A/N: And, slowly but surely, everyone moves toward the Enterprise. Soon enough Uhura is going to have to talk to someone human about all this.
Updates will probably be a bit slower than they have been, but I'll try to get one out every few days or so. RL and another prompt are eating up a little more of my time than they were.
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A week passed, and then two. With Nyota's blessing Spock returned to work, and Nyota herself resumed her studies with private tutors--as yet she still wasn't ready to face classes with other cadets. He took the fact that she wanted to continue her education as a good sign, though, and helped her himself in the evenings.
The other five dropped by whenever they got a spare moment, which in Jim's case was not often--he was, Spock knew, very busy organizing replacements for the crew that had been lost on the Narada. He was always cheerful when he did drop in, though, bearing news or alcohol or both.
Doctor McCoy was no less busy, but every other day he insisted on checking the progress of Spock's arm--an illogical need, Spock thought, since even Vulcan bones healed little faster than human. It finally--quite belatedly--occurred to him that the doctor was simply using it as an excuse to visit, which was even more illogical. One did not need an excuse to call on one's friends, but the ways of the irascible Doctor McCoy were proving quite unfathomable.
Chekov and Sulu certainly needed no excuses--it was they who brought news from the Academy itself, news that Spock, being an instructor, was not likely to hear. Chekov was also giving Nyota what humans referred to as a 'crash course' in Russian; as her study had largely consisted of alien languages, she actually spoke very few Terran dialects. His method of teaching largely consisted of chattering at her until she picked up what he was saying--which she did quite rapidly to his surprise, though not to Spock's. Sulu promised to do the same for Japanese, once he had a chance.
Each night she would curl up beside Spock, and sleep more or less normally--but, though he maintained his shield on their bond when they slept, he knew she was subject to some horrible nightmares. What seemed like every other night she would wake with a jerk, and either touch his face or smell his skin--assuring herself, presumably, that he was himself and not Nero. Given the comparable body heat of Vulcans and Romulans, he could understand why he would do so, but the fact that Nero had given her any need to angered him.
She had a habit of sniffing him even when awake, a habit whose genesis he could only guess, and he wasn't about to ask. Nyota was possessed of a very keen sense of smell--she was very choosy about her shampoos and things because of it--and he could only surmise she was having difficulty shaking off the memory of Nero's scent. She had, unfortunately, spent enough time in very close proximity to him to have its memory burned into her mind. So Spock took care to wear her favorite aftershave, to have his clothes laundered with a particular detergent, and often burned incense to ensure his rooms reminded her she was home. And, little by little, slowly but surely, it seemed to be working. She no longer jumped at small noises; she would take walks in town provided she was dressed so no one would recognize her. Several times she'd even gone with Scotty to his pub, though one experience with a het pint was apparently enough for her.
Neither had as yet made any commitment as to when they would return to active duty--Spock was waiting until Nyota did, and he would not push her. Jim wouldn't, either; he was holding both their places until they were ready. Given how long it was likely to take the Enterprise to be repaired and the rest of the crew put in order, it was little hardship on him to do so.
They were finally alone, the evening that marked the end of the second week--Chekov, Sulu, and Scotty had gone home for the night, and Spock now sat on the sofa with Nyota curled up with her head on his shoulder. She was vaguely uneasy, he could feel it; what was more, she didn't seem to know why.
"What is it?" he asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear--an action that actually made her twitch, tensing for a very brief moment. "Something bothers you."
She laughed a little, or tried to. "I just…I think we should visit the Enterprise, some time when no one else is around. I don't want it to come time to ship out and have a repeat of the uniform."
It was both sensible and logical, and it was also not at all what was really bothering her. He couldn't push her, though, not really; all he could do was be patient and maybe try to guide her.
"You are concerned as to what effect the ship will have on you?" he said. "It should be simple enough to visit Mister Scott some evening--I am certain he would be happy to lead us all over the ship." Probably providing an exhausting overabundance of technical information, too, he thought but did not say.
She shifted, and even he barely caught her shiver. "I hate this," she said suddenly, vehemently, and hot anger surged across their bond. "I hate that it's necessary--I hate that I'm afraid of my own uniform, that I'm afraid of the ship I've wanted to serve on since it was built. All because of goddamn Nero."
Nyota stood, pacing restlessly, scrubbing a hand through her hair. "How long is this going to last? Am I honestly stuck carrying this--this--for the rest of my life? I don't want to look at the stars and remember that ship and that son of a bitch and--and everything that happened there…"
She trailed off, wiping an angry hand over her eyes. The sheer force of her motion was little short of staggering, even with the barrier he held--and his own anger wasn't helping, either, anger that mirrored hers. Just how permanent a damage had Nero done her? Even with the small improvements she made daily, it would be years before she would truly be free of it, if ever. Watching her in such explosive distress made him wish once again that he could strangle Nero. At least his katra was out of her head--she no longer bore that burden, if nothing else, but how much longer would it haunt her? So much about the operation of the human mind, even Nyota's, was still a mystery to him--half human though he was, he'd lived his whole life trying desperately to be as Vulcan as he could. He regretted it bitterly now, now that he did not know what to do for her but be there. Maybe that was all he could have done anyway.
He thought fleetingly of Doctor McCoy, who had, Spock knew, training in human psychology. It might well be a long while yet before Nyota was ready to talk about it to anyone but him, but he hoped that sooner or later she would be, that she would be able to draw strength from more than one person.
"And that damn reporter," she went on, still pacing. "How dare he? How would he? Maybe a lot of people who were there, who saw it might have guessed, but that guy--why would his mind even go there?"
"That is where the minds of his kind always go," Spock said gently. "I believe the term is 'scandal-monger'. Even had that not happened to you, he still would have thought it, because his sort has no concept of real strength, real…nobility." He was fairly certain that was the word he wanted.
He paused, and then, "Would you--consider speaking to anyone else about this? Doctor McCoy, perhaps? I am afraid I may not be able to help you on my own--you should have more than just me."
He watched that sink in. McCoy was one of the few people who actually knew what had happened to her on that ship. What was more, he was her brother-officer, one who would be serving with her aboard the Enterprise--and he was human. He would be able to understand the tangle of her emotions with an immediacy that Spock, with his lifetime of Vulcan training, simply couldn't--not yet, anyway. He had neglected his human half for so long that it would take some time to acquaint himself with it, to feel out its strengths and weaknesses. It was almost like being a child again, but the odd wonder of its discovery helped him deal with his own catastrophic loss--even if, with that awakening humanity, there also came an ebb and flow of grief unlike anything he had ever known.
"I…don't know. Maybe." He felt a wave of regret through the bond, and with it a name--Gaila, her dead roommate. Did she wish a female friend to confide in? So many of their class had died that was possible she lad lost all her female friends. Perhaps Nurse Chapel could assist, if Nyota wanted another woman to speak to. He would have to ask Doctor McCoy.
For himself, he thought he ought to speak with his elder self soon. Nyota wasn't the only one who ought to seek companionable assistance outside their bond, and if anyone could understand his grief, it was, well, himself. The elder Spock reminded him of his father, or what his father might have been had his mother lived. He could only hope that he would achieve that level of…it wasn't precisely peace; for once precision of language failed him, for he didn't know what it was, only that he hoped he might attain it when he reached his counterpart's age. He'd lost much more than that Spock, but in Nyota he'd also gained more; perhaps that loss and gain would balance, in time. He knew too that the elder Spock shared his particular grief at Amanda's death; his father had lost his wife, but she had been the other Spock's mother as well. Though she had to have been long dead in his timeline, too, she'd died much later, after as long a life as a human might be allowed.
He did not and never had let himself think of the fact that, if they lived their natural lifespans, he would long outlive Nyota. Such speculation was illogical, especially when they were both so young; it would be many years yet before he would be forced to face that fact. They both had more than enough to deal with right now anyway.
"You know I will always be here, Nyota," he said quietly, stroking her hair. "Do not be afraid to tell me anything."
"Some of it's so…so ridiculous, and shameful, and--" she broke off, shivering. "Every time I think I've made so much progress, something like this comes along."
-It has only been what Terrans call a fortnight.- He let what calm he could gather flow along the bond, trying his best to soothe her. -Do not let it frustrate you. You will heal as you can.-
She wrapped her arms around her torso, and the thought that returned to him was vastly unhappy. -There are things I don't even want to think of myself,- she said. -How can I share them with you? Even you might judge me for them, but no matter what I do I can't get them out of my head, even though they're so horrible. I almost want to drill a hold in my head to get them out.-
-About Nero?- he asked gently, and she nodded. He thought he understood much more about that than she realized, in an abstract sense at least, but he would let her tell it in her own time and her own words.
A wave of shame and no little horror passed to him through the bond--much more than her nod, that confirmed his suspicions. -I told you what he did on the ship, and what I did, but--after, when he was in my head…- She shook her own head, as though trying to dislodge even the memory of Nero. -He…loved me, in some insane, broken way, and even if I'll never forgive him I felt sorry for him. And--he touched me, and he kissed me once, and I didn't stop him, and--you can't tell me that's right.-
Spock felt a moment of carefully-concealed anger--as always not at her, but at Nero, who had so twisted her mind that even she didn't trust its reactions. He didn't say anything--didn't know what to say--all he could do was hold her, and try to tell her without words that there was nothing wrong in that. Yes, a Vulcan would have controlled their thoughts, their reactions, but Nyota was human, and it was that humanity he loved in her, the weakness as well as the strength. What Nero had done to her would have destroyed a lesser person of any race--the mental violation even more than the physical.
-There is no 'right' or 'wrong' here,- he said at last, once again stroking her hair. -There is still only survival. There is no shame in such confusion.- Now more than ever did he think she really did need to talk to someone aside from himself, and the best candidate was McCoy. He'd have a word with the doctor tomorrow, to inform him what he'd be likely to be dealing with so as not to be blindsided by anything she might say. And…perhaps it was best if he not tell her that, just yet. For now, all he could do was be.
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Next up is THERAPY TIME, and, as ever, a big thank-you to all my reviewers. :)