DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of T'Maia and is copyright (c) 2000 by T'Maia. This story is Rated G.

"Dear Christine..."


Spock was dead.

Since the news came in Christine had been on automatic gear. It didn't matter that he had never returned her feelings. It didn't matter that he had more or less shunned her. It hurt. She couldn't believe she would never see him, never hear his voice, never see his signature under an order again.

"Kirk to sickbay," came the call over the intercom. "Get a medical team to Spock's quarters on the double."

Spock! Christine snatched her bag and was out of the door before reality hit her. Spock was dead. It wasn't Spock who needed her. Whoever was there had violated the sanctuary of Spock's quarters. Whoever it was, she would not pamper him.

Christine entered the quarters. Kirk held McCoy in his arms.

"Check him," he ordered her.

She used the tricorder. "I can't find anything." McCoy turned his head and stared at her.

"Miss Chapel ... " His voice sounded strange. He struggled free from Kirk and pulled a book out of the shelf before he collapsed on the floor. Kirk rushed to his attention. Christine checked him again, but again the readings were within the norm.

"Let's get him to sickbay." She turned to the attendants with the stretcher. They picked McCoy up and left. Christine took a second to put the book back on the shelf. Spock had never left any of his things untidy.

A letter fell into her hand. "Christine" was written on the outside.

She stared at it in disbelief. A letter from Spock. To her. And never sent. Her heart trembled as she opened it.

"Dear Christine,

"You are right. I am not cold and detached like McCoy always says.

I do feel.

I do long for love.

I can love another person.

I wish to love and to be loved, to touch and to be touched, forever and always.

I wish I would love you. I wish I could love you the way you deserved for loving me the way you do.

I am sorry for you.

I grieve with thee. For your love was futile from the beginning.

Cruel joke of fate that the very reason I can not love you is the fact that I can love.

I feel drawn to you. Drawn to you due to the fact that you are as hopelessly consumed by that irrational feeling as I am.

I feel bonded to you. Bonded to you due to the fact that you love somebody who can offer you friendship at the most.

Your love is not returned. Not in the intensity you desire.

Like mine.

The reason I cannot love you is that I love somebody else.

I do not wish to hurt you. I never have.

That's the reason why you will never see this letter.

Your friend,

Spock "

Christine closed the sheet. Tears streamed down her face. Oh, Spock ...