Disclaimer: Neither Star Trek nor "When It Sings (R.H.)" belong to me. The song is property of Dear Daystar.
A/N: I'm not entirely sure where to place this scene chronologically in the movie. In place of the turbolift scene? After Kirk assumes captaincy but before the attack on the Narada? Before the Spock and Sarek scene? You decide.
Tell me everything, don't hold it all back
You let me listen to you; I'm a lifeline
Just want to hold you, I told you everything's all right
Touch your face and I can taste this moment
She's been waiting far too long for him.
She should be used to this, she knows. She's always been the one waiting. For a fierce creature, she's unnaturally patient. (When she wants to be.)
But it's not an ordinary day, and losing your planet and your mother is not another game of chess.
In a grudgingly muttering way, she admires him. That calm, cool collection of those things that have gotten her into trouble too many times—with one exception—takes much strength. She thinks she can fathom it. But she's not sure.
Or, maybe she is.
Jim—Captain Kirk gives him a signal, and she thinks, Finally. She scans the space around them a few more times, her legs aching to leave her post. She doesn't look at the science station, but she hears the turbolift's closing doors.
Three more minutes, she tells herself.
Two minutes and forty-seven seconds later, she's gliding across the bridge, glancing at but not needing the new Captain's understanding nod.
He doesn't have to ask.
Just want to know you tonight
I just want to know you're all right
Just want to tell you you're my everything
And when my heart, it sings
It sings to you
It's because she knows him too well. He wonders, is that the problem or the solution? What is the independent variable?
Does one exist?
But she walks into his quarters with the use of his passcode. He doesn't move. Would it be logical to change it, or allow her free access? Each is a human trap.
She sits in front of him, her lithe legs pushed to the side. He won't open his eyes—not yet. He may have never had the ability.
But she doesn't speak. He sits and he waits, pondering her presence and all that can't be seen. The ship drifts through serene space, humming softly, and he is all too aware of the angle of his wrists over his crossed knees.
And she doesn't speak.
One minute passes, then two.
He can't do it. For the third time in his life, he just can't do it. But remaining in this state is futile. He swims gracefully to consciousness, and sleeping is too much like dying anyway.
But he still won't open his eyes.
"What was your purpose in coming here?"
There is a pause, and he briefly wonders if she was successful where he was not.
"To be with you."
It's too simple. A relationship like theirs calls for a much more complex equation. In the past, there had always been i to the third power, or the circumference of a relatively large circle while calculating the probability of whether two points along that circumference would ever touch.
It is too much to ask that one plus one equal two.
"I—"
No, that wasn't it.
"He lied."
"Do you mean Kirk?"
He forebears correcting her on the status of the brash cadet.
"Yes."
They are silent for a moment longer, and he realizes, This is what I need.
"I—I didn't…"
He opens his eyes.
"I loved my mother. I loved her so much. Almost as much as…and my planet. I'm aware that they were prejudiced—perhaps that was the logical…but they're gone. They're all…gone."
He is almost frightened by the sounds that issue from his throat. It is deep, it is raw. He gasps. There is a streaming of salty liquid that originates from his eyes—his human eyes—that makes Nyota's face difficult to see.
It's uncomfortable, it's messy, it's undignified. It's a waste of energy.
And it is so right.
It's so hard to tell you everything
But my heart, it sings for you
So listen well
They rush together: two magnets of opposite charges. She holds him then, and he sobs in fear and grief into her thin shoulders. He tries to hold them back the way he holds everything back, but she still knows.
And she cries too. There may not be scientific proof for the transference of emotional pain, but that does not mean that it does not occur. She feels it then.
She feels him. Whole, complete. Not half-Vulcan, not half-human. Not the stoic science officer incapable of emotion. Just Spock, as he is. The one she loves and who loves her, without the insecure need to constantly prove so over a period of time.
They are who they are, connected and complete.
And that is enough.
Lay your tired arms in my hands for a moment
Do you hear me?
Can you hear my heart sing?