Chapter 10

Roses Are Red

Uhura walked into her quarters, feeling tired as if she had been mining dilithium for eight hours, not pulling an ordinary shift on the Bridge. It had been two days since they left the Miraxine colony, and the crew had slowly begun to come back to life after a major shakedown. Most of them hadn't been on the planet, and those who had been didn't talk. She spent a disturbing evening with Sulu the night before, wishing there was some way she could have helped him. She caught him at lunch today though, and he seemed to have pretty much bounced back. Well, she thought philosophically, long years in outer space would do this to you.

She motioned the lights to half capacity, and walked over to her drawer, reaching for her favorite silk gown she preferred to wear off duty.

Chekov worried her, too. He hadn't been down to Miraxine, yet in the past two days he seemed much more 'out there' than those who had. She couldn't get it. She knew about the reprimand he had drawn, but his responses made her believe that it was not the source of his predicament. He refused to talk and, in fact, had gone out of his way to avoid her.

She sighed, getting out of her uniform. It was not just the mission, she was certain. It was gruesome, no denying that, but they had been through rough times before. Certainly, it had been no less stressful when a telepathic entity took control over the ship, killing crewmembers at will. Or when Khan Noonien Singh held the whole Bridge crew hostage, threatening to kill all of them one by one. When the landing party was imprisoned by a Romulan rebel to be mercilessly tortured until the Captain managed to rescue them. When they had all been reduced to mere salt cubes by the Kelvans. Or when they were locked in mortal combat with the Klingons on board their own ship.

No, she thought determinedly. This crew had been through a lot together. However disturbing, this was merely another mission. After all, they were Starfleet officers, trained to deal with the unexpected, however unpleasant this unexpected might be. That was not the reason for Chekov's withdrawal either.

And what a stupid boy, really! Did he honestly think that he could send a message from the Enterprise and she wouldn't know about it? Unbelievable presumption. He tried to mask it, and did that pretty well, she had to grant him that. Might have fooled Liz, if that was her shift. But Uhura was too long in this business to get tricked by a rouse like that.

After due consideration though, she decided not to confront him about it. Whoever this Maryann Roberts was, Chekov obviously felt better after talking to her. Uhura had only just seen him and Sulu heading for the Mess together, and that was definitely an improvement. Perhaps she should leave it at that.

Tender smooth silk slid naturally down her body, soothing her skin with a soft touch. She sighed lightly in simple pleasure and walked over to the mirror, reaching for her hairbrush. She loved to brush her hair until it shined.

The funny thing was, she was only paying close attention to the personal correspondence folder because she was expecting yet another message from Theo.

Ah, Theo. Theodore Papadopoulos, the great pianist. Her mentor, her hero, and a friend of her heart for what—ten years? He was the one who guided her bright but untamed talent through the musical disciplines. He educated her in music personally, broadening her knowledge, teaching her to treat her voice as a fine-tuned instrument. And he was a musician known all over the Federation.

How do you tell someone like that that you don't love them anymore?

That perhaps you never did...

She sighed and put the brush away, staring at her own reflection.

There were the times when she worshiped him. They met when she was very young, and of course she was completely smitten with him. His attention flattered her, and his kindness to her seemed to have no limits. He was lenient enough to let her join Starfleet, confident to wait while her 'childhood' would be finally over. He was a man of Art and he considered Starfleet a playground. So, he let her play.

What he hadn't anticipated, apparently, what Uhura had not expected herself, was that Starfleet would give her the measure of herself that she never had before. That it would give her a direction and a sense of purpose and confidence in herself, unlike anything she had ever felt. She stared at her reflection, realizing that she was missing her uniform in the mirrored image. This was who she had become. A Starfleet officer. The one who had sworn duty to the Federation. This was no small achievement. She could not—would not dismiss that.

She remembered vividly the day of her graduation. As she repeated the words of the pledge, she believed in them with all her heart, and yet she doubted herself. Would she be worthy? Would she be able?

Her years of service had been an answer enough. She would have to tell Theo, a man from whom she had seen nothing but good. She would have to hurt him. She buried her face in her hands.

How could she possibly do it?

Enervated, she walked over to her bed, wishing to dive under the blanket and try to forget about the ominous dilemma. Suddenly, an object caught her eye, and she stared at it for several moments, uncomprehending.

There was a single vermilion rose lying on top of her bed. Its stem was filleted with a velvet malachite-green band with a single gold symbol on it. Curious, Uhura reached out and took the flower, inhaling the exquisite smell, even as her fingers straightened out the band to look at the symbol closer. Her heart suddenly sank and then began to pound erratically.

The symbol was, in fact, a pictogram used as a complex concept, not as a letter, in High Vulcan.

The concept was 'desire.'

She sat on the bed heavily, staring at the rose wide-eyed.

Spock came to her mind immediately, but it only took her a second to dismiss the idea. She could not and had no wish to deny that there had been certain vibes running in-between them. She was more than a little excited to discover that the thought of her made him recite Byron. Yet, they had been friends for many years. Spock was her mentor, not only in Vulcan lyre and Vulcan language, but also in life. She looked up at him whenever she was in doubt. She looked up at him whenever she needed to know if she was doing the right thing. She hadn't realized it until now, but Spock seemed to have become her personal measurement of morality and ethics.

There were a lot of things she did not know about him, but she was certain, all her instincts in complete agreement, that if Spock had developed a deeper feeling for her, he would have approached her in an open and frank manner. He would not have wasted time and energy sending cryptic messages, which could be disregarded or misinterpreted. She did not know how, but she knew as surely as that her name was Nyota Uhura that had Spock felt this way about her, he would not have made her guess. He respected her too much for that. No, tempting as the idea might have seemed at a certain point, not to mention flattering, she was fairly sure that Spock had nothing to do with this.

With a frown she considered the possibility of a practical joke. But not only the two most likely perpetrators of such a pun were currently pretty much preoccupied with their own affairs, there was also little point in playing this particular joke on her. Christine Chapel would have been a much more logical target.

Besides, there was too much consideration in the gesture to be a joke. Uhura was not the Communications Officer for nothing. She spoke many languages and the language of Earth flowers was one of them. White roses were the symbol of purity. Pink roses signified a sweet romance for young people. Yellow was the color of friendship, compassion, also regret and condolences. And this particular shade of dark blood-red, sometimes called incarnadine, was a symbol of passionate love. Human passionate love. The velvet of the band, on the other hand, was a perfect match for the color of Vulcan blood. Uhura happened to know for a fact that for that reason this deep, rich, slightly bluish green was the symbolic color of passion on Vulcan. Rarely shown, only when the intentions had been crystal clear.

She shivered. That really left her with only one possible answer.

Sudak. It was Sudak who had left her that rose. It was unbelievable. But it must have been true.

Carefully placing the flower on the nightstand, Uhura stretched out on her bed, looking at it.

This was unexpected. Or was it? With a sigh, she admitted she had been flirting with him. But that was a purely defensive reaction! He made her nervous, with his constant repressed criticism, so she reached for her most reliable weapon. She didn't really mean anything by it... or did she?

This was ridiculous. Nobody liked Sudak. The Captain stiffened each time the Vulcan walked into the room. Spock's face turned so completely devoid of any expression, it was frightening. McCoy grunted continuously about nosy strangers. Scott regarded him with clear suspicion. Chekov and Sulu just frowned and tried to avoid any contact. It must have been clear for her, whose side she must be on.

And yet, Sudak intrigued her. She couldn't help wondering about him. And this gesture, this rose, this was certainly way out of character for any Vulcan she had ever met. Her heart gave a panicked leap. What if it was the real thing? Maybe they could have something special?

Sure, her inner voice told her scornfully. Something special. Like you and Theo used to have. Only now you agonize about how to tell him that this 'something special' is over and starting a new romance at the same time with one person, whom all of your friends and colleagues hate. Bravo, Nyota. As a matter of fact, bravissimo. What are you going to do next? Hijack the Enterprise and marry some Klingon commander? Wouldn't that be a top achievement for your glowing career?

She groaned softly, moving restlessly in her bed. Finally, she stood up, took the rose and placed it on the shelf near the door to dispose of it in the morning. She would do the right thing.

In the morning, after having a few hours of fitful sleep, she took the rose back to her sleeping area and placed it carefully in a vase, before leaving for her duty shift.

--

An unsophisticated observer would have noted nothing different in Captain Kirk's behavior, as the Enterprise renewed its patrol of the sector. The Captain seemed to be his normal pleasant self, unerringly following his routine and as efficient in his duties as ever. He didn't avoid his normal activities, in fact, he might have even doubled them. He was a living proof of the fact that starship captains were people of a different sort, of some higher quality, who had a special connection with all things possible and who controlled their reactions with diligence of an android.

There were only a handful of people aboard who might have questioned the authenticity of this model officer image, and only two among those who could actually steal a glance or two through it. McCoy obviously had an upper hand in this particular round, and what he saw, as the days enrolled slowly forward, had both reassured and worried him.

The first thing that sprang to view was that Jim tried to be around people as much as possible. It was almost as though he was surreptitiously seeking reassurance of their continuous existence, of their unwavering commitment, of their ever-surviving optimism and faith. Jim usually touched people a lot; he had primarily a kinesthetic persona, which McCoy could have told without consulting his medical file. At the moment he seemed to almost double the frequency of casual physical contact. It was as if he was constantly in need of having proof of the actual presence of other beings in the same physical universe. Hardly anyone noticed, but McCoy had been Jim's physician and unofficial counselor for too long a time to miss it. Over the years, he had learnt that, for Jim, it was a usual reaction to a particularly close call. It helped him feel safer, while he regained his equilibrium.

He tried to be around people, and among them, he particularly tried to be around Spock. In four days that passed since their distressing visit to Miraxine, the Captain and the First Officer had spent more time together than in four weeks before that.

McCoy knew, he saw it in Spock's face, read it easily in the ever-elevated eyebrow, that Spock was wondering as for a reason. The Doctor also knew that he would not ask. Jim was practically drowning him in touches, obviously overloading his defenses, and still he would not ask and would not pull away. On the contrary, Spock seemed to be out of his way to alleviate Jim's cravings. He would place his hand on Jim's shoulder instead of the back of his chair on the Bridge, or rest a hand on his arm fleetingly, or brush Jim's hand with his fingers lightly while showing him something on the viewer, or simply hold his wrist while talking to Jim. And every time he would deliberately fail to notice Jim's grateful, if mildly embarrassed look, and he would not ask.

McCoy knew the reason for that as well. Jim did not want to talk about it. Not to him, not to Spock, not to anyone. Whatever was eating at him, he preferred to deal with it on his own. Perhaps he didn't want to harm his image of invincible captain, or simply didn't want to trouble his friends with his burdens. He might have felt uncomfortable discussing it, or saw no point in doing so. It could have easily been any of those reasons, or none, or all. McCoy had his suspicions, at the very least, a starting point, while he knew that Spock didn't. But the Vulcan could obviously sense Jim's wishes just fine.

Of course, this wasn't the first time it had happened. The first time McCoy had really noticed it was after their unfortunate expedition in the heart of the Murasaki effect. McCoy was still mad at Spock over it, though not for the same reason as before. Spock's overly logical command style back then had been at odds with McCoy's own behavior, bordering on insubordination. No, he was still mad because if it wasn't for Spock's scientific curiosity in the phenomenon, they wouldn't have gone to the blasted trip in the first place. But then, the Doctor admitted reluctantly, Spock was a science officer and was paid exactly for being curious.

The prospect of losing three of his senior officers and friends had given Kirk a thorough shake. That was when his tactile way of receiving confirmation of their continuous survival had caught McCoy's attention. He remembered feeling amused and heartily warmed at the same time, and he had, of course, no objections. Neither, to his surprise, did Spock. Perhaps it was exactly the Vulcan's easy acceptance that brought it to light; otherwise McCoy might have missed it. Spock normally froze people out of his personal space with efficiency worthy of a better employment. McCoy made a mental note and had the sense to keep his observations to himself.

But ever since then he had been alert, and very soon realized that this wasn't an isolated incident, but a pattern. From the early days of the mission, Jim and Spock had met about three times a week in the gym for a training session. After the destruction of the gigantic amoeba organism, a mission which very nearly had cost Spock his life, they worked out every night for nine days in a row. McCoy raised his eyebrows and said nothing. The next week it was five training sessions, then four, and finally it fell back to the usual three days a week arrangement.

From then on, McCoy had easily picked up the traces of the familiar derivative. It wasn't always necessarily something as screaming as workouts, but it was noticeable for a keen observer nonetheless. It was obvious after Kirk's return from his two-month accidental stranding on Amerind. It was obvious after their experience with the Vians. It was blatantly obvious after the unfortunate accident in the Tholian space, and even more so after Janice Lester's attack.

None of the three had ever breached the subject. Spock was silent in respect for his Captain's privacy; Kirk—because he labored under the illusion that they hadn't noticed, if he even had noticed himself, which was open for debate; and McCoy had nothing to complain about. Jim had passed all tests with flying colors, and one could plainly see that he was feeling better.

McCoy could tell that Spock had pretty much come to the same conclusions he had, though perhaps a little bit faster. There was a certain measure of silent understanding between them, almost a conspiracy, as they both tried to meet Jim's needs at times when his personal internal world had been shaken up by tremors. Spock would allow Jim to take as much of his time as he wished, would act very much out of character for a Vulcan, would even initiate unnecessary contact, and McCoy would keep his mouth shut, never teasing either of them about it, never drawing attention to the fact.

McCoy was grateful that Spock hadn't backed out now. The way the Vulcan seemed to have distanced himself lately, this prospect was a serious concern for the Doctor and he was happy to see it was groundless.

But, this time, something did not fit the habitual picture. McCoy couldn't quite tell what it was, but oftentimes in the last few days he had felt uneasy. It had finally dawned on him only in the evening of the fourth day, when he was watching Jim and Spock play chess in the Rec Room.

What would happen, McCoy thought suddenly, if something should happen to Spock?

He chided himself for the thought. He was far from wishing the Vulcan ill in any way imaginable, in fact, as far from that as one could get. But they were in a dangerous line of work. What was more, Spock was a risk-taker, pretty much like Jim. Despite their very different background, they were of a kind in this regard—both jumped into danger headfirst, only then pausing to think if there was any other way.

He forced himself to think the disturbing thought till the end.

What would happen if Spock... was there no longer? Not necessarily killed or hurt, just gone? Transported into some other universe to live a happy life there? Where would that leave them?

And suddenly, oh so suddenly, this whole arrangement didn't seem like a good idea anymore.

A twinge of guilt ran through McCoy, as he thought about it. He realized suddenly that in all the years that he had been Jim's physician, he had come to rely on Spock to restore Jim's wellbeing almost as much as on his own medicine. How many times did he think something along the lines, 'Spock would know how to make the Captain feel better'? 'Spock would cover any painful ground McCoy didn't reach'? 'Spock would know what to say'? 'Spock would always be there'? McCoy had come to rely on such notions too strongly. He was grateful that he had this tool at his disposal. Five years were a long time. Long enough to develop a subconscious belief that it would last forever.

What would they do if forever ended?

Across the room, he watched as Jim moved a chess piece and looked up at his partner triumphantly. Spock examined the move with a cocked eyebrow, glanced up and—smiled. His lips hardly moved, his expression remained serene, yet there was no mistake in reading it. He said something. Jim threw his head back and laughed.

McCoy shut his eyes for a moment, feeling decisively unwell. This was wrong. Very, very wrong, very dangerous. Why didn't he see this before? How could he, a physician and a psychologist, have let this happen? The answer seemed cruel, but true in its ugliness.

It was convenient to let it happen. Very damn convenient.

He had been trying for almost five years to draw the human out of Spock. Now he was suddenly seized by a fierce wish that Spock would have been more Vulcan about it. Much more Vulcan.

Spock stood up, bowed his head slightly, obviously thanking the Captain for the game, and left. Jim got up to his feet, too, and strode over to Uhura and Chapel, who were playing some exotic version of solitaire. He stayed at their table for some time, observing and trading jokes.

McCoy sighed. This was good for Jim, he reflected, trying to alleviate the pangs his conscience was giving him. Heck, if it were as simple as a hurt-comfort relationship between them, he wouldn't have worried. A source of comfort, however good, could always be replaced. If it was nothing, but a source of comfort.

But that was not the case.

All those five years ago, when McCoy had first come on board and picked up the growing and deepening bond between Jim and Spock, he vividly remembered feeling happy. He didn't know Spock that well yet, but he was so happy for Jim. McCoy had been his friend, close friend, for many years, but Jim needed someone who could also be his comrade. Someone who could be a match for his energy, his quick mind, his strength of will. He didn't need a guardian, but a brother in arms; not a follower, but a kindred spirit. He needed someone who would both support him and stand up to him when he was in the wrong. He had found all that in Spock, and McCoy was delighted.

Until now.

Who was to say when a 'warm decent feeling' would transform into pathology? Was this happening before his eyes? Or was he simply being paranoid, frightened of his own shadow?

The thought certainly reoccurred, as the next day, Jim and Spock had only reconvened during a staff meeting and later for lunch, with McCoy joining them. The Vulcan then headed back to his Lab via Engineering, and Kirk was going to work through an Intelligence report in his study. Both seemed fine enough, Spock somewhat aloof, though no more than usual, and Kirk relaxed and vibrant. Another storm left behind. Business as usual.

Was he afraid of his own shadow? McCoy asked himself, even as Kirk had questioned him about Scotty. It had been three days since the Chief Engineer had regained full contact with reality, not veiled anymore by drugs, and had been released from Sick Bay, having previously rolled McCoy up the wall with his demands to be 'set free.'

Sick Bay. Something was in that thought. Maybe he should look up some records to lighten his worry. Surely, if something was really wrong, it would have shown? Jim certainly was a survivor, and Spock... Now that gave McCoy a pause. His curiosity stirred.

How did Spock justify this relationship to his Vulcan heritage? Friendship was certainly not a sin on Vulcan, but it was a relationship of a distinctly different kind. Not even McCoy's own friendship with Spock would have fitted into that sterile picture, and surely not his bond with Jim. Still, Spock was a logical man, as he was so fond of saying, and this was a point McCoy had to grant him for free. What logical reason did he have to allow this closeness? In McCoy's opinion, emotions of this nature required no justification, but then McCoy wasn't a Vulcan. If he knew anything about Spock, and he knew a great deal, Spock would require an explanation, preferably a rational one. Perhaps McCoy should ask him to share his rationalization with him, so that McCoy's conscience would choke to death, being unable to swallow that much cold and dispassionate logic in one gulp.

That was some idea. Better yet check those medical records first, just in case.

"Bones?"

He flinched as a hand was waved in front of his eyes.

"What?" he snapped unexpectedly, as Kirk's voice brought him out of his musings.

The Captain's eyebrows rose slightly at the curt response.

"Why, nothing, Doctor. It's just that I don't enjoy talking to a wall usually. Mind letting me in on the joke?"

"Sorry, Jim. You told a joke?"

Kirk was looking at him through narrowed eyes.

"Bones, are you stoned?"

McCoy blinked.

Kirk sighed, glancing at the chronometer.

"Look, I'm already late for Giotto, but maybe you can stop by my quarters later?"

"You have a conference call with Command," McCoy reminded him. "Uhura said—"

"Oh, yes. Damn. I'll probably be up all night sorting the mess they'd toss at me."

"That's one way of looking at it. What did you want to talk about, anyway?"

Kirk stood up, draining the last of his coffee.

"Well, you, actually," he said, looking at his friend somewhat warily. "You've been one awfully long face lately, Bones. Is everything all right?"

McCoy couldn't help but stare at him, the irony of the situation sinking its teeth in the roots of his self-control.

"Yes, Jim," he replied with a wry grin. "I didn't know you cared."

Kirk frowned.

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean, and I don't have the time right now, but I'll find some," he promised grimly. "Till then, Doctor."

McCoy shook his head, watching him leave. This was one nasty, jumbled, screwed up mess of a situation. And Spock had better not turn up in Sick Bay for yet another late night visit, or this was going to get even more nasty, jumbled and completely screwed.

He sighed, smiling at himself. Wasn't it ironic that, in the end, it was up to him and his ability to restrain his emotions to get them through all this safely and relatively sane? He thought it was ironic. But not very helpful, though. Not helpful at all.