An episodic story, happy and un-. ST 2009. Mostly PG-13 rated, some R+. Told from different points of view and the omniscient POV. This story takes place before "Star Trek Into Darkness" … I hadn't seen it yet when I wrote the majority of this. I've made alterations here and there, but the character arc differs a bit from that in the film.
Disclaimer: So far as I know, this is original work except for the characters and setting of Star Trek. Written for love; I make no profit from fan fiction. All Star Trek characters and settings belong to Paramount/CBS. Reader reviews are the only 'profit' I get.
Characters and Pairings: Spock/Uhura, Kirk, McCoy, Gaila, Cupcake, M'Ress, et. al. Thanks to Linstock for important suggestions, to AquaSoulSis for ensuring story flow, and also to Spockside.
Possible triggers/warnings: none of the usual; but this story deals with PTSD and physical risks to characters. Also the F word, a staple of Fleet life.
Part I
Spock.
I had often noticed the vivacious fourth/class cadet walking with fellow cadets on the Academy grounds. In the Spring of that academic year, she took my Level Two Xenolinguistics class and was the top student, challenging me at every turn; she was always first of all the students to correct me when I made an intentional error. Others would look about them, hesitantly considering raising a hand – not Uhura.
At the end of one somewhat contentious class I gathered my materials, preparing to leave, and saw her gracefully departing, her long hair swaying with her energetic turn out of the classroom door. In that movement, in that moment, my attraction to her was sealed.
In any sentient species males are acculturated to certain female characteristics; in Vulcan culture long hair worn by adult women facilitates affiliative and intimate behavior between the female and the male.
My fingers arched in desire; I could nearly sense the locks of her hair between them, feel it falling over my hands. My lips parted – I quickly sobered my expression – I left the classroom. In the weeks since the semester had begun, my eyes had beheld her form and movement, graceful enough to rival any female Vulcan ceremonial dancer. My mind had acquainted itself with hers, a wellspring of ideas and intellect enough to test my powers of debate. I had come to appreciate her generosity and loyalty – she tutored her less-accomplished classmates in her off-duty hours and from all I had heard she was a good friend to many cadets, encouraging, exhorting, helping them excel. My soul had perceived her attunement to beauty; she brought that to bear in many languages. Her precision in scholarship appealed to my Vulcan mind. And now I dared hope her kind eyes and ready smile would someday soothe my Human heart.
Spock and Uhura.
"Yes, Commander, but in the Kamuliun diul dialect we are using, wouldn't the phrasing gestures be …?" and Uhura stood, and moved with great fluidity, her gestures and her eye movements perfectly – and diplomatically – conveying the message his class were discussing. Everyone was attired for the lesson, wearing body-clinging clothing and going barefoot.
He moved to stand before his Teaching Assistant, repeating each movement, but adding microexpressions, fingertip curvatures, a slight head tilt, the curl of the right toes, and for her alone, an eye blink. She smiled – a Human expression – quickly stifled it and replied, in a more obscure Kamuliun dialect, known only to him, her, and possibly the Andorian student Thaliv, the message, "You challenge me. I like that. Your proposal interests me."
Spock.
Her lips and tongue left a cool trace of moisture, which with the air combined to sensitize my skin. She had asked me to stay perfectly still as she unfastened my black tunic, bit by bit, and first kissed my jawline, then below to the hollow at the base of my throat, her fingertips gently stroking there as the fasteners opened. Her nails tickled the hair on my chest and I trembled, then held my breath, surrendering to her completely.
[1]
Uhura.
I love it when he strokes me.
His smooth hands, hot as Vulcan, moving up my side, over a shoulder, down a leg … fingertips just barely skimming my skin's surface, tickling, but in the most sensuous way.
When we sit together in private, his fingers gently smooth my hair, or comb through it, or his hand lightly rests on the nape of my neck.
His blunt-tipped nose, slipping along the slope of my neck into my clavicle to kiss me there, his warm lips tracing my throat, my chin … the soft puffs of air from his nose against my skin, his breath, thrilling me as its moist warmth touches my lips, which I open to join him in a kiss.
His mouth skims my jawline and stop at my ear where he whispers intimately in the Old High Vulcan dialect. A language only I, of all his crewmates, can understand.
Uhura.
In another universe, perhaps she was born a Vulcan; certainly sometimes she wishes she had been. Spock can be infuriatingly silent when she wishes for him to share his thoughts; he will sometimes draw his mind in upon itself – secreted from her tenuous mental contact – when he has had what for a Human would be a distressing experience. Spock's meditative silence after such events seems to allow him to gain his usual equilibrium.
She has to get used to him holding back. She has to. Their relationship is too precious to her. Perhaps over time his trust will build to a point where they can fully bond, and hear each other always, sharing thoughts more easily than words. As it is now they're able to "nudge" each other and, when touching, they can link temporarily.
One day in the Mess she hears Anna Leung saying nearly the same things Uhura's been thinking. Leung's talking about her human mate, Stefan Spee. Both work in Comms Engineering and have had some trouble talking things over with each other since their first date. (They seem to have even a tougher time than she and Spock do.) "He's an expert communicator but he never talks to me when he's upset about things!"
Uhura feels a laugh bubbling up. She stops by the table, catches the attention of Lieutenant Leung and her lunch companion, and leans in a bit, nodding in solidarity. Leung smiles at her. "It's good to know I'm not alone," Uhura whispers, then joins Spock for lunch.
Uhura.
"I think the preliminaries went pretty well, Captain," Uhura says into her communicator. The landing party is paused outside the presidential palace on Al'Rugh where Uhura has just led a small group to begin discussing Al'Rugh's plans for dilithium sales to the Federation. As the planetary government is negotiating membership in the Federation, they wish to solidify their ties by being an exclusive supplier of dilithium crystals to Starfleet, the Federation Merchant Marine, and other groups that use the mineral to power their warp drives.
"The governors actually had some Standard-speaking staff members. They're not yet in good practice, so it's best you bring a translator when you come down tomorrow. Mishatrex, the senior governor, looks forward to meeting you."
"Great," says Kirk. "Take some time to look around the markets and talk with some locals, okay? As we discussed, I'd like to get the big picture from some citizens if we can."
"Yessir," Uhura smiles. "I'm looking forward to it. We'll see you in a couple of hours. Uhura out." She puts her communicator back on her belt and cinches the belt tight around her long-sleeved tunic.
Everyone in the Away Team is wearing cold-weather gear, turtlenecks, tunics, with heavy leggings for the women. With her tailored princess-seamed tunic, Uhura feels feminine enough to be happy in the uniform. She wishes it was warm enough here to have worn her cap-sleeve dress, being proud of her muscular arms, but on the other hand, likes having rank stripes, which seem to necessitate long sleeves. (Through the chain of command she's requested – and suggested a style for – an epaulette design for the cap-sleeve dress that would allow for rank display, but so far has heard nothing from Starfleet.) She dislikes making the choice to wear the dress with no rank or the rank-sleeved "feminine style" tunic and leggings or the "floppy" tunic and trousers, but is proud of her body and vain enough to opt for the dress when onboard the Enterprise.
She's not lost in thought about this, though; she's scanning the people, looking for some likely folk to speak with, and maintaining awareness of the surroundings, per Away Team protocol. They head for the agora and begin looking at the various wares on sale. From the corner of her eye Uhura spots some fabric she'd love for an off-duty tunic, and some that would make a lovely robe, but as head of the team, she'll have to put shopping off until tomorrow. Hong and Shange are at the spice stall; both love to cook, and are chatting with the vendor. Ramamurthy, the Science officer assigned, is checking out the minerals on sale, and Trinh, the Security officer, is, like Uhura, keeping a watchful eye.
Suddenly Trinh is focused on something across the plaza, about to draw her phaser, and Uhura calls the team – "Away Team to me—!" and, scanning for cover, is joined by Shange, Ramamurthy and Hong; she leads them with haste to a low wall, the only cover close enough, and sees an old-style phaser beam lancing out toward Trinh. She returns fire, on "stun," and the phaser beam stops; shoppers have scattered, seeking cover of their own, and another phaser beam comes toward the wall. Uhura gets a brief blast from another phaser on her neck, grunts and fires back; Trinh is running full-out to the wall and rolls behind it. Hong stands up to give her room. "Hong – get down," Uhura snaps in command voice, but he doesn't hear her. First exposure to live fire, she thinks, her neck stinging like a million bees, and reaches out, repeating her order.
Hong is staring at the place the phaser fire came from and just misses being shot – a new phaser, Uhura notes, pew!pew!pew! instead of a steady phaser sound; three attackers then, and she makes contact with Hong's tunic and yanks, her own arm taking a streak of phaser fire, saying "DOWN!" as Hong falls on his ass. Trinh is up and firing back at the phaser wielders, Uhura, arm burning with pain, grabs her communicator up and signals the Enterprise. "Uhura to Enterprise! Emergency – request immediate beam out—" and repeats the message. Several times.
Kirk.
"Can you raise her!?" Kirk demands, turning his chair to glare at Ensign Sivahn, at Comms. Uhura's first attempt to raise the ship after briefing Kirk is badly broken up, and right now there's silence.
"No sir …." The Andorian's face is a pale blue. "Still tryi—there!" She puts Uhura on audio. Kirk dashes from his chair to the Commsta. He notices Spock, eyes intense, is studying him and Sivahn.
"…gency req…immedi…beam ou…"
"Lcdr Montgomery – beam Lt Uhura and her team back to the ship." Kirk heaves a sigh of relief. "I'll meet her in the Transporter Room." He heads for the turbolift.
"Captain," says Sivahn, "Dr. McCoy wants you to meet the team in the Med bay."
Concerned, Kirk frowns and turns to leave the Bridge. Spock stands by his station, his eyes … betraying worry. "Come on, Commander. Your workday's over, isn't it?" Spock nods to Lt Lins as she assumes the watch at the Science station. "Lcdr Ibrahim, you have the conn." Tasmina Ibrahim leaves Ops, supplanted by Lt Jorim, and gracefully assumes the center chair. Spock follows Kirk.
Kirk studies his First Officer as the turbolift starts moving. Usually he doesn't notice Spock breathing but he does now. Spock keeps to attention, his face oriented toward the door, not toward Kirk.
"Pretty hairy down there for a while, Spock. I'm glad she's coming back."
"We do not yet know her condition," Spock says, a tone of censure in his voice.
"Well, I'm thankful she's alive and able to use a communicator. Sorry I didn't ask for particulars."
Spock snaps his gaze toward Kirk, who is suddenly glad he never had Spock as an Academy instructor. The Vulcan's eyes are penetrating and look almost black. Kinda like that day he almost choked me to death. His mouth is tight in just the same way, too.
To Be Continued
[1] Spock's memory of Uhura unfastening his tunic [the third "sketch," told in first person singular by Spock] is based on "Want You," a lovely S/U picture by Goldenrod at DeviantArt. Have a look - the artist has done a few very nice S/U pics.
/\ Glossary /\
Agora: open marketplace [from Greek]
Asenoi: fire-bowl [used for incense]
FAS: Fleet Admiral [chief] of Starfleet
Hir: 'him or her'
Loshirak: lotus position
Masa: mother [ki-Swahili]
Ozh'esta: the touch of the first two fingers of each partner's hand, a "Vulcan kiss"
Pakuv vil-yai: "odor flame," incense coil [author's construction from Vulcan words]
Plebe: an Academy midshipman/cadet just reported for the summer before the first academic year; one who hears constant swearing at and condemnation of, hirself, the better to get hir to conform to all the new rules; one who engages in constant swearing with hir fellows in private moments; one who is obedient to all above hir; the lowest life form at the Academy.
Zero hundred hours: midnight
A/N: Dear Reader, please review – it's the best way to tell this fan writer what you liked, loved, or questioned in the story. The third sketch ["Spock"] was totally inspired by HHGoldenrod's art, "Want You." Find Goldenrod at rainboweyeDeviantArt for more visual S/U treats!