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Date: Sat, 05 Jun 2004 17:32:16 -0400
Subject: [ASC] NEW:  TOS Doctor [R] 3/5 K/Ch, ChFF
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Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: 1 Jun 2004 17:23:27 -0700  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: djinn@djinnslair.com (Djinn) 
 

TITLE: Doctor
AUTHOR: Djinn
CONTACT: djinn@djinnslair.com http://www.djinnslair.com
SERIES: TOS
RATING: R
CODES: K/Ch, Chapel Fic Fest
PART: 3/5
DISCLAIMERS: Paramount and Viacom own these characters--I'm just
warping canon.
SUMMARY: Sequel to "Nurse."  The continuing look at Chapel through the


The party is in the rec lounge and this time Jim is the guest of
honor.  The whole crew--or all that could get off shift--are there to
welcome him back to full duty.  It's a sign of how beloved he is that
they do this, and he blushes slightly at the applause as he blows out
the candles on the cake they've made him.  One candle for every day he
was out.  Far too many candles.  A scary number of candles.

But he's back now.  Finally back to normal.  Back to duty.  

And tonight, he can get back to other things too.  She bites back the
grin that thought brings.

He turns to look at her, smiles.  She kept the party a secret, kept
him busy in sickbay with a final examination while the others finished
setting up.

He shakes his head.  "Diagnostic table not working right?"

She shrugs.  So she lied.  It was for a good cause.  She feels a hand
on her shoulder, sees Nyota smiling at her.  She grins back.

She was worried that her friends might react badly to Jim and her
being together.  Might react the way Joe's friends are, with glares
and barely contained hostility.

She should have given them more credit.  They are happy for her, happy
for their captain.  He's been alone too long.  They do not seem to
mind at all that one of their own makes him less alone.  May even
prefer that one of their own is the one to do it.  Her friends aren't
calling her Bathsheba or Jezebel of whatever other nasty names they
can think of.

She hates running into Joe's friends in the corridors.  His Academy
roommate called her a slut.  She hasn't told Jim.  She doesn't want to
put that on him, having to defend her--or having to choose not to. 
Things will die down.  They all just need time to forget.

Jan comes up.  There's something a little wistful in her expression,
and Christine knows this is hardest for her.  She's been in love with
Jim for so long.  Long before Christine even knew he was alive.  She
looks at Janice's face, and she knows it hurts her.

"He's all better?"  Janice shoots Jim a look, smiles.  The expression
is bittersweet.  "You're taking good care of him?"

"I am."  She is careful to keep the happiness toned down a bit.  To
not be too obviously in love.  It's hard.  She'd rather share this
with Jan.  But she can't.  Not yet.  Maybe not ever.

She wanders off to the bar with Jan and Ny.  They catch up on what's
been going on while she's been sequestered with Jim in sickbay, and
later in his quarters.  Nothing much is going on.  Spock runs the ship
more than capably.  She looks over to see him standing near Jim.  He
looks pleased that his friend is back, looks happy when Jim laughs. 
Spock loves him.  She sometimes wonders if that should bother her, but
his love seems to be the kind that can share.  He certainly isn't
being mean to her.  He's actually nicer to her now that she's with his
best friend than he ever was when she wanted him for herself.

"So Joe transferred off?"  Ny is looking a bit torn.  She likes Joe. 
They get along famously.

"He did."  Christine attempts to put some sort of regret in her voice.
 She almost wishes she could feel more regret.  It should be a crime
to be this happy, to care so little that she hurt someone else to get
this happiness.

Jim comes over, smiles as he takes in the three of them. He reaches
for her glass, sips at her wine, and she rolls her eyes at him--the
move is so territorial.

But she loves that he is not going to hide this.  His hand rests on
her back, up high, then drops lower, dangerously close to no longer
being on her back at all.  She laughs softly.

He leans in.  "Dance later?"

She nods and he goes back to working the room.  Jan follows his
movement with her eyes, and it is clear she would give anything to
hear him ask her to dance later.  Christine doesn't think he will.

She feels sorry for Jan.  Sorry that she will never get him because
Jim doesn't want to be adored the way she wants to adore him.  But not
that sorry.  Christine doesn't intend to let go of him now that she's
got him.

A lieutenant from geology comes up and asks Ny to dance.  Jan watches
her go off with him, then smiles as another lieutenant, this time from
engineering, asks her to dance.

Christine sips her drink.  No one will ask her now.  Not until they
know how this works.  Not until they figure out if Jim will let her
dance with other people.

She smiles.  Jim doesn't _let_ her do anything.  He'd die if he heard
her even think that.  She's a free agent and she suspects that's why
he loves her and how he wants to keep her.  At his side by choice. 
Never by force.  She can dance with whomever she pleases, so long as
she ends up with him at the end of the night.

Tonight though, she's not interested in dancing with anyone else.  She
can barely get her mind off what will come later.  She didn't tell Jim
he was cleared for takeoff as far as sex was concerned.  Didn't think
he would have agreed to go to the rec lounge if she had.  So she told
him probably a few more days.  He was disappointed.  Very
disappointed.

She'll make it up to him later.

"Jim's looking great.  You must have one hell of a bedside manner." 
The smell of bourbon accompanies Len's words.  She knows he is
drinking out of relief.  He's been as worried about Jim as she has.

"You've seen my bedside manner.  It's fairly standard."

He grins.  "Somehow, I think he might see a different side of you."

She laughs.  "Somehow you might be right."

"You want to dance?"

She decides it would be good for the crew to see her do it.  "Yes."

He puts down his drink, takes hers and sets it on the bar, and leads
her to the dance floor.  She glances over at Jim.  He grins at her,
then turns back to Scotty.

Len is a good dancer, and she relaxes as he leads.  He irritates the
hell out of her at times, but she trusts him.  She'd trust him with
her life...or Jim's, which seems to mean far more to her these days
anyway.

"Are you happy, darlin'?"

"I am."  She sighs.  She has never been this happy.

"He's happy too.  You're good for him."

"We're good for each other."  She smiles.  In so many ways, they are
good for each other.

The music winds down and Jim is behind Len, cutting in.  Len gives her
up with easy grace.

The song is romantic, slow and sensual.  She has to remind herself
that they aren't alone, not to move against him the way she'd like to.

He pulls her closer.  She can feel he is aroused.  Knows she is too.  

She whispers in his ear.  "I lied when I said you had to wait."

He nearly stops dancing.

"Tonight, if you want it."

"If?"  His voice actually squeaks.  

"I know I want it."  She laughs softly, the air escaping more from her
nose than her mouth.

"You bitch."  His voice is low, in her ear, so only she can hear him. 
"You tell me this now?  When we've got hours to go?"

She laughs again.  This time it is closer to a snicker.  He brings out
the devil in her.

The song ends and he holds her close.  "We go again."

"I thought you might say that."  

As soon as the next song begins, he is moving them.  "So we can
finally do it?"

"Yes."  She runs her fingers up his back.  "After...the...party."

"Bitch," he says again, his hand tightening on hers.

She knows it will be a long night.  For both of them.

------------------------


They are walking back to his quarters, the party has finally wound
down enough for them to leave, and Jim is dragging.  He seems out of
energy and she worries that the party was too much for him.  Too much,
too soon.

He yawns, his feet seem to be shuffling not hitting the floor with his
normal stride.

She takes his arm.  "Are you all right?"

When he looks at her, there is no life in his eyes.  He just seems
empty.  "I'm tired, Chris."  His voice is off.

She feels something catch in her throat.  "We're almost home."  Home. 
His quarters are home.  She's moved in, isn't really sure how it
happened.  A few things here, a few there, and suddenly she has enough
stuff in his quarters to get ready in the morning and never have to
set foot in her own rooms unless she wants to.

He doesn't appear to mind at all that she's fighting him for room in
his closet.  He seems to like having her that close by.

He yawns again, palms the door open with none of his normal energy.

"Maybe we should go to sickbay?" 

He shakes his head, walks to the bed.  "I'm just tired, Chris."  He
lies down, his arm thrown over his eyes.

She stares down at him.  Is a little ashamed at how disappointed she
is.  She wants him so, but if he's this tired, then he has to rest.
She won't have her libido be the cause of a relapse.

He seems to be shaking.  Is he convulsing?  Then she realizes his
mouth is trembling.  He's trying not to laugh.

"You son of a bitch."  She reaches for him, but he is too fast, grabs
her wrists, yanks her down to him.

"Payback hurts, eh?"  He kisses her fiercely.  "You think you can tell
me what you did and then make me wait through that entire party
without me getting revenge?"

He is pulling off her clothes, nothing tender or gentle in his
motions.

"Will I like your revenge?"  She rubs against him, sees him shudder.  

"Oh, yes."  He kisses her again, lets go of her wrists and pulls her
close, as close as she can get to him.

She is trying to pull off his clothing, but he is not helping her at
all.  His tongue forces its way into her mouth, and she forgets about
liberating his shirt.

His hands are everywhere, on her breasts, at her groin, touching her,
prodding and teasing relentlessly until she comes as he kisses her,
the sound muffled by his lips covering hers.

He pulls away, yanks off his shirt.  She runs her hands down his
chest, touching where the Klingon weapon tore a hole through him. 
There is no scar.  Nothing to remind her of how close she came to
losing him.  Nothing but her memories.

"I love you," she says softly.

"I love you."   He kisses her hard then kicks his boots and pants off
with a minimum of fuss.  Undergarments follow.

They are naked, skin against skin.  Warmth to warmth.  She shudders at
the feeling as he slips into her, firm and large and filling her.

She moans.  So good.  So unbelievably good.

"Chris."  His mouth finds hers, lips suddenly soft again, gentle and
tender even as he moves against her in a much less tender way.  He
closes his eyes, suddenly stops moving.

"Jim?"

"Don't move."  He leans down, whispers to her, "Want you so bad.  Have
to slow this down."

She moves her hips, pushing up against him.

He thrusts into her hard, and she groans in pleasure.  His hands
capture her wrists again; he pulls them over her head.  "I said, don't
move."

"I must have misunderstood."  She knows better than to do it again.  

He kisses her then.  Deep, hungry kisses.  His hands grip her wrists
tightly, and she fights against him, surprised when he doesn't let go.

He is smiling.  "Try harder."

She does.  He is too strong for her.  She can't get away.  She stops
struggling.

"I'm all better, Doctor."

"So I see."   When he shakes his head, she says, "So I feel."

"Feel this."  He pulls her hands up a bit more.  "You're mine."  His
tone is fierce, and he kisses her again, taking his time before
letting go of her wrists so she can wrap her arms around him.

"Jim."  There is so much more she wants to say, but words are
deserting her.

He is moving inside her again.  Slower this time, more deliberately. 
Firm, long strokes that send her reeling.  He reaches down, touches
her and she shudders.  He begins to move harder and faster and she is
already so sensitive and the feeling of him moving in and out of her
sends her over the edge again.

He follows her, hands clutching her shoulders, head thrown back.  She
hopes to god his walls are soundproofed.  They are both making a great
deal of noise.

She looks up at him, sees that he is grinning.  "Welcome back to duty,
Jim."

"This is hardly duty, love."  He kisses her as he rolls off her,
pulling her so she ends up curled up next to him.  He lays his head
back on the pillow, exhales loudly.  "My god that felt good."

She chuckles as she moves her leg over his, getting closer to him. He
rubs her back, kisses her.  He closes his eyes, then sneaks one open
to look at her.  She laughs again.

"You're all right?" he asks.

"Of course, I'm all right.  Why wouldn't I be?"  She kisses him, loves
that he cares if she is all right.

He sighs, moans a little.  She runs her hand over his chest then down
to his abdomen, checking to make sure the skin is not too warm.

"Always the doctor," he murmurs.  "I'm fine, Chris."  

She nods.  "I know.  Just checking though. Indulge me."

"Any way you want."  He eases her to her back.  "In fact, I've got
something in mind."  He pushes her knees up, until her feet lie flat
on the bed.  Then he moves her legs gently apart and stares down at
her.

She has never felt more exposed.  She feels as if she is blushing with
her entire body.

"You don't mind if I do this?" he asks as he leans in, begins to lick
and kiss and suck.

She answers in something that she thinks will be coherent, but the
words come out as just random sounds.

"I'll take that as a no."  He is gripping her thighs, low, where they
join her buttocks.  His fingers press almost painfully into her skin,
and she begins to writhe as sensation buffets her.

Just like the first time he pleasured her, he controls her.  Knows
exactly where she is, how close to the edge.  He pulls back just
enough to keep her going, not enough to draw her out of the moment. 
She cannot relax, just keeps rising up a notch, tension whipping
across her body.

"Jim, please?"  She touches his head, plays with his hair, trying to
encourage him to finish it please, please, please.

He eases back, and she cries out in frustration.

"Payback, Chris.  It's a bitch," he says before bending down again. 
He takes her back up, leads her to the abyss and then pulls back
again.

"Jim?"  She is trying to move her body closer to his mouth, his lips,
his wonderful tongue.

He digs into her thighs again, and it does hurt. She cries out just as
his tongue finds her again.  This time he takes her quickly, pushes
her over, and she cries out loudly.

She has never made this much noise during sex.

He smiles.  She pulls him up, her arms barely cooperating as he slowly
slides over her.  They kiss and he pushes inside her and the pleasure
begins again.

"I'll never get enough of you," he says, his hand stroking damp hair
off her forehead.

She has a feeling neither of them will get any sleep. 

She finds she doesn't care.

--------------------

She is staring into the microscope when Len nudges her.  

"Someone's here to see you."

She looks over, sees Jim standing in the doorway.  He gestures with a
tilt of his head for her to join him.

"Time for lunch?" Len asks.

She puts the sample back in the stasis unit, turns the microscope off.
 "Yep."

"Sure have been taking lunch a lot."

"I always take lunch."  She shoots him a look.  "Is my taking lunch a
problem, Doctor McCoy?"

He grins, ignoring the starch in her tone.  "I just never see you in
the mess hall.  Jim either.  It's the oddest thing."  He winks.

She smiles as she shrugs.  "You must be just missing us."

"Must be."  He turns and goes back to his office.  

She can hear him chuckling as she hurries to join Jim.

"Problem, Doctor?"

"Why no, Captain."

Their formality is fooling no one.  But it makes them feel better.  A
little less like teenagers as they hurry down the corridor to the
lift.  They stand very far away from each other, know from experience
that the doors can open awfully damn fast if you aren't paying
attention.

Fortunately, it was Spock who caught them kissing.  Christine isn't
sure she's ever heard anyone clear their throat quite so emphatically
as Spock did that day.

The doors open and they walk out, managing some sense of decorum as he
palms the door to his quarters open and then waits for it to close.

But as soon as the door locks the outside world away from them, they
abandon any attempt to act mature.  Boots go flying, clothes land on
chairs, the table, the end of the bed.  She is very glad she no longer
wears her hair in the elaborate styles she once favored.  She would
never be able to recreate them.  A plain bun is much easier.  She
makes a point of complaining about it during her shift, redoing it
during the day so that her colleagues are used to it looking
different.  It may fool no one, but like their formality, it makes her
feel better.

She pushes him down onto the bed, climbs onto him.  He's ready for
her, and she sinks onto him and sighs.  This completeness, it is
overwhelming.  And addictive.  She is addicted to Jim.  He is addicted
to her.  Sex is a drug, love is one too.

They can barely keep their hands off each other.  

She keeps waiting for this feeling to go away, for the lust and
urgency to wane.  But it shows no sign of cooling down.  The chemistry
between them has been growing, not dying, since they first made love. 
The more she falls in love with him, the more she wants him.  The
better he gets to know her, the more he seems to desire her.

It is not her usual paradigm.  She knows it is not his either.  They
both had one reality prior to this.  Love ends.

Which isn't fair to poor Joe.  She knows he wouldn't have left her. 
On the other hand, she's not sure if she really loved him or if she
was just content to let him love her.  Certainly, he was good for her
pride, made her feel warm and wanted again.  But he never touched her
the way Jim does with just a glance.

The way Jim is touching her now, body and soul, as he watches her move
sensuously.  His eyes are intense, a tiny smile on his face as he
thrusts up, meeting her own movements.  His fingers are busy, and she
arches her back, crying out.

He soon follows.

They have timed themselves.  They can find pleasure in as little as
ten minutes.  They did it once, as a dare, tried to see how fast they
could do it and still have fun.  They can also make it last all night
and into the morning.  They haven't been late for shift, but they have
cut it close.

She thinks they should buy stock in whoever makes the godawful
nutrition bars they routinely wolf down before heading back after
lunch or first thing in the morning.

She collapses on his chest, feels his hands rubbing along her back in
feather-light touches that make her shiver.  She raises her head,
props her chin lightly on his breastbone.

"What?"  He smiles, runs his finger down her forehead and nose till he
gently taps on the tip.  "What are you thinking about?"

"You .  Me.  Sex.  Why we aren't over each other yet."

He laughs.   His hand is gentle on her cheek.  "I'm sorry.  Did you
want to be over me?"

"No.  But it's been months."

"I know."  He grins. Pure satisfaction in the expression.

She laughs.  "And it just gets better."

He pulls her up so he can kiss her.  "Isn't that what it's supposed to
do?"

"Come to think of it..."  She kisses him back, their lips soft and
languorous now that their libidos have been momentarily appeased.

She rolls off of him and he cuddles her close.  

"Does it bother you?"  He is staring down at her the way she loves. 
Serious, tender.  So at ease with her, his defenses completely down.

"That it's getting better?"  She ruffles his hair.  "I think I'm just
not used to it."

He nods.  "Maybe you should get used to it."  He pulls her closer,
loops his leg over her.  The move is possessive and she absolutely
loves it.  "Maybe I should too?"

"I think you should."  She closes her eyes for a moment, knows that he
won't let them fall asleep.  "So are you playing chess with Spock
tonight?"

"Yep."  He kisses her forehead.  "Come sit with us for a while."

"I don't like to horn in on his time with you."

"I'd like you to get to know him better."  He suddenly laughs.  "Which
given your past feelings for him is probably incredibly stupid on my
part."

"Nyah.  I'm over him--when does he get off shift?"  

He laughs and she does too.  She kisses the underside of his chin,
then moves her lips toward his ear.  He's very ticklish there, but
only if she does it just so.

He moves away, laughing.  "Would you stop that?"  His fingers play
along the small of her back, where he knows she is ticklish if he
comes at it from just the right angle.

She jumps.  "Stop that."  

They kiss.  It's a very long, very sweet kiss.  His tongue moves
carelessly in her mouth, and she moans as his easy movements begin to
arouse her again.

He pulls away, grins as his fingers find her.  His other hand is
holding her tightly, and he pushes her up so he can kiss her chest. 
Soon he is doing more than just kissing.  Competing sensations rocket
through her as his sucking mouth and questing fingers nearly overwhelm
her.   He doesn't stop, and she can feel herself losing control.  Soon
she is crying out, and he lets her come down a bit before moving on
top of her.

It always turns him on when he's brought her pleasure.  She loves
that.

She also loves what he is doing now, his motion sure, in and out and
so damn good.  He scoots her legs up, around his waist, then higher. 
She gasps at the feeling as he goes deeper, harder.

He is so unbelievably good at this.

He has told her the same thing. 

She wonders if it is that they are both good, or if they just want
each other so much that anything would feel like heaven.

She would not doubt it.

He finishes and lies still against her.

"I love you," she whispers.  

He murmurs it back as he kisses along her collarbone.

She glances at the chrono.  It is nearly time to go back but she
doesn't move, just enjoys the feel of him on top of her, still inside
her.  She can't imagine not loving him, not feeling exactly this way. 
Not wanting to be with him always.

He touches her lips.  "What?"

"Nothing."

She will not think sad things.  Not when everything between them is so
good.

Don't borrow trouble, her mother used to tell her.  It's damned good
advice.

-----------------------------

She is sitting alone in the mess.  It is an off hour, but she has
finally pulled herself away from the research she started when Jim
left the ship.  She pushes food around her plate, stalling.  She feels
funny sleeping in his quarters without him there, but her own quarters
are not welcoming.  She's spent so little time in them over the last
few months.

"Doctor?"

She looks up.  Spock holds a tray.  She smiles at him, a bit of a
question probably showing in the smile.  She is not sure what he
wants.

He may not want anything.  This may be his idea of small talk.  Her
title, maybe a nod, then see ya.

"May I join you?"

She stares at him, realizes what he has asked and nods too quickly,
trying to make up for any rudeness.

"You feeling okay, Spock?"

He almost smiles.  "I imagine you are missing Jim."

"I am."  She wonders if he is perceptive for figuring that out, or if
she is just obvious.

"The ship is different when he is not onboard."  

The whimsy of the statement makes her smile.  "Yes, it is different."

Jim would correct her.  "She," he would say.  "She is different."  
But Jim is not here.  He is on Starbase 571, meeting with some
admirals and other Federation brass.  Two days out of her reach for
the first time since he was wounded.  She's used to him being nearby,
if not on the ship then just down on some planet they are orbiting. 
But he is gone, off on a shuttle and far from her.  The ache she feels
surprises her, worries her a little.

She stops pushing her food around, begins to really eat it.  Spock
digs in to his own meal.  She ponders the irony.  Once she would have
given anything to sit with him in the mess. Would have been falling
all over herself to provide lively conversation, not sitting in this
strange, easy silence.

"Life is strange," she murmurs.  

He of course hears her.  Nothing like Vulcan hearing.  "How so,
Christine?"

She smiles.  "Once upon a time, you would never have been caught dead
in this situation."

"Once upon a time you were not involved with my friend."  He goes back
to eating.

His world is a very simple place at times.

"You must be relieved."  She grins, tries to show she is teasing him. 
"No more running in terror away from me."

"Terror would be an overstatement."  His eyes almost seem to twinkle.

She laughs.  "Mild horror?"

He lifts an eyebrow.

"Dismay."

"That might be accurate."

His words would have hurt her once upon a time.  Now they just make
her laugh again.

"Jim is very happy," he says quietly.

She looks up at him.

"You make him very happy."

She smiles, trying to let him know that she appreciates what he is
saying.  That she understands the gift he is giving her.  "He makes me
very happy.  I guess we're even."

"I would not have picked you for him."

She bursts out laughing.  "And you were doing so well."  

He waits for her to stop chuckling.  "You know what I mean, even if
the words came out harsher than I intended."  He gives her a stern
look.  "Moreover, I do not think that you would have chosen him for
yourself either."

She nods slowly.  He's right.  She wouldn't have.  Practically ran
screaming when Jim decided he was interested in her.  "Well, it is
what is."

"Very Vulcan of you, Doctor."

She laughs.  He no doubt means that as a compliment of the highest
order.

"Do you like me, Spock?"

He thinks overly hard about the question and she makes a ticking
sound, like the second hand on a chrono.  He glares at her.  Mildly of
course.

"I do not know you well enough to say, Christine."  

"Honest answer, anyway."  She grins.  "Aren't you going to ask me if I
like you?"

"No."  He continues to eat.

"Doesn't matter in the least whether I do or don't, huh?"

"It does not."  The look he turns on her is amused, cutting the
sharpness of the words.

"I'm so glad we're having this little talk."  She leans back, sips her
coffee.

If Jim were here, she wouldn't be sitting in the mess hall this late,
trading gentle insults with Spock.  She and Jim would probably be in
bed by now--doing anything but sleeping.   "I miss him, Spock."

"He will be home soon."  His look is gentle.

"Did he ask you to look out for me again?"

"No.  He did not."  He pushes his plate away slightly, leans back and
looks at her. "You seemed very alone."

She looks around the empty mess hall.  "Spock, it's twenty-two
hundred.  Who eats at twenty-two hundred?"  She leans forward. 
"Except people who want to eat alone."

He nods, a visual equivalent of touche.  

She sighs.  "I didn't feel like being with anyone.  I think I'm
wallowing in how much I miss him."

Jim's only been gone for four days.  She can survive without him, she
just doesn't like trying.

"Wallowing is often counter-productive.  Jim would not be pleased."

"You're right, Spock.  He wouldn't."

"Do you play chess?"

She shakes her head.  "Sorry.  Poker.  Blackjack.  Cribbage. 
Backgammon."

He looks interested.  "There is a Vulcan game similar to backgammon. 
I could teach you."

"You don't have to."

"I am aware of that."  He gets up.  "Tomorrow, after our shift ends?"

She studies him, sees something shift in his face.  "You miss him
too?"

"I do."  He takes her tray along with his own to the recycler, meets
her at the door.  "I will see you in the rec lounge tomorrow,
Christine."

"Okay."  She rides the lift up with him, walks with him partway down
the corridor until he turns in to where his quarters are.  "Goodnight,
Spock."

"Goodnight."  His voice is cut off by the door closing behind him.

She smiles, then walks to her own, very empty quarters.


End part 3 of 5

--
Forwarded to ASCL by:
Stephen Ratliff
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