DISCLAIMER: The characters and events in this story are based on Star Trek. I do not own them or Star Trek, they belong to the estate and heirs of Gene Roddenberry. This story is rated PG.

U.S.S. Titanic

Trish

It was becoming more dangerous to remain on the planet's surface as the minutes progressed. The flares from the system's decaying sun were already reaching its fifth satellite. Soon it would be impossible to transport through the bombardment of deep space radiation. Most of the small landing party that the Enterprise had sent down to oversee the evacuation had already beamed back up to the ship, and Mr. Scott had relayed that even that had been difficult. Dr. McCoy was busy treating some cases of radiation poisoning in sickbay, and the captain was anxious to warp as far away from the impending supernova as possible. Below, however, there was still much to be done.

The only two members of the small group of Federation personnel still left behind were the Enterprise's first officer, Mr. Spock, who had been supervising operations; and its head nurse Christine Chapel. She had volunteered to remain at the outpost's medical facilities to care for some of the planet's most critical patients. These two officers shared a history which ordinarily would have created at least tension between them. Today however, there was far too much to be done and the situation too dire, to even consider personal reactions.

"Miss Chapel," Spock announced as he strode through the door of the intensive care unit. "We must get the patients ready to transport now. It is imperative that we leave immediately."

"Moving them could make their conditions worse," she replied, barely looking up from some charts she was reading.

"There is no choice. That's an order," he nearly yelled.

"We'll have to get them on stretchers and have them beamed back to the ship first," she answered. Neither noticed that the sky was turning from a mass of orange streaks to blinding white as the sun was beginning to burn up the planet's atmosphere.

"Very well. We shall have to hurry. Time is of the essence." His tricorder readings of the climate changes were off the chart and the ground was beginning to shake. The planet was disintegrating under the pressure and pull of the sun's gravity.

Christine made some last minute adjustments to the medical equipment and switched the monitors and life support mechanisms attached the patients to automatic control. She hoped they would survive the trip. As the last button had been pressed, she heard Spock's communicator flip open.

"Spock to Enterprise," he spoke into the small box, his voice raised over the din of the destruction occurring around them. "Prepare to transport."

"We do no' have the power to transport all of ya at one time through the radiation," Mr. Scott's brogue sounded over the channel.

"Tranport the patients first," Spock commanded.

"Aye. Sir. On your mark," Scotty agreed.

"Energize," Spock gave the word.

The six figures on the gurneys flickered and began to disappear. It took longer than usual and it was obvious that the ship's power supply was being affected by the solar flares. They would have to hurry. "We got 'em. Ready to beam you and Miss Chapel up. Mr. Spock," the Scotsman announced.

The Vulcan and the human both assumed a rigid stance, preparing to be beamed out to the safety of the orbiting starship. It seemed to take forever, but finally the strange sensation of not quite being began to overcome them. Their essences disappeared into the void, as a huge burst from the sun struck the planet.

Aboard the ship in the transporter room quickly fell into confusion. The Captain, who had come directly from the bridge for a full report from his first officer hung on Mr. Scott's every move. It was clear there was a very big problem.

"Engine Room. Divert power from impulse engines to the transporter. We're losing them," Scotty called frantically.

He energized again, pushing the levers to maximum. Two figures shadowed in sparkles began to form on the pads across the room. The images faltered, faded, and started to materialize again. A flash of blue uniform, a hint of blond hair then black, the outline of a face then another. Mr. Scott worked the controls for all he was worth, trying everything he knew and some things he improvised. Aided by the captain he was determined not to fail.

Again, he shoved the levers to the top of the work station. He was not going to stop. The choice would not be his to make that day. The figures vanished, and a horrid silence filled the room.

Scott could barely control his shaking, his voice was almost inaudible. "They're gone Captain."

* * *

She had yet to open her eyes although she was slowly returning to consciousness. The first sensation that entered her awareness was the dull thudding ache in her head. Certainly she wasn't dead, nowhere in all of her childhood learning about the afterlife could she remember any mention of headaches. She lifted her eyelids carefully. The light that met her pupils burned her senses even though it was dim. If she had not known better she would have sworn she was hung over.

Christine Chapel watched outlined shapes begin to form in her vision. They were strange but somehow, something very old in her recognized them. Something nearly forgotten in the memory of human past told her she knew what these things were. That would have to be contemplated later as more recent memories flooded her mind. She remembered watching the planet fall apart around her, felt the rush of anxiety not knowing if she would get back to ship in time. Christine remembered vanishing and then not forming again. She remembered something else as well. Spock.

Christine bolted upright from where she had been lying on the hard wooden plank floor. She fought the urge to faint as the circulation rushed to her brain. Her eyes focused a bit more and she saw Spock sitting a few feet from her. He was also assessing their situation. Christine noticed that he was not as dazed as she was and that he had already begun tricorder readings. Wherever they were, she was glad they were together, at least he could be the calm one. She also gave up a silent prayer of thanks that he was well.

"Are we dead?" she asked him rubbing her temple.

"Highly unlikely," Spock answered without looking up from his work.

Christine stood and went over to join him, trying to take note of their surroundings. They seemed to be in some sort of cargo hold. There were boxes and wooden crates stacked higher than she could even reach. Large burlap bags slouched across themselves and old style luggage was assembled neatly by what seemed to be a door. The light that filled the room was coming from a few tiny round windows. There was no covering of dust over the items indicating that they had not been stored long, but she coughed from the stuffy air. Reaching Spock she knelt and looked over his shoulder at the tricorder.

"Where are we?" she whispered, for some reason feeling as though she needed to keep her voice down.

"It appears that the more appropriate question would be when are we?" he corrected her.

"What?" She looked at him quizically.

"From what I can deduce through the tricorder readings, a large solar flare struck the outpost exactly at our time of beam out. Its affect, along with the process of beaming, seems to have created some sort of space time continuum," Spock explained, standing as he finished.

"You mean we've gone back in time?" Christine asked a bit shocked as she followed Spock to an upright position.

"Yes, Miss Chapel. Not only time, but place as well. A temporary worm hole seems to also have been formed," he continued.

"Can you tell where ... and when we've ended up?" Christine looked around her, hoping the place was at least friendly.

"I have scanned the pollution content of the atmosphere, ratio of water to land of the planet, population, technilogical development ... " Spock began trying to be thorough.

"Alright, I get the picture. Just tell me where?" She was getting a little annoyed.

"It appears that we are on Earth, circa early twentieth century," Spock said plainly.

"Can you be a little more specific?" Christine wondered aloud.

"Yes. The calendar placement seems to be in the year 1912, early spring," he said.

"Do you know where?" Christine looked at him.

"It appears that we are somewhere in the North Atlantic," Spock told her.

"In the middle of the ocean? Then we're on a ship?" Christine looked around. She realized suddenly that the floor was swaying. She ran to one of the windows. Steadying herself, she climbed upon a small stack of crates to reach the porthole. A vast blanket of rolling blue waves stretched out beyond. For a moment she felt comforted and almost smiled. Then she remembered their situation. "Can we get back?" she asked, her face turning dire.

"I am endeavoring discover a way to do just that as we speak," Spock said, still working the tricorder.

Climbing down from the boxes Christine pushed a large coil of rope from the top of a crate and prepared to take a seat. The sight that struck her eyes stopped her dead in her tracks. The breath left her lungs, and she could barely think. "Oh, my God," she sighed heavily trying to ward off panic.

"What is it, Miss Chapel?" Spock asked remembering her presence.

She stood staring down at the crate lid for a moment longer as he moved over to join her. "Look." She pointed, all of the color having drained from her face.

An uncustomary sense of dread filled Spock as he read the words that were formed in black paint on the top boards.

R.M.S. TITANIC...

* * *

"The flare hit them just as they were beaming back to us," Scotty said. He and the other senior officers were seated around the large table in the Enterprise's conference room. "The interference disrupted their transporter signals."

"We've had transporter disruptions before and never lost anybody," Kirk acknowledged.

"Aye, but never coupled with an extreme radiation and changes in gravity that were caused by the disentegration of the system's sun," Mr. Scott answered.

"Don't remind me." The Captain grimaced. It was that failing sun that had forced them to leave the system before truly discovering what had happened to their friends. For all he knew they were still down on that planet's surface. No. He tried to comfort himself. The scans had shown no signs of life. They had worked the transporter controls for hours trying to reform them, to no avail. It was true, they were gone.

McCoy sat watching Jim fall apart. He was taking it hard, as he had every right to. It was always tough for a captain to lose crewmember, they were like his family, his children. For Jim this was worse, they were friends. Spock was his best friend, like a brother. They had been through a lot together and there were times that the big stubborn Vulcan was almost human, when it came to his friendship with Jim Kirk. McCoy was certain the Kirk would have rather been the one lost in that transporter accident. McCoy himself could hardly stand the loss. Spock was his friend as well.

The old doctor swallowed hard, thinking of Christine. She was like a daughter to him. She had deserved far better than what she had always been dealt. Losing her life in such an accident seemed the final injustice. She was so young and beautiful and vibrant. He would have gladly changed places with her. It was ironic that she had died with Spock. Almost as if the fates were allowing her finally to be with him after all. McCoy inwardly cursed the cruel order of things.

"I want a full investigation. Tear apart every piece of machinery on this ship if you have to." Kirk's tone brought McCoy out of his dark thoughts.

"Aye, sir. Already underway," Scotty reported.

"Good. Let me know anything you find out," Kirk ordered. "Dismissed."

Scotty, Uhura, Sulu, and Chekov filed out grimly, each mourning their friends in their own ways. The past few days aboard the Enterprise had been sad and cheerless. Everyone tried to celebrate the lives of their missing comrades, instead of grieving their loss. However, it had been extremely difficult. There seemed to be to voids left on the ship, ones which could not be filled.

As so often occurred, McCoy and Kirk remained behind in the conference room deep in their over conversation. The old doctor and the young captain barely needed words, which was fortunate because few would come.

"I should have been down there," Kirk lamented.

"Don't beat yourself up, Jim. You know procedure. You needed to be up here on the ship incase something happened," McCoy clamped his shoulder.

"It doesn't make it any easier." Kirk shook his head.

"Nothing could make it easier," Leonard agreed. "It's gonna hurt for a long time."

"How are you holding up so well?" Kirk wondered, a slight smile passing over his eyes.

"Maybe it's because I've seen a lot of death in my line of work. Maybe I'm just used to it." McCoy shrugged his shoulders.

Kirk knew his old friend would never be so glib about the loss of two such cherished friends if he wasn't also hurting badly. Sometimes the doctor was more like a Vulcan than he would ever stand to admit. McCoy had two forms of communication -- laughter and yelling. Whenever something really got to him, he would hide behind of wall of humor, and Kirk suspected not just a little bourbon.

For some reason McCoy felt a chuckle escape his throat. "Well, one thing's for sure. I can't think of anyone Chris would rather be lost in eternity with."

Kirk smiled a little. "Who knows, maybe she'll finally get his attention."

"Now wouldn't that be something," McCoy nodded thoughtfully.

* * *

Christine had watched Spock for hours. He had immediately begun making modifications to the tricorder. He mentioned something to her about a theory he had that he wished to test, but that was all the insight he had provided. She assumed that he was either too preoccupied to elaborate, or he did not think that she would understand. It was that last thought that infuriated her.

"I can't stand it anymore," she finally said, exasperated. "Would you please tell me what you're doing?"

"As I stated before, I am testing a theory," the Vulcan said without looking up.

"What's your theory?" she begged.

"It is quite complicated. I do not think you would comprehend the specific details," Spock answered finally eying her.

At that Christine sat back and crossed her arms, with her jaw set and her eyes narrowed, she announced, "Try me."

Spock could see that he had inadvertently insulted her and decided that it would be best, at least under the circumstances, to humor her. She did have a right to know what was happening even if she could not fathom the principles behind it. He attempted to make amends.

"It is quite possible that the temporal distortion which threw us backward in time is still in existence," he answered.

"You mean we could get back home?" Her eyes widened with hope.

"Potentially, yes. Our transporter signatures may still be on board the Enterprise," he informed her. "The captain and Mr. Scott should have contained the transporter equipment until it can be properly inspected at the nearest Star Fleet facility." It was procedure not to use a transporter that has malfunctioned until it had been completely overhauled. "If no one has used it since the time of our accident, our patterns should still be registering on the monitors."

"I'd be willing to bet they had it torn apart about two seconds after we disappeared." Christine now felt a little more assured about their prospects of return to their own time and place.

"I do not gamble, by nature," Spock told her, missing the meaning of her slang. "However, I am quite certain you are correct." He knew that Jim was nothing if not thorough.

He continued, "If that is the case, then the mechanism will still contain our statistics."

"You mean that the transporter is still locked onto us?" Christine clarified.

"Precisely," Spock nodded.

"There is only one problem with that. We are over three and half centuries in the past and clear across the galaxy. Maybe if we were a few kilometers away, they could just scan for us, but now..." She broke off.

"It is possible that the wormhole is still surrounding us," Spock told her.

Christine's eyes suddenly sparkled as realization struck. "Of course. The Carelli Principle. We could be the locus of the distortion."

Spock looked shocked at her knowledge. "You are familiar with the physics of transportation?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Mr. Spock," Christine smiled satisfied with herself.

Spock raised an eyebrow and pondered what other secrets she could possibly be hiding. "Indeed," he answered. They looked at each for a moment until Christine once again broke the silence.

"Your theory would make sense," she agreed.

"Yes. The radiation caused by the solar flare has somehow extended and bent the beams on which we were materializing, causing us to end up here," he said.

"Then, in effect, we could still be connected to the Enterprise?" Christine asked.

"Yes. Most probably our data is scrambled somewhere within the ships computer system. All that need be done is for someone to reorganize it, and feed it back into the transporter mechanism. Then they would have the capability to bring us back from this time and reform us aboard the Enterprise," he said.

"How can you know for sure if the computer has our patterns?" she asked.

"I will need to set up a containment field to test my theory. I will try to duplicate the conditions of our beam out. I should then be able to signal the Enterprise."

"I rather doubt you will find what you need to set up the containment field in this day and age," Christine said a bit disappointed.

"It is possible. The equipment necessary for the endeavor is surprisingly simple and can be made from rudimentary materials. I should be able to construct an adequate device with items found on board this ship. If it works then they ..." he said.

"Then they could pull us back," Christine interrupted, her eyes far away. "That is if they have come up with the same theory."

Spock nodded his head. "As you humans say. I would lay money on Mr. Scott beginning precisely those actions."

Christine looked at him. This time it was her brow that rose in surprise. Perhaps there was much she had to learn about him as well.

* * *

"What is it Mr. Scott?" Captain Kirk came rushing into the transporter room having run all the way from bridge after being summoned by his acting second on command. At first he was shocked to see the mechanism lying in pieces all over the floor. However this momentary reaction was soon replaced by pride in his crew, who still had not given up trying to find Mr. Spock and Miss Chapel. They might not be able to get them back, but at least they would know why.

"Captain," Scotty said. His voice muffled.

Kirk looked down at the legs of his chief engineer which were now sticking out from under the transporter platform. Scotty quickly crawled from the confined space and stiffly rose to his feet.

"I think we've found something, sir," the Scotsman said.

"What is it?" Kirk looked excited.

"There is a dissimilarity in the transporter configuration. When we compare it to the memory banks of the computer, they do not coincide," Scott said. Kirk did not understand why his friend had a twinkle in his eye.

"Elaborate, please," Kirk frowned.

"The transporter is still holding Mr. Spock's and Miss Chapel's beaming patterns," Scott grinned.

"You mean they're still in there?" Kirk smiled hopefully.

"Physically, no," Scott corrected him. "However, it may be possible to find out where they did go and get them back."

"Then they could still be alive." The Captain wanted to shout for joy.

"There's a chance. It's slim, but there is a chance," Scotty smiled.

"What do you need to do next?" Kirk asked.

"I have to run a few more diagnostics on the equipment. Then I want to try scanning and reorganizing the computer banks. Information from the transporter is channeled directly into the main system after it's used. It may give us a more definite clue about their current coordinates," Scotty asked.

Kirk liked the way his chief engineer was still talking about Spock and Christine in the present tense. "Whatever it takes, Mr. Scott. You have full run of the ship. Bring them back," he smiled.

"Aye, sir!" Scotty grinned.

* * *

"Miss Chapel. I fear I may have been overly optimistic about our chances of returning to our own time," Spock called. Christine had hidden herself away behind a pile of crates some time ago and he not seen her since. He assumed she needed time to herself and did not wish to interrupt her. He had continued working quietly on his project.

"Why is that, Mr. Spock?" she answered him, her disembodied voice questioning.

"For one thing it will be exceedingly difficult for us to leave this cargo hold. We are not attired for the time period, we are quite unfamiliar with their customs and mores, and I am certain to provoke at least moderate curiosity," Spock said.

"Well, I suppose that would present a problem. I know a little about this time from movies, but they were all made years after and I'm sure there are differences," she said, still not appearing back into his line of sight.

"You are most probably correct," he acknowledged. "Therefore we should keep as low a profile as possible while we are here."

"I agree," she said.

"There again, a problem in acquiring equipment presents itself," he thought aloud turning his back to the crates.

"I don't think that will be too difficult. Just tell me what you need," her voice rang softly behind him.

Spock turned and could scarcely believe his eyes. Before him stood the most beautiful vision of perfection he had ever seen. Christine's uniform had been replaced by what in their own time could have only been described as a gown. Light lavender silk cascaded down her slender form. The color accentuated her eyes and her flawless creamy skin. A ring of lace framed her graceful neck and her tiny waist was emphasized with a wide cream colored sash. The skirt of the dress was long and full and trailed to the floor. For some reason he found it very alluring. Although her golden hair was swept up as she wore it on the ship, she had loosened a few small tendrils around her face, softening the edges and casting shadows around her temples. She looked like a fragile porcelain doll, something to be cherished.

She moved closer to him. The long dress concealed the small shuffling of her feet and she almost seemed to float. The seductive rustle of the silk played in his ears and he could not find his voice. Feelings which he had never experienced rushed at him and to a degree he could have never thought possible. He did his best to control them but they were easily winning. Her face was like that of an angel. Had he truly once compared another woman to a work of art? Had he actually described another as more than any dream of beauty he had ever known? Was there really a time when he had been ready to abandon everything he was for someone else, not her? Shame consumed him. How could he have ever imagined anyone but her, and why had it taken him so long to realize? Spock watched Christine, suddenly seeing her for the first time. Her beauty was indescribable. She captivated him. This must be what humans called love at first sight and it was for someone he had known for years. His best defenses were useless. All the barriers he had placed in her way crumbled and he let them. This was not some trick brought about by a mind altering substance. It was not the result of an effect of history. They had not gone back to a time when his people were ruled by their emotions. This reaction to her was coming from him and it was long overdue. He had fought it for years, now he could no longer struggle against it. Spock's heart wrenched to remember his treatment of her. At times he had been hateful and condescending, once even physically violent. However most of the time he merely cruelly ignored her. Certainly there was no love left in her for him anymore, nothing to build on. She had made no intimation of her feelings in a very long time. Surely she no longer loved him. He was convinced he had killed that one sweet chance. His spirit sank with that thought.

Christine was completely entranced in the costume parade she was creating and did notice how his expression changed as he watched her. She had given up hoping for it long ago anyway. She smiled a little mischievously as she looked down at the finery, then spun around and laughed. Her brilliant blue eyes sparkled at him like diamonds, so intense they nearly blinded him. "What do you think?" she asked.

He wanted to tell her she was breathtaking. He wanted to tell her he thought he loved her, but he only answered, "Your choice of apparel seems appropriate for the time period." It was all he could do not to let his voice falter, but any tremor there may have been was undetectable to human ears.

"Thanks. I think," Christine answered. She supposed she had expected a slightly more elaborate comment, but then she remembered to whom she was speaking.

"May I asked where you acquired this outfit?" Spock questioned.

"There are several in those suitcases over there." She pointed to some old style leather trunks.

"You have stolen it?" Spock was a bit shocked. Was this one of those things he did not know about her?

"Borrowed." Christine looked offended. "I'll put it back when I'm done." She looked on it as a necessary part of their mission.

"There is the possibility that someone will recognize their own clothing," he reminded her.

"Well, it's a big ship. I'll just hope for the best," Christine nodded. She tugged a little at her waist and looked uncomfortable. "I could do without the corset though."

Spock looked a bit embarrassed as the conversation turned to mention of her undergarments. He was however, strangely curious. "It was my understanding that those particular garments were fastened by pulling the back laces. How did you manage to secure it?"

Now Christine looked shocked. Spock did not notice that it was purely pretend. "A lady never reveals her secrets, Mr. Spock. " She was enjoying teasing him.

"Forgive me," he hastily countered. "I was merely curious."

Christine thought for a moment. "Alright," she agreed in a playfully teasing tone and then changed the subject. "Now, what is it you need for the containment field?"

Spock led her to where the tricorder lay in neat piles. "The first thing I require are four long pieces of metal to act as conductors. There are no adequate samples in this area of the ship."

Christine studied his request for a moment. Suddenly an idea struck. "Would knives do?" She asked.

"Yes, quite well," Spock answered surprised at her suggestion, it was very practical and ... logical.

"That should be easy. If this is like any of our modern day star liners, there should be food and utensils everywhere. I'll go find the main dining room and see what I can ... procure." She winked at him, again giving him cause for surprise.

She started for the door, but was stopped. This time it was Christine who was shocked. Spock's hand caught her arm and held her there for a moment. He had never willingly touched her before. "Christine. Please be careful. I would be greatly distressed if anything were to happen to you," he said in a low voice.

Christine stared at him as he drew closer to her. She could not believe what was happening and she understood it even less. Perhaps he had been injured during their transporter accident, maybe he was ill. The Spock she knew would never act this way toward her. He held her in his gaze for so long that she felt her cheeks redden in spite of herself. Their breath mingled for a moment, it was sweet and warm and exciting. The promise of long denied passion filled the air and so many possibilities lingered secretly in their minds. Neither could guess at what the other was imagining.

Almost as if she were afraid of the very thing for which she had longed for so many years, Christine broke away. "I'd better go, we don't have much time," she whispered, trying to will her voice not to tremble. Before he could protest she disappeared through the doorway and into the afternoon sunshine.

Spock wanted to follow her, but dared not. Instead he went back to dismantling and reassembling the tricorder to create the containment field. He worked more intently than before, faster and with greater purpose. He was now certain of one thing. No matter what happened, he had to get her off this ship.

* * *

Christine spent the better part of the next day circling the decks of the great vessel running errands for Spock. No sooner would she return to the cargo hold with a required item than he would send her for something else. She had ransacked the area in which they were staying as well as a few other storage spaces at his request. Before mid afternoon she had pirated materials from nearly every area of the ship including the kitchen, the telegraph room, the laundry, even the engine room where she was forced to feign being lost. She had then surveyed a few of the first class staterooms, to which she had gained entry with the use a handy old fashioned hair pin, for their useful contents. Christine had never realized she was so adept at the covert arts. She supposed that a person was capable of just about anything in a life or death situation, and tried not to think of what her mother would say.

Time after time Christine would return to the cargo hold to find Spock's creation had grown to encompass more and more of the floor. Finally the makeshift amalgamation of wires, metal, glass, and other items threatened to take over the entire large room. Spock worked diligently and unceasingly, his purpose clear. He would not rest until Christine was safe. It was all he could do to control his worry as she went about searching the ship, but there was no other way. Her eagerness to assist his venture, and the complete lack of fear with which she presented herself impressed him, and at the same time shamed him. He had never imagined the depths of the strength and courage she possessed, nor the heights of her resourcefulness. He had always thought of her, when he thought of her, as superficial and monotonous. There had been times when he had looked upon her as an annoyance. How could he have been so wrong? He did not know her at all. It was pure joy now to discover Christine's dynamic personality and her clever and creative nature. He hoped it was not too late. Spock had now spent more time with Christine in the last day than he had in the last few years aboard the Enterprise and he was utterly entranced by her. Even as he adjusted, constructed, and calibrated the containment mechanism he was creating her face danced in his mind, spurring him on. At last he knew what it was to truly love someone, and there was no way he would let harm befall her.

It was almost evening when Christine returned from the latest trip on which Spock had sent her. She was exhausted and her feet ached. He could not help but notice the determination that shone on her beautiful face as she entered the cargo compartment. She had also gotten some sun on her cheeks and seemed to be glowing with exhilaration. He understood that in her mind they were as good as safe on their own ship. She had never even entertained the thought that Spock would not get them both safely home. She trusted him implicitly, and that knowledge made him nervous. What if he failed.

"Oh, these high buttoned shoes," Christine declared as she shut the hold door with her foot. Her arms were filled with several bales of wire. Spock did not ask where she got them. "I don't have big feet, but..." She stopped when she saw her companion. He was now dressed in long woolen pants, a cotton shirt buttoned at the neck, and a dark jacket. He wore a knit woolen cap to cover his more outstanding Vulcan features and looked every bit the sailor.

Christine laughed in amazement. "Well, look at you," she smiled.

Spock peered down at his clothing, wondering what she found humorous. "Is there something wrong with my attire?" he asked.

"No," she snickered. "You just look so ... so nautical. I thought you didn't agree with borrowing these extra clothes."

"Don't you agree that it would most ... awkward to explain my uniform, should someone discover us here?" His eyebrow shot up in jestful hurt.

"Of course. That is very ... logical," she nodded, pretending to ponder his words. She hid her merriment as his other eyebrow met its twin at her use of his favorite word.

Christine shifted her attention to the mass of circuits that surrounded Spock. "How's it going?" she asked seriously.

"The containment field should be ready to test soon. There is only one item which I lack," he answered.

"What's that?" Christine was eager to help.

"I need a small gold disk," he replied eying the void in his masterpiece where the final element would fit.

Christine thought a moment. "Does it have to be gold?" she asked.

"Unfortunately, yes, and in the purest form you can find," he said.

"I'll see what I can do," Christine said laying the wires down on a nearby crate and then turning toward the door. "I'll be back in a little while." She did not tell him that she had no idea how she was going fill that request. For a moment she feared his great plan might all be ruined.

"Christine." Spock stopped her. "You should rest for a moment. You have been at this all day."

His concern touched her but she waved away his worry. "I'll rest when we're back on the Enterprise." Christine smiled at him bravely. "Besides, I found out today is April tenth. Do you know what that means?"

Spock understood her words. "If I am not mistaken, we have approximately two days."

"Right. We don't have any time to waste," Christine said a bit nervously. She tried to hide the fear in her voice, but she was not as practiced at that particular skill as Spock and he noticed it immediately.

He stepped over one of the wire configurations and took her hand while she stared in disbelief. He held her fingers in his palm as if they were glass, while he held her eyes in his gaze. "I do not want you to worry. I will not let anything happen to you," he vowed. Almost as quickly as he had met her he withdrew from her. "Hurry. It will be dark soon." He turned silently and went back to his work. Christine stood for a while shocked. She did not see the expression of both love and self mockery on his face. Why could he not bring himself to tell her what was in his heart? His Vulcan heritage was too firmly ingrained in him, and he wondered if he would ever be able to declare himself to her. She slipped quietly out of the door and left him to his thoughts.

Christine allowed herself one brief moment on deck to take in the beauty of the magnificent sunset. She had been so busy gathering materials for the containment field and focused on getting off of the ship, she had forgotten that most of the people with whom she was sharing the great ocean liner would never depart from it. The thought brought a tear to her eye as she watched the passengers going on about their lives so blissfully unaware of what was about to happen to them. She forced herself not to cry as she studied the people whose fate rested on an iceberg still miles away. An elderly man smiled at her and she knew he would probably not be alive in a few days. A happy young couple walked arm in arm along the deck and she prayed they would be among the survivors. A mother with her new baby in a straw buggy stood proudly by the rails. Christine hoped they would not be separated. It was all so unfair and there was nothing she could do. She could not warn them, could not even give them a prophetic hint. This ship was doomed, and in some strange way she felt guilty that at least she had a chance of surviving it. The Enterprise's head nurse pushed that thought to the back of her mind. She could not afford to be sentimental, not now. She would think of it all later, perhaps as she compiled her report to the captain. There was not only herself to think of, there was also Spock. It was simply an accident that had brought them to impending disaster and she would do whatever it took to see he was safe.

As she walked Christine let her mind wander to Spock. Even in the midst of their race against time, it was so good to have these few days with him. She still loved him as much as when she had cornered him in sickbay a few years before. The thought of that day always embarrassed her. She had tried to pass it off as the affects of the Psi 2000 disease, but she knew he knew. Then when they were both trapped on Platonius, it was obvious to them both that there was more between them than just a professional relationship. However, that time it had been Spock who had made no further mention of it. Now, here on the Titanic, when they spoke, things had been so good between them. She wondered why they could not be that way on the Enterprise. She wished he could love her too. Christine thought of him working so tirelessly to finish their only hope of rescue. There were times she thought he did not even realize she was in the room.

"Oh, well. That's not much different than on the Enterprise," she thought to herself. "He probably can't wait to be away from me."

Even as she spoke those words in her mind, there were unanswered questions. Why had he been so gentle and tender with her? A few times she thought he might even kiss her. She was worried about him. Certainly he was either ill, or feeling the effects of overwork. Both cases she knew he would never admit. Surely there was no other explanation.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a large wooden hoop careening across her path and slamming against the wall beside her. She had to jump back to miss being knocked down. Looking around in wonder she saw a small boy running toward her carrying a long stick and looking very worried.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, ma'am," the boy said in a Irish accent. Christine noticed his worn clothes and dirty face and realized that most of his day must have been spent below, in steerage. "Are ya alright?" he asked, afraid she would be angry.

Christine recovered her composure and smiled down at the innocent face which looked up at her. "Yes, I'm just fine." She smiled and reached out to recovered the toy for the youngster. "Here. This must be yours." She handed it to him. He grinned widely at her.

"Oh. Thank ya, lady. Thank ya," the little boy said.

Just then, their conversation was interrupted by a nearly frantic woman who Christine surmised had been searching for her wayward son. "Shamus O'Connor!" the woman yelled in an accent to match the boy's. "What do ya think ya're doin'?"

Christine looked up saw not only the older lady, who was extremely angry with her son, but that she also had four other young children in tow and was close to issuing another. Christine's heart wrenched when she realized that the woman must be very close to delivering her sixth child. She hoped it would not be before they all could manage to be safely rescued from the disaster about to strike.

The Irish lady struggled her way over to Christine and her eyes suddenly went to the deck boards. Christine realized that she herself must have been dressed in the attire of a first class passenger and that this woman was quite used to being downtrodden by those more fortunate than she.

"Oh, please forgive him, Miss," Mrs. O'Connor said. "He's just a little boy and sometimes he gets carried away."

Christine smiled and touched the woman's arm, willing her look up. "There's no harm done. I'm sure I did much worse than that as a child."

Mrs. O'Connor's fear was replaced by shock and surprise. This beautiful rich lady was kind and understanding, much different than those she had left behind in Ireland. "Then you won't punish him?" she asked.

"Certainly not," Christine assured her, reaching down to smooth the smiling boy's hair. Shamus was smiling at her as though he had found a new secret friend. She motioned the woman over to a chair. "Here please sit down," she asked innocently.

The woman's eye's grew wide and fearful. "Oh, no, I can't do that. This is first class. It wouldn't do."

Christine looked at her with eyes traveling downward. "If you don't mind my asking, how long?" The woman hesitated. She had heard stories in the old country of rich woman buying the babies of the poor.

"It's alright. I'm a nurse. My name's Christine." The woman from the twenty-third century smiled.

Mrs. O'Connor relaxed in amazement. "Truly? You are educated and have a career? You are from America?"

"Yes. What is your name?" Christine left out any embellishments.

Mrs. O'Connor eyed her three daughters wistfully. "Perhaps ... ?" She trailed off talking to herself. She brought trusting eyes back to Christine. "Any day, and my name is Colleen." She smiled proudly.

"Then please, Colleen, let me help you take the other children to your cabin so you can get some rest. Surely your husband can watch the children for while." Christine's medical instincts were never far from her, however she was unfamiliar with just how different the role of a woman was in this past society.

The Irish mother looked sad. "My Fergus is gone. He was lost in a farm accident only two months ago. We are quite alone in the world. I know we'll have much better luck in America." She gave a brave smile.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to pry." Christine's eyes nearly overflowed with tears. "But I hope you will take care of yourself." She tried to make her voice sound the unspoken urgency of what she could not express, but she was certain the other woman did not understand.

Mrs. O'Connor smiled. "I will. Thank you." She gathered her children and turned to go. "May the Lord watch over you and keep you." She smiled. Shamus winked at Christine in thanks as though they held a secret.

Christine sat watching the family return to the lower decks, hearing the mother scold Shamus for his carelessness. She closed her eyes and gave up a short prayer. "May He watch over and keep you. I think you may need it more."

Christine forced herself from her mournful thoughts and was once again on her way to search for the gold that Spock needed. Any thoughts of fear or regret for the other passengers were swallowed to the pit of her stomach. If she had been less sympathetic she would simply have reminded herself that they were supposed to meet this fate, she and Spock were not. However, she could not accept that easy answer and knew that she would have to hide tears once she returned to the cargo hold. She had not ventured ten feet down the deck when a deep voice caught her off guard.

"That was a very nice thing you just did for that little boy," a man said from behind her.

Christine whirled around in surprise. She was amazed to come face to face with a distinguished white haired gentleman who was eying her kindly and without a hint of suspicion. He sported a thick well groomed beard and was dressed in an almost regal uniform. Christine was certain he was the captain.

"Forgive me," he said. "I did not mean to startle you," the kind man smiled.

"Not at all. It's just been a rather trying day," Christine assured him.

"Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Captain Edward Smith," the man announced.

Christine's eyes must have betrayed her shock and she saw a glimmer in the captain's eyes. "I am honored," she answered him.

"It is I who am humbled to be in the presence of such a lovely and kind hearted person as yourself," he said.

"Sir?" He hoped her use of the word did not hint to him that she too was quite familiar with using it.

"Many of our first class passengers would have had that young man severely reprimanded by one of the stewards to say the least," Captain Smith told her.

"He's just child, and it was just an accident after all. No harm done." Christine smiled, worried that he might go searching for the boy.

"I thank you for your kindness to him," Captain Smith smiled. Christine nodded happily.

"Are you on the decks alone today, without a chaperone?" The captain seemed a bit shocked.

"Oh, ummm. My chaperone." Christine's brain raced for an excuse after being surprised at the expectation. "My chaperone is ... is ... is indisposed at the moment." She hoped he would accept her answer.

Captain Smith laughed. "Yes. I suppose sea voyages do tend to do that to people."

"Yes." She joined in laughter, although a bit nervously.

"Well. It is nearly dark and I simply will not stand for a beautiful woman dining alone on my ship. Would you please accept my invitation to join me at the captain's table tonight?" She knew he was simply being a kind old gentlemen, and she was about to decline when she noticed something. A small, round, medal gleamed proudly on his chest. It was yellow bright and well polished. The gold that Spock needed. She would simply have to take the risk.

"I'd be delighted," she said, falling back into her costume drama pretense. She wondered what Spock would say when she announced where she would be enjoying evening.

* * *

It was dark by the time Christine returned to the cargo hold. As expected she found Spock bent over one of his circuits adjusting some wires. The device was humming now and a few jury rigged lights were blinking, although she had to admit she did not know why. Upon hearing the door open Spock looked up and was glad to see it was Christine. There had been a close call that afternoon while she was away. Several of the Titanic's crew members had stopped just outside the door. From their conversation it was clear they had every intention of entering. Luckily they were called away before he had been discovered.

"Did you get it?" he asked, letting out an audible sigh of relief.

Christine grinned evasively. "No. But I will."

Spock did not understand. "When?"

"Tonight." Christine sashayed over to the pile of luggage to pick out a suitable evening gown. A few seconds later, happy with her choice, she turned around and held a black beaded dress up to her front for his perusal. "I have a date." She knew the captain had not intended the invitation to be such, but she enjoyed teasing Spock on that account.

For some reason that he could not name, Spock felt a pit open up in his stomach. Then he fought anger, first at whomever it was that had propositioned Christine, and then at her for accepting. He was jealous. He could not let her know. He veiled his resentment in concern for their escape.

"May I remind you, Nurse, that we neither have the time nor the right to allow ourselves such close contact with the passengers," he berated her.

Christine stepped behind the large pile of boxes she was using for a dressing room to change. He continued to scold her. "It is beyond my understanding why you would choose this time and situation to advance you social calendar." He did not see that she was chuckling at him.

She did not see his jaw set stonily with anger and continued to taunt him. "Oh, come on. I've had a hard day and a little dancing will do me good."

"Again. I cannot believe you are taking this so lightly." He was nearly at a loss for words over her seeming change in attitude.

Hurt overcame his anger when Christine stepped from behind the crates. The long beaded black dress was elegantly shaped to her form and she looked exquisite. The sight of her took his breath away. He wanted to be the one for whom she was dressing. He did not know that he was.

Christine could see that her joke had not gone over as intended so she retreated into explanation. "Look, Spock. It's not like that. I ran into the captain on deck and he invited me to have dinner at his table along with probably a dozen other people." She hoped he was calming down. "As I'm sure your book like knowledge of history will tell you, he is a married man. He's just being nice to a passenger. Besides, I noticed that he wears a medal. If I can manage to ... take it ... well, problem solved."

"Christine, that is too risky. If you are caught stealing from the captain..." Spock tried to dissuade her.

"Stealing from the captain, breaking and entering, what's the difference?" Christine smiled comfortingly at him, although she was nervous too.

"I cannot allow you to do this." He shook his head. "We will find some other way."

"We don't have the time to find another way and an opportunity has presented itself," she said searching for shoes to match her gown.

"What will you do if you are caught?" he asked her.

"I'll think of something," she smirked as she slid on a pair of dancing slippers. "I'll tell him I need it for my extraterrestrial traveling companion who is building a large machine down in his cargo hold so we can beam back to the future. They'll think I'm so crazy they'll let me go just to be rid of me."

"I hardly think this is a laughing matter," Spock reminded her.

Christine was tired and in no mood to argue, especially with her superior officer who could easily order to abandon her plan. She needed to be gone before he thought of doing that. "No, it is not a laughing matter, and all those people I saw today who are going to be dead in two days are no laughing matter either."

Spock's tone softened. "Christine. Try not to think of it that way. These people all died centuries before either of us were born. We have nothing to do with what will happen."

"But we could change it." Tears began to glisten in Christine's eyes. "We could warn them."

"You know we cannot do that," He reminded her. "Just your being on the deck is contamination enough. We cannot change history." He knew it would sound cold, but he must speak the truth. "These people are supposed to die when this ship goes down."

Christine could no longer hold her tears, they slid down her cheeks and Spock ached to wipe them away. She thought of all the innocent beings she had seen that day. She thought of little Shamus and wondered if he would even get the chance to grow up. She thought of Colleen and her baby, who might be doomed to death even before it tasted its first bit of air. She thought of the waste of life and the terror that was about to happen. It was all so unfair, none of them deserved this. Why did she have the right to live, when they were supposed to die, and how could Spock say that?

Christine glared at him. "You weren't up there. You didn't see all those people and know what's going to happen to them. You didn't hear them, planning and laughing and living. You didn't have this terrible secret that you couldn't tell any of them. The old people, and couples, and the chil...." Her voice faltered and she buried her face in her hands. " ... the children," came her muffled voice.

Spock moved to comfort her, instantly regretting having put her through that. He laid his hand on her shoulder. "Christine," he whispered.

She lurched backward and shook free of his grasp, years of torment swelling within her. "No. You're right. They are supposed to die. Whatever they did, or didn't do, or haven't done, or will never do, they are all supposed to die." She sniffed and straightened opening the hatchway door. As she left Christine's voice was scornful. "I'll go get your gold, you stay here with your wires and gizmos. They make great company for you. They don't feel anything either."

* * *

The bulkhead door shut with a heavy clank. It was the loneliest, most forlorn sound Spock had ever heard. He rested his head against the cold metal frame, knowing Christine was hurt and angry on the other side. He could barely understand the emotions that tore at his heart. Regret reminded him of his harsh words to her. Loneliness told him of how empty his world now was each time she left him. Love spoke to him of how much he needed her. For a moment Spock was grateful that he was alone so he could battle those feelings in private. However, it was fear which motivated him to act. Christine was risking everything, and he could not bare to think of what might happen if she were caught. He had to go to her, to be somewhere close by in case something happened and she needed him. At the very least he would watch over her and protect her.

Carefully, he opened the door and stepped out into the cool night . It was the first time he had felt fresh air since he and Christine had been on the doomed planet a few days before. There the breeze had been filled with choking dust and clouds of debris. Here in the middle of the Atlantic ocean, breathing in this crisp salty air was somehow worse. In it he sensed an ominous warning of things to come. Spock pulled his collar closer around him and moved toward the upper decks, lost in the shadows.

Christine's anger had cooled by the time she reached the main dining room. Any regret she felt at her accusation toward Spock did not show on her face as she surveyed the crowd for the white haired gentleman she had met that afternoon. More than a few passengers stared speechless at the elegant and beautiful woman who strode self consciously past their tables. The woman who would not be born for over three hundred years looked every bit as though she belonged in this century. However, Christine had never felt so conspicuous in her life. She marked every step and tried to tell her heart to stop racing. The thought of what she was about to do set her nerves on edge, and for some strange reason she wished Spock was there with her.

"Miss Chapel." A familiar voice called to her from a table a few feet away. "I am so happy you could make it." Captain Smith stood as she reached her destination. She was surprised when he took her hand and pressed his lips to the long glove she wore. She had almost forgotten women were once greeted in that fashion. Something in her thrilled to it.

He then addressed the others seated at his table. "Ladies and Gentlemen, may introduce Miss Christine Chapel."

"Captain Smith," Christine smiled in return. "Thank you again for your generous invitation."

"Like I said, I cannot stand that thought of a beautiful woman alone on an evening like this. I must say you are even more lovely than you were on the deck this afternoon." He smiled.

Christine blushed. "Do all you passengers get such special treatment?" she asked innocently.

"Just the pretty ones, honey!" A rather shrill female voice laughed to her from one of the chairs around the table. Christine turned to see a rather heavy set woman with bright shining eyes, dressed in feathers and diamonds.

"Now, Mrs. Brown," Captain Smith chuckled. "You make me sound very insincere. Miss Chapel will think me a cad," he said as he gallantly helped Christine to her seat.

"Just tryin' to keep you honest, Edward," the woman called and then extended her hand across the table to Christine. "The name's Molly, Molly Brown."

Christine took the woman's hand and shook it, much more used to that type of greeting. "It's very nice to meet you," she smiled.

The captain then announced the names of the others honored guests in turn. "... Mr. Benjamin Guggenheim, Mr. and Mrs. John Astor, and Mr. Bruce Ismay." These were names recorded in the annuls of history.

Christine tried not to let the shock register on her face and was glad to see that her discomfort was taken as shyness, rather than apprehension and terror. She tried to join in the dinner conversation but found herself lacking in knowledge of several current events. This was ancient history to her, and she wished she had paid more attention when her former fiancé Roger Korby had tried to get her interested in her own planet's past. There was talk of political upheaval beginning in Germany. She knew that was going to lead to World War I. Astonishment went up from those at the table over the new automobiles that were already popular in Paris and London, and laughter rang at the thought of the air flight that had occurred almost a decade earlier in North Carolina.

"Well, it's a novel idea, but honestly I really don't think it will ever reach monumental proportions," Mr. Guggenheim said, laughing as dessert was served. "It really is rather silly."

"Especially when we have these new unsinkable steamers, right, Mr. Ismay?" Molly Brown agreed, lifting a glass.

"I'll drink to that," the captain said, and everyone including Christine toasted the R.M.S. Titanic. She did not say that she thought them all fools for believing such nonsense.

"Yes," Mrs. Astor commented. "To hear the newspapers tell it, we'll all soon be flying around out in space somewhere." Everyone laughed. Everyone except Christine who looked thoughtful.

"What is you opinion on the subject, Miss Chapel? You look as though you might have a thought on the matter," a Mrs. Rothschild asked her politely.

Christine swallowed hard but continued to smile. "I don't see why space flight would be so farfetched. I don't think we'll be warp ... flying around the stars anytime soon, but one can never tell where the future will lead us." She smiled sweetly and sipped her champagne, hoping her thoughts would be taken as just idle speculation. In the time in which she now found herself, a woman's thoughts were usually always taken as just that. Everyone found her hopefulnessly refreshing, but nothing more.

"Well, one thing's for certain. If we ever do make it out there, I hope there's nobody waiting for us, ready to make pets of us all," Bruce Ismay chortled.

Suddenly Christine remembered Spock and choked involuntarily on the wine she was in the process of swallowing. What was she doing? This was not a dress up game. Here she sat among the elite, while he toiled away in the hold below. He was trying to save her and she had just treated him like garbage. Now she was enjoying herself like Cinderella at the ball. She felt ill to think of the sumptuous dinner she had just enjoyed when the only thing he had eaten in days was some bread and fruit she had managed to find for him. She had nearly forgotten what she had come for, the shiny medal hanging from the Captain's chest. The part she was playing was becoming a hindrance to her task and she was ashamed.

As she coughed the captain stood and came over to her with concern. "Are you alright, Miss Chapel?" She had started to stand and he helped her.

"Yes. Thank you. I think I'm just tired." She tried to smile.

"Well, perhaps some fresh air would do you good. May I escort you out on deck? The moon is lovely tonight," he asked.

This could be her chance. "Yes. I think that would be fine. Thank you." She smiled. The other men stood as she begged the guests' pardons and took her leave with the captain.

Christine did not see Spock as he watched her and Captain Smith from the safety of the railing above them. He had tried to observe her through the dining room windows but had been forced to move on by one of the stewards. He realized that the items he had chosen to wear were those of a third class passenger. There were many such people on the upper decks this night regarding those of more expensive fares as if they were from two different worlds. Spock had little time to contemplate the inequities aboard the Titanic. All of his attentions were focused on Christine.

She stood below him with the captain. Her smile was bright and gregarious, but her motions were stiff and planned. He could see that she was trying to find a way to take the medal. Even as her anxiety mounted her beauty engulfed him. The moon shone on her blond hair, turning it to brilliant platinum. He wished he were close enough to see her eyes, for he was certain they must have sparkled like jewels rivaling the stars on the water. It was a cold night and Christine had neglected to take a wrap. Spock saw her shiver against the cold. He also saw the captain remove his own jacket and place it around her nearly bare shoulders. Once again jealousy flared up within him. He had no time to ponder his reaction.

"Ay, buddy. Ya got a light?" a thick cockney accent asked from behind him.

Spock turned to see a small, filthy man with at least three days growth of beard and half a hand rolled cigarette questioning him. "I do not," he said and turned away.

" 'Ere naw. Ya got no cause to be so rude. I only asked yee..." He stepped up beside the Vulcan. A glimmer of realization finding his face, as he saw the image Spock was watching.

"Ah. Naw ain't she a fine figur'?" the man smiled. "Can'ts recall the last time I saw a better lookin' dandy as that one." He looked Spock up and down. "You can fergit it though. She ain't never gonna take to the likes o' yoo. That one's real classy." He smiled a toothless grin and leered at Christine. "I'll give ya one thing though. A man'd have be downright insane not ta want that pretty little piece of ..."

Spock could stand the man's babbling no longer, nor could he tolerate his innuendoes directed at Christine. He turned to the vulgar reprobate and brought his hand to the stranger's shoulder. As he gripped, he remembered a rebuke he had once received from his mother when he had spoken back to her as a child. "Watch your mouth," he uttered at the man fell to the deck, unconscious. Spock then hurried off toward the stairway and closer to Christine.

"Thank you. Really you don't have to," Christine smiled at Captain Smith as he warmed her with his jacket.

"There will be no pneumonia on my ship," the old man smiled.

Christine grinned and turned toward the ocean. She made sure that the medals on the jacket were opposite the captain's view as her fingers began working at the largest gold medallion. They spoke politely about the weather and the journey and she found him a very amiable person. She wanted to cry to think of him going down with his ship in just a matter of days. She knew she must have seemed preoccupied as she secretly tugged and tore at the stitching, and she hoped her trembling would be attributed to the cold. Finally the ribbon from which the treasure hung pulled free and she hid it in her hand. She wanted to smile in victory, but she still had to get away with her triumph. Removing the captain's jacket and folding it over where the medal should have been, she looked at him demurely.

"I really must be going. My ... chaperone will be getting very worried about me."

The captain nodded and accepted his outer garment back. "I do hope you found dinner to your liking. It was a true pleasure to enjoy your company this evening," he said. "There's just one more thing."

Before she could think he grabbed her hand and forced it open. In her palm shone the ill gotten award. Christine stared up at him in shock and fear. Her eyes told him what her tongue could not. It was obvious that the object was of great necessity to her. Unseen to either of them, Spock nearly flung himself over the stair railing to get to Christine when he saw the captain discover her theft. Then he froze, watching, he would wait to see what would happen. His interference would only cause more problems, and he was certain she could take care of herself. However, he was relieved to be only a few yards away.

"Do you mind telling me why you needed this?" He held up the gold circle. The moon glinted off of the polished patina.

Christine forced her breath to come and forced herself not to be afraid. "I can't. Please believe me. If I would, I could. It has nothing to do with you. I just need it, that's all."

The urgency with which she spoke touched him. He inspected his prized ornament for a moment and then pressed it back into the hand. "I believe you. Take it, for whatever you need it for." His face held no hurt, just concern for the thing that worried her so.

Christine looked up at him, knowing that in only hours a small piece of gold would mean nothing at all to him. "Thank you. You will never know what this means. Thank you." She turned and hurried away, leaving Captain Edward Smith to wonder after the beautiful lady whose secrets he truly would never know.

* * *

Christine had not gone far when the voice she cherished above all others called for her.

"Christine!" Spock whispered from beneath an iron stairwell.

She stopped short, her breath coming in spurts, and peered into the darkness. His hand reached for her arm and pulled her into the shadows beside him. "Were you able to obtain the medallion?" he asked, enjoying her closeness at last.

Christine opened her palm and handed the small piece of gold to Spock. She could not will herself to look him in the face. Instead she turned away in shame, her eyes scanning the far black waves. She stood shivering once again, now it was more from the thought of what his reaction to her would be than from the cold. Her last words to him echoed in her mind and stung her ears.

"What is wrong?" he asked softly.

Still she could not look at him. Slowly she found her voice. "I'm sorry..." Christine whispered. " ... for what I said. You know I don't think of you like that."

"I know," Spock answered her. His voice understanding and tender.

For a moment they stood in silence Spock staring over Christine's shoulder. She did not see him move closer to her. "I had no right to say those things to you. All you've done is try to save us," she apologized.

"It is I who must apologize. I had not realized how this was affecting you. You feel so deeply and care so abundantly. It is only natural for you to react the way you did."

"That doesn't excuse hurting you." She fought back tears.

"You could never hurt me," he told her.

She wanted to answer but no words would form. There were so many things she wanted to tell him that she was sure he already knew, but she could not. For an instant she thought she felt his breath ruffle her hair. No, surely that was just the breeze. For a moment it seemed that warm lips brushed against the nape of her neck. It certainly must have been her imagination. Was that the shadow of his hand around her waist? It must have been only her nerves reacting to the cold. He would never do those things, would he?

It was Spock who broke the silence. "We should be returning to the hold. There is much to do." There was torment in his voice, almost as if there was something he needed to tell her, but could not. Christine nodded in agreement, and followed him back to their hiding place.

It took most of the night for Spock to finish the containment field. He was forced to bypass several circuits that had already burned out, and the device looked as though it would not be useful for very long. Christine proved an eager and competent assistant. Spock was grateful for the extra pair of hands.

By late morning the twenty-third century had gained a little foothold in the early twentieth. The field that would once again allow the two Star Fleet officers to contact their ship was functioning as designed. Spock and Christine stood back for a moment to survey their handiwork. It was crude and would certainly burn itself out if it were used for any length of time, but it was capable of sending a signal to the Enterprise. The captain and Mr. Scott could take it from there. They felt certain that they would be back at their respective stations by nightfall.

Spock pressed a makeshift button and the dingy room filled with rays of orange light. The illuminated lines flashed for a time, gathered together at a focal point and then created a large sphere in the center of the room. Spock motioned for Christine to join him as he stepped into the center of the orb. She walked through the lines of energy, feeling a slight tingle in her muscles as she did. It was almost like the beginning of a transporter effect, but it did not complete itself. Almost as soon as she entered the containment field the lines disappeared and the cargo hold returned to normal.

"That's it?" she asked Spock.

"Yes," he reported. "The device is only strong enough for both of us to use for a few second. However, the Enterprise should be registering our life signs now. They will be able to get a fix on our coordinates, both physically and temporally."

"I hope it works." Christine closed her eyes in a silent prayer.

Spock nodded. "Perhaps it is time to, as you humans say, keep our fingers crossed."

Christine smiled widely. "Now what?"

"We wait. It will take a while for the ship to contact us for beam out. This will register their scans." He held up a small piece of the tricorder which he had salvaged. "It will give us some notice so we can prepare."

"I'm sure it won't be long," Christine said to Spock trying to reassure herself.

Before he could answer there came a frantic knock at the bulkhead door. Christine and Spock turned in shock. No one knew they were there and why would someone bother to knock? Before they could secret themselves out of sight or even cover the mechanism a tiny frightened voice yelled through the metal.

"Miss Christine. Please let me in!" the boy yelled.

"Shamus?" Christine eyes grew wide as she looked over at Spock in disbelief.

She ran to the door and flung open, pulling the young boy inside before he could attract attention.

"Shamus. How did you know where to find me?" she asked, noticing the disapproving glare Spock sent her way.

"I followed you. Mama didn't know," he said on the verge of tears. "Please you must come right away!"

"Is it your mother?" Christine questioned bending down so that her face was level with his.

"Yes. It started late last night. Something's wrong. She can't do it. Please you have to help her," the child pleaded unable to hold back his tears.

Christine touched his little wet cheek comfortingly. "Of course." She stood and took his hand. He was pulling her through the door as she glanced backward at Spock. The Vulcan had no time to think, but followed Christine out into the bright sunlight, and down toward the steerage decks.

* * *

"Captain to the transporter room!" Scotty's voice echoed through the ship.

Jim Kirk, who had been seated in his usual place on the bride, had been lost in thought. the bridge just was not the same without Spock seated to his right. He was sure Bones was going through the same kind of withdrawal trying to get used to Chapel's absence in sickbay. He was nearly jolted back to awareness at the glee in Mr. Scott's voice. Kirk looked around at the hopeful eyes surrounding him. He prayed it would be good news, and practically ran to the turbo lift. Grabbing the handle he called out his destination. "Transporter Room," he ordered.

Moments later he was sailing into the newly reconstructed transporter room to the accompanying swish of the doors. The entire mechanism had been completely overhauled and half of the engineering crew had worked non stop to recover Spock and Nurse Chapel. "This better be good, Mr. Scott."

Scotty turned to face him and for a moment the captain almost thought his chief engineer was in tears. "Captain, we've found them. We just received two life signs on the control panel."

Kirk wanted to jump for joy, but his years of service had taught not to count his chickens. Nothing was ever certain. "Are you sure it was them?"

"There were two signatures. One was a Vulcan/Human male, and the other was a Human female."

"That sounds close enough, Mr. Scott," Kirk smiled. "How long before we can bring them back?"

"A couple of hours, sir. We need to refine their readings in the computer and enhance their patterns so there will no' be any problems this time," Scotty said.

"Whatever you need to do, but hurry. Wherever our friends are they may not have much time,"Kirk reminded the Scotsman.

"Aye, sir. Nothing will go wrong this time, if I have anything to say about it," Scotty beamed.

* * *

They heard Colleen O'Connor even before the reached the tiny cubical that passed for a stateroom on the steerage decks. A gut wrenching, anguished scream echoed off the metal walls. Little Shamus led Christine to the last door. It was surrounded by the children whom she recognized from that afternoon as his younger brothers and sisters. Spock followed nervously behind them, not knowing what to expect.

"Mama!" Shamus cried throwing the door open.

Colleen did not hear him. She was deep in shock and was barely even aware of the two older immigrant woman who were fighting a losing battle to save both the Irish lady and her baby. Even Christine gasped in horror. Never in all of her years of practicing medicine under the thoroughly modern twenty-third century conditions to which she was accustomed had she seen such a horrendous image of suffering. The sheets were soaked with blood, and although she was struggling valiantly it was obvious that Colleen was very near losing her battle. Without a thought Christine sprang into action, her medical skills automatic. Spock hung back by nearly clinging to the door frame. Not only was his own stomach turning at the sight, but the moment was an extremely private one and he had never felt so out of place in his life. For a moment he watched in awe as Christine took charge.

Christine hurried to the side of the bed to survey the patient's condition. She stroked Colleen's sweat soaked hair and whispered soothing words. "Colleen. Do you remember me?" The woman could only nod and moan gutturally.

"I'm going to help you," Christine assured her, stripping off her long black evening gloves.

"My baby," Colleen pleaded.

"I'm going to do everything I can to save you and your baby," Christine assured her, and the woman seemed to calm a bit.

Christine moved to the foot of the bed to determine her course of action. Feeling and probing she did not see her companion inching his way out of the door, fleeing for the safety of the hallway.

"Spock!" she called without looking up. "Get over here, help me!" Christine ordered.

Not only was Spock not used to being addressed in such terms, he had no idea of what use he could be. "I do not think it would be appropriate for me..."

"Forget your Vulcan modesty and get over here," she yelled. "Shamus, you too." The males in the room complied hesitantly.

Christine looked up urgently. "I need you to bring me a knife, a needle and heavy thread, and all the liquor you can find." She turned toward the two cowaring women and bellowed orders at them as well. "Water and linens. Hurry!"

Shamus ran for his mother's sewing box and brought back the needle and thread at once. He was then ushered out of the room by one of the women who had found several buckets of fresh water. The other lady was busy tearing a cotton blanket into strips. Somehow Spock was able to procure a pocket knife and two bottles of whiskey. It seemed to take forever before everyone was back from their assigned tasks. Christine had comforted the terrified Colleen as best she could, encouraging her and cursing the others for taking so long. Finally they were ready.

Spock had nearly thrown the knife and bottles at Christine, eager to be out of the room. As he backed away she stopped him. "Where do you think you're going?" she questioned harshly.

"I will wait for you in the passageway," he answered.

"Oh, no. I need someone to assist. Looks like you're going to be the nurse this time," she said matter of factly. There was nothing he could say to argue. He tried to position himself in as least awkward a place as possible to avoid anyone embarrassment. He never suspected that no one else cared at that moment.

Christine hardly noticed him. He was there only to hand her what she asked for at this point. It was up to her. She spoke soothingly, but honestly to the fading mother. "Colleen, it's a breech. Do you know what that means?" The woman nodded through her tears.

"The feet are out, but I'm going to have to cut you to make more room for the rest of the body. I want you to swallow as much of that whiskey as you can. It will help deaden the pain," Christine explained and then motioned for one of the other woman to give Colleen a drink from the bottle.

"Is it not dangerous for a pregnant woman to ingest alcohol?" Spock reminded Christine.

"It won't harm the baby's development now and she needs it," was her curt answer.

Mrs. O'Connor tried to swallow the foul tasting liquid but spit most of it back up. "Pour it down her throat if you have to," Christine screamed in disgust at the immigrant ladies.

To Spock she gave her first order. "Use the other bottle to sterilize the knife." He did as he was told, pouring the amber brew over the metal blade. He ignored the splashing puddle that accumulated on the floor and then handed the instrument to Christine. She waited a moment while several more mouthfuls were poured into Colleen's system. Finally, the already beleaguered woman began to show signs that the liquor was taking affect.

Christine's trained hands, now bloodied up to her elbows, moved deftly over her patient. Colleen still groaned in pain, but much less than she would have without the aid of the makeshift anesthesia. Spock marveled at how calm Christine was. Where only moments ago she had been terrified for their own safety, she now spent every ounce of her energy on saving the lives of two strangers who but for chance she would have never known. Nothing else mattered to her. She was unmovingly focused and stubbornly refused to give up. Where panic would have seized most beings, Christine took command of the situation. She astonished him.

Again Christine yelled an order at the top of her lungs, bringing Spock out of his veil of thoughts. One of the ladies handed her a fresh piece of cloth, and he watched as she began to smile.

"Here he comes," Christine announced, in near amazement herself. Mere seconds later she lifted a healthy, screaming, newborn boy up to meet his mother. Colleen smiled weakly in sedated elation, taking her child in her arm as she fell back against the rumpled mattress. Christine and the other ladies quickly finished the delivery and tended to mother and child.

"Thank you," Colleen gasped through happy tears. "Thank you. You are an angel sent from God."

Christine smiled, washing her hands in a bucket of fresh water. "There's your angel," she nodded toward the baby. She chuckled as the boy's little arms stretched out trying to grab anything near. "What will you call him?"

Colleen looked thoughtful then announced. "Fergus, for his father, and Christopher for you."

Walking over to the side of the bed Christine played with the baby's fingers. "Welcome to the world, Fergus Christopher O'Connor," she smiled widely.

It was then that Christine finally remembered Spock. She looked over to find him, not watching the tender scene of new life, but completely fixed upon her. She let a slight grin cross her face and blushed a little, wondering why he held her in his gaze for so long. It felt good, but she quickly looked away. After checking the patients one last time she gave some final orders to the women who had assisted her and walked toward the door. It was then that the recollection of where they were hit her. She looked once more at the happy mother and tiny baby and prayed that they would be safe. Christine knew she could not afford to stay any longer. She motioned for Spock to follow her.

"God bless you," Colleen called after her.

Christine looked thoughtfully at her new friend and then at her old one. "He already has."

Closing the door behind them, the two time travelers were met by an exhausted and worried Shamus, his eyes wide with questions. "You have a new little brother," Christine smiled and mussed his hair. "Your mother's going to need a lot of rest so I'm counting on you to take care of them both."

The boy smiled, happy with the new responsibility. "You can count on me, Miss Christine!" he declared.

"I knew I could. Now go on in and see if they need anything," she nodded. Shamus was gone nearly before she could get the sentence out, and Christine turned to notice Spock still staring at her.

"What?" she asked, amused.

He hesitated a moment then found his voice. "You are amazing," he said moving closer to her.

"No, Colleen was amazing. I hope that if I ever have children, I'm as brave as she was." Christine suddenly reddened at the image she had painted. Spock's eyes did not move from hers. She could not have known that he was hoping her future children would be his as well.

"I have no doubt you will be," he whispered.

He was standing so close to her that his lips were only inches from hers. Christine looked up into his deep warm eyes and lost herself for a moment surprised that he did not look away. There was no breeze inside the passageway, it was his breath she felt against her skin. No cold chilled her here. That was his hand that rested upon her waist, and those were his lips beginning to brush against hers. Slowly they surrendered, carefully they closed the distance between them. It was so right. All the world, in both centuries, had disappear and there was nothing between them now.

"BEEP!" The tiny tricorder sensor sprang to life inside the pocket of Spock's jacket. The Enterprise had received their signal and was ready to beam them back to their own time.

They stood for one moment longer staring at each other, each wishing the intrusion could have been delayed just a moment. "We'd better go," Christine finally said, her voice hoarse with ungratified passion.

"Yes. They are waiting," Spock answered his tone disappointed and reluctant.

The two quickly made their way back to the cargo hold. Neither knowing if life would be the same once they returned to the ship, or changed forever.

* * *

When Spock and Christine returned to the cargo hold the containment field had already activated itself, triggered by the influx of energy from the Enterprise's transporter as the starship searched through space and time for the familiar life science of its science officer and head nurse. Christine had not noticed when Spock had grabbed her hand. He could run much faster than she could, do in large part to not only his Vulcan stamina but also to her turn tight pointed shoes. He was nearly dragging her as she tried to catch her breath.

"Hurry!" he shouted to her as he slammed the door. "They're scanning."

He pulled her once again into the middle of the glowing ball of light and they stood ready for transport. Spock looked over at Christine, her face stricken with undeniable fear. He wanted to comfort her, to hold her, but could not. If only they had been given one more minute together in the steerage passageway. He would have kissed her and she would have been certain of his intentions, he would made sure of that. Now she looked at him as if he would not even recognize her once they were back on the ship, as though everything they had experienced together would be unmentionable like so often in the past. He could not bear the hurt and anxiety in her eyes. Spock had to tell her that he truly loved her and things would not be like they were before. As he opened his mouth to begin his voice was lost in the bombardment of the transporter beam. He could see the last shadowing curves of her face calling his name and then all was dark.

In all the times he had beamed back and forth from the Enterprise Spock could not remembering actually feeling the effect. Many of his human shipmates tended to complain about headaches, or tingling, or other strange sensation. He had always disregarded their afflictions to the overactive imaginations to which those of his mother's race tended to be prone. This time however as his molecules had been pulled from one time to another through millions of miles of space, transporting had hurt. His entire body stung, as if his nerves had all been simultaneously slapped. He steeled his jaw against the pain and watched the welcome and familiar forms of the Enterprise begin to take shape before him.

Slowly, even more so than usual, reality began to appear. Mister Scott worked furiously over the controls at the console across the room. Doctor McCoy stood ready with his medical equipment for which Spock was glad. He could take a great deal of punishment and would most probably not need his friend's help. However, if Christine was feeling the same sensation he had noticed she could very well be in shock. He appealed to his ancestors that she would be alright and vowed that if she needed him he would go to her no matter what the appearance.

The Captain was standing tense in the middle of the room, willing the device to work and studying every last detail of the process. Spock could hear the echo of voices as he began to emerge from the shroud of the beam.

"BOOST ... POWER! " came in slow motion and in a Scottish accent.

"HOLD ... ON!" Jim shouted.

McCoy inched forward in horror.

Finally everything was normal again. Spock blinked and tugged at the wool jacket he had borrowed from an unknown passenger of the Titanic. It took a moment for the world around him to register. The light was normal, the air was dry and to his liking. The faces were familiar and all seemed well. Just as he was assuring himself that they had made it, Doctor McCoy rushed forward in hysterics.

"Where's Christine?" he demanded.

Spock turned in dread to look beside him. Where he should have seen brilliant blue eyes, golden blonde hair, and a dazzling smile he saw only the cold gray metal of the bulkhead. He took a step in the direction she had been almost expecting to retrieve her from some unknown region. Shocked and terrified he glared at Scotty.

"Her signature just ... vanished," the Chief Engineer choked, still working the dials and button trying to get her back. "There's nothing."

"What do you mean vanished?" Kirk bellowed, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

"I think we lost her," Scotty's tone was stricken.

Spock stared numbly into the emptiness. *Christine!* his mind cried. He wanted to reach out, just to touch the place she had been, but could not will himself motion of any kind. Even his own breath was reluctant to find his lungs. How could this have happened? It should have been him. For an instant he tried to bargain with fate. *Bring her back and take me instead! Please!* However, it was no good. His hope for what could have been, his first real taste of beauty and freedom, everything he wanted had disappeared. The woman he only just realized that he loved, was gone.

* * *

Spock sat in the conference room, his chin resting on steepled fingers. He listened impassively while the other senior officers reported on the events through which he had lived. There was the usual technical terminology as to what may have happened with the ship's equipment. Mister Scott adamantly declared that everything was working fine on his end and whatever had occurred to cause Nurse Chapel's disappearance, it had not happened within the transporter itself. Spock was afraid that his colleague was correct. He had already stated the possibility of one of his makeshift circuits blowing out at the last second, which of course there was no way to verify. However, he feared there could be more to the situation than something that simple. He reached over and started the computer banks searching through information, only vaguely becoming aware of the conversation around him.

"We had no subspace interference at the time," Lieutenant Uhura confirmed.

"The radiation surrounding the ship was at normal and acceptable levels for beaming," Chekov noted.

"So what you are all telling me is that she just simply disappeared," Kirk questioned. "That she was in the beam and then was gone." The silence of the others signaled their confirmation.

McCoy bristled at the suggestion. Chapel was like a daughter to him, and he was nearly out of his mind with worry. "What if she's still back there on the Titanic?" he broached. "She's undoubtedly terrified."

Spock swallowed hard at the thought. He needed to be with Christine, where ever she was. His mind searched in vain for answers other than the one that plagued his mind, but he kept drawing the same conclusion. The computer confirmed his analysis, and it almost seemed as if the captain had come to the same conclusion.

"Surely there was no time line contamination," he said, certain his capable first officer would never allow that.

It was then that Spock broke his self imposed silence. "That is a distinct possibility," he uttered hoarsely.

"What? How?" Kirk looked angry.

Spock took a deep breath and brought his hands to his lap. His eyes distant, he seemed to stare right through the wall above the heads of the others. "She delivered a baby," Spock explained. "The mother and child would have most probably died without Chri ... without Nurse Chapel's assistance."

"Then are we to assume the fact that child or the mother lived somehow changed the historical time line where Miss Chapel is concerned?" Kirk questioned.

"It appears so," Spock answered pressing a button on the console. "Computer! List genealogical information on Enterprise personnel, Nurse Christine Chapel," he ordered

"Working," the digital voice sounded. A few seconds later came the dreaded reply. "There is no information on Nurse Christine Chapel."

"Specify lack of information," Kirk interrupted.

"Christine Chapel is not an entity recognized by memory banks. There is no one by that name listed as a Federation citizen," the computer confirmed.

The senior staff looked at each other in horror. Spock forced his grief down and continued to test his speculation, hoping that he was wrong. "List genealogical information starting person Fergus Christopher O'Connor, male, born April 1912, planet Earth."

The computer began a list of names and cross referenced people starting with the baby Christine had helped to bring into the world. It seemed to take forever, and none of the names meant anything to those seated around the table.

" ... Fergus Christopher O'Connor, married Emily Shaw, 1932 ... Stuart O'Connor, married Gloria Wheeling, 1959 ... Virginia O'Connor, married Albert Forsythe 1988 ... Kelly Forsythe, married Robert MacIntosh, 2020 ... Kyle MacIntosh, married ... " None of the beings listed had affected history to a great degree. Then as the years grew closer to their own time, McCoy recognized one.

" ... Edward Stevens, married Elizabeth King, 2236."

"That's Christine's mother," McCoy said horrified.

"But that's certainly not her father," Kirk said. "It seems that Nurse Chapel's selfless actions, her instinct to heal, has condemned her own life. I think we can assume that in our time as it is now, Nurse Chapel's mother married one of the descendants of the child she helped deliver and not the person who would become her father." He did not want to say it, but the facts were indisputable. Kirk looked around gravely. "Christine Chapel has never existed."

Shock resonated throughout the conference room. "Then why do we remember her?" Uhura asked, tears for her friend in her eyes.

"The Enterprise is acting as a conduit of displaced time. We remember Nurse Chapel because we are a point in an intersection of two parallel frames of reference. A point created by the solar flare that sent us through time and space, and also by her actions," Spock explained.

"Do you mean we're still holding onto her? There is a chance we can go back and fix everything, to get Chris back?" McCoy eyes were wide with hope.

"I believe so, Doctor," Spock answered, hiding that same hopefulness. Perhaps she was not lost to him after all.

"By going back to the Titanic before the child was born, and..." Kirk began.

"Preventing Christine from attending the woman," Spock finished.

McCoy shook his head. "No. It won't work. Even if Christine had known what would happen there's no way she could stand by and watch someone suffer. She'd do it anyway."

"Not if I can stop her, or take some sort of action," Spock volunteered.

"Are talking about killing the baby?" Kirk asked horrified.

"No. As things were just a few days ago, the child had never lived or at least had not lived long enough to affect Nurse Chapel's personal time line," Spock told him. "I am simply talking about stopping her from becoming involved in an event that she originally had no part in, thereby correcting the time continuum."

" ... And getting her back," McCoy smiled.

"Yes, Doctor," Spock concurred.

"How do you propose to accomplish this fete?" Kirk asked his Vulcan friend.

"I shall return through the space/time portal to a moment prior to the child's birth and somehow prevent Nurse Chapel from rendering aid," Spock clarified.

"You mean go back through that rattle trap containment field of yours?" the captain asked.

Spock was too concerned about Christine to take offense at his superiors officer's comment on his invention. "Yes. I shall have to return the way I came."

"I don't know Spock, it's too risky," Kirk pondered.

Spock looked at his friend with more earnest distress than Kirk could ever remember seeing from him. "Jim ... Please," The Vulcan asked quietly. If he were lost as well it was no matter, he now did not want to face a future without Christine.

Kirk watched Spock's expression change to a silent plea. It was clear that there was more going on than just a superior's concern for his crew member. He thought about history his science officer and head nurse shared. Something had happened between them on that doomed ship from long ago. He owed it to both of them to allow this one small chance.

"Very well. Get together what you will need," the captain agreed.

"I need nothing," Spock said, realizing he was still wearing the borrowed outfit. "I will transmit my computations into the computer banks through the console in the transporter room. That should be sufficient to return through both time and space. If I may, I would like to attempt to return now," Spock said.

"Certainly. This meeting is adjourned." Kirk barely had the words out of his mouth before Spock was out of his seat and heading through the door.

A few minutes later in the transporter room Scotty consulted with Spock one last time before the latter stepped onto the metal pad. "It is impossible for the same entity to exist in different forms within the same time period. You will be returning into you own body, but your memories of the past few hours will be intact. You will remember why you are there and what you need to do, although you are returning to a time you have already experienced."

"I understand. Prepare for transport. The same coordinates as the ones from which you retrieved me," Spock ordered.

"Aye, Sir," Scotty acknowledged, beginning to work the controls.

Kirk stepped up to Spock and handed him a communicator. "Remember. We'll beam you out at 2100 hours. You have to find Christine and be back in the containment field by then."

"That's cutting it awfully close, Jim. If memory serves, that ship went down in the early morning," McCoy interjected.

"It's the best we can do. We have to give him enough time to find her," Kirk answered.

"The time should be sufficient. The child was born in the middle of the day. That will give us the necessary window of opportunity. Thank you," Spock said impatiently.

"Ready to transport," Scotty announced.

McCoy looked at his friend. "Bring her back, Spock," he said, worry pulling at his face.

"I intend to, Doctor," the Vulcan agreed, and looking ahead of him ordered, "Energize." In a sparkle of light, he was gone.

* * *

The force of transporting back into his own body nearly hurled Spock off his feet. He stumbled for a moment, unaware of his surroundings. The familiar stinging pain of transporting through time racked his nerves once again, but he shoved it to edges of his thoughts as he slowly realized where he was. There was Christine, beautiful and dedicated. There was still a chance to save her, or at least to be with her now whatever happened.

Voices and panic filled the room, there were others with them. Spock recognized the faces and the event. He felt a deep pit open in his stomach as he realized the time to which he had been returned. This would not be easy. Christine stood bent over at the foot of a bed, a terrified woman struggled bravely within it. He had seen this before ...

"Spock!" Christine called without looking up. "Get over here, help me!" she ordered.

"I do not think it would be appropriate for me..." he heard himself say against his will.

"Forget your Vulcan modesty and get over here," she yelled. "Shamus, you too." Shamus complied hesitantly. Spock hung back, unsure of what to do, but certain that some action must be undertaken quickly.

Christine looked up urgently. "I need you to bring me a knife, a needle and heavy thread, and all the liquor you can find." She turned toward the two cowering women and bellowed orders at them as well. "Water and linens. Hurry!"

Everything that Spock believed in cried out to him not to do it, to let Christine help. However there was something in him far stronger than ideology, his love for her. He had lost her once, it would not happen again. Without a word Spock rushed to Christine's side and grabbed her arms forcibly. In shock she whirled around to question him, but he had her nearly off her feet and was dragging her toward the door before she realized what was happening.

"Spock? What are you doing?" Christine cried. "Let me go!"

Her anger and concern for her patient flaring, Christine did not see the pain and regret in his eyes as he allowed himself one final look at the stunned faces of the two immigrant ladies and the desperate and terrified form of Colleen O'Connor still writhing in agony. He knew he would carry the image with him forever.

"Forgive me," he whispered to them.

Pulling Christine out into the hallway, Spock barely noticed the O'Connor children as they blinked at him in bewilderment. He could feel Christine's anger and confusion through the contact she made with his skin each time she beat against his unyielding arms. He hoped that she would forgive him as well.

"Let me go. She needs my help!" Christine demanded.

"I am sorry. I cannot do that," Spock protested.

Her strength surprised him as she twisted and wriggled trying to free herself. He fended off her fists as best he could, but several times she made contact with a jaw or a shoulder. It did not hurt and he knew it was an instinctive reaction from her need to help. The sickening screams continued from inside the stateroom, in which he knew Colleen and her unborn son lay dying. If he could get Christine away from there fast enough, perhaps he could explain to her.

"Spock! Please!" Christine begged, his vice-like arms still locked around her waist.

"It is not my choice. I do not wish to let them die, but I must save you," he yelled over her objections.

"Save me from what?" She fought as he dragged her to the end of the long hallway. Several other passengers watched the spectacle, reluctant to get involved. They came from the old country where this obstinate woman would have been lucky to be treated with even this delicacy.

Suddenly, the screaming stopped. Then Christine's fighting stopped. Her eyes peered questioningly and horrified down the corridor they had just traveled. Spock froze, unable to will himself to move. He let Christine slide to the floor bracing her as she caught her her balance. Something within him needed to know as well. The two older women emerged slowly from the room, their faces streaming with tears. They looked sympathetically at the stares of the children gathered around their feet. One of them bent down and whispered something solemnly in Shamus' ear. The young boy straightened in shock, his eyes followed the path on which Spock had taken the woman who could have helped his mother. Suddenly he broke into a run, fists flailing. He reached the tall, dark haired stranger in seconds and unleashed the brunt of his grief and rage on the Vulcan. His tiny fists pounding as far up the tall rigid body as he could reach. Spock did not try to stop him.

"She's dead! They're both dead!" he screamed. "Miss Christine could have saved them and you took her away! You killed them!"

Christine was overwhelmed with the need to comfort the bereaved boy. She pulled him off of Spock and gathered the frightened youth in her arms. Shamus' hands instantly halted and he collapsed against her wrapping his arms around her neck, his sobs muffled on her shoulder. Her tears matched his and she stared at Spock with nothing less than contempt. It tore through him like a knife.

If there had been any other way, he would have chosen it without hesitation. As it was they lacked the time to grieve with mourners. He reached down and took Christine by the shoulders. "We must go," he said softly.

She wrenched free and glared at him. "Get your hands off me," she seethed.

With one last embrace of her young friend Christine whispered the only words of comfort that would come. "You made her proud. She loved you very much. Now go back to your brothers and sisters, they need you."

Christine stood up, shoved past Spock, and tore through the door out onto the deck. The bright afternoon sun glared over the tears in her eyes and she squinted them away. There was no one around and Spock had to nearly run to catch up with her.

"Christine, please let me explain." He could not bear her hatred. He reached out and touched her shoulder trying to stop her.

His restraint coupled with her momentum only spun her around to face him. Without warning she lashed out with her open palm and struck him hard across the face. The physical pain did not register as he stood dazed. He was focused on the anguish in his soul and in hers.

"How could you? What kind of a monster are you?" she screamed, her eyes searching his face for anything she might recognize.

"Please, let me explain," he repeated.

"Explain? What is there to explain?" she sobbed.

Spock looked at her, unable to find words. Then he took a breath trying to calm the situation. "You know as well as I that we cannot get involved."

"This isn't about the Prime Directive," Christine shot back. "It's about lives. Real lives, and real deaths." She turned from him so he could not see her tears. She did not want his pity.

"There is more than you realize," he began. "If I allowed you to deliver that child, you would be in effect killing yourself."

"That's ridiculous," she countered.

"You do not understand," he reasoned. "I have been back to the Enterprise. We both transported back only a few minutes after the O'Connor baby was born. Only you did not make it. Your existence vanished. In the future, our future, your mother would have married an offspring of that child instead of your father, and you would have never been born."

Christine's mind reeled for a moment trying to take it all in. She tried to imagine a world in which she had never lived, but all she could think of were the lives that had been affected by the deaths of two innocent human beings. She turned back to him, her face more understanding, her temper calmer.

"Don't you see? It doesn't matter." Her eyes were compassionate. What he had done, he had done to save her.

"Christine..." He tried to stop the direction of her argument.

"Think of my life," she continued. "I have nothing. Roger's gone. I couldn't get you to look at me if I was on fire. What do I have? That baby would have had a chance. What does it matter if I never lived. It wouldn't make any difference, it just wouldn't matter to anyone." Christine began to cry.

Spock took hold of her shoulders gently and pulled her to him. To a great extent, it had been his actions in the past that had caused her to think so little of herself. He silently berated himself for hurting her so deeply and vowed to make it up to her somehow. He bent his neck trying to see her eyes, but she hid them from him.

"It matters to me," he said softly. "What you just said about me not looking at you..." he began. "I was a fool. I have only now come to realize just how much you mean to me and that I cannot bear to lose you."

Christine looked up at him shocked. Her eyes again searching his. For a moment she thought this might be some cruel trick to distract her from thoughts of the deaths they had just allowed. However, she knew deep in her heart that he would never do that, not with this. He would never treat emotions so lightly. There was no maliciousness in his gesture. All she saw was honesty and ... love. Christine could not find her breath, nor her voice. She could only stare at him with uncertainty. She had dreamed of this for so long and had never expected it would occur. She relaxed in his hands and he brought her close to him, closer than she had ever been before. Even on Platonius they had tried to maintain as much distance as their wills would allow. Now, here on this ill-fated vessel centuries before either of them were to draw breath, there was nothing between them. No space, no distance, no custom, nor regulation separated them.

The warmth of Spock's body so close thrilled Christine and the coolness of her skin upon his flesh excited him. Both stood in the crisp April air trembling not from cold but from passion and mutual desire. Their breath mingled in a sweet cloud of anticipation as each lost themselves in the other's eyes. Slowly, Spock brought Christine's face to meet his. His lips lingered over hers for a time enjoying the sweet perfume of their breathing. Then with hearts pounding nearly to a deafening scream in their ears, their mouths reached hungrily for each other. The kiss they shared was not their first, but it was the most passionate either had ever known. Now it came from both of them and their love set it on fire.

Spock held Christine's lips with his for a long while, reluctant to let them go. She had long since allowed herself to float freely in his arms. The contact sent both of them soaring with desire as he felt her longing and returned it to her. For a moment there was no Titanic, no Enterprise, no deadline, no one else in the universe, only them, and sweet freedom.

When their need had been for a time sufficiently satisfied, Spock wrapped Christine in his arms and she sank happily onto chest, forcing her legs to hold her upright. He stroked her hair and kissed her temple, whispering. "I'm in love with you, Nurse Chapel," Spock murmured. "Oh, I love you. I don't know why, but I do." There was almost a grin on his face as he spoke the words.

Christine smiled, understanding his joke. Those were the very words she had spoken to him a few years before when she declared her love to him. He had remembered them. She brought her happy eyes up to meet his and her hand stoked his face. "I cherish thee, my beloved," she whispered. Again, their lips met and again they knew bliss.

* * *

Spock and Christine stood at the railing in each other's arms for a long time. Even through her joy he could sense her sadness. "You are troubled, my T'hy'la," he said quietly.

"Did they really have to die?" Christine questioned, already knowing the answer. She turned to him, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

He wiped it away with a soft touch. "They had already died," he told her. "Three and a half centuries ago."

"There must have been something we could have done," she said solemnly.

"That is what happened. It is not for us to decide how to rewrite history," he comforted her.

"I still hate it and I'll never forget it," she wept.

"Nor will I, T'hy'la. Nor will I ever forget that the sacrifice they made was done so that you might live. That I will most certainly never take for granted." He held her tight and they were silent for a long while, grieving the passing of two souls who had known not