Vivian just wanted a shower. Breathing in too deep caused sharp pains and standing wasn't comfortable, but she wanted to assert her autonomy after almost two weeks in bed. She wanted a moment to herself without a nurse bothering her for vitals.
She had experienced an exercise in asserting herself earlier in the day when the Enterprise returned to Spacedock Earth. The other scientists disembarked to get a new assignment- Vivian made a last minute proposal that she stay on board, at least temporarily. Starfleet permitted it, on the condition that New Vulcan approved it. They would find that answer on their visit to the colony, scheduled for the following month. In the mean time, she moved from the intensive care room to a suite on the life sciences deck. If New Vulcan approved her new placement, she could then negotiate with the Captain for lab or office space.
The Captain himself was indifferent to the addition. McCoy would've suggested it himself had she not spoken up. He'd grown fond of her as a friend and was interested in participating in this "Project Keshtan" business. While Spock wouldn't have said anything in either direction, he felt a sense of relief learning that she wasn't going anywhere. Of course, he wouldn't admit to the sense of relief, nor would he admit to his sense of cautious optimism in being so close to a project meant to help his people. Although, he was growing curious as to why the mental link following his emergency mild meld with the doctor continued to linger.
Dr. Vida had also managed to get a blue Starfleet uniform dress and get it mechanically tailored on the ship. It could be brought in to suit her nearly cartoonish silhouette, however, it was not made any longer. As a taller woman, the skirt teased the upper third of her thigh. If she bent any, the black undergarments sewn in were visible. Moreover, that piece of fabric was only so big, but she was bigger. The round of her rear spilled over on either side, and the dark tights did little to obscure where the curve met her leg.
She dispatched the dress into the laundry slot in the wall of her new bathroom and turned on the shower, which quickly filled the room with steam.
Spock felt warm, seemingly suddenly. He checked the thermostat in his quarters, only to find it stable. Venturing into his bathroom, he was surprised to see the mirror appearing fogged. With a towel, he gently wiped the glass, he found a woman's face. He whirled around, expecting to see an intruder, a woman behind him, but saw nothing. Back to the mirror, he watched.
Vivian gripped the counter, looking down into the sink. After taking a couple deep breaths, she made eye contact with herself. Even with the preparation, she surprised herself. There were stitches in her hairline. A red handprint remained around her neck. Her breath caught in her throat, swallowing became difficult, and her eyes burned. With a shaky hand, she reached up to touch her neck and winced.
Spock shook his head in the mirror as his hand involuntarily moved to his neck. It was painful to the touch, and red for seemingly no reason. He saw only his face for a moment, eyes wet, and then he saw her face again.
She looked to her wrists, the green was beginning to fade, but they still felt sore to roll. Another hard swallow and shaky breath, and she unhooked a clasp behind her. The black bra fell to the floor, and she kicked it away before meeting her eyes in the mirror again. Her chest was still bruised. She squeezed her eyes closed tightly a few times, before beginning to turn and assess herself in the mirror. Despite her internal dialogue instructions of keeping it together, she froze and covered her mouth with her hand, silently sobbing. She only allowed it for a moment before practicing calming breaths.
Dr. McCoy helped her put the pieces together. Despite having suffered a clear assault, Mr. Spock intervened before any more severe could've happened. Having learned that, she slept a little easier. She was grateful to Mr. Spock, so much so, that for a moment, she could almost see his face in the mirror.
The heat of the water was cleansing in more ways than one. The steam fogged the glass of the shower, but she could still make out her form in the reflection. The fog blurred the colors of her injuries, and in that image, she felt like herself.
He felt thrown and grabbed the counter to stabilize himself. There was a heaviness he could sense, bringing a tightness to his chest and a sickness to his stomach. It was more than he'd felt in a long time, but as soon as it came, it was gone. He felt a sense of relief and gratitude only briefly, but it was enough to return him to center.
An image moved behind him in the mirror, a woman in the shower. The smell of sweet soap filled his nose. He wiped his eyes, then the mirror. The fog was gone, as was the smell. This time, he only saw himself.