Lies In Silence
by SlwMtionDaylite

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing. Paramount, et al. own all. I really wish they would let me borrow Spock for a while though.
Rating: Strong M
Genre: Romance, Angst, Drama
Characters/Pairing: Spock/Uhura
Warnings: Language, explicit and non-explicit sexual situations, slight dub!con, rape, violence.

Summary: Spock/Uhura. Alternate Mirror Universe. He wants to protect me; I want that protection, need it, in fact. But I am willing to betray him if and when the time comes. We are not working together. I know my goals. But what are his?

Author's Notes: When I first started planning this story, it was supposed to be a relatively short story for the Uhura Is Awesome Fest recently held at the LJ comm, where_no_woman. But it grew and grew and, needless to say, I wasn't able to finish it on time. But I wanted to finish it. So I kept writing, and am still writing.

It's a bit of an experiment on my part. It's written in a way that I've never tried before. I've found it to be a fun interesting challenge.

The prompt I had chosen for the Uhura Fest was: Shakespeare in Love-style AU in which Starfleet is only for boys. Uhura pulls a Gwyneth Paltrow and dresses like a man to fulfill her dreams. Spock is her commanding officer and sexual tension ensues.

That was my starting point. And as I started writing, the only scenario I could imagine where this could happen was the Mirror!verse. I couldn't see how I could logically fit it into the normal universe, so I went into the Mirror!verse. And this, of course, allows me to go dark with the subject matter. And I do. I'll say right now that I don't think this story will be for everyone. Please heed the warnings I placed at the very beginning of the story.

I combine the original prompt with the ideas of a novel I am currently reading: Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale. Oh, and the film/novella, Lust, Caution ended up playing a part in my planning (I will assure you now, if you know how that film (and novella) ends, I don't plan on going that route) as well. So, mixing the original prompt with the film and novel, I was left with a rather dark and disturbing tale. But it's one that refuses to leave me alone. (And why this is being posted before Mes-torik T'khiori. I know I'm starting to sound like a broken record when it comes to that story, but I swear it'll be finished. I've spent way too much time and effort into planning it—an epic 60 chapters!—to drop it.)

So there you have it.

CHAPTER ONE
The Deafening Silence of a Secret

The blaring alarm rudely tears me from my slumber and I reach out blindly, slapping the offensive thing. It quiets. I open my bleary eyes, huddling under the sheets and clutching them with clenched fists to my form. I look across the dark room at the other bed. I am in a darkened dorm room built for two occupants. A bland, typical dorm room, there is nothing unique or significant about it. It's rather depressing, actually.

A loud grumble and my roommate rolls over, throwing off the covers.

I hesitate, alarmed.

No further movement or sound comes from across the room, so I breathe a sigh of relief.

I don't want to wake my roommate. I don't want to see or talk to my roommate and I definitely don't want him to see or talk to me.

I sit up quickly, pulling the covers up to my neck and peer over at my dorm mate again. I cringe slightly, my eyes rolling, at the nude body that was revealed.

Jim Kirk is a man of little modesty.

Keeping the sheets wrapped tightly around my body, I make a quick and quiet dash for the bathroom, halting only to grab the duffle bag in which I keep my belongings.

I don't spare another look at Kirk.

Closing the door and locking it securely behind me, I turn on the lights and look at myself in the mirror.

My face is drawn and ashen. Dark circles are visible under my baggy eyes. My once full and beautiful hair—I took great pride in my smooth silky hair—hangs limply across my shoulders.

Once again, I tell myself that I shouldn't be here. This place is going to kill me. One way or the other.

But I requested this mission. I took it up, fully understanding the time, the difficulty, the danger involved. A liberated Starfleet, a free Empire. It was too much to resist.

I close my eyes. And the stars above. I always wanted to go to them, to live a life among them. I know of no other way to accomplish this. Perhaps, when I am successful—if, I chide myself, it's time to be realistic—then I can live my life among them without the deception, the lies.

So I stay. No matter how exhausted I am, no matter how stressed, frightened even. I stay.

And I shall continue to stay, to keep up the charade...and I will do my duty, and I will be one of those elite Starfleet officers amongst the stars. And no one will know.

Or...until I get caught.

My eyes squeeze closed at that thought and a small trickle of fear courses through me. What would become of me if I get caught? Would it be the agony booth? Imprisonment?

Death?

Tears immediately burn in my eyes and I swipe at them angrily.

No matter, what, if I am caught, I am on my own. They will not bail me out, they will not save me. It would be too risky and they cannot bring that unnecessary risk to the organization when they are so close to success.

No, I won't cry. I can't.

This is what I want. This is what I asked for.

This dream. This idea. This mission. A Starfleet...an Empire that is free was why I left my home in Africa and became Benjamin Uhura, son of Abasi and M'Umbha Uhura. Fictional parents for a fictional man. Because Nyota Uhura was not allowed.

She is forbidden. Barred.

Because she is a woman.

I am a woman.

A small sound outside the bathroom startles me from my reverie and I feel my heart leap into my throat. Freezing, my eyes drift to the closed door and I listen intently.

There is no other sound.

Kirk will not be waking up for another two hours or so. He never wakes earlier than absolutely necessary. He is certainly a creature of habit. This works in my favor. This means I can plan. I can arrange.

But this doesn't mean I can afford to dawdle. Looking at my exhausted face one more time—and I am exhausted; I am always in bed after my roommate and awake before him, always—I sigh sadly then turn to the shower. I quickly shed my clothing. My heavy flannel pajamas that I wear no matter the weather, no matter how hot I get, because they shield me. I don't allow myself too long in the shower, don't allow myself to revel in the feel of the hot water cascading down my body, soothing my tired muscles, my frayed nerves, warming me.

I have no time for it.

After five painfully short minutes, I shut the water off and step out of the stall. I quickly dry myself off and then stand nude before the mirror.

I cringe at the bruises marring my flesh. They all are various states of healing. And all are the result of the brutal physical training Starfleet cadets are ordered to endure every day. Starfleet is brutal. It is about power. It is about conquest. It is about Empire. As it has been for centuries. And that brutality, that desire for glory results in the intense training. Starfleet did not obtain its ominous reputation by sitting idly by.

I reach for the duffle bag, setting it on the bathroom counter, and unzip it slowly. The first thing I pull out was a long strip of linen. It is crude, archaic even, but it works and it is absolutely necessary that I hide my breasts from observation. When I first began this, I had difficulty wrapping the strip around my body tightly enough to conceal my chest and it would take several attempts to get it right, but it was a skill I have perfected during my time here. And I can do it quickly, efficiently.

After it is securely wrapped around me, I finish dressing in the blood red cadet uniform. It's not the most attractive outfit on my petite frame—the golden sash hangs limply across my waist; the limbs are far too baggy—but I can't do anything about it. And I don't want to. The horrible cut of the uniform actually serves to further hide my feminine body.

Digging around in my duffle, I quickly finish getting ready.

When I am done, I slowly, quietly open the bathroom door and peer out. Kirk is still asleep on his bed. I move quickly to my desk and gather my PADDs and anything else I think I might need for the day and toss them in a small knapsack.

Moving to the door, I exit the dorm room quietly, peering around me, seeing if anyone is paying her any attention. I have to be cautious. Vigilant.

Luckily, it is still relatively early and most cadets are still sleeping. And those who are awake ignore me. I make sure of that, keeping to myself, barely speaking unless spoken to.

That is what I need. That is what I want.

And while, at times, I am lonely and sometimes contemplate just leaving, abandoning my mission, defecting, I can't. I can't run away from this. I have come too far, invested so much into this goal...this deception that I just can't give up.

Failure is not an option.

I secure the lock to the dorm, once again wishing that I had been allowed to have a single this year, and run a free hand across my forehead, pushing the short bangs of my tight-fitting wig—I had not been able to bring myself to shear my hair for this, even if it would be safer—and ensure that it is firmly in place.

I walk down the corridor, towards the exit, keeping my eyes down. I don't let myself make eye contact with anyone.

I can't let anyone discover my secret.

I sigh quietly and exit into the early morning sun just peeping above the horizon, low in the Californian sky. I walk down the sidewalk to the small courtyard. I don't acknowledge my fellow cadets. And they don't acknowledge me.

I have no class today, except for my daily physical training. But even if that wasn't so, I never allow myself to stay in the dorm, where Kirk is. His deplorable behavior unsettles me and I fear what he might do if he ever discovers my secret, Benjamin's secret. He is unhinged.

I head to what I think of as my safe haven. The xenolinguistics department.

In a world so concerned about the conquering of other planets, other races, Starfleet and the Empire are less concerned about what they consider to be more peripheral branches of study. As a result, the xenolinguistics department is small, tucked away in the shadows of the much larger departments, the departments the Board decides are essential to conquest and power.

It is quiet when I arrive, as it generally is. There are only a handful of students that are even remotely interested in the languages of those the Empire conquered. Most of Starfleet's cadets aspire to the tactical divisions, eager to face the aliens, to fight them.

But I...I love language. I love the excitement I feel whenever I hear a new tongue I have never heard before, when I successfully translate an ancient volume of text.

Language is my love. My life. And it aids me tremendously here.

It's just a shame that Starfleet doesn't appear to see the importance of it. The facilities in which the xenolinguistics department is hosted leave much to be desired. They are horribly outdated as they have yet to receive the same care and attention as the rest of the campus.

But it also serves as an advantage. A lack of interest in the building means that I am usually left alone when I am here. Except for the occasional professor or student, the place is practically abandoned.

I enter the small computer lab tucked away in the basement of the building. It contains only six terminals and two round tables.

I seat myself in one of the empty cubicles and one of the few that has a working terminal. I glance around me, looking at the several 'out of order' signs on several of the other terminals. I sigh sadly. The department is in desperate need of attention from the higher-ups, but I doubt it will ever receive it.

Satisfied that I am safe from prying eyes, I place my knapsack on the table and pull out one of my PADDs. I turn it on and shift through the files stored on it. I decide to use the time before my physical training class to continue work on my translation assignments. The process of translating clauses, declining nouns, and conjugating verbs calms me. Takes me out of the reality of my situation, albeit a situation I have willingly entered, if only for a short time.

The quiet lab—I am, unsurprisingly, the only cadet here—allows me to focus my mind on my studies. On the translations.

I have grown accustomed to the silence of the small lab, revel in it. The silence has become my life. And in this silence, I work.

The silence is shattered suddenly when my personal communicator chirps loudly. I gasp and reach for it quickly. It is a message. To meet. I reply quickly, stating that I will be available after my training, and return it to my bag.

My focus ruined, I try, in vain, to return to my studies. I sigh, running a hand across my face.

The door slide open with a clunky sound and someone walks in, footsteps controlled against the hard floor.

I jerk my head up to see who it is.

Commander Spock.

My eyes widen.

He stands still, hands clasped behind his back, and observes the room for a moment. His eyes scan the bare room before finally landing on me. He gives me a small tilt of the head. "Cadet."

"Sir." I immediately drop my eyes. My cheeks flush slightly just at the mere sight of him. It is a reaction I try desperately to control. It's embarrassing. It is potentially fatal to my mission here. It is behavior that is wholly unprofessional, unwanted and unbecoming.

The commander, for his part, does not do much to acknowledge me, apart from the polite greetings exchanged when we cross paths, like just now. That's not to say he completely ignores me. Far from that. He merely doesn't give me more attention than he does any of his other students. That would be illogical, after all. It would be favoritism. And Vulcans cannot be biased due to their very nature.

Though, sometimes, I wonder if I catch a look of derision when he looks at me, at the other cadets and professors. Like he doesn't like this place, like he doesn't like anyone here. But it's always gone in an instant and I'm always left wondering if I really did see it. Maybe, maybe not. I couldn't say.

I will myself to remain focused on my translations. I hear him cross the room and settle himself in the other open terminal.

I hear a small sigh.

"Cadet, do you know how long these terminals have been out of commission?"

I look up, meeting his eyes briefly before scanning the broken terminals. "As far as I know, sir, they've always been this way." And it's true.

He shakes his head slightly. "That is highly illogical." He seems to be speaking mostly to himself, so I remain silent. "The students' learning is highly impaired when the necessary equipment is malfunctioning. I shall discuss this gross neglect to the Academic Board."

I agree, though I do not speak. I, instead, attempt to return to my translations. But it is difficult with my heart beating furiously against the walls of my chest. Anxiety races through me. I can't tell if it is because of my ever-existing fear that my secret will be discovered, or if it is because of him and his proximity to me.

He does not stay long, for which I am thankful. After his brief declaration of reporting the state of the lab to the Board, he fell silent and continued to work on whatever it was that had drawn him to the lab that he so infrequently visits.

I am curious about his visit to the xenolinguistics lab, but did not voice it. I will not dare ask such a question to a commanding officer. But, still, my interest is piqued. It is only natural, I decide.

And it will remain that way and unsatisfied. It is not my business.

I watch him from the corner of my eye while he signs out and stood. With a stoic look, he wishes me farewell and leaves the room, leaving me alone again.

Alone with my thoughts. My secrets.

I sigh sadly.

I glance up at the, thankfully, working clock on the far wall. It is 1500 hours. My eyes widen and I jump to my feet, reaching down to sign out of my terminal.

I have to hurry across the campus if I want to make it to physical training in time. And I want to. The consequences for tardiness are severe and something I do not want to experience.

This is a crummy place. Disgusting. It's filled with men who give me plenty of catcalls when I enter. It's filled with men fucking women. This is unsurprising and expected when one visits a whorehouse. It's the exact sort of place I expect to visit to find my comrade, my contact. It's the only place we are truly allowed to be without question.

"Have you found anything yet?"

I slide into the chair opposite my contact, Gaila. I sigh, running a hand through my freed hair. After my training, I snuck back to the basement of the xenolinguistics building and changed. It was risky, it was stupid. But I have to protect my secret identity when I go off campus in case I happen upon any classmates. So, I become Nyota again, donning my feminine attire—tonight it's a red knee length dress and red heels—and and freeing my hair from its confines underneath that god-awful wig I endure. I look at my green-skinned companion in disbelief. "Hello, Gaila. How are you? I'm fine by the way."

Gaila tilts her head, sighing. "Sorry. I forget about the human penchant for small talk. How are you? Good? Me, too. Great, now that's out of the way. Did you find anything yet?"

I sigh, placing my elbows on the table that separates us, resting my face in my hands. "No. I can't get into the systems yet. I'm not high enough; I'm still just a cadet, you know."

"Well, can't you just hack into the system?"

"I'm a xenolinguist, Gaila, not a computer programmer. I can barely turn my computer on, much less hack into the most secure system in the known universe."

Gaila sighs and I realize she's irritated. "That's why they should have sent me. I'd have something by now."

I roll my eyes. I can't blame her for being impatient, for being irritated. I am, too. I don't like waiting anymore than she does. But I must. I must wait. "And women aren't allowed in Starfleet. Your pheromones would have given you away."

Gaila shrugs slightly and her words are tinted with anger. "Maybe. But we'll never know, will we?"

I cross my arms. This was another point of contention she always has with me when we meet. If it isn't that I am too slow, it's that I was chosen for this assignment. She wanted to be the one who went in. She wanted to be the one who spied on Starfleet, who succeeded in obtaining the information. She is still bitter, still angry that Robau chose me. "And you're green, in case you haven't noticed. And Starfleet doesn't look too kindly at those who aren't human. It would have been too risky for you."

"Yeah, well, we'll never know." Gaila sighs and looks around the small restaurant. It is empty, except for the employees. She leans in close. "Robau is getting antsy, Ny. He's going to want some sort of information from you and soon. I mean, really, how long does it take?"

I sigh angrily. "I know, Gaila. I'm trying, but it's not easy. Trying to be the best in my class, keeping to myself –"

"Maybe that's just it. Maybe you shouldn't keep to yourself. Maybe you need to get close to someone?"

"Close to who? In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly a man. If I get close to someone..."

Gaila gives me a small smile. "I didn't mean that, silly."

I think she does. We're women, after all. That's what's expected of us. But I don't voice that.

She leans back in her chair. "Honestly, girl. I just mean...maybe you should try to make friends, become familiar with some of the professors."

I gesture helplessly. "I...I don't know, Gaila. I can try. But I can't promise anything." And I can't. There are too many variables, too many...too much of everything that I can't promise when I can deliver. If I can deliver.

What will happen to me if I can't give Robau what he wants?

The moon has long since risen in the sky.

After I bid farewell to my Orion friend, I quickly return to the campus, my red skirt fluttering in the light night breeze. My eyes constantly scanning the grounds of the Academy, I make my way to the xenolinguistics building. I have been entrusted with the code for the door at the beginning of my second year and I have never been more grateful. I key it in and the door slides open. I enter and make my way downstairs to the basement.

I enter the empty lab, leaving the ceiling lights off. Instead, I power the small desk lamp that belonged to the Andorian professor. It bathes the room in just enough light without being overwhelming.

I move behind the desk and pull the chair out. I remove my heels and stand on the desk. Carefully, I reach up and push aside one of the ceiling tiles. I grope around the ceiling, reaching for my bag.

Grabbing it, I jump off the desk and place the bag on the surface. The sound of the zipper is harsh in the silence when I unzip it. Quickly, I pull the short red dress over her head and stand nearly naked, save for my panties, in the cold room. I stuff the dress in the bag, along with my shoes.

Digging around in the bag, I remove my cadet uniform and the ghastly wig. Deftly, I don the wig quickly and effortlessly. Then I grab the pants and pull them on quickly.

I grab the linen cloth and proceed to wrap myself in it.

"Cadet Uhura?"

I gasp, my heart pounding.

It is Commander Spock.