18
"NOW!!"
As her cells and neural pathways reconstitute themselves upon the large transporter pad, Nyota's leg gives out beneath her and she falls down hard, dizzy from blood loss and the sudden shift in equilibrium. She hears Gaila and Scotty panting on either side of her, feels the heat build under her heavy outfit, and knows they have actually made it on to the Enterprise, knows they all have avoided certain death at the hands of a renegade army of indentured Andorians. She has to fight to force her eyes open and the larger realistic side of Nyota understands why: she does not know what sort of reception they will receive, nor whom has come to receive them.
". . .it look like she's bleeding?"
"Yes Captain."
"Oh. Then contact sick bay and tell them to get a stretcher down here."
"Yes Captain."
She takes a shaky breath and looks up in time to see Jim Kirk begin to hover, an amused grin on his tanned face as he watches her struggle to remain conscious. She believes she must be dying because Kirk appears to be wearing captain-gold. He speaks to her broadly, clearly, uncaring of those who hear, and why should he? She's the one who is in a heap on the pad.
"Well this is awkward Lieutenant. I gave orders for transporting one communications officer, not one communications officer and her entourage."
"Err ah 'scuse me Sir but I'm—"
"Shut up. Sulu?"
"Captain."
"Escort these two down to the brig. I'll begin interrogations in my own good time."
There is motion to her left and Nyota knows the Scot and Orion are being hauled away. Will she see them again? Would it have been better to die fighting aliens instead of cowed into submission by Empire goons? Don't turn philosophical on me Uhura. Survival is the name of the game and that's what you've done! She didn't have the strength to be arguing with herself. Kirk's voice was further away. "As soon as the Lieutenant is patched up put her in the bo. . ."
Nyota wakes screaming. There is no moment between utter blackness and flashing lights, between sweet oblivion and complete sensory responsiveness. She has no understanding of time or space: is she still on the Enterprise? Has she been kept unconscious long enough for her treasonous investigations to be reported? Has she been brought back to Earth to face torture at the hands of the Emperor? These are only vague thoughts and images that shoot through her skull and are quickly swallowed by the surges zipping along and though sinew and muscle and nerve ending, destroying what feels like every last inch of her. Her limbs spasm and she can't feign indifference even if she wants to. This machine, whatever it is Nyota is in, has been created to inflict the greatest amount of pain possible.
She's in a bath tub, arms splayed out over the ceramic sides to prevent her from drowning, and the excess of warm, sweet water is novelty enough to momentarily forget about her previous agony, her banishment on the edge of the Neutral Zone, those blue bastards crying for her blood. Her body is relaxed, almost languid, her naked thighs bobbing and free of shock and spasm. . .then someone clears their throat and, eyes still closed, she grimaces.
"Wake up sleeping beauty."
There is no rancour in the voice. Speaking gently and with understanding, it is a familiar voice but not the one she most desires to hear. Nyota blinks away the hazyness of sleep and adjusts her seat as she stares across into the bright blue eyes of Jim Kirk. They aren't exactly what she remembers; that youthful spark that filled them while attending the Academy, that so arrogantly claimed Nyota would one day be on his bridge crew, is gone. He's still arrogant of course. It's his youth. If Jim Kirk was ever innocent it's no longer present in his gaze. She wasn't imagining it: he wears a Captain's gold vest and that speaks volumes as it concerns her deliberation. Nyota inhales deeply and is mildly surprised that she feels no ache. Had she been dreaming that torture as well?
"What are you doing to me Kirk?"
"Treating you better than your irrationality deserves." He pauses then laughs loudly, as if his words remind him of something or someone else. Nyota isn't amused but merely rolls her eyes; from her position it is impossible to complain. He notices and clicks his tongue, reaching over to the platter of fruit--actual fruit--that she suddenly notices placed on the counter below a large mirror. The bathroom is huge. "C'mon Uhura!" he shakes his head good-naturedly; admiring her gumption but ultimately thinking her foolish? Perhaps. "What's with the baggage? I got you out of that hell hole, not you plus two!" Nyota regards him pop a raspberry in his mouth and chuckle. Christ, when had she last enjoyed fresh fruit? Well, as close to fresh as can be found out in the black of space. God knows there wasn't any to be found on the substation.
"Will you let me explain or have you already killed them?" Kirk tilts his head.
"That green chick's an Orion you know." And his smile has Nyota moving forward and up, something dark clenching inside, until she takes visible notice of her bare chest and slips back beneath the perfumed bathwater, pressing herself to the side of the tub. Is he fucking with her or has something bad really happened? Who is she kidding? The important question is how to approach this, how much information to reveal. She fears that once again the answer will be everything. Her voice is calm and controlled though.
"She's a genius. They haven't invented a security system that she can't hack her way through."
"She's hot." Nyota ignores him.
"Scott was my superior officer, the Chief Engineer—"
"Yeah I have one of those."
"Not like Montgomery Scott you don't. He's the reason I didn't freeze to death."
Jim leaned forward, tossing a wash cloth into the water. Another little luxury, but then moving from Juno III to the flagship of the Empire was a rather large step. Like moving from whipping boy to captain.
"Is that where your loyalties lie Lieutenant?"
"We helped each other," Nyota refuses to look away. "And they deserve better than death at the hands of your bodyguards."
"And I'm supposed to take your word for it?"
This wasn't going well. He was waiting for her to admit to something she couldn't even admit to herself. . .but the thought of Gaila being used, of being passed around, of ending up with the exact sort of humanity the green female had alluded to over and over again as the basest form of life—Why did it suddenly bring her back to a time when a foot purposefully placed had almost meant her death? Nyota picks up the soggy material and passes it in front of her chin, returning to her original position at the back of the tub. There is a subtle scent of gardenias mixed with an alien spice of which she has no knowledge. It's not unwelcome. She rubs it over her skin.
"Can't a lady bathe in peace?"
It's an apple he reaches for now, thoroughly amused.
"Oh a lady can do whatever she wants." Crunch. "That tag on your ass begs to differ though."
Her frown is fast and fierce, as if her face had been literally dissolved by anger.
"And how long after I sent you all the facts did you decide it was time to kill your way to the top?"
It's a stupid thing to say, stupid to remark on, but she couldn't hold it back, and as she watches Kirk swallow, his Adam's apple slide up and down, Nyota thinks it may just be the straw to break the camel's back. Oh well. She certainly isn't going to offer to suck his dick in attempt to smooth it all over. Her rage is still present—she's nursed it for too long to wipe the slate clean—but Nyota wants to live, and for some reason Jim Kirk has wormed himself into her survival arc. It's part of what made her keep those vids. It's what made her enjoy watching the man's ass as he made Len pant and writhe. Len. She doesn't want to hate Kirk. . .but it's hard. He draws out chewing his apple.
"Not all the facts sister. Green's totally your colour by the way."
Nyota lets the soft material drop onto her left shoulder, edging resting over the swell of her breast.
"I'm naked in your bathroom—"
"I've noticed." He winks and she once again ignores him.
"What did you do to me?"
"What I had to."
They are still trying to stare each other down when a chime rings, (the chimes here are more pleasant than those she's lived with on the substation), proclaiming someone is requesting entrance into the Captain's suite. Before Nyota's eyes can truly harden Kirk smiles and drops his apple core onto the platter, wiping his hands on the thighs of his nice tight black pants, and stands, shooting her a grin. "Company's coming."
19
After
They are pressed together on Kirk's big bed, clean sheets beneath them, chin to temple, his big doctor's hands that say he's oh so skilled and will cut you if you disagree clamped upon her waist as he thrusts up into her core that's been aching for him for so long: Len attacked her first and for that Nyota is very, very grateful because she wasn't so brave and couldn't have reached out to him in front of Kirk, no matter her own desires. And she has desires. The hot wet of his mouth is a hard suction around her breast, a flick of tongue and teeth and if she was any softer Nyota would cry because it's perfect and had always been perfect and not once had she ever told him. She settles for rocking insistently on his lap, using her weight to grind down, and holds on to that breezy hair or his freckled arms or whatever of him she can touch and keep.
Jim Kirk is watching from his chair, cock in hand, stroking and unhurried. He's Captain and it has its perks. And if Nyota and Leonard decided to climb up inside each other in his room, on his bed, then he was taking front row tickets. That was fine. As long as he stayed away from what Len was building between her thighs, Nyota would not make demands.
She wants Len to touch her but that would mean releasing his grip, he would have to stop squeezing and she can't bear the thought. Nyota's chin rubs against his forehead in the jostling and then she does something unforgivably intimate by pressing her open lips to the deep furrow that pervades his stubborn brow and then just holding on, unable to continue the trek she wants to take to the pinch of crow's feet at the corner of his eyes and the scowl creases around his mouth. What is it about this man that threatens all her walls?! It's not fair! It's not—
He notices her almost-pause—she can't let him stop, she won't let him stop—and before Nyota can get too lost in his concerned gaze she whispers "Kiss me" on a panting breath because Kirk knows too much already and she just wants something that is hers in the short time she can clam it. He complies without argument and those lips that know hers so well and work her body like an instrument are focused and deliciously firm, and Nyota comes with a groan against his mouth because she can't cry and she can't shout and all she wants to do is breathe him in. Len's fingers knead and he bites her plump bottom lip--his bottom lip—so incredibly gently when he empties himself inside her body.
Nyota hears Kirk jerking off, the wet click speeding up as he finishes with a grunt, and, with the Captain's momentary distraction in trying to breathe, she places a kiss along the strong tendon of Len's throat before abruptly shifting her legs and moving off his thighs, leaving the bed.
20
She holds her head high walking down the corridor from Kirk's new Captain's quarters dressed only in the man silk night robe. Nyota hadn't found it as funny as he, the idea of making her leave in the buff; if she had been of weaker constitution he probably could have forced the issue quite easily—if he was the tyrant Pike had been her refusal would be a non-issue because she would not have been allowed an opinion even in the privacy of his room. In the end both she and Len were unamused (Len for obvious other reasons currently directed at Nyota and not just her precarious state of undress nor Kirk's asinine attitude) and by vigour of their combined glares reluctantly handed over his own clothing and directions on how to find her quarters. It seems that they weren't far away from her present location.
The Enterprise was shiny and modern and cold by virtue of it's reputation and abilities and not because icicles grew along it's exposed skeleton. It was a mechanical wonderland compared to where she had come from and despite everything Nyota tasted pride on her tongue. It was most likely misplaced but it couldn't be helped: she was where she had always wanted to be. Finally.
When she approaches her door Nyota is pleased to see that it operates on both a fingerprint identification and vocal verification capacity as well as a code she is prompted to create for herself, and is intrigued the computer already has the first two programmed into the system. It would have been better to be suspicious, but, as her thoughts are still meandering around Kirk's bed and how impossible it is to encourage one's heart in the Empire, Nyota senses nothing until she steps over the threshold and is confronts the strange male slowly straightening his spine from his former bent position over her nondescript, yet nonetheless comfortable in appearance, blue sofa. There was a uniform delicately laid out--her uniform--requisite pieces for women designed by paranoid and misogynistic men. Nyota locks her jaw and quickly reaches for the dagger hidden in her boot. It's a rote gesture, as natural as breathing, and it takes her all of a second to remember that there are no boots and there are no daggers. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
The Vulcan is silent in his observation, his features what humans would describe as mask-like but to her are known as simply an appearance of fact. She has learned that they are emotionless; she has learned that they are physically stronger than Terrans; she has learned that they are bloodthirsty and resentful; she has learned that they are a despised and conquered race. She knows that the late Captain Pike used a distorted mix of Romulan and Vulcan in his coded messages to his Andorian counterpart; to have a Vulcan on the Enterprise is too much of a coincidence to wonder long about whom it was exactly that translated and scribed those messages on Pike's end.
Why has Kirk kept him alive and what the fuck is he doing in her room?
Unlike most of the men of her acquaintance, the Vulcan in impeccably groomed, his black hair sleek and his facial hair neat and his clothes unruffled. His long sleeved shirt is a shiny blue material, unnerving in it's similarity to the shade of her furniture—so close that she purposely ignores the thought as soon as it passes through her skull—and is adorned with several gold pins, stating rank of some sort. So does the gold sash around his waist. Nyota squares her shoulders and cautiously stands at attention, her face and voice betraying none of the shiver that is beginning in her spine.
"These are my private quarters. Sir."
She would have, should have, spoken his mother tongue but her Vulcan is . . .imperfect. . . and embarrassment is not the order of the day.
"Yes Lieutenant Uhura, I was indeed aware of that fact."
His words are precise with little to no inflection, almost sarcastic if he even knew the word. Nyota doesn't question how he knows her name, however his sudden defensive stance of hands behind his back and perusing gaze is ridiculous. Surely he's seen women wearing men's clothes before.
But perhaps not the Captain's?
"Sir?"
"Commander, Lieutenant. Commander." His 'sarcasm' gone, the Vulcan was still precise in his annoyance. "As First Officer of the Enterprise I will be addressed as such."
Fucking great.
She doesn't move as the alien approaches and he doesn't look her in the eye, instead at a place beyond her shoulder. "You are assigned to Alpha shift at oh eight hundred. I suggest you spend the remaining time in preparation." To Nyota's consternation he does not leave right away but rather tilts his head ever so slightly and takes in one deep audible breath before stepping out into the hallway. Nyota stiffens and counts to five before ordering the door locked. Puzzled and feeing a sharp injection of fear wiggle it's way inside, Nyota shakes her head furiously and allows herself to give in to exhaustion, discovering a bed further back in it's own alcove. She's been stabbed and practically electrocuted and reunited with her former lover for one sweet moment and she cannot take any more. The quarters are larger than what she shared with Janice in the Academy, much larger than what she had on the substation, but there is no energy left to investigate presently.
Nyota will search out listening devices when she returns from her shift tomorrow. No doubt her laundry was not the only reason for the Commander's presence.
21
Before
Hearing Len argue with Kirk brings a small smile to Nyota's face that is threatening to become a whimper as she had almost given up on hearing the Doctor's voice ever again. She sits and soaks and silently listens while Len rants and curses and Kirk responds with an undercurrent of laughter; apparently Leonard McCoy had had a trying day. He sounds incredibly angry and Nyota would not be surprised to learn he had dipped into his whiskey, that is if he still keeps a bottle handy.
"Damnit Jim, first it was your hobgoblin on Deck Four with O' Rielly—he probably won't be able to say his own name for months!—and then it was—" Nyota hears him clear his throat. Twice. When Len resumes his anger is heightened but his voice is low and full of more gravel than she last remembered. Has he. . .has he been crying? Impossible. Never. "You beam up the Walking Stomach and your little slave girl—"
"Hot isn't she."
"She's a trained killer Jim! Christ, Sulu's out for blood after the mess she made of his face! How the hell did she get a weapon into the brig?!" Nyota closes her eyes briefly, savouring Gaila's victory before falling back on revenge concerns. From Kirk's sudden laugh there seems to be no need. There was admiration in his tone and Nyota wants to slap him for his earlier manipulation. Neither Scotty nor Gaila are dead. Not yet. By the sound of it the Orion is handling things just fine.
"Guess next time he'll think about spitting on Tubby's sandwich."
Len is not comforted and curses again.
"Stop it. Just stop with your Goddamn jokes—"
"Watch it Bones."
"No screw you!" There's a thump and Nyota believes Len just punched the wall. "She sends out the distress signal—I found that out in the damn logs!—and you beam up those two bastards then blow up the Goddamn moon!"
That has Nyota sitting up in the bath, scented water splashing over the side.
"You blew up the moon?!"
There's a pregnant pause and then Kirk yells back.
"Yeah. Called it an early birthday present to myself."
His words are still forming as Len stops his run, standing in the doorway and staring at Nyota in disbelief. She licks the inside of her bottom lip and feels a tremble in her arms.
"Hi Len."
"I thought she was dead." Len's expressive eyes are on her but she knows he's still talking to Kirk. There is more strain to his face, more emotional baggage that Nyota won't ask about. "I thought those Andorian savages. . ."
Len comes to Nyota with all the finesse of a Klingon executioner and lifts her out of the water with one hand to the back of her neck, showing strength that she has only been able to dream about, fantasies while she watches Kirk's black and white home movies.
"Len—"
There are no words as he attacks her mouth with every bit of passion Nyota needs.
