CHAPTER THREE
Nyota had gone to the bar at four. Work began promptly at six. She disregarded this fact and had slowly worked her way through seven beers. She had nursed the first, intending to go to bed. It had felt releasing, and the second had dulled slightly her unbearable trembling and pain at the events of her night. The rest just helped to hold back her epiphany. She took another swig at the thought, drunkenly sloshing Budweiser against her pajamas. She giggled darkly at the sight of the blue flannel. Hadn't these same articles of clothing been delicately pulled on her body by tender, Vulcan hands just hours ago? She had realized something earth shattering tonight. It was what had guided her to this barstool, what had coerced her hand into opening the Refridgeration Square and uncapping a cold beer. What had poured a shot of Grey Goose. It was blindingly obvious yet obscure enough to avoid being taken into consideration at the beginning of her courtship with Spock. It was what she had always hopefully ignored; Spock would never uncap the stopper holding back the flood of real emotion. He would never access love, attachment, passion. He would be doomed to forever live through curiosity and scientific learning. Her request to live together had apparently startled him into voicing his true opinion on the feeling love, one she openly valued and believed in. She had not been nearly as upset by his response to moving in together, but his reaction to what it suggested; mates. Eternal bonding between them.
"You're a real mess, aren't yah?" Nyota stopped her deep thinking and slowly looked in the direction of the voice. She just smiled, talking would be merely embarrassing. She felt light. She felt her cheek with her fingers; it felt like play dough, like something completely disconnected from her body. She fingered her lips and squeezed. They were barely there. The skin on her face felt like it was melting off, gooping beneath her on the bar counter. Hands grasped her under her armpits and she dozily leaned forward.
"Easy to work with, then! What did you go and do this for anyways, pretty girl?" She recognized that voice!
"Scotty!" Wow. Her voice felt droopy too, each word hanging off the last. "Scotty, I'm so glad to see you." She put her arms around her friend and leaned her head against his shoulder.
Scotty looked down on Uhura and inwardly cringed. He did not like this. Sure, he'd jokingly refilled her cup quite a few times but she had always known her own limit, never getting so blitzed she couldn't make her own way back to her room. She stopped at tipsy and warm and content and Scotty adored her. Not in the way he knew Spock or even Kirk, the damn fool, to crave her, but in a way that forced him to hover over her from a distance, motionlessly keep watch. So, seeing her so drunk, so out of her mind gone, he felt sad.
He put her arm over his shoulder and she resisted. He looked down at her. She looked up at him.
"Thank you." She said very clearly, the trace of a slur distant. He smiled.
"Always here for yah. I'll remind you in the mornin' you owe me a lunch, alright?"
"I want to go to bed."
"Ok honey."
They limped along at a snail's pace; Uhura nearly incapacitated now, her drunkenness reaching it's height as that one vodka shot caught up with her. It kind of hit her, suddenly, and with horrible timing.
Spock rounded the corner hurriedly and she slumped downwards and Scotty stumbled. The result was Uhura hitting the linoleum, Scotty landing nearly on top of her, bracing himself over her limp frame, and Spock lurching to a stop. Scotty's mouth hung open and Spock's expression did not change. Uhura groaned softly.
"Alright, there are several ways to interpret this situation and I swear it isn't the worst one."
"You are currently on top of Lieutenant Uhura."
"It appears I am." Scotty shot up and nervously chuckled. Oh shit. Now it would be his turn to be strangled and served side up like a tender steak. He waited for the shit storm to strike.
"I will return Lieutenant Uhura to her quarters. Thank you for your….help." The pause suggested Spock would never forgive Scotty for throwing his drunken girl friend to the floor with a smack. He felt awful, but instead of apologizing to the woman who had most likely not even felt it and the man who felt nothing, he saluted clumsily and turned on his heel, himself returning to work.
Uhura made no move to get up. She lay in the corridor, head turned to the side, hair over her face, in her mouth, her skirt hiked up high, one arm beneath her and one reaching up towards Spock. He stepped closer, and squatted. He picked the hair out of her mouth.
"Nyota."
"Mmmm." She smacked her lips.
"Nyota." He prodded her with one finger.
"Whaaaa?" She lifted one heavy lid. It slid closed again.
"Nyota, would you prefer to sleep here."
"Mmmm hmmm."
"In this hallway."
"…….."
"You wore the appropriate attire." He mused, fingering the flannel material of her shirt. He experimentally lifted her arm and let it drop. It hit the ground with a soft thud. Her breathing didn't even change! He had never seen Nyota rendered incoherently drunk. He was curious to the extent of her condition. He poked her arm, leg, and stroked her face, all receiving no response. A Cadet passed him in the hall, and started.
"Are you in need of assistance, Commander?" He hurried over.
"No, I have control of the situation."
"Spock! Don't you dare eat that!" Nyota exploded, sitting up suddenly. The Cadet jumped and caught her shoulders and pushed her up as Nyota leaned back again.
"Thank you, Cadet…."
"Smith."
"We will be fine. Please contact Doctor McCoy and ask him to report to this position."
"Yes, Commander."
"Oh, and tell him to bring Chekov's recipe." Cadet Smith saluted and marched off to do Cadety business.
Uhura was mildy awake.
"Why have you drank to this extent. You were aware of the effects of alcohol to your blood stream."
"Can't say."
"Nyota." Warningly.
"Don't fake this stupid concern. All these coupley questions and taking care of me." She rolled her head around and let it sink forward. Spock used his hand to push her head back. He did not like the crude language her loose lips spilt forth.
"What is it that I am faking?"
"Don' play dumb. Doing what we do does nothing. No love. See?" He did not. He made no sense of what she'd said and chalked it up to the alcohol. He decided not to engage in any more serious conversations until the shot had been administered. But he wondered one last thought aloud.
"Nyota. Do you truly believe I don't care for you?" He had heard humans were more truthful under the influence. He was merely testing a theory, right?
"Spock." She didn't answer. She just looked pitifully sad and he was horrifically taken aback. He had thought she'd known, she'd understood and accepted his affection for her in its forms; tea on her table, the kisses and the degrading yet empowering sex, meeting her eye while working. She reached her arms out for him. On instinct he leaned out of reach. They were in public. She stabilized herself with her palms shakily. She looked up at him in disbelief. He himself felt shocked and disgusted by his rebuttal. He reached for her and she jerked away, continuing to stare deep into his eyes, as if forcing himself to see his mistake.
"I apologize. We are under public scrutiny."
"Fuck you." And she promptly passed out. McCoy rounded the corner, lightly jogging.
"I've got the vial o' magic right here, Commander."
"Please inject her."
"Hold your damn horses, I'm a doctor not a machine! I got to prepare. Jesus. Everybody is always rushin' me." The doctor aligned the syringe and plunged it into the rubber head of a vial of purple liquid. He withdrew it and rubbed a pad over Uhura's arm. He did not ask the details of the situation. McCoy and Spock treated each other with coldness, a step above indifference and a step below distaste. They merely ignored each other to the best of their abilities. He did like Uhura quite a bit; he'd ask her about this after their trip to the unknown planet.
The needle broke her skin and her body appeared to lap up the purple mixture as it drained into her. Her body convulsed and her eyes opened wide, unseeing, her back straight, then she slid back into unconsciousness.
"There, give her bout ten minutes or so and she'll come round."
"Thank you doctor."
"Don't mention it." McCoy stalked off and Spock tasted something bad in his mouth.
WELL MY PRETTIES? What do you think? Id adore reviews! I love interacting with you fellow star trek adorees? And also, I pose a question; when did your life become entangled with the lives of Spock and Uhura? And how many times a day do you think of them? Do you ever wish to be them?
I am curious. It is only logical. = ]
