All Your Ghosts Are Calling At The Speed Of Light I Cannot Answer.
Part 1 is here.
***
Pike's in the hospital for another week of observation and Christine comes in every day to visit him. Sometimes, she brings him music to keep him from going crazy over the media screen playing constantly in his room (he has a thing for jazz and Louis Armstrong, a love for the way the music doesn't follow any set rule but just wanders off to find its own way to be) and sometimes she brings him a book or two to keep his mind occupied while he's recovering (he seems to have a love for classic mystery and a particular fondness for Raymond Chandler, which delights Christine more than she can say). Sometimes she comes in to find Kirk in there keeping him company, both of them with charming smiles and sad eyes when they notice her in the room, and she stays and makes them laugh because she can't stand to see the way they look at each other with guilt and regret.
There's a steady line of former cadets and current crew who drop by the hospital to see Pike. Spock follows Kirk, Uhura follows Spock, and even that cute Russian kid, Chekov, drops by to spend some time with his former captain. Pike looks exhausted by the end of each visit, but he enjoys the company and the chance to catch up with his former crew. When Christine isn't curled up in a chair next to him, playing with his hair and laughing at all his teasing remarks, she's either supervising experiments at the bio-research lab that was her home before she found her way to the Enterprise or mentoring baby medical cadets and explaining to them that despite his bluster and angry face, McCoy isn't as terrifying as he looks.
Kirk hasn't gotten the Enterprise yet because there's too much to do to build the Academy back up again before Starfleet can send more ships into space for five-year missions, so all the ranked officials who can, get into mentoring and teaching. Sulu teaches Advanced Hand-to-Hand Combat and Advanced Botany while Kirk lectures on Ancient Philosophies, Survival Strategy, and Tactical Analysis; Uhura teaches Advanced Phonology and Interspecies Ethics and Protocol while Spock takes over for Astrophysics and Forensic Pathology; Scotty and Chekov are in charge of Basic Warp Design and Transporter Theory; and Christine and McCoy split their time between Exobiology, Klingon Physiology, and Archaeology. And there's still a long list of crew members and Starfleet personnel who are involved in taking over classes with no teachers and making sure that all students are grounded in the basics of what they're being taught.
If anyone thinks it's odd that people only a few years older than them are teaching their classes, no one says anything. Everyone knows what's happened, and for those who don't, there's a big marble wall at the entrance of the Academy with the names of the fallen chiseled onto it to remind them. Every cadet feels a duty to do his or her or its best for the people lost to the Vulcan genocide, Starfleet personnel and Vulcans alike, and enrollment at the Academy has never been higher.
It's overwhelming to come into class and see so many eager, determined faces, faces of all races and cultures, staring at her and waiting to be taught and shaped, but Christine feels a responsibility to them, feels the need to do her best by them, so she swallows her nerves and writes her name on the holographic board and starts her class as she always does.
***
Pike gets released from the hospital in time to go to the presentation ceremony where the Council is handing over responsibility of the Enterprise to Kirk. He's dressed in a neatly pressed white and gray Admiral's uniform and glides onto the platform in a hover-chair, looking calm and relaxed, even smiling with amusement when Kirk relieves him of his duty as Captain of the Enterprise.
Only Christine knows how much he'd struggled to be able to achieve that calm, how hard he'd fought to be able to smile at Jim and genuinely mean his "I am relieved" response, accepting the loss of his dream to captain the Enterprise and finding it in himself to be happy that Jim finally has his chance to prove himself to everyone. When he shakes hands with Jim, his Starfleet insignia ring glinting in the light, the audience thunders their applause in response, Pike clapping along with them, and Christine can see the look of disbelief on Jim's face, like he can't quite believe that this reaction is all for him.
Damn boy, she thinks, her heart twisting at the shy, proud smile Jim gives all of them, he's going to be an impossible leader and a complete pain in her ass like every other starship captain she's ever met. She finds herself wiping away tears and whistling cheerfully like she's at a rally instead of a solemn Starfleet assembly and she doesn't give a damn because it makes Jim smile and Pike laugh, and that's all that matters to her.
She means to go visit Pike after the ceremony is over, but cadets need to talk to her and McCoy needs her in one of the labs, and then Nyota catches her on her way to Pike's office (that she can still never think of without blushing) and asks to talk to her. She's a little frantic over Spock's decision to leave Starfleet and go to New Vulcan, something that surprises the hell out of Christine, even though she understands why he wants to go.
The worry on Nyota's face calls for a long dinner with lots of wine and even more talk, both of them weighing the pros and cons of Spock leaving for New Vulcan (pro: he helps rebuild his planet and maybe finds a way to heal amongst his people, con: it may mean the end of their relationship) versus his and Uhura's relationship making it long-distance (fairly decent, although Nyota confesses to being terrible on personal comm calls, a fact that has Christine giggling into her wineglass considering that Uhura is a communications expert) versus Uhura moving to New Vulcan to be with Spock (less than nil, Uhura has a place in Starfleet that she's carved out for herself with her brains and her tenacity and her heart, and she's not giving it up for anyone, no matter how much she loves him).
By the time they're done discussing the possibilities, completely ruling out the seduction method that would just embarrass Spock and apparently doesn't work on Vulcans anyway, and coming up with no workable solutions just yet, it's late at night and Chapel is more than a little tipsy from all the wine. She heads over to Pike's office anyway on a hunch that he'll still be there either working on a project or still in meetings with support Command staff because, as she's found out from the hospital staff and her own personal observations, Pike never stops working. She wonders when, or if, he has time for sleep.
He's in his office as she expects him to be, his dark head bent over a stack of folders on his desk as he scribbles notes on a pad next to him. He still has the spartan office and the overflowing bookcases and the big, solid desk that he'd taken her on so many months ago. She has fond memories of this office.
She knocks politely, deciding to be novel for once, and asks, "Can I come in?"
He looks up at her, pushing his glasses up to get a better look at her, and her knees get weak again as he smiles wolfishly and waves her in. "You wore a skirt," he says in a pleased rumble, taking in her red cadet skirt that she had worn for the assembly and never had the chance to change out of before she'd been ambushed by academic life. "I like it."
She saunters over to his desk, behind his desk, and leans her hip against the edge of it, close enough to touch him if she wanted to. "I love how you assume I always wear these scraps of material just for you," she smiles teasingly, reaching out to touch the side frame of his spectacles and trying very hard not to let on how much she likes them on him. "Like it's not just some massive coincidence or a universal conspiracy that I always end up in this goddamn candystriper-esque outfit whenever I'm in your office."
"By my desk," he adds pointedly, sliding a hand up her thigh just to hear her gasp, removing his glasses and placing them on his desk with his other hand. "Or on my desk, which I like a lot better."
"I remember," she says in a strained voice as he pulls her closer and slides his hands over her ass, pressing his face against her chest and holding her there, breathing in her scent and luxuriating in her warmth for a few minutes. She runs her fingers through his hair, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple, his jaw, whatever she can reach with her hands and her mouth. "Hey, sugar," she says softly, feeling the tension in his muscles, in the clench of his jaw. "What's up?"
He lets out a shaky sigh and leans up to press his mouth to hers in a gentle, slow kiss that leaves her feeling vulnerable and lost in him. "It's just been a long day," he says quietly, his fingers teasing random patterns against the backs of her thighs. "I've been surrounded by admirals and captains all day long, and I think I'm going to stun the next person who tries to talk to me about writing new protocols and regulations for the new Starfleet."
"Poor baby," she says sympathetically, kissing him again because he looks tired and aggravated and she wants him so much that she aches with it. She licks open his mouth and nips his lower lip, letting out a soft sound of need when he yanks her onto his lap, her legs on either side of his, and pushes her down against him. He's already hard with his need for her, and she rocks against him for a bit because it makes him shiver and tighten his grip on her thighs and curse the fact that he's not already inside her. "One of these days," she gasps as he slides his hand down under her panties and slips two fingers into her, "we're going to do it missionary style like everyone else, and I'm finally going to know what it's like to fuck you in an actual goddamn bed."
He laughs against her mouth, his fatigue dissipating as her fingers clutch at him, as her teeth leaves marks on his skin. "I was saving the bed for our fourth date," he says breathlessly, bringing his fingers up to his mouth to suck the taste of her off of them just to make her moan. "Jesus Christ, Christine," he groans when she reaches down and fumbles for the zipper on his pants, pushing her panties to the side and sliding her onto his cock just as she pulls it out.
She lets out a short cry as he slides into her, her face pressed into the curve of his throat and her fingers digging grooves into his arms as she moves, rocking her hips in a wild, abandoned rhythm that has him moaning her name and kissing her like he needs her to breathe. She's so wound up from weeks of not having him, of being worried about him and not be able to do anything to help him, of waging this internal war between what she feels for him and what she's willing to admit to that all it takes is a particularly heartfelt "Christine" and she's coming with a shudder and the whisper of his name.
He holds her tight against him and comes silently, his breathing harsh and unsteady as he mouths her jaw, her throat, any uncovered area of her that he can reach. "I thought I was never going to see you again," he says in a quiet, anguished voice, and she feels the prick of tears against her eyes at the pain in his voice. "When Nero," and she tries not to notice how he stumbles over the name, "when I was on the ship, I kept thinking of you. It was all that kept me sane sometimes," he says with a small smile. "I kept thinking of you in my classes and how you always looked like you wanted to hit me whenever I told you what you'd done wrong--"
"I did, God," she laughs unevenly, feeling the lump in her throat grow until she thinks she's going to choke. "I used to dream about getting one good punch in just to prove to you that I wasn't a complete screw-up."
"You were one of my best students," he says softly, and she has to clench her jaw to stop herself from letting out a sob at his words. "You took everything I gave you and came back at me with everything you had and I knew you were going to be the best at whatever you chose to do."
"I had a good teacher," she says humbly. "He was kind of an ass, but I learned a lot from him."
He chuckles softly. "Well, he enjoyed teaching you, I can tell you that much." He reaches up to touch her face, tracing the curve of her lower lip with his thumb, his face solemn and sad. "The past two months with you, they were..." His hand moves in a half-hearted gesture and falls away from her face. "It was everything I hoped it would be," he says softly, and she can hear everything he's trying not to tell her, can hear it in his words and see it in his eyes.
She doesn't want to look at his face because if she does, she's going to break down. "This sounds an awful lot like goodbye," she says with a bravado she doesn't feel, and she really hopes it isn't because it's going to hurt so much more than anyone else she's ever been with.
He cups her face and tilts it up to his. "Do you want it to be?" he asks seriously. "I don't want you to feel like you have to stay--"
"Why are you asking me this?" She keeps trying to find a thread of anger in her, hoping that if she gets angry, then at least she can push away these tears that keep threatening and fight for him, but all she feels is a hollowness in her belly that's become too familiar over the years.
"Because everything's changed," he says honestly, his fingers gently skimming down her throat to rest against her nape. "I'm in a chair and my career as captain is over, I'm going to be starting physiotherapy tomorrow, psychiatric sessions the day after, and I'm going to be running Starfleet Command in a matter of weeks." His voice is even as he recites the facts, and it's only the lines of strain around his eyes that tell Christine how hard it is for him to say any of this. "You're going to be on the Enterprise in about a month and you're going to be gone on a five-year mission, and we're probably not going to see each other much for the next while, and when we do, it's probably going to be too short and not satisfying and I'm going to be a bastard for the next few months anyway."
"You're giving me an out," she says hoarsely, reading between the very obvious lines and the look of resignation on his face. "You're saying that we can just break it off and no harm, no foul because you're no longer captain and I'm going to be on a spaceship for five years?"
"Pretty much," he sighs, looking unflinchingly at her. "It's your choice."
She's silent for a few minutes, just breathing through her shock and disbelief, and she feels something approaching relief when she finally finds a skein of fury in the roil of emotions living inside her. Lifting her head up, she tightens her grip on his shoulders and growls, "Listen up, you arrogant son of a bitch," not even caring about the surprised look on his face. "If you think that I am going to be impressed with all this self-sacrificing bullshit you're doing, think again. You think I'm going to be scared away by your mood swings and bad temper while you learn how to walk again?"
She shoves her face into his, feeling a flush of anger run thorough her as the words pour out of her. "I almost married a medical archaeologist. He was a genius, he was the best in his field, he was described as the 'Louis Pasteur of archaeological medicine' and everyone told me how lucky I was that he was marrying me, and then he left me at the altar for a bunch of fucking androids on a freezing planet, and you will never be worse than him, not even on the worst fucking day of your life, so don't you give me any of this crap about how you're going to be too much for me to handle or, so help me God, I will shoot you so full of random medications, you won't know if you're coming or going or if you just have space herpes."
She takes a deep breath, feeling strangely light-headed and embarrassed from the rush of emotion and the shouting, and he raises an eyebrow at her, making her blush. "Space herpes?" he asks simply.
"I was on a roll," she mumbles, feeling torn between humiliation and relief at the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "I say stupid shit when I'm angry."
"I'll remember that for the future," he smiles warmly, stroking his fingertips across the back of her neck. "Does that entire tirade mean that you want to continue our relationship?"
"You know," she sighs, "only McCoy's really allowed to make me feel like an idiot since that's part of our relationship as Chief Medical Officer and Head Nurse."
He grins at her, his entire face alight with amusement and delight. "And as Admiral and your possible boyfriend, which is probably going to get me reprimanded by the Vice Admiral if he ever finds out, not that I actually give a shit," he says easily, waggling his eyebrows at her just to make her laugh, "what am I allowed to do?"
She bites her lip and looks carefully at him, seeing nothing but laughter and a deeper emotion that seems to mirror what she feels. Taking a chance, she leans forward and kisses him gently. "Anything you want?"
He smiles against her mouth. "How about anything you want?"
"Ohh," she purrs as she settles herself more firmly in his lap, "I like that."
"Goddammit, woman," he curses as she reminds him that she's still sitting on top of him with her panties pushed to the side and his dick still inside her.
"You're not going to pull this shit again, are you?" she says sternly, tilting his face up to hers and glaring at him. "Because seriously, if I have to go through this again--"
"Random hypos at ten paces," he says wryly, "I got it." He reaches up and brushes her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "You know I didn't actually want you to leave, right?" he asks quietly.
She shrugs, a sharp, tense movement. "I thought you didn't, but I've been wrong about men before. Roger wasn't the first to leave me."
"I'm sorry," he says softly, pressing his face into the crook of her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her waist. "I thought I was making things easier--"
"Well, don't." She wraps herself around him and holds tight. "I can handle anything you throw at me, remember? Don't try to make my decisions for me and don't give me ultimatums. I hate that."
She feels his head moves as he nods and says, "Okay." She leans her head down to press fierce, sweet kisses against his mouth. "We're going to get it wrong a lot," she says reassuringly, smiling at the hopeful look on his face. "We're incredibly brilliant, highly imperfect, unbelievably stubborn people, and there's probably going to be a lot of fighting."
"As long as there's make-up sex," he laughs softly.
"Precisely," she grins. "I just want to have a chance with you, Chris," she says tenderly, watching his face soften at her words. "It's not going to be perfect, but it's going to be something good and wonderful, and I want to have it with you."
"Smooth talker," he rasps, tangling his fingers in her hair and pulling her down for a lingering kiss that leaves her breathless. "You're stealing all my best lines."
"So do something about it," she challenges, laughing when he nips at her chin.
"I will," he promises, soothing the hurt with a flick of his tongue. "As soon as we finish conducting tonight's business."
"Business?"
"Business." He traces the line of her jaw with his mouth, relishing the soft noises of want that she makes. "Like, do we go home where we can fuck on the nice big bed you keep asking for or do we go with convenience and I put you on top of my desk and eat you out until you're screaming?"
She's glad she's already sitting down because she's pretty sure she'd fall to her knees if she were still standing. "Well, I do like beds," she admits, gasping when he lifts her out of his lap and gently places her on the table, her legs already wrapping around his shoulders as he pushes her skirt up. "Then again, I am all about the convenience factor."
"I have the strangest feeling I've done this before," he laughs.
"Yeah," she sighs happily, "but you'd better remind me again just in case we haven't."
Then he puts his mouth on her and whatever else she's about to say gets lost as she fists her hands in his hair and cries out his name.
***
On his first day of physiotherapy, he curses for the entire hour in a variety of languages while his physical therapist, a shorter, compact Latino named Edouardo, patiently works his muscles, lets him vent himself hoarse, and makes him laugh by telling him affectionate stories about his family and all the funny things they say. When the session is done, Pike shakes Edouardo's hand and thanks him, and leaves with Christine by his side.
He's silent for a little while, working through his frustration and anger while Christine drives him back to his office in his Starfleet vehicle, leaving him to his thoughts until he's ready to talk. By the time they get out of the car and head to the cafeteria for lunch, he's back to teasing her and making quiet promises of all the things he's going to do to her once they get back to his home for the night.
She smiles to herself as Kirk waves out to them, McCoy tucked into his back like he's surgically attached to Kirk, and Pike waves them over to join them for lunch. They're going to be fine, she tells herself as they sit down at one of the caf tables, and for once, she believes it. It won't be easy, but it'll be worth it, and she's willing to take a chance one more time for this man who sees her for who she is and loves her whole-heartedly for it.
Her life had changed when she was sixteen and she's blamed herself for it ever since, but looking back, she realizes that she's where she's supposed to be with the people she's supposed to be with, and she wouldn't have made it here if not for the choices she'd made after Andras and the accident. Nothing had come easy, and she still regrets the way it had ended with him, but she knows now that she wouldn't want to be anywhere but here, with Pike, with her crew, with her cadets and her experiments. She had been made for this, every step she's taken bringing her closer to being who she is now, and she can't bring herself to regret the path she's taken to get to Starfleet and the Enterprise, to her friends and Pike.
Nothing worth having is easy, she reminds herself as she laughs along with Pike, Jim, and McCoy. In a month, she'll be gone on a five-year mission while Pike stays behind and runs Starfleet Command, and they're going to have to learn to live with comm messages, hand-written letters, too-short visits if Pike can get a shuttle to the closest starbase from whichever planet they're near, and long, painful absences that are going to be hell on their relationship. And it won't be easy and it won't be smooth, but she's sure they can make it work; she trusts they can make it work, more than she's ever trusted anything else in any relationship she's been in.
Pike discreetly reaches out and holds her hand under the table, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he tells McCoy that Command has decided not to officially reprimand him for smuggling Kirk aboard, but unofficially, if he ever does anything like that again, they're stranding him on Delta Vega. She curls her hand into his while McCoy grimaces and Jim laughs and promises to keep him warm, the cool metal of Pike's Starfleet ring outlined against her fingertip, and smiles.
They're gonna be all right.
I know I always say that I'm gonna take a break from writing and just watch some TV, but. um. I'm gonna take a break from writing and just watch some TV. I think my brain's gonna explode if I even try to write a ficlet about these crazy, wonderful, brilliantly dysfunctional people. Maybe now's the time to catch up on some Burn Notice. Hi, Michael and Fiona and Sam, I've missed you!
***
Pike's in the hospital for another week of observation and Christine comes in every day to visit him. Sometimes, she brings him music to keep him from going crazy over the media screen playing constantly in his room (he has a thing for jazz and Louis Armstrong, a love for the way the music doesn't follow any set rule but just wanders off to find its own way to be) and sometimes she brings him a book or two to keep his mind occupied while he's recovering (he seems to have a love for classic mystery and a particular fondness for Raymond Chandler, which delights Christine more than she can say). Sometimes she comes in to find Kirk in there keeping him company, both of them with charming smiles and sad eyes when they notice her in the room, and she stays and makes them laugh because she can't stand to see the way they look at each other with guilt and regret.
There's a steady line of former cadets and current crew who drop by the hospital to see Pike. Spock follows Kirk, Uhura follows Spock, and even that cute Russian kid, Chekov, drops by to spend some time with his former captain. Pike looks exhausted by the end of each visit, but he enjoys the company and the chance to catch up with his former crew. When Christine isn't curled up in a chair next to him, playing with his hair and laughing at all his teasing remarks, she's either supervising experiments at the bio-research lab that was her home before she found her way to the Enterprise or mentoring baby medical cadets and explaining to them that despite his bluster and angry face, McCoy isn't as terrifying as he looks.
Kirk hasn't gotten the Enterprise yet because there's too much to do to build the Academy back up again before Starfleet can send more ships into space for five-year missions, so all the ranked officials who can, get into mentoring and teaching. Sulu teaches Advanced Hand-to-Hand Combat and Advanced Botany while Kirk lectures on Ancient Philosophies, Survival Strategy, and Tactical Analysis; Uhura teaches Advanced Phonology and Interspecies Ethics and Protocol while Spock takes over for Astrophysics and Forensic Pathology; Scotty and Chekov are in charge of Basic Warp Design and Transporter Theory; and Christine and McCoy split their time between Exobiology, Klingon Physiology, and Archaeology. And there's still a long list of crew members and Starfleet personnel who are involved in taking over classes with no teachers and making sure that all students are grounded in the basics of what they're being taught.
If anyone thinks it's odd that people only a few years older than them are teaching their classes, no one says anything. Everyone knows what's happened, and for those who don't, there's a big marble wall at the entrance of the Academy with the names of the fallen chiseled onto it to remind them. Every cadet feels a duty to do his or her or its best for the people lost to the Vulcan genocide, Starfleet personnel and Vulcans alike, and enrollment at the Academy has never been higher.
It's overwhelming to come into class and see so many eager, determined faces, faces of all races and cultures, staring at her and waiting to be taught and shaped, but Christine feels a responsibility to them, feels the need to do her best by them, so she swallows her nerves and writes her name on the holographic board and starts her class as she always does.
***
Pike gets released from the hospital in time to go to the presentation ceremony where the Council is handing over responsibility of the Enterprise to Kirk. He's dressed in a neatly pressed white and gray Admiral's uniform and glides onto the platform in a hover-chair, looking calm and relaxed, even smiling with amusement when Kirk relieves him of his duty as Captain of the Enterprise.
Only Christine knows how much he'd struggled to be able to achieve that calm, how hard he'd fought to be able to smile at Jim and genuinely mean his "I am relieved" response, accepting the loss of his dream to captain the Enterprise and finding it in himself to be happy that Jim finally has his chance to prove himself to everyone. When he shakes hands with Jim, his Starfleet insignia ring glinting in the light, the audience thunders their applause in response, Pike clapping along with them, and Christine can see the look of disbelief on Jim's face, like he can't quite believe that this reaction is all for him.
Damn boy, she thinks, her heart twisting at the shy, proud smile Jim gives all of them, he's going to be an impossible leader and a complete pain in her ass like every other starship captain she's ever met. She finds herself wiping away tears and whistling cheerfully like she's at a rally instead of a solemn Starfleet assembly and she doesn't give a damn because it makes Jim smile and Pike laugh, and that's all that matters to her.
She means to go visit Pike after the ceremony is over, but cadets need to talk to her and McCoy needs her in one of the labs, and then Nyota catches her on her way to Pike's office (that she can still never think of without blushing) and asks to talk to her. She's a little frantic over Spock's decision to leave Starfleet and go to New Vulcan, something that surprises the hell out of Christine, even though she understands why he wants to go.
The worry on Nyota's face calls for a long dinner with lots of wine and even more talk, both of them weighing the pros and cons of Spock leaving for New Vulcan (pro: he helps rebuild his planet and maybe finds a way to heal amongst his people, con: it may mean the end of their relationship) versus his and Uhura's relationship making it long-distance (fairly decent, although Nyota confesses to being terrible on personal comm calls, a fact that has Christine giggling into her wineglass considering that Uhura is a communications expert) versus Uhura moving to New Vulcan to be with Spock (less than nil, Uhura has a place in Starfleet that she's carved out for herself with her brains and her tenacity and her heart, and she's not giving it up for anyone, no matter how much she loves him).
By the time they're done discussing the possibilities, completely ruling out the seduction method that would just embarrass Spock and apparently doesn't work on Vulcans anyway, and coming up with no workable solutions just yet, it's late at night and Chapel is more than a little tipsy from all the wine. She heads over to Pike's office anyway on a hunch that he'll still be there either working on a project or still in meetings with support Command staff because, as she's found out from the hospital staff and her own personal observations, Pike never stops working. She wonders when, or if, he has time for sleep.
He's in his office as she expects him to be, his dark head bent over a stack of folders on his desk as he scribbles notes on a pad next to him. He still has the spartan office and the overflowing bookcases and the big, solid desk that he'd taken her on so many months ago. She has fond memories of this office.
She knocks politely, deciding to be novel for once, and asks, "Can I come in?"
He looks up at her, pushing his glasses up to get a better look at her, and her knees get weak again as he smiles wolfishly and waves her in. "You wore a skirt," he says in a pleased rumble, taking in her red cadet skirt that she had worn for the assembly and never had the chance to change out of before she'd been ambushed by academic life. "I like it."
She saunters over to his desk, behind his desk, and leans her hip against the edge of it, close enough to touch him if she wanted to. "I love how you assume I always wear these scraps of material just for you," she smiles teasingly, reaching out to touch the side frame of his spectacles and trying very hard not to let on how much she likes them on him. "Like it's not just some massive coincidence or a universal conspiracy that I always end up in this goddamn candystriper-esque outfit whenever I'm in your office."
"By my desk," he adds pointedly, sliding a hand up her thigh just to hear her gasp, removing his glasses and placing them on his desk with his other hand. "Or on my desk, which I like a lot better."
"I remember," she says in a strained voice as he pulls her closer and slides his hands over her ass, pressing his face against her chest and holding her there, breathing in her scent and luxuriating in her warmth for a few minutes. She runs her fingers through his hair, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple, his jaw, whatever she can reach with her hands and her mouth. "Hey, sugar," she says softly, feeling the tension in his muscles, in the clench of his jaw. "What's up?"
He lets out a shaky sigh and leans up to press his mouth to hers in a gentle, slow kiss that leaves her feeling vulnerable and lost in him. "It's just been a long day," he says quietly, his fingers teasing random patterns against the backs of her thighs. "I've been surrounded by admirals and captains all day long, and I think I'm going to stun the next person who tries to talk to me about writing new protocols and regulations for the new Starfleet."
"Poor baby," she says sympathetically, kissing him again because he looks tired and aggravated and she wants him so much that she aches with it. She licks open his mouth and nips his lower lip, letting out a soft sound of need when he yanks her onto his lap, her legs on either side of his, and pushes her down against him. He's already hard with his need for her, and she rocks against him for a bit because it makes him shiver and tighten his grip on her thighs and curse the fact that he's not already inside her. "One of these days," she gasps as he slides his hand down under her panties and slips two fingers into her, "we're going to do it missionary style like everyone else, and I'm finally going to know what it's like to fuck you in an actual goddamn bed."
He laughs against her mouth, his fatigue dissipating as her fingers clutch at him, as her teeth leaves marks on his skin. "I was saving the bed for our fourth date," he says breathlessly, bringing his fingers up to his mouth to suck the taste of her off of them just to make her moan. "Jesus Christ, Christine," he groans when she reaches down and fumbles for the zipper on his pants, pushing her panties to the side and sliding her onto his cock just as she pulls it out.
She lets out a short cry as he slides into her, her face pressed into the curve of his throat and her fingers digging grooves into his arms as she moves, rocking her hips in a wild, abandoned rhythm that has him moaning her name and kissing her like he needs her to breathe. She's so wound up from weeks of not having him, of being worried about him and not be able to do anything to help him, of waging this internal war between what she feels for him and what she's willing to admit to that all it takes is a particularly heartfelt "Christine" and she's coming with a shudder and the whisper of his name.
He holds her tight against him and comes silently, his breathing harsh and unsteady as he mouths her jaw, her throat, any uncovered area of her that he can reach. "I thought I was never going to see you again," he says in a quiet, anguished voice, and she feels the prick of tears against her eyes at the pain in his voice. "When Nero," and she tries not to notice how he stumbles over the name, "when I was on the ship, I kept thinking of you. It was all that kept me sane sometimes," he says with a small smile. "I kept thinking of you in my classes and how you always looked like you wanted to hit me whenever I told you what you'd done wrong--"
"I did, God," she laughs unevenly, feeling the lump in her throat grow until she thinks she's going to choke. "I used to dream about getting one good punch in just to prove to you that I wasn't a complete screw-up."
"You were one of my best students," he says softly, and she has to clench her jaw to stop herself from letting out a sob at his words. "You took everything I gave you and came back at me with everything you had and I knew you were going to be the best at whatever you chose to do."
"I had a good teacher," she says humbly. "He was kind of an ass, but I learned a lot from him."
He chuckles softly. "Well, he enjoyed teaching you, I can tell you that much." He reaches up to touch her face, tracing the curve of her lower lip with his thumb, his face solemn and sad. "The past two months with you, they were..." His hand moves in a half-hearted gesture and falls away from her face. "It was everything I hoped it would be," he says softly, and she can hear everything he's trying not to tell her, can hear it in his words and see it in his eyes.
She doesn't want to look at his face because if she does, she's going to break down. "This sounds an awful lot like goodbye," she says with a bravado she doesn't feel, and she really hopes it isn't because it's going to hurt so much more than anyone else she's ever been with.
He cups her face and tilts it up to his. "Do you want it to be?" he asks seriously. "I don't want you to feel like you have to stay--"
"Why are you asking me this?" She keeps trying to find a thread of anger in her, hoping that if she gets angry, then at least she can push away these tears that keep threatening and fight for him, but all she feels is a hollowness in her belly that's become too familiar over the years.
"Because everything's changed," he says honestly, his fingers gently skimming down her throat to rest against her nape. "I'm in a chair and my career as captain is over, I'm going to be starting physiotherapy tomorrow, psychiatric sessions the day after, and I'm going to be running Starfleet Command in a matter of weeks." His voice is even as he recites the facts, and it's only the lines of strain around his eyes that tell Christine how hard it is for him to say any of this. "You're going to be on the Enterprise in about a month and you're going to be gone on a five-year mission, and we're probably not going to see each other much for the next while, and when we do, it's probably going to be too short and not satisfying and I'm going to be a bastard for the next few months anyway."
"You're giving me an out," she says hoarsely, reading between the very obvious lines and the look of resignation on his face. "You're saying that we can just break it off and no harm, no foul because you're no longer captain and I'm going to be on a spaceship for five years?"
"Pretty much," he sighs, looking unflinchingly at her. "It's your choice."
She's silent for a few minutes, just breathing through her shock and disbelief, and she feels something approaching relief when she finally finds a skein of fury in the roil of emotions living inside her. Lifting her head up, she tightens her grip on his shoulders and growls, "Listen up, you arrogant son of a bitch," not even caring about the surprised look on his face. "If you think that I am going to be impressed with all this self-sacrificing bullshit you're doing, think again. You think I'm going to be scared away by your mood swings and bad temper while you learn how to walk again?"
She shoves her face into his, feeling a flush of anger run thorough her as the words pour out of her. "I almost married a medical archaeologist. He was a genius, he was the best in his field, he was described as the 'Louis Pasteur of archaeological medicine' and everyone told me how lucky I was that he was marrying me, and then he left me at the altar for a bunch of fucking androids on a freezing planet, and you will never be worse than him, not even on the worst fucking day of your life, so don't you give me any of this crap about how you're going to be too much for me to handle or, so help me God, I will shoot you so full of random medications, you won't know if you're coming or going or if you just have space herpes."
She takes a deep breath, feeling strangely light-headed and embarrassed from the rush of emotion and the shouting, and he raises an eyebrow at her, making her blush. "Space herpes?" he asks simply.
"I was on a roll," she mumbles, feeling torn between humiliation and relief at the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "I say stupid shit when I'm angry."
"I'll remember that for the future," he smiles warmly, stroking his fingertips across the back of her neck. "Does that entire tirade mean that you want to continue our relationship?"
"You know," she sighs, "only McCoy's really allowed to make me feel like an idiot since that's part of our relationship as Chief Medical Officer and Head Nurse."
He grins at her, his entire face alight with amusement and delight. "And as Admiral and your possible boyfriend, which is probably going to get me reprimanded by the Vice Admiral if he ever finds out, not that I actually give a shit," he says easily, waggling his eyebrows at her just to make her laugh, "what am I allowed to do?"
She bites her lip and looks carefully at him, seeing nothing but laughter and a deeper emotion that seems to mirror what she feels. Taking a chance, she leans forward and kisses him gently. "Anything you want?"
He smiles against her mouth. "How about anything you want?"
"Ohh," she purrs as she settles herself more firmly in his lap, "I like that."
"Goddammit, woman," he curses as she reminds him that she's still sitting on top of him with her panties pushed to the side and his dick still inside her.
"You're not going to pull this shit again, are you?" she says sternly, tilting his face up to hers and glaring at him. "Because seriously, if I have to go through this again--"
"Random hypos at ten paces," he says wryly, "I got it." He reaches up and brushes her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "You know I didn't actually want you to leave, right?" he asks quietly.
She shrugs, a sharp, tense movement. "I thought you didn't, but I've been wrong about men before. Roger wasn't the first to leave me."
"I'm sorry," he says softly, pressing his face into the crook of her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her waist. "I thought I was making things easier--"
"Well, don't." She wraps herself around him and holds tight. "I can handle anything you throw at me, remember? Don't try to make my decisions for me and don't give me ultimatums. I hate that."
She feels his head moves as he nods and says, "Okay." She leans her head down to press fierce, sweet kisses against his mouth. "We're going to get it wrong a lot," she says reassuringly, smiling at the hopeful look on his face. "We're incredibly brilliant, highly imperfect, unbelievably stubborn people, and there's probably going to be a lot of fighting."
"As long as there's make-up sex," he laughs softly.
"Precisely," she grins. "I just want to have a chance with you, Chris," she says tenderly, watching his face soften at her words. "It's not going to be perfect, but it's going to be something good and wonderful, and I want to have it with you."
"Smooth talker," he rasps, tangling his fingers in her hair and pulling her down for a lingering kiss that leaves her breathless. "You're stealing all my best lines."
"So do something about it," she challenges, laughing when he nips at her chin.
"I will," he promises, soothing the hurt with a flick of his tongue. "As soon as we finish conducting tonight's business."
"Business?"
"Business." He traces the line of her jaw with his mouth, relishing the soft noises of want that she makes. "Like, do we go home where we can fuck on the nice big bed you keep asking for or do we go with convenience and I put you on top of my desk and eat you out until you're screaming?"
She's glad she's already sitting down because she's pretty sure she'd fall to her knees if she were still standing. "Well, I do like beds," she admits, gasping when he lifts her out of his lap and gently places her on the table, her legs already wrapping around his shoulders as he pushes her skirt up. "Then again, I am all about the convenience factor."
"I have the strangest feeling I've done this before," he laughs.
"Yeah," she sighs happily, "but you'd better remind me again just in case we haven't."
Then he puts his mouth on her and whatever else she's about to say gets lost as she fists her hands in his hair and cries out his name.
***
On his first day of physiotherapy, he curses for the entire hour in a variety of languages while his physical therapist, a shorter, compact Latino named Edouardo, patiently works his muscles, lets him vent himself hoarse, and makes him laugh by telling him affectionate stories about his family and all the funny things they say. When the session is done, Pike shakes Edouardo's hand and thanks him, and leaves with Christine by his side.
He's silent for a little while, working through his frustration and anger while Christine drives him back to his office in his Starfleet vehicle, leaving him to his thoughts until he's ready to talk. By the time they get out of the car and head to the cafeteria for lunch, he's back to teasing her and making quiet promises of all the things he's going to do to her once they get back to his home for the night.
She smiles to herself as Kirk waves out to them, McCoy tucked into his back like he's surgically attached to Kirk, and Pike waves them over to join them for lunch. They're going to be fine, she tells herself as they sit down at one of the caf tables, and for once, she believes it. It won't be easy, but it'll be worth it, and she's willing to take a chance one more time for this man who sees her for who she is and loves her whole-heartedly for it.
Her life had changed when she was sixteen and she's blamed herself for it ever since, but looking back, she realizes that she's where she's supposed to be with the people she's supposed to be with, and she wouldn't have made it here if not for the choices she'd made after Andras and the accident. Nothing had come easy, and she still regrets the way it had ended with him, but she knows now that she wouldn't want to be anywhere but here, with Pike, with her crew, with her cadets and her experiments. She had been made for this, every step she's taken bringing her closer to being who she is now, and she can't bring herself to regret the path she's taken to get to Starfleet and the Enterprise, to her friends and Pike.
Nothing worth having is easy, she reminds herself as she laughs along with Pike, Jim, and McCoy. In a month, she'll be gone on a five-year mission while Pike stays behind and runs Starfleet Command, and they're going to have to learn to live with comm messages, hand-written letters, too-short visits if Pike can get a shuttle to the closest starbase from whichever planet they're near, and long, painful absences that are going to be hell on their relationship. And it won't be easy and it won't be smooth, but she's sure they can make it work; she trusts they can make it work, more than she's ever trusted anything else in any relationship she's been in.
Pike discreetly reaches out and holds her hand under the table, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he tells McCoy that Command has decided not to officially reprimand him for smuggling Kirk aboard, but unofficially, if he ever does anything like that again, they're stranding him on Delta Vega. She curls her hand into his while McCoy grimaces and Jim laughs and promises to keep him warm, the cool metal of Pike's Starfleet ring outlined against her fingertip, and smiles.
They're gonna be all right.
I know I always say that I'm gonna take a break from writing and just watch some TV, but. um. I'm gonna take a break from writing and just watch some TV. I think my brain's gonna explode if I even try to write a ficlet about these crazy, wonderful, brilliantly dysfunctional people. Maybe now's the time to catch up on some Burn Notice. Hi, Michael and Fiona and Sam, I've missed you!