Grayson's House, In the Dining Room
Spock's pov
Aunt Grace enters the house and it is suddenly filled with a new burst of energy. Despite being high summer, I am immediately reminded of winter holidays and the rush of relatives and activities. As always, Grace greets me with 'Spockie' and kisses me on the temple. This is the same gesture she makes to all the other nieces and nephews during holidays, her way of ensuring I am treated the same as the other Grayson's. I have pointed out the illogic of this to her before, as I am not the same as the others, but she merely laughs at this.
If Grace is light, Uhura is warmth. She unobtrusively follows Grace—Grace gregarious, kissing and greeting all those around—while Uhura in her natural elegance simply comes to stand quietly by my shoulder. Uhura bends and speaks quietly into my ear asking if I am all right and I nod, taking pleasure in her soft breath against my ear. I have only played five folk tunes for my father. Sarek could not resist correcting my fingering on three. I anticipated this, however, and resolved to accept his guidance without offense.
"What about 'Far From You'…?" Uhura suggests. It is a popular song we have practiced, but it is quite emotional in theme.
"Oh, do you know that one? I've heard it. It's good." Grace enthuses. She does not understand that Uhura intends to sing.
I dare a glance at my father, and he is thoroughly unreadable, which typically means he has reservations. He already took offense to a different song and I am wary of doing so again.
Uhura hums a little, then softly sings the refrain:
Though I fly the far-flung reaches
On the inner edge of time
Through the stars that rise
And the quasar's call
I am never far from you.
I give Sarek an admittedly uncertain look and with hooded eyes he gives me a slight nod. I begin the accompaniment. I have modified the arrangement to showcase her singing and the ka'athyra and her voice intertwine quite acceptably. My grandfather's clapping breaks the surprised silence at the end of the song, then Grace joins in. This type of response has occurred previously; evidently our proficiency is unexpected.
"Hear, hear. Do you have any more? Miss Uhura you have a lovely voice." Grandfather approves, his eyes examining her warmly.
"Thank you. I admit I've done a little cabaret singing on occasion to help pay my tuition."
I raise an eyebrow at her. She had not mentioned this to me. I am not sure I approve of it. She raises an eyebrow back at me. I do not challenge her.
In the other room the doctor continues to read a Roald Dahl novel to Selar. The afternoon light is beginning to angle through the windows: beams enter the house creating geometric patterns of light and shadow as they intersect the simple but elegant furnishings. I am reminded of other times spent here, including time my mother spent reading the very same book to me. I am further reminded that as much as I identify with the planet of my birth, a part of me is as intimately intertwined with this place, these faces.
"Where's Robbie?" Grace asks.
"He was in the hall upstairs playing board games with the rest of the children last I saw." Uhura replies. "T'Zel was with them."
The wall Comm buzzes and my grandfather goes to answer it. I hear the name Ernie and know he's talking to the neighbor. After a while he returns and speaks quietly with Sarek.
"They'd like to send an honor guard over, for you and Spock. Amanda, too. And for Vulcan."
My father's face draws slightly.
"I thought later would work. Dusk. When we use up the wood-fire permit and show the kids how to burn- I mean toast-marshmallows."
Sarek gives a slight nod, less approval than concession, and stands, one hand on his side over the monitor. He looks from me to Uhura then his gaze returns to me. "I require time for meditation."
As he exits the room he pauses beside Uhura, not turning toward her, and speaks in a tone meant only for her ears, "It is well you have come." He continues on his way.
My beloved looks at me, surprised, then a slight smile warms her eyes. She places a hand on my shoulder and the generosity of her love washes over me. What do I need? Only you beside me: calm, present, accepting. She stands so close that I am engulfed in her scent: sweet, spicy, exotic.
Grace glances over her shoulder into the kitchen. "Well, T'Zel's back in the kitchen; and we're going to work out a schedule for the kids. And Robert, I think that social worker's there with the papers we need to sign." Grace hints broadly, gesturing with her head toward the kitchen and the two of them exit together, my grandfather's arm around my great-aunt's shoulders.
T'Zel must be cooking again. Savory and familiar scents are beginning to waft again from the kitchen.
I invite Uhura to seat herself at the table and I go to the living room to put the harp away.
In the living room, McCoy has ceased to read although he continues the slow motion of the rocker. Selar is asleep against him, the doctor's arm around her. Nestled. The teddy is functioning as a pillow. Her dark curls spill over his arm.
On a chair nearby Savar discreetly monitors the situation, reading his way through a small pile of books he has collected from the shelves.
"Spock." The doctor whispers for my attention as I carefully wipe down the precious instrument before storage.
I silently raise an eyebrow at him, not wanting to wake the child.
"Sorry."
I raise an eyebrow higher, questioning.
"For calling you a green blooded hobgoblin."
I look down and snap the ka'athyra into its case as quietly as I can.
"I'm sorry. It was insubordinate and bordering on xenophobic. I was venting and only meant it in jest, but—"
I keep my voice low and speak without looking up. "I have received enough discriminatory perjoratives from Vulcans in my life-" I am revealing too much and stop, regroup. "Given that, I find the epithets applied to me by humans somewhat ironic."
"I won't use it again. My apologies, sir." He speaks too softly for a human to hear, clearly aware of my more sensitive hearing.
I glance over my shoulder at him and his sincerity is believable. No doubt it is more difficult to stereotype me here in my grandfather's house with family present. I face him as I rise. "Apology accepted."
I return to the dining room. T'Zel is retreating silently from the dining room as I enter and two cups of tea have been placed on the table, the one nearest Uhura with a pair of berry tarts on the saucer. Uhura's eyes follow her as she leaves, her face thoughtful.
"They're intentionally giving us time together, aren't they."
"Yes." I take her closest hand into mine, not quite able to voice how much I've missed her. I layer her hand between mine, small and cool and strong, then turn it palm up in my left hand and slowly draw a spiral in her palm with the fingertips of my right hand. I have no wish to squander the few remaining hours we have together this day discussing either work or the state of the Federation. I study her face, Byron's poem running through my mind: '…all that's best…meet in her aspect and her eyes…'
For a long moment we are silent together, and it sustains me.
I must ask her this: "You didn't return my messages for three days. I…have been most concerned that my actions on the bridge…"
Her face as I fled the bridge had been a study in human shock: horrified, afraid for me…afraid of me.
"No. That wasn't the reason." She studies my face, frowning, and it is most undesirable to be the cause of her unhappiness. "You said you were leaving the ship for New Vulcan. I thought you meant to leave me as well."
"I communicated no such intent."
"Your actions did."
"And actions speak louder than words?" This is a difference between how humans and Vulcan's think. I am aware of this difference in particular and should not have made this mistake.
She nods, tears filling her eyes, but she blinks them away and does not let them fall.
"I had no such intent, Nyota. I could not communicate to you that which I did not know: what would be required or where." I take both of her hands in mine. "I would not voluntarily add that loss to the rest." I add very gently, "Would it not be illogical to do so?"
She nods slightly, relieved, and her mouth soundlessly forms the words thank you.
Her hands tighten around mine. "It's still pretty intense for you, isn't it."
Her statement is imprecise, yet I find I can only give a slight nod in response.
"The Healer is coming back, right?"
Again I nod, but this time lean my forehead to hers to sense the lightest of telepathic links and allow the strength and light of her spirit to buoy me.
"The boat house is empty." She whispers softly, her eyes wide and searching my face, again offering both release and connection. Her hand presses against my chest and she shifts so that her lips just graze mine.
"I will not use you for my own comfort. And I could not bear to expose you to this pain, this grief, if my control were to slip." Or worse, fail.
"Let me be your refuge," she whispers. "What can I do to help you? To give you even a moment of hope?"
Hope, she says. Hope, not comfort. The Wreck of the Medusa wafts through my mind. I am adrift, wrecked. Nyota knows me well. Nyota, you are the beacon of hope on my horizon. Would I turn away? Would I choose to drown? Would it not be illogical to do so? Would my mother not tell me to chose life?
"It would be indiscreet." I whisper in response to her offer.
But I place my hand along side her face and she responds in kind. We mentally drift closer together into a place less than a mind meld, into a state that could be described as shared daydreaming. This is a softer place that does not challenge my emotional shields.
I open a panel near the front door to disable the boathouse security cameras and place my teacup on the shelf before the controls to indicate that I was the one who intentionally disabled them. This had been the protocol for Robbie's sake a few years back, before he'd married.
I turn back to Nyota letting need overwhelm all reason. "Quickly."
We nearly run, the slope quickening our speed. For a moment we collide together against the sun-heated whitewash of the boathouse, breathing quickly, eyes locked. Then I am fumbling for the key and again we are rushing, this time up the stairs. We face one another and I lift my hands, palm out with fingers slightly spread, waiting for my beloved to come to me.
And for a while, time becomes ours and ours alone.
The view and breezes from the small upstairs balcony prove stimulating in a way Rob had previously described and I had not genuinely appreciated.
We find later, at the base of the stairs, a laundry basket with towels, several containers of hot water and a few grooming supplies from my room. Tucked into a small basket on top are bottles of sparkling water and small containers of food.
"I see T'Zel is saving me from the walk of shame."
"There is no running water save the garden hose. You would find it quite brisk." She gives me a wicked look and I am sorely tempted to demonstrate just how cold before she can get to the hose first. Instead she changes direction and picks through the items in the basket.
"I can see why she's worked for your father for so long." Nyota opens a bottle of sparkling water as she sits on the steps then drinks deeply. "Can we trust her?"
"If you are asking if she will mention this to my father, of course she will. Will there be discussion past that? No. It is the way of my people."
I pull my hand from Nyota's face and she from mine, the daydream state fading quickly and the formal dining room reasserting itself around us. To calm myself I reach for and pick up the teacup and slowly sip from it. The tea is still warm. "You have a most detailed imagination, my Nyota."
She delicately eats one of the little tarts from her saucer. "Hmmm. Mm-hmm." She murmurs vaguely, picking up her teacup and giving me a most flirtatious look over its rim.
"I do not tolerate false promises." I say levelly, flirting in my own way.
"I know." And the corners of her lips tilt upwards, just a little.
A/N: TOS Spock associated Uhura with Byron's 'She Walks in Beauty Like the Night.' It's canon. The Wreck of the Medusa is one of hubby's favorite paintings.