Fools

By Gueniver

Code: S/Cha TOS-post TMP PG

Disclaimer: This is a piece of fan fiction. It is a continuation of my storyline from One Part Go Away. No copyright infringement is intended, no animals were hurt in the production of this little story. Feedback requested.

--

There was a moment of clarity when it *happened*. But contrary to every romance in history there was no monumental karmic turn of events to lend credence to the choice that was unmistakably staring them in the face.

Indeed it would have been much easier on both of them if there had been a shuttlecraft accident on some paradisiacal planet or at least a turbo lift malfunction and a long but forced heart-changing conversation.

Then it might have felt as if it was meant to be, a sort of Cosmic Manifest Destiny.

Regrettably there were only a series of small events. They were the sorts of things that happen to make life seem mundane and at the same time quite remarkable. It was actually a long string of ordinary days that led them to this extraordinary moment.

A moment that they were both anxiously dreading with a sort of sweet agony.

He stood staring at the door in disbelief.

Surely, he thought, this was not happening.

-

She stood at stiff attention exactly 1 meter from the biobed, her hands locked behind her. She had moved to this position a full minute before his scheduled appointment. Her uniform was perfect. Her hair was perfect. Every instrument she would need sat in arm's reach. She relaxed her knees and took a deep breath, resisting the urge to look at the chrono. She knew he would be here in a moment. She knew he had received the carefully worded medical summons. He had no choice but to obey.

It was all about setting the stage, wearing the right costume and having the perfect lines. If only she could remember all of her lines...

As if on cue the doors to Sickbay opened and Comdr. Spock entered. He took quick note that no one else was in the room and moved to within a meter of the bio bed opposite the doctor.

She could see the annoyance in his stance, had already anticipated it.

With a distinctly emotional sigh he spoke, "Dr. Chapel."

She nodded once acknowledging his presence, "Spock." Then as if there was no question she turned to the tray to her right and picked up the gleaming scanner. She turned to the bed and raised the scanner as if she expected that he would already be lying on the diagnostic bed.

He was not.

He raised an eyebrow in irritation and spoke again, "I have reported to sickbay as ordered, Doctor. I assure you that my bioscans have not altered in the 4 days since our encounter with V'ger. I do not see the logic in-"

She kept her eyes passive but raised a hand suddenly, "Kroykah!" and with a startled look he obeyed.

She smiled inwardly but did not allow him to see her pleasure in controlling the situation.

"Enough. Lie down." Her Vulcan was halting and her accent strong, but she knew what to say. She had had her share of stubborn Vulcan patients while working with Dr. M'Benga.

Spock moved without hesitation.

Christine worked quickly and efficiently. It was not necessary to explain to him, he was the First Officer he knew his duty.

He lay very still wondering at her choice of language. As he examined the situation he became *aware* of the absence of people, the straight lines of instruments on the gleaming silver tray. Her appearance was neat and professional. She did not make her usual casual conversation. She did not even make eye contact with him. She was behaving quite...Vulcan.

She mentally noted that he visibly relaxed but did not change her actions.

She keyed in the bits of information, re calibrated her machines and re keyed the information. It was essential that she both verify Spock's health and calibrate her machines for his unique physiology.

Spock simply complied.

When she finished her scans she stepped back from the table and picked up a data pad.

With great difficulty she spoke his name, "Spock, son of Sarek." Her pronunciation left much to be desired, but he appreciated her effort. "You will answer my questions." Her word choice was deliberate the formal version of 'you' indicating her desire to keep this conversation private but professional.

He sat up and raised an inquiring brow, but waited patiently.

"My records indicate that you are...unbonded." She chose the English word because she never liked the implications of the Vulcan word. It suggested that it was somehow unnatural to be unbonded, even immoral.

He tilted his head to one side slightly. It was not something that was discussed among Vulcans.

She sighed heavily but continued in Vulcan, "When the time comes, what shall the treatment be?"

Again he did not speak.

"Vulcan Science Academy recommends Ambinex sedation until the afflicted can be returned to Vulcan for a suitable treatment. Shall it be thus? Shall Enterprise return to Vulcan?"

His response was terse he spoke in Standard. "I do not wish speak of this."

He rose from the bio bed and made a move to leave.

She would not be denied. She changed her tone, now speaking to him in the familiar as if he were a small child. Her tone was slow and soft as if she was reprimanding him, "Enough. Thou wilt answer me now or it shall be recorded that it is thy wish to suffer the fever unassisted."

He stopped and met her eyes. It was no bluff.

"It is my duty as thy physician to know thy will. I do not possess the strength nor the will for Tal-Shaya." She paused for emphasis, "It is no small matter, Son of Sarek. It is a Federation requirement that thy will be recorded."

He stared at her for a long time.

She did not waver.

Slowly a nod began to move his head, a resigned sound eased softly from him.

He answered in Vulcan. "I accept the Vulcan Science Academy's recommendation. However, it is not my wish to return to Vulcan."

Christine did not allow her relief to spread to her face. She simply looked down to her pad, recorded his wish and sealed his records. It was not necessary to do it here. It was actually less convenient. However she wanted him to witness that she had done it, wanted him to see that his wishes were sealed.

It was a difficult thing for her to record. His request, though unspoken, was to be sedated until the fever of the Pon Farr ceased. She knew there were very few who survived the fever without a mate, fewer still who survived in sedation. But as his physician she would honor his request and not question it.

She did not look at him when her task was completed but moved to the tray of medical utensils and began to return them to their proper place. With an absent sounding tone she sent him away "Dismissed."

He rose from the bio bed and walked stiffly from Sickbay.

Oddly enough it had not been the unpleasant experience to which he was accustomed. He appreciated her efforts to protect his privacy and put him at ease. It appeared that Dr. Chapel possessed the cultural sensitivity that Dr. McCoy had lacked. At the very least she seemed to understand that being a physician did not entitle her to unnecessarily complicating a simple physical exam.

Christine simply smiled to herself as she put the instruments away. Whether he liked it or not Spock had been absolutely predictable. It was going to be easier that she thought to be his doctor.

--

She picked an imperceptibly small piece of fuzz from the front of her blouse nervously and looked up at the door.

She stared at it for a long time.

This was crazy. What was she thinking?

Surely she wasn't about to do what she thought she was.

Good god, after all these years?

--

"Faron, what've you got there?" Christine leaned over the exhausted young man trying not to hit him with the slice of pizza in her hand.

"Marionberries, ma'am. Kelly's got 'em growing with a vengeance in hydroponics. Want some?" He grabbed a handful of the plump maroon fruits and gently deposited them into his boss's outstretched hand.

She popped one into her mouth and let out a very low moan, "Oh good god, that's so good." She popped another in her mouth. "What did he do to them?"

"Dunno." Faron flashed her a red stained grin. "He says it's just a matter of tender loving care."

"I'm not buying it." She said popping another into her moth and squishing it against the roof of her mouth. The sweet juice burst across her tongue and was the perfect balance of sweet and tart evoking memories of Terran sunshine. "I don't think I ever had such nice berries even when I lived on Earth."

The door to the lab opened admitting Kelly and Spock, their arms lade with more containers of lab samples and one large suspicious box marked 'Hydroponics'.

"Ensign Kelly!" She barked gruffly with a mischievous wink over her shoulder to Faron.

"Yes ma'am." Kelly's voice quavered. He was still living in fear of the new Doctor.

She looked at the young man expectantly, "Hand them over, Mister." Her voice was low and almost threatening.

Spock's eyes widened at the exchange, but he did not interfere with the Doctor and her apparent disciplinary action with one of her subordinates. He simply moved to the corner of the table that had the largest amount of space and placed his containers on it.

Kelly eyed the doctor uncertainly. Over her shoulder Faron was mouthing something. As Spock turned he was sure he was trying to say 'Parry', but did not know of any reason why Yeoman Parry should be in the lab at the time so he stared as dumbfounded as Kelly at the Doctor.

Christine cocked one eyebrow at the trembling young man and extended a berry stained hand to him. "C'mon." She sounded impatient, but not angry.

Kelly sighed melodramatically in relief and handed over the mysterious box from hydroponics with an enthusiastic "Yes Ma'am!"

Christine popped the lid open to reveal a veritable gold mine of berries. Spock's brows flew up in surprise as the crewmembers all descended on the box with childlike glee.

As he turned to leave the lab in search of more containers for their samples Dr. Chapel intercepted him.

"Spock you *have* to try these!"

He opened his mouth to tell her that he was not interested in the fruit but she moved too quickly and popped one into his mouth.

Her fingers were slightly damp with what was presumably berry juice. One of them brushed against his lip ever so slightly as she quickly hit her mark and moved away.

He stood stunned for a long moment. The berry was warm in his mouth, approximately human body temperature. She had held it in the palm of her hand with the other berries that she was consuming. He blinked, glancing around with uncertainty. He couldn't very well spit it out not while all the other crewmembers were eating with such glee. And the berry tasted good. At least what little could taste of it as it rested on his tongue. It was just that Vulcans didn't feed each other and they never, ever touched their food. It simply wasn't done. Surely she would have known that. She did work on Vulcan for 6 months with Dr. M'Benga.

Or perhaps she didn't know it. Perhaps she had remained in the complex most of the time as so many Terrans did.

He pressed his tongue tentatively against the roof of his mouth. The berry flavor was surprisingly sweet and tangy. There were seeds throughout the flesh but they did not deter him from now biting down on what remained of the fruit. As usual, Dr. Chapel was quite correct, they were quite delicious.

He looked at the ring of science and medical personnel eating amiably, bonding over communal food. It was a common practice in other cultures.

And while he had always commanded the respect of his staff, he had never been able to bond with them as Dr. McCoy did. Now Dr. Chapel was making it look easy.

He swallowed the berry, trying not to focus on the implications of a woman feeding him with her bare fingers and took a tentative step towards the ring of people.

No one even seemed to notice as he reached forward with a surprisingly steady hand and scooped up half a dozen bright soft berries. The small boxes were quickly emptying and it was well timed that he stepped forward when he did as the bountiful harvest was quickly dwindling down to a memory.

He looked at his hand and for an instant felt the urge to drop the berries. It felt so wrong to touch his food this way. He noted a small stain of red on his finger. It looked almost like human blood. He had bruised the soft skin in his haste to grab the small handful. He felt the blood rush to his ear tips and was thankful that no one seemed to notice. He quickly adapted to the unaccustomed sensation of the food in his fingers and raised his hand to his mouth, mimicking Dr. Chapel's motions. He popped one berry into his mouth.

It too was sweet and tangy. He felt a rush of physical and emotional sensation at once. Fortunately the others were occupied with the food.

Kelly blushed madly at the high praise he was receiving from the others.

Spock watched their easy way together, these junior crewmen. Only three of them were not human, but that didn't seem to matter. Under the tight deadline set by the captain and the easy role model that Dr. Chapel had been they seemed to have formed a tight knit cohesive team in a very short amount of time.

Spock felt a gentle nudge at his elbow and turned to see Dr. Chapel grinning up at him.

"Who says you can't teach an old Vulcan new tricks?" she whispered with a wicked wink.

His eyebrows flew up in surprise. He swallowed hard, barely tasting the berry in his mouth.

She stepped forward to the crew and clapped her hands loudly, "Alright Ladies and Gentlemen, that's enough. These samples won't pack themselves. Let's get back to work."

They all gave a half-hearted groan but rose quickly and moved to get back to work.

Spock looked down into his hand where two berries remained. Suddenly they seemed so small. He could see the food as any Terran would. There was food in his hand and there were no rules or rituals dictating the correctness of it.

He lifted his hand to his mouth and popped the last two berries into his mouth and bit into them with pleasure. A moment later he was all business.

It would be hours before they were finished and he would discover with quiet pleasure the small almost imperceptible drip of marionberry juice on the cuff of his sleeve.

--

She didn't know why she felt so nervous. It wasn't like this was a *date* or anything. Technically it was a dinner engagement.

Or perhaps a dinner date.

No, not a dinner date she thought frantically. They were simply meeting over food. It wasn't as if he had asked her to the prom or something. They had certainly eaten in each other's presence before.

But not like this. Not the two of them, alone.

Her cheeks burned at the memory of his hands on hers the night they had finally danced together. At the time she hadn't really thought about it, not like this, not in a romantic sense.

Now her mind ran over and over the sensation of his smooth warm hands on her, his strong arm around her waist, his tall lean frame barely brushing against her own body as they moved and swayed together on the dance floor.

At the time all she could think about was the fact that they were dancing in front of their friends, that they were finally coming full circle, completing some incomplete scene in everyone's memory. They were finally getting closure.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Surely she had misunderstood.

-

0300 ship's time and Christine was creeping through the halls to the gymnasium. She hadn't reserved the gym, hadn't needed to since Enterprise had gotten underway. No one worked out at 0300. She would have the room to herself, as usual, for her morning stretches and toning workout. It had become a pleasant habit, when she was on the day shift, to work out before duty. If she started her day a 0300 she had plenty of time to shower and hit the bio labs before her shift.

An insistent thrumming sounded through the closed door of the gym. Someone was inside and their music was not staying inside.

At 0300 that was just plain unacceptable! Starships may run 24hrs, but Starfleet had maintained strict Terran style days and nights on their ships. 0300 was the dead of the ship's night. Even those species that did not normally keep 24 hour days had long since been indoctrinated.

As she neared the door the music became louder and it sounded strangely familiar. It was a tune her mother and father had danced to when she was a very little girl. The doors opened and the sound came booming out in loud ripples.

Strains of psychedelic guitar and tribal drums fairly shook the walls. For a moment she felt the urge to cover her ears, but she quickly adjusted. The door slid shut and she froze in her tracks.

He was in a full handstand, his form perfect. He wore the tight Starfleet issue black shorts and sleeveless black shirt workout uniform. The muscles in his back were tight and sculpted. She supposed the long Kolinahr training had done that. His body was spectacular.

The music was fast, insistent. She remembered her parents gyrating together like teenagers to this tune, but she couldn't quite remember the artist. The words seemed garbled due to the volume but she could make out the screaming guitar solo.

Spock moved with slow control. His legs lowered slowly into a full pike, then lower still until he folded neatly in half pointed toes barely brushing the mat.

She knew she should go, opened her mouth to apologize and realized that the music was far too loud to be heard. So she simply turned to leave.

"Computer, music off." She heard his voice behind her..

She stopped, not wanting to turn and face him. She hadn't intended to stand there as long as she did, but he was amazing to watch and the music was so unusual.

"Good morning Doctor." He was walking towards her.

She turned to face him.

He walked easily, cat like in her direction, a small blue towel around his neck. He lifted it to his brow and brushed away the glistening drops of sweat.

It occurred to her that she had never seen him sweat before.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Spock. I didn't mean to interrupt you. I was just leaving."

"Unnecessary Doctor. I have over stayed my time. I believe it is your customary time."

He knew?

She smiled sheepishly and tried to think of something to say to cover her embarrassment. "That was an interesting choice of music."

"Ah yes. I find the insistent rhythms a challenging juxtaposition to the stillness of the D'vun Kaltor. Don't you?"

He remembered the time on their first mission.

Now she knew she was blushing. Well, it was apparent that he knew she still practiced the ancient Vulcan dance form. She swallowed hard, thinking frantically of something to say.

"Uh, I ... Well I find that the classical Vulcan music to be more inspiring. But to tell you the truth I hadn't thought of working out to any other music forms."

He raised both eyebrows, "If you wish to - as Dr. McCoy might say - take a chance on it, you may utilize my own musical selection. I have found them to be quite inspiring."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock." She answered with puzzlement.

Spock brushed his brow again and stepped toward the shower room, "Good morning Doctor." He said and nodded his head slightly as he left.

Christine stared in disbelief after him, "Yeah, have a good morning Mr. Spock."

She looked over the mats that still lay on the floor. It had not occurred to her that Spock was the one who left them there. She had simply been grateful for their presence the last month or so, since it had saved her the trouble of pulling them out in her bleary eyed state.

She moved to the computer interface to key up her music selection trying to figure out what exactly Spock had meant by his offer.

With a guilty little smile, she punched up Spock's selection. He *had* offered. Her eyes scanned down the list.

The first was the selection he had been working out to, an ancient tune by Carlos Santana. Next she found Satorini, Jimi Hendrix, three Indian names that she didn't recognize, Steppenwolf’s Magic Carpet Ride (a favorite of Zephram Cochran). All that the music selections seemed to have in common was that they all included strong string solos and were apparently from the pre Eugenics war era.

She decided to pick something at random and ran her finger down the display. Then she noticed the numbering system. It seemed that it had somehow gotten out of order. It seemed that way, until she read the numbers aloud.

"3, 1, 4, 15, 9, 2, 6, 35.....Pi? He numbers his music by the digits of Pi!?" She chuckled. "No one would believe me. Good lord, only Spock would number his songs by the digits of Pi!" She punched her selection in and moved to the mat with a large grin on her face.

Spock had a sense of humor! A geeky engineering type of humor, but it was there. Amazing.

In the locker room, his Vulcan hearing detected the opening strains of selection 5, Purple Haze. He cocked an eyebrow under the running water and wondered which routine she would perform.

-

Spock glanced down at the tunic. It was a new purchase and had only just arrived that day. He had no off duty clothing save the Kolinahr robe and the black traveling cloak. This was maroon and simple. A popular Vulcan cut, comfortable, utilitarian. It could not be construed as 'dressing up'. He thought again about it. Would it have been more appropriate to wear something more formal? She had not indicated what style of clothing she would be wearing. He knew it was important to humans to wear like styled clothing when they met. It was something he appreciated, from a diplomatic standpoint. It would be inappropriate to wear a military uniform into a house of peaceful worship. It would be in poor taste to wear casual clothing in a first formal date.

But this was not a formal date. It was a meeting of - colleagues. They were sharing food.

No, he thought hastily, not *sharing food*. Not in the Vulcan sense. Not with it's courtship implications. They were passing time, sharing a meal. Filling the emptiness that had been created by the command crew's temporary absence. That was all.

It's not a date. It's a meeting. A rendezvous.

No. He swallowed hard, remembering the English implications of *that* choice of wording. He felt his pulse race.

Just dinner. That was all. Just dinner and as such his clothing was entirely appropriate.

Unless he had somehow misunderstood.

-

The door to the mess hall opened with a quiet hiss. Dr. Chapel and Commander Uhura entered and moved to the replicators.

It was 1400 ship's time. Doctor McCoy, Captain Kirk and Commander Spock sat at a table over cups of steaming liquid, discussing the final preparations for the diplomatic ball on Rigel.

Spock did not see Dr. Chapel glance over her shoulder at him with a small wicked grin.

The women approached the table of men on their way to an empty table beyond them. Dr. Chapel stopped at McCoy's shoulder.

"Leonard, I just want you to know that we just finished the inoculations and everyone's been warned about the xanthum flower ale." She held a tray with one hand and passed a padd to the doctor with the other. He glanced over the report looking impressed.

"Alright, 3 hours ahead of schedule. You win, I'll go." He sighed.

"Oh, Mr. Spock thank you for letting me use your audio selections. You were correct. The rhythms were most appropriate for my workout." She was speaking to him but she was glancing absently at her tray. She swooped a finger into the thick whipped cream of the chocolate cream pie and popped a taste into her mouth.

"Music?" Kirk asked interested. "What sort of music?"

Christine smiled sweetly and for a moment Spock was certain she was going to tell him. "Oh some selections for my D'vun Kaltor routines. Perfectly measured and balanced stuff great for a mathematically designed dance."

"Sounds perfectly awful." McCoy said to his coffee as he lifted the cup to his mouth.

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, Len. So I'll mind the store while you suffer through the drinking and dancing on Rigel." She deftly changed the subject.

Spock did not show the slightest bit of the relief he felt and she noticed it with a small smile.

She swooped her finger again into the cream of the pie. "Jim, you've got to try the pie, it's heavenly."

"Pie?" the captain smiled at her. "I dunno, what would my doctor say about all those empty calories?"

"She'd say that life is short and once in a while you just need a little 'pi' in your life." She emphasized the word 'pi' with the slightest of inflections and for the briefest of seconds she glanced at Spock.

This time he did start slightly.

She had noticed.

Of course she had noticed. She was a scientist. She understood. But she was joking about it, teasing him without the others knowledge.

He felt the tips of his ears flush slightly and lifted his cup.

"Well boys," Uhura interjected, "Unless you're pulling a couple of chairs up for us we're going to sit down and have some lunch."

"C'mon Ny. I forgot you hadn't eaten." Christine smiled apologetically at her friend and they two turned to leave. "You'll be coming back to Sickbay after your 'meeting' right?" she said across the distance to McCoy as they took their seats at the next table.

"Yes, I'll be back. You ol' slavedriver." He complained grumpily.

Spock inhaled the grassy scent of his tea and closed his eyes against the sight of the Dr. Chapel licking the whipped cream from her finger one more time.

-

She surveyed the plates once again. The appetizer sat in the center of the table, fresh sliced English cucumbers and Roma tomatoes in a light balsamic vinaigrette. Soup, vegetarian miso, and Vulcan Kreila bread rounded out the main meal. She had a simple baked marion-berry cobbler for dessert.

She still hadn't decided whether to order up some ice cream for it.

Looking at the perfectly arranged vegetables glistening on the platter she felt vaguely nauseous. She swallowed hard forcing her heart down out of her throat.

It was too much food. She knew that. She knew he rarely ate such large meals. He would feel trapped, she thought. He would see the spread and feel like she was baiting some sort of trap to reel him in like a great Vulcan carp. Her mother's words echoed in her ears mockingly, 'the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.'

She felt like screaming back at it that this was different, this wasn't what it looked like. This was just...just...

Her hands were sweating.

What *was* this?

She wiped them absentmindedly on her trousers.

What the *HELL* was she doing?

-

The ship was deserted. Easily 75% of the crew had beamed down for the festivities. All remaining personnel rotated the skeleton shifts to keep the ship in orbit. Rigel was a peaceful planet and there were two other starships in orbit.

The usual recreation areas were the most deserted places on the ship as even duty personnel was allowed to beam down between shifts for short excursions.

Spock sat in his traditional chair in the corner with his lyre. It was his habit to play in the rec room every 7 days as duty allowed. Usually he was accompanied by Uhura's singing.

Tonight, however, he had the rec room to himself.

Dr. Chapel entered slowly, her head bent over her note pad buried in reports. She keyed up a comforting lunch of a cheese sandwich on white bread and a tomato juice. Without Leonard there to regale her of the evils of white bread she couldn't resist it's soothing memories.

She sat in a well lit corner, happy for the soft music that Spock made but glad for the relative quiet. She put her feet on a chair and leaned back lazily.

Her mind wandered from the long string of numbers on her inventory report as the flavor of the cheddar cheese took her back to her childhood.

Cheese sandwiches were a favorite after school snack that her father had introduced her to. She remembered how she would sit at her desk in her room lamenting the uselessness of algebra in the 'real world' and how she would never ever get it. Her father would just smile and bring a cheese sandwich on the small blue glass plates they used for snacks. He'd tell her that it wasn't the algebra that was a problem it was just that her blood sugar was low. Once she ate it she would have no problems. He was always right.

Then he would go back into the kitchen and work on dinner to the strains of his antique compact disk music.

He loved those old disks, with their rainbow colored swirls and the neat block lettered index on one side. He wouldn't part with them for anything, for all the trouble it was to load them 5 at a time into his cd player. She had never understood their charm, but she enjoyed the strange old music that they produced.

She was absently tapping her foot in time with the tune that Spock played. It was a familiar tune, he had played it before. It was slow and exotic as all Vulcan songs are. But something about it nagged at the edge of her memory.

She took another bite of the sandwich wishing once again that her father's miracle cure would work it's magic and help her through the mountain of numbers before her.

He could almost see him there in her room, bright blue eyes flashing, strains of music filtering into her room...

Spock brought the tune to a close and paused looking up at her for a moment. His voice carried across the vast empty space, "Does the music disturb you, Doctor?"

She smiled with her mouth full of sandwich and shook her head vigorously. She took a long swallow of tomato juice to clear her throat, "No not at all. You know I've always wanted to ask you, what is that song called? It's lovely."

He looked intently at her for a moment and she thought he was struggling for an instant with what he wanted to say. Then just as quickly as it had appeared, the expression faded.

"It is called Hali-duhsu."

"Hali-duhsu." She repeated, committing it to memory. "Well, it's lovely. Please, do continue."

He nodded his head slightly and bent once again over the harp. Strains of music floated across the room.

She tapped her finger in time to the new tune. It was another familiar one, one she couldn't put her finger on, but she knew it was something she had heard before. She dismissed the urge to search her memory for the name of the song and gulped down the juice.

She hated inventory.

-

It was time.

His internal time sense told him that it was time.

And yet he didn't move. He stood staring blankly at her cabin door just a bare 2 centimeters outside the door's sensor range.

Approximately 2 centimeters he thought. No, approximately 3 centimeters.

3.7 centimeters to be exact he corrected himself. As exact as he could be without a measuring device.

He wondered how close his estimate was.

It was time to go in now.

Now.

He drew in a breath relaxing his diaphragm.

Time to go.

Past time, by one minute.

He was late.

It was of no consequence, he was certain. His memory recalled the phrase 'fashionably late'. He remembered that it was not uncommon among humans to mark the casualness of an occasion by their late arrival. It was a practice he was familiar with but not well versed in.

What is fashionably late?

One minute? Two minutes? Ten?

It was time. He drew in another breath and held it this time for a moment.

He stepped forward and raised his hand to the intercom.

--

"Hali-duhsu?" She exclaimed suddenly.

Spock had been so engrossed in his playing her sudden outburst startled him and his fingers slid gracelessly across the strings with a tuneless twang.

Christine was laughing now as she rose and crossed to face him. Her gaze was marginally accusatory, "Why not call it by it's Terran name, since it's a Terran song? 'Ship of Fools'. It's an old Robert Plant song. I *knew* I recognized it!"

He didn't even consider denying the fact. "I have found several of the Terran pieces to be quite adaptable to lyre. Do you not agree?"

"Well yes, of course. It's quite nice." She paused a moment feeling rather awkward having discovered his secret. "Does Nyota know? That you adapt terran songs that is?"

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly and he nodded his head, "I suspect she does. However she has never verbalized it in the past."

She smiled at that. Uhura was the model of discretion and would never subject Spock to unnecessary chiding. Christine wondered for a moment how many times her friend had sang to the terran songs in Vulcan at their slower more 'dignified' tempo on song night.

"Well, your secret's safe with me." She assured him kindly.

He only nodded his head in acknowledgement.

Christine turned back toward her table to retrieve her note pad and that's when it happened.

That was the moment.

She had been thinking about Spock and how much he had changed. He was more relaxed now, more at peace with himself than ever before. She had seen small glimpses of his personality and found that he was a good man and becoming a comfortable...well a comfortable friend.

He had been thinking about Christine and how much she had changed. She was a mature woman now, strong and confident in her position. She drew admiration from her subordinates for her playfulness as well as her respect for them and their work. She was intelligent, discreet and quite pleasant company. He had come to regard her as one of his friends.

It wasn't a great moment, with fireworks and stars.

No shuttle accident, not even a turbolift malfunction.

No Manifest Destiny.

Just a moment.

"Would you care to share a meal this evening?"

"I would be honored."

"1900?"

"Agreed."

-

The buzzer sounded.

She gasped slightly and rose to face the door.

"Come."

The hiss of the door seemed to ring in her ears with the thrumming of her heart.

He stood for a moment in the doorway. His eyes swept the room taking in every detail, her hair, her clothing, the lighting level, the arrangement of the dishes, the simple strains of acoustic guitar playing over the cabin’s internal sound system.

He drew in a breath to speak and they both heard a sound far down the hall. It was far enough away that he knew that the approaching pair of crewmen could not yet see that First Officer Spock was standing dumbly in Dr. Christine Chapel's doorway.

With a distinctly panicked expression he stepped forward and the door closed behind him with a quiet hiss shutting out the prying eyes of the crew.

The two of them looked at each other in relief.

No one needed to know. It would only lead to speculation and rumor.

Besides, it wasn't as if it was a date.

It was just a meeting of two friends.

That’s all.

-

Ship of Fools - Robert Plant

On waves of love my heart is breaking.

And stranger still my self-control I can't rely on anymore.

New tides, surprise! My word, it's changing.

Within this frame, an ocean swells. Behind this smile I know it well.

I know why.

Beneath a lover's moon I'm waiting. I am the pilot of the storm.

Adrift in pleasure I may drown.

I built this ship it is my making.

And further more my self-control I can't rely anymore.

You claim that no man is an island.

While I land up in jeopardy more distant from you by degrees.

I walk this shore in isolation.

And at my feet eternity lays ever-sweeter plans for me.

I know why.

Crazy on a ship of fools.

Turn this boat around.

Back to my loving ground.