Tears from Tartarus - STXI Reboot/PG-13
Title: Tears from Tartarus
Artist: ileliberte
Author: djkiwi2576
Rating (both art/fic): PG-13 (fic)/G(art)
Genre/Pairing: (Hurt/Comfort)- Kirk/Spock/Uhura
Word Count: 6059
Warnings: Some violence and mentions of character death
Art Thumbnail:
Fic Summary: An away mission gives way to emotional discovery.
A/N: A special thank you to my awesome beta, Spockside, I'm truly your number one fan.
One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life…the word is love. ~ Sophocles
I.
Grief manifested itself in every aspect of Spock’s life. The young commander found it progressively more challenging to enjoy or simply digest food. Even a basic meal of plomeek soup and herbal tea made him violently ill. He became a captive of his quarters sentenced to spend over a third of his off duty hours cradling the stainless steel basin in the bathroom. Sleep at one time had been a luxury and now it was a necessity that eluded him. He was approaching twelve days without sufficient rest and his ability to calculate, reason, and make very basic decisions had become impaired. Spock had never been one to engage in frivolous conversation with colleagues. With the cancellation of his regular engagements with the members of the crew that he found the least annoying, he saw his social status downgrade from wall flower to hermit. There was Sunday night three card rummy with the ship’s chief doctor. Spock would nurse his watered down bourbon while listening to McCoy’s intoxicated barbs were amusing and filled with colorful southern colloquialisms. The middle of the week found him trapped in the Captain’s ready room with the Starfleet’s youngest navigator as they mapped future coordinates and discussed past findings. Chekov’s excitement grew with each new discovery on the Enterprise’s first mission and his overzealous reactions became infectious to most of the bridge, Spock included. The commander often ended their evening meetings with a smile hovering about his lips. Then there was Nyota’s soothing presence. Their time together was often the highlight of his week. The Friday night movie he viewed with the proficient and aesthetically pleasing linguist was not a date but an educational experience designed to teach him more about his humanity. During the week the two only communicated with fleeting glances and hidden smiles. Spock’s heart would soar for hours then crash and immediately seek out another fix of Lieutenant Uhura. When Friday came, she would curl up next to him, popcorn cradled in one arm and the remote held loosely in her free hand in preparation to pause the holo if and when one of his muted groans signaled he had an unspoken question. Usually there was no confusion on Spock’s part, only a desire to listen to the hypnotic tone of her voice.
Now, he no longer found comfort in those things.
Daily the ache shifted and turned. It coiled itself around his vital organs, squeezing the life from the heart angled in his side, and draining the force that propelled him forward from his body. He needed to grieve. There had been no time for tears. Spock had moved from one duty to the next, moving that nagging pain in his soul to the side and setting a future appointment for his mourning. He’d rescued the elders of Vulcan and lost his mother in the process. In the first few hours following his mother’s demise, Spock had been angry. He was consumed by an emotion that was primitive, raw, and violent. It pushed him to attack cadet Kirk. He yielded to reckless abandonment and engaged in momentary indulgences of pleasure with his former student; kisses that he desired to develop into longer and more illicit acts of shared intimacy. In the end Nyota had given him space and left him with the constant images of his mother’s fear filled eyes as she slipped from the edge of the cliff to her death.
The earliest recollection Spock had of his mother was her laugh. Amanda Grayson’s entire face lit up when the corners of her lips turned towards the heavens and her eyes filled with glee. The hiccup in her voice became more pronounced with each sound that tumbled from her mouth. No matter how hard she pressed her tiny hands against her delicate face, it was of no use. The damage was done and Spock would find that he was unable to resist his mother’s influence. He would collapse into her chest and her arms would wrap tightly about him. The days she shared that side of herself were rare. She was bound by the duties associated with being a Vulcan’s wife. She heard the whispers from the other houses. She knew that many questioned her husband’s sanity and logic. They thought him a renegade member of the V’tosh ka’tur. They thought her simply a whore.
Those faded whispers from his youth burned Spock’s ears. He fought to maintain the tattered threads of his Vulcan control.
While the memory of his mother’s laugh was Spock’s favorite, there were several occurrences on which he could linger and briefly sense his mother’s presence. Amanda Grayson was a patient woman. She was the half of the parental whole that believed in providing reassurance to her child and supporting his decisions despite her personal opinion. The same could not be said for his father. Amanda watched lovingly in perfect peace, as her son toiled with the idea of fully submitting to the Vulcan way or following the heart that a mother’s love had constantly nurtured throughout the years. His entry into Starfleet was a testament to this.
That patience was something Spock longed for as he piloted the small shuttle into the atmosphere of the planet Tartarus. A familiar pang settled within as the craft touched on the soft sands of the shore. His eyes had barely registered the sight before him when he connected the name Tartarus with its mythological history. This place was lower than hell. A mirror image of Vulcan where he’d watched the destruction of both his home planet and the mother he adored.
The small crew came to life, Captain Kirk, emerged from his nap and Lieutenant Uhura stirred in her seat. Nervous energy filled the air and with a face of stone, Spock followed his internal checklist, manning the controls, enabling the brakes, and scanning the surrounding area for potential threats. The Captain and Lieutenant scrutinized him for signs of emotional disturbance. He provided none. He ignored the Lieutenant’s soft whisper of his name and avoided the right hand of the Captain that dared to grasp his shoulder.
Descending the platform and taking the first step on this foreign soil, every emotion he’d barricaded behind the invisible wall of logic broke free and a deep and feral growl pealed from his lips.
***
The view was haunting; shimmering shades of gold, accentuated by white wispy clouds framing the peaks of rugged mountains. The rays reflected off the crystalline waters and the breath seeped from Nyota’s body. Only one planet’s sunset rivaled the majesty unfolding before her eyes.
Vulcan.
It was a sight that could only live on in the recesses of her mind. Never again would she feast her eyes upon the great halls inhabited by the High Council. Artifacts and writings of untold value reduced to mere dust in the wake of Nero’s insanity. It was an immeasurable loss - a travesty.
Apprehensively she allowed her eyes to drift to the crew member piloting their shuttle. His jaw was tense and if she listened carefully the distinct sound of teeth grinding against one another could be heard. Eyes that she was used to seeing filled with pride and brief flickers of happiness were glazed over with a very human emotion that he would refuse to acknowledge if she ignored her inner voice, touched his arm, and whispered the words ringing so loudly in her ears, “Are you okay.” The hurt was too new. Like the ache of an overused muscle after hours of physical exertion. Nyota knew that Spock’s heart could only take so much pain. The delicate balance between logic and emotion that he had worked to perfect had worn thin with recent events. She focused her attention on the landscape just beyond the glass.
Childhood memories became a momentary means of avoidance.
Years had passed since her family’s first visit to Vulcan when Nyota was only five. She remembered quizzing her mother relentlessly during their journey.
The people…
The food …
The language…
Her mother had thrown her hands up in surrender. “Enough Ta.” She yelled and the little girl ended her barrage of questions. Nyota continued to practice the traditional greeting and small phrases that could be used during informal conversations. She allowed the foreign syllables to roll around her tongue as her lips formed words until her ears found them phonetically pleasing. The little linguist, the nickname replaced her given name by the time her family arrived at the station. Her young mind buzzed and whirled with the beauty that surrounded her. She found that her fingers stretched uncontrollably towards the sheer and silky fabric of the elaborate gowns worn by the elders and their wives. More than once her mother’s hiss saved her from intergalactic embarrassment.
Warmth filled Nyota as she recalled her first encounter with royalty. In her mind that’s what they were, adorned in robes far more elaborate than anything she’d seen as her family traveled from the transport to the home that could easily be mistaken for a palace. Her eyes widened as she watched the man and woman descend the stairs. Nyota’s mother had taught her to use a person’s eyes as the clearest indication of their feelings. At that age her mind was incapable of comprehending exactly what she had seen. Now in hindsight it had been pure, unadulterated love that passed between husband and wife as their gaze remained steady with each and every step.
She had bowed upon being introduced to the Ambassador Sarek and his wife Lady Amanda Grayson. The melodious sound of the woman’s voice compelled young Nyota to raise her head as giggle after giggle bubbled from her lips and the Ambassador’s wife answered with her own round of laughter. She was in love with this culture and their people. A piece of her heart remained with them at the end of the summer when it was time to return to Earth. Despite the allegiance she’d sworn to the Vulcan way, Amanda Grayson had knelt, meeting Nyota on her level and embraced the little girl in a heartfelt goodbye.
Nyota had smiled as Amanda gingerly brushed wild wisps of the child’s hair from her face. She could remember the faint scent of roses on the woman’s fingertips as she cupped her face, “One day my ashal-veh ko-fu we will sit and talk like old friends.” Lady Amanda crossed her hand at the wrist with Nyota’s and touched the little girl’s palm. At the time the words had made little sense but as she reluctantly left her memories behind and studied the man beside her, she fully understood their meaning. Spock had hidden from Nyota during her family’s visit. Their interactions were awkward and strange but always weighted by an unknown variable that sent their mothers into hushed hysterics accented by their muffled laughter. Those bouts usually ended with wish filled looks in their children’s direction.
Now all Spock had were faded pictures in the corners of his mind. Recollections were a poor substitute for a mother’s love.
“Spock.” It had been an involuntary whisper. She knew he heard her but he continued down the aisle from the cockpit to the shuttle’s door. Spock’s shoulders shifted to avoid the Captain’s gesture of comfort. A shared look of helplessness passed between Kirk and Uhura. When they heard the brutal cry that escaped from the Commander’s lips they ran in tandem towards the source.
***
Spock had tried to kill Captain Kirk once.
The entire bridge stood by helplessly, unable to prevent the attack. It was uncharacteristic behavior for a Vulcan, especially one who professed to follow the ways of Surak. Spock’s situation was unique, as he was not entirely Vulcan. Within him lay the good and bad of two of the Federation’s strongest cultures. The human heart and the Vulcan mind. No matter how hard he fought to appear fully Vulcan, the first officer could not mask the humanity expressed in his eyes by the bevy of emotions residing there.
One particular glimmer was a look that the Captain had more than a passing familiarity with; the same expression that often plagued Jim over the years in pointless history classes. The students would turn and toss sympathetic glances in his direction when they reached that part of the curriculum and their empty minds connected the dots between acting Captain George Kirk and one James Tiberius Kirk draped lazily across the back row; an ungrateful brat who had the heroic efforts of his father to thank for his birth. With both middle fingers raised high above his head he would exit the lecture hall, head for the closest exit from the room, and take off in a whirlwind of rock and sand until his father’s ghost could haunt him no more. It was a useless exercise in denial.
Jim’s fingers stroked the tender skin restricted by the stiff collar of his gold tunic. He still suffered the painful after affects of the one sided battle with his now first officer. An ominous feeling lodged in the pit of the Captain’s stomach that warned another attempt on his life was imminent. The Commander was stubborn, quick to say that he was no longer emotionally compromised, but each and every movement the man made told another story: the stress balanced on his shoulders like a set of weights, the menacing tone that hung in his voice when he responded to the lieutenant’s inquiries. Jim had feigned sleep in order to avoid the ever expanding tension in the cockpit of the small shuttle.
He opened his eyes upon the craft’s landing. This was a straight-forward fact finding excursion. Lieutenant Uhura had isolated a faint signal from the planet. Commander Spock’s verification of the coordinates had confirmed the existence of a small uninhabited planet known in Starfleet’s database as Tartarus. The name invoked stories of darkness and suffering from Ancient Greek mythology. Once the Captain’s vision focused on the surface before him, he believed every scribed word he’d ever read. There was no description of Tartarus in the records they’d studied. Nothing had been found in the research the first officer had reviewed before the decision was made to take a small landing party to the surface. Yet when Jim’s eyes leveled on the horizon he longed for another disruption in the space - time continuum to prevent any further painful blows from being delivered to the fragile psyche of the shuttle’s pilot. He looked to Nyota for a clue on how to proceed. Her eyes were full of concern and love; she fought the natural urge to touch the first officer in a wasted shot at comfort.
Jim could avoid looking in the mirror to evade the memento in the form of the blue eyes gifted to him by the father he’d never known. That was his daily battle that he could engage or ignore. A personal war that belonged only to Jim and not thousands of people who thought they understood the loss the commander had endured. Fate was inexplicably cruel to Spock, producing an exact replica of the planet that he’d nearly given his life to save. Logic be damned, no man, human or Vulcan could bear this test. Silently Jim watched as Spock performed his duties admirably. The lieutenant’s lip quivered as she called after the commander using his name, not his rank, and the cadence in her voice gave away any emotions she’d previously hidden. A flash of regret passed over the officer’s face as he stalked down the shuttle’s aisle. With graceful execution Spock avoided the Captain’s hand and exited the craft. In moments like these he envied Pike’s wisdom and Bones’ wit.
Before his lips could part and any words of understanding could be offered to the lieutenant, Spock’s pained cry breached the walls of the cabin. Captain and officer followed the sound. The distance was short and when their boots finally touched the ground they found the commander, previously the epitome of control, on both knees, releasing a howl on the back of tears. Despair filled the air, like the night breeze settling on to campus on a cool San Francisco evening. He could not stop the lieutenant from closing the distance between herself and the commander. If Spock needed anyone, now, it was Nyota. There had been something in the way he’d said her name that day on the transporter pad. Their kisses were not grounded in lust, he loved her. She had a power over him that knowledge, logic, or discipline could never destroy. Silently, Jim prayed that Nyota could calm the fury raging within the visage of the man he’d once known.
II.
“Spock.”
Nyota’s voice echoed along the shore. She didn’t expect him to respond, but somewhere deep inside there was hope hinged on the wings of a prayer that finally he’d open up and allow her in to share in his pain. Maybe her friendship could relieve a sliver of the pressure mounted in his soul.
Again she called his name and waited in vain. It was more of a precaution, a warning - anotice to let him know she was approaching. She had witnessed a brief demonstration of his physical power that day on the bridge, when every ounce of his strength had been aimed at ending the life of the man who now their Captain. While Nyota trusted him never to intentionally hurt her; deep down she knew Spock was no longer in complete control. His judgment was impaired. His reason wavered from breath to breath.
Time heals all wounds, a sage piece of wisdom he’d chosen to ignore and instead given weight to the commonly held misconception that Vulcans were incapable of feeling emotion.
They did not love.
They did not suffer pain at times of loss.
That logic was flawed.
Nyota struggled to steady her hand as it reached for his shoulder. He’d silenced his guttural cry but his body shivered and shook with the air he inhaled and the water shed from his eyes. She centered her thoughts and filled her mind with warmth, comfort, and love. Pain shot through her body in the instant physical contact was made. In a flash he’d turned facing her, his eyes filled with rage, anger, and grief. Nyota winced when Spock gripped her wrist, twisting it slightly to the left; the discomfort of the angle built and she knew the bone was on the verge of snapping. Still she stood her ground, unsure if the tears that spilled on to her cheeks resulted from physical or emotional pain.
“This is not you.” It was a statement Nyota wholeheartedly believed.
She locked eyes with him, searching for a remnant of the man who could deadpan deliver a comedic line or steal her breath with his infamous heated gaze. The beast subsided momentarily and his eyes filled with sadness. He still held her wrist with his thumb and forefinger, and the intimate gesture his mother once delivered to her looped over and over again in the corners of her mind. This time the tears pouring from her eyes were the ones he was no longer capable of producing. His heaviness washed over her. She was privy to his internal conflict. Her emotions were a sea of contradictions as she experienced the urge to destroy, the desire to kill, and the need to simply shut it all out.
“Turning it off doesn’t make it go away.”
Nyota’s eyes stung with the frustration of unexpressed pain. She framed his face with her hands, noticing for the first time the bags under his eyes, the fine hair that formed on his jaw from his failure to shave, and the sallow color of his skin that signified the earliest stage of malnutrition.
She chose her next words carefully. “Amanda would want you to live.”
Spock placed his hands on top of Nyota’s and removed her fingertips from where they played over the elegant lines of his face. Disgust from Spock poured into her and she felt his grip on her wrists tighten yet again. There she stood, employing her battle skills, refusing to show fear, and failing to succumb to the pain in her limbs.
In the distance Nyota heard the phaser lift from the belt around the Captain’s waist. She motioned for him to stay back, shaking her head, and whispering words that sounded strangely like “everything is okay”. He moved closer, his weapon pointed directly at the first officer.
“Let her go, Spock.” The Captain’s voice was calm and drenched in authority. Still Nyota heard it, the slight hint of fear hidden between the notes of his timbre.
“Leave, take Nyota, return to the ship. Just leave.”
Nyota met the Captain’s eyes and saw that he was contemplating Spock’s request.
“No!” she screamed angrily.
“I said leave.” Spock’s eyes turned black and with one effortless push of his hands Nyota tumbled towards the ground, her fall broken by the Captain’s body. The phaser fell with a loud resounding thud and Jim carefully directed Nyota’s shaky form into the soft sand. As Spock fled, it was obvious that Jim was torn between staying to comfort a friend, and reaching out to the colleague whose pain he understood all to well.
Overwhelmed by the stress of the situation, Nyota began to cry, and there was no doubt that the tears she cried belonged only to her.
***
Jim checked Nyota for injuries. He studied each hand, scrutinizing her palms and fingers. He allowed her time to gather her thoughts and rein in the emotions that she usually guarded and hid from those who weren’t close to her. There were small indentations forming on the outer layers of skin on her wrist. The faint color of purple promised future bruising. He brushed the grains of sand from her uniform, thumbed a tear from her cheek, and offered her hand once he was upright on two legs. He followed her gaze to the figure retreating down the beach.
“Let’s get you back to the Enterprise. Bones should look at that swelling.” She snatched her hands from his reach. He heard her hiss as she rattled off a few choice words in what he was sure was Ferengi. He refused to push harder to open up their discussion; instead he softened his eyes as well as his voice, saying, “Nyota.”
“I’m not leaving him. That’s final. Don’t ask. Is that understood, Captain?” She stood in complete insubordination, one hand on her hip and the index finger of the other pointed in his face, ready to attack if he voiced an opinion different than hers.
Jim didn’t question the curtness of her tone or the determination in her stride as she stormed down the beach. He followed closely, measuring his steps and words.
“Nyota.”
She continued her trek.
“Uhura.”
His plea was ignored.
“Lieutenant Uhura, slow your ass down, that’s an order.” She froze in mid stride, her shoulders fell, and the fists at her sides relaxed. He understood the mutual attraction. Nyota and Spock were so much alike it was uncanny. Cut from the same cloth and destined to live and love together. Jim shook his head, swallowed the inappropriate comment rising to the surface of his consciousness, and stepped into the role of leader and friend. “Just give him a little time and some space.”
Nyota didn’t fight when the Captain’s arms closed around her. In fact, she placed her head in the center of his chest and made her private thoughts public. “It kills me to see him in so much pain.”
“What do you think it’s doing to Spock?”
The words fired from his mouth before he could stop them.
Jim tightened his embrace in an effort to cushion the blow of his follow up. “He’s been taught, drilled, that reaction based purely on emotion is a sign of weakness, a flaw in an otherwise superior race that evolved on the merit of recognizing the lethal danger in the way they once lived. That evolution, for all its glory, didn’t do a damn thing to save the one person who never let him down.”
She hadn’t hit him yet so he continued. “Right now he wants to hurt any and every thing around him, to make clear the level of pain he’s experiencing, the failure that there are no words strong enough to express. It’s the only thing that brings any relief.”
Nyota pulled her head from his chest and he waited for a rebuke or an insult. “You feel that way every day?” There was no pity resident on her face, just kindness and acceptance.
“This is not about your illustrious Captain.” Jim backed away from the now awkward embrace, mock smile on his face, and searched the horizon for the figure in question. She’d read him and today wasn’t the day for an evaluation of his mental or emotional state.
“Don’t do that.” Nyota stepped closer. “Thank you.”
Jim shrugged his shoulders and avoided the moment of intensity with comic relief, “For what, threatening to shoot my first officer. If I keep this up he’s going to finish the job he started on the bridge.”
Nyota rolled her eyes. “No, for stopping him before he went too far.” He heard the deep intake of her breath and finally a statement he never thought he’d live to hear her say, “I appreciate you taking the time to care, Captain.” There were no disparaging remarks --she was sincere.
“No thanks necessary. It comes with the territory.” He fingered the bars on the sleeve of his tunic, flicking stray grains of sand from the fabric.
***
The sun was setting.
Fear encircled them. The clock was ticking and soon they would be forced to depart Tartarus and return to the Enterprise or all three would be considered AWOL.
Nyota and Jim were of one accord: they would not leave this godforsaken emotional hell hole without Spock. They sat in silence, back to back. Both had ignored the chirp of their comm. units, refusing to acknowledge the potential repercussions if the commander chose to run, forget his duty, and give in to the deep depression warring within him.
The thought process ended when the repetitive cadence of footsteps drifted to their ears. Still with sealed lips, they watched the figure grow larger as it moved closer to where Nyota and Jim were seated. Spock’s posture had not changed.
There was a heavy weight resting on his shoulders.
His eyes were bloodshot.
His chest still heaved, his breath shortened by wails his lungs could no longer form.
Spock stood with his eyes fixed intently on the horizon. He stayed that way until the sun was shielded by the mountains and the sky darkened and gave way to night. His gait was slow as he boarded the shuttle.
III.
It was business as usual aboard the Enterprise once the trio returned. Days passed and the events of Tartarus were never discussed or forgotten. Nyota filled the doctor’s ear with a lie involving nearly slipping from a cliff and Spock using quickly grabbing her to prevent mortal injury. He mumbled something particularly nasty involving the words elf, steroids, and goblin. The doctor treated her superficial injuries and sent her away without any further investigation.
Neither Captain nor Lieutenant spoke of the First Officer’s emotional breakdown during their trip to the planet’s surface. The relationship changed between Nyota and Jim. The two drifted into an easy friendship, fueling colorful rumors that filled the ship’s corridors, entertained the crew, and raised morale by a power of ten. They did their best to negate the rumors with professional behavior and feigned ignorance. Eventually things returned to the status quo. A few well placed insults in conversation by the Lieutenant directed at the Captain calmed the bets that the two were madly in love and planning to leave Starfleet to raise a family.
Spock’s routine eventually found its way back to normalcy - Sunday night rummy with Dr. McCoy, Wednesday’s review with Chekov-- but on Friday he deviated from his pre - Tartarus plans. Spock meditated in the confines of his quarters, foregoing his standing appointment with Nyota. He did not respond to the lieutenant’s messages of concern, nor did he answer the door when it chimed.
“I know you’re in there.” His body would respond to the huskiness in her voice. “Open the door.” There was no plea bargaining, just the leveling of a simple command. It was torture to ignore her requests but necessary practice for enduring his shift. While on duty he restricted his eyes to screen before him. He focused and performed despite the brown eyes boring a hole into him with their liquid fire.
Spock was frightened by Nyota for many reasons. His control had faltered and he’d harmed her physically, and while the damage she sustained was minimal, it had occurred. There was no penance designed where he could find redemption for his error in judgment. In his eyes he was a monster. He’d endangered her despite the value he placed on her and the feelings she stirred within him.
In his dream, the image of his mother was replaced by Nyota’s form slipping from his grasp and out of his life forever. He would wake, body covered by a thin sheen of sweat, heart pounding in his side, and pain turning in his stomach at the thought…the potential that he’d no longer be able to love the lieutenant from a distance. The fragility of her life was a burden he could not stand to bear. Loss of something so precious was not an outcome he could accept.
***
Avoidance was the name of the game when it came to Spock’s dealings with his superior officer. He was uncertain of where their professional relationship stood. The Captain had offered the position of first officer despite Spock's threat on his life. Now retribution had been made since Spock faced death by the other man’s hands on Tartarus. Yet, James Kirk had remained loyal; a formal report of the events was never filed and there were no overt repercussions to his actions.
Spock’s body tensed when he excused himself from the bridge and entered the empty lift, only to find he was followed by the Captain. Jim’s hand extended to press the "halt" button, halting their movement. Both men stared at the door, shoulders square, heads held high, and hands clasped behind their backs.
Jim spoke first. “Nyota loves you.”
No words left Spock’s lips -- only a grunt that could not be construed as acknowledgment or agreement.
“She forgave you the moment it happened.”
“I do not care to discuss to my private affairs with you.” Spock moved towards the control panel to engage the lift.
“Please don’t make me pull rank, Commander. Just listen.”
Spock bowed his head and waited for the Captain to continue.
“Your mother’s love was an eternal gift. It didn’t cease to exist that day on Vulcan. It remains here,” Jim pressed a finger against his temple, “And here.” His hand settled in the center of his chest.
He rolled his eyes when Spock began to correct his miscalculation in reference to the Vulcan anatomy.
“You know what I mean.” A heavy silence fell between the two men, “You have more to hold on to than I ever did. I’ll never know what it’s like to hear him say I love you or to see that unquestioned pride in his eyes.”
Jim shifted his position, lifting his head in an attempt to shield his tears. “Don’t fight with a ghost. Don’t fight to prove you’re not your mother’s son. You’ll fail every time. Be the man she raised you to be. Live and love in honor of her memory.”
The Kirk signature grin lit the Captain’s face and he engaged the lift, exiting at the next level.
Spock rode to the level containing his quarters with the Captain’s words repeating in his head.
It was Friday…
***
Spock’s attempts at meditation proved futile after his one-sided discussion with the Captain. Every time he closed his eyes he was treated to the vision of his mother embracing a young copper skinned girl. Woman and child smiled and spoke in hushed tones. Their faces pressed so closely together that their noses brushed as they talked. It was a memory from the day Nyota’s family left Vulcan to return to Earth. Young Spock had hidden in his mother’s garden that day, watching the gangly girl with eyes he thought too big for her face.
Amanda had referred to the child as her daughter, but not just any daughter, a beloved daughter. Jealousy bloomed within him; in that moment, he possessed no desire to share his mother’s love or attention. Especially not with a human who still had trouble distinguishing between standard and high Vulcan. He didn’t care that she was five; he had mastered the distinction by three -- why should she not be held to the same standard?
It was the first time joy filled him instead of sadness as he recalled his mother’s fondness for Nyota. That had been a constant with his mother. She would inquire about the young woman’s progress at the academy, citing her long time friendship with the girl’s mother as the basis. During Cadet Uhura’s sophomore year and her first foray into one of Spock’s courses, his mother’s enjoyment became evident when he discussed the cadet’s performance during one of his seminars. Nyota had interrupted his lecture and questioned his translation as well as the context in which the words were used. He thought it rude. Amanda found it amusing.
“You need a woman that will challenge you and not bow to your every whim.” She was beaming as she offered her take on the situation. Spock had been disturbed by his mother’s joy at the time. In hindsight the grainy picture was becoming crystal clear.
Spock stood outside of Lieutenant Uhura’s door contemplating his next move. He’d practiced an apology that he did not feel conveyed his true regret for essentially shutting her out in the weeks since Tartarus. Before his feet could carry him back to the safety of his room, the doors slid open to reveal Nyota.
After all these years, he still melted under her gaze. He was ten years old all over again as the heat rushed to his ears, and he dropped his head, avoiding her eyes.
There were no sounds of irritation as Nyota waited for Spock to regain his composure. When he was ready, he stepped across threshold, and remained silent until the doors shut the rest of the ship out and restored a certain level of privacy.
“I wish to offer my deepest and most sincere apology. It was never my intention to hurt you in any way.”
Spock took one step and Nyota took two.
“Apology accepted.” A soft smile formed on her lips and he suppressed the desire to kiss her.
He took another step and allowed his hands to fall to his sides. He looked down, recording his favorite features of her face and committed them to memory - the sweep of her brow, the richness of her skin, and the devilment in the smirk hanging on her lips.
Spock took Nyota’s hand; he brushed the tips of his fingers against the center of her palm, felt the rush of excitement within him before the labored breath escaped her parted lips.
“You asked me once, what I needed.” He searched her face for permission to continue. When she nodded, he twined his fingers with hers and raised her hand to his lips. He placed a gentle kiss on the spot that still tingled from his previous touch. His lips traveled to the wrist that he’d once bruised in anger and there he leveled a lover’s apology. His mouth skimmed the surface of her arm, lingered at the base of her neck, and finally captured her lips.
This time Spock let her in, allowing Nyota to share in both his pleasure and pain. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers.
“I need you.”
Links to
trekreversebang
Entry: http://community.livejournal.com/trekreversebang/7776.html
Ileliberte's Beautiful Piece: http://ileliberte.livejournal.com/141574.html
Artist: ileliberte
Author: djkiwi2576
Rating (both art/fic): PG-13 (fic)/G(art)
Genre/Pairing: (Hurt/Comfort)- Kirk/Spock/Uhura
Word Count: 6059
Warnings: Some violence and mentions of character death
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Fic Summary: An away mission gives way to emotional discovery.
A/N: A special thank you to my awesome beta, Spockside, I'm truly your number one fan.
One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life…the word is love. ~ Sophocles
I.
Grief manifested itself in every aspect of Spock’s life. The young commander found it progressively more challenging to enjoy or simply digest food. Even a basic meal of plomeek soup and herbal tea made him violently ill. He became a captive of his quarters sentenced to spend over a third of his off duty hours cradling the stainless steel basin in the bathroom. Sleep at one time had been a luxury and now it was a necessity that eluded him. He was approaching twelve days without sufficient rest and his ability to calculate, reason, and make very basic decisions had become impaired. Spock had never been one to engage in frivolous conversation with colleagues. With the cancellation of his regular engagements with the members of the crew that he found the least annoying, he saw his social status downgrade from wall flower to hermit. There was Sunday night three card rummy with the ship’s chief doctor. Spock would nurse his watered down bourbon while listening to McCoy’s intoxicated barbs were amusing and filled with colorful southern colloquialisms. The middle of the week found him trapped in the Captain’s ready room with the Starfleet’s youngest navigator as they mapped future coordinates and discussed past findings. Chekov’s excitement grew with each new discovery on the Enterprise’s first mission and his overzealous reactions became infectious to most of the bridge, Spock included. The commander often ended their evening meetings with a smile hovering about his lips. Then there was Nyota’s soothing presence. Their time together was often the highlight of his week. The Friday night movie he viewed with the proficient and aesthetically pleasing linguist was not a date but an educational experience designed to teach him more about his humanity. During the week the two only communicated with fleeting glances and hidden smiles. Spock’s heart would soar for hours then crash and immediately seek out another fix of Lieutenant Uhura. When Friday came, she would curl up next to him, popcorn cradled in one arm and the remote held loosely in her free hand in preparation to pause the holo if and when one of his muted groans signaled he had an unspoken question. Usually there was no confusion on Spock’s part, only a desire to listen to the hypnotic tone of her voice.
Now, he no longer found comfort in those things.
Daily the ache shifted and turned. It coiled itself around his vital organs, squeezing the life from the heart angled in his side, and draining the force that propelled him forward from his body. He needed to grieve. There had been no time for tears. Spock had moved from one duty to the next, moving that nagging pain in his soul to the side and setting a future appointment for his mourning. He’d rescued the elders of Vulcan and lost his mother in the process. In the first few hours following his mother’s demise, Spock had been angry. He was consumed by an emotion that was primitive, raw, and violent. It pushed him to attack cadet Kirk. He yielded to reckless abandonment and engaged in momentary indulgences of pleasure with his former student; kisses that he desired to develop into longer and more illicit acts of shared intimacy. In the end Nyota had given him space and left him with the constant images of his mother’s fear filled eyes as she slipped from the edge of the cliff to her death.
The earliest recollection Spock had of his mother was her laugh. Amanda Grayson’s entire face lit up when the corners of her lips turned towards the heavens and her eyes filled with glee. The hiccup in her voice became more pronounced with each sound that tumbled from her mouth. No matter how hard she pressed her tiny hands against her delicate face, it was of no use. The damage was done and Spock would find that he was unable to resist his mother’s influence. He would collapse into her chest and her arms would wrap tightly about him. The days she shared that side of herself were rare. She was bound by the duties associated with being a Vulcan’s wife. She heard the whispers from the other houses. She knew that many questioned her husband’s sanity and logic. They thought him a renegade member of the V’tosh ka’tur. They thought her simply a whore.
Those faded whispers from his youth burned Spock’s ears. He fought to maintain the tattered threads of his Vulcan control.
While the memory of his mother’s laugh was Spock’s favorite, there were several occurrences on which he could linger and briefly sense his mother’s presence. Amanda Grayson was a patient woman. She was the half of the parental whole that believed in providing reassurance to her child and supporting his decisions despite her personal opinion. The same could not be said for his father. Amanda watched lovingly in perfect peace, as her son toiled with the idea of fully submitting to the Vulcan way or following the heart that a mother’s love had constantly nurtured throughout the years. His entry into Starfleet was a testament to this.
That patience was something Spock longed for as he piloted the small shuttle into the atmosphere of the planet Tartarus. A familiar pang settled within as the craft touched on the soft sands of the shore. His eyes had barely registered the sight before him when he connected the name Tartarus with its mythological history. This place was lower than hell. A mirror image of Vulcan where he’d watched the destruction of both his home planet and the mother he adored.
The small crew came to life, Captain Kirk, emerged from his nap and Lieutenant Uhura stirred in her seat. Nervous energy filled the air and with a face of stone, Spock followed his internal checklist, manning the controls, enabling the brakes, and scanning the surrounding area for potential threats. The Captain and Lieutenant scrutinized him for signs of emotional disturbance. He provided none. He ignored the Lieutenant’s soft whisper of his name and avoided the right hand of the Captain that dared to grasp his shoulder.
Descending the platform and taking the first step on this foreign soil, every emotion he’d barricaded behind the invisible wall of logic broke free and a deep and feral growl pealed from his lips.
***
The view was haunting; shimmering shades of gold, accentuated by white wispy clouds framing the peaks of rugged mountains. The rays reflected off the crystalline waters and the breath seeped from Nyota’s body. Only one planet’s sunset rivaled the majesty unfolding before her eyes.
Vulcan.
It was a sight that could only live on in the recesses of her mind. Never again would she feast her eyes upon the great halls inhabited by the High Council. Artifacts and writings of untold value reduced to mere dust in the wake of Nero’s insanity. It was an immeasurable loss - a travesty.
Apprehensively she allowed her eyes to drift to the crew member piloting their shuttle. His jaw was tense and if she listened carefully the distinct sound of teeth grinding against one another could be heard. Eyes that she was used to seeing filled with pride and brief flickers of happiness were glazed over with a very human emotion that he would refuse to acknowledge if she ignored her inner voice, touched his arm, and whispered the words ringing so loudly in her ears, “Are you okay.” The hurt was too new. Like the ache of an overused muscle after hours of physical exertion. Nyota knew that Spock’s heart could only take so much pain. The delicate balance between logic and emotion that he had worked to perfect had worn thin with recent events. She focused her attention on the landscape just beyond the glass.
Childhood memories became a momentary means of avoidance.
Years had passed since her family’s first visit to Vulcan when Nyota was only five. She remembered quizzing her mother relentlessly during their journey.
The people…
The food …
The language…
Her mother had thrown her hands up in surrender. “Enough Ta.” She yelled and the little girl ended her barrage of questions. Nyota continued to practice the traditional greeting and small phrases that could be used during informal conversations. She allowed the foreign syllables to roll around her tongue as her lips formed words until her ears found them phonetically pleasing. The little linguist, the nickname replaced her given name by the time her family arrived at the station. Her young mind buzzed and whirled with the beauty that surrounded her. She found that her fingers stretched uncontrollably towards the sheer and silky fabric of the elaborate gowns worn by the elders and their wives. More than once her mother’s hiss saved her from intergalactic embarrassment.
Warmth filled Nyota as she recalled her first encounter with royalty. In her mind that’s what they were, adorned in robes far more elaborate than anything she’d seen as her family traveled from the transport to the home that could easily be mistaken for a palace. Her eyes widened as she watched the man and woman descend the stairs. Nyota’s mother had taught her to use a person’s eyes as the clearest indication of their feelings. At that age her mind was incapable of comprehending exactly what she had seen. Now in hindsight it had been pure, unadulterated love that passed between husband and wife as their gaze remained steady with each and every step.
She had bowed upon being introduced to the Ambassador Sarek and his wife Lady Amanda Grayson. The melodious sound of the woman’s voice compelled young Nyota to raise her head as giggle after giggle bubbled from her lips and the Ambassador’s wife answered with her own round of laughter. She was in love with this culture and their people. A piece of her heart remained with them at the end of the summer when it was time to return to Earth. Despite the allegiance she’d sworn to the Vulcan way, Amanda Grayson had knelt, meeting Nyota on her level and embraced the little girl in a heartfelt goodbye.
Nyota had smiled as Amanda gingerly brushed wild wisps of the child’s hair from her face. She could remember the faint scent of roses on the woman’s fingertips as she cupped her face, “One day my ashal-veh ko-fu we will sit and talk like old friends.” Lady Amanda crossed her hand at the wrist with Nyota’s and touched the little girl’s palm. At the time the words had made little sense but as she reluctantly left her memories behind and studied the man beside her, she fully understood their meaning. Spock had hidden from Nyota during her family’s visit. Their interactions were awkward and strange but always weighted by an unknown variable that sent their mothers into hushed hysterics accented by their muffled laughter. Those bouts usually ended with wish filled looks in their children’s direction.
Now all Spock had were faded pictures in the corners of his mind. Recollections were a poor substitute for a mother’s love.
“Spock.” It had been an involuntary whisper. She knew he heard her but he continued down the aisle from the cockpit to the shuttle’s door. Spock’s shoulders shifted to avoid the Captain’s gesture of comfort. A shared look of helplessness passed between Kirk and Uhura. When they heard the brutal cry that escaped from the Commander’s lips they ran in tandem towards the source.
***
Spock had tried to kill Captain Kirk once.
The entire bridge stood by helplessly, unable to prevent the attack. It was uncharacteristic behavior for a Vulcan, especially one who professed to follow the ways of Surak. Spock’s situation was unique, as he was not entirely Vulcan. Within him lay the good and bad of two of the Federation’s strongest cultures. The human heart and the Vulcan mind. No matter how hard he fought to appear fully Vulcan, the first officer could not mask the humanity expressed in his eyes by the bevy of emotions residing there.
One particular glimmer was a look that the Captain had more than a passing familiarity with; the same expression that often plagued Jim over the years in pointless history classes. The students would turn and toss sympathetic glances in his direction when they reached that part of the curriculum and their empty minds connected the dots between acting Captain George Kirk and one James Tiberius Kirk draped lazily across the back row; an ungrateful brat who had the heroic efforts of his father to thank for his birth. With both middle fingers raised high above his head he would exit the lecture hall, head for the closest exit from the room, and take off in a whirlwind of rock and sand until his father’s ghost could haunt him no more. It was a useless exercise in denial.
Jim’s fingers stroked the tender skin restricted by the stiff collar of his gold tunic. He still suffered the painful after affects of the one sided battle with his now first officer. An ominous feeling lodged in the pit of the Captain’s stomach that warned another attempt on his life was imminent. The Commander was stubborn, quick to say that he was no longer emotionally compromised, but each and every movement the man made told another story: the stress balanced on his shoulders like a set of weights, the menacing tone that hung in his voice when he responded to the lieutenant’s inquiries. Jim had feigned sleep in order to avoid the ever expanding tension in the cockpit of the small shuttle.
He opened his eyes upon the craft’s landing. This was a straight-forward fact finding excursion. Lieutenant Uhura had isolated a faint signal from the planet. Commander Spock’s verification of the coordinates had confirmed the existence of a small uninhabited planet known in Starfleet’s database as Tartarus. The name invoked stories of darkness and suffering from Ancient Greek mythology. Once the Captain’s vision focused on the surface before him, he believed every scribed word he’d ever read. There was no description of Tartarus in the records they’d studied. Nothing had been found in the research the first officer had reviewed before the decision was made to take a small landing party to the surface. Yet when Jim’s eyes leveled on the horizon he longed for another disruption in the space - time continuum to prevent any further painful blows from being delivered to the fragile psyche of the shuttle’s pilot. He looked to Nyota for a clue on how to proceed. Her eyes were full of concern and love; she fought the natural urge to touch the first officer in a wasted shot at comfort.
Jim could avoid looking in the mirror to evade the memento in the form of the blue eyes gifted to him by the father he’d never known. That was his daily battle that he could engage or ignore. A personal war that belonged only to Jim and not thousands of people who thought they understood the loss the commander had endured. Fate was inexplicably cruel to Spock, producing an exact replica of the planet that he’d nearly given his life to save. Logic be damned, no man, human or Vulcan could bear this test. Silently Jim watched as Spock performed his duties admirably. The lieutenant’s lip quivered as she called after the commander using his name, not his rank, and the cadence in her voice gave away any emotions she’d previously hidden. A flash of regret passed over the officer’s face as he stalked down the shuttle’s aisle. With graceful execution Spock avoided the Captain’s hand and exited the craft. In moments like these he envied Pike’s wisdom and Bones’ wit.
Before his lips could part and any words of understanding could be offered to the lieutenant, Spock’s pained cry breached the walls of the cabin. Captain and officer followed the sound. The distance was short and when their boots finally touched the ground they found the commander, previously the epitome of control, on both knees, releasing a howl on the back of tears. Despair filled the air, like the night breeze settling on to campus on a cool San Francisco evening. He could not stop the lieutenant from closing the distance between herself and the commander. If Spock needed anyone, now, it was Nyota. There had been something in the way he’d said her name that day on the transporter pad. Their kisses were not grounded in lust, he loved her. She had a power over him that knowledge, logic, or discipline could never destroy. Silently, Jim prayed that Nyota could calm the fury raging within the visage of the man he’d once known.
II.
“Spock.”
Nyota’s voice echoed along the shore. She didn’t expect him to respond, but somewhere deep inside there was hope hinged on the wings of a prayer that finally he’d open up and allow her in to share in his pain. Maybe her friendship could relieve a sliver of the pressure mounted in his soul.
Again she called his name and waited in vain. It was more of a precaution, a warning - anotice to let him know she was approaching. She had witnessed a brief demonstration of his physical power that day on the bridge, when every ounce of his strength had been aimed at ending the life of the man who now their Captain. While Nyota trusted him never to intentionally hurt her; deep down she knew Spock was no longer in complete control. His judgment was impaired. His reason wavered from breath to breath.
Time heals all wounds, a sage piece of wisdom he’d chosen to ignore and instead given weight to the commonly held misconception that Vulcans were incapable of feeling emotion.
They did not love.
They did not suffer pain at times of loss.
That logic was flawed.
Nyota struggled to steady her hand as it reached for his shoulder. He’d silenced his guttural cry but his body shivered and shook with the air he inhaled and the water shed from his eyes. She centered her thoughts and filled her mind with warmth, comfort, and love. Pain shot through her body in the instant physical contact was made. In a flash he’d turned facing her, his eyes filled with rage, anger, and grief. Nyota winced when Spock gripped her wrist, twisting it slightly to the left; the discomfort of the angle built and she knew the bone was on the verge of snapping. Still she stood her ground, unsure if the tears that spilled on to her cheeks resulted from physical or emotional pain.
“This is not you.” It was a statement Nyota wholeheartedly believed.
She locked eyes with him, searching for a remnant of the man who could deadpan deliver a comedic line or steal her breath with his infamous heated gaze. The beast subsided momentarily and his eyes filled with sadness. He still held her wrist with his thumb and forefinger, and the intimate gesture his mother once delivered to her looped over and over again in the corners of her mind. This time the tears pouring from her eyes were the ones he was no longer capable of producing. His heaviness washed over her. She was privy to his internal conflict. Her emotions were a sea of contradictions as she experienced the urge to destroy, the desire to kill, and the need to simply shut it all out.
“Turning it off doesn’t make it go away.”
Nyota’s eyes stung with the frustration of unexpressed pain. She framed his face with her hands, noticing for the first time the bags under his eyes, the fine hair that formed on his jaw from his failure to shave, and the sallow color of his skin that signified the earliest stage of malnutrition.
She chose her next words carefully. “Amanda would want you to live.”
Spock placed his hands on top of Nyota’s and removed her fingertips from where they played over the elegant lines of his face. Disgust from Spock poured into her and she felt his grip on her wrists tighten yet again. There she stood, employing her battle skills, refusing to show fear, and failing to succumb to the pain in her limbs.
In the distance Nyota heard the phaser lift from the belt around the Captain’s waist. She motioned for him to stay back, shaking her head, and whispering words that sounded strangely like “everything is okay”. He moved closer, his weapon pointed directly at the first officer.
“Let her go, Spock.” The Captain’s voice was calm and drenched in authority. Still Nyota heard it, the slight hint of fear hidden between the notes of his timbre.
“Leave, take Nyota, return to the ship. Just leave.”
Nyota met the Captain’s eyes and saw that he was contemplating Spock’s request.
“No!” she screamed angrily.
“I said leave.” Spock’s eyes turned black and with one effortless push of his hands Nyota tumbled towards the ground, her fall broken by the Captain’s body. The phaser fell with a loud resounding thud and Jim carefully directed Nyota’s shaky form into the soft sand. As Spock fled, it was obvious that Jim was torn between staying to comfort a friend, and reaching out to the colleague whose pain he understood all to well.
Overwhelmed by the stress of the situation, Nyota began to cry, and there was no doubt that the tears she cried belonged only to her.
***
Jim checked Nyota for injuries. He studied each hand, scrutinizing her palms and fingers. He allowed her time to gather her thoughts and rein in the emotions that she usually guarded and hid from those who weren’t close to her. There were small indentations forming on the outer layers of skin on her wrist. The faint color of purple promised future bruising. He brushed the grains of sand from her uniform, thumbed a tear from her cheek, and offered her hand once he was upright on two legs. He followed her gaze to the figure retreating down the beach.
“Let’s get you back to the Enterprise. Bones should look at that swelling.” She snatched her hands from his reach. He heard her hiss as she rattled off a few choice words in what he was sure was Ferengi. He refused to push harder to open up their discussion; instead he softened his eyes as well as his voice, saying, “Nyota.”
“I’m not leaving him. That’s final. Don’t ask. Is that understood, Captain?” She stood in complete insubordination, one hand on her hip and the index finger of the other pointed in his face, ready to attack if he voiced an opinion different than hers.
Jim didn’t question the curtness of her tone or the determination in her stride as she stormed down the beach. He followed closely, measuring his steps and words.
“Nyota.”
She continued her trek.
“Uhura.”
His plea was ignored.
“Lieutenant Uhura, slow your ass down, that’s an order.” She froze in mid stride, her shoulders fell, and the fists at her sides relaxed. He understood the mutual attraction. Nyota and Spock were so much alike it was uncanny. Cut from the same cloth and destined to live and love together. Jim shook his head, swallowed the inappropriate comment rising to the surface of his consciousness, and stepped into the role of leader and friend. “Just give him a little time and some space.”
Nyota didn’t fight when the Captain’s arms closed around her. In fact, she placed her head in the center of his chest and made her private thoughts public. “It kills me to see him in so much pain.”
“What do you think it’s doing to Spock?”
The words fired from his mouth before he could stop them.
Jim tightened his embrace in an effort to cushion the blow of his follow up. “He’s been taught, drilled, that reaction based purely on emotion is a sign of weakness, a flaw in an otherwise superior race that evolved on the merit of recognizing the lethal danger in the way they once lived. That evolution, for all its glory, didn’t do a damn thing to save the one person who never let him down.”
She hadn’t hit him yet so he continued. “Right now he wants to hurt any and every thing around him, to make clear the level of pain he’s experiencing, the failure that there are no words strong enough to express. It’s the only thing that brings any relief.”
Nyota pulled her head from his chest and he waited for a rebuke or an insult. “You feel that way every day?” There was no pity resident on her face, just kindness and acceptance.
“This is not about your illustrious Captain.” Jim backed away from the now awkward embrace, mock smile on his face, and searched the horizon for the figure in question. She’d read him and today wasn’t the day for an evaluation of his mental or emotional state.
“Don’t do that.” Nyota stepped closer. “Thank you.”
Jim shrugged his shoulders and avoided the moment of intensity with comic relief, “For what, threatening to shoot my first officer. If I keep this up he’s going to finish the job he started on the bridge.”
Nyota rolled her eyes. “No, for stopping him before he went too far.” He heard the deep intake of her breath and finally a statement he never thought he’d live to hear her say, “I appreciate you taking the time to care, Captain.” There were no disparaging remarks --she was sincere.
“No thanks necessary. It comes with the territory.” He fingered the bars on the sleeve of his tunic, flicking stray grains of sand from the fabric.
***
The sun was setting.
Fear encircled them. The clock was ticking and soon they would be forced to depart Tartarus and return to the Enterprise or all three would be considered AWOL.
Nyota and Jim were of one accord: they would not leave this godforsaken emotional hell hole without Spock. They sat in silence, back to back. Both had ignored the chirp of their comm. units, refusing to acknowledge the potential repercussions if the commander chose to run, forget his duty, and give in to the deep depression warring within him.
The thought process ended when the repetitive cadence of footsteps drifted to their ears. Still with sealed lips, they watched the figure grow larger as it moved closer to where Nyota and Jim were seated. Spock’s posture had not changed.
There was a heavy weight resting on his shoulders.
His eyes were bloodshot.
His chest still heaved, his breath shortened by wails his lungs could no longer form.
Spock stood with his eyes fixed intently on the horizon. He stayed that way until the sun was shielded by the mountains and the sky darkened and gave way to night. His gait was slow as he boarded the shuttle.
III.
It was business as usual aboard the Enterprise once the trio returned. Days passed and the events of Tartarus were never discussed or forgotten. Nyota filled the doctor’s ear with a lie involving nearly slipping from a cliff and Spock using quickly grabbing her to prevent mortal injury. He mumbled something particularly nasty involving the words elf, steroids, and goblin. The doctor treated her superficial injuries and sent her away without any further investigation.
Neither Captain nor Lieutenant spoke of the First Officer’s emotional breakdown during their trip to the planet’s surface. The relationship changed between Nyota and Jim. The two drifted into an easy friendship, fueling colorful rumors that filled the ship’s corridors, entertained the crew, and raised morale by a power of ten. They did their best to negate the rumors with professional behavior and feigned ignorance. Eventually things returned to the status quo. A few well placed insults in conversation by the Lieutenant directed at the Captain calmed the bets that the two were madly in love and planning to leave Starfleet to raise a family.
Spock’s routine eventually found its way back to normalcy - Sunday night rummy with Dr. McCoy, Wednesday’s review with Chekov-- but on Friday he deviated from his pre - Tartarus plans. Spock meditated in the confines of his quarters, foregoing his standing appointment with Nyota. He did not respond to the lieutenant’s messages of concern, nor did he answer the door when it chimed.
“I know you’re in there.” His body would respond to the huskiness in her voice. “Open the door.” There was no plea bargaining, just the leveling of a simple command. It was torture to ignore her requests but necessary practice for enduring his shift. While on duty he restricted his eyes to screen before him. He focused and performed despite the brown eyes boring a hole into him with their liquid fire.
Spock was frightened by Nyota for many reasons. His control had faltered and he’d harmed her physically, and while the damage she sustained was minimal, it had occurred. There was no penance designed where he could find redemption for his error in judgment. In his eyes he was a monster. He’d endangered her despite the value he placed on her and the feelings she stirred within him.
In his dream, the image of his mother was replaced by Nyota’s form slipping from his grasp and out of his life forever. He would wake, body covered by a thin sheen of sweat, heart pounding in his side, and pain turning in his stomach at the thought…the potential that he’d no longer be able to love the lieutenant from a distance. The fragility of her life was a burden he could not stand to bear. Loss of something so precious was not an outcome he could accept.
***
Avoidance was the name of the game when it came to Spock’s dealings with his superior officer. He was uncertain of where their professional relationship stood. The Captain had offered the position of first officer despite Spock's threat on his life. Now retribution had been made since Spock faced death by the other man’s hands on Tartarus. Yet, James Kirk had remained loyal; a formal report of the events was never filed and there were no overt repercussions to his actions.
Spock’s body tensed when he excused himself from the bridge and entered the empty lift, only to find he was followed by the Captain. Jim’s hand extended to press the "halt" button, halting their movement. Both men stared at the door, shoulders square, heads held high, and hands clasped behind their backs.
Jim spoke first. “Nyota loves you.”
No words left Spock’s lips -- only a grunt that could not be construed as acknowledgment or agreement.
“She forgave you the moment it happened.”
“I do not care to discuss to my private affairs with you.” Spock moved towards the control panel to engage the lift.
“Please don’t make me pull rank, Commander. Just listen.”
Spock bowed his head and waited for the Captain to continue.
“Your mother’s love was an eternal gift. It didn’t cease to exist that day on Vulcan. It remains here,” Jim pressed a finger against his temple, “And here.” His hand settled in the center of his chest.
He rolled his eyes when Spock began to correct his miscalculation in reference to the Vulcan anatomy.
“You know what I mean.” A heavy silence fell between the two men, “You have more to hold on to than I ever did. I’ll never know what it’s like to hear him say I love you or to see that unquestioned pride in his eyes.”
Jim shifted his position, lifting his head in an attempt to shield his tears. “Don’t fight with a ghost. Don’t fight to prove you’re not your mother’s son. You’ll fail every time. Be the man she raised you to be. Live and love in honor of her memory.”
The Kirk signature grin lit the Captain’s face and he engaged the lift, exiting at the next level.
Spock rode to the level containing his quarters with the Captain’s words repeating in his head.
It was Friday…
***
Spock’s attempts at meditation proved futile after his one-sided discussion with the Captain. Every time he closed his eyes he was treated to the vision of his mother embracing a young copper skinned girl. Woman and child smiled and spoke in hushed tones. Their faces pressed so closely together that their noses brushed as they talked. It was a memory from the day Nyota’s family left Vulcan to return to Earth. Young Spock had hidden in his mother’s garden that day, watching the gangly girl with eyes he thought too big for her face.
Amanda had referred to the child as her daughter, but not just any daughter, a beloved daughter. Jealousy bloomed within him; in that moment, he possessed no desire to share his mother’s love or attention. Especially not with a human who still had trouble distinguishing between standard and high Vulcan. He didn’t care that she was five; he had mastered the distinction by three -- why should she not be held to the same standard?
It was the first time joy filled him instead of sadness as he recalled his mother’s fondness for Nyota. That had been a constant with his mother. She would inquire about the young woman’s progress at the academy, citing her long time friendship with the girl’s mother as the basis. During Cadet Uhura’s sophomore year and her first foray into one of Spock’s courses, his mother’s enjoyment became evident when he discussed the cadet’s performance during one of his seminars. Nyota had interrupted his lecture and questioned his translation as well as the context in which the words were used. He thought it rude. Amanda found it amusing.
“You need a woman that will challenge you and not bow to your every whim.” She was beaming as she offered her take on the situation. Spock had been disturbed by his mother’s joy at the time. In hindsight the grainy picture was becoming crystal clear.
Spock stood outside of Lieutenant Uhura’s door contemplating his next move. He’d practiced an apology that he did not feel conveyed his true regret for essentially shutting her out in the weeks since Tartarus. Before his feet could carry him back to the safety of his room, the doors slid open to reveal Nyota.
After all these years, he still melted under her gaze. He was ten years old all over again as the heat rushed to his ears, and he dropped his head, avoiding her eyes.
There were no sounds of irritation as Nyota waited for Spock to regain his composure. When he was ready, he stepped across threshold, and remained silent until the doors shut the rest of the ship out and restored a certain level of privacy.
“I wish to offer my deepest and most sincere apology. It was never my intention to hurt you in any way.”
Spock took one step and Nyota took two.
“Apology accepted.” A soft smile formed on her lips and he suppressed the desire to kiss her.
He took another step and allowed his hands to fall to his sides. He looked down, recording his favorite features of her face and committed them to memory - the sweep of her brow, the richness of her skin, and the devilment in the smirk hanging on her lips.
Spock took Nyota’s hand; he brushed the tips of his fingers against the center of her palm, felt the rush of excitement within him before the labored breath escaped her parted lips.
“You asked me once, what I needed.” He searched her face for permission to continue. When she nodded, he twined his fingers with hers and raised her hand to his lips. He placed a gentle kiss on the spot that still tingled from his previous touch. His lips traveled to the wrist that he’d once bruised in anger and there he leveled a lover’s apology. His mouth skimmed the surface of her arm, lingered at the base of her neck, and finally captured her lips.
This time Spock let her in, allowing Nyota to share in both his pleasure and pain. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers.
“I need you.”
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