A/N: Just an angsty emotional hurt/comfort fic (my favorite) between Uhura, who is to me such a difficult character to write, and McCoy, from who, let's be honest, many of us would love to receive a comforting hug. This takes place on Yorktown after the Enterprise docks in the beginning of the movie, but before the crew are dispatched to Altamid. In this story, we assume that a few hours, maybe even a full day, goes by between the Enterprise's arrival and its ill-fated departure. Please excuse the head-canon lapse in the movie's timeline. As always I own nothing and make no profit. Please R&R. Sorry for my long, LONG absence from the world of fanfiction… I was finishing up a bachelor's degree and started a career and something had to take the hit. It turns out that it was my writing. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story.
I watched myself, as if from a long distance, as I attempted to give the necklace back to Spock. Of course he wouldn't accept it. Of course Vulcans don't understand why one might want to give back a gift from one's ex. No; that's too emotional for a Vulcan to understand. I watched, detached, as the hurt filtered across Spock's face – too quickly for anyone but myself to notice, and even then only through years of practice. It was quickly masked.
I bit back tears as I realized that I was hurting Spock as much as I was hurting myself. The only difference was that Spock wouldn't be able to express his hurt. Or, he would, but only through private meditation.
I wouldn't show my sorrow in front of him, then; wouldn't throw my emotion in his face. A nod of respect. It was the least I could do. There were no hard feelings. Not anymore. Not on my end. No anger. No misguided blame. We were two people from two different cultures with two different world views, and although we'd tried, given it all we had, we weren't able to make a relationship work out. But I knew that with time, we could and would remain friends.
I wouldn't allow him to know that I'd always want more.
Kissing him on the cheek, fully aware that he would be able to feel my emotion through the touch, I tried hard to convey feelings of inner calm; of forgiveness, of a promise to remain friends when Spock was ready… I succeeded in that, but failed to mask my feelings of despair, of self-doubt in my decision. I saw the worry flit across his face, gone as soon as it appeared, and I forced my lips to twitch in a semblance of a smile as I tried to remain detached. I wouldn't show emotion in front of him.
But the worry was back in his eyes again, his reaction to my failed attempt at a smile, and suddenly I was suffocating – how could it be, that after everything, after my anger at him; after all the hurt I'd lobbed at him without giving him time to reflect and figure out the emotions; after how cruel I'd been to him as I'd started pushing him away, how could it be that he was the one worried about me?
And knowing that I was about to cry I walked away, not looking back, knowing that if I did my entire act would fall apart, and I'd run back to him and beg him in front of everyone to stay with me; not to run back to New Vulcan. And he'd say no, something about duty to his species, and I'd be hurt all over again. And I'd hurt him all over again.
I accessed the nearest computer terminal to check for my room assignment. The Enterprise wasn't scheduled to be at Yorktown long, only a few days for minor upgrades, but they'd been kind enough to provide each member of the crew with their own room assignment.
Having never been to Yorktown before, I was at first confused by the layout of the place; twice I had to stop and ask for directions, to my embarrassment. The longer it took me to find my room, the closer I came to breaking down; I didn't want to break down, and certainly not in public.
I finally located my room, some three stories down relative to the position of the Enterprise and halfway across the base. As I keyed in the temporary access code and changed it to one I'd be more likely to remember, I stole a glance out the window of the small living area. From where my room was positioned on one of the many circular arms of the base, I could just make out the hangar door through which the Enterprise had entered. I could not see the ship itself.
I was just about to order a cup of tea from the replicator when my door chimed.
For one wild moment, I thought it was Spock. My heart leapt; hope swelled up inside of me.
But when I hit the button and the door slid open, it wasn't Spock in the doorway. It was Christine Chapel.
"Hey, Christine," I said, forcing a smile onto my face. I was relieved to feel that at least I managed to do more than make my lips twitch this time. The blonde nurse smiled back, but it didn't touch her eyes.
"Nyota," she greeted in a cheerful tone. Ever the comm officer, I immediately picked up on the way her voice wavered. I'm not sure that the average person would have detected it, but I was certain that my friend was about to cry. I took a deep breath, not sure if I had the emotional strength to hold it together if Christine needed me to be strong for her.
"Would you like to come in?" I asked. Christine shook her head.
"No, Nyota… I…." I frowned in concern, Spock momentarily forgotten.
"Is everything alright?" I asked. Christine sighed softly.
"Nyota, I'm so sorry…" Sorry? For what? Surely she didn't know about Spock, at least not so soon. That we broke up was a secret, something we had agreed to wait to tell Jim and the others until after the refit at Yorktown, and I knew that Spock would never have betrayed that final promise to each other.
"What's wrong, Chris?" I asked. Christine shook her head again and pulled a PADD from behind her back. I froze, my blood running cold. This was bad news. Someone had died. I knew it from the look on Christine's face as she extended the PADD towards me; knew it from the words I could see printed at the very top of the letter written on the PADD: "Dear Nyota, On behalf of Starfleet Command we would like to express our condolences…" Starfleet protocol usually dictated that such news was to be delivered to crewmen by the Captain, the First Officer, or the Chief Medical Officer, but I was well aware that the nurses, especially the Head Nurse, would have access to this information as well. I was immeasurably grateful for Christine's interference; if she were the one standing here, not Jim, or Leonard, or Spock, then surely the three of them didn't yet know. I was grateful beyond belief that it was my best friend relaying this news to me, not my ex-boyfriend, or the man I'd come to think of as a brother, or the gruff doctor who was in so many ways almost like a father figure. This job needed a woman's touch.
There was a brief moment, before I read the letter, when I wondered if I could handle any more bad news. I'd already lost Spock. That was bad enough. Worse.
Hesitantly, I brought the PADD up to eye level. I noticed immediately that the letter had been written by a ship's Captain and forwarded on with the approval of Starfleet Command. I skimmed the letter quickly, aware of Christine's eyes on my face, not caring about the words written there, but looking only for the name written in the second line. I caught only small snippets of the rest.
"Your mother was an exceptional officer, a kind woman…"
"…she lived her life to the fullest and her death came in the line of duty…."
"….did everything she could to prevent the plasma conduit from blowing out an entire deck, and ultimately succeeded…"
"…protecting her ship, her crewmates, and her junior officers…"
Vaguely, in some small, insignificant part of my mind, I was aware of a dull clank as the PADD dropped onto the metal deckplate.
No. It was the only thought I could coherently form. I reflected that I felt nothing – no sorrow, no pain, no emotion. Not for my mother. Not for Spock. Not for the fact that the two people who had ever loved me were now gone from my life. Nothing.
A hand brushed my upper arm, comforting, and then I was wrapped up in a brief hug – one I didn't want, but fully welcomed at the same time.
"Nyota, I'm so sorry," I heard Christine say, and I heard my own response:
"Thank you for being the one to bring this to me." It was genuine, but it was also a dismissal.
"Do you want to be alone?" my best friend asked. Yes. No. I don't know.
"Yes," I heard myself say, and my voice was composed, confident. Christine looked at me oddly, and I understood the look to mean that she had expected me to break down. Understandable. But there were no tears in my eyes; there was no lump rising in my throat. I'd been sad, before, when I'd left Spock. Now I was numb. I'd lost too much to know what to grieve first.
"Okay," my best friend murmured softly, looking as though she didn't understand. I saw her subtle glance toward the end table next to the small couch in the room; she was looking to see that I had my personal communicator. "Call me if you need anything, alright?" She asked. I nodded once.
With a final worried look in my direction, Christine left the room. The door whooshed shut behind her.
I stood in the middle of the room for a long time – five minutes, ten minutes, an hour.
All of a sudden, like being submerged in cold water, I blinked and the enormity of what I'd lost hit me full-force. Spock. Mom. I swallowed, fighting tears.
The door chimed again. Shit. Not now. I took a deep breath, forced my mind into the familiar state of detachment, and opened the door. It was Jim.
"Captain!" I exclaimed with genuine surprise. The man in front of me had stress lines around his eyes, and his posture was one of irritation, but he managed an exasperated huff and a friendly smile.
"Jim, Nyota. We're off duty."
"Jim," I corrected. "What can I do for you?" I watched his body language as annoyance battled for exhaustion as the primary emotion reflected in his eyes.
"Star Fleet wants to honor the crew with a formal dinner at 17:30," Jim told me. I stared blankly.
"You're kidding." The last thing I wanted to do was socialize.
"Nope." He popped the 'p' sound, conveying more in that than just the word: he didn't want to go to this dinner, either.
"You could have just commed me, rather than walking all the way over here," I pointed out. Jim frowned, raising his eyebrows.
"Nyota, I did comm you. Several times."
"Oh," I whispered. "I'm sorry – I didn't hear the comm." Jim raised his eyebrows higher and looked like he was about to say something, but he frowned and thought better of it.
"See you at 17:15 outside the formal banquet hall?" he asked instead.
"Do I have to?" I muttered aloud before I could stop myself. Jim frowned, and I noted dully that he was the third person today to look at me with such unmasked concern. Did I really look that bad?
"Unfortunately, you do," he sighed. "Trust me, Nyota, I tried to make excuses for us, to get us out of this, but… no, they want the entire Enterprise crew present tonight. Pretty sure the admirals will take attendance."
He was probably right.
"Sure, Jim," I heaved a sigh. I didn't need to pretend in front of Jim that I cared a thing for Starfleet formality; he knew I didn't, and what was more, I knew that he didn't, either. "I'll be there at 17:15."
Jim beamed at me, and I understood this to be thanks at my lack of argument. I had no doubt that he would have to have similar conversations with at least a few members of the crew who had ignored their comms, and knowing what kinds of things he might be pulling them away from, I was fairly sure that I was probably one of the few who wouldn't put up a fight.
I glanced at the digital time display on the wall. 16:30. I had 45 minutes. I frowned; too much time to sit and think without breaking down; not enough time to effectively cry this all out. I pulled on my dress uniform stiffly, buttoning the collar, wishing that Starfleet didn't have dress uniforms or hastily thrown together formal dinners.
I exited my room, knowing that to remain in there a moment longer would be to surrender myself to my emotions. Not something I could afford to do when diplomacy was imminently required.
I walked around the base slowly, trying to familiarize myself with the design and room numbering system. Coming to an observation lounge, I leaned against the railing next to the reinforced glass. There wasn't much to see out the window – or rather, there was, but I wasn't looking at it.
I felt the person behind me before I heard them. Turning, I realized it was Christine.
"How'd you find me?" I asked curiously. Christine's eyebrow rose sharply, and despite myself I had to suppress a grin – she'd learned that eyebrow thing from McCoy, I was sure.
"Nyota, I asked the computer," she told me, as if the answer were obvious. I frowned.
"Oh. Yeah."
"How are you?" She asked me bluntly, and while it wasn't her usual style, I decided that I appreciated the bluntness today. I shrugged.
"I can't…." I cleared my throat and started over. "I haven't allowed myself to think about it, yet."
Christine pursed her lips. "Sweetie, you need to deal with this," she told me. I nodded. Yes, I knew that. But I didn't want to deal with it. Not now. Not yet.
"Why aren't you in your dress uniform?" I asked, changing the subject. Christine looked at me questioningly.
"Didn't you get the memo? The entire Enterprise crew has been invited to a formal dinner in the banquet hall at 17:30."
Christine's expression cleared with understanding, and she took a step forward so that she was standing next to me, leaning on the railing and looking out at nothing in particular. Eventually we made eye contact.
"Nyota, I haven't been invited," she told me, and I could see something in her eyes, some truth that she wanted me to understand, but I couldn't pin it down.
"Of course you have," I said, and I heard the denial, the vehemence, the confusion in my tone as I answered. Christine swallowed and looked away from me.
My best friend shook her head slightly.
"I've just had a meeting with the ranking Starfleet Medical officer here on the base. They…" Christine swallowed again, looking almost guilty.
"They're so pleased with my service aboard the Enterprise that they offered me a promotion. I took it, Nyota. They're sending me back to Earth; putting me on the medical advisory board for the 'Fleet. I'll be in charge of all of the nurses in Starfleet," Christine told me. I stared at her blankly.
"Nyota, I've been transferred off the Enterprise, effective as of 16:00 hours this evening." I continued to stare at her, her words registering only in that detached part of my mind. "My transport back to Earth leaves in fifteen minutes."
I felt the hollow smile on my face and tried to mean it. "Congratulations," I murmured, and was pleased that I sounded sincere. "I'm happy for you. I know you've wanted to get off the Enterprise for a while."
Christine nodded, smiling softly. "Yes, I've been trying for a transfer almost since the day I came back," she agreed with a giggle. "Don't get me wrong; I'm grateful for the experience. Deep space just isn't for me."
And as we said our goodbyes and promised to keep in touch, we both knew that it would be unlikely that we'd remain friends, not with the rigors of our respective jobs and countless light years of distance between us. Then Christine walked out of the room with a wave and a semi-apologetic smile, and there was so much I wish I'd said and didn't, and she was gone and it was too late.
And now I've lost my best friend, too, I realized.
On autopilot, I left the observation lounge and accessed the computer to figure out where the banquet hall could possibly be. It turned out not to be too far from the Enterprise, and I made it exactly on time. Captain Kirk was already there, in full dress uniform, of course, as were Leonard and Spock and a few crewmen from science and security.
It was Jim who noticed me first, waving me over enthusiastically and greeting me with a snarky comment that caused everyone except Spock and myself to laugh.
Spock and I made eye contact, and once again I read the concern in his gaze. I stared down at the ground, unable to look at anyone else. I became aware that I was the subject of intense scrutiny from the three men who I cared for most in the world, and stoically raised my gaze, attempting to look defiant. I only managed a pained grimace.
"Nyota, are you –" Leonard was cut off by a newly-promoted Commodore whose name I didn't know.
"Jim Kirk! And Commander Spock! What a pleasure to meet you!"
I watched as Jim and Spock exchanged exasperated looks of annoyance before they both turned to face the Commodore, and then they were whisked off to the other side of the room and handed a glass of champagne each. (I watched fondly as Spock eyed the champagne with distaste, before the reality dawned on me that Spock was no longer mine and I had no right to ogle, and then I was hit with crushing sadness that had me hastily reaching to the nearest table to grab my own glass of champagne. I chugged it. Synthehol. Shit.)
When I looked up again, Leonard was still eyeing me curiously, and he had his brow furrowed in the manner he usually reserved for when he was at his most worried. I picked up another glass of synthehol. No, it wouldn't get me drunk, but at least it tasted halfway acceptable.
"So… shall we find a table?" I asked. Leonard shrugged.
"Don't think there's any special seating arrangement, so, guess we might as well," he agreed. He led the way to a table in the corner, saving seats for Jim, Spock, Sulu, Chekov, and Scotty. I sat carefully in the seat next to the window, and Leonard sat across from me. People were starting to filter in now, and I noticed that nobody was thrilled to be there. At the table next to us, a group of junior communications officers sat gossiping. I tuned them out, playing with my napkin.
"You're not very talkative this evening," Leonard said gruffly, startling me and causing me to look up at him quickly. I recognized his words as an attempt to get me to open up with a built-in get-out-of-jail-free card should I choose not to talk. I appreciated the effort. Leonard often came across as grumpy and unfriendly, but those who had taken the time to get to know him knew that he was actually a very sensitive man, extremely loyal, who would do anything he could to help anyone who needed it. I had the uncomfortable feeling that today, he'd decided that I needed help. I tried to ignore the part of my brain that told me he wasn't wrong.
I shrugged noncommittally. "I'm just tired," I told him, trying to insert some confidence into my tone. Leonard looked like he wanted to argue, but was interrupted by the arrival of Sulu and Chekov. Chekov sat to the doctor's left, and Sulu sat next to him. Leonard gave me a look which promised that he would pursue that line of questioning later, and then we listened to Chekov's argument with Sulu over which Star Wars movie was the best. I wasn't even sure what Star Wars was, but rationalized that it must be a nerd thing.
I looked down at my empty plate, eyes tracing the edge around and around in endless circles. At one point I blinked and realized that our table had filled. Without consciously being aware of it, I glanced up and noted that Spock was seated safely between Jim on my immediate right and Scotty two seats down. I noticed that someone was speaking to the crowd, and realized it was the same Commodore from before – what he was saying, however, I had no clue. I glanced at Spock, noting the raised eyebrow and ever-so-slight pout that indicated his boredom, and I almost laughed out loud. As if he sensed this, Spock turned to look at me, and as we made eye contact I saw the pain in his gaze.
The wind was knocked out of me when I remembered, yet again, that we weren't together anymore. I'd dumped him, after all. Dumped him because he was going to leave me regardless. Oh, Spock…
And then the Commodore was done speaking, and servers were bringing around all sorts of dishes: salads, meat dishes, vegetable dishes, pasta dishes. One of the servers tripped and nearly spilled food all over the Commodore. If only Christine were here, I thought, we would have had such a laugh over that… But Christine wasn't here, I remembered. She'd been transferred.
I hadn't planned on eating, but when everyone else at the table had filled their plates and I still hadn't moved a muscle, everyone started staring at me again, and I grabbed a serving of whatever the nearest dish was. I looked at it cautiously once it was sitting on my plate – chicken parm.
My mother's favorite.
And just like that, the table was suddenly too crowded, and the room was too loud, and the seat in the corner that I'd sat in to seclude myself suddenly had me trapped. My dress uniform was chafing against my neck, and I suddenly realized how tight it was – why did Starfleet have to make dress uniforms that literally try to choke the wearer? I took a deep breath in frustration.
I looked toward the door, wondering how I'd be able to leave the room without attracting attention from anyone ranked higher than Captain. The Commodore was sitting at a table in the front of the room with an Admiral. Both had their backs to me, but they each had aides who were facing in my direction. The group seemed to be immersed deep in conversation.
Pushing my chair back, I glanced around the table, aware that if I didn't leave quickly I was going to have a massive emotional breakdown in front of everyone. Spock was debating with Scotty over replicator capabilities, and Sulu and Chekov were discussing something called The Walking Dead. I flushed, embarrassed, when I realized that Jim and Leonard had both put their forks down and were staring even more intently at me than before.
"Nyota, what's wrong?" Jim asked. And his question nearly sent me over the edge. I felt tears brimming in my eyes and rapidly shook my head at him. In doing so I accidentally made eye contact with Leonard. I was aware that I had a nauseated expression on my face as I tried to hold back the tears and the despair and the panic. I was shocked to realize that the strongest emotion I felt in that moment was panic. Panic, because my boyfriend was leaving and my best friend was leaving and my mom had already left me and I was going to be completely alone and I didn't even know how to let out my emotions because I was equally upset about all three things for different reasons and I didn't know who to grieve for first. I felt my nauseated expression slip into an expression of complete terror. Alone. I was going to be completely alone. The Southern man's eyes widened fractionally as he took in my expression. It was this, that same worried look again, that was my undoing. The last thing I wanted, in that moment, was for anyone to spend any unnecessary energy worrying about me.
I turned to face Jim, not asking permission as I rose from my seat and said in a squeaky voice, "Excuse me, Captain. I have to go." Nobody tried to stop me.
I managed to make it out of the banquet hall without anyone trying to speak to me, and only when I was outside in the large courtyard did I allow myself to break down – just a little. As tears began to flow from my face, I stopped to look around and get my bearings. I panicked a little when I realized that there were eight possible directions in which I could travel from here, and I had no idea which one led the way to my room. I spun in a circle, not recognizing anything. Hadn't I come this way before?
Cursing myself for not taking more time to study the layout of the base, I turned at random and entered a corridor that seemed vaguely familiar. Everyone was inside their rooms or out in the courtyards, so the corridor was abandoned. I wasn't at all sure where I was, but when I came to the end of the corridor I took a right, thinking that maybe I recognized a mural painted on the wall. I passed an observation lounge. The same one in which I'd said goodbye to Christine? I had no idea. Maybe if I just went inside, I would be able to tell by the decoration whether it was the same lounge, and then I'd know where I was. Entering the room, I caught a glimpse of the blackness of space and realized how lonely it seemed – how alone I now was. The thought made me shiver. Surely there had to be somewhere I could go; somewhere I could hide from the loneliness. But how can you hide from loneliness? It's the one emotion that follows you everywhere. Loneliness is the one emotion that never leaves you alone. How ironic.
It was impossible to tell whether this lounge was the same as the one in which Christine had left me; I supposed they were all identical.
Beyond all rational thought now, confused by the despair I was feeling, I panicked further, wondering if I'd ever get back to my room; if I'd ever find the Enterprise again. And if I didn't, would anyone notice my absence? My best friend was gone; my boyfriend was leaving. Who was left who would care if I were there, aside from Leonard and Jim? And surely even they would get over my absence, soon enough.
Mom, why'd you leave me? I wailed in my head, and I felt a sharp pain as my knees connected solidly with the floor. Still unable to cry, though the tears brimming in my eyes were burning to be shed, I took a deep breath – which caught in my throat. I tried again, but once again, the breath caught before I could finish inhaling. My dress uniform – it was still far too tight. I tried to rip at the material, but it wasn't giving, and I sucked in another deep, gasping breath. I couldn't breathe, and it dawned on me that this must be what it was like to die from a broken heart, and I was going to be all alone.
Trying and failing once more to open the collar of my uniform, I sucked in another breath, then another, and before I knew it I was breathing far too quickly, trying to get as much air as possible before my uniform choked me and before my heart broke and before I died, alone. I felt another sharp pain, this time in my shoulder, as the room began to spin and I fell onto my side, my upper arm hitting the floor. I curled up, gasping for breath. Still, I couldn't cry.
Vaguely, in the same detached state as I'd been in all afternoon, I recognized the footfalls of someone sprinting up the corridor outside the lounge.
Help, I wanted to cry out. Help me. Don't let me die alone. But I couldn't make a sound, aside from the loud and labored gasps as I struggled to take in enough oxygen. In a small part of my mind, I realized that actually it was the opposite – I was taking in too much oxygen. But that part of my mind was ignored in favor of the physiologic need to breathe. I was convinced I wasn't getting enough air.
The footsteps came to a halt outside the door. There was a shocked gasp, then the same footsteps came rushing to my side.
"Jesus, Nyota," a distinctly Southern voiced drawled out, and then his hand was on my shoulder, trying to roll me onto my back. I fought him, curling up tighter, as I struggled to inhale.
"Nyota," Leonard said more firmly, though he gave up on trying to roll me over. "Can you hear me?" I don't even know if I tried to respond or not. "Are you hurt?" The man tried again, and this time I know I managed to shake my head ever so slightly.
"S'rry…" I spat out between breaths. I couldn't see Leonard's face, but I could imagine the way his eyebrows would be furrowed.
"Nyota, what are you sorry for?" he asked, sounding deeply confused.
"Jim…" I meant to say, 'I'm sorry for getting Jim in trouble by leaving early,' but the words wouldn't come. Leonard, however, seemed to understand.
"Nyota, Jim's not in trouble. Nobody noticed that you left. Jim wanted to follow you, but that would get him in trouble, so I came instead. I hope you don't mind," he said cautiously. "We didn't… er… we didn't think you'd really want Spock to come after you." I visibly recoiled at that, and at the thought of Spock, my ex, being forced to come after me and finding me in this state, I stopped breathing altogether. The room was eerily silent without the sound of my gasping breaths.
"Nyota!" Leonard shouted, and I heard panic in his own tone as he frantically felt just over the collar of my stupid dress uniform for my pulse. I blushed, feeling bad that I'd scared him, but not able to say so because going from hyperventilating to not breathing had not done my head any favors. Before I knew it I was hyperventilating again, and this time when Leonard tried to push me onto my back I didn't – couldn't – fight him.
I kept my head turned away from the doctor, closing my eyes as the feeling of loneliness returned. Leonard grasped my hand.
"Nyota," he said, and it was an order. I listened as best as I could. "You're breathing too fast." I know, Leonard, but this dress is choking me and I'm all alone and I don't know how to… "I need you to take a slow, deep breath." I can't. "Come on, Lieutenant Uhura. Deep breath."
He barked the last command, and I couldn't help but comply.
"Slowly," he said, more gently. "Good. Again. Slow."
I did as he told me, letting him coach me through a few breaths.
"That's it," he said, and I thought I heard a smile in his voice when I was able to gain control of myself without his guidance. "Good girl. Keep breathing just like that, Nyota." As he was speaking I heard more than saw as he reached for something, and then came the unmistakable sound of his tricorder somewhere near my head. I took another deep breath, opening my eyes and moving to sit up as the sound of the tricorder was cut off. Leonard looked up from the screen he was studying and carefully searched my face as he automatically reached out a hand to steady me until I got myself seated upright on the ground. The doctor frowned and reached out a hand to my cheek to wipe away a tear that I hadn't realized had fallen, and as he did I suddenly realized that my entire face was damp with fallen tears. Funny; I hadn't realized that I'd really even been crying.
"Nyota, what's going on?" Leonard asked, and when I hesitated, he cleared his throat. "If… this is about Spock…."
"No," I said quickly. Then I sighed heavily. "And… yes." The last part I whispered, unwilling to admit that I was crying over a man that I had broken up with.
"You sure?" the doctor asked, and I could hear the concern in his tone. But then he smirked. "Because if it is, I'd be happy to beat his ass for you," he told me matter-of-factly. I couldn't help the snort of amusement that left my mouth at that. Leonard's lips twitched, and only then did I realize that his comment had been an intentional attempt to get me to smile. I appreciated his effort.
"Thanks," I said, "But I'm the one who broke up with Spock." I frowned. "And anyway… that's not actually all that this is about."
"Then what?" the older man asked patiently, shifting his weight so he was more comfortably situated on the floor. For a moment I contemplated getting up and sitting in a chair, but then I decided I didn't have the energy to move. I wasn't sure I wanted to divulge my inner thoughts to Leonard, but the CMO was giving me a steady look that told me I wasn't leaving the room until he was satisfied that I wasn't emotionally unstable. I frowned at the floor, biting my lip against the way my throat seemed to close again.
"Did…" I cleared my throat around a thick sob, took a shuddering breath, and tried again. "Did you hear that Christine left?" I asked. Leonard's eyebrow twitched in a way that told me that not only was he aware that he'd lost his best nurse, but that he wasn't any happier about it than I was.
"They told me right before they told her," he confirmed softly. "You guys were close, right?"
I closed my eyes.
"She was my best friend," I whispered.
"Was?" Leonard asked, and I shook my head, breath hitching.
"Come on. How many people do you keep friendships with off-ship?" Silence reigned, and in that I had my answer.
Leonard's hand landed on mine and squeezed gently, reassuringly, and I opened my eyes to see the compassionate look he was giving me.
"That must be hard," he said gently. "To find out that your best friend was leaving the ship, on such short notice, right after breaking up with Spock."
"And losing my mom," I said, then when Leonard withdrew his hand and looked at me sharply, I realized what I'd said wrong. In a breach of protocol, Christine had been the one to give me the letter from Starfleet. It was obvious from the CMO's expression that he wasn't yet aware of my loss.
"What?" he asked, and I frowned, new tears leaking from my eyes as I took in his irritation. Leonard seemed to realize that he'd upset me, and he sighed, reaching out to squeeze my hand again. He waited, patiently as usual, for me to explain.
"Sorry. I know I shouldn't have found out how I did. Christine told me. Before she knew she was leaving. She… Didn't want it to come from Spock, mostly."
I saw Leonard's irritation behind a careful mask, but also saw from his sigh that he understood.
"How did it happen?" he asked, and I flinched, closing my eyes again briefly.
"Apparently… a plasma conduit on her ship was about to blow, and she managed to stop it but suffered third- and fourth-degree plasma burns in the process."
Leonard was the one to flinch this time.
"I'm sorry, Nyota," he murmured.
"Don't blame Christine," I said, suddenly defensive of my friend; despite the fact that she was no longer under his command, I had no doubt that the CMO would be comming her at the next opportunity to ream her out for telling me what she'd had no business telling me. "She just wanted to help." The CMO sighed again but didn't comment.
"Are you going to be able to work side by side with Spock?" he changed the subject after a brief pause, and I knew that this time he truly was asking in his capacity as CMO instead of as a concerned friend. I pretended not to notice that he hadn't answered me, and allowed the change of subject. It was easier, anyway, in that moment, to talk clinically about working alongside Spock than it was to talk about Christine. I thought it over for a minute, pondering how to answer that without revealing that Spock was planning on leaving the ship. That was Spock's news to tell, not mine, and I would respect his privacy.
"Yes, I think so," I said. "It's going to be… hard, for a while. I won't lie." And maybe even harder once Spock actually leaves, the thought ran through my mind unbidden. I tensed. "But I know on my end I can act professionally, and Spock… he'd never be anything but the upstanding officer he always is."
"I hear what you're saying, Nyota, but, if you'll forgive the turn of phrase, you're only human. And if you find that you can't work with him anymore, everyone will understand. I'm sure we can put you both on a rotating shift schedule, or…"
"Len," I said, "It'll honestly be okay. I appreciate your concern, but I just need to work through this. On the Bridge we'll be professionals. You have my word." I frowned as it dawned on me that I'd never actually told Leonard that Spock and I had broken up, yet he'd obviously known. "But I have to ask, how did you know we'd broken up?"
Leonard shook his head. "Nyota, I'm the CMO. It's my job to know what's happening with the people on the ship. And as far as Jim, because I know you're going to ask, he isn't fully sure that you guys have broken up…. He more thinks that you're having a fight or taking a break. I don't think I fully figured it out until I saw you trying to give that necklace back."
"You saw that?" I grimaced.
"Sorry."
"He doesn't understand that wearing this every day, reminding myself of him…."
"Yeah, well, he's stubborn."
"I just… I can't take it off," I whispered. "Because if I take it off, then…" I trailed off, another tear rolling down my cheek despite my best efforts to contain it.
"Then it makes it real," Leonard finished. I nodded once. The doctor pursed his lips. I didn't let him suggest whatever it was that he wanted to suggest.
"I just feel so alone," I admitted. Leonard's eyes shot to mine, assessing, calculating, and I shook my head. "My boyfriend, then my mom, then my best friend… everyone left me within a few hours. I don't have anyone anymore. And I feel pathetic admitting that. I should be stronger. But as you said, I'm only human. And I don't know who to grieve for first."
"First of all, Nyota, you're not alone. I'm here," the doctor said calmly. "I'm your friend. And Jim. Jim's worried sick about you, and if I know him he's looking for an excuse to leave that stupid banquet right at this minute to come make sure you're okay. He's here for you. And Sulu, Chekov, Scotty… hell, even Keenser has a soft spot for you. Christine may be your best friend, but she's not your only one. I know those are shallow sentiments, but honestly, we care a lot, Nyota, and it's hard to see you so upset. You've had a lot of bad news in a short amount of time. That's not fair. If there's anything you need, anything we can do to help, just say the word. The tough thing about grief is that it doesn't make much sense in the way it works."
"One minute you can be fine," I interrupted, "laughing even… and the next minute… it's like you're dying."
"There's no right or wrong way to grieve," Leonard said softly. "Everyone does it differently. And it's three times harder when you're grieving over three different kinds of losses. It's okay to feel grief over the loss of your friendship with Christine, but not to feel anything for Spock or your mom… and it's okay if, fifteen minutes later, you're crying over your mom, but don't feel anything for Christine. That's normal. But Nyota, just know that we're here for you. We don't want you to feel alone."
"I'm glad you were the one to come find me," I admitted. Leonard laughed lightly.
"Please, and pass up an excuse to get out of that terrible dinner?"
At that, tears streamed down my face again.
"What did I say?" Leonard asked, concerned.
"The dinner. That's what set me off."
"The people?"
"No. The food. Chicken parm. It was my mom's favorite," I admitted, and this time when the tears started to flow, I didn't expend the energy to stop them. I started sobbing uncontrollably, but Leonard was there, pulling me in for a hug and holding on tight as I cried onto his dress uniform.
For a long while the only sound in the room was that of my hitched breaths and violent sobs, and Leonard's hand brushing over the fabric of my uniform as he rubbed my back comfortingly. Finally, after the tears had long since run dry and my eyes had slipped shut of their own accord, Leonard gripped my shoulder.
"Do you want to stay here, or do you want to head back to your room?" he asked. I frowned, only now realizing that we were still sitting in the middle of the floor. I grimaced.
"Let's go," I said. My legs screamed in protest as I stood with a groan, and Leonard winced as his knees cracked loudly.
"Sorry," I said, but he shook off my apology with a shrug. I wasn't at all sure where my quarters were, but after consulting the computer Leonard was able to figure it out immediately and we set off at a slow pace. He watched as I keyed in the combination, ensuring that I was able to get inside safely, before wishing me a good night. Before the door shut, he grabbed my arm in one last comforting squeeze.
"Remember, Nyota, if you need anything, you have a ship full of friends – family – who are ready and waiting to help. All you have to do is ask."
"Thanks, Len," I said sincerely, hoping he could tell how much I meant it. "For everything. If you hadn't found me, I don't know what I would have done." Pass out, throw up, find myself hopelessly lost on a restricted deck… surely nothing good.
"That's what friends are for," he reminded me, and with a wave goodnight the door slid closed. I engaged the locking mechanism, peeling off my dress uniform and throwing it in a heap. I was looking forward to a few days off, to begin to process what I'd lost and maybe work on establishing some kind of working professional relationship with Spock, but first I just needed to sleep. I didn't bother with a sonic shower or pajamas; just dropped into bed, calling to the computer to raise the ambient temperature two degrees Fahrenheit and wake me at 0700.
I never actually looked at a clock when my comm rudely woke me at some point later in the night, but I did know that I really didn't feel that much better and certainly hadn't gotten enough rest. As I threw on a clean uniform and acknowledged the Captain's communique that the crew of the Enterprise was to meet back at the ship for an emergency mission, I threw my hair into a ponytail and reflected that despite all I'd lost, maybe I hadn't lost everything, and that thought would have to be enough to keep me going for now.