The minor character is Angeline Martine-Teller, who went through quite a heck of a lot for a girl who only appeared in three episodes.
BALANCE OF TERROR:
The captain found her in the cramped little chapel, still trying to believe the fact that Robert was gone--gone and the wedding unfinished.
Neither of them spoke in the small, dark room. Neither of them could manage words. She smelled the sweat that had soaked and dried stiff in his shirt, felt him return her grip, but when they parted she was still grimacing in pain and he was still and quiet on the outside, his eyes burning with what he couldn't express.
In that moment, Angela Martine realized she never wanted to be in command of anything or anyone. There was something much worse than seeing someone die under you. And that was being in a place where you weren't permitted to show pain.
She didn't feel comforted when he left. The chapel was still cold and empty. She wondered where Scotty was; he'd been giving her away only that morning. His proud beam filled her sore eyes again and she blinked them wearily. They were avoiding her, respecting her privacy and pain. And she didn't know if that was good or bad.
Robert was still in Sickbay, one of the furthest rooms from the Main Entrance. She knew Andrew was in one of the beds in the mini behind Dr. McCoy's desk. She didn't envy him his medicinal sleep; when he woke up from it, everything would hit him all over again.
She stopped in the doorway of the room where she'd left Robert. Dr. McCoy had let her stand by as she'd prayed for some miracle that no one believed in, and had finally bowed his head and covered his face with the sheet. That was when she'd ran. And now she was back and what was left of Robert was still there.
His remains being there didn't bother her. It was the sheet. It covered everything about him, rendered him anonymous and unknown.
"Angela." Dr. McCoy's soft drawl reached her ear as a wave of strong black coffee caught her nose. She felt his warm hand rest on her left shoulder. "Would you like some coffee?"
Relief that he wasn't ordering her away from him washed her. "Tea." She said thickly, and swallowed hard.
"Tea." He agreed. His grip tightened on her skin a moment, and he let her go.
She walked to Robert on invisible legs, and sat down without seeing the chair. Dr. McCoy dialed up tea in the largest size mug, and carried it to her with both hands, unshaven and tousseled and rumpled in a surgeon's suit he hadn't been wearing thirty minutes ago. She let the heat burn into her bare legs, glad to feel the fierce sensation.
He sat down on the other side of Robert's bed, slowly, as if he felt weary and fragile. "Do you mind if I sat up with him?"
That slow, old-fashioned drawl helped her comprehend the question: she'd heard of the custom of sitting up with the dead, but outside of some anachronistic pockets of culture, it was largely confined to anthropology texts. But his query, and the deferential phrasing of it, touched her deep in a place that the captain's awkward sympathy could not.
"No...I don't mind at all." She heard herself say.
He nodded without a word.
"Do you...can you uncover him?" She swallowed with a throat made of bricks, ready for him to refuse or say something, but he merely complied as though he heard that kind of request every day.
His eyes had been closed. Robert's shell rested underneath the doctor's hand, too pale, too still, and far too perfect. Seeing death this close, she felt the bile claw its way back up. What she loved of Robert was gone, and what she had left was the least important part of him.
It wasn't fair, but she knew fairness didn't rule the Universe. Only the perception of it. Robert was dead, but a war was prevented...or postponed. And if he'd known the future, he wouldn't have changed any of his actions. He would have never wanted to trade his life for the ship's. And she understood that. Only...
Her mind was full of insects that buzzed questions, desperate to fill the silence that was burning her ears. But she held silent, and Dr. McCoy said nothing either. He sipped loudly, cautiously, from the rim of his ffresh cup, and leaned his chair back against the wall. Not much older than the captain, but right now, he looked worn thin and grayed out.
"Seems silly, doesn't it?" She blurted, her face heating. "Sitting up with them when they don't know."
He met her eyes across the fold of sheet that covered Robert's silent chest. "They know." He said simply.
"Why do we do this?" She rode right over his soft words. "To make us feel better?"
"We do it," He told her gently, "Because it lets them know its all right for them to leave."
That quickly, he'd seen through her, and read her like a child's book. Her eyes were tender from all the crying, and they burned with new tears rising up.
"I'm s-sorry." She fumbled, and clutched for a handkerchief before her tears could splash in her tea. Then: "What am I going to do? We weren't even married. I'm not responsible for his remains!"
"Yes, you are." Dr. McCoy said firmly. He'd gotten up and knelt at her side, holding her cup before it could fall and scald her all the way to the ankles. Her nose was running and she sniffed loudly. "Angela, we're no strangers to this. You were going to marry Robert, as far as we're all concerned, you are. And whatever you want to do, we'll do it."
She wiped her eyes again--felt like she was scrubbing handfuls of tears of her face--and said the words. "He always liked space burial."
"A photon tube?" He smiled faintly. "Now that sounds like Robert. Any eulogy? Music?"
She shook her head, confused. "I...I don't know about that. He liked so many songs, actually. The older the better. He and Scotty...they would often swap obscure tunes I never heard of...anything like that would be fitting." The uncertainty stalled her out, and she stopped, blinking.
"D'you want me to take care of that?" He murmured.
"I don't want to put you through that trouble." The words sprang automatic from her; he'd already helped by being there when everyone was backing away and letting her howl a silent grief to the world.
"It's no trouble." His hand gripped her shoulder again, and then he rose slowly, went behind and pulled a blanket from nowhere and gently wrapped it around her. "I was in your shoes once, Ms. Martine. And I'd be a dreadful ingrate if I didn't offer you what someone did to me back then." He smiled, a crooked scapegoat twist of his lips.
Angela didn't ask him. He was divorced but wore a wedding ring; if that wasn't a good clue as to the solution of the offical ship's mystery, she wasn't going to ruin it by poking. So she nodded, and reached for another handkerchief.
Incredibly, they both fell asleep. She had no idea of it or how long until a soft footfall made her turn. Mr. Spock was entering from Stiles' sleeping room. He must have walked right past them to get in Sickbay, but they'd been oblivious.
He stopped when he saw she was awake, and inclined his head formally. "Ms. Martine-Teller." He murmured.
"Mr. Spock." She whispered. She still had tea left. Cold. She sipped it slowly. Dr. McCoy was still asleep, propped up against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. He needed a shave already.
Spock tilted his head curiously. Angela knew that the two men did not agree on much, but there was a mutual respect between them. Angela privately felt they saw in each other an interesting puzzle. At any rate, she'd never picked up anything vicious in their already famous little debates, but she could see that someone who'd never been there since the doctor signed on would think they hated each other.
"I'd let him sleep." She said quietly. "He's had it bad today."
Spock's expression was very close to wry amusement. "As have you, Ms. Martine. But that does not look like a safe posture for the doctor to be in."
"You've never seen the Classic Intern's Pose?" Angela was gripping for any lighter moment. "Trust me, he won't fall." She managed to smile and looked deep into her mug.
"Very well. I shall leave but someone will be nearby in case anything is needed."
"Thank you, Mr. Spock."
"Not at all."
She watched him go, a tall lanky man all rib-thin and strong. She wondered suddenly, if he had understood what they were doing with Robert. If he'd been human, she would have been certain that it was sympathy in his eyes.
SHORE LEAVE:
"Willya look at that." Sulu beamed as he stuffed a slide under her nose. "All the cellular material on that place was identical! I wish we'd noticed that before everything happened. We'da known the place was artifically constructed!"
Angela gave him a weak smile and pushed the slide away. "No, thanks, Hikaru. I appreciate it, but if you want a plant lover, talk to Raina!"
"Phooey." He declared. "I'll talk to Roddy. He's a good audience."
Oh, sure. Angela couldn't dignify that with even a snort. After all her effort to get the attention of Mr. Esteban Rodriguez, she just wound up dead! And THEN he seemed to be more interested in her now that she was brought back to life by those creepy machines?
Men! She thought in some kind of despair. Go figure!
She made her way through the ship in a kind of numbstruck frame of mind; all around her the crew were siphoning off to one grand shore leave, now that the Caretaker understood there were some limits to human mental abilities. Thank goodness.
And speaking of human limitations, she couldn't really blame Esteban for being chilly. He'd been a good crewmate of Robert's. And supportive when he died. But he seemed to think she was some kind of unfaithful crone to even think of another man.
She was lonely; what was so hard to believe about that?
Maybe he was a little too much like Robert: both of them dedicated workaholics with an interest in the past--only Robert's interest in antique planes had filled her with primitive bullets! She still shuddered to think of it, but even worse was the look of horrified guilt in his eyes every time he looked at her now.
So, what to do?
She was still wondering THAT as she realized she was in Psych Lab; supposedly the least favorite room to be in next to the Sewage Maintenance.
"Oh, hi, Angela." McCoy glanced up from a heavy box of plasticlears. "Better not come in here--I might put you to work."
"I knew space was dangerous when I signed up." Angela attempted to be flippant, but why bother? He knew something was up.
The doctor instantly sat down on the triangular desk, hands on his hips. "OK, talk."
They'd gotten to be very close friends since Robert's wake, although nothing was the least bit intimate about it. In a strange way, Leonard reminded her of him too much--they both had the same love of older culture, literature, language and customs. The only thing was, Robert had loved it like the anthro student he was; Leonard LIVED in an antiquated dialect, mannerisms, and music. Had Robert known of Leonard when he was alive, he might have simply turned the doctor over for a case study: Cultural Pocket Ecosystems; Appalachia, Southern Region Chapter One." She bit down an insane urge to snicker at that image.
Leonard let his eyebrow slide upwards as she snorted, but let her collect herself.
"Sorry." She shook her head. "I was...I'm still trying to sort things out in my head, Leonard."
"Sorting our experience, y'mean?" He guessed.
"Yes." She sighed. "I was dead. And then I woke up in that strange computer room..." She suddenly shivered, rubbing her forearms. "Leonard, it sounds crazy, and I've never believed in a Negative Afterlife, but I thought at first I was in hell!"
"I can see that." Leonard said dryly. "All those machines. Of course, Spock would have been in Linear Heaven, I'm sure."
Angela laughed weakly. "Did you...while you were dead...I mean, before you were revived..."
"Nuh, uh. You don't revive someone from impalement. I was *dead*, Angela. Likewise those bullets stitched up your back."
Angela swallowed. "What was it like for you?" She barged the question forward.
He blinked. "Peaceful." He said slowly. "I've been in that place before. It's always...peaceful."
"Did you ever hear any voices?"
"Did you?"
"I thought I might have heard Robert's." Now she was blushing. Damn it. That made her even more embarassed. "I'm sorry, this isn't making any sense."
"Makes perfect sense." He said bluntly. "It's never happened to me, but I've heard many of people talk of seeing, or hearing, their loved ones on the other side."
Angela hesitated. "And you never have?"
"Can't say I have."
"And it was still...peaceful?"
"Very. Peaceful and gentle and loving." He spoke without shame, or even a crooked grin. Behind him, a shadow fell across the floor; someone about to enter, but not wanting to interrupt a conversation. Angela didn't care; it was probably Tonia, she guessed.
She absorbed that. "How do I know it's not an illusion?"
"Is that what's bothering you? Thinking a planet of illusions might have slipped you one?"
"Well...yeah. That and maybe it IS an hallucination to think you're seeing the Afterlife."
He shook his head. "Nah, sorry, but that's deeply illogical, pardon my language. Why would you hallucinate that? Because you think you might expect it? You tryin' to make me believe that what fuels these bodies doesn't transform or go off and head somewhere else?" Nothing's wasted, Angela."
The shadow hesitated on the floor, then turned to leave. Angela caught the profile of very large ears. Certainly not Tonia.
She cleared her throat. If Spock wanted to speak to Leonard in private, she didn't want to be an obstacle. "Well, I still have a lot of thinking to do, but I think I'm going to go spend some of my leave with Tonia." She grinned as he made a good natured face.
"What, telling tales?" He teased.
"Hardly. I just found out she's wanting to transfer to Special Techs. And I was thinking of getting some more experience under Nyota..." She shrugged, suddenly awkward.
"Gong from Specialist 2/C to Communications?" He chuckled. "Not bad, not bad at all. You know you'll probably GET a good bit of experience under Ny. She's leaving for a few months next year to attend a Synthetic Language Conference, you know."
"No, I didn't know." Suddenly, her prospects looked brighter. "I'll have to ask her about that."
"Please do. Now, if you aren't going to help me avoid a slipped disk..." McCoy bent, and despite his comment, lifted the fifty-pound box with ease.
She was still chuckling as she walked out of the Lab. Mr. Spock, she was not surprised to see, was in the hallway, ostensively reading and re-reading the list on his Padd.
Poor man. Angela thought as she went to the turbolifts. Forget being Vulcan, Human, or six of one, half a dozen of the other. He was a man when you came down to it, and he had the look that men did when they were having the kind of problems that kept you up at night. He would never live down that episode with that strange Kalomi blond. No wonder he kept to himself.
She hoped Leonard could give him some advice. She didn't think she qualified. Not with her own troubles in the field of romance.
TURNABOUT INTRUDER:
Hikaru hadn't needed to convince her or Pavel. Angela ached for the sturdy, sassy presence of Nyota, and wished with all her heart that her superior wasn't away on that stupid language conference. But it took no twinge of conscience to deliberately set her hands in her lap and return the captain's hard, astonished gaze with her own.
*I hate you,* She thought, amazed at that relevation. And the green gold eyes widened in realization.
She DID hate him. Who in the Galaxy could want sober, steady Mr. Spock dead? SPOCK, for the love of God! Spock who had offered his life for the ship countless times without a single thought of himself? Who would give until there was nothing left to give, and then apologize for failing? And Scotty, the smiling man who had been about to give her away to Robert two years ago, and played at his funeral? Leonard McCoy, with his kindness and a gentle streak no amount of brusqueness could hide, even briefly. Those three men had never been anything but good to her. She owed them more than her passive resistance. She owed them her anger, and her defiance.
And then the captain went mad.
There was no other word for it.
* * *
She went walking alone that night. Observation Bay was crowded when they were this deep in space; she had no desire to be a part of the running gossip about Janice Lester and Arthur Coleman. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing to say about either of them.
She had a lot to think about. This was not the Angela who watched Leonard pull the sheet over Robert's face and questioned the Universe. Nor was this the Angela who died and woke up very surprised to be alive again. This was a startled, musing Angela, who had been given very strong proof that there was life after death...in a very unexpected way.
Leonard and Mr. Spock were demanding that the Life Entity Transferer be destroyed, utterly, wholly, totally. She doubted the captain would complain about that attitude; Lester had nearly killed him with it, after raping his personal identity. When she thought of silent, self-possessed and stoic James Kirk forced to endure existance in a body that wasn't his...she chilled at the thought, and then the shivers wouldn't stop. She rubbed her arms fiercely, and was instantly attracted to one of the warmest areas of the ship.
Hydroponics, Sulu's Home Away From Home, touched her for its lush growth and smells. She breathed deep, seeking calm. Plants brushed all around her, waving under the artifical wind that stimulated their silica growth. It was warm and wet and she felt like she was at home on the Pacific Coast again. Just needed an ocean and maybe a big sand castle...
She found a burgeoning vine of deep purple blooms Hikaru was training to grow up a kind of trellis, and she inhaled the deep lemon-sweet fragrance until her head swam. The tiny leaves had varying shapes and sizes, and they moved with a faint, delicate rustling that reminded her of putting her ear to the biggest shell she could find as a child. A small sign stuck in the soil informed her this was an Orion Singing Vine, and the movements of the leaves were considered soothing to most species. It went on to explain that the "singing" part came from wind passing through the natural slits in the larger leaves.
Gertrude was asleep; she rather missed the reactive Arcturian Fern but Sulu was stern about letting her lie dormant for a while.
The trellis was just too good to pass up. Memories of summer at her grandmother's house and grape arbors compelled her; she stepped inside the small space and saw that Sulu had trained loose tendrils to stand aside. She smiled and sat down, undoing the supple greens and re-twining them into a protective screen. Now she was surrounded by the perfumed plant life. The leaves murmured softly among themselves, a soothing hum that did indeed, calm her mind. Now she knew how Hikaru had gotten on this "meditation kick" as Pavel had put it.
"I don't know what to do." Leonard's rough voice alerted her hearing as the door swished shut. Heavy men's tread--no, one pair of high heeled Starfleet boots, and a softer, lighter step. She was no longer alone.
"It is not an easy thing to contemplate." Mr. Spock's deep voice floated after the doctor's. Angela opened her mouth to make a noise, alert them that they weren't alone, but she saw the tight, set, HAUNTED expression on Leonard's face and went cold all over. Never in her years on ship, had she seen that look.
The doctor sank down on the low bench not six feet before her, his head hanging down as his hands dangled off his legs. Spock stood at his side, his hands clasped behind his back. He was the one in uniform, wearing the boots. Leonard was devoutly civilian tonight, in a soft brown suit and some kind of leather moccasin that folded the cuff over almost over the entire foot.
"Easy?" Leonard's voice was muffled. "He loved her, Spock. He really loved her. Enough to kill for her, enough to lie...he would have killed her body with Jim still in it. Do you know how I felt listening to them in the hallway when Jim got his life back? My God. He was promising to take care of her as she wailed like a damn banshee." Leonard straightened briefly, then ran his fingers through his hair. "There's no way he can take care of her. He's going to be charged with aiding and abetting and he's going to be as much a security hazard as she is..." He broke off and jumped to his feet. Spock watched him pace in nervous energy, silent and watchful.
"The only option I can think of is find a place in the Federation that would accept the unique specs of this case. They both need treatment together. Otherwise I'm pretty sure it'd never work."
"Would that be difficult to arrange?" Spock was clearly compassionate; Vulcans with their high reverence for a healthy mind, must find deep pity in ones that were unable to function properly.
Angela was momentarily nonplussed; Spock should be able to hear her breathing, if not her heartbeat. Oh, the vines. She realized, and tried to make herself mentally "small" as well.
"Difficult? It can be done, but I don't know if it can be done swiftly." Leonard stopped, his chest heaving a sigh. He looked at Spock almost helplessly. "God help me, that man has committed all kinds of murder for that woman, and I consider his keeping Lester's body sedated and helpless while Jim was in it, plain TORTURE! But...I can't bring myself to feel anything but sorrow for him."
"You would wish to hate him?" Spock tilted his head to one side. "That is not within the guides of your Oath."
"Spock, what he did was against the most serious oaths any physician can swear. 'Harm None!' He let people die of radiation poisoning, let her kidnap Jim's soul--she--don't get me started again! He caused harm, Spock! That's not the same as killing! Killing can be done for fathomable reasons, but harm is malice!"
Leonard stopped talking and looked away. His eyes lowered to the floor and Angela saw him reach up and put his hand to his temple.
"I agree." Spock said quietly. He took a step forward, standing closer to Leonard than Angela had ever seen. "But, Leonard, despite the personal repurcussions of their actions to Jim and your Calling, this will not be your problem for much longer. Starfleet will take them to custody when we dock."
"I know, I know." Leonard said impatiently. "I'm just...angry, Spock. Completely, totally, illogically angry." The last was said in deeat.
"You are not the only person to feel outrage." Spock shook his head, and some coloring of emotion that Angela had never witnessed had reached his voice. "There is no greater crime to a Vulcan, Leonard. Even murder is not nearly so heinous as the violation of another's mind. Jim would have died in terror and rage had we not learned the truth."
"We? You're the one who caught on. I was trying to stall for time!"
"And yet it was neither of us who saved Jim. It was Jim's own will to survive, and Dr. Lester's instable drive."
The two men traded a silence with their eyes, not speaking or moving, a communication that Angela could somehow intuit: for all their fear and efforts, James T. Kirk did have a remarkable ability to defeat all odds against him.
Through the curtain of humming leaves, Spock reached one hand up and gently, very gently, closed his fingers around Leonard's.
Angela forgot to breathe.
"It is not in you to take life or harbor hatred, Leonard." The Vulcan murmured and tugged lightly until the other was pulled against his chest. "In that, I am afraid we will always have to defer to you."
Angela was not a voyeur, but she was unable to look away as Spock touched his lips with Leonard's, then slowly wrap him inside his free arm. She saw Leonard quietly return the touch, his hand resting on the back of the Vulcan's neck.
They did not kiss for long, simply held each other as the doctor finally let the loathing of the day drain out in a fit of trembling. Spock pressed his head against his shoulder and stood silent, wordlessly letting it free him. And when it was done, they pulled away far enough to meet each other's eyes.
"Come with me." Spock reached up and touched the other's jaw. "I can make you forget this."
Leonard's weary face smoothed into the faintest smile Angela had ever seen. "I would like that, Spock." he said in his soft drawl. Spock ran his fingers across the skin one last time, wistful, and they were walking out of the garden side by side, to all appearances nothing more than friends.
Angela swallowed a lump in her throat. She was such a sentimental romantic, she thought to herself. Now all she had to do was pretend she was as ignorant as everyone else on the ship.
But maybe that wouldn't be too impossible. She understood that Vulcans DID have emotions and DID display them; just not in public. And Leonard was too good a friend for her not to drop an occasional teasing hint. She couldn't think of a better way to show her approval, because if any two could suit each other, they were.
Then a sudden thought hit her: did Nyota know?
She realized she was smiling. Very gradually, the smile turned to quiet, delighted laughter.
T'End |