Even as the tears flowed freely from her eyes, Uhura refused to admit that she was hurting. She told herself that she was sick; that she had a fever, or that she was coming down with a cold. She told herself that the sobs were coughs and that the thickness in her voice was from a stuffy nose. That's what she told everyone else as well, even Spock. He was the reason she was hurting. He had hurt her. He was cold and distant. Of course, she would tell herself, he wasn't unkind or unloving! He was just… so Vulcan. He could feel her mind pulsing with adoration and yet he chose to remain "logical." He never returned her kisses, looking baffled instead. He responded to her whispered "I love you" with something about the chemicals in her brain, or his brain. And then he would remind her of the Vulcan rituals that told him he couldn't love her.
Uhura supposed that he was worried. He was already half human, and there were so few Vulcans left. Maybe he just wanted to find a Vulcan woman to keep the race alive. She knew she could never be a perfect Vulcan wife, that she would grow tiresome quite fast with her human emotions. But she didn't really care. All she wanted was to make Spock happy. If she couldn't make him happy, she could at least make him content.
Sometimes the captain would want to know where she was or what she was avoiding when she was late to her post or late to leave. She always answered with the same lie. It was just a headache that wouldn't go away, or she wasn't tired. Spock woke up and went to bed on what seemed like a timer. He was never late to his post and he was never late to go back to his quarters. Uhura hated that. She could feel herself losing him and she didn't know why.
The only comfort she found was in Sulu. He sat her down with a cup of hot tea and made her talk it out. He would listen without intruding. He didn't offer advice or give the false "it'll be okay." It was comforting in a sense, the idea that it wouldn't get better.
"I am sorry," Spock would say whenever she turned away, tears welling up in her eyes. "Have I done something wrong?"
She would play her part and shake her head, hoping he was too blind to her emotions to notice the pain she was in. As soon as he was gone however, she would slump against the wall, pressing her hands against the ache in her chest. Her mouth formed a grimace and she sobbed into the empty air. No one ever saw, or if they did, they pretended not to. Only Chekov would stop, stare and look frantically for a medical officer. Finding one, he would have her hauled off to the sickbay, where she would fight until they released her.
Again, Spock did care. He cared more than she could ever imagine. But it was hard to look into his placid eyes and not feel some discontent. Uhura hoped, if only fleetingly, that she might see a glimmer of something in those dark eyes. Even if it was discontentment like her own, she wanted to see it. She would even take sorrow above the unfeelingness she found.
"Nyota, if I have done something wrong, I am sorry," Spock protested one afternoon on the Bridge. She had been particularly cold to him, not stopping by his quarters for coffee (though the Vulcan himself never drank coffee, preferring water or milk instead) and not answering any of his attempts to contact her. Instead, she reported immediately to her post, ignoring Kirk's orders to visit sickbay again.
"I'm sorry too," she whispered. Later, she waited patiently for him to request a glass of water or something to eat. He never did.
"Lieutenant!" he called. She hurried over. "Could you take this file to Dr. McCoy? It is of great importance that he receives this file."
She nodded. At the med bay, Dr. McCoy greeted her cordially with a small smile and a pat on the back. After handing him the files, she got right to business.
"Dr. McCoy," she said. "I need to make Spock sick."
"What?" asked the doctor. "Are you out of your mind?"
Uhura choked back a sob. "I just want to show him how much I love him!"
"And you're going to do it by making him sick?" he cried, astonished. Uhura nodded, pressing her lips together to keep herself from crying. Finally, McCoy's stern expression vanished into one of sympathy. "Well, all right!" he said. "But don't tell anyone that I helped you!"
He handed her a vial of clear liquid. It was a Vulcan illness, he told her, not to be taken lightly. Only use a few drops. More than that might kill him. She nodded and went to fetch a glass of water. Pouring the drops of "poison" into the glass was perhaps the hardest thing she had ever had to do. Brining it to Spock was impossibly harder. He, of course, protested.
"Nyota," he murmured. "While I appreciate the gesture, I am not thirsty."
She wouldn't take "no" for an answer, pressing the cup to his lips and pouring the water into his mouth. He drank it reluctantly, most likely not wanting to insult her. Not twenty minutes later, Uhura noticed his attention slipping and a feverish green flushed his face. He kept running a hand across his brow, which was beaded with sweat.
"I-I do not understand," he contemplated. "At this temperature it is illogical for me to have a fever!"
"You'd better go let Bones check that out," Kirk worried. Uhura glared silently at the controls in front of her. Behind her, she heard Spock get unsteadily to his feet and stumble towards the door. She stood up.
"I'll take him!" she cried out. "He shouldn't go alone."
When she was safely at his side, she turned to him and reached up to touch his cheek. The skin was hot and clammy. Just touching it made her heart lurch with guilt. She'd done this to him. She was the reason he couldn't work now. She was the reason he was going to the Med Bay. She was the reason he was going to be confined to his quarters to sleep off the sickness. He would be bored to death lying in the dark with nothing to do. She could only go every so often to read to him… What would he do with the rest of the time? Uhura shuddered to think of him just staring at the ceiling, counting the hours until he could be back at his post.
"Lieutenant Uhura," he said. "You should be at your post. I assure you that I know exactly where the Med Bay is."
"Yes," she gritted through her teeth, watching him walk into a wall. "And I assure you, you won't get there on your own."
With that, she grabbed him by his elbow and dragged him to the elevator. Punching the button for the Med Bay, she turned to face away from him. Despite the fever, he noticed immediately.
"Lieutenant—" She glared at him. "Nyota… What is the matter? Is there something I have done? Or is it something you have done?"
He reached for her hand, no doubt trying to read her feelings through her fingertips. It would also be a kiss in Vulcan standards. She pulled her hand away away, bringing it up to her chest in a tight fist. A sob broke through her tightly pressed lips and she bit down on her thumb to suppress the rest. Spock looked at her worriedly.
"I do not understand," he puzzled. "Have you done something you do not wish me to know about? I assure you, I only wanted to hold your hand out of comfort. Is that not what humans do?"
Uhura nodded. "Yes," she said thickly. "But you're not human."
Spock coughed suddenly, his body convulsing with every cough. In a moment, he had slid down the wall to sit on the floor, still coughing violently. Uhura panicked.
"Dr. McCoy!" she shouted as the elevator doors opened. "Dr. McCoy, where are you?"
"In here, damn it!" cried the doctor, emerging from behind a door, pulling off his gloves. "I was in the middle of a—" He stopped. "My god, Spock, what's happened to you?"
Uhura looked at him pointedly and he gasped. Pulling her to the side he said, "You didn't go through with it, did you?"
She nodded bashfully, hanging her head. McCoy shook his head.
"Damn it, Lieutenant, he'll be here a while," he cursed. "You gave him a good dosage, I'll give you that, but he's taking it badly. I think he's got some kind of reaction to it."
Without another word, he had Spock moved to a bed and knocked out with a strong sedative. Uhura didn't see him for hours until, finally, he was allowed to return to his quarters, where she was waiting with his medications and a warm blanket. As she tucked him into bed, all she could bring herself to say was, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."