinating of ways.

It is a minute more before he comprehends how little this troubles him.

He is the one to seek her out. Although they have never met previously, he has heard her name on a number of occasions. While a nurse by primary profession, Christine's greatest passion is that of research (for which a posting to a Federation starship has proven highly useful) making her somewhat of an expert in a number of fields. It is for this reason Spock first seeks her out. Her opinion would be most informative on his study into the similarities between the neurotransmitters involved in Vulcan and Betazoid telepathy.

Spock has prepared extensively for their meeting. Having reviewed Nurse Chapel's Starfleet file (to locate her current assignment of course) he is aware that Christine, like himself, has been tapped for assignment aboard the USS Enterprise. Ostensibly, it is to assume the position of head nurse, but Spock makes note to assign laboratory space to her. Doubtless she will require it.

Stepping into the clinic, he immediately scans the room, looking for the blonde woman from the file. He sees no such woman as he looks. Likely, then, that she is seeing to a patient in another part of the clinic. He starts toward the front desk to inquire further when a voice stops his forward progress.

"Commander Spock?"

He turns to find a very dark-haired Christine Chapel standing a mere foot away. She pushes a dark hair away from her face and dodges a laughing Andorian child as she approaches. The difference in her hair colour is striking and he finds it most appealing.

If she notices the way he stares at her, she politely does not comment. Of course, with the patients bustling about, it is also a possibility that she does not notice.

The clinic in which she is working, staffed primarily by Starfleet Medical personnel, is a popular one among offworlders seeking physicians familiar with their physiologies.

"My apologies for being late." She brings herself up, adopting a more formal pose. Spock is reminded she is fresh off a posting to the Intrepid. Six months in deep space with an entirely Vulcan crew shows in the way she approaches him. Fascinating. He considers the possible similarities between their mutual assignments and is curious to discover if they exist. "It's been -- " she laughs a little. "Well, you can see what it is."

"Yes," he agrees, stepping forward. "I can." Producing the PADD upon which he has loaded research for her review, he considers the situation. "Might I suggest we relocate to somewhere more appropriate for conversation?" It is a logical request he informs himself. The research, for quite obvious reasons, is delicate and not something he wishes to discuss in a public venue. That he very, very nearly suggests his own 'Fleet-issued quarters shocks him.

He has never before made such a suggestion, so the ease with which it comes to mind is most unexpected. However, watching Christine watch him, Spock finds himself oh so very tempted.

Particularly when she grins and nods. "I know a place."

-

Indeed she does. The cafe is little more than a tiny room with an equally tiny collection of tables, but it is indeed glorious. The small, aged woman in possession of an apparently limitless repertoire of recipes. Spock settles in with a steaming mug of Saya while Christine guiltily orders a chilled Raktajino (I know, I know, it's Klingon but I can't help it, it's so good!) and, yes, Spock finds the cafe to be exceedingly pleasing.

Particularly so for the fact they meet there regularly. Heads bent together over research of varying fields, professional and non, debating and arguing the minutiae of each theory.

Spock finds their near-daily meetings a highlight. Both for the intellectual stimulation and the quite fascinating way Christine's dimples emerge when she smiles.

The cafe and their corner become theirs.

-

Until it is no longer.

The day Spock awakes to find Christine sprawled out beside him, her hair spread across the pillow, lit a warm brown by the same morning which makes her skin glow a most appealing shade of gold, the idea of sharing her with anyone becomes most abhorrent.

A relief, then, that Christine shares this belief of him.

-

In the privacy of their shared apartment, she listens to his quite logical discourse on the matter of one Cadet Kirk without comment. At least, until he realizes that her shoulders are shaking with barely suppressed mirth.

With a slight sigh, Spock settles beside her and pulls her feet into his lap. "You have an opinion, Christine?"

Christine pokes him with the other foot. "You rub; I talk."

He inclines his head and sets to his task without protest. Indeed, this is a favored part of their evening. Her skin beneath his hands, cool and familiar, while they converse on the events of their day.

"You like him," she says.

While it is the truth, it is not easy to hear. Not only for the content of her words. His opinions on James T. Kirk aside, Spock finds her voice most distracting. With each movement of his hands, she grows increasingly more relaxed and her voice softens, fades, becomes touched by the first stirrings of desire. Christine like this is a nigh-irresistible temptation.

"I do not believe that I do," he says, forcing attention to their conversation and the matter at hand. Namely Kirk. "He is -- "

"A lot like a certain Vulcan I could name." Christine pulls her feet from his hands and sits up to move closer, leaning into him with an abandon Spock finds most appealing. Her head against him, she rests one hand on his thigh, her fingers tracing a pattern on the fabric of his pants. A gesture Spock's body wholeheartedly embraces. "Admit it, Spock. You would have done the same thing."

"I would not have ingested food in the simulator," Spock corrects. "That was most inappropriate." He shifts his posture, drawing her hair into his hands. It is thick, past her shoulders now, and he privately adores it. Without a brush, his fingers will have to do, but Christine does not protest. Indeed, she groans greedily and wriggles closer. If there is one thing Christine Chapel enjoys more than his hands upon her feet, it is his hands stroking through her hair.

"But you would have done the same thing," she insists, stubbornly refusing to let the matter lie.

"I -- "

"Spock."

"It would not have been particularly dissimilar," Spock admits.

Christine looks over her shoulder at him, a loving smile on her face. "See? Wasn't that better?"

"Not particularly," Spock says. "I believe, currently, he is far more satisfied with the situation than I am."

"Awww," she laughs, patting his leg. "Well, just remember, as soon as the Academy gets through with him, that'll change drastically." Her amusement dims on this and he knows Christine sees what he cannot, but is content to let him discover what she sees for himself.

Spock believes himself most fortunate. He offers his fingers to her, his expression and gesture saying what his words cannot.

Turning around, she matches them with her own. As always, it sends a charge of desire through him and it is not long before Spock draws her closer. He would, he believes, give her the universe if she asked it of him.

It is fortunate for the universe that she has not.