DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Ster Julie and is copyright (c) 2004 by Ster Julie. Rated PG.


Ster Julie


It was a dark and stormy night -- really! I had gone to bed early because I had no intention of letting my computer get fried by the power surges the storm was causing. The power was going out more often than a cheap hooker, so, no lights, no cable, no computer, and no phone equals no use staying up! I got into my shooting stars flannel jammies, crawled between the sheets, and tried NOT to dream of being in a deep space phaser fight.

Three hours into dreamland, my front door is blown open by a gust of wind. I pull a throw around my shoulders and go downstairs to secure the door, when I saw her.

"Here we go again!" I mutter

None other than Christine Chapel waltzes in, happy as a clam. Whereas my other visitors visited to register their complaints, Chris is on cloud 9. She has that gleam in her eye as she spins and pirouettes happily around my den.

"Can I help you?" I ask as she twirls by. Christine stops briefly, just long enough to hug me.

"You have done plenty!" she smiles.

"Why the happy dance?" I ask her as she continues her ballet.

"I finally have my man!" she beams. "Ninety percent of the stories out there show me in a good light, no, a GREAT light! Most of them let me get my Vulcan, even marrying him and popping out babies with him by the armload!" She pauses her story to pound her feet into the floor and her fists into the air with glee. "Only one story in 25 shows me as a ditz, but I'm not bothered by those. There is even a cluster of stories where I get Kirk instead, a handful where I get BOTH of them, and a stray story of me with McCoy, Sarek, or women." She stops a moment and looks down. "That last bit is not my cup of tea," she raised her head and beams again, "but I'm just so elated with the Spock and Christine stories that I don't mind those, either!"

Christine stops and looks at me, bedraggled, wrapped in a blanket. She realizes in the middle of her happy dance that she has awakened me.

"Oh! You were asleep!" she apologizes. "I'm so sorry for waking you. I just..." She gets that gleam in her eyes again. "I just wanted to thank you writers for making a girl's dreams come true!" She grinned so broadly that I thought her face might break..

As Christine turns to leave, she spots THE pix of Spock in leather jeans.

"Ooh!" she breathed. She pulled the poster from the wall and hugs it. "I took this picture!" she says. "I even helped Spock pick out the clothes, the look, the pose, and ... all." I swear, she actually blushed! "In the copy I have, the top two buttons of his jeans are undone and -- oh, my!" She closes her eyes and, moaning, hugs the poster to herself.

I tell her, "Good bye, get out of my room, and tell your friends to stay away. All these Dickensian visitations are creeping me out!" Christine starts to waltz with my poster, humming a tune from Rodgers and Hammerstein's "Cinderella."

"Okay," she responds as she waltzes out my door. I pull the poster from her before she goes out into that dark night, singing.

"I have found him. He's an angel. He's the light of the stars in my eyes. We are dancing, we are flying, and he's taking me back to the skies.

"In the arms of my love, I'm flying through mountain and meadow and glen. We're flying so high that we touch the sky. We may never come down again. We may never come down to earth again."

"Suits me fine," I mutter. "Just all y'all stay away from me, hear?" I slam the door and bolt it, jump back into my warm bed and pull the covers over my head.

"Why can't I have a normal life?" I asked before falling blissfully asleep.