#nursecchapel

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Happy Valentine's day, Spock.

[returns the sentiment two years and one month later]

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Daisy/typewriters otp

my one true love exists in the form of rusted metal and excellent craftspersonship

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christine/spock or: a playlist for logic and heartache. listen

I. five years -- david bowie II. rhapsody in blue -- george gershwin III. the tide is high -- blondie IV. i don't believe you (she acts like we never have met) -- bob dylan V. the dangling conversation -- simon and garfunkel VI. the point of it all -- amanda palmer VII. loveology -- regina spektor VIII. suzanne -- leonard cohen IX.  these days -- nico X. some of these days -- andrew bird

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nursecchapel asked you:

And they smell like you which is a bonus and not logical I know. But he told me I was lying when I said I was giving you messages for medical purposes. (yes I taped his reaction to that too)

I see. We must watch this footage, for research purposes. It will... help me differentiate the nuances of human emotion.

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Spock as much as I love wearing them, you should take your uniform shirt with you next time you leave me quarters. Leonard found one while visiting and almost had a conniption (don't worry I taped it)

It seems as if he's completely unwilling to see the logic in leaving a supply of two to three commander's uniforms in your quarters. 

...Which is, of course, because my uniform often becomes wrinkled over the course of my visit and... because... they provide you with added warmth. Logical. 

[livelongxprosper-blog]

nursecchapel replied to your post: my eyesight sucks guys i don’t know what it is ...

is it like floaters or does it seem like a curtain is falling in your peripheral vision, like tunnel vision?

I'd say more similar to floaters than tunnel vision. It's when I focus on something, like typing, and I can point exactly where it's happening on my eye. I can see straight ahead, but the peripheral vision on the top right corner is what is bugging me. 

[enterprise-nursechapel-blog]

Double Trouble | Chapel, Chapel

"Nnngh..." Slowly, the blonde nurse opened her eyes, and at first the world around her was spinning at such a speed she had to close her eyes again whilst she pulled herself up into a sitting position, a hand rubbing one of her temples. Once again she tried opening her eyes, this time the spinning slowed to a stop, and she was able to look around and identify her surroundings. The transporter room, she observed to herself, but what am I doing here? I was in the sickbay just moments ago when the--... When the ship crashed or... or hit something. I was... That's right! I must have knocked my head on one of the beds when I fell down.

"And now I'm... here? Did someone bring me to the transporter room?" Scanning the room, there was no sign of anyone. Perhaps they left, she concluded as she pulled herself up off the ground and dusted her uniform off, well, I better find out what's happened. But I'll head to my quarters first and get my medikit in case I come across any injured crewmen. The ship had taken a hard knock, who knows how many were injured. She continued to mull over the situation whilst she walked through the ship's corridors.

"Ah, here we go," finding her quarters, she enters it freely without even looking to see if anyone was inside, because, well, why would anyone be inside her quarters? Chapel walks over to the bench opposite her bed and opens the drawer to grab the medikit she always kept there-- Wait, where--, confused after not finding the kit, she turns around to see if she left it somewhere else, and that's when she saw the woman sitting by the table. The blonde woman that looked just like her. "Wh- What on earth? Who are you? And why do you look like me?"

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Sleep

They are few and far between, but there are ‘nights’ when there are no red alerts, phasers locked on the ship, or freak diseases plaguing Sickbay and Spock and Christine are able to retire for the evening together. Because the event is so rare and the first three instances were plagued with a back and forth of ‘Vulcans do not require as much sleep as humans’ and ‘Even sentient beings with a rudimentary awareness of emotion are capable of ‘indulging’ one another with simple displays of affection without spoiling their stoicism’, Spock has taken extra care to savor these rare six to eight hours where he is free to shut himself off from the minutiae of overseeing the minutiae of what the captain cannot. 

The nights usually happen by accident, as one cannot command the universe to stop simply because one has had a most taxing day and all one really wants to do is spend the next few hours beside a certain individual in various states of undress and consciousness. Tonight, they are in Christine’s quarters and he is lying facefirst on the bed, uniform discarded and undershirt pulled down to expose the nape of his neck. 

Christine held the dermal regenerator just above the “If you’d just hold still, I could— or better yet, if you’d stayed in Sickbay, this process would be a lot easier. More efficient. Logical.” 

Spock made a non-committal sound at her bait for a venomless argument and nestled further into his folded arms. His injuries were almost completely healed, yet he still felt the strain of the day’s events on his chest, back, and chest again. 

“…So why did you come here, instead of Sickbay? Usually your quarters are your hideaway of choice.” They were well enough established as friends so that her question was not laced with uncertainty, but genuine curiosity. These were the moments where his Vulcan half held its breath while the human in him took center stage. Unfortunately, his human half had a cumulative ’stage time’ of six minutes in his thirty-eight years of living and as such, he was extremely ineffective as a speaker. 

“Because I did not wish to have… the doctor attend to my wounds. Not that I do not believe he is nothing but a consummate professional, nor did I assume that by deferring my medical treatment to you, I would receive anything but what you would offer to all patients, regardless of the nature of your relationship with them… I simply wished… we have not seen each other in twelve point seven hours and we have not interacted in twenty-five. I do not mean to suggest that I require increased interaction with you simply because of what is… what we have… but I… time is so rare…” His voice had devolved into a whisper by the time he was done and Christine switched off the regenerator and admired the unmarred skin that was her handiwork, her task almost complete. 

She pulled his shirt back down and mirrored his own position, using his body as her substitute for the bed. 

“You don’t have to explain everything, Spock.”

He flattens himself down to make a better pillow for her. “I endeavour to answer you wholly and completely.” 

“I know. But sometimes it’s okay to say ‘because I felt like it’. Think of it as simplifying an equation.”

“But surely the meaning will be lost—” Christine tilts the points of her elbows down to keep him from sitting up and going into full-debate mode. 

“It’s okay. I’ll understand.” She kisses the soft part of his ear behind the point and he holds her to those words, though he knows it will be unfair when he plans to throw them back at her.