Normal Legal Disclaimers Apply Within.

The Last Word
(Challenge Response)
By DebbieB

There were no two ways about it. Dying sucked.

In a big, giant way.

Christine Chapel floated above her body, watching as McCoy did everything in his power to salvage the mess she’d made of her physical property. He was good, but he sure as hell wasn’t that good.

Stupid, she thought to herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. ‘Oh, no, Mr. Spock. I’ll stay here. You see to the others. I can take care of myself.’

Stupid, stupid, stupid. She should have known her overblown fascination with that Vulcan would lead her to no good.

Live by the hormones, die by the hormones.

Literally.

Why did I have to volunteer to go to that reception? Who was I trying to impress? Spock? Spock?? Oh, puh-lease. She looked down. McCoy was working through tears now.

She felt sorry for him. She wanted to put her hands on his shoulders, let him know she was feeling no pain. Not that you could tell it from the jigsaw puzzle she’d squeezed into a red strapless only two hours earlier.

Shore leave did funny things to people. Like herself, for example. Any normal person would have gone out with friends. Had a few laughs, kicked back, picked up a few souvenirs for nephews. But Christine Chapel? No, she had to squeeze into the tightest, sexiest, reddest strapless gown she could find and traipse off with Uhura to a reception for Dr. ‘’v’Slandiqklu.

Because said doctor was the premier physicist on Andor? Because said doctor had thrice won the Nobel Prize and had completely redefined Starfleet’s understanding of the workings of the universe?

No.

Because a certain Vulcan commander was scheduled to deliver the introduction and she wanted him to see what a hottie she was in that red dress?

Yes.

Live by the hormones, die by the hormones.

The first blast had come from nowhere. Her medical instincts had kicked in, despite the lack of blood-flow to her brain. Good thing the dress was red, because there was no way she was getting out of there without a few stains.

Spock had run into her amidst the chaos, insisting that she beam back to the ship immediately.

‘I’m needed here.’ ‘I’m a doctor.’ I’m not going to save my butt on the off-chance that you’re gonna die down here.

So she stayed. And the second blast followed. And the third.

And people just freakin’ dropped dead all around her.

She had totally lost sight of Spock when the last blast hit. That is, the last blast which had any significant meaning in her life. The one that sent that hot red dress flying in several interesting directions.

The next thing she knew, she was hovering over her own battered body watching McCoy swear at the monitors.

Dying sucked. In a big way.

She wondered absently if Spock had survived the blast. It was possible. He did seem to have more lives than the top three runners-up in your average cat show. Besides, if he was hanging around in the afterlife (or pre-afterlife, or whatever it was) with her, wouldn’t he have made an appearance yet?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Chapel felt the pull of the next step on her.

Spock was okay. Something told her that. Not that it mattered much to her anymore. That tugging had turned into a hurricane-force vacuum, pulling her away from the scene in Sickbay.

She only had time for one last look before she slid away.

Well, at least she died looking fabulous.

The End