In Love With Your Ghost

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Star Trek TOS Fanfiction
Title: In Love With Your Ghost
Author(s): Greywolf the Wanderer
Date(s): 1998
Length:
Genre:
Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series
External Links: online here

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In Love With Your Ghost is Star Trek: TOS "music video" by Greywolf the Wanderer.

Author's Notes

"SObDisclaim: Paraborg/Viacom owns Trek, in all its incarnations. I'm just playin' with their toys for a bit, promise I'll put 'em back later. The Indigo Girls own the song "In Love With Your Ghost". In neither case is any infringement intended. Archive, yeah, go for it. Just keep my name and this disclaimer intact, eh? Oh, yeah -- be warned: Serious Angst Alert!!"

Part of a Short-Lived Series of Fanwork

In 1998, about a half dozen fans wrote "music videos."

They were not vids as many fans would know them today, but written descriptions of videos. Some of them were scripted vids, formatted as if they were to be viewed. Some were short stories interspersed with actual lyrics (not unlike a songfic), or stories that had breaks in which musical interludes were suggested, such as "swelling instrumentals."

These music videos included:

Excerpt

Scene opens: We see Jim Kirk, in his command chair, on the bridge of the starship Enterprise. According to the displays all around him, all is well -- yet the captain's face shows a deep and abiding misery. He is not the only one. The entire bridge crew seems subdued. Visible signs remain, of hastily made repairs. Smoke damage is still visible, here and there, on previously immaculate paint. Some of the consoles show obvious jury-rigged components, and everyone is moving as if they feel bone-weary...

[In the background the instrumental part begins; just a couple of guitars, at first, picking along, tossing a melody back and forth, slowly expanding on the theme.]

The chronometer ticks over, and Kirk hands over the conn to his relief, with visible gratitude. Suddenly it seems that he cannot wait to leave the bridge; the place that was always home to him is home no longer, in the wake of what has happened. In the turbolift, he hesitates for a moment, then orders it to take him to the observation deck. Once there, he punches in a time limit, and the door clicks locked behind him. He sighs, in apparent relief. Now that he is alone, his grief seems to hit him harder. As he walks over to the viewport, his hands are trembling, and he clenches them into fists. It doesn't help. He stands very close to the clearsteel sheet, hands braced on the supports, eyes fixed distantly on things that only he can see -- or can he? His eyes are very very bright -- but dry. "Captains don't cry," he whispers to himself, clenching his fists again.

[snipped]

More images: Spock walking down a hallway, striding easily beside him. Turning to look at him during a briefing, eyebrow raised in astonishment, or perhaps amusement, at something he'd just said. Spock at his station on the bridge, bent over his viewer, fingers dancing gracefully across his keyboards...

A windswept corral, in an oddly empty plain; leaves swirl around them, as slender Vulcan fingers reach for his face. And he is calm, for he knows already he can trust this man with his life, his safety, even his very soul. Spock again, crouched beside the wounded Horta -- stoicly bearing its pain, that he might lend it his voice with which to speak...

["And the Mississippi's mighty, it starts in Minnesota, at a place that you can walk across, in five steps down. And I guess that's how you started, like a pinprick to my heart -- but at this point you rush right through me, and I start to drown..."]