Fic: Spock/Uhura: Present Circumstance (1/?)
Title: Present Circumstance
Characters/Pairings: Spock/Uhura
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None really.
Summary: In the wake of the destruction of Vulcan, Uhura and Spock must reassess their relationship.
Uhura shivered, eyeing the stormy sky above with a regard that was plainly condemning. It seemed as though there had been nothing but rain since the young crew had returned from their ill-fated misadventure aboard the Enterprise. As if space hadn’t been cold enough, the dark, churning clouds overhead cloaked San Francisco in a chilling shadow. Yet, even as the sky boiled in turmoil, the colors of the landscape distorted as though some deity had turned up the contrast. Every shade seemed more distinct, singular in its existence in the visible spectrum. The odd beauty of it was difficult to stomach.
She shifted, uncomfortable with this reminder of bygone optimism. Though the moisture clung to her skin like parasite, leaching away her warmth with an alien persistence, she felt as though she too should suffer. Here she was breathing, full of life and vitality, when so many others were gone and, her mind faltered over the word, dead.
Despite their perceived victory over Nero and his crew, it had been a solemn bunch that had returned to the academy. As if in sync with their emotive atmosphere, the moist winter had descended upon California with an ardor that seemed almost sadistic. The few upperclassmen that remained had spent their first few days hunting the lawns frantically for acquaintances, embracing as they found the living and sobbing as they sought the lost. Soon the list of the perished had been published. Talk of a memorial was underway but until then, all that remained as a reminder of their friends was a flickering screen, continuously scrolling through the names of the deceased.
The entire situation was alarmingly surreal. Uhura had always considered herself a strong woman. Despite this, she had been dazed to discover that amongst a staggering four-hundred and thirty crewmen, none aboard the USS Farragut had survived. Although she should have realized their fate earlier, she hadn’t truly registered the implications of the situation until long after the battle for Vulcan. Staring aimlessly, she often imagined where she would be at that moment if she had not taken a stand that fateful day in the main hanger. Would she be yet another name on that blinking inventory of the departed? The possibility seemed entirely likely.
As she gazed out across the campus, the first heavy raindrop fell, hitting her squarely on the nose. The numbing splash shook her out of her revery. She tightened the grip on her rain jacket, leaning forward and bounding across the grounds with a new sense of determination. The rain began to pound, an oppressive weight upon her shoulders. As it slid down her back, she was reminded of the man she loved. He too, was weighted down by a terrible burden. Familiar with her own depression, Uhura found it difficult to imagine the Vulcan’s turmoil and anger. Even if he chose not to display it, she knew him, perhaps better then anyone. Subtle signs betrayed the emotion within, boiling beneath the surface much like the rain clouds clashed in the heavens above. It was Spock she sought as she ran, braving both the rain and the lonesomeness of nostalgia.
Feet hammering against the ground, she darted past the outdoor amphitheater where she had sung her first aria, shaken yet fiercely proud. To her left stood the massive library. Gaila had once proclaimed Uhura’s attachment to the building unhealthy. Uhura had turned her head in annoyance, letting her ponytail slice the air in apparent vexation. Now she wished that she had merely laughed.
And there, just beyond that rise, she had first eyed Spock, dignified, unapproachable, and yet strangely vulnerable in his crisply pressed Starfleet uniform. It was an image that had stayed with her throughout the years to come.
Finally she skidded to a halt, blinking at the sight before her. She had arrived just outside of Spock’s quarters, yet the Commander was where Uhura had least expected him. In her experience, Vulcan’s were distinctly feline in nature. Assuring that things were as warm and dry as physically possible seemed almost like an eccentric hobby. As such, Spock tended to keep his rooms at the arid constancy of the Sahara, his windows tightly latched against the pervasive morning mists. Like a cat gently stirring in a warm afternoon sunbeam, Spock seemed most relaxed in this parched environment.
Therefore, it came as a great surprise to find him standing in the icy rain, face tilted upward toward the downpour. His back turned to her, she hesitated, unsure of whether or not to approach. Surely he had heard her already. Yet he did not turn. He simply stood there as the water poured down his skin, leaving it shiny and slick. His fists were clenched and in the dim lighting, his virescent flesh trembled slightly.
Biting her lip, Uhura slowly approached, almost afraid to touch him. In a flash, she remembered the raw power that the Vulcan possessed. It was something that she could not forget as she tenderly reached out, stopping just as her hand grazed his shoulder.
“Nyota,” Spock breathed. Still he didn’t turn and Uhura let her hand travel the last of the distance, resting gingerly upon his shoulder.
Choosing her words carefully, Uhura instinctively raised her voice.
“What are you doing? You’ll catch your death out here! Needless self-sacrifice hardly seems logical to me.” Despite her best efforts to smile, a twinge of fear was betrayed in her tone.
There were a few tense moments before Spock answered, his voice level.
“Your assessment of Vulcan endurance is inaccurate. My stamina happens to far exceed your expectations. Though, you are correct to assert that needless self-sacrifice is indeed illogical, especially given present circumstances.”
Uhura swallowed. Okay, not the answer she was looking for, but at least he seemed...himself. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting. A heartfelt declaration of despair? Although out of character, it would be somehow reassuring. She had hardly seen him since their return to the Academy and it was disconcerting. She felt as though any progress that had been made had suddenly dragged to a lurching halt.
Unsure of what to say, she parroted, “Present circumstances?”
Spock stiffened slightly and realization hit Uhura with sudden force.
“Oh,” she murmured, shaking a little in her rain coat as she almost drew her hand away. Cursing her own insensitivity, she knew not to say ‘sorry’. That would only make things worse. Instead she gazed upward as well. The water stung her eyes as she squinted, filling her with an ache that seemed to reach her very core. A silence passed between them, but this time it was comfortable, as if they were connected on a deeper level. Uhura understood his lack of words. Spock comprehended her sympathy. Together they stared above into a place that was filled with terror, heartache and beauty.
Finally Spock spoke, his words not quite soft enough to be lost in the din of the shower. “My mother loved the rain.”
Uhura met Spock’s declaration with silence, faintly startled by its implications. Even with her, Spock rarely betrayed things of a personal nature. To him gestures that seemed commonplace were painstakingly intimate. Tightening her grip on his shoulder she longed for him to turn so that she could read his face. Instead, she waited as Spock continued.
“I never fully comprehended the fascination. She was born in Seattle. To my understanding, it rains in the Pacific Northwest with regularity during the winter months. I can now reason that ShiKahr must have been a shock to her human biology. Although, she considered herself fortunate, I never understood her sacrifice until I came here myself.” Spock paused, taking a deep breath.
Uhura sighed, catching on fast. “It’s okay to miss her, Spock, natural even. You loved her. How can that be illogical?”
Spock’s breathing hitched. “Dwelling in dreams will do nothing to save her. I only desire that she had known, that I had displayed my... affection more readily.”
“She knew,” Uhura interrupted firmly, “Call it a mother’s intuition.”
“Do you know?” Spock’s question came abruptly and her heart began to hammer. He spun on his heel so that he was looking down into her eyes. Although professionally composed and equally as fathomless, there was something in his gaze that stirred up her emotions.
“Know what?” Uhura queried, suddenly breathless.
For a moment it seemed as though he was about to lean in, but then he stopped. Silence again stretched between them, as taunt as a bow string prepared to snap. His lips moved fractionally as he sought for the words.
“How much I care for you.”
Inwardly, Uhura beamed. Outwardly, she allowed a small smile. “I know, Spock.”
The corners of his lips twitched marginally. “Then the emotion I wish to express is happiness.” His eyes were traitorously responsive, revealing a semblance of almost haunted relief. She imagined that he too, had been reliving the fate of the USS Farragut.
“However.”
Uhura froze. Of course, there was always a ‘however’. Logic rarely ruled in her favor, it seemed. He turned away once more, as though fearful of what understanding could be drawn from his eyes.
“My first duty is to my people. Logically, the needs of the many surpass the needs of the few. We cannot continue as we have, Nyota.”
Uhura frowned, the abrupt change of direction throwing her for a loop. He had just revealed his undying love, more or less anyway. Now he was saying that it had to end. She was understandably flustered. Sputtering slightly, she pulled away. “W-wait a second. Is this some bullshit Vulcan way of breaking up with me?”
Her eyes flashed dangerously.
Spock continued to avoid her gaze. After a second, he quietly intoned, “I will always care. However, it is my fate to continue with my people. It is your destiny to board the Enterprise. If things had been different....”
Uhura interrupted, now angry as she shot back, “If things had been any different you’d still be afraid! That’s it, isn’t it? Because your people? You told me yourself that they never accepted you, that they called your mother a whore. What about her? You’re equal parts human, you know. You said it yourself. Earth is the only home you have left.”
“I have never been fully respected in either capacity,” Spock asserted, his tone now as icy as the precipitation.
“I respect you,” Uhura stressed.
“Then I would have expected you to respect my decision, Uhura.”
The young lieutenant froze. Uhura. He had just called her Uhura. It burned more then she anticipated. This, more so then anything else, stopped her in her tracks. She teetered backwards.
“Fine,” she declared, “I see how it is.” Then she too turned her back, though it was a decidedly reluctant gesture. The rain worked wonders hiding tears, but she knew that they couldn’t go unnoticed. Now they sprung forth and she wouldn’t, couldn’t, allow him to see. Her throat caught as the outrage and sadness within clashed. Beginning to walk away, the anger won. Not truly meaning to be heard, she muttered, “Well, live long and prosper all that shit.”
There was silence. This time it was unbearable. She knew that she had crossed the invisible line, probably ruining anything that have could have been, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. With that Uhura broke into a run, quietly cursing herself for her stupidity and abruptly wiping away the tears.
Yet, if she had turned her back she would have seen Spock’s face contorted in pain. The anesthetic qualities of the downpour had begun to fade away and he stared after her, longing to follow. But he couldn’t. He loved her, but that didn’t make it right.
... (tbc)
Characters/Pairings: Spock/Uhura
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None really.
Summary: In the wake of the destruction of Vulcan, Uhura and Spock must reassess their relationship.
Uhura shivered, eyeing the stormy sky above with a regard that was plainly condemning. It seemed as though there had been nothing but rain since the young crew had returned from their ill-fated misadventure aboard the Enterprise. As if space hadn’t been cold enough, the dark, churning clouds overhead cloaked San Francisco in a chilling shadow. Yet, even as the sky boiled in turmoil, the colors of the landscape distorted as though some deity had turned up the contrast. Every shade seemed more distinct, singular in its existence in the visible spectrum. The odd beauty of it was difficult to stomach.
She shifted, uncomfortable with this reminder of bygone optimism. Though the moisture clung to her skin like parasite, leaching away her warmth with an alien persistence, she felt as though she too should suffer. Here she was breathing, full of life and vitality, when so many others were gone and, her mind faltered over the word, dead.
Despite their perceived victory over Nero and his crew, it had been a solemn bunch that had returned to the academy. As if in sync with their emotive atmosphere, the moist winter had descended upon California with an ardor that seemed almost sadistic. The few upperclassmen that remained had spent their first few days hunting the lawns frantically for acquaintances, embracing as they found the living and sobbing as they sought the lost. Soon the list of the perished had been published. Talk of a memorial was underway but until then, all that remained as a reminder of their friends was a flickering screen, continuously scrolling through the names of the deceased.
The entire situation was alarmingly surreal. Uhura had always considered herself a strong woman. Despite this, she had been dazed to discover that amongst a staggering four-hundred and thirty crewmen, none aboard the USS Farragut had survived. Although she should have realized their fate earlier, she hadn’t truly registered the implications of the situation until long after the battle for Vulcan. Staring aimlessly, she often imagined where she would be at that moment if she had not taken a stand that fateful day in the main hanger. Would she be yet another name on that blinking inventory of the departed? The possibility seemed entirely likely.
As she gazed out across the campus, the first heavy raindrop fell, hitting her squarely on the nose. The numbing splash shook her out of her revery. She tightened the grip on her rain jacket, leaning forward and bounding across the grounds with a new sense of determination. The rain began to pound, an oppressive weight upon her shoulders. As it slid down her back, she was reminded of the man she loved. He too, was weighted down by a terrible burden. Familiar with her own depression, Uhura found it difficult to imagine the Vulcan’s turmoil and anger. Even if he chose not to display it, she knew him, perhaps better then anyone. Subtle signs betrayed the emotion within, boiling beneath the surface much like the rain clouds clashed in the heavens above. It was Spock she sought as she ran, braving both the rain and the lonesomeness of nostalgia.
Feet hammering against the ground, she darted past the outdoor amphitheater where she had sung her first aria, shaken yet fiercely proud. To her left stood the massive library. Gaila had once proclaimed Uhura’s attachment to the building unhealthy. Uhura had turned her head in annoyance, letting her ponytail slice the air in apparent vexation. Now she wished that she had merely laughed.
And there, just beyond that rise, she had first eyed Spock, dignified, unapproachable, and yet strangely vulnerable in his crisply pressed Starfleet uniform. It was an image that had stayed with her throughout the years to come.
Finally she skidded to a halt, blinking at the sight before her. She had arrived just outside of Spock’s quarters, yet the Commander was where Uhura had least expected him. In her experience, Vulcan’s were distinctly feline in nature. Assuring that things were as warm and dry as physically possible seemed almost like an eccentric hobby. As such, Spock tended to keep his rooms at the arid constancy of the Sahara, his windows tightly latched against the pervasive morning mists. Like a cat gently stirring in a warm afternoon sunbeam, Spock seemed most relaxed in this parched environment.
Therefore, it came as a great surprise to find him standing in the icy rain, face tilted upward toward the downpour. His back turned to her, she hesitated, unsure of whether or not to approach. Surely he had heard her already. Yet he did not turn. He simply stood there as the water poured down his skin, leaving it shiny and slick. His fists were clenched and in the dim lighting, his virescent flesh trembled slightly.
Biting her lip, Uhura slowly approached, almost afraid to touch him. In a flash, she remembered the raw power that the Vulcan possessed. It was something that she could not forget as she tenderly reached out, stopping just as her hand grazed his shoulder.
“Nyota,” Spock breathed. Still he didn’t turn and Uhura let her hand travel the last of the distance, resting gingerly upon his shoulder.
Choosing her words carefully, Uhura instinctively raised her voice.
“What are you doing? You’ll catch your death out here! Needless self-sacrifice hardly seems logical to me.” Despite her best efforts to smile, a twinge of fear was betrayed in her tone.
There were a few tense moments before Spock answered, his voice level.
“Your assessment of Vulcan endurance is inaccurate. My stamina happens to far exceed your expectations. Though, you are correct to assert that needless self-sacrifice is indeed illogical, especially given present circumstances.”
Uhura swallowed. Okay, not the answer she was looking for, but at least he seemed...himself. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting. A heartfelt declaration of despair? Although out of character, it would be somehow reassuring. She had hardly seen him since their return to the Academy and it was disconcerting. She felt as though any progress that had been made had suddenly dragged to a lurching halt.
Unsure of what to say, she parroted, “Present circumstances?”
Spock stiffened slightly and realization hit Uhura with sudden force.
“Oh,” she murmured, shaking a little in her rain coat as she almost drew her hand away. Cursing her own insensitivity, she knew not to say ‘sorry’. That would only make things worse. Instead she gazed upward as well. The water stung her eyes as she squinted, filling her with an ache that seemed to reach her very core. A silence passed between them, but this time it was comfortable, as if they were connected on a deeper level. Uhura understood his lack of words. Spock comprehended her sympathy. Together they stared above into a place that was filled with terror, heartache and beauty.
Finally Spock spoke, his words not quite soft enough to be lost in the din of the shower. “My mother loved the rain.”
Uhura met Spock’s declaration with silence, faintly startled by its implications. Even with her, Spock rarely betrayed things of a personal nature. To him gestures that seemed commonplace were painstakingly intimate. Tightening her grip on his shoulder she longed for him to turn so that she could read his face. Instead, she waited as Spock continued.
“I never fully comprehended the fascination. She was born in Seattle. To my understanding, it rains in the Pacific Northwest with regularity during the winter months. I can now reason that ShiKahr must have been a shock to her human biology. Although, she considered herself fortunate, I never understood her sacrifice until I came here myself.” Spock paused, taking a deep breath.
Uhura sighed, catching on fast. “It’s okay to miss her, Spock, natural even. You loved her. How can that be illogical?”
Spock’s breathing hitched. “Dwelling in dreams will do nothing to save her. I only desire that she had known, that I had displayed my... affection more readily.”
“She knew,” Uhura interrupted firmly, “Call it a mother’s intuition.”
“Do you know?” Spock’s question came abruptly and her heart began to hammer. He spun on his heel so that he was looking down into her eyes. Although professionally composed and equally as fathomless, there was something in his gaze that stirred up her emotions.
“Know what?” Uhura queried, suddenly breathless.
For a moment it seemed as though he was about to lean in, but then he stopped. Silence again stretched between them, as taunt as a bow string prepared to snap. His lips moved fractionally as he sought for the words.
“How much I care for you.”
Inwardly, Uhura beamed. Outwardly, she allowed a small smile. “I know, Spock.”
The corners of his lips twitched marginally. “Then the emotion I wish to express is happiness.” His eyes were traitorously responsive, revealing a semblance of almost haunted relief. She imagined that he too, had been reliving the fate of the USS Farragut.
“However.”
Uhura froze. Of course, there was always a ‘however’. Logic rarely ruled in her favor, it seemed. He turned away once more, as though fearful of what understanding could be drawn from his eyes.
“My first duty is to my people. Logically, the needs of the many surpass the needs of the few. We cannot continue as we have, Nyota.”
Uhura frowned, the abrupt change of direction throwing her for a loop. He had just revealed his undying love, more or less anyway. Now he was saying that it had to end. She was understandably flustered. Sputtering slightly, she pulled away. “W-wait a second. Is this some bullshit Vulcan way of breaking up with me?”
Her eyes flashed dangerously.
Spock continued to avoid her gaze. After a second, he quietly intoned, “I will always care. However, it is my fate to continue with my people. It is your destiny to board the Enterprise. If things had been different....”
Uhura interrupted, now angry as she shot back, “If things had been any different you’d still be afraid! That’s it, isn’t it? Because your people? You told me yourself that they never accepted you, that they called your mother a whore. What about her? You’re equal parts human, you know. You said it yourself. Earth is the only home you have left.”
“I have never been fully respected in either capacity,” Spock asserted, his tone now as icy as the precipitation.
“I respect you,” Uhura stressed.
“Then I would have expected you to respect my decision, Uhura.”
The young lieutenant froze. Uhura. He had just called her Uhura. It burned more then she anticipated. This, more so then anything else, stopped her in her tracks. She teetered backwards.
“Fine,” she declared, “I see how it is.” Then she too turned her back, though it was a decidedly reluctant gesture. The rain worked wonders hiding tears, but she knew that they couldn’t go unnoticed. Now they sprung forth and she wouldn’t, couldn’t, allow him to see. Her throat caught as the outrage and sadness within clashed. Beginning to walk away, the anger won. Not truly meaning to be heard, she muttered, “Well, live long and prosper all that shit.”
There was silence. This time it was unbearable. She knew that she had crossed the invisible line, probably ruining anything that have could have been, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. With that Uhura broke into a run, quietly cursing herself for her stupidity and abruptly wiping away the tears.
Yet, if she had turned her back she would have seen Spock’s face contorted in pain. The anesthetic qualities of the downpour had begun to fade away and he stared after her, longing to follow. But he couldn’t. He loved her, but that didn’t make it right.
... (tbc)