Subj: DARK FRONTIER, DS/TOS Crossover, pt 14
Date: 5/5/01 5:10:53 AM Central Daylight Time
From: JM Lane

Meanwhile, at Barnabas and Quentin's apartment, Christine--as yet unaware of the drama unfolding back at the Collinsport Inn--was laughing and joking with Quentin while Barnabas sat next to her, holding her gently but securely. His cheek rested on top of her head, his hands entwined at her waist, and he occasionally kissed her hair.

Quentin couldn't help noting how happy and content Christine seemed to be with his cousin. At the same time, he considered it strange that she would leave Spock, the Vulcan whom she reportedly loved, to begin an affair with Barnabas. Something must have happened to change her feelings toward Spock…something which Barnabas might or might not have had anything to do with.

Christine, for her part, found Quentin Collins every bit as charming and polite as his cousin, albeit in a different way. He was more conventionally handsome as well, but she felt no inclination to switch from one cousin to the other. Just the same, Quentin tended to be every bit as close-mouthed and secretive as Barnabas. It seemed to be a Collins family trait, just as following medical and/or scientific careers seemed to be a Chapel family trait.

Even her father Christopher, now a retired diplomat, had started his working life as a xenobiologist--and because of all the times her parents had talked about their careers with her, Christine could only assume that that was at least part of the reason she came by her medical/scientific aptitude.

But at the moment she was more concerned with what she'd heard about Quentin…the legend of his having become a werewolf, not to mention how a most unusual portrait of him painted by one Charles Delaware Tate, an artist who could reportedly paint people and actually bring them to life by doing so, had saved him. In this case, the painting supposedly showed all the ravages of time that Quentin did not, reminiscent of the novel "The Picture of Dorian Gray" and the old movie of the same name.

It was even said that Quentin was immortal…or close to it. However, she had also heard of the legend that Quentin's ghost had haunted Collinwood for some years prior to its destruction in 1970 Real Time, so somebody had to be either exaggerating, mistaken--or if certain reports were true, it had happened in another band of time.

There were only certain things either man was anywhere near willing to talk about, though…and it usually wasn't themselves, at least not to any great extent. It was more likely to be about friends or other family. She had frankly been surprised that Barna- bas had been so forthcoming, at least initially--but now, no matter how she tried, she had been unable to get him to discuss his background further. At this point, *Spock* would probably have been more talkative…and that was saying something!

Which reminded her, she'd have to check in and see how he was doing at the first opportunity. For the last several days, she had been so busy with Barnabas that she had seen Spock mostly in passing.

They hadn't spent any substantial amount of time together, mainly because she hadn't allowed him too close, and after she'd ordered him to stay away from her, Spock had apparently taken her at her word and kept his distance.

But she *did* still care about him, and her conscience was beginning to bother her because of the way she had been treating him-- avoiding him whenever possible, keeping him at arms' length when they had to be in proximity, openly discussing the details of her dates with Barnabas… Maybe now he had some idea of how *she* had felt all the years he had done essentially the same thing to her. Enough was enough, however; he'd surely gotten the message by now.

"So how's your investigation going, Christine?" Quentin asked.

Christine came back to reality with a jolt. "Investigation? Can't complain…too much, that is. Barnabas has helped all he can, and some of us have been questioning people to see if they heard or saw anything on the night of the attack which might help us."

"Any luck?" Quentin wondered.

"Some people said they'd been awakened by piercing screams shortly after midnight; not much else."

"How is your Security officer doing?"

"Stable, last I heard, but still weak. We had to give her at least two transfusions, and she's still not recovered."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope she's better soon."

They had been listening to some classical music--Tchaikovsky's greatest hits or something, and according to Barnabas, performed by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, his favorite artists, who only did classical pieces. During one piece, an inexplicable sadness came over Christine and tears filled her eyes; she snuggled closer to Barnabas for comfort. He was inwardly startled but didn't question her actions, simply tightened his embrace. Quentin was the one who voiced his concern.

"Is something wrong, Christine?"

"Something about the music," she explained. "It's beautiful, but very sad. This particular piece, anyway. What's it called?"

"*None But the Lonely Heart*," Quentin supplied. "Barnabas likes it, too."

"No wonder," Christine remarked. "Which reminds me, I'd better check in, see how things are going. May I put the comm into visual mode? I generally like to see who I'm talking to."

Barnabas stiffened; she smiled reassuringly.

"But I make an exception for you."

He smiled and nodded. "Go ahead; just remember to switch it back when you're finished," he told her.

Christine reluctantly extricated herself from Barnabas' arms and moved over to the comm unit, then opened it and put it into visual mode, keying in the comm code for the *Enterprise* men's suite. A moment later, she was surprised to see McCoy's craggy face. The look in his eyes frightened her.