A/N: The latter half of this chapter addresses the events of TOS Episode 3 Season 2, "The Changeling." This story continues to remain separate from my other story which deals with the same events. I was hesitant to do this again simply because I didn't want to repeat myself, but in the end I decided that I had to since it's one of the few episodes of the show where Uhura is part of the plot and not just an accessory. As I mentioned in the last A/N I have watched and re-watched the Changeling. So I noticed that Knowledge and Memory banks are referred to as two separate things and since the show makes no comment on Nyota's personal memories being taken or restored, for the purpose of this story, I will assume that they are intact and only her knowledge was wiped. How that would actually be possible, I have no idea, but this is sci-fi so I'm gonna go with it. Tell me if I pulled it off believably or if I totally missed the mark. I'm happy to hear ideas and critique. All Translations are taken from the Vulcan Language Dictionary. And for everyone I couldn't answer via PM, the song I had in mind while writing the duet in chapter 12 was "The Closer I Get to You," by Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway. Thanks for all your well wishes and support. Finals was kind of painless!
"No," Spock said softly, taking her wrist and sliding her hand from the left side of his chest to the right side of his abdomen. "My heart is here."
"Fascinating. And is it fluttering just for me?"
"That is not a flutter. I told you, my resting heart rate is 265 BPM."
She sighed and moved to sit astride him. "Can't you ever just go with it?"
"Go with what exactly?" His hands closed gently over her hips.
"With anything I say." She leaned forward, pressing her mouth to his. She thought she may have felt his lip twitch into the smallest smile, but she knew she must have imagined it. She wished that he would intermittently allow himself to submit to the giddiness she felt. But then, if he did, he wouldn't be Spock. And the response she was getting from him was much more affirming than any grin.
"I will concede," he offered when she pulled back, "that my heart rate may be elevated as a result of your…actions." His gaze slid over her slowly.
"Is that so?"
"Indeed."
"Then I better just keep at it until I get the flutter I'm looking for."
"Persistence is logical."
"Yeah, I bet it is."
She hadn't meant to say it; she didn't even have the presence of mind to say it in standard. Caught in a current of ecstasy, she chanted "nakupenda" over and over again like an incantation until they both found transcendence. And he didn't have to speak Swahili to know its meaning. It ran through him as thick and hot as his own blood.
Later, he lay beside her, half asleep, or maybe in a light meditative state. Either way, the fact that he allowed her to see him as anything other than fully alert was humbling. She could sense his contentment and tranquility, her own bliss serving as a counterpart. She traced constellations across his chest, but he didn't seem to mind, since he didn't bother moving.
"Ophiuchus." He mumbled, correctly naming the pattern she'd been making. She just smiled, rolled her eyes and shook her head. Only Spock.
"I um…I meant what I said—that I love you. I don't want you to think it's just a heat of the moment kind of thing. I do love you." He was about to stir, but she stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. "I don't need you to say it back. You don't have to say anything. I just want you to have all the facts."
"Duly noted. And since you have made me aware of all the facts, it is only logical that I do the same. You are very important to me, Nyota."
"Acknowledged, Commander. Did I uh…did I get your heart to flutter?"
"Perhaps once or twice," he admitted, settling her closer. She resumed her star mapping and he named them until they drifted off to sleep together.
Numb. Deprived of feeling by shock. Which was a surprisingly accurate description of how Spock felt as he looked at the duty roster and saw Uhura's name but looked at her station to find it being manned by one of her subordinates. The bridge was quiet now. One of the few kinds of quiet that actual unsettled him. It was an empty sort that he thought should have been filled with her soft humming.
The subordinate, Ensign Moon was talking to the captain and he overheard, even as he tried not to.
"I just feel bad, Captain. I've been waiting, you know, to get on the bridge. But not like this, I didn't want the Lieutenant to get hurt."
"Moon, none of this is your fault. And the Doctor says the Uhura will be back on the job in about a week."
"I still think I wanted it too bad."
"She was the one who put your name on the schedule as her relief. Granted, she probably wasn't thinking it would happen this way, but your chief trusts you. So that means I'm counting on you to get the work done according to her standard. Can you do that?"
"Yes, Sir." The woman replied in a small, unconvincing voice. Nyota and Spock had quite a few discussions about Ensign Moon. She was fond of her, eager to mentor her. There were so many things she could teach her. Or rather things she could have taught her. Now Uhura herself was in sick bay relearning at the high school level.
When they led her off the bridge, her face had been blank, her eyes vacant. And yet as she passed him, they locked gazes and he knew she recognized him, that there were probably thousands of sentiments that she wanted to express, but she no longer had the words to do so. Personally, he was unaccustomed to helplessness, and it was not a welcome sensation. But he was nearly drowning in it when he weakly told Nomad that the "unit" he'd just disabled was a woman.
For the first time in a while, he did not stay past his shift, but was on the turbo lift the moment it ended. He went directly to sickbay and found her at one of the lab computers, staring at an issue of her favorite trade journal, Hail Magazine. In fact, she was a regular contributor.
There was no one else in the immediate vicinity, so he allowed himself the use of her first name. "Nyota, I have come." She turned slowly, her eyes red and rimmed with dark circles, her makeup washed away—no doubt by tears that had been shed some time earlier.
"Spock," she greeted, almost inaudibly. "I wrote this article." Her head bobbed to the monitor.
"I am aware. I proof read it for you. It is innovative and informed. The publisher has forwarded you many correspondences from readers saying as much."
He heard her swallow and take in a breath that rattled like wind moving through trees. "I…" she shook her head and narrowed her eyes, before flashing a smile that had no vitality to it. "I don't—I can't understand it anymore. I even pushed the translate button, made it Swahili, and it still doesn't make sense. It's a lot of jargon and techno babble. But I wrote it."
He had no response. Her work was foremost in her life. That's what made her a superior officer, that along with a deft hand and swift ear. He still wasn't sure what they would do about all the things that she'd learned from experience, her internships off planet and at Spacedock, her earlier missions.
"I just finished my senior year, which is nice."
"Admirable, especially considering you didn't know how to speak English this morning."
She snorted and put the monitor to sleep. "I'm going to ask the doctor if he needs to keep me over night. I really don't want to stay. This gown is short and drafty, and the bed isn't as comfortable as mine."
"I will escort you back to your quarters should you be released."
"Thanks."
He offered her his first two fingers and she looked at them with her head dropped to one side, bewildered. He took her hand, folded down her other digits and locked the gesture. "The ozh'esta or finger embrace. The only acceptable public display of affection for my people."
"It's strange," she began without moving. "I remember…doing this with you, but I didn't know what it was. How can I be remembering without knowing?"
"A most curious phenomenon that deserves further scientific study."
She snatched her hand away. "I'm going to pretend like you didn't just suggest that I be studied like some kind of test subject."
"I did not intend—Nomad was a fascinating device but it was destroyed before we could collect any concrete data from it. I simply believe that it would be regrettable if we were to learn nothing from this experience."
"Thanks to this experience, I'm learning everything from scratch! And I have to deal with a well-meaning medical staff that comes in every hour and treats me like a child, because I know as much as a child! And you want to what, observe me so that all is not lost from a scientific standpoint?"
"Nyota…could it be that you are channeling your frustrations about your current situation into your interactions with me simply because I am here and because we have an intimate relationship?"
"You think I'm lashing out?" He nodded curtly. "Okay. Maybe. But do you hear yourself when you talk? I don't want to be studied, Spock, and I don't want my condition studied. I want it gone. I want to be myself again. I want to go to work tomorrow, not next week."
"To attempt a full four year academy education in a week is ambitious."
"Spock," her tone was measured in a way he recognized, like she was forcing herself not to scream. "I completed twelve years of formal education in a day—and in a second language no less. Do not…just—I'm going to go talk to the doctor."
"Very well."
She disappeared into a smaller room—the CMO's office—and came back looked annoyed, but not disappointed. "I have to submit to another round of brain scans before he can let me go. It'll be about another hour before he discharges me."
"I can wait."
"Thank you. Who's at my station?"
"Ensign Moon. She performed worthily."
"Excellent. I quite literally couldn't have done better myself."
Never had silence between them been as uncomfortable as it was just then. She was sitting in a chair, swinging her legs, picking at her nail polish. And he sat propped against a desk, totally at a loss as to what to say or do next.
"Teach me another Vulcan word," she requested after some time.
He quickly searched his mind for an appropriate term. "Ralash-tanaf. Music."
"Raylash-tanif."
"Ralash-tanaf." He repeated more slowly.
"Ralash-tanaf."
"Good. Ralash-tanafsu. Musician."
"Ralash-tanafsu."
"Yes. Yel-hali. Starship."
"Yel-hali?"
He went on teaching her whatever words came to him, mostly pointing out items in the room. Her pronunciation had suffered, but she had been conversational before and she could be again. Finally he looked at her, the way her eyes were alight again, and a very particular turn of phrase presented itself. "k'hat'n'dlawa."
"That's too hard. I'll never say that right. What does it mean?"
"Half of the other's heart or soul. It is an antiquated term, but occasionally it finds modern application. K'diwa is an abbreviation and is used more often. It translates to…beloved."
"K'diwa? It that you say it?"
"Yes, K'diwa, it is."
She smiled and leaned forward, about to kiss him, but he heard Bones' approaching footsteps and sat back.
"Alright, Uhura. One more round of tests and I won't bother you for another seven light days."
"Alright, Doctor."
"Spock? What are you doing in here?"
"I've come to escort Miss Uhura back to her quarters." He eyed him suspiciously but said no more, leading Nyota into one of the sterile exam rooms.
She came back out into the main area of the sickbay wearing her uniform. She gave him a mirthless smile and started out the door, her arms folded across her chest. "It feels like a joke, wearing this." She admitted once they got into the elevator. "This is an officer's uniform."
"You are an officer."
"There are freshmen at the academy who know more about working on a starship than I do right now."
"Right now. But eventually you will be returned to full productivity."
"Here's hoping."
"Nyota, might I suggest a more positive attitude? You are exhibiting signs of bitterness. I do not believe this will in any way aid in your recovery."
"I'm trying. I really am. But I'm angry. I feel robbed and violated and just plain stupid. I am literally the least educated person on the ship right now, and it's killing me." They stopped at her door and he waited before realizing that her access code was probably another bit of information that the probe had wiped. She watched as he put in the PIN. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
She sighed and took in the contents of the space. Her knowledge of African art was most likely gone, which would render many of her pieces meaningless. He would tell her everything she'd taught him about the subject later, after she'd gotten sufficient rest.
"These weren't here earlier," she commented as she spotted a vase full of brightly colored flowers. "They're from Sulu and the crew." He read the card over her shoulder, naturally curious.
Every flower has a meaning, Uhura. This bouquet of mixed zinnias means that we are thinking of you, our absent friend. Can't wait to have you back. Speedy and thorough recovery.
Love Enterprise, Your Space Family.
It was then signed by the bridge officers, Captain Kirk's signature being the largest.
"A paper card and everything. That's beautiful." She touched the flowers, barely grazing the petals as she bent down to sniff them. "I'm going to put this in my chest." She waved the handwritten missive and crossed the room, kneeling before the heavy wooden box, opening the lid. But as soon as she saw inside, she sat the paper aside and reached in and pulled out an engraved wooden box. "This is mine." She whispered. "It's an…instrument, isn't it?"
"It is a Ka'athyra, a Vulcan harp."
"You bought this for me. I remember that." She freed it from the case, almost franticly and placed it on her knee. "I can play this." She ran her hand across the strings. It was still perfectly tuned and made a very generic strumming sound. She looked encouraged nonetheless.
Then she tried to move her fingers into a more specific position but they stalled in the air, just above the lyre. "I—I can play this," she stammered, choking down the tears in her voice. She struck a few notes and they rang discordantly in the air. "No." She glanced over her shoulder looking toward him, but not at him. "This is mine. You—you had this made for me on a whole other planet. I have to be able to play this."
He paced the distance between them. "Nyota, Nomad's scan…"
"Don't talk to me about that damn machine! This is my harp, my ka'athyra, and I have to be able to play it."
"You can be reeducated. I can teach you again."
"No." She sobbed. "It can't have taken this too."
"You will be proficient again." Her eyes were shut so tightly that her eyelids were crinkling and she was making whimpering noises, crumpling around the body of the lyre. He took her arm and helped her stand.
"I'm—I'm sorry. I learned that—that Vulcans aren't comfortable with emotions. You must want to leave."
"On the contrary, K'diwa. The cause is sufficient." He pried it from her as gently as he could and placed it back in its container. He put that and the card in the chest and sat her on the bed.
"If I don't know the things I used to know, the things that were important to me, then who am I?"
"You are the same. Information can be restored, similar to how a computer can be reprogramed. You are not obsolete, nor broken beyond repair. You have many people who are ready and willing to help you. Please, embrace this process."
"I love you." She dragged her hand over her sodden cheeks before touching her mouth softly to his.
"Duly noted."