half held dreams & relevant shadows [closed]
The shuttle was going down.
Somewhere there was metal shearing. The consoles sparked and hissed around her. Somehow. Somehow the inertial dampeners were holding. Still there. Still a chance. Communications was static, but she thought...she thought she could hear Spock somewhere in that mess of static. He was somewhere.
And she was here.
Here, in this place. In the dark with alarms blaring and the huge red display flashing the obvious.
<< ALERT: IMPACT IN TEN SECONDS >>
Her head was bleeding and she stared at it for a moment, disoriented, fuzzy, and heard another pop! as a circuit blew. The communications static rose and fell. Transporter lock unavailable. Losing. Andrea was dead.
This was not the way she wanted her--
Uhura lie curled up on Spock's bed, her fingers buried against the blanket she held clenched in a fist, her knees drawn to her chest. Sleep had been long in coming, longer than she might have liked, and she knew she'd dream. It was not exactly a dream. It had happened. Somehow, she'd survive it. She had to survive it. Still asleep, Uhura curled in on herself tightly, and her brow furrowed. Her fingers twitched as a shudder ran down her spine. Uhura had nightmares every once and awhile about the Farragut, about being assigned there, about dying there. About floating in space with the dead Nero had left behind, but this was not that. This had happened and she knew, even asleep, that she was trying to process it.
And doing a piss-poor job of it.
Somewhere there was metal shearing. The consoles sparked and hissed around her. Somehow. Somehow the inertial dampeners were holding. Still there. Still a chance. Communications was static, but she thought...she thought she could hear Spock somewhere in that mess of static. He was somewhere.
And she was here.
Here, in this place. In the dark with alarms blaring and the huge red display flashing the obvious.
<< ALERT: IMPACT IN TEN SECONDS >>
Her head was bleeding and she stared at it for a moment, disoriented, fuzzy, and heard another pop! as a circuit blew. The communications static rose and fell. Transporter lock unavailable. Losing. Andrea was dead.
This was not the way she wanted her--
Uhura lie curled up on Spock's bed, her fingers buried against the blanket she held clenched in a fist, her knees drawn to her chest. Sleep had been long in coming, longer than she might have liked, and she knew she'd dream. It was not exactly a dream. It had happened. Somehow, she'd survive it. She had to survive it. Still asleep, Uhura curled in on herself tightly, and her brow furrowed. Her fingers twitched as a shudder ran down her spine. Uhura had nightmares every once and awhile about the Farragut, about being assigned there, about dying there. About floating in space with the dead Nero had left behind, but this was not that. This had happened and she knew, even asleep, that she was trying to process it.
And doing a piss-poor job of it.