Legal Disclaimer: I own nothing but the original characters. Paramount owns Star Trek.

Christine Chapel stepped onto the transporter platform with considerable assistance from an adorable waiter named Gregg. Chapel inhaled the scent of his cologne and giggled. He was really cute. No points on those ears, but hey... Once the waiter moved along, she rummaged in her purse for her communicator. After three abortive attempts, she finally managed to open it. "Enterprise, one to beam up."

Just before she dematerialized, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the bar and giggled again. She'd tucked a row of flowers into the elaborate weave of her golden hair. I look like Maria von Trapp, she thought to herself. Yeah, Maria von Trapp in three-inch heels and pseudo-Vulcan makeup. The hills are alive with the sound of music...ahh-ah-ah-ahhhh..., a terrible voice sang in the foggy recesses of her intoxicated mind. Chapel shook her head firmly, then regretted it as the room began to sway around her.

The crowded smoke-filled bar dissolved into the Enterprise transporter room. For an instant Chapel felt an odd pressure around her waist, like someone was holding her. She even thought she sensed a presence directly behind her. She looked, but of course there was no one there. She took a careful step in her three-inch heels and nearly tumbled to the deck. The entire room spun cockeyed and then righted itself again. She sucked in a deep breath and took a mincing step toward the edge of the platform. For some reason, the floor looked awfully far away.

"Are you experiencing difficulty, Nurse?" a familiar voice intoned. Chapel focused on the source and a stifled another giggle. It was Spock! Gee, she'd timed it just right. You're too drunk to time anything, a little voice nagged from somewhere in her head. Oh, go back to your singing, she told the little voice and smiled broadly in the direction of Mr. Spock.

The smile vanished when she tried to step off the platform. Damn, the ground was even further away than before. "Umm," Chapel took another look at the floor and went for it. Somehow she managed to make it without falling flat on her ass. She sauntered over to the transporter console with an uninhibited stride that did her slinky red party dress justice. "Not taking leave, Mister Spock?" she queried as she leaned against the console. Suddenly it was very important to lean against something.

"Not at this time," Spock responded, faint disapproval in his expression as he surveyed her appearance.

Chapel leaned forward over the console, a sensuous smile on her elaborately painted lips. "You really should relax more, Mister Spock. I can see the tension in your shoulders. All work and no play--"

"You are intoxicated," Spock announced in a tone calculated to end the discussion. His eyes traveled back to the console, his faint frown intensifying as he studied the controls.

"Something wrong?" Chapel questioned as she inched around the side of the console, wobbling on her spiked heels.

"The transporter pattern," Spock murmured almost to himself. "There must be a sensor echo..." He looked up at her, his dark eyes intent. "How do you feel, Nurse?"

"Great," she slurred, closing the distance between them. "But I know what would make me feel better."

Spock caught her by the arm to keep her from toppling to the floor, and Chapel leaned against him, her pale skin and red gown contrasting with the science blue of his tunic. Chapel met his gaze, her nose just inches from his, fully appreciating the acceleration of his heart as it beat beneath her splayed fingertips. "You have incredible eyes," she breathed.

"Nurse Chapel," Spock put a respectable gap between them, minimizing contact while still supporting her. "You should be in bed."

"Precisely," she agreed with a wicked grin. "Wanna keep me company?" Now, Chris, you know that wasn't nice, the little voice in her head scolded. Mr. Spock doesn't like that sort of talk. Chapel told the little voice to cool it and winked suggestively in Spock's direction.

Spock's lips clamped into a thin, condemning line. He was radiating disapproval. Chapel wondered idly how one went about getting a Vulcan drunk. After a few Arcturian fizzes even Spock might even consider--

"Mister Spock?"

"Damn," Chapel said. Just when she was making an impression.

Chief Kyle stood just inside the transporter room, staring at the unlikely pair.

"Nurse Chapel is..." Spock removed Chapel's wandering hand with more force than was strictly necessary. "Unwell. Please escort her to her cabin."

Chapel, teetering on her heels, had enough presence of mind to note the slight emerald flush suffusing Spock's face. His expression was cast in granite, but she smiled as she remembered the rapid drumbeat of his heart. "Not so immune after all?" she queried, sotto voce.

The only response in Spock was a stiffening of his posture. Chapel knew he'd heard.

The Vulcan watched as Kyle assisted the inebriated nurse toward the corridor. His scientific mind could not help but ponder the gravity-defying aspects of her gown. His dark eyes followed Chapel's swaying hips, his fingers twitching reflexively as he recalled the feel of that silky fabric riding over Chapel's skin. The transporter room door swished open, the couple stepped into the corridor, and it closed. Spock returned his attention to the console just as the door slid open again. He looked up, but no one entered. Chapel's laughter filtered through the doorway as the doors closed for a second time and Spock shook his head. He would never understand human females.

Chapel rolled over in bed, kicking. Something was tickling her leg. She'd been dreaming about a ship, a sailing vessel tossed on a storm-plagued sea. The scene faded into a small cramped ship's cabin with paneled walls and a port hole. Through it she could see the inky waves writhing, demons against the grey night.

...and woke in her own bed, smothered by the weight on top of her. Still half-asleep, the nurse panicked, pushing frantically until she fell into a heap on the side of her bed.

"What the..." Chapel shook her head and looked around, seeing nothing but her tidy, empty cabin. She calmed her breathing to marathon speed, and pulled herself up to sit on the side of the bed. "Nightmare," she laughed nervously. "That's the last time I let Uhura talk me into an Arcturian bar for shore leave. Jeez, I must've had enough troffe to stone a Klingon." She rubbed her head and lay back onto the rumpled bed.

Something tickled her cheek, and she rubbed it automatically, looking behind her. Nothing. "I am never drinking again as long as I live," she vowed. She was just about to drift back off to sleep when a hand slipped under her hips and pinched her soundly. "Hey," she yelped, jumping out of the bed and throwing the covers frantically to the side. A masculine laugh sent her backwards against the cabin wall.

"Ghosts. I'm seeing ghosts." She labored to slow her breathing as the voice laughed again, louder and stronger this time. It had an uncomfortably familiar ring to it; if only Chapel could place the voice.

Don't be frightened, Christine darlin', the "ghost" chuckled.

"Oh, no." Chapel blinked her eyes hard, trying desperately to wake herself from this nightmare. "It can't be..."

A pair of hands appeared in front of her, followed by the arms, shoulders, face and unclothed body of...

"Harcourt Fenton Mudd, at your service, Madam."

"What the hell are you doing in my cabin?" Christine Chapel sat on the edge of the bed and tugged her hastily retrieved robe tightly around her naked body, anger and embarrassment mingling together with the leftover troffe buzz to form a hard knot in the pit of her stomach. "How did you get on board the Enterprise?"

Mudd paused in the act of buttoning the cuffs of his jacket to shake his head. "Now, is that the tone of a gracious hostess, Christine? Where are your manners?"

She held her breath and counted to ten before speaking again. Each syllable carried the force of a Klingon disrupter. "What are you doing in my cabin?"

"I come seeking your assistance, Fair Lady." He kneeled before her, taking one long hand in his and smacking his lips against it before she snapped it away. "What? Such coldness? After all we've been to each other?"

"What do you mean, `after all we've been to each other?'"

"Oh now, you're just being coy." He grinned roguishly. "As if our long-standing friendship was not enough..."

"You mean, as if your conning me into sampling a love potion that gave me a three-day hangover wasn't enough," she corrected.

"Now you act as if nothing even happened." He nodded knowingly at her discarded dress which lay at the foot of the rumpled bed.

Chapel stood on wobbly legs, feeling even in bare feet as if she were back in the spike heels. "What are you talking about?" she whispered, the blood draining from her face. Mudd wagged his eyebrows, and she sat weakly back on the bed. "Oh, god," she moaned.

"That's exactly what you said earlier when we--"

"Get out of my cabin, you son-of-a--"

Chapel sprang for the door, only to be pulled back onto the bed by Mudd, who placed one meaty hand over her mouth. "Remember, anything you say now might threaten our fledgling relationship." He yelped as Chapel bit his hand, then slid out of his grasp.

"I'm calling Security." She neatly skirted Mudd's attempt at grabbing her and stumbled to the wall communicator.

Mudd held up is hand frantically. "Wait." In spite of herself, Chapel halted. Encouraged by her momentary hesitation, he bounded to her side, putting a hand on either shoulder. "Now, don't do that, darling," his voice was soft and coaxing. "Think of the strain it'll put on our romantic--"

"Get your filthy hands off of me," she demanded, jabbing him in the gut as he tried to keep her from activating the wall communicator.

"All right, tell them. Be my guest. But how are you going to explain how I got here?"

That stopped her. She turned slowly to face him, the heat burning a hole in her cheeks. "How did you get here?"

Mudd leaned back, folding his arms across his chest, a smug grin widening his face. "Now there's the Christine Chapel I know and love."

Chapel heaved an exasperated sigh and forced her voice into the most professional tone possible under the circumstances. "Would you kindly tell me how you got aboard the Enterprise, Mr. Mudd, and then remove yourself from my cabin?"

"Actually, that's the Christine Chapel I know and love," he muttered under his breath. "Very well, if you insist. I don't usually reveal my business plans to just anybody," he said conspiratorially. "But, considering all we've been to each other in the last few hours--"

"My patience is wearing very thin here, Harry."

"I'll make an exception in your case." Mudd tapped her cheek affectionately, then turned away with a dramatic sweep of his arm, pacing the tiny cabin. "Since the dawn of time, Man has searched for but two things...love and power. How many lives have been lost, I ask you, in the name of these two elusive treasures? Did Menelaus sail the Mediterranean for money? For fame? No, my dear Christine, he sailed that stormy sea but for two reasons...love and power."

"Spare me the histrionics and get to the point, please." Chapel folded her arms and leaned against the wall.

"Ah...yes, of course. I regret to say that you did not invite me into your cabin last night, Christine darling," he admitted sadly. "However, when I saw you and the charming Lieutenant Uhura in that quaint Arcturian pub, I knew that you would never let a friend languish on a backwater space station merely because of his...current financial...uh, embarrassment."

"You're broke."

"I am in the process of marketing a discovery which will make me the most beloved and respected..."

"And richest..."

"Businessman in the entire Federation. And under the circumstances, I knew you wouldn't mind if I...uh, tagged along."

"You don't just `tag along' onto a starship, Harry. How did you get on board?"

"Ah, yes, how indeed. A very interesting question, my dear. Delightfully apropos. For you see," Mudd spun around once, magically producing a small vial from his jacket. "I have stumbled upon a potion which makes its user..." He paused for the effect, then said in a hushed, dramatic voice, "invisible."

Chapel looked at him for a long moment. "That's it. I'm calling Security."

"It's true, I tell you," Mudd insisted. "This potion really works. Just think of it. The scientific advancements the Federation could make with a working invisibility potion - the opportunity to study primitive cultures without fear of breaking the Prime Directive, for instance. Think of the military advances we could gain with a fleet of invisible starships. Think of the glory; think of the power..."

"Think of the money Harry Mudd could make by owning the patent," Chapel finished for him. "And there just happens to be a patent office on Cygnus, where we're headed."

"Well, a man deserves a little compensation for his contribution to society, don't you think?"

Chapel pressed her hand against her forehead and steadied herself. "All right, let's try another approach here. Point one, you entered my cabin without permission--breaking and entering. Point two, you..." She paused, not wanting to even think about what he had done while she was semi-conscious. "Point two, attacking a Starfleet officer. Point three, transporting potentially dangerous substances without a permit, with intent to sell." She glared at Mudd, who was writhing uncomfortably. "You've worked up quite a list for yourself, Harry."

"But it works, I tell you. Surely a scientific discovery of this magnitude is worth one or two minor infractions--in the grand scheme of things, that is."

"What kind of chump do you think I am? An invisibility formula? Right. Now either you get out of here, or I'll have the red shirts on you so fast your mustache will straighten."

"My love potion worked," he murmured casually.

Chapel's spine stiffened in reference to the love crystals. That was hitting below the belt, even for Harry Mudd. She'd made a complete ass of herself that time and did not intend to repeat the experience. "Questionable aphrodisiacs and invisibility potions are not the same thing."

"True, the love crystals left a bit to be desired," Mudd laughed at his own pun, but stopped at the nurse's sober expression. "But I assure you, this product has no such messy after-effects. With it, I was able to enter your cabin, unnoticed by even you."

"Last night, a herd of African elephants could have come into my room without my noticing. That doesn't mean you were invisible."

"Christine, I beamed aboard with you. And nobody saw me, not even your precious Mr. Spock." Mudd's eyes twinkled as he twisted his moustache around one finger. "Now you aren't going to convince me that he was intoxicated, too!"

"Very funny. You just beamed up with me, like any other day?" Chapel could hear the sharpness in her tone rising as her headache took a turn for the worse.

"Just like any other day. It's a simple matter, really. Just step into the field, snuggle up close--"

"Do you have a clue how dangerous that is?" Chapel interrupted, suddenly recalling the presence she'd sensed in the transporter room.

"It's perfectly safe," Mudd argued. "Aren't we living proof?"

"You're lying, Harry." Chapel said. "I don't know how you got here, but I can tell you where you're going. To the brig."

"Oh, I suppose you could turn me in," he sighed loudly. "Then, of course, our friend Mr. Spock would have to interrogate me. Being the cooperative soul that I am, I would be forced to tell him...everything." He twirled his moustache with a salacious gleam in his eyes. "Incidentally, I never realized how...athletic you are, Nurse Chapel."

The nurse blanched, remembering her shameful behavior in the transporter room. The last person she wanted to see right now was Spock. "This is blackmail," she said coldly.

"I prefer to call it `doing my civic duty.' I'm sure our Vulcan friend would be interested--for scientific purposes only, of course--in the effects of troffe on the human sex drive, in the endurance level of the average human female, and, of course, in that adorable little squeaking sound you make when you..."

"All right, all right." Chapel glared at him, beaten. "You win. Just tell me what you want."

"For now, dear lady, only your silence and hospitality." He executed a low bow. "And, once the Enterprise pulls into orbit around Cygnus, your help in beaming down safely. That's all." He smiled, placing the vial in her hand. "And to prove that Harcourt Fenton Mudd is not a uncivilized house guest, I offer you this small token of my gratitude."

"No, thank you. You may blackmail me into keeping my mouth shut, but I want nothing to do with your voodoo potions."

"Christine, how do you think I got in your cabin? You saw me materialize; how do you explain that?"

Chapel shivered. She had seen him appear out of nowhere, which was of course impossible. Then again, with Harry Mudd, the impossible was common place. "I don't believe you," she assured him. "But I will keep this as evidence for when I finally figure out a way to get even with you for this."

"Ah, such vindictiveness. You should smile more often; it adds such life to your face and makes you look years younger." He produced another vial from his jacket. "The antidote. Without it, the effects last about three hours. Remember, darlin', it does make you a little giddy." He winked broadly. "Don't operate any heavy machinery while you're invisible. Now, I'm going to do a bit of sightseeing. Captain Kirk never did let me get the feel of this exquisite ship. Always in the brig, out the brig."

Unable to argue with him, Chapel simply watched in stunned silence as Mudd retrieved a handful of vials from his pocket, chose one and returned the others. He broke open the seal, pouring the sweet-smelling oil onto his hands. As he slowly vanished before her eyes, Mudd added with a quick gesture toward the rumpled bed, "Oh, yes. Nothing happened." Then the door to her cabin opened, and she was alone.