The Isle: A refuge for fan fiction: Crossovers

Dark Frontier
By JM Lane

Rating: T | Status: Completed | Genre: Sci-Fi | Series: None
Summary: Star Trek/Dark Shadows Crossover. Bringing together the two casts for a tale of
romance and intrigue.

Go to: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Part 3 (conclusion)

When he finished, Christine was almost as much in shock as Spock had been. “Oh, dear God…” she breathed softly, tightening her arms around the Vulcan. He was trembling again and holding her tightly as his head rested on her shoulder, but not as much or as tightly as he had hung onto Kirk. “No wonder it was so traumatic for you. But you must know that it was just a dream. That doesn‘t mean it will ever happen.”

Spock lifted his head to face her. “I am a Vulcan, Christine. My people are telepaths. We rarely dream as Humans do, and when we do, they tend to be psychic dreams and therefore are likely to come true most of, if not all, the time. That is one reason I have been so concerned for your safety since you have been seeing Barnabas Collins. I do not generally put much stock in legends such as those in the Collins family, but after what happened to Ms. Davidson and this dream…” His voice trailed off. “Please do not see him again, Christine—at least not alone. I am convinced that you will be…in mortal danger if you do.”

“Spock, your concern for me is appreciated, but Barnabas has never harmed me. I don’t think he could, any more than you could. You are both gentle, kind and decent men.”

The Science Officer again bowed his head, his cheeks coloring again. “Thank you again, Christine…but I hope you also know that I would never tell you a falsehood for my own gain. I would not even mention this dream if I did not believe there was ample cause for concern.”

“Spock, with all due respect, I am very fond of Barnabas and intend to continue seeing him as long as we’re here. You’ve given little or no indication up to this point of what you feel for me, if anything, so I’m acting accordingly. I can’t wait forever for you to make up your mind, nor can I help noting that your…feelings only seemed to show up around the time I started seeing Barnabas. Are you going to deny that?”

“Yes, I am,” he declared, keeping one arm around her while the hand of the free one lifted her chin to face him. “And this is why.” A moment later, warm and tenderly passionate lips claimed hers in a kiss which lingered so long that both participants were breathless after releasing each other, having to come up for air after about a minute or so. “Now do you believe me?”

Quentin was waiting for his cousin when Barnabas returned. The older man seemed surprised at that, but did not question it because he sensed that Quentin wanted very much to speak with him, though he had no idea on what subject.

“May I speak with you, Barnabas?”

“May I ask what about?” Barnabas inquired.

“The actions of Christine’s…friend Mr. Spock. What do you make of him?”

“I understand that he is a noted scholar and scientist, a computer expert, highly intelligent—even genius caliber—and renowned for both his scientific writings as well as his bravery during his military service in Starfleet.”

Quentin nodded in acknowledgment. “What else do you know?”

“He is half-Human; his father is the senior Vulcan Ambassador to Earth and his mother a noted educator. Why do you ask?”

“Do you believe his dual heritage explains his atypical actions regarding Chris tine? She told us that they were simply friends, but his actions of late indicate deeper feelings. Since she has been…infatuated with him for some years, it’s possible that he’s now beginning to feel something for her—and if that’s the case…” Quentin’s voice trailed off, then he took a breath and continued, “You might lose her.”

“I might not, too,” Barnabas countered.

“Barnabas, be realistic. You’ve managed to conceal your…affliction so far, but how much longer do you think you’re going to be able to keep it under wraps? If Christine herself isn’t already suspicious, I feel sure that Spock is. It’s as though he were warning you off,” Quentin observed. “It seems improbable, but I would almost swear he was jealous of every moment you spend with her.”

“I believe he is,” the other man confirmed. “The looks he has given me sometimes when he thinks I don’t notice, the way he bristles like an angry cat whenever I touch her in any way. It seems odd, when you consider that he supposedly doesn’t care about her.”

“He could be just in denial,” Quentin suggested. “From what I’ve heard, he has a talent for that.”

“Simply because he’s half-Human?” Barnabas questioned.

“Not only that, but because he’s likely feeling emotions he’s always believed that no self-respecting Vulcan had any business feeling…but you remember what she told us about how he regards her.”

“All too well, I’m afraid,” Barnabas replied. “It is as though she has suddenly become very important, extremely valuable to him, unusually quickly.”

“Particularly since you began seeing her,” Quentin reminded him. “Do you think he knows you’ve slept with her? Maybe that’s why he’s so touchy.”

“Quite possible,” Barnabas agreed. “Especially since Christine tells me that he is telepathic.”

“Do you think he knows what you are? That he’s read your thoughts and doesn’t want you near Christine, especially not alone, because he’s convinced that you’ll harm her?”

“Not that I know of, but I have to be careful. As you say, he is already suspicious of me. He has been from the start, and I can imagine what the content of his psychic dream must have been to cause him to go into shock—add that to the attack on the Davidson girl and her subsequent death. I warned Christine what would have to be done in order that the girl rest in peace; she has assured me that the matter would be taken care of before the deadline of dusk Friday.”

“Their weapons can be set to dematerialize a body; do you think that would work as well as the conventional method? Certainly it’s a lot less messy.”

“I have no idea—but I also don’t think we can afford to take a chance, either,” Barnabas opined. “Or I would have suggested it to her.”

“Better one of those methods than what you used to do…if not burial, you usually burned the bodies or disposed of them in the sea near Collinwood.”

Barnabas winced at the thought of how many times he had done those things over the centuries; he had frankly lost count. Because he had found it so distasteful, he had eventually learned to only attack a person once and then take only a small amount of blood, such as a few ounces, so the person would merely become his slave and do his bidding.

However, if most or all of the blood was drained from the person, they simply died and did not rise to become vampires. In order to pass on the condition, blood had to be taken repeatedly until the person was nearly drained. It was also possible when the person did not get transfusions of new blood in time to offset the condition…within 24-48 hours.

It had taken him nearly that long to find Julia after Roxanne’s attack on her in 1840 Real Time, and Angelique had hidden her away in the old lighthouse a short distance from Collinwood, refusing to tell him where she was after he saw through her pretense of not knowing. It wasn’t until her servant, the gypsy Laszlo, came to the Old House looking for her, wearing Julia’s genuine sapphire-and-pearl ring on his right hand, that Barnabas spotted it and strong-armed the knowledge out of him in order to discover Julia’s whereabouts. Roxanne had been there when he arrived and had tried to stop him, yet he had stared her down and left, carrying a weak, semiconscious Julia in his arms.

It had been bad enough that Angelique had forced him to give up Roxanne…and when he had sent Julia to explain to her why he couldn’t come see her any more, it had prompted Roxanne to come to him, demanding further explanation—and declaring that nothing and no one was going to stop them from being together.

A short time later they had gone into each other’s arms and shared a fervent kiss, each professing their love, frantically breaking apart when Angelique had thrown open the doors of the drawing room, immediately deducing what had happened. She neither swallowed anything Barnabas said nor was she intimidated by Roxanne’s declarations. Angelique had also re-opened the wounds he had made on Roxanne’s neck, which had been healing, making her bleed enough to kill her and turn her into one of the living dead, then had taken control of her once she had risen, once more depriving him of a companion.

Angelique Bouchard had done some abominable things in their long, unfortunate association, but surely this was among the worst—and all because he, Barnabas, had refused her “love”. He now doubted that she knew the meaning of the word. He was certain that no one who truly loved could possibly even contemplate causing the object of their affections such pain; they should sooner want to hurt themselves.

And she had been so paranoid that she had set up Julia to be attacked when Roxanne rose, then hidden her away so that he had been unable to find her until it was almost too late…partly because she had believed Julia in love with Barnabas and vice versa, despite his declaration that they were simply good friends and partly because Julia knew too much—not only about him but about Angelique herself.

Even at that, his caring for her had betrayed him, at least as far as Angelique was concerned. He had no idea how Julia had truly regarded him; she had always hidden her feelings behind a mask of professionalism—but he did know that she was no less a woman because of it, despite the fact that she had eschewed marriage and family in favor of her career. If only he hadn’t been what he was…

Barnabas had seen no point in initiating a personal, romantic relationship with her because of his affliction—although he had always found her attractive: a most handsome woman. Because of his affection for her, he could never have harmed her…and during their association, there had been relatively few attacks since he had been able to obtain a more-or-less regular supply of blood through Julia, who, as a doctor, had had free access to it.

He had poured his heart out to her countless times, confessed his longing for a permanent companion, his crushing loneliness…and his hunger for a day when he and his someone special would walk together in the sun, hand-in-hand. Because of this, Barnabas didn’t like to think how he might have caused her pain, having to stand by while he romanced Victoria, Maggie, Roxanne…all the while longing for him herself, but believing he could never want her. If that had been the case, he was truly sorry—but could do nothing to change matters now.

Her cure had only been a temporary one, but he had been immensely grateful that she had cared enough to even make the attempt to make him Human again. Even when she had been dying for real, he had reiterated that fact…and expressed his envy of her ability to truly die, truly lie in peace in one’s grave. An ability which Angelique had taken from him almost five centuries ago.

Julia’s last words to him had been designed to extract a promise that he would never stop looking for another who could find the proper element to make her cure permanent. So he had promised…but not until Christine did he find someone who made him want to be cured. He had tried his best not to fall in love with her, but it had been impossible, like trying to stop a flood with one’s bare hands. So it had happened—and if she decided against him, something Quentin had indicated as a distinct possibility if he were reading the Vulcan correctly, Barnabas didn’t know how he would stand it.

Outwardly at least, he would wish her well, ever stand in her way…but inside, he would be devastated—again. All he would have left of her would be beautiful, bittersweet memories, precious yet painful because she would be gone from him. At least physically…but she would always be a part of his heart, never far from his thoughts, no matter how much time went by.

Shortly after their unexpected but most enjoyable interlude, Spock and Christine had the late dinner Kirk and McCoy had brought them, then went to bed… separately, of course, though it could definitely be said that they were strongly tempted to do it together. All the same, Christine still wasn’t all that sure of Spock, although she was a lot more sure than she had been. If asked to choose between Spock and Barnabas, it would have been virtually impossible at this point in time. It would be necessary for one of them to do something one way or the other in order to facilitate a final decision on her part.

In the morning, the group discussed what to do regarding the disposition of Lani Davidson—who was to do it and when. Spock’s remarks on the subject were so emphatic that not even Kirk could dissuade him from keeping an eye on her, starting from the morning of the third day following her death until dusk Friday, when she was likely to rise.

Spock was the strongest physically, which was ultimately the deciding factor, but the others objected for two reasons…one being that the Vulcan’s psychological condition was still questionable after the trauma of the nightmare where he and Christine had become two of the undead. Part of the information that Christine had brought back was the fact that vampires were extraordinarily strong.

Even Vulcan strength might not be enough to control or keep such a creature at bay, so Kirk also insisted that Dickerson be there as backup, with both his phaser and the crucifix, to be on the safe side. Spock wasn’t fond of the idea, but knew how stubborn Jim could be where the safety of his crew were concerned, particularly if said crew were also his close friends.

Deep down, however, Spock felt safer knowing he was not going to be alone for this dangerous assignment. Kirk, McCoy, Holloway and Christine would be within shouting distance if they should need help—but he would only call upon them if absolutely necessary. They all agreed that it was best if none of them entered the room under any circumstances once the sun had set…and to be doubly sure of their safety, both the doors and windows would be securely locked. But the intercom between the rooms would be left open, in order that they know when (or if) to intervene.

Now all they could do was wait—and it would be the longest wait of their lives. Not only for Spock and Dickerson, but every single one of them.

Spock and Dickerson took their places in Lani’s room on the morning of the third day. Sunset officially arrived at 5:45 p.m. local time, allowing for the return to Standard Time, which had begun the previous Sunday morning. For most of the day their vigil was uneventful; Lani Davidson remained cold, still and lifeless, even though her body had not gone into rigor mortis as it normally would…but by no stretch of the imagination could this death possibly be considered normal.

The later in the day it got, the more apprehensive everyone became, particularly Spock and Dickerson. McCoy and Holloway were hard-pressed to keep the increasingly agitated Kirk and Christine from wearing holes in the carpet due to their incessant pacing. Both had horrific visions of Spock’s nightmare coming true, albeit in a slightly different way.

Only by calling on every ounce of their self-control did the latter two manage not to run to the locked doors and open them, declaring that they would wait it out with Spock and Dickerson and Devil take the hindmost. At 5:15 the group looked at each other fearfully, all thinking the same thing—but Kirk was the one who voiced it.

“Spock, has anything happened yet? It’s just half an hour until sunset, you know.”

“No, sir,” the Vulcan returned formally, his voice filtering through the open intercom, his cool demeanor belying the growing apprehension roiling beneath his serene surface. “But when it does, we will be ready,” he assured both Kirk and everyone else with him.

“I hate his damnable waiting,” the Captain groused. “I feel so helpless.”

“It will be over soon, Jim,” Spock returned, quiet affection in his voice, which he had lowered so only Kirk could hear. “And then Miss Davidson will be at peace.”

But unknown to everyone, the night would not truly be over for hours to come, due to the occurrences which would take place within the next hour.

As soon as he himself rose, Barnabas went to the Inn, making sure to keep out of sight of the Vulcan and the Human male with the phaser and crucifix around his neck. Finally, roughly five minutes after official sunset, Spock reluctantly got up and made his way over to the bed where Lani Davidson’s covered body lay. He threw the sheet back and moved to place the point of the stake over her heart, gently pressing it into her breast, moving his right hand, the one with the mallet in it, back for the strike.

That was when her eyes opened—feral, vulpine, terrible (and yet hypnotic) eyes--then unbelievably strong hands grasped the stake, attempting to move it, and succeeded…but not enough. The Vulcan forced himself to concentrate on his task, striking the stake sharply several times as Dickerson held the crucifix a short distance away from her. The thing which had been Lani Davidson hissed balefully, then writhed and screamed in anger and pain as Spock’s blows reverberated in their ears and throughout the room…and because the intercom was open, the others heard everything that went on.

“Oh, my God. It’s happening—now!” Christine breathed, well able to imagine the scene in the adjoining room. Outside, on the window ledge, Barnabas waited and watched with a mixture of pain and relief that the girl would be at peace…which was more than he could say for himself. That is, unless he managed to convince Christine and her companions to help him find a permanent cure for his affliction.

After what seemed like an eternity, the hideous, unearthly screaming and hissing was over—although in reality, only twenty minutes had passed on the chrono. It was a long moment before Kirk dared to approach the door, but the suspense and waiting were too much to endure any longer. (Unknown to anyone, Barnabas had moved inside the room, materializing behind the curtains hanging at the window, keeping his feet just far enough off the floor so that he could see but not be seen.)

The Captain knocked tentatively at the door, calling out softly. “Spock? Dickerson?”

The ensuing silence was so lengthy that Kirk was about to call out again when he heard the Vulcan reply, “It is over, Jim. You may come in now.”

Kirk looked at the others gathered around him, the group tacitly agreeing that they would all go in together, steeling themselves for whatever they would see, knowing it wouldn’t be pretty, to put it mildly…but truly believed they could handle the sight.

They were wrong.

When Kirk opened the door, a grisly sight met their eyes. Spock and his entire uniform were drenched with blood; Dickerson’s was only slightly less so. Both stood next to the equally drenched bed and the body on it, a gory stake protruding from its chest. There was also a large bloodstain on the wall. Christine barely suppressed a scream at the frightful sight; the others just stood frozen in their tracks, eyes wide with horror. Only McCoy had enough presence of mind to speak—and even then, only a few words.

“Holy God…this place looks like a slaughterhouse!”

“That is because it is—or was, Doctor,” the Vulcan replied, his voice almost too quiet for the Humans to catch. He still held the bloody mallet in his right hand. The only good thing about all this was that Lani Davidson would rest in peace, having been spared the Hell of vampirism. She would never roam the night with a lust for blood, searching for victims to ease her unholy hunger, never hide out in a casket by day, ever-fearful of discovery and being destroyed as Barnabas had done for centuries.

It would be a long time before either the Vulcan or Dickerson would forget either the feral, vulpine eyes or the long, sharp teeth which had jutted, animal-like, from her open mouth. But both had forced back their instinctive horror and did their assigned task, knowing that it was an act of mercy, not murder, however messy and unpleasant it might have been. But now that it was all behind him, Spock felt sickened, even nauseated, at the sight of so much blood. There was even a pool of it at his feet on the rug beside the bed. Not only he and Mr. Dickerson, but the bed and Ensign Davidson’s body, were covered with it.

Once they had gathered enough control, the others approached to congratulate Spock on a job well done. “You did it, Spock. Ensign Davidson is at peace now,” Kirk told him with a smile. The rest smiled and nodded in agreement, particularly when the Captain continued, “As you’ve said many times, it was ‘the logical thing to do’.”

“If you or Mr. Dickerson need counseling after this, Spock, just let me or Chris know and we’ll do everything we can for you both,” the Doctor told them in his gentlest voice.

“Thank you, Doctor,” the Vulcan returned almost too quietly. “May I clean up now?”

The young Security officer smiled and nodded in agreement.

“Of course,” McCoy told him, both he and Kirk refraining from touching their Vulcan friend at this point, having to settle for verbal comfort and reassurance.

“Bones, call Room Service and get extra towels, sheets, pillows and pillowcases. Spock and Mr. Dickerson are going to need them, just as we’re going to need to wrap up Ensign Davidson’s body. Once we get back to the ship, the best thing to do is vaporize it, then explain that it was her request that she be vaporized by phaser because of the manner in which she died. Her medical file will be sealed once you put in your final report. No autopsy will be needed since we all know what she died of. However, all we’ll officially be able to tell her family is that she died in the line of duty…which is true. That’s all they need to know at this point.”

McCoy nodded solemnly, knowing the next duties would be his. As CMO, it was also his responsibility to inform the Captain of when he had finished, so that Kirk could make the necessary arrangements, including contacting Ensign Davidson’s family and the proper authorities on her home planet of Alpha Centauri Seven.

“I have one final question, Spock,” McCoy asked as the Vulcan headed for the bathroom. “When would you say she truly died?”

“My internal clock recorded the time of true death as 1800 hours, Doctor.” With that, Spock disappeared into the bathroom. The others heard the lock click and knew what the next move was to be. Christine got him some clean clothes, but Kirk was the one who handed them in to him once he was done showering.

A short time later, a maid brought up the requested items, including some cleaning fluid for the wall and carpet. After answering her knock, McCoy said to leave the stuff outside the door, that he would pick it up. The girl privately wondered why she was not allowed in the room, but it was not her place to ask why, simply do her job.

After making sure the maid had gone, the Doctor reached out to grab the cart with the requested items, pull it inside, then carefully locked the door again. The stake was pinning Lani’s body to the bed, so Dickerson was told to remove it so they could move the body off the bed. After he had done so, the bed was thoroughly stripped and cleaned by McCoy and Christine.

They wrapped the body in two sheets and set it aside temporarily; Kirk and Dickerson together moved the damaged mattress to one side and simply covered the box spring with a sheet and extra blanket from the closet, then a pillow and pillowcase from the cart. After rummaging through the closet, the Doctor came up with a large, heavy denim laundry bag with a drawstring closing, sticking the bloody bedclothes, pillow and all, into it—then handed it in to Spock. It would not be ready for disposal until his and Dickerson’s bloody clothes and towels had all been accounted for.

Not long afterward Christine scrubbed both the large bloodstain off the wall and the area of the carpet beside the bed. She had just finished when Spock emerged from the bathroom, both looking and feeling more like himself in one of his favorite Vulcan robes. The Vulcan handed the laundry bag to Dickerson…then the latter took it into the bathroom with him. The bloody, splintered stake had been disintegrated via phaser beam.

McCoy fetched some clothes for the younger man, handed them in to him, then called the ship to beam down a gurney and a med-team to accompany Lani Davidson’s body back to the ship and into temporary stasis in the morgue. Once everything was ready, the Doctor sent the occupied gurney and the med-team with strict orders not to discuss their findings or opinions with anyone but himself or the Captain; otherwise they would be put on report. They nodded silently and the latter said, “Energize.”

This time, when the group looked around, the room had taken on at least a semblance of normalcy. By this time it was full dark and the room lights were on, but dimly, the equivalent of candlelight; everyone’s faces took on a ruddy glow.

“Thank God that’s over,” Kirk opined feelingly.

Spock and the others, including Dickerson when he came out, heartily concurred.

“I only wish we could find out who did this and why—then we could wrap this thing up,” the Captain remarked.

They whirled in shock when an all-too-familiar, cultured male voice with a touch of a British accent answered him. “I did it,” the voice confessed. “But I will not show myself until you agree to hear me out, reserve judgment until after I have told my story.” The voice held sadness and regret. “I am confessing because I believe in taking responsibility for my actions, but I assure you that in the case of the unfortunate Miss Davidson, I had little choice but to do what I did—and give you my word that none of the rest of you will be harmed. In fact, I truly abhor my condition and hope you will be willing to help me try to reverse it.”

By this time, Christine had recognized the voice and all the blood had left her face. “Barnabas! Oh my God—is that you?”

Both the female Doctor and young Security officer were thoroughly dumfounded. Neither Kirk, Spock nor McCoy had been surprised, however; they had, in fact, suspected this very thing from the start…and now everyone else knew, including Christine. Spock could only hope it would not be too much of a shock for her.

“We can’t make any promises or guarantees, sir, but assure you that we will do all we can for you—but only after we’ve heard your story. And for us to hear your story, you must show yourself to us,” Kirk informed him.

“Very well,” the voice returned softly. A moment later Barnabas Collins stepped from behind the curtains, clad as usual in a dark suit and tie, his high-collared Iverness cloak, his wolf’s-head cane in one hand and an onyx ring on the index finger of that same hand.

“Would you mind explaining yourself, Mr. Collins?” Kirk inquired, politely but firmly. “I just lost one of my best Security people because of you, so I’m entitled to an explanation, if nothing else. I am also assuming that my original guesses about you were correct.”

“They were, Captain Kirk,” Barnabas confirmed. “I am indeed the original Barnabas Collins—and I am a vampire.”

“Ohhh…” Spock’s sensitive ears heard Christine’s soft cry and he caught her as she fainted. He placed her on the couch, then made her comfortable before she came to and they all faced the newcomer once again, more than ready to receive the answers they sought—and directly from the one responsible for the attacks they had been assigned to investigate.

“Spock, grab your tricorder, check him over. This will be the story of the century!” the Captain exclaimed. “Unless you would prefer that we keep it classified, Mr. Collins,” Kirk offered.

Spock had followed orders regarding the tricorder and was getting no readings whatsoever. At first he was sure something was wrong with it, then realized that creatures such as Barnabas would not register any life signs—that magic was the only thing animating his body, because to all intents and purposes, it was dead. That explained a lot of things to all of them. Maybe now Christine would take him seriously…at least he was truly alive!

“I would appreciate it, Captain,” came the reply. “Now, if all of you are ready, I shall begin.”

It was some hours later that Barnabas and his listeners took a break from his lengthy explanation. Spock could only hope that this knowledge would not prompt another nightmare similar to the one he had had a couple of nights ago; the others reacted with a mixture of horror and sympathy to Barnabas’ story, particularly when they learned how it had come about.

“Whoo! Remind me never to become involved with a witch…or a woman who dabbles in the occult,” the Doctor exclaimed. “I sure as hell don’t want to end up like you, Barnabas. That Angelique sounds—literally—like a fatal woman to cross.”

Kirk silently agreed with McCoy even as Barnabas replied, “I doubt that that is very likely, Dr. McCoy, particularly in this day and age. However, stranger things have happened, so I would still be careful if I were you.”

“It still seems strange to me that even with all the chances you had during our dates, that you never attacked me, Barnabas,” Christine remarked.

“As I have said, I could not bear to harm you, Christine. You are far too precious to me for me to want to turn you into what I am,” he explained. “Besides, I keep a goodly supply of blood around, so I…had some before my dates with you, which enabled me to control my craving while we were together,” he finished.

“You said you very much disliked being a vampire,” Kirk put in. “Is there any way it can be reversed?”

“I am coming to that,” Barnabas returned. “I had a dear friend at one time who was a noted physician; she developed a serum which was supposed to turn me back into a Human again.”

“So what happened? Why are you still…what you are?” Kirk wondered.

“My friend, Dr. Julia Hoffman, could never find the proper agent to make the effects of her serum permanent. It worked—but only temporarily…and there was a limited supply, so shortly after she died, I—reverted back to my former state. Before that, however, she made me promise never to stop looking for someone who could come up with the necessary agent to make my reversion back to Human permanent.”

“Do you have her notes or the formula?” McCoy wondered. “If so, it just might be possible…” His voice trailed off.

“Oh, yes, she left me her notes and the formula,” Barnabas confirmed. “I would have to bring them to you and let you study them—probably tomorrow evening.”

It still seemed ludicrous to them all that they were even considering such a thing as helping a vampire become Human again, much less discussing it…but if it meant that the attacks would stop permanently, it would be worth it.

“You said you had access to blood because of her,” Christine remarked. “Why not just use it to prevent the attacks?”

“Because I can only obtain a limited supply each month—and to make it last, I must ration it, so you know what that means. That is why I told you my story, in the hope that you could understand my predicament and perhaps help me find a permanent cure.”

“I can’t promise or guarantee anything, Mr. Collins, but if you’ll allow me access to your friend Dr. Hoffman’s notes and the formula, I’ll be happy to do what I can,” McCoy offered.

“And if anyone can do it, Leonard can,” Christine added. “Best of all, Spock and I will be helping him. If you’re willing, we can start while we’re here. Are there any laboratories around that we can use?” she asked.

Barnabas smiled and nodded. “My cousin, Quentin, has one. If I asked him, I am sure he would be willing to let you use it—for a modest fee.”

“Name it,” McCoy replied.

“One hundred credits a week?” Barnabas inquired.

“What do you think, Jim? Can we afford it?” the Doctor asked hopefully.

“Perhaps…if it has all the proper equipment--and if we can get permission to stay here longer. We can’t have the Enterprise out of service too long; as it is, we would likely have to put Scotty and Sulu in command for any short-term missions. Not to mention report our progress every few days in order for Command to be willing to authorize it,” Kirk replied.

“Then let’s get to it,” the Doctor returned. “Barnabas, you come back tomorrow as soon as you can; bring Dr. Hoffman’s notes and formula so Chris, Spock and I can go over everything…and ask your cousin for the use of his lab while we’re here. Then let us know what he says—and we’ll contact Starfleet Command and see if we can get the extra time and money.”

Barnabas smiled and nodded again. “I will. I cannot thank you all enough for your willingness to help me. I was certain you would feel duty-bound to destroy me, as you had to do with your unfortunate Miss Davidson. Most regrettable that that incident could not have been prevented.”

“If it means stopping the attacks and saving lives, you would be surprised at what we would do, Mr. Collins,” Kirk returned with a smile. “Now, I’ve got to go contact Starfleet Command, see how much more time and money I can wangle out of them. We’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Everyone stood up and stretched, then Barnabas took his leave after promising to return the following evening with Julia’s notes and formula…and (hopefully) Quentin’s permission to use his lab. Spock took Christine to her room, wanting to ask what she would do should Barnabas become fully Human again—who she would choose—but found that he didn’t think he could handle hearing the answer, particularly if she chose against him.

Not that he could blame her if she did, considering what he had put her through…but the Vulcan hoped that she knew that it hadn’t been a deliberate slight, that he had merely been protecting himself emotionally, not trying to alienate her…and he could imagine how it must have seemed to her. But he had always found her attractive, even if he hadn’t been able to act on his attraction until now. He could only hope that she would give him another chance to show it.

Upon arrival, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it in a very Old World manner, as Barnabas usually did, making his good-nights after stroking her lips with a finger. “Sleep well, Christine. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, Spock,” she returned quietly, touching his cheek and smiling before opening her door and going inside. As soon as the door closed, the Vulcan turned on his heel and returned to his own room, retiring upon arrival—that is, after a shower and changing into sleeping-clothes. His two friends came in an hour later and did the same; Dickerson bedded down on the sofa bed in the living room as usual.

Kirk lay awake for a time after speaking with Admiral Komack at Starfleet Command, just watching his Vulcan friend sleep, watching for signs of distress even as the Doctor snored contentedly a few feet away. He sensed that Spock was slowly but surely falling in love with Christine; it would devastate him to lose her to Barnabas should the serum work and the latter become fully Human again.

He recalled Barnabas’ declaration of love for Christine, but also his statement that it would be her decision…he would not force the issue any more than Spock would. He could only hope for the best, even while expecting the worst. If Christine refused him, Spock might never want to risk rejection again and possibly die in pon farr because he would not bond with anyone else.

It wasn’t every day that a woman had two men in love with her, especially when one of them was a vampire trying to become Human again for her sake and the other a Vulcan who normally eschewed emotions of any kind. But even Vulcans had to marry at some point, and Spock could certainly do worse than Christine. In fact, he already had—but that was ancient history.

In the meantime, however, they had to do all they could to help Barnabas…and consequently, themselves and others. It hadn’t been easy to convince Komack, although he had managed—but that news could wait until morning. Meanwhile, it was best that they all get as much sleep as possible because he sensed that they were going to need all they could get. Not just for this night, but all the nights to come for the foreseeable future. A few minutes later, the Captain was deeply asleep, having joined his friends in dreamland.

The others were pleased to learn that Fleet Command had granted them additional time and funding; even at that, they only had four weeks to finish their mission. All Kirk had said was that they had come upon some promising leads pertaining to their investigation and that they needed the extra time and money to follow up on them. Best of all, they even knew some people here who were willing to help them—two members of the illustrious yet infamous Collins family... the “present” Barnabas and his cousin Quentin.

Despite why they had originally come, however, no one on the Enterprise team believed that Command would swallow what they had learned about Barnabas or their true purpose in staying longer...to attempt to cure him of his vampirism. McCoy, Christine and Spock had carefully studied Dr. Hoffman’s notes and formula, all believing that a permanent cure for Barnabas’ affliction was within the realm of possibility.

Quentin had also generously granted them the use of part of his lab for the agreed-upon weekly fee. When he wasn’t busy with his own experiments, he even did all he could to help the others with theirs. As in any experiment, they had breakthroughs and they had setbacks, such as the discovery that Barnabas was allergic to something in the permanence agent, so McCoy and the others had to synthesize that ingredient and then try it again, see how Barnabas reacted to it.

Once that had been taken care of, they needed to work out a means of his obtaining a sufficient supply of the new serum long enough to do him good. In that case, Barnabas could either inject himself or Quentin could inject him as needed. McCoy and the others had determined that it would take regular, twice-weekly injections for a period of roughly two years to destroy all the aberrant cells in Barnabas’ body which made him what he was, gave him the craving for blood and the inability to be out in daylight.

If anyone asked about the injections, both of them could claim that Barnabas had food allergies and that the twice-weekly injections were designed to offset those allergies, not to mention his “sensitivity” to natural light. They would also erase his inability to die naturally, but Barnabas considered that well lost if it meant he could live a normal Human life again.

The closer they got to the final version of the serum, the more apprehensive Spock became, yet he knew that he would soon have to take a chance and ask Christine just where he stood with her. He had done all he could to show his feelings for her, within the limits of his Vulcan sensibilities, and could only hope that it was enough for her. But she had never discussed it with him since that one initial time, so Spock had no way of knowing for sure.

Barnabas was very bit as unsure of her as Spock was, since Christine hadn’t indicated anything to him one way or the other either...but at this point he had a better chance, at least in the Vulcan’s mind, since he had already confessed his intentions regarding her. This, more than anything, was what made Spock so apprehensive. All he could do was his best, and if that wasn’t enough, he would simply have to accept it. At least outwardly, although a part of him never would.

He may even have to have a talk with Barnabas Collins on the subject at the first opportunity, obtain his thoughts and determine if he had a fair chance or not. Particularly since they were getting closer with every passing day to Barnabas having a normal life again—and if he had a normal life again, the Vulcan knew what that would mean for him, as the Humans would say: “diddly-squat”. No wife, no family...and worst of all, no Christine to be wife to him and help provide him with said family.

It was one thing to be distant and professional with her by choice, but this act would be strictly enforced. He would have to endure seeing her be wife to another, quite possibly having a family with him...and never be able to hold, touch or kiss her ever again. However difficult the former may have been, the latter would be infinitely more so.

Particularly if he had to listen to her rhapsodize about how happy she was with Barnabas Collins—something which would be well-nigh unendurable to Spock because it wouldn’t be him. The fact that no decision had been made either way was beside the point as far as Spock was concerned. He was convinced that he knew what the outcome would be, what her decision would be, and would not be persuaded otherwise, no matter how much either of his friends tried.

Both finally gave up trying to change his mind; it was truly a lost cause. Privately, however, both were just as convinced that matters were just as likely to transpire in the Vulcan’s favor as against him...yet only time would tell who would be proven right.

Finally, ten days into the designated month, McCoy felt secure enough to be able to tell Barnabas that he had perfected the new serum and that his anti-vampirism injections could resume. Of course, they would likely be even more painful than they originally were as his body once again began to revert back to being Human, and it would take most of the night for him to feel the full effects of the shot, but if it worked the way Julia and McCoy intended, Barnabas would be able to walk in the sunlight again...and have an appetite for real, solid food again.

The initial injection would last three days, roughly 72 hours, but another would be necessary before the end of the third day in order to continue the changeover and so on. Near the end of two years, the injections could gradually be phased out and at some point shortly after that, would no longer be necessary. Barnabas would be fully Human again...and best of all, age normally again.

Of course, they would not be around to see that. They would have to keep in touch with the two Collins' and monitor Barnabas’ progress through Quentin after leaving Earth and resuming their deep-space missions. Spock fervently hoped that he would not have to wait that long to discover what Christine’s choice would be. It was difficult enough as it was, feeling as he did about her, without the uncertainty as to where he stood hanging over his head. Perhaps he would be able to speak with Barnabas about Christine after they saw how the initial anti-vampirism injection went. He would have to wait and see what happened...then, if all went well, act accordingly and maybe even find out what he wanted to know, once and for all.

As it turned out, it was the evening before the first injection was to be administered that Spock and Barnabas found themselves alone for a short time. It was for that reason that Spock considered it logical to take this opportunity to speak privately with his erstwhile rival.

“Mr. Collins…Barnabas…while we have the opportunity, may I speak privately with you?” the Vulcan asked.

Barnabas seemed startled for a moment, but recovered quickly. He smiled and said, “Of course, Mr. Spock. What would you like to discuss?”

“If it is not too personal, I would like to—discuss Christine…Miss Chapel,” the First Officer all but forced out, doing his best not to blush.

“What about her?” Barnabas inquired.

“Has she…indicated—her intentions to you?” Spock continued.

“Intentions?” Barnabas echoed.

“How she—feels toward you,” the Science Officer made himself say. “I…know how you—regard her.”

“I really couldn’t say,” the other man replied. “Though I…prefer to believe that she—still thinks highly of me, despite her knowledge of what I am. What about you? Have you any idea how she…regards you?”

“I—also prefer to believe that she still has…deep feelings for me, but I—cannot be sure since she has been…seeing you,” the Vulcan confessed.

“If I may ask, when did you first notice that she—harbored romantic feelings for you?” Barnabas asked carefully.

Spock hesitated for a time before explaining what had happened during the Psi 2000 incident where Christine had confessed her love for him and how her overtures had made him feel. “But that was…some time ago. I have no idea if she still—feels the same toward me or not, since I have always…kept her at a distance.”

“Why, if you are as attracted to her as you claim?” Barnabas wondered.

“Because I am a Vulcan. Vulcans are…a very private people, and we do not—show overt interest in a…member of the opposite sex,” Spock explained.

Barnabas naturally had other questions, but sensed the difficulty his Vulcan companion was having discussing such a personal subject, so he refrained from inquiring further, since he surmised that it wouldn’t do any good.

“If I were in your position, Spock, I would ask her directly—or have someone else who’s close to both of you ask on your behalf,” he suggested. “Considering what you have told me, the latter might be easier for you…but it would have more impact if you could manage to tell her yourself, as I did.” He sighed. “Though what I am doing arming the competition, I shall never know.”

Spock raised a quizzical eyebrow at the reference but didn’t question it. A few moments later, the others started coming in, so the two men separated until they were a safe distance apart, neither mentioning their conversation or its content for some time after it had taken place.

After the injection had been given, McCoy thought it best to keep an eye on Barnabas in case of complications—and though he seemed to be in great pain for a while, moaning and writhing, the Doctor assured the others that that was normal, simply his body beginning its reversion back to Human…and that it would eventually fade and he would be able to sleep normally.

It was all Christine could do not to go to him; his writhing and moaning tore at her heart as much as it did whenever it had happened to Spock. It wasn’t until nearly morning that Barnabas settled down. At first she thought he was in his usual vampiric sleep mode, but McCoy told her otherwise…that if she didn’t believe him, to check the monitor readings, which were near-normal for a Human.

Barnabas slept until early afternoon; upon awakening, he was stunned to see daylight coming in the window and note that he was still all right. “It works! It works!” he exclaimed, happier than he’d ever been in his recollection. “Doctors, Captain, Mr. Spock! It works!” All came in to join him, pleased beyond words that they had been able to help him.

“How can I thank you enough? All of you,” the overjoyed Barnabas almost gushed, hugging the stuffing out of the nearest person—Christine. She deftly extricated herself, tears of happiness misting her eyes at his obvious joy. “I never thought to ever feel this way again…ever see the sun again! Just wait until I tell…or better yet, show—Quentin!”

“You don’t have to wait,” the Captain told him with a smile. “Because here he is.” With that, as if on cue, Quentin Collins entered and saw his older cousin as he had never thought to ever see him, awake and alive…and during the day! The younger man rushed to his cousin and gave him a bear hug, both misty-eyed with happiness. They could only hope that there would be enough serum to last until Barnabas became fully Human again.

“Don’t worry,” McCoy said, as if reading their thoughts. “We’ll see to it that there is. If nothing else, we’ll make sure to send Quentin the necessary ingredients or tell him where he can get them in this area, so he can always have a fresh batch of serum on hand for Barnabas.” McCoy’s grin was so wide that it threatened to break his face; Kirk and Christine’s were, too.

With a part of him, Spock was pleased as well. If he hadn’t been so concerned regarding Christine, his secret pleasure would have equaled that of the others.

“How long may I expect this to last, Doctor?” Barnabas asked.

“At least 48 hours, possibly as many as 72, yet I suggest you be back here for the next injection before the end of the third day, as I mentioned earlier, so that the changeover may continue.”

“Oh, I will, I will,” he assured McCoy. “But until then…?”

“Do whatever you like. Do whatever any normal Human male would do—eat, drink, date…” All looked at Christine at this point; she blushed and bowed her head modestly.

“Christine?” Barnabas murmured quietly. “May I ask you something?”

Spock held his breath, uncertain of what Barnabas was going to say.

The ACMO lifted her head slowly. “Yes?”

“May we go to the beach tomorrow morning—walk, sunbathe, have a picnic? I was never able to ask you before, but now…” His voice trailed off, then resumed. “I would be honored if you would accompany me.”

Once Christine got over the initial shock, she accepted happily. “Yes, Barnabas, I’d love to. I’d just need to know some of your favorite foods.”

He had to think for a while; it had been so long since he had had any solid food…but he finally managed to think of a few—and she promised to have them ready for him.

Meanwhile, Barnabas found himself ravenously hungry…and for regular food! “You know, I am positively famished! Let’s all have lunch,” he suggested. And within 90 minutes, after all had showered and changed, they had done just that.

A most enjoyable time was had by all—or at least most of the individuals present. Barnabas ordered one of his favorite foods, T-bone steak, medium-rare with onions, and when it arrived, he savored every bite, washing it down with red wine, the expression on his face that of pure bliss.

“Mmm…marvelous! Never thought I would ever taste this again,” he rhapsodized.

Christine sat next to him, his free hand squeezing hers at every opportunity even as she ate her own meal with equal relish. Spock sat on her other side, only taking occasional bites of his own repast. He was concentrating mostly on Christine’s warmth and nearness, the smell of her womanhood and perfume… He had also noticed Barnabas holding her hand, his heart constricting with pain as he wished mightily that he could be doing it himself.

He had considered Barnabas’ advice, however, and fully intended to follow it at the earliest opportunity. It was imperative that he stop wishing and act to make his wishes a reality, however difficult it might prove to be. In other words, not “put his wishbone where his backbone ought to be,” as his Human friends might say.

But being Vulcan, he could not ask her here, publicly. He had to wait for a time when they would be alone…but by the same token, he must do that without waiting too much longer or he would lose her for sure—and for all time. He also thought of the old Terran saying that Jim and the Doctor had quoted during one of their last private talks: “Faint heart never won fair lady.”

Not too much later, the lunch was over and they returned to the Inn.

Kirk decided to take a nap, as did Quentin; McCoy would be monitoring Barnabas again. (Marisa Holloway, her work done, had beamed back up to the ship some time ago with Lani Davidson’s body.) Thus was Spock left alone with Christine. He knew that this was the time he had waited for, so he made his move while he still had the nerve. It was the most difficult thing he had ever done, but it proved to be the most emotionally rewarding in the end.

“Christine, I…must speak privately with you before you join Dr. McCoy,” the Vulcan remarked quietly.

“Yes, Spock?” She turned to face him.

“I—would like to spend…some private time with you as well.”

“Doing what?” she inquired.

“Perhaps—a holovid, then dinner at the Inn afterward,” he suggested. “Maybe even…a walk in the moonlight. I understand that there is—supposed to be a…full moon out within 48 Standard hours.”

She smiled. “Sounds nice. When?”

“The day after tomorrow, at approximately 1500 hours, when you are…rested from your—date with Barnabas.”

“I think I’d like that,” she agreed, her smile widening. “See you then.”

He reached to stop her as she was about to leave. “There is something else,” he told her.

“What?” she asked.

“This,” he replied, moving to take her into his arms and kiss her deeply and thoroughly, until both were breathless.

It was as though a supernova exploded in their heads at the first touch of their lips; Spock found himself tightening his embrace, most reluctant to release the woman
in his arms, just as Christine discovered that she didn’t want Spock to let her go…and neither did she want him to stop kissing her. When he finally did, roughly a minute later, both were flushed with a mixture of surprise and desire at the intensity of their feelings.

“Well, Spock! You certainly know how to sweep a girl off her feet when the mood strikes you! May I ask what brought this on?”

“I…wanted to do it,” he told her simply. “I have—wished to do it for some time.”

“Not simply because of…Barnabas?” she asked.

“I—do not need him to realize how…extraordinary you are.” The Vulcan decided not to mention that the very thing he was doing was acting on Barnabas’ advice—at least not at this point.

“Well…thank you, Spock. I’m glad you think so. I must go now. See you day after tomorrow.”

“Until then, Christine.”

Christine still seemed dazed as she left the room, but Spock had been encouraged by her eager response to his kiss. Besides, something had told him that he had better kiss her again while he had the chance, before Barnabas did it again on his date with her the following day. But the Vulcan knew that he still wasn’t out of the woods yet with her, as it were—wouldn’t be until Christine made her final decision between the two of them, and the Vulcan was determined that whatever he had to do, she would choose him.

Christine spent the rest of the evening preparing for her date with Barnabas—the first since the beginning of his re-conversion back to Human. She fixed his favorite foods and figured which beach outfit to wear, something she had not brought with her for obvious reasons and consequently never thought she would need.

Fortunately she knew Nyota’s personal comm code number, which would put her in direct contact with her friend. Nyota would know where to find everything. Calling Ny was the next-to-last thing she did before retiring (Barnabas had called about an hour ago and told her he was picking her up early; she was pleased to see that his comm was now in visual mode). She suspected that he wanted to make his first day in the sun in literally ages last as long as possible…and who could blame him?

She flipped her communicator open and said, “Frequency NU-1228,” using her Bantu friend’s initials and birth date to reach her without having to go through the Gamma shift Communications Officer, who was as much a busybody as she was efficient, so it was best not to take any unnecessary chances.

“Nyota here. What do you need, Chris?” she asked.

Christine was stunned. “How did you know it was me?”

The dark woman laughed. “You only call me on this frequency when you need something,” Uhura reminded her. “What is it?”

“I have a date to go to the beach tomorrow and need a proper outfit. The sky-blue capri pants should be fine, along with my blue and white midriff blouse and teal-blue windbreaker, then maybe some dark glasses and sunscreen. I’d really appreciate it if you’d get it all together for me and beam it down ASAP, since I’m leaving early in the morning.”

“Isn’t it rather late in the year to do such a thing, Chris? It’s November now, you know.”

“Perhaps, but my date says he’s lived here all his life and can tell when the seasons change—or at least when it’s going to be warmer than normal,” Christine explained. “If nothing else, we’ll just picnic on the beach and listen to the radio or something.”

Uhura sighed. “Okay, give me half an hour to go through your things to find everything, then go to the Transporter Room and beam it down to you. Which reminds me, I’ll need your coordinates, please.”

An hour later Christine had all the requested belongings, including a recent holo-novel Nyota had included just in case she wanted to read. Christine doubted it, knowing how Barnabas usually was when they were alone, but one could never tell. The cooler would keep the food fresh and the drinks hot or cold for up to 24 hours, so she set it out near her door, then prepared for bed.

She was surprised to see Barnabas in navy blue clam-digger pants and earth tone sandals with an open royal blue and gold floral Hawaiian shirt covering a regular blue T-shirt. “My cousin’s,” he explained. “We’re about the same size. Now we must get going. Where is the cooler?” he asked after giving her a kiss in greeting.

He picked it up after she had gestured toward it and carried it to the rented aircar waiting outside, then opened the door to assist her in boarding. “Your chariot, my lady.”

“Oh, you!” Christine laughed as he closed the door behind her, then went to put the cooler in the rear storage compartment. “Did you bring along some music so we could listen as we eat?”

“Music? Oh yes. I brought Quentin’s tape deck and some instrumental tapes,” Barnabas explained. She knew the latter had a tape deck, but it was built into his stereo system and Quentin’s wasn’t. He named some classical composers from the 18th century as well as some current artists.

“Did you sleep well?” she inquired.

He smiled and squeezed her hand. “I even dreamed of you.”

“I can imagine how long it’s been since you’ve done that,” Christine remarked.

“Too long,” Barnabas agreed. “Just as I can imagine how long it’s been since you have been on a beach,” he finished.

“At least not since my last shore leave,” she replied, “and that was three months ago, shortly before reporting to the ship for my new assignment.”

“Did you go with Mr. Spock?” he wondered.

Christine’s expression was a mixture of horror and astonishment. “Oh, no! Are you kidding? You have to practically shoot him out a photon tube to get him off the ship! Examining and cataloging the flora of a given planet is more Spock’s style. He’s the original workaholic. Besides, he was on Vulcan at the time and I was on Earth.”

“May I ask why?”

“Why what?”

“Why was Mr. Spock on Vulcan?”

“He was attempting to erase his emotions with Kolinahr, the Vulcan ritual which supposedly eliminates all emotion.”

Barnabas shook his head in bewilderment at this, sensing that he didn’t want to know the whole story as to why Spock had considered it necessary to go through Kolinahr, then said, “What does ‘workaholic’ mean?”

“A person who’s addicted to work,” Christine explained.

“Who did you go with on your leave, then?” Barnabas asked.

“A girlfriend of mine, the senior Communications Officer aboard ship.”

“Have you not tried to induce Mr. Spock to accompany you?”

“Of course, many times. He usually just says that Vulcans don’t take shore leave and lets it go at that.”

Barnabas sighed. “But he must do something to relax.”

“Oh, yes—he has a Vulcan lyre, which he plays and composes songs on,” Christine answered.

“Have you ever heard him play?”

“Occasionally. He’s very good…but Dr. McCoy says that Spock still doesn’t relax nearly enough.”

“Do you agree?”

“Of course, but getting Spock to relax is like pulling teeth—very difficult, even when he needs it most. Usually especially when he needs it most. So many times Dr. McCoy has sworn that he’s going to tie Spock down and sit on him if he doesn’t start relaxing more!” Christine laughed and shook her head. “Of course, since he’s stronger than either of us, he’d have to be sedated first.” She then realized that her escort had fallen silent. “Sorry, Barnabas. Didn’t mean to go on so much about Spock.”

“It’s not your fault. I was the one who asked about him,” Barnabas pointed out. “However, I would appreciate not hearing any more about him for the foreseeable future.”

“Quite understandable,” his companion returned, this time reaching out to squeeze his hand. “We’ll talk about other things now.”

And they did—each other’s favorite musical pieces, places they’d been or wanted to go, things like that. Within half an hour, the couple arrived at the beach, laying out a black blanket with gold striping and placing the cooler on it. It was a calm, fairly warm day, one of the rarities in Maine this late in the year, but there was enough of a nip in the air that both Christine and Barnabas decided against swimming, despite the fact that each had worn bathing suits under their outer clothing just in case.

“The water is most likely cold anyway,” the latter said. “And after so many years of being cold, I much prefer to feel the warmth of the sun on my body and the warm, sweet softness of a beautiful woman beside me.” He reached up to stroke her cheek.

Christine bushed and lowered her head. “Why don’t you get the music started and I’ll set up the food?”

Barnabas seemed disappointed but moved to comply. They then talked more about themselves and their lives, Christine carefully steering around the subject of Spock for her companion’s sake. Instead, she talked about virtually everything else but, hoping he appreciated her efforts.

When he complimented her on her cooking, Christine again blushed and thanked him, unable to help thinking of when she had fixed food for Spock and how he had reacted upon calming down after his initial outburst of throwing the first bowl of plomeek soup she had brought out his door to crash against the Deck 5 bulkhead. Later on in his quarters, he had been every bit as gentle and tender as Barnabas when he brushed her tears away. In spite of herself, Christine couldn’t help thinking of Spock and both his touch and his kiss.

It wasn’t fair to Barnabas; he deserved her full attention…yet Spock was all she could think about. Damn it! Why did he have to get interested in her at virtually the same time as Barnabas? She was brought back to reality by the latter’s warm lips brushing her ear after moving her hair aside. “What are you thinking about, Christine?”

For a long time Christine couldn’t bring herself to answer, then replied quietly, “Something—or someone—I shouldn’t be thinking about when I’m with you. You deserve my full attention.”

“I understand,” her companion assured her. “No need to apologize. It’s not surprising, given your feelings for him.”

“If only it was just that,” she lamented. ‘Now he’s starting to feel for me.”

“I see,” Barnabas replied. “And you still feel for him.”

“For many years,” she confessed. “More years than I care to count…but only now has he seemed to notice me—which bothers me, because of you. You’ve made me feel like more of a woman than I have in years, more cherished and desired…yet—”

“Yet he is the one you love,” Barnabas finished solemnly.

“Yes, God help me, he is. I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t, especially now. If it wasn’t for Spock, it would be frighteningly easy for me to fall in love with you.” Her tone was apologetic. “And I sense that you had intended to formally propose, so I want you to know how much I regret being unable to marry you.”

Barnabas put a hand on her cheek; she covered it with one of her own as tears misted her eyes. “Again, don’t apologize. I understand. It’s painful to me, but I understand. I ask only one thing…let me have this day with you, let me love you as if there were no tomorrow, give me some beautiful memories of you to cherish.”

There was so much love, so much tenderness, in Barnabas’ voice that Christine could not refuse him. Shortly thereafter, he kissed her deeply, then lowered her to the blanket after moving the cooler and tape deck aside. She forced thoughts of Spock away temporarily and gave herself fully to Barnabas, the taped instrumental music becoming the soundtrack for their romantic yet most erotic interlude.

Barnabas returned her to the Inn around 1600 hours, both of them slightly sunburned and pleasantly tired—from both the outing and their lovemaking. He again took her to her door and kissed her hand in parting. “Thank you for a wonderful day, Christine. I will treasure it always.”

“As will I,” she confessed. “I hope you find someone worthy of you now that you’re going to be a normal man again. She’ll be a lucky lady…and I know that from personal experience.” Christine smiled wickedly.

“I shall return this evening for Dr. McCoy to examine me,” he told her. “Meanwhile, I’m going home to get some sleep.” Barnabas touched her cheek one last time after expressing one last wish. “I wish you every happiness, Christine.” With that, he left, even as his heart screamed at him to stay, but knew he couldn’t stand in her way, however painful it might be to let her go. He could only hope to find someone even half as good for himself at some undetermined point in the future.

She smiled after Barnabas and watched until he disappeared around the corner, then showered and dressed in preparation for the rest of the evening—and the inevitable questions, particularly Spock’s, should he sense anything amiss.

To Christine’s relief, the others, including Spock, were too occupied with Barnabas to concern themselves over much with her or what might have transpired between them on their date. Even at that, she considered it best to be ready when the questions did come—and they would come, sooner or later, if only from Spock. So far the changeover was proceeding as intended, but McCoy sternly warned both Collins' that the regimen of one injection every three days must be followed faithfully or else. No one needed to voice the consequences of that oversight, that was for sure…and both concerned declared that they would see to it that it never happened.

Once Barnabas had recovered and made his departure, Spock chose that time to approach Christine. When she heard his voice, she braced herself, telling herself that she was ready for anything Spock might say.

“Christine, may I speak with you?”

“About what?”

“About your date earlier today…and ours tomorrow. May we go somewhere to speak privately?”

“My room?”

“Acceptable.”

With that, the pair went to Christine’s room and she poured them each a glass of Altair water, similar to Terran mineral water, the two making themselves comfortable on her small couch, drinks at their elbows on the end tables. Once they were settled, Spock took a deep breath and said, “Was your—date earlier…enjoyable?”

She smiled and nodded.

“What did you do?” he asked carefully, forcing her to speak.

“We talked, listened to music, had a picnic—and incidentally, he liked my cooking too,” she finished quietly, taking a swallow of her drink so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

Then she was quiet for so long that Spock sensed that she was concealing something. “Anything else?”

The silence lengthened even further before Christine spoke again…and when she did, her voice was so soft that even Spock’s keen ears barely heard it.

“Yes.”

“May I ask what else happened?”

“I—refused his marriage proposal. Would you like to know why?”

Spock nodded, hoping that it was for the reason he assumed.

“Because I told him that I…loved you.”

This time the silence was on Spock’s side, and nearly as lengthy as Christine’s.

“Do you--truly mean that?” he finally forced out.

She reached to cover his hand with hers. “Of course I do. I always have meant it and I always will mean it.” Christine raised her hand to Spock’s chin and brought his head up so that their eyes met. One look and Spock’s question was answered, for now and all time. “How could you ever doubt me?” she asked. “I haven’t been treating you right lately, I know, but I do intend to make up for it now…if you’ll let me. No matter how it may have seemed, I’ve never stopped loving you, and I never will. What more proof do you want?”

He set his glass aside and moved closer to her. “This,” he returned quietly before once again gathering her into his arms and kissing her deeply and thoroughly. For a timeless moment, the entire world was blotted out by the warm honey of Spock’s lips and the gentle strength of his embrace—but when she least expected it, he released her and gave her a questioning look, having seen the memories of her rendezvous with Barnabas in her mind.

“If you loved me, then why did you share physical love with Barnabas Collins… not only once, but twice?” His tone was soft but stern.

“The first time, I was so unsure of where I stood with you that I needed to have someone else affirm that I was an attractive woman. The second time, he asked me to do it in order that he would have something to remember me by. I have no intention of doing it again, however; you may be certain of that.” The Vulcan looked at her skeptically until Christine said, “Do I need to prove that, too?”

Spock raised a hand to stroke her cheek with his fingertips, allowing himself a smile in her direction; his brown velvet eyes seemed to glow with warmth. “No, that is not necessary. I believe you.”

Christine returned his smile. “Thank you.” She then reached up to cover his hand with hers; he raised an eyebrow but did not remove his hand or snatch it away.

“What holovid would you like to see?” he asked.

“I’m sure that whatever you choose will be fine,” she assured him.

“I wish to be certain that you will find my choice enjoyable,” he gently insisted.

“As long as we’re together, virtually anything would be enjoyable,” she returned firmly.

“Indeed? Even something you ordinarily disliked?”

“In that case, you would at least…make it tolerable,” she answered. “And if it was something I liked, your presence would make it even more enjoyable.”

“Then I assume you mean that you will accept anything I choose—but within reason,” he replied.

“Of course,” Christine affirmed.

“What kind of dinner would you prefer?” he inquired.

Christine shrugged. “Couldn’t say for sure right now. I think I’ll decide when we get there. Why do you ask?”

“Simple curiosity,” he claimed.

“Then may I ask you the same question? Have you decided what to eat yet?”

Spock looked almost sheepish. “I have not.”

“Then we’ll both decide at the same time,” she determined. “Meanwhile, however…” The fingers of her left hand stroked the back of her companion’s neck to make him shiver. “…we have bigger and better things to do,” she crooned before moving to show him exactly how sincere her feelings for him were. After a few minutes, both had forgotten that there was anything in the world but the two of them.

The rest of the four weeks seemed to almost fly by; in that time, Barnabas improved so dramatically that he almost seemed like a different person—and said he owed it all to Kirk and company. That if it hadn’t been for them, he would still be sleeping in a casket by day and stalking victims at night. Instead, he was eating regular food, sleeping by night and living in the daylight, just like any normal man.

“I wish you could all be here to see the beginning of my new life…my new true life,” he amended. “After all, it was all your doing.”

“Not quite,” McCoy countered. “I needed your friend Dr. Hoffman’s notes and formula to do it. It was she who started your cure; I simply supplied the necessary ingredient to make its effects permanent.”

“But I wouldn’t be where I am today without you,” Barnabas insisted.

“Unfortunately we’ve got to get back to the ship,” Kirk told him. “Our time is up in three more days. I’ll tell you what, though…we’ll keep in touch, and Quentin will keep us up-to-date on your progress. Then as soon as we can after the two years are up, we’ll come back to see how you’re doing.”

“I guess that is the best I can expect,” Barnabas sighed. “And you make sure to let me know how all of you are doing. Especially Christine and Spock. I want to be sure he’s treating her right.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” McCoy chuckled. “Jim and I fully intend to keep a sharp eye on them.”

“Do you agree, Christine?” Barnabas addressed her directly.

“Oh, you can count on that, I assure you. A hawk doesn’t have eyes as sharp as theirs,” she declared as she looked at Kirk and McCoy, then at Spock, with whom she was crossing fingers and exchanging surreptitious, tender glances.

Barnabas’ eyes widened at the unusual gesture; Spock noted his reaction and opened his mouth to speak.

“It is a gesture between a couple who are both mentally and emotionally bonded to one another,” he told his former rival. “It is a private matter, so I can tell you little more than that, except that we are closer than two Humans could ever be because of it.”

Barnabas simply shrugged and smiled. “What matters is that Christine is happy.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her trying to get his attention. “Yes, Christine?”

“If you’d like to see us off, all you need do is come to the Inn’s lobby, which is where we’ll be beaming back to the ship from, at 1330 hours, you and Quentin, on Friday, November 27th. We’ll even take holopictures if you like…and this time, Barna- bas will actually show up in the pictures!” Christine exclaimed happily.

Barnabas couldn’t help wondering what ‘beaming’ was, but made a note to ask at the first opportunity after this.

“We’ll be there,” Quentin assured them before his cousin could draw breath for a reply. In a stage-whisper to the latter, he said, “We’ve got to go. It’ll be our last chance to see them for God knows how long.”

The older man finally acquiesced, even though he knew how painful it would be to say goodbye to Christine, not only knowing that she belonged to another, but that he would not see her again for a long time, if ever.

“Very well. We will be there.”

The Enterprise group was gathered in the Collinsport Inn lobby waiting for Barnabas and Quentin; finally, at 1310, the pair showed up. “We’ll miss you,” they said with equal sincerity. “You’ve done so much for Barnabas that ‘Thank you’ hardly seems like enough.” The last was from Quentin alone.

“Just as we’re going to miss you both,” Christine declared, embracing both Barnabas and Quentin with equal affection. “Both of you will always be close to us emotionally, no matter how far apart we are physically.”

“Hey, you guys, if you want your pictures taken, get over here and get posed! We’ve only got a few minutes before we’ve got to be back aboard ship,” the Doctor called.

The others hurried over to the rest of the group, Barnabas and Quentin posing with Spock and Christine first, then Kirk was with them while McCoy took the picture…then vice versa so everyone could get in on the picture-taking. Only a few moments later, Kirk’s communicator sounded off; he flipped it open.

“Sulu here, sir. Ready to beam up?”

“More than ready,” the Captain replied. “Energize, Mr. Sulu. Kirk out.”

“Aye, sir. Sulu out.”

Kirk flipped the communicator closed again, then turned to Barnabas and Quentin one last time.

“We shall never forget either of you. May you both live long and prosper,” the Vulcan said with the traditional salute; the Humans who could echoed it, including Christine.

Their new friends couldn’t do it, so they simply said, “Take care, all of you. All the best always, and we hope to hear from you as often as possible.”

“Count on it,” Kirk promised. “Goodbye, now.” With that, the group dematerialized and were gone.

Barnabas stared at the empty space where the Starfleet group had been for at least five minutes after their departure, as if he could still see them there.

“We’ve got to get back to our apartment so I can give you your next injection, Barnabas,” Quentin reminded him quietly. “Remember what Dr. McCoy said if we missed even one.”

“I know,” the older man replied softly. “I’m just being sentimental, that’s all.”

“I can understand, but we’ve got to get on with our lives, just as our friends have got to get on with theirs. Besides, we’ve got pictures of them and will be hearing from them periodically, so it’s not as if they’ll be gone permanently,” Quentin reminded him even as the younger man smiled and nodded in empathy.

“Again, I know. It’s just so hard to see them go. It will seem like an eternity before we’ll see or speak with them again,” Barnabas lamented even as the pair headed for their apartment down the street—and the rest of their (new) lives.

It took Kirk and Spock roughly a week to catch up on the backlog of paperwork once they returned to the ship, but if it hadn’t been for the efficiency of Scott and Sulu, they would never have gotten caught up. The matters the senior officers were attending to now were things that only the official Captain and Exec or Science Officer could do, so Scott and Sulu had to table it temporarily, then make sure Kirk and Spock attended to it ASAP. Also, since the mission on Earth was fairly short, the ship had been able to remain in orbit there and wait for the bulk of her command crew to return.

As for McCoy and Christine, it took them at least two to catch up—but together, they managed it. Thank God for efficient underlings! They’d never have made up the backlog otherwise. But it was the after-hours goings-on between Spock and Christine that reflected the greatest change. They now shared a larger quarters, being officially bonded, which constituted a marriage on Vulcan. The koon-ut-kal-if-fee was merely a formality they would deal with as soon as their duties and ship’s missions allowed.

It wasn’t until that evening that the now-loving couple were able to discuss the last month planetside. “Hard to believe the last month actually happened, you know, Spock? Seems more like something out of a holo-novel,” Christine remarked as she snuggled close to Spock on their bed, her head on his chest as his cheek rested on top of her head. His arms were gently but securely around her, the warmth of his body radiating all through her as well.

“A most…unusual mission, to say the least,” the Vulcan agreed. “But what matters is that all turned out well—and that we are together now, as we belong.”

Christine looked up at her bondmate, scarcely able to believe that she’d heard him correctly, but knew that just by looking at Spock’s expression that he was very serious.

“In that case, I can only hope that Barnabas will eventually find someone special now that he’s getting back to normal. If anyone deserves happiness, he does,” Christine observed.

“It is logical to assume that he will, m’chejan, but we can only hope for the best. In the meantime, we have to put the last several weeks behind us and get on with our everyday lives, then allow Barnabas and Quentin to do the same,” the Vulcan stated matter-of-factly.

“I suppose so,” Christine conceded.

“You do not regret your choice?” Spock asked his mate.

“No way,” she returned firmly. “I’m finally where I’ve wanted to be for at least ten years…and will never want to be anywhere else as long as we both live.”

“When do you wish to discuss the dual weddings?” he wondered.

“Tomorrow, my love. For now, let’s just get some sleep.”

With that, Christine tightened her arms round her bondmate and soon fell into a deep sleep; Spock did likewise shortly thereafter—and life went on pretty much as usual, at least for the Enterprise crew, but very different for the Collins cousins, who were now close friends of the former and who would remain so for as long as they all lived.

The End

Go to: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

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