Slightly jossed by the movie, but oh well. Thanks sam for the beta :D
The pitch of the ship beneath his feet scatters their belongings about their quarters.
Spock is halfway to the door when Jim's voice rings out, "All systems stable, no cause for alarm."
In the calm that follows, it takes Spock a moment to orient himself, though not due to the slant of the ship but the sudden disarray of their rooms. A pair of Nyota's earrings have fallen from where she placed them on her bureau and a glass that held water similarly tumbled from the nightstand. Impractical to leave items unsecured on a starship, and yet even he has grown lax as two of his padds have tipped from his desk and his filmplasts once resting next to them are now what he is certain Nyota would term 'a mess'.
As he retrieves her earrings, he also finds her stylus where it rolled out of sight, and then her padd, similarly hidden where it slid beneath a chair. These he sets aside for her in their proper places, and the chair he adjusts so as to retrieve from behind it an outdated universal translator she had brought back the previous night. Illogical to tinker with it as she had, as the device is hardly currently relevant, but articulation of such had only made her smile at him over her cup of tea. Now, he sets it carefully where she had left it, since she will surely take it up once again after her shift, though as he does so, his foot nudges yet another object.
Under the desk as it is, he does not look before he retrieves it, so that the mug is in his hand before he can even stand up. Cupped in his palm, it is utterly unremarkable. Ceramic. Heavier than he might have expected. Poorly made in all likelihood, lacking delicacy and finesse.
He sets it down. Quickly, he straightens the padds and filmplasts, retrieves the glass by the bed and places it in the recycler, and even uprights one of Nyota's boots, left askew by the sudden motion.
She returns before he can completely finish, her eyes scanning their quarters. "Everything ok?"
"What happened?"
"Energy surge in the warp core." She unzips the collar of her uniform. Always the first thing she does upon the door closing behind her, her hand rubbing along the front and back of her neck. "Scotty's response was 'oops'."
"His professional opinion?"
"He followed it with 'sir'." When she drops her hand, the chain of the necklace winks at him. He taps the filmplasts into a neater stack. "Do you need help cleaning up?"
"I am nearly finished."
"Sweet of you." On her toes, she kisses his cheek, already pulling the collar of her uniform down further. "I'll give you a hand after I change, ok?"
Her uniform is draped over the foot of their bed when she steps out of it. Her boots are lined up with her other pairs, set neatly against the wall. The necklace she leaves in a pool of silver and a flash of turquoise on her dresser. Another miscalculation in Engineering and it will slide to the floor with the earrings beside it.
She comes across the mug as she sorts through her padds, her nail tracing a divot that runs up the sides.
"It was cracked," he says, though her expression informs him this is hardly a helpful comment.
"I fixed it." Her forehead draws tight. "Scotty did."
"It-" He begins to point towards the mug, only to drop his hand to his side. A needless action, to gesture to what she holds. That Mr. Scott helped her is that Nyota would term 'news'. A curious turn of phrase and yet perhaps apt. "The motion of the ship caused it to fall."
"Oh." Her hands wrap around it. "I left it out, didn't I? Did it hit anything?"
He points to the floor. Also unnecessary. He refrains from also gesturing towards the corner of the desk.
"I didn't think. We've been at warp for so long and-" She shakes her head, turning the mug over and over in her hands as if she can see the fracture better with the repetition.
"It is hardly your fault."
"I'll take it back to him," Her nail drags up the hairline split. "I can go right now, I think he's still on his shift."
"He is likely occupied with the engines."
She touches a finger to the rim of the mug. "Yeah." Gently and with more care than is likely warranted, she sets it down.
The next morning, she is gone before he has finished showering. Boots, insignia, earrings, all missing. He casts a look at the dresser. The necklace as well.
She slides into the chair next to him at breakfast, but only has time for half of her cup of coffee and even less toast. Gray polymer coats the edge of her thumb and she spends the morning picking at it, her eyes scanning incoming transmissions and her fingers scraping at the dried adhesive. An unnecessary undertaking, to assign herself such a task in the time before their shift, though he is certain that if he raised it with her, his opinion would be readily dismissed.
He sets an apple on the edge of her console upon his return from examining the repairs in Engineering and she catches it before it can roll down the slant of her station.
…
The tray hits the table next to Spock's own just before the chair beside him is scraped backwards. Lieutenant Sulu gives him a nod, but it is obviously Nyota who he has sought out.
"Did it shrink?"
With her fork paused halfway to her mouth, Nyota's eyes dart towards Spock's.
"No," Nyota says.
"I read that water can shrink wool." Sulu looks between them both. Spock bends forward over his plate and carefully, precisely, slices another bite of krei'la.
"It was fine." Slowly she chews a cucumber she had speared and digs her fork through her remaining salad.
Sulu's spoon dips into his soup. "And it dried out ok?"
She pokes at a carrot. "It did."
Spock cuts another bite, a neat square that he places on his fork. He does not watch as Sulu leans forward in his seat. "And it's really from a sheep? A real sheep?"
Now, Nyota smiles, though it is a far tempered version of the normal brightness that lights her expression. "It really is."
That night, she is not asleep when he carefully lifts the covers and slides into bed next to her. Instead, she turns towards him, her palm pressed flat to her throat. Beneath her fingers, the chain of the necklace glints and flashes as she fiddles with the pendant. Illogical to not remove it before sleeping, as she so often does.
"I washed it."
There is one woolen object in the room. Hardly does he need clarification.
"I didn't realize wool shrinks."
He settles the sheet over himself. In the dark, she shifts near to him.
"I'm sorry."
Her hand is still at her neck. The bed dips as she moves even closer. "There is no reason to be."
"I should have- I really didn't know."
"As you yourself said, it is of no consequence."
Her forehead presses into his shoulder, a warm weight. "Still."
He rubs his knuckles over her thigh, just above where her knee pushes into his own. "Truly. It is no matter."
"I thought it should be cleaned."
He stares up at the ceiling. "Logical."
When she sits up, cool air rushes against his side.
"Here." From its drape across the foot of their bed, Nyota picks up the blanket, pulling it up across her lap. She extends a corner to him.
"What are you doing?"
"Just-" She pokes the fabric closer. "Take it. Please."
He does and she pulls the rest of it higher, smoothing it out across the lumps of their legs.
"I thought you had intended to sleep."
"It's the same size, right?" Spread out as it is, Nyota's eyes search over it as if the knit weave holds an answer. The lights are hardly bright enough for her to see. If it were different, he would not know.
When she lays down again, she half covers him, her arm a solid press over his waist and her leg hooked over his own. He lays his hand over her thigh rather than allow it to be trapped between them and when he rubs his hand down to her knee, she pushes her face into his neck. Laying like she is, the necklace rests as a hard lump against his arm, a bump that pricks at him where it pushes into his skin.
She does not push the blanket back down. Soon, she will be too hot under its added warmth and as she so often does, will kick the covers back in her sleep. He should remove it for her, pick up the corner she handed him and push it back down. It is illogical to have it there at all, a needless addition to their bedding. He presses his nose to the top of her head and her hair tickles his face when he places a kiss there.
…
"Did it," Jim announces from the doorway, silhouetted against the bright of the corridor. He extends both hands, each holding precarious stacks of padds. "Found them."
Nyota claps her hands together and is off the sofa with far more energy than she had when depositing herself on it, loose limbed and yawning after the length of her shift.
"How?" she asks though she does not wait for an answer and Jim does not offer one. Instead, they repeat titles to each other and tug padds from the others hands, giving no apparent compunction to the irrationality of speaking over each other.
A padd lands before Spock, obscuring the surface of his desk and sending his work into disarray. It is followed by a bound book, ages fluttering and dust puffing up. "Sequels. Why write one when you can write more? Did you read that one yet?"
None of this appears to require an answer or even a comment, despite the finger Jim presses to the cover of the novel, pushing it slightly towards Spock.
From beneath it, Spock edges out the filmplast he had been reviewing. Behind him, Jim and Nyota settle onto the couch and he does not need to turn to know that Nyota is smiling, already bent over one of the new padds.
It is when Jim has left that Nyota unfolds herself, all long limbs and grace as she crouches before their bookshelf, shuffling around the objects within.
"They're not the same."
He selects another filmplast from the stack before him. "Pardon?"
"The books. They're not the same edition. We tried. Jim even called the publisher."
Behind him, he can hear her continue to adjust the padds they keep on those shelves. "I am certain the format will hardly impede your enjoyment of them."
"I just wanted you to know."
He does not allow his eyes to pause in their track across the filmplast. "Duly noted."
"Hand me those?" Her chin tips towards the stack of padds Jim brought. With one hand, she holds back half of a shelf's contents from tipping over and with the other she reaches for the stack, though her attempt falls short. When he does not immediately rise to help her, she tries again, the motion causing the chain of the necklace to slip from beneath the light cotton of her shirt, none of the stiffness of her uniform to hold it in its place.
"There is not sufficient space for them," he says as he hands the padds to her, though this does not stop her from placing each on the shelf.
"Those too," she says, her head tipping towards the bound books, the ones she and Jim found it necessary to flip through again. They are closer to her. In all likelihood, she could get them herself.
He holds them out two at a time and when she has taken them, he again sits at his desk, bending once more over his filmplasts.
"Oh." Her intake of breath is quick. "Oh, no."
He turns, expecting to see a cover bent backwards from attempting to fit too many volumes onto the shelf, or for her to simply be out of room, but instead she has one of the books open in her lap, one finger repeatedly brushing over the open page.
"I was eating." She presses her lips together. "Or Jim was. But it's just crumbs. I can-"
Her tongue between her teeth, she drags her finger down the space between the parted pages again and then turns the book upside down to shake it. She attempts to use the back of one of her earrings, and when that fails she disappears into the bathroom. In the mirror he can watch her bent over where she has propped the book on the edge of the counter, a hairpin in one hand and the book pressed open with the other.
Before him, the bookshelf is still disordered, half sorted through with volumes spread over the rug.
Two of the padds she has left out are his, neither of which he has had need of in some weeks now. A number more are technical manuals that he does not strictly need to keep in their quarters.
She remains bent over the book, and of what he can see in the mirror, her expression is drawn tight. He sets those padds aside, and then adds to them several more padds he can similarly find a place for elsewhere. Where they had sat, he puts the ones Jim brought. Then, given that there is still room, he adds one of the bound books, weighty and slightly unwieldy in his hand, and then another.
When he is done, he stands. He does not brush his palms off, though it occurs to him that he might. Instead, he resumes his work, twice peering into the bathroom, checking that she is nearly finished.
…
Dirt puffing up around her boots, Nyota turns in a slow circle. Her palms are pressed to her forehead and her eyes move in a wide scan over the ground before her, tracing and retracing the same patch of scrubby vegetation. She is dehydrated. Exhausted too, after the away mission, which has lasted far longer than foreseen or intended.
Around them, the crew mills, hot and thirsty. Even Spock is worn at by the heat and the sun, the change from the cool corridors of the ship leaving his uniform stiff and irritating against his shoulders.
"There," Chekov says and with a single bend to the ground, stands again with the silver chain dangling from his fingers.
Nyota fists the pendant in her palm, her thumb moving back and forth over the chain where it lays draped over her hand.
On the transporter pad, she opens her hand as if checking that it made the trip with her. Illogical. He could tell her so.
Doctor McCoy steps around them, hardly the only crew member whose way to the corridor she impedes, standing where she is.
"My services are only good once," he says, a finger held out towards Nyota. "After that, I charge."
She watches him go. "He helped me with the chain."
Spock does not similarly turn towards the door that closes behind the Doctor. Nyota's thumb touches to the pendant that lays in her palm. "We are due on the bridge."
"I'll get the clasp checked. Fixed." She steps towards him. "I didn't realize it would come off like that."
Which is why it is unapproved to wear on away missions. He moves aside for Mr. Scott to make his way past them. "An unforeseen circumstance."
She rocks back on her heels, her mouth a pressed, thin line. "I'll leave it in our quarters."
"It is no matter."
"Spock."
"It is yours," he says, as he has repeatedly now. "To do with as you wish."
"I don't mean to be so cavalier with it."
"You are not." He shakes his head. "It is only an object."
"You know that's not true."
He looks away. An inane argument. And to have it here, in the transporter room, though the remaining officers have trickled past them.
"The bridge," he says and when she nods, she ducks her head down. Her fist is closed, her knuckles strained tight with the force of her grip.
"I'm going to run this back," she says, her head tipped in the direction of their quarters.
Considering the general laxity Jim allows his officers directly after an away mission, she will be at her post before the others have arrived. "Nyota."
"Two seconds."
"It is not-" He shakes his head again, as if that will help. Nyota has always done this, this push that sits him on the edge of discomfort as the necklace she wears at the hollow of her throat. Illogical to wear it, but she has never put much stock in logic, not any more than his mother did. "That is not necessary."
She does not blink as she watches him. He is certain she is waiting for him to say something else, though nothing comes.
When she raises the necklace to her throat, she turns away from him, descending the shallow steps from the transporter pad. She only stops when the claps catches in her hair, her fingers busy and working and not as steady as normal.
Her hair is a heavy slip against his fingers as he lifts it from her neck.
"Nyota," he says again as this time the clasp closes.
She settles the chain beneath the stiff collar of her uniform. "I'm still going to get it fixed."
"I am aware." Briefly, he leans his forehead against the back of her head. "Thank you."
