(My Voice) Rings Down through Thousands of Years
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Characters/Pairings: Uhura/Gaila, Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "Victory [over homophobia] may require five or maybe 20 years. Yet I have no doubt that “don’t ask, don’t tell” and same-sex adoption bans will be as unspeakable and inexplicable to my grandchildren as counting a slave as three-fifths of a human being."
Notes: Written in remembrance of the failed repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell this past week. And dedicated to a friend, who wants to be a part of a military that does not want her.
The ship hums, late at night. Nyota grew up in a city of lights and crashing waves, in a family of music and laughter. She grew up singing. The waves licked at her toes, and there were voices and guitars everywhere. Surrounded by language.
Nights on the Enterprise were lonely, in the beginning. Her family’s apartment was in the city, where Nyota could hear the soft buzzing of flitter engines and a deep vibrating bass line like a heartbeat. She never felt alone, even late at night, when she could still hear the music.
But now, light-years from home, it’s too quiet.
She sings, in private, until cabin fever drives her out of her quarters. Spock teaches her to play the Vulcan lyre; she starts reading again, modern literature and technical journals and alien poems about oceans in other, far-away worlds; she gets Christine to teach her advanced first aid; she spars with Sulu. And she doesn’t sleep.
Christine gives her sleeping pills. Nyota never takes them. She takes walks instead, winding through the ship, learning her quirks and curves.
“Hey, Uhura.”
She doesn’t bother turning around; she would recognize Kirk’s voice a mile away. She doesn’t answer. Instead, she turns, taking in ruffled blonde hair and an exhausted shuffle, a far cry from his usual swagger.
“You mind if I walk with you?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. It sticks up at weird angles.
“Can’t sleep?”
Kirk shrugs in a way that says yes better than anything else.
“Rec room?”
“Sure.”
They almost take up the whole hallway, like this. Kirk is nearly pressed to the wall, like he’s sliding against it to keep him upright, and Nyota weaves in and out of his personal space. She can’t decide whether she knows how to comfort him, and maybe she isn’t ready to try.
She keys in the door code and lets him go in ahead of her, watching as he sinks into the closest chair and rests his head on his arms. Nyota slides into the chair across from him-next to him would be too intimate, too friendly, and she’s not sure they could ever be that.
“Fifty-five years,” he says, and if Nyota hadn’t studied language she might not have heard it, might not have noticed the subtle tonal anomalies, so different from the way he spoke when they first met. “To the day.”
Nyota wonders, for a moment, flicks through a mental timeline in search of whatever it is Kirk’s referring to.
Too late, she finds it-he’s already clarifying. “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Fifty-five years ago today.”
Nyota doesn’t know what to say. She stares at him with comprehending eyes, eyes searching out depth and finding it, strangely.
“I don’t really expect people to remember it or anything. Except…” he waves his hand like it’s supposed to complete the thought. Nyota’s good with language, but not that good.
“Yes?” she presses, leaning in closer over the table.
“I wouldn’t be here, you know? I wouldn’t, and Spock, and you, and Gaila, and…. Shit, my mother-she was bi-and… I remember.”
Nyota nods. “It isn’t easy, being a part of that history.”
“You can say that again.”
She doesn’t. Instead, she crosses the table and puts her hands on his shoulders. And, impulsively, Nyota kisses his forehead. She can feel his confusion under her hands, and she smiles. “I remember, Jim,” she whispers, and there’s a smile, paper-thin and strained, but there.
He doesn’t say anything, reduced to silence for a moment that draws itself out over this mutual, remembered sadness. Fragile, and maybe it’s pulled a little too tight, reaching a breaking point, a chasm neither of them can cross. So Nyota holds on to his shoulders, pulls him into a hug. It feels strange, given their history, but maybe there’s something collective in that history that makes it all right. Maybe they should all remember a little more.
There’s a burden in remembering, a duty. Nyota holds onto that, in Kirk’s shoulders, and draws it, slowly, into herself. She grew up in a house full of brothers; she knows how to share, and how to take when she has to.
“Thanks, Nyota,” he whispers past chapped lips, and she smiles, smooths down his hair, lets him go.
“I’ll walk you home.”
Kirk leans on her shoulder on the way back to deck four. Nyota lets him. When they reach his quarters, she pings at the door. It slides open, revealing Spock standing in the doorway.
“Spock,” Kirk hums, wrapping his arm around Nyota’s shoulders and squeezing briefly before leaning into Spock’s chest. Spock’s arm goes around Kirk’s waist like it belongs there, like he doesn’t even have to think about it, and Nyota smiles.
“Thank you, Nyota,” Spock says, and Nyota thinks it’s a little funny that he’s picked up Human idioms so quickly, like osmosis. She’s sure that, under normal circumstances, Kirk is rather smug about that.
“You’re welcome, Spock,” she says.
--
Jim curls up against Spock’s right side, arm slung over him, pressed over Spock’s heartbeat. Spock pulls Jim’s arm up over his chest, tracing over the small tattoo on Jim’s wrist.
Tell.
“I do not believe I understood the significance of this, before tonight.”
Jim shrugs minutely. “It’s okay. Not like I was exactly forthcoming with the information.”
“Regardless.”
“Look, I know it’s different for you and your ‘enlightened culture’ or whatever the fuck. Earth… Well, we were too busy nuking ourselves into oblivion to worry very much about social issues. So we were behind. A lot. And people don’t like to admit that fifty-five years ago there was a ban on gays in the military that’s from the twenty-first century. Just… I have trouble forgetting.”
Spock runs a hand through Jim’s hair, rubbing soothing circles on his wrist. Jim’s practically melted over Spock’s chest. “I am well aware of that.”
Jim laughs. “Yeah, I guess you are.”
--
“Close your eyes.”
“I should warn you not to try anything. I have a Vulcan with violently jealous tendencies.”
Nyota swats his arm. “Don’t flatter yourself, Captain. Just keep ‘em closed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kirk snaps a perfect regulation salute and closes his eyes. Nyota places one hand over them and another on his elbow as she leads him down the hallway and into the turbolift. “Plan on telling me where we’re going?”
“Not a chance. Closed, Captain.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kirk mutters.
She steers him out of the turbolift and down the hallway, ignoring the strange looks from passing crewmen. Nyota keys in the door code, and it slides open with a barely audible whoosh.
“All right,” Nyota whispers. “Open.”
The rec room is full, the seats arranged in a circle, with two saved at one end. Kirk shoots Nyota a look, quizzical, his blue eyes asking her what’s going on. Nyota smiles and takes his arm, guiding him to the chair next to Spock. She sits between Kirk and Gaila. Gaila, who grins and presses her cheek to Nyota’s in greeting. Gaila, whose hand is so warm in hers, and Nyota can’t imagine a time when this wouldn’t be possible, the simple act of holding her lover’s hand.
It’s why remembering is important. It’s how everything begins.
“Thank you all for coming,” Nyota says, squeezing Gaila’s hand a little tighter. “All of you have heard my voice at some point during the last year, but many of you don’t know me. My name is Nyota Upenda Uhura. Many of you also may not know that last week was the fifty-fifth anniversary of the worldwide passage of a law which gave full equality and civil rights to gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and non-heterosexual persons. You’ve all been invited tonight because you have been affected personally by the implementation of that law.
“After hundreds of years, everyone is permitted to serve in Starfleet and any other Terran-based military institution. That affects all of us. The law that once held us back was called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. And tonight, you’ve all been invited here to tell.
“As all of you know, I am the chief communications officer on this ship. I deal with language every day. But many of you don’t know my own language, my own words, my own story. I’m here to share that with you, and I hope that all of you will do the same. Tonight, we remember. Tonight, we tell.”
Characters/Pairings: Uhura/Gaila, Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "Victory [over homophobia] may require five or maybe 20 years. Yet I have no doubt that “don’t ask, don’t tell” and same-sex adoption bans will be as unspeakable and inexplicable to my grandchildren as counting a slave as three-fifths of a human being."
Notes: Written in remembrance of the failed repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell this past week. And dedicated to a friend, who wants to be a part of a military that does not want her.
The ship hums, late at night. Nyota grew up in a city of lights and crashing waves, in a family of music and laughter. She grew up singing. The waves licked at her toes, and there were voices and guitars everywhere. Surrounded by language.
Nights on the Enterprise were lonely, in the beginning. Her family’s apartment was in the city, where Nyota could hear the soft buzzing of flitter engines and a deep vibrating bass line like a heartbeat. She never felt alone, even late at night, when she could still hear the music.
But now, light-years from home, it’s too quiet.
She sings, in private, until cabin fever drives her out of her quarters. Spock teaches her to play the Vulcan lyre; she starts reading again, modern literature and technical journals and alien poems about oceans in other, far-away worlds; she gets Christine to teach her advanced first aid; she spars with Sulu. And she doesn’t sleep.
Christine gives her sleeping pills. Nyota never takes them. She takes walks instead, winding through the ship, learning her quirks and curves.
“Hey, Uhura.”
She doesn’t bother turning around; she would recognize Kirk’s voice a mile away. She doesn’t answer. Instead, she turns, taking in ruffled blonde hair and an exhausted shuffle, a far cry from his usual swagger.
“You mind if I walk with you?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. It sticks up at weird angles.
“Can’t sleep?”
Kirk shrugs in a way that says yes better than anything else.
“Rec room?”
“Sure.”
They almost take up the whole hallway, like this. Kirk is nearly pressed to the wall, like he’s sliding against it to keep him upright, and Nyota weaves in and out of his personal space. She can’t decide whether she knows how to comfort him, and maybe she isn’t ready to try.
She keys in the door code and lets him go in ahead of her, watching as he sinks into the closest chair and rests his head on his arms. Nyota slides into the chair across from him-next to him would be too intimate, too friendly, and she’s not sure they could ever be that.
“Fifty-five years,” he says, and if Nyota hadn’t studied language she might not have heard it, might not have noticed the subtle tonal anomalies, so different from the way he spoke when they first met. “To the day.”
Nyota wonders, for a moment, flicks through a mental timeline in search of whatever it is Kirk’s referring to.
Too late, she finds it-he’s already clarifying. “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Fifty-five years ago today.”
Nyota doesn’t know what to say. She stares at him with comprehending eyes, eyes searching out depth and finding it, strangely.
“I don’t really expect people to remember it or anything. Except…” he waves his hand like it’s supposed to complete the thought. Nyota’s good with language, but not that good.
“Yes?” she presses, leaning in closer over the table.
“I wouldn’t be here, you know? I wouldn’t, and Spock, and you, and Gaila, and…. Shit, my mother-she was bi-and… I remember.”
Nyota nods. “It isn’t easy, being a part of that history.”
“You can say that again.”
She doesn’t. Instead, she crosses the table and puts her hands on his shoulders. And, impulsively, Nyota kisses his forehead. She can feel his confusion under her hands, and she smiles. “I remember, Jim,” she whispers, and there’s a smile, paper-thin and strained, but there.
He doesn’t say anything, reduced to silence for a moment that draws itself out over this mutual, remembered sadness. Fragile, and maybe it’s pulled a little too tight, reaching a breaking point, a chasm neither of them can cross. So Nyota holds on to his shoulders, pulls him into a hug. It feels strange, given their history, but maybe there’s something collective in that history that makes it all right. Maybe they should all remember a little more.
There’s a burden in remembering, a duty. Nyota holds onto that, in Kirk’s shoulders, and draws it, slowly, into herself. She grew up in a house full of brothers; she knows how to share, and how to take when she has to.
“Thanks, Nyota,” he whispers past chapped lips, and she smiles, smooths down his hair, lets him go.
“I’ll walk you home.”
Kirk leans on her shoulder on the way back to deck four. Nyota lets him. When they reach his quarters, she pings at the door. It slides open, revealing Spock standing in the doorway.
“Spock,” Kirk hums, wrapping his arm around Nyota’s shoulders and squeezing briefly before leaning into Spock’s chest. Spock’s arm goes around Kirk’s waist like it belongs there, like he doesn’t even have to think about it, and Nyota smiles.
“Thank you, Nyota,” Spock says, and Nyota thinks it’s a little funny that he’s picked up Human idioms so quickly, like osmosis. She’s sure that, under normal circumstances, Kirk is rather smug about that.
“You’re welcome, Spock,” she says.
--
Jim curls up against Spock’s right side, arm slung over him, pressed over Spock’s heartbeat. Spock pulls Jim’s arm up over his chest, tracing over the small tattoo on Jim’s wrist.
Tell.
“I do not believe I understood the significance of this, before tonight.”
Jim shrugs minutely. “It’s okay. Not like I was exactly forthcoming with the information.”
“Regardless.”
“Look, I know it’s different for you and your ‘enlightened culture’ or whatever the fuck. Earth… Well, we were too busy nuking ourselves into oblivion to worry very much about social issues. So we were behind. A lot. And people don’t like to admit that fifty-five years ago there was a ban on gays in the military that’s from the twenty-first century. Just… I have trouble forgetting.”
Spock runs a hand through Jim’s hair, rubbing soothing circles on his wrist. Jim’s practically melted over Spock’s chest. “I am well aware of that.”
Jim laughs. “Yeah, I guess you are.”
--
“Close your eyes.”
“I should warn you not to try anything. I have a Vulcan with violently jealous tendencies.”
Nyota swats his arm. “Don’t flatter yourself, Captain. Just keep ‘em closed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kirk snaps a perfect regulation salute and closes his eyes. Nyota places one hand over them and another on his elbow as she leads him down the hallway and into the turbolift. “Plan on telling me where we’re going?”
“Not a chance. Closed, Captain.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kirk mutters.
She steers him out of the turbolift and down the hallway, ignoring the strange looks from passing crewmen. Nyota keys in the door code, and it slides open with a barely audible whoosh.
“All right,” Nyota whispers. “Open.”
The rec room is full, the seats arranged in a circle, with two saved at one end. Kirk shoots Nyota a look, quizzical, his blue eyes asking her what’s going on. Nyota smiles and takes his arm, guiding him to the chair next to Spock. She sits between Kirk and Gaila. Gaila, who grins and presses her cheek to Nyota’s in greeting. Gaila, whose hand is so warm in hers, and Nyota can’t imagine a time when this wouldn’t be possible, the simple act of holding her lover’s hand.
It’s why remembering is important. It’s how everything begins.
“Thank you all for coming,” Nyota says, squeezing Gaila’s hand a little tighter. “All of you have heard my voice at some point during the last year, but many of you don’t know me. My name is Nyota Upenda Uhura. Many of you also may not know that last week was the fifty-fifth anniversary of the worldwide passage of a law which gave full equality and civil rights to gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and non-heterosexual persons. You’ve all been invited tonight because you have been affected personally by the implementation of that law.
“After hundreds of years, everyone is permitted to serve in Starfleet and any other Terran-based military institution. That affects all of us. The law that once held us back was called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. And tonight, you’ve all been invited here to tell.
“As all of you know, I am the chief communications officer on this ship. I deal with language every day. But many of you don’t know my own language, my own words, my own story. I’m here to share that with you, and I hope that all of you will do the same. Tonight, we remember. Tonight, we tell.”