(This is currently 107 pages, single spaced on Microsoft Word. The most I have ever written for anything. Ever. Wow. Okay, excessive pride is over.)
As you can tell from the title of the chapter, this deals with Vulcan mind melds. I took a few more artistic liberties and wrote Spock's insight with a sort of poetic flair. I think thoughts are always much more poetic and lyrical before they are finally formalized into words. Without any restraints during a mind meld, I think Spock would have a few more liberties with his speech. Anyway, I had so much fun writing these mind meld scenes. I nearly cried writing them, I literally had tears in my eyes. Please, please let me know what you thought of them. Their style is lyrical and more dance-like than informative. I hope you get the same, heart-felt sensation as I did.
Disclaimer: I own a suitcase full of clothes, but not Star Trek.
His bloodstained tank top was soaking wet and sitting in his sink. Chekov had tried to wash the blood from it, but deep red never fully disappears from white fabric. It was his own fault though, he figured. He was the one who decided to use his tank as a make-shift bandage after he left the gym to head back to his dorm.
The shower had been steaming hot as he tried to relax in the cramped capsule. But the anger he had felt from his argument with Spock had not fully dissipated. But the sweaty stench and some of the tension disappeared under the beat of the hot water and he decided that was as close as he was going to get.
When he stepped out of the steam-filled shower capsule, he tossed the soaked shirt to dry in the sink and threw on a fresh pair of sweatpants before collapsing onto his bed. He groaned as his sore back made contact with the firm mattress while sliding his left arm under the back of his head.
The ceiling stared back at him as blank and solid as Spock's face and Chekov shut his eyes to block off the image. The stress of the day and the inevitable tiredness associated with working on a starship finally caught up with him and he could feel his consciousness drifting away as his breathing slowed and his body achieved perceived weightlessness.
Half-formed thoughts and ideas were materializing in his mind, images of colorful dreams, when he heard a knock at his door.
Opening his tired eyes, he checked the clock next to him to see that it was a few minutes past the end of Nyota's shift.
"Come in," he called to her without rising from his bed. She entered with a bright grin that dropped from her face when she saw his haggard form on the bed.
"Everything okay?" she asked with deep concern. Nyota quickly padded across the room in her shiny boots until she sat on the side of his bed, facing him and trailing her fingers lightly along his fine hairline..
"Tired. My arm is killing me from the gym," he mumbled, nuzzling his cheek against her smooth knee that was conveniently located next to his face. She giggled softly at his administrations and moved her hand to the arm not trapped under his head. She pressed lightly against the aching muscles, gentling relieving some of the tightness.
Her smiling face and kind gestures were killing him on the inside and he knew that he needed to tell her what happened between Spock and himself at the gym. As he considered the best way to break the news to her, her dancing fingers pressed their way down his pliable flesh until they circled around the thin skin of his wrist. Bringing the wrist closer to her mouth, Nyota pressed her lips against his pulse in a sweet gesture.
His conflicted expression must have confused her because her maple eyes lost some of their happy glow as she looked at his face.
"What's wrong?" she whispered, tightening her hold on his wrist, silently urging him to answer her.
Chekov took a deep breath and opened his mouth for a moment, but no sound was uttered. He was unsure of how to begin verbally and instead twisted the arm she held until his battered knuckles faced in her direction.
"What did you do?" she breathed as she examined the minor cuts. She eyed the bruises that were quickly forming on his snowy skin.
"Spock came in," Chekov started slowly, avoiding her eyes.
"You hit him?!" she shrieked in shock and anger. Her tone caused him to wince, forced him to face her and stare into her blazing eyes.
"No!" he stressed, shifting his arm so that it reached the side of her waist and his hand squeezed the toned muscle under her dress. "No, nothing like that," he reassured her, applying pressure through each of his fingers until he watched her expression calm down. Soon, the anger on her face was replaced with a wary look.
"Ve argued, but I newer hit him. He didn't hit me either. We just… talked," he finished for lack of anything better to say.
She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms across her chest with a flare of attitude. "Talked?"
"Well, I yelled at him," he explained hesitantly. Her expression did not change and her arms did not lower. An image of Spock's imperial stance flashed across his mind, causing Chekov's blood to boil for a moment. "And he just stood there, quiet and blank and…" He trailed off, trying to search for the right word to describe the stony man.
"Vulcan," Nyota whispered in understanding. Her expression softened and her arms uncrossed to lie restlessly in her lap.
"Da," Chekov nodded. His shower-damp curls brushed against the tops of his ears. "I hated it."
He removed his left arm from under his head and tried to ignore the stiffness of the joint when he rotated his shoulder to lean back on his elbow. In this raised position, he was even closer to Nyota and could see every separate lash fringed around her oval eyes.
"How could you stand it?" he asked in near exasperation, referring to her past relationship with Spock.
She stared at him for a long moment, her head leaning to the side. Her eyebrows drew together in a thoughtful stare. After a few moments of flickering eyes and drawing her plump lip between her incisors, she gave a half-hearted smile and shrugged. Leaning down on her forearm, she twirled her body around on the mattress, using her free arm to push against his side until he moved over to give her half of the tiny bed.
Chekov slumped onto his pillow as Nyota held herself flush against his heated body. Wrapping his sore arm around her narrow shoulders felt perfectly natural and she snuggled closer against his rib cage. One dark hand laid flat against his bare chest, her fingers spread-eagle against his slight muscles.
"What did you fight about?" she mumbled. Her lips inadvertently brushed against the sensitive skin beside his pectorals and her hot breath pressed against the flesh in a wonderfully comfortable way.
"You," he answered, unsure of how to sum up the entire confrontation he had had with Spock.
At his words, Nyota pressed firmly against his chest to lift herself up, leaning over him with an indignant look across her graceful features.
"I'm not some prize to be won," she informed him with a feminist bite to her words. She pursed her lips for a moment and he reached out a hand to cup her cheek.
"I know, I know," he promised as he pressed his hand to the warmth of her face, his palm bend against the curve of her cheekbone.
Believing his sincere tone, she stared hard at him for a fleeting moment before sighing and returning to her previous position against his side. His arm found its way around her shoulders once more and lazily traced his fingers up and down her spine.
"You didn't hit him?" she repeated, turning her head towards his to look into his eyes as she asked for reassurance.
"I vanted to," he admitted darkly. His hand halted its trail down her back and his fingers formed a tight fist as his frustration was brought back to the surface as he remembered his anger towards Spock.
"But you didn't?" she pressed. She tapped her purple coated nails against his chest to calm him down and goose bumps erupted across his flesh.
"No, of course not," he confirmed with a shake of his head that brushed his curls against her forehead. He watched as she shut her eyes against the assault of brown hair that came too close to her vision.
"I finally got you in bed," he teased gently, leaning down slightly to touch his forehead against hers. "You think I vould mess things up now?"
She stared at him, her eyes unfocused due to his closeness before she pulled away slightly to chuckle quietly into his shoulder.
"You always make me laugh," she said against the firm skin of his upper arm.
"I alvays try to," he answered softly, turning his head a few degrees to place a kiss on the crown of her head. She moved closer to him in response and placed her head on the junction between his neck and shoulder.
"I wish you hadn't yelled at him," Nyota confessed as her purple fingertips rotated in small circles, swirling down to his abdomen.
"He hurt you," Chekov said in his defense. He watched her hand idly as she fingered the light trail of hair located on his stomach. "He wants to be with you again, you know," he continued, eyeing her to judge her reaction.
"Too bad for him," she said with the best shrug she could muster given her horizontal position. Chekov tightened his grip around her at her words as an ecstatic grin decorated his face.
"Are you mad at me?" he whispered. He was fairly certain that she was not angered by his actions, but he wanted to hear her reassurance to know for sure how she felt right then.
"No," she shook her head on his shoulder and the tip of her nose rested against his clavicle. "I wish you hadn't, but I understand why you did."
They laid in relative silence for a several minutes, listening only to the gentle sound of each other's breathing.
"Do you want to go to dinner?" she asked across the quiet space between them with slight curiosity.
"Nyet," he denied, as he struggled to keep his heavy eyelids open. "I am wery tired. You can go to dinner if you vant though. I do not vant to keep you here if you're hungry."
"Trying to get rid of me?" she joked. He shook his head sleepily, finally allowing his eyes to slide shut. "Do you want me to stay for a while longer?"
"I vould like that wery much," he muttered as coherently as he possibly could as the thick slumber crept through his mind and body.
She said nothing in response, but lifted her head momentarily to place a chaste kiss to his lips. He barely had time to respond to her touch before she lowered her head back to his shoulder. He breathed in her spicy scent as she curled up even closer beside him, draping a long, toned, and booted leg across his own sweatpants-clad legs. His last thought before finally succumbing to the whirls of sleep dancing in his mind were that he wished he wore shorts instead to feel as much of her skin on his as possible.
--
Uhura was almost amused by how quickly Pavel fell asleep. Though tired herself, she knew that if she napped now, she would throw off her sleep schedule and have trouble sleeping that night and thus would not be rested enough for her early morning shift the next day. If she stayed next to him for much longer, she would fall victim to the sandman and lose herself to pastel-imaged dreams and warm, Pavel-comfort.
With open eyes and semi-alert senses, she waited until his breathing reached that rhythmic exhalation that assured her that he was fast asleep. Cautiously, so that she would not wake him, she moved his arm from off of her shoulders and her leg from across his knees. Pressing against the mattress, she lifted herself to a sitting position next to his slumbered form.
Despite her knowledge that she could not stay and nap with Pavel, she could not bring herself to leave right away. She lingered for a few moments, watching his peaceful body relax against the mattress. Bringing a hesitant finger to his face, she traced the contours of his countenance, feeling the slope and dip of his cheekbones, the subtle curve of his forehead. Uhura always considered herself a romantic for details and gazed upon his beautiful face as her fingertip memorized the feel of his skin beneath hers.
His lips puckered slightly as she mapped out the expanse of smooth, white skin. She ran her finger down the length of his nose and smiled as she ran a thumb along the firm line of his jaw. He was much more delicate-looking than most of the crewmembers on the Enterprise and his angelic beauty pulled at her heart, caused her to care for him even more.
She allowed her eyes to drift lower to his wiry neck and protruding clavicle. This was not the first time Uhura had seem him shirtless, but it was the first time she could look without feeling abashed by her concentrated attentions. Though she knew he was by no means weak, she was still somewhat surprised to see how fit he was. Through their years of friendship and their recent development of a relationship, she had felt the light tension through his shirts whenever they hugged. But without any fabric marring her vision, she could see his anatomy for what it was. His biceps rounded slightly and his chest was not so much chiseled as it was precisely molded into a blend of pale flesh and lean muscle.
Her purple fingertips grazed along the long plane of skin, feeling his trail of hair before briefly touching the well-worn fabric band of his sweatpants. Her hand rested over his bellybutton, her pinky finger lying atop the waistband. She leaned in to kiss the corner of his face just above his eye. The curls were nearly dry from his shower, but she could still smell the fresh, soapy scent of his shampoo. Her fingers padded a few stray hairs and she looked at how the light reflected almost golden off of his light brown curls.
Before she lost her willpower, she pulled herself away from his peaceful form and edged off of his bed. She felt her heart swell with care as he shifted slightly on the bed, unconsciously sensing the loss of her warmth.
Nyota blew him a kiss, turned out the lights, and slipped away through his door.
"Enter."
She did not wait for him to finish responding to her knock when she was already plugging in the entrance code to his room. The door slid open and she was immediately met with the strong, overwhelming scent of sandalwood incense and a sudden heated temperature. Her heels, so loud and sharp against the cold tiles of the hallway, were muted to a dull silence against the thin carpet
"Nyota," said an even voice from the corner of the small room. She turned to face the direction of the voice and saw Spock watching her with a single raised eyebrow.
"Hello, Spock," she greeted, standing awkwardly as he continued to sit in his meditative position on the small green pillow she had given him for Christmas while she was still his teacher's assistant at the academy. At the time, he had deemed it illogical, but given the current circumstances, he clearly appreciated it.
"Am I correct in assuming that the nature of your arrival is due to the conflict Chekov and I shared earlier this evening?" he asked without batting an eyelash.
"Yes," Uhura affirmed. She wondered if he had been expecting her presence since he left the gym.
"And I assume you feel it is of your concern due to your romantic attachment to the ensign and to your previous romantic attachment to myself?"
Spock rose from his spot on the floor using on the strong muscles of his long legs. In one swift movement, he was entirely vertical and standing only a few feet away from her.
"Yes," she repeated. She avoided his intense stare and fixated her eyes on the science insignia located on the Starfleet emblem on his uniform.
Spock did not respond to her answer and only continued to watch her. His eyes focused on her in a cool, calculating manner that she once loved. Feeling exposed under his analytical stare, she continued speaking in a firm tone that contradicted her nervous disposition.
"He shouldn't have argued with you."
"Indeed not," Spock agreed. Something flickered in his dark eyes and Uhura was gripped with the sensation that Spock believed she had entered his quarters for alternative reasons. Her mouth parted in slight surprise and she sat down on the edge of his perfectly made bed, patting the corner next to her. He followed her gesture and seated himself beside her. His pose was strict as ever, but she noted that he kept his knees away from her. She briefly remembered moments in his office before their relationship was official when the only indication that he cared for her was the slight pressure of his knee against hers when they graded papers together.
"Spock, you had your chance with me," Uhura said quietly, inwardly dispelling her memories from her mind.
Years of studying Vulcans and years of loving Spock had lead her to be acutely aware of the minute changes and subtle shifts in body language that indicated a Vulcan's true emotions under their supposedly stoic state. The corners of Spock's mouth lowered the smallest degree and his spine seemed to shrink under her sympathetic eyes. The hidden light in his eyes that she used to cherish seemed to extinguish at her words.
There once was a time when I would have done anything to bring that light to the surface, she thought to herself as her chest tightened.
When Spock finally spoke, it was with no emotion, no catch, and no indication that they were discussing anything more than simple protocol.
"By your tone, I conclude that there will be no second chance," he said as his face fell back into its smooth, carefully executed expression.
"Did you really expect me to wait for you?" she asked, the words burning at her throat, itching to be scattered in the air.
There was a pause and she gave him a stern look that warned him to be honest with her, even if it meant betraying his purely logical state of mind.
"No," he finally said, his voice lowering as his eyes shut for an instant before he looked back to her. "But I hoped you would."
The emotion was limited, but it was there. It was as present as anything physical around the room. The words rumbled through his body, coming deep from within his chest. Though he spoke quietly into the room, his words seemed to echo and rebound against the walls around him, striking Uhura from every angle.
"I am with Pavel now," she insisted. She tightly grasped her hands in her lap to restrain herself from holding his hand in sympathy. Uhura knew him to be unfamiliar with human emphatic tactics and she did not want to confuse him. "Your return will not affect my relationship with him."
"I understand," he said in a tone that reassured her that he was being completely honest with her. Then Spock hesitated for a fraction longer than he normally would have and Uhura continued to sit on his bed as she waited for him to continue.
"Before you leave," he started slowly as though he were quickly mapping out various equations in his impressive mind, "may I show you something?"
If Spock were any other man in the world, Uhura would not have trusted him. But she knew Spock better than nearly anyone else and knew without a doubt that Spock meant no harm to her.
"Yes," she agreed with a tender smile. She gently rearranged her body to face him more easily as he also faced her more directly.
His hands, so steady and sure, reached across the small space between them. His elegant fingers placed themselves strategically on the soft planes of her face. The thick warmth of the room increased as a hazy sensation overtook her body. She lost all sense of her body, of her surroundings. Dimly aware of his deep voice speaking a mantra so well known to her, she felt her eyes shut and block her vision of the man in front of her.
…moonlight against brown skin, gleaming against rain slicked hair…pale hand spidered against the small of her back..."tell me what you need"…taste of strawberry ice cream lingering in her mouth as she pressed her lips to his in the sanctity of his room…fear for her safety collected in his chest as he beamed to Narada…remorse at her frustrations when he denied his emotions for her in the empty classroom..."I must go to New Vulcan"…her moist eyes as she nodded in understanding…
Flashes of memories ran too quickly for her to recognize anything but a flash of her hair or a glimpse of his fingers curled around her hand. Between each flickering image was a sudden horizon she recognized as New Vulcan.
"Sometime during my stay on New Vulcan, I found myself to be terribly and irrevocably lost." His voice ghosted across their connection to fill her in a mist of memories.
…hatred for the Vulcans…indignation at their prejudice thoughts…crippling sorrow for his mother's lost understanding…her annoyed expression as he contacted her on the monitor…apathetic stare of his father…an older self she could not fathom…her red uniform…Chapel braiding her hair…she smiled at Chekov across the room, unaware of any observers…Chekov stared at her during lunch, looking away only when catching Spock's eye…a Vulcan woman shaking her head no, the barest hint of disgust..."It is truly remarkable, Spock, that you have achieved so much. Despite your disadvantage."
"I will always feel as though I walked in too slowly and walked out too late."
…his room, she lay on his bed, her hair fanned out beneath her, he leaned over her body, "I should not feel this way for you. It is a mistake," "It's okay to make mistakes. You can always put the puzzle back together," her eyes bright, sunlight streaming through the window, her love spilling out to him, his chest constrained as he tried to show her, show her his love, his care, his appreciation…
"Happy. You made me so happy. Finally, finally."
Everything, attacking from every angle, hurt, love, comfort, need, aching and aching. An assault of too… much…
"Spock! Stop!" she yelled, cutting across the flashes of red and blue fabric entwining. Her vision lost its fuzzy edges as she forcefully opened her eyes and drank in the sudden, welcome image of Spock and his quarters and his white walls.
Uhura pulled away but could not find the strength in her shaking legs to lift herself from the bed. Instead, she gripped the edge of the bed as though she were about to fall off the edge of the world. Her eyes rapidly flashed around the room, hungrily savoring the fact that the room was real and the disjointed images had vanished from her sight. Breathing in and out too quickly, her heart pounded like it wanted to run away and seek refuge elsewhere.
"You are crying," he observed quietly. Spock reached out to her face to wipe away the tears, but the familiar movement made her recoil violently. His outstretched hand froze in midair like a ghost before he retracted his appendage.
"Emotional transference," she choked out, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. She swallowed countless times until her throat hurt from repetitive usage.
Warily, he placed a heavy, heated hand in the curve of her back as she bent over to face the floor. His presence felt distant and she knew he was holding back from any other visual or emotional transfer. But his radiating heat succeeded in calming her down just as it always had and the urge to vomit vanished as she slowly caught her breath.
Her eyes were still wet with unshed tears, but she felt much more composed when she finally faced Spock again. He looked expectantly at her and there was an undertone of genuine love that she could not deny.
"Can we mind meld again?" she asked, exhaling a shaky breath.
Spock's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his black fringe as he gave her a questioning look. She could practically see his thoughts as they raced through his mind and she knew he found her request to be illogical as the results would be just as emotional and overpowering.
"Is there something you wish to show me?" he questioned, moving forward, bringing his marble features closer to her vision.
"Yes," she affirmed, sounding much stronger than she felt. "How do I direct the meld?"
"I will give you the mental prowess necessary," he informed her.
Bracing herself against his touch, she felt more prepared for the connection that formed between them once more and all the sensations associated with it. She could sense an indefinable shift and suddenly felt very much in power of how to control her thoughts.
"Just concentrate on what you want to show me," Spock's voice trailed away as Uhura took over.
…excited Russian language heard down the hall before she even saw him…her lips along the secret patch of skin behind his rounded ear…"I von't let anyone hurt you again."…endless laughter while lying on the Academy campus…his lips brushing impossibly slow against her neck…metallic nails lost in masses of curls…a shared grin across the Bridge…soap, shampoo scent..."I care for you."…homemade brownies…thin arm around her shoulder…his smiling face shining in the audience as she sang her solo on the Starfleet stage…his concerned eyes…obscured vision as she cried into his shoulder…autumn breeze in faded daybreak as they walked across the grass…broken English introductions…stubble on his angled cheek tickling her neck as he nuzzled into her...
"I will not be defined by who I am with. I am my own person. I make my own decisions, Spock."
…warmth…devotion…compassion…laughter…protection…love…
"I've dreamed so much for him and me. For us."
…Pavel closer and closer, soft lips, quiet laughter caught in his throat as he kissed her off-guard in a hallway…his kiss, his touch, his kiss…
The last image lingered in her mind and she could feel Pavel's tenderness as though he were with her at that moment. She barely noticed as Spock's hands fell away, but the emotional impact was so much more peaceful and calming for her. When she opened her eyes, the Vulcan stared at her with a most peculiar expression on his face. For a brief moment, she looked onto his expression without any trace of his typical mask present. His emotion was raw, expressive, contorting until he slid back into relative blankness.
"You should go, Lieutenant Uhura," he said crisply, standing abruptly from the bed.
Uhura stood up much in a more languid fashion with more grace. For the first time, she willingly touched Spock. She placed her hands directly atop his shoulders and forced him to look at her.
"You can still call me Nyota," she told him with genuine care. "When I gave you permission to use my name, we were friends."
"You wish to retain a platonic relationship with me?" he asked with a touch of surprise laced in his words.
"Yes, Spock. Let's keep things as friends." She tapped her fingers softly against the blue fabric of his shirt and smiled ironically at him. "Funny how serious things get."
If he caught the irony, he did not show it. Instead, he drifted his hands upwards towards hers until he grasped her lightly around the wrists. He brought her wrists together under his chin and, still holding them, placed his chin against her knuckles in a rare moment of compassion.
She assumed the repercussions of the mind melds had affected him into acting with more humanity that she had seen since Vulcan's destruction and the loss of his mother.
"I did not mean to make you cry," he said calmly, though his eyes sought out hers for her acceptance.
"I forgive you," she promised, pulling her hands away from his hold. Uhura spared him a final smile before turning and heading towards the door.
It slid open and the coolness from the hallway felt as refreshing as a breeze. She rotated her head slightly to the side to quietly wish him farewell.
"Good night, Spock."
"Good bye, Nyota."
Oh, I hope you had as much fun reading that as I had writing it. Uhura is fierce and compassionate. I love her so much.
This story was originally only supposed to be eleven chapters long and right now, I think there will be thirteen total (The next one is the last one!). So one last chapter and I hope to get it out soon. Now please don't get mad at me, but I am not sure when I will get the next chapter posted. It takes me about a day or two to write a chapter and I am leaving for vacation in Boston on Saturday with my family. I love you guys and I love writing, but I am not going to spend my entire vacation writing. I will write as much as I can tomorrow and I will (hopefully) write during the six hour car ride. If everything goes as planned, I will be able to update on Saturday or Sunday. But if that does not work out, please understand.
(Sidenote: Is anyone on livejournal? If so, you should friend me. The link is on my penname profile. Also, if anyone is on livejournal, do you know about a Chekov_Uhura community? Yes? No? If not, I might create one.)
