Green Carnations

By Alone Dreaming

Rating: T or PG-13 for harsh language and injury

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. If I did, this would not be posted under fanfiction.

Warnings: Naughty words, injuries, sickness, Jim being Captainly, Unique Nurse Chapel, mild--very, very mild-- Spock/Uhura and contemplative

Author's Note: I've always been intrigued by the relationship between James Kirk and Nyota Uhura in this universe. In TOS, most of the women are-- I hate to say this-- fairly flat characters but the new movie presented a very strong woman in Uhura. This story-- however-- was completely unplanned. It struck me at about midnight last night and refused to allow me to sleep until I had finished it at about three. As a warning, it does contain a very unique sort of Nurse Chapel whom I defend under the rights of different universe, different person. As usual, unbeta'd so please be gentle and most of all, enjoy.

One Lieutenant Nyota Uhura had one Captain James T. Kirk pinned down and categorized long before the titles became attached to both of their names. The day he swaggered up to her, drunken curiosity in his pretty blue eyes, she'd stared him down and promptly dumped him in the drunken-brawl-starting-womanizing-animal-screwing-I-fucked-up-my-life-even-though-I'm-smart genre and left it at that. Then, of course, he'd started a fight and solidified himself in that position forever. Any chance he had of future growth and change fled the instant he got all the new recruits tossed out of the bar; after all, Nyota Uhura knew people could change and had admitted to falsely judging people; she'd also seen people's attitudes and personalities turn around and become bearable with passing time. But, with Captain James T. Kirk, she'd found that her ability to get a vibe on a person through speech patterns and body language had served her well. Every action of his since from messing around with her roommate to cheating on the Kobayashi Maru examination had strengthened her will against him to the point that even his extreme triumph in the Narada Incident could not help him in her eyes. He was doomed forever to be that jackass who'd leered at her in the Iowan bar.

That did not stop her from giving him the respect he deserved as captain of the Enterprise. When her apparent disdain for him had come into question, she'd stated that it would not affect her work ethic or her ability to obey his commands. And it had not in the least. Admittedly, she was snide on occasion and she would sometimes throw him a dirty glance when he said something particularly crude or-- she felt-- insensitive. But whenever a situation arose, she listened without question and tried her damnedest to be as completely available and useful as possible. Spock found this behavior to be contradictory and had inquired as to why she'd not requested transfer as they dined one evening in his chambers. And she'd informed him, sidling up close so their shoulders met and listening to the gentle hum of music that was him, that it was quite logical. The Enterprise was the best ship in the fleet with the best crew and a foolish, pig-headed, vulgar, daredevil, brilliant Captain. The Enterprise was her best chance for further advancement. Here, she headed up communications-- at Kirk's request-- and was one of the youngest people to ever do so. Reasonably, she did not stand a chance of such a position on any of the other ships. She also wanted to point out that he, Spock, was on the Enterprise and she did not want to be distanced from him but that was illogical-- an emotional decision-- and so she left off with the career path theory. Spock saw her process, agreed with it and then kissed her for the first time; this was not to imply that he had not previously reciprocated her advances, merely that she had always been the one initiating physical contact in the past. On this day, he kissed her and she agreeably melted against him, promptly forgetting that her boss was an irritating, chauvinistic asshole.

But despite it not being a problem, and she had to admit Kirk did grow on a person with time rather like moss on a tree or mold in stagnant water, it was detrimental to her mental health. It ate at her as time passed and despite close quarters with her companion (lover was not the right term for Spock nor was boyfriend, one being too feeling oriented and the other being too childish) and enjoying her job in general, she was less than happy. It took Christine Chapel, a transfer from a Starfleet Base, to point it out to her one day as they ate lunch together. She picked at her limp salad, trying not to think that it would be another two days before she and Spock's shifts coincided, and bristling slightly at the Captain's intentional changing of their schedules when Christine spoke up. She pointed a fork at Uhura, a piece of potato dangling from it and said,

"You know, just because you have everything you want, doesn't mean you're in a good place."

She blinked. "Pardon?"

"Nyota," her friend grumbled. "You're miserable. I know it. I see it."

"No, I'm not," she responded immediately because she was used to defending what she'd done. "I'm perfectly happy."

Chapel set down her fork so she could push a strand of long golden hair from her eyes. "Bullshit. You're one of the unhappiest people I know. I realize you're here because Spock is here and because it's a great position and all that nonsense but I think you need to ask yourself whether or not it's worth the anxiety."

"Spock is," she said softly, shoving her food away. "And I can deal with the rest of it, Chris. It's all about compartmentalization." She leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. "If I wasn't good at that, how the hell do you think I'd be able to stand being in a relationship with a Vulcan?"

Christine shrugged and bit into her roll. "I just figured you for a masochist." She paused in her consumption and gave her friend a very serious look, "But think about it, okay? I'm worried about you."

It was then that it started to tear at her mind and distract her. The slightest irritants created by the Captain irked her as they never had before and her attitude was further exacerbated by her increasingly smaller periods of time with Spock. She attempted to bury herself in her duties and only interact with Kirk when it was of the utmost importance but discovered that the Captain, being his usual busy-body self, would not leave her alone. He'd had a penchant for personally involving himself in every department's business every shift and now, he seemed particularly interested in the day-to-day workings of the Communications staff. She felt as though he interrupted her at least six or seven times a day and every time with a strange question or an offhanded comment. None of it, she decided furiously after he walked away, was beneficial to her or her team and she could not fathom how it was helping him. If he needed to know more, he could easily look at her daily reports. Snooping merely distracted her and made her look clumsy and inefficient. She hated it and that hate joined her general dislike for him to become something very unpleasant roiling in the pit of her stomach. One day, after a long shift, she slinked into the turbolift and realized that Christine was right. She had to start thinking about where her priorities lay: personal gain or mental health. She'd snapped at a wet-behind-the-ears Ensign today for no reason and then felt like an ass. Maybe, despite the benefits of the Enterprise, the position and the love life, she would have to consider transferring to a job away from one Captain James T. Kirk.

"You are tired," Spock said, later that evening when he appeared in her room. He never asked these questions, merely stated them. She sighed, nodded and wilted onto her bed. She felt him sit next to her and enjoyed the closeness. It had been several days since they'd had a private moment and she had craved his presence. Now, she wished she wasn't so exhausted from fighting herself and doing her duty. It meant she could not enjoy this.

"Always," she whispered as he lay down next to her, His over warm skin brushed her back so that she rolled over to cuddle up to him.

"Perhaps you should go to the sick bay," he suggested. "It sounds as though you are ill."

She laughed softly, a bit bitterly. "No, it's nothing. Don't worry about it."

He'd said something about not being worried as that was emotional and a poor human turn of phrase for a completely rational suggestion to cure her body. She, meanwhile, silenced him with a kiss and attempted to get the usual fierce joy out of being with him. It came in time but it took effort that she was not used to and afterwards, as she lay still with her eyes closed, she knew that something would have to give. She was not prepared to make the ultimate choice, to request a different posting, but she could not deny that she had to reconcile her brewing displeasure. It would only get worse and in turn, destroy her healthy relationships, taint her other happiness. As she drifted off, she wondered why no other person in her life had ever given her as much trouble as the Iowan farm boy. Maybe it was punishment for judging a book by its cover and resolutely not allowing that book to show her its pages. Or maybe, Kirk really was that kind of asshole.

For a week, she went about her business in a deep state of contemplation, almost absentminded as she attended her duties and personal needs. Those around her noticed, Christine and Spock most especially. Their reactions, of course, were completely different. Christine went as far as to stab her with a plastic fork at one of their lunches because she was, verbatim "space cadetting like an underage kid at a stripper bar" while Spock suggested at least once or twice a day that she see someone in the sick bay to diagnose her condition. Christine had her rolling her eyes and Spock had her pondering if she'd ever get him just a little trained in basic human emotions. A person could see that she was struggling internally with something; Spock-- who could sometimes be so very endearingly human-- could not comprehend it. It did not mean he did not-- despite his protests-- feel concern for her. He just did not understand what something was wrong. She half-heartedly brought it up to Christine one evening, before she was due to go down with a shore party and Christine said it might just be the fact that he was a guy. After all, most guys couldn't figure out why girls got upset. She could not see why a Vulcan male was any different.

All of this conflict in her mind might have explained her lack of concentration on the mission. She felt she could blame her mistranslation of 'm'ryn'za' which on K'ta'f meant 'thank you' on her utter distraction. On this planet, M'boo'mba, the language was similar but a few critical tense changes, and emphasis shifts made a word that was meant to express appreciation into something else indeed. 'M'rynz'a' with the slightest change in tone meant 'earthquake' in this place and while she'd discovered her slight faux pas quite easily once the building started shaking, she'd initially thought that the Chief Priest was being overly polite in his dealings with them. When the better part of the population was shouting the word, screaming for help, she was certain she'd made a hefty miscalculation. The world heaved about her, the landing party was sprawled about and Kirk, in a very noble, white knight, no-I-don't-believe-in-no-win-situations manner was trying to not only keep them together but contact the Enterprise for immediate beam up.

And it had worked, kind of, except only part of the landing party had managed to get transported away while she, Captain I-can't-lose, and two others had been tossed under a collapsing building. The two others, security team members, had been crushed in the downpour of rubble but Kirk managed to wedge her into a corner so that when the dust finally settled, she was mostly unscathed. Next to her, Kirk seemed generally unhurt as well, if covered by black dust and looking particularly pissed off. The first thing he did when the world stilled-- she was still reeling at that point-- was try to talk to the Enterprise again. When this became an obviously hopeless task, he'd tossed the blocked communicator to the side and rounded on her.

"What the fuck happened up there, Lieutenant?" he demanded.

She put a hand to her head which was spinning and replied, "I screwed up, Captain. The dialect differences between here and K'ta'f were far more than I thought." She rarely saw him so mad about anything, especially an honest mistake.

"So, your head wasn't in the game?" he read into it and though it was an accurate deduction, it upset her.

"I was in the game, sir," she stressed the last word. "I made a mistake that anyone could make."

Kirk's piercing blue eyes were fixed on her in the semi-darkness. She could see them easily as though they produced their own light. "Bullshit. You don't make those sorts of mistakes. I know you, Uhura. If you make a mistake, it's because you aren't trying hard enough."

"That's not true!" she snapped. "I am not perfect, Kirk, I'm human and I fuck up like the best of them. Maybe your under some half-crazy misconception that your crew never screws the pooch but the fact is, not one person on the Enterprise is always right. Not even you."

"That's Captain Kirk," he corrected, his voice tight. "And under different circumstances, I'd believe you. But guess what-- Spock and Nurse Chapel aren't the only ones who noticed your head's been in the clouds for the past two weeks. The fact is, Lieutenant, whether you want to face it or not, you let whatever's going on in your personal life compromise this mission. Your focus was elsewhere and now we're dealing with the consequences."

She wanted to argue and say it wasn't true but she could not come up with a good defense. Instead, she turned away from him, furious at his accusations and-- could it be-- hurt that he would say such a thing. Yes, she had been busily considering what she should do with herself and yes, she'd been distant. But she would never allow for that to affect her judgment when she was acting as a translator, would she? She thought back over the past few hours, critically analyzing her actions and her processes only to come out uncertain. Nausea grew in the pit of her stomach as she started to consider that she may have not been on her game. And if that were true, if it just so happened that her inattentiveness had led to their current situation then she could take the blame for the death of her two crewmates. The nausea began a crescendo and she swallowed down a mouthful of vomit. Her hands started to tremble, gently at first and then rather violently. God, what had happened to her?

"Captain," she murmured, sometime later, still seated as far from him as she possibly could be.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" he responded swiftly.

"Once we are back on the Enterprise, I would like to request reassignment," she choked it out, her heart breaking a little bit.

Kirk did not answer straight away and she could not bear to look over at him so she could judge what he was thinking. She pressed herself against the cold stone of the building instead and shook. What she would give to have Spock here now, even if he would not know how to comfort her; his presence, his warmth, his quiet lack of questions would be a blessing in this place full of failure, dark and distrust.

"Why?" The question startled her. "Because of this?"

She shook her head and then realized it was almost dark enough now in this place that he could not see her. Her voice cracked as she spoke, "No, not this. I've been thinking about it for a while and I've decided it would be best for my well-being to be assigned to a different vessel. That's all."

It was quiet from Kirk's side again and she curled into herself in an attempt to warm up. Her teeth chattered until she locked them together.

"No," Kirk said finally. "I'm going to have to deny your request, Lieutenant. Sorry."

Defeat was replaced by disbelief. "What?"

"No," Kirk repeated and she felt him shift closer. "I need you on the Enterprise, Uhura, because you are the best damned xenolinguist in Starfleet. You run your department well, know protocol better than the book, work flawlessly with the other departments and make my First Officer happy if he can feel such a thing. I cannot give you up to someone else at the risk of acquiring a shitty replacement."

Disbelief was shoved aside by anger. "Then I'll request it from higher up, Captain. I merely wanted to avoid going over your head."

"How about you give me a case for you leaving and I'll think about it," Kirk suggested, his tone not hostile like hers but certainly less than friendly. "Why do you need to leave my ship?"

She had been holding back her opinions ever since he'd come out victorious as a hero of Starfleet. She'd bit her tongue against snarling because he was the man of the hour and he had done an undeniably good-- if dangerous-- job. Then, he'd allowed Spock to come aboard and be his first mate and she could not rip him apart because he'd been kind. But here, buried on another planet, the words oozed out like pus from a long ignored injury and splattered about her. Since she was a child, she had recognized the power of language and the hidden meanings of certain ways of speaking. She'd learned that by using her words carefully she could build a person up or tear them down in seconds. And yet, these important lessons did not hold as the Captain prodded her and her own guilt and personal dissatisfaction ate at her.

"Because I can't stand you," she snapped. "Because you make me so angry that I'd rather throw myself into outer space than be around you. I spend half my day doing what I need to do and enjoying the people I love and the other half is spent trying to control myself when I have to deal with you. Do you want to know why I wasn't on top of my game today, so to speak? It's because I've been agonizing for weeks about what I should do about my issues with you and haven't come up with an answer until now. Is that a good enough reason for you? Or do you need something more?"

His answer was barely perceptible at first but rose in volume with each passing second. At first, she thought she'd actually made him cry which was ridiculous. Then, when she turned to double check, she saw that he was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his cheeks. He choked, wheezed and snorted and she had the childish urge to stomp her foot and demand what was so goddamn funny. He'd asked her to explain herself and she had. The very least he could do was respect what she had to say.

"I'm sorry," he managed, lifting his eyes to her. "I'm sorry, it's not funny, it's just I thought-- well, I was thinking-- I just didn't realize-- Heh." And he was off again without explanation or any hope of stopping. Her anger tripled and she resisted the urge to hit him. The nausea and chills did not die down but were augmented by her growing upset as she watched him giggle at her confession. She wanted to wrap her fingers about his neck and squeeze until the laughter stopped and a genuine apology leaked from his lips. Instead, she did something rather unexpected. She leaned forward, preparing at least to snarl something at him and, without realizing that it was going to happen, threw up in his lap. It had the desired effect-- he stopped immediately-- but it made her feel gross and rather dizzy.

"Shit," he hissed. "Jesus... are you okay?"

She turned from him, embarrassed, chilled and wishing that she was anywhere else. "Peachy. Back off."

"Are you sure? Because Bones will have my hide if I let you bleed to death or something," he said.

"I'm fine," she snapped. Just pissed.

"People who are fine don't upchuck," he said sagely. "But I'll take your word on it as long as you stay awake for me." He paused. "And listen, the laughter wasn't meant to be demeaning, okay?" She did not feel it deserved a response so she stayed quiet. "It's just-- well, especially now-- you sounded just like Bones on a bad day and I thought that it was something much, much worse. But hate; hate we can handle, Lieutenant. Hate is something we can learn to live with."

She couldn't help but speak up now. "Even if it gets people killed?" The thought sent a sharp pain through her and stole her breath away. In her own stubbornness, she'd singlehandedly killed two people today. Her pulse sped up a bit and she had to work to get herself under control.

"You made a mistake," Kirk told her. "Everyone makes mistakes. The words sounded the same, the dialect was radically different. I don't blame you for this."

Now, she was starting to think that the Captain had hit his head. Had he not just blamed her for being distracted, for personally leading them to ruin? How could he justify saying such things and then denying them? Was she hallucinating this in her own dark, sad world in order to comfort herself? No, she was stable-- or mostly so-- so clearly he had to have an issue, as always. "I thought my head being in the clouds messed things up."

He chuckled, though it was gentler this time and did not hurt her as much. "I had to test you, Uhura. I had to push to see what was going on. I'm sorry, it wasn't fair, but it's a technique that I can trust to work. I know that you keep your head and your cool no matter what's happening. That's why I have you on my team."

"I don't understand," she said to the wall because she couldn't look at him now. Everything together had her face wet with tears and she would not let him see her cry.

"But I do," he told her. "And it's going to be okay."

Their conversation ended abruptly because dematerialization started and the next thing she knew, they were sitting on the transporter pad on the Enterprise. Chekov did a dance in the seat, looking inordinately pleased with himself and Spock raised his eyebrows at both of them in greeting. Then, his expression changed and he lurched towards her, his forehead wrinkled and his eyes, so very human despite his best attempts to crush it out of himself, tinted with worry.

"Contact the sick bay and inform them that Lieutenant Uhura will be in need immediate attention," he commanded. Kirk turned towards her as Spock knelt before her, his blackened face surprised then instantly concerned. She thought they were making a big deal about nothing until she looked down at her hands, which had been wiping away the tears, and discovered red and black mud decorating them. Liquid dripped off her chin and onto her lap, a deep crimson and she knew why she was jittery, freezing and sick suddenly. It hadn't hurt, she thought, not comprehending how she'd missed it. It hadn't hurt at all. She tilted as the Enterprise sloped to the side and barely noticed that it was Kirk who helped ease her into Spock's arms. The world fractured around her as she drifted down the halls, towards Doctor McCoy's lair. A part of her wondered if this was the last time she'd be able to enjoy Spock so close, if she would be released only to be reassigned immediately. She let her nose touch the fabric of his uniform, let her ear listen hard for the distant beating of his heart and thought that it was too bad, really.

"What happened?" McCoy's too loud voice shouted. "Lieutenant, can you hear me?"

"It wasn't okay, after all," she mumbled. "It wasn't." And she faded out.

She spent the next couple of days drifting between awareness and sleep, drugged up and dealing with a system shock. When she was awake, she let people fuss over her-- or Christine and McCoy fuss over her as Spock never fussed and the other bridge crew members didn't dare lest she maul them in one of her grumpy phases-- and struck from her mind everything that had led up to this. Her head, which now hurt distantly under the hypospray injections, could not handle too much deep thought on her screw up or the Captain or her decision. She couldn't bring herself to tell anyone what she'd said to Kirk while they'd waited for rescue and, after her third day abed, was happy to see that Kirk had not blabbed either. Christine still complained that she looked sickly and stressed and Spock, who visited on his lunch, commented that he was...glad to see she'd recovered but felt she ought to rest more. No doubt if the Captain had talked, they would've both engaged her in uncomfortable discussions about her possible departure. She hadn't the energy for it.

It was the fourth day, after McCoy begrudgingly agreed to let her leave in the evening if her stats were still good, that she had to confront it. She was sitting up, picking at her food, when a high spirited voice echoed through the sick bay. Her fork clattered onto her plate and her stomach turned over. Kirk, one hand in his pocket and the other hidden behind his back, strolled over to her bed, ignoring a frustrated McCoy and a startled nurse. He paused at her bedside, taking in her barely touched meal and her bad color. His face darkened a bit.

"You aren't going to throw up on me again, are you?" he asked, studying her critically.

She swallowed, a bit nervous that she might be sick but finding that her stomach was settling. "Don't tempt me."

"If I give you this," his hidden hand came into view with a singular dark green flower in it, "would you do your best not to?"

Her hands were trembling as she took it from him. "I'll consider it. Thank you. It's lovely." And it was with its crinkled layers of velvety color, solid and yet varying in shade. She set it down on her table, next to her dishes, wondering at the out of character gesture. She had never heard of Kirk giving someone a gift before upon injury-- visits he gave aplenty but an actual get well present was not his gig.

"My grandmother's favorite, Ghenghis II Carnation," he said, shifting a little bit. "They're said to bring luck, balance and good health. I figured that you could use all three right now."

She grasped it again, lifting it up to her nose and taking a deep breath in. It did not have a harsh scent, but something mild and familiar, something she associated with peace and safety and a hint of playfulness. She'd smelled it before, frequently even, and she tried to pinpoint where. This was a smell she trusted, a smell she enjoyed and a smell that, deep down, she'd become highly accustomed to. "I've never seen it before," she admitted, puzzled. "But I know the scent. Someone must wear it on the bridge crew."

"Yeah," Kirk agreed. "I do." He shrugged and-- did her eyes deceive her? -- looked almost bashful.

She held it up to her face again and closed her eyes, the realization washing over her in rough waves. "It's beautiful."

Kirk fidgeted a bit, both his hands tucked in his pockets now, his eyes flickering about the room. "So, Bones says you'll be released for light duty tomorrow."

"Yes," she confirmed, watching as the cement that held her opinion of him shift to make room for a new category.

"Good, I've missed my communications officer." He shifted his weight back on his heels and rocked a little. "You think you can handle it?"

She settled the flower down again and caught his eyes, bright blue and challenging, bravado, overconfidence, sex-driven and yet, appreciative of simple flowers as well. "Yes."

Carnations generally represent bonds of affection, health and energy. Green is the color of balance and well-being. Thanks for reading!