Fic: Memory
Title: Memory
Fandom: ST:XI
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Uhura/Scotty
Warnings: illness, mention of assisted suicide, discussed future character death, consumption of alcoholic beverages, not beta’d.
Notes: Written for the hc_bingo prompt “major illness”, and partly inspired by this kink meme prompt.
~741 words
Summary: She’ll forget this later.
“Something wrong?” Scotty asks. Nyota looks up. “You haven’t touched your drink.”
Chekov is looking at her too. “Are you feeling well?”
Nyota does not flinch. She picks up her drink, but doesn’t take a sip. Normally she likes drinking, but this might have been a bad idea. She can’t bear to get tipsy right now; maybe not ever again.
Scotty puts his hand on her shoulder. The concern in his eyes is painful. She opens her mouth to lie, stops, puts down her drink.
“I talked to McCoy today.”
“Is it about your headaches?” Chekov says. His eyes are wide and very earnest. He’s nineteen now, but he still looks like a baby to her.
She nods. “He ran some tests last time, and, uh….” She hates herself for hesitating; this isn’t like her. “He says I have….”
Neither of them says anything, just watching her.
“It’s a degenerative brain condition,” she spits out, finally. “He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to do anything. He’s gonna try for one of those patented McCoy miracles, but I’m not holding my breath.”
“Shit,” Scotty says. Chekov’s very pale.
Nyota doesn’t cry - she’s done her crying already, in Sickbay. Instead, she pushes her drink at Scotty, who knocks it back.
“What are you going to do?” Chekov says softly.
Nyota shrugs. “I’ll work for as long as I can, and after that…I don’t know.”
McCoy shows up at her quarters with a stack of PADDs. “Anyone else?”
Nyota shakes her head. “It’s just the two of us. I didn’t want too many people…well. I didn’t want too many people.”
He nods. “Have you told anyone?”
“Spock, Scotty, and Pavel. There’s a fifty/fifty chance that Pavel told Sulu.”
“Alright then.” He sets the PADDs on her desk and pulls up a chair. “Let’s get busy.”
Scotty shows up at her door while she and the doctor are debating care facilities. His face reddens when he sees the doctor.
McCoy levers himself to his feet. “I’m going for a snack.”
“I needed to talk to you.” Scotty says once he’s gone, pulling on his sleeves.
Nyota narrows her eyes in suspicion. “About what?”
He kisses her. They bump noses; his face is sweaty. He touches her carefully, like she’s going to break. She pulls him closer, hands firm against his back.
By the time this kiss breaks, his hands are cupping the back of her head.
“You timing sucks.”
He snorts. She takes in his face, the shape of his nose. She doesn’t want to forget this.
He kisses her again. “Is that a no?”
She smiles a little. “That’s me wondering why you did this now.”
“I’ve wasted enough time dithering,” he says. “It was now or never.”
“What did I walk in on?” he asks later, while McCoy takes a suspiciously long time to return. They’re curled together on her bed, on top of the covers.
Nyota looks at the table, with its messy stack of PADDs. “Planning. McCoy and I were taking a look at my options.” She looks at their clasped hands. “Assisted suicide is one of them.”
Scotty takes a deep breath. “What exactly is going to happen?”
Nyota reflects on the list McCoy gave her. “Memory loss, blackouts, seizures. Loss of motor control. After a while, I won’t be able to talk or understand when someone speaks to me.” Nyota’s voice breaks, and Scotty’s hands grip tighter. “After that, either it kills me or….” She meets his eyes. “Second thoughts?”
“Kicking meself for not doing this sooner.” His voice is thick with whatever he’s holding in. “I’ve been working up the courage to kiss you for months.”
“I don’t know how long I’ve got,” she says, needing him to understand. “It could be just a couple of months.”
“An’ I plan t’spend those months with you.” Scotty leans in to kiss her forehead. “You cannae talk me out of this, Nyota.”
She wakes, briefly, to McCoy gathering the PADDs he’d left on her desk. Scotty’s legs are tangled in hers. It feels like there’s a bomb strapped to her neck, counting down; she’s not sure she wants another person caught in the crossfire.
She sits and listens to Scotty’s loud snores, to McCoy carefully cleaning up the mess on her desk. She soaks in the feel of Scotty’s fingers against her own, the warmth radiating across the small space between them.
She wants this. Despite herself, she wants.
Fandom: ST:XI
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Uhura/Scotty
Warnings: illness, mention of assisted suicide, discussed future character death, consumption of alcoholic beverages, not beta’d.
Notes: Written for the hc_bingo prompt “major illness”, and partly inspired by this kink meme prompt.
~741 words
Summary: She’ll forget this later.
“Something wrong?” Scotty asks. Nyota looks up. “You haven’t touched your drink.”
Chekov is looking at her too. “Are you feeling well?”
Nyota does not flinch. She picks up her drink, but doesn’t take a sip. Normally she likes drinking, but this might have been a bad idea. She can’t bear to get tipsy right now; maybe not ever again.
Scotty puts his hand on her shoulder. The concern in his eyes is painful. She opens her mouth to lie, stops, puts down her drink.
“I talked to McCoy today.”
“Is it about your headaches?” Chekov says. His eyes are wide and very earnest. He’s nineteen now, but he still looks like a baby to her.
She nods. “He ran some tests last time, and, uh….” She hates herself for hesitating; this isn’t like her. “He says I have….”
Neither of them says anything, just watching her.
“It’s a degenerative brain condition,” she spits out, finally. “He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to do anything. He’s gonna try for one of those patented McCoy miracles, but I’m not holding my breath.”
“Shit,” Scotty says. Chekov’s very pale.
Nyota doesn’t cry - she’s done her crying already, in Sickbay. Instead, she pushes her drink at Scotty, who knocks it back.
“What are you going to do?” Chekov says softly.
Nyota shrugs. “I’ll work for as long as I can, and after that…I don’t know.”
McCoy shows up at her quarters with a stack of PADDs. “Anyone else?”
Nyota shakes her head. “It’s just the two of us. I didn’t want too many people…well. I didn’t want too many people.”
He nods. “Have you told anyone?”
“Spock, Scotty, and Pavel. There’s a fifty/fifty chance that Pavel told Sulu.”
“Alright then.” He sets the PADDs on her desk and pulls up a chair. “Let’s get busy.”
Scotty shows up at her door while she and the doctor are debating care facilities. His face reddens when he sees the doctor.
McCoy levers himself to his feet. “I’m going for a snack.”
“I needed to talk to you.” Scotty says once he’s gone, pulling on his sleeves.
Nyota narrows her eyes in suspicion. “About what?”
He kisses her. They bump noses; his face is sweaty. He touches her carefully, like she’s going to break. She pulls him closer, hands firm against his back.
By the time this kiss breaks, his hands are cupping the back of her head.
“You timing sucks.”
He snorts. She takes in his face, the shape of his nose. She doesn’t want to forget this.
He kisses her again. “Is that a no?”
She smiles a little. “That’s me wondering why you did this now.”
“I’ve wasted enough time dithering,” he says. “It was now or never.”
“What did I walk in on?” he asks later, while McCoy takes a suspiciously long time to return. They’re curled together on her bed, on top of the covers.
Nyota looks at the table, with its messy stack of PADDs. “Planning. McCoy and I were taking a look at my options.” She looks at their clasped hands. “Assisted suicide is one of them.”
Scotty takes a deep breath. “What exactly is going to happen?”
Nyota reflects on the list McCoy gave her. “Memory loss, blackouts, seizures. Loss of motor control. After a while, I won’t be able to talk or understand when someone speaks to me.” Nyota’s voice breaks, and Scotty’s hands grip tighter. “After that, either it kills me or….” She meets his eyes. “Second thoughts?”
“Kicking meself for not doing this sooner.” His voice is thick with whatever he’s holding in. “I’ve been working up the courage to kiss you for months.”
“I don’t know how long I’ve got,” she says, needing him to understand. “It could be just a couple of months.”
“An’ I plan t’spend those months with you.” Scotty leans in to kiss her forehead. “You cannae talk me out of this, Nyota.”
She wakes, briefly, to McCoy gathering the PADDs he’d left on her desk. Scotty’s legs are tangled in hers. It feels like there’s a bomb strapped to her neck, counting down; she’s not sure she wants another person caught in the crossfire.
She sits and listens to Scotty’s loud snores, to McCoy carefully cleaning up the mess on her desk. She soaks in the feel of Scotty’s fingers against her own, the warmth radiating across the small space between them.
She wants this. Despite herself, she wants.