A/N: Thanks everyone for the reviews as well as the kind words. I'm feeling better and a lot of it is due to you. As a sort of thank you to you I'm going to post Chapter 10 today and Chapter 11 tomorrow—also I'm too excited to share them to hold onto them any longer. I hope you all enjoy the story and thanks again for everything!
Chapter 10
U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.126, 0948 hours. He woke up on the floor in a daze, ears ringing and staring at the back of a blurry pair of regulation boots. The acrid smell of smoldering metal filled his nostrils and for a split-second he forgot where he was.
Then the world came crashing right back down on top of him.
The ship lurched starboard and unable to get a hold of anything Kirk slid across the deck in a heap. Looking over the bridge he saw Rand and Zurbrigg go flying too, the latter unconscious, and Chekov was clutching his post with a trail of blood snaking down his cheek. Everyone else had a death grip on their consoles and hard looks on their faces as they manned their stations.
Good. If the Gorn wanted a fight then they'd get a fight; his people were ready.
"Mr. Spock, report!"
Jim struggled to his feet and his left leg buckled; that's when he noticed the jagged piece of metal jutting obscenely out his calf. Using the chair for support he hauled himself upright, ignoring the injury.
"Damage reports coming in from Decks 12 through 17." The Commander looked again to the read-outs. "Twenty-one reported injuries but no casualties."
Score one for the home team. "Mr. Sulu, take evasive action."
"Thrusters were the first things hit, Captain. I can only take us forward on impulse."
"I am really starting to hate these guys…"
"Incoming!" cried Chekov.
"Brace for impact!"
Being prepared didn't make the hit any harder to take and Jim nearly slid off his chair again, pushing the shrapnel deeper into the muscle. A cry from behind made him turn to find Uhura flat on her keester; aside from the fact she'd been thrown from her seat the only thing that appeared to be damaged was her pride. Still, he wasn't about to take any chances with her and the baby. "Stay there!"
Facing the view screen where the enemy ship loomed he whipped out his communicator. "Scotty!"
"Aye, Sir!" The hiss/clang of metal and frantic shouts of engineers were the only signs that anything was amiss down there.
"We need thrusters up here!"
"I'm workin' on it, Cap'n!"
"Workin' on it isn't good enough right now!"
"Right…"
He watched another round of enemy fire being discharged. "Fire torpedoes!"
All but one of the shots aimed at them were deflected and the bridge shook violently on impact. "Shields at 33%," his First announced coolly.
Sometimes Jim really hated that unflappable Vulcan demeanor.
"Thank you, Mr. Spock."
"Captain, if I can just get through their jamming signal we may be able to negotiate a ceasefire or at least contact Starfleet…"
He turned around to see his Comm. Officer attempting to get to her feet. "I said sit your ass down, Lieutenant!" She scowled but cooperated. Jim looked out the view screen once more. Despite all the havoc it was wreaking the Gorn vessel looked relatively small compared to the Enterprise. "Chekov, how big would you say that ship is?"
"Keptin?"
"The Enterprise is what five, six times bigger?"
The young Russian's eyes narrowed on the enemy ship before turning back to the Captain. "I vould say ze Enterprise is approximately three and a half times larger, Sir."
Jim swiveled his head toward the pilot, mindful of another at attack any second. "Which way would they roll?"
Sulu crinkled his brow uncomprehendingly. "Sir?"
Really, all he needed was a simple answer…though now he kind of got why Spock hated rhetorical questions. "If you were being charged head on by a ship three times your size which way would you roll?"
Again, the pilot looked out the view screen before back to his captain. "If it were me I'd roll right; then again I'm right handed. If the pilot were a leftie…" understanding slowly dawned. "Captain, are you really suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"
Without looking back he called to his First. "Where are they most vulnerable, Mr. Spock?"
His response was immediate, graphics thrown up on the view screen overlapping the enemy ship. "There is a flaw in C-Class vessels of Gorn design prior to the 2258 upgrades that may give us an advantage. Shielding is minimal in the aft section of the ship 1.3 meters above the exhaust flap. At this juncture is located a cluster of wire networks that, if interrupted, would simultaneously disable their engines and their weapon systems. Assuming this vessel pre-dates the upgrades to correct for the defect that would be their weakest point and our best hope for mounting an offensive."
Ok, they could do this. "Chekov, I want you to get ready to lock onto that spot. The minute they show their belly I want you to fire, you hear me?"
"Yes, Keptin."
"Are you seriously proposing we play chicken with our shields barely holding at…" Uhura paused to look at the nearest monitor, "…25%, communications jammed and thrusters off-line?" she asked incredulously.
"Hells yes!" Sulu cheered, causing Jim to smirk.
"What if they call your bluff?"
He ignored her and focused on the task at hand. "On my mark, Mr. Sulu."
"While I do not comprehend the origin of the phrase 'chicken', given the context I must lodge a protest against your implicit course of…"
"Spock?"
His First instantly stopped. "Yes, Captain?"
"Shut up." He nodded at the pilot. "Punch it!" He turned on the ship-wide comm. "Attention all decks, this is the Captain speaking. Brace for impact." This better work!
The Gorn charged their weapons the same instant Sulu gunned what was left of the engines; no matter how many times Jim saw him in action he was always in awe of how his pilot commanded the ship. With deadly speed and accuracy he aimed straight at the enemy's hull and after a split second's confusion the rogue ship rolled to port—where Chekov dealt the crippling blow to their engines and weapons.
A small cheer went 'round the bridge and once he was satisfied that the threat was neutralized and they were a safe distance away Jim hauled himself up to his feet. Much as he hated the prospect of facing Bones it'd be worse for him if he waited, plus he knew he had to set an example for the crew, especially Uhura, who probably wouldn't go down to sickbay without a fight. Glancing over at the science station he met Spock's eye and saw the same concern Jim felt mirrored there. With a slight nod he rose and turned toward his pilot. "Mr. Sulu, you have the Con.
"Chekov, Rand, Uhura, you're with me. Let's get Zurbrigg down to Medical, shall we?"
U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.127, 0317 hours. The battle had been sudden, intense and decisive, and although the threat was quickly dealt with the internal clean-up and repairs necessary to get the Enterprise running smoothly again were extensive; which was why 17.3 hours after he first went on-shift Spock returned to his quarters covered in soot, his hair askew and his uniform torn, and surveyed the damage done to his personal living space.
His ka'athyra case had been thrown clear across the room and now rested against the base of the stasis unit. The floor was littered with books and holoimages that had not been properly clamped down and the view screen of his comm. was cracked. Stepping carefully around the litter he picked his way toward the bedroom; there the sheets and pillows had gone flying off the bed and inexplicably the entire contents of his closet had been dumped out as well.
Despite the chaotic appearance nothing of importance was irreparably damaged and Spock quickly went about setting the room to rights.
He straightened the IDIC on the wall and re-ordered the books. He picked up the ka'athyra and pulled it out of it's case, plucking several chords and reassuring himself that the instrument was indeed undamaged. His mother's picture he found under a sofa pillow and held in his hands a few seconds longer than necessary, lingering on the wide grin on her face before returning it to it's place of honor on the shelf.
He had been so preoccupied as of late—first in the daily administration of his duties on the ship, then in quashing his feelings for Lieutenant Uhura—that the grief of his loss snuck up on him. Placing the cushions back on the couch he sat and ordered his thoughts, acknowledging his sadness and lingering guilt over her death before calling up more pleasant recollections of the years he had had with her. Spock was grateful that his mother had been a human woman for had she been Vulcan he would not have memories of her smiles to help bolster his spirits whenever his mood dipped low.
As his equilibrium returned Spock turned his efforts toward the bedroom. Straightening and tucking in the sheets with military precision he attacked the pile of clothing on the floor, grasping his formal Vulcan robes off the top of the wrinkled heap and shaking them out. A small frame tumbled out of the folds of fabric and landed upside down at his feet. Curious, he picked the object up and turned it over, uncovering a holoimage that upset the tenuous hold he had on his emotions.
It was an image of himself and Lieutenant Uhura back when they were still at the Academy. The banner in the background read 'Sukow Convention - 2257'. Spock was familiar with the yearly xenolinguistic gathering but did not recall his attendance that year; it was from the time he was missing. Apparently he had been present and with him was his prize pupil imparting her work to the assembly.
The angle of the image suggested it had been taken by someone standing off to the side of the raised dais—most likely a member of the Press. Though the background was out of focus Spock could make out a sizeable portion of the group giving Lieutenant Uhura a standing ovation. In the foreground stood the two of them, him at attention with eyes focused on the assembly while she stood equally straight at his side, holding a PADD and beaming. She was gazing up at him with a look of unbridled joy.
Cadet Uhura bounced up and down on the balls of her feet backstage, occasionally wiping her sweaty palms down the side of her dress uniform skirt. If the light sheen on her cheeks was any indication Spock believed she was also nauseous.
"Calm yourself, Cadet."
Her laugh was short and mirthless. "I'm afraid that's easier said than done, Commander. I keep thinking about all the questions they could ask me and all the ways this could jeopardize my chances of getting on the Enterprise if they think I'm a quack."
Spock turned to study her quizzically. "I am unfamiliar with your usage of the sounds ascribed to the common Terran Anas platyrhincos; however, your research on the evolution of the eighty polyguttural dialects of the Klingon language is currently without parallel in the Federation. Barring any unforeseen events the presentation will be well received by those in attendance."
She smiled but said nothing, opting instead to repeat her opening statement under her breath like a chant. It occurred to him that the sheer volume of the crowd and not the quality of her work was what had her discomfited.
"If you are anxious about facing such a large assembly perhaps I can offer you some assistance."
"Sir?"
"My mother has often said that when she is about to give a speech she prefers to picture the audience wearing nothing but their undergarments. The notion is illogical, yet it appears to have helped her a great deal over the years as she has successfully presented many of her theories on teaching throughout the Federation."
This time the smile on Cadet Uhura's face was genuine. "I don't think I could picture all of the audience members in their underwear. If memory serves the Coridans don't wear undergarments, period." She giggled and he watched with a mixture of pride and pleasure as the tension eased out of her shoulders, grateful to have helped ease her burden. If it were not so improper he would have reached out and gently stroked the back of her hand.
A Starfleet official wearing a headset poked his head around the corner. "Commander? Cadet? You're on."
He had been awake for 31.45 hours now. Was he so sleep-deprived that he was dreaming while awake? Spock looked down at the holoimage still in his hands. On the opposite end of the dais was the young man in the headset who had ushered them on-stage.
U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.126, 2158 hours. Nyota slipped off her boots and curled up on the sofa, snatching a blanket and pillow off the floor. Len had insisted on checking her out (once Kirk let it slip she'd fallen from her chair during the attack) and between the wait in sickbay and the repairs she'd had to oversee in the lab she was practically dead on her feet. Everything in her room was a mess but at the moment she just couldn't care.
"Computer, play New Vulcan Philharmonic Orchestra - Disc 1, starting with track 8. Put entire disc on repeat until otherwise instructed."
"Acknowledged."
The musical selection had been a birthday gift from her father-in-law and the kolchak* solo by the famed T'Daris was among her favorites. Spock once remarked that he was grateful he only played the ka'athyra otherwise she might've made him re-play the piece on command or until his fingers went numb—or most likely both.
God how she missed his teasing.
Closing her eyes she decided a few minutes rest was needed before she could drag herself up and make everything 'ship-shape' again…
Nyota blinked awake at the insistent chime. "Imup," she muttered. A quick look at her chronometer showed over five hours had passed and whoever was knocking at her door simply wasn't letting up. Thinking it was most likely McCoy being a mother hen she grumbled, "I thought you said you didn't make house…"
"Lieutenant," Spock said, inclining his head.
"Commander," she gasped.
"I apologize for the late hour but I have a matter of great import that I must discuss with you." Her heart stopped. Had he remembered? What else would send him her way at three in the morning?
When she said nothing nor moved aside he asked, "May I enter?"
"Sorry! Of course, please." Nyota stepped back. "Forgive the mess; I haven't had a chance to clean up yet."
He carefully picked his way to the middle of the room, avoiding the overturned candy dish, PADDs and bottles of nail polish, to stand with his hands clasped tightly behind his back and fingers clenching. Whatever was on his mind obviously left him feeling troubled; Nyota gulped and felt her knees go weak at the implications. Shakily she sat back down on the couch.
"You were saying, Sir?"
"Yes. I must ask you about your recollections of the Sukow Convention of November 19, 2257."
Well. That certainly came out of left field, even for someone like Spock. "The Sukow Convention?"
He angled his body toward her again and quirked his head. She knew how annoyed he got having to repeat himself. "Yes, the Sukow Convention, Lieutenant."
"What about it?"
"You presented a paper at the conference that year, did you not? On the evolution of the eighty polyguttural dialects of the Klingon language?"
Nyota frowned. All of this information was part of her Starfleet record; he could've just accessed the database instead of seeking her out after such a long day. Come to think of it, how did Spock know where she was? Her temporary room assignment wasn't part of the official ship's logs; Kirk and McCoy both agreed it was best to keep the severity of Spock's condition off the Admiralty's radar until they themselves had time to sort it all out. "Yes, that was the paper I presented."
Spock turned and paced a few steps away before coming to a halt and facing her again. "Did we or did we not converse backstage prior to your introduction?"
Again she gasped and felt that same flutter in her heart.
She was either going to head for the hills or barf all over his nice black boots—or both. She was so nervous she couldn't stand still and her grip on her PADD was the only thing keeping her hands from trembling, even as it threatened to slip out of her sweaty palms.
"Calm yourself, Cadet."
What an order. Only he could say something like that and expect her to obey. She managed to stop bouncing around and bark out a laugh. "I'm afraid that's easier said than done, Commander. I keep thinking about all the questions they could ask me and all the ways this could jeopardize my chances of getting on the Enterprise if they think I'm a quack."
She knew before he even opened his mouth that he wouldn't know what she was talking about. "I am unfamiliar with your usage of the sounds ascribed to the common Terran Anas platyrhincos; however, your research on the evolution of the eighty polyguttural dialects of the Klingon language is currently without parallel in the Federation. Barring any unforeseen events the presentation will be well received by those in attendance."
Oh if only she could borrow his superior self-confidence for the next, say, thirty minutes or so. Instead she quietly recited her opening statement; it wouldn't bode well if she got tongue-tied now.
"If you are anxious about facing such a large assembly," he said seemingly out of the blue, "Perhaps I can offer you some assistance."
Assistance? "Sir?"
"My mother has often said that when she is about to give a speech she prefers to picture the audience wearing nothing but their undergarments. The notion is illogical, yet it appears to have helped her a great deal over the years as she has successfully presented many of her theories on teaching throughout the Federation."
Just picturing Lady Amanda imparting this wisdom on her young son made her laugh. "I don't think I could picture all of the audience members in their underwear. If memory serves the Coridans don't wear undergarments, period." She smiled up at him and the look that he gave in response was a mixture of amusement and pride; it made her feel all warm and tingly inside to be on the receiving end of it.
"Yes," she uttered, finding her voice at last.
"And did you or did you not compare yourself to the Terran Ana platyrhincos?"
"You remember." It wasn't a question but it came out like one. If his memories were coming back then there was still a chance that he knew what he meant to her—or what she meant to him.
"It would appear that I do indeed possess some memories of my life prior to the away mission on Anguillida. I must consult with Doctor McCoy to understand the full scope of my recovery." Spock stopped and listened to the music still streaming out of the speakers; she forgot she'd even left it playing.
"I was unaware that you appreciated classical Vulcan music."
If you only knew, she thought, biting back the retort on her tongue. Nyota didn't want to talk about the music, she wanted to know what else he remembered, but forced herself to answer anyway. "Yes, I do."
"You may want to consider the works of the flautist T'Daris, particularly her solo in 'Ode to A'rie'mnu'*. I am told that many humans find it an evocative as well as entertaining selection despite the misleading title."
She closed her eyes to blink back the tears. 'Ode to A'rie'mnu' was her much-beloved track 8. "Thank you for the recommendation, Commander. I'll look into it."
Spock studied her a moment more, watching her as if she were on the verge of collapse. He'd been doing that ever since she fainted on the bridge even though he physically kept his distance. She suspected it was because he thought she preferred it that way. How wrong he was. "I will leave you to your rest now. Thank you for your assistance."
"You're welcome." He insisted she remain seated even as she rose to show him out. Another moment later and he was gone as suddenly as he appeared.
Of all the things to remember only that one insignificant moment stuck. Nyota was devastated beyond words. What a meaningless thing for him to recall when all the important moments in their lives were forgot.
U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.131, 1835 hours. McCoy held the flimsy paper up to the light and she smiled; he was her old fashioned country doctor on a starship. Of all the physicians she'd ever known Len was the only one who still liked having film copies of his x-rays and neural scans. Beside her Kirk smiled as if he'd just read her thoughts.
"Well I can tell you this much for sure," he announced. "His short term memory is definitely improving. Of all the tests Geoff and I've put him through the last couple of days he's only made 6 noticeable slips—that's a 30% improvement from before."
"That's good, right?" Jim asked, striving and failing to keep the hope out of his voice.
"Of course it's good; hell, it's great! It means he's getting his house in order up here," he replied, pointing to his temple for emphasis. Then the Doctor waved the scan in front of their faces like a flag. "And this here is good news too; some of the old neural pathways are being re-formed. It isn't much—fact, I almost missed it—but it's something. It explains why he seems to be remembering tidbits of his past, although there's no predictable pattern to the re-growth that we're seeing."
"So what you're saying is that's why he remembers standing backstage with me at the Sukow Convention but nothing else?" she finally asked.
"Yep. Could be that somethin' about that moment in particular stuck out to him."
Beside her Kirk snorted and looked pointedly at her stomach. "I'm sure I could think of a couple other more significant moments than a xenolinguistics conference four years ago."
Nyota rolled her eyes at his innuendo. "Try a couple hundred." Jim guffawed and Len looked at them like they were both a couple of idiots.
"There's only one problem," he said interrupting the pair. Of course there is. Bracing herself for the worst Nyota slyly gripped the armrests. "We don't really have an accurate way of differentiating between what Spock knows and what he actually remembers."
Come again?
"Uh, Bones?"
Len rolled his eyes. "I know it sounds like a contradiction but it isn't. Vulcans typically have eidetic memories, and given the way Spock studied up on his past after he was released it's difficult to tell how much he recalls firsthand versus how much he remembers from studying; and even he's having a hard time telling the two apart."
Nyota furrowed her brow. "How could he not know which is which?"
Len quietly replied, "He says it's because he's been dreaming."
Oh. Feeling sheepish on Spock's behalf she looked away from the men as the blush rose to her cheeks. He rarely dreamt and when he did he never liked to admit to it, even to her…so for him to tell the Doctor he must've really been concerned. "Nyota, all I'm asking is that you to talk to him and help us suss out what's real and what isn't."
She recoiled at the thought. "What? Why me?"
Kirk shot her the 'Duh' look. "Why else do you think? Bones and I've looked over the rosters and aside from a handful of former students there's no one on the Enterprise who had anything more than a passing acquaintance with him back then. Besides, who else knows Spock better than you?"
Before she could object Len added, "You really are the only one that can help him. Just look at that whole bit about the conference; if it weren't for you confirmin' that duck remark he probably would've gone on thinkin' he was hallucinatin'."
Her eyes bugged out of her head; that was wildly different from dreaming. "He thought he was hallucinating?"
"Well he has been under a fair amount of strain…"
Jim jabbed his friend hard in the ribs. "What I think Bones is trying to say is that it'd really mean a lot to Spock's recovery if you'd help out with this. It sounds like there's a lot of details only you could catch."
"…who else knows him better…"
"…thought he was hallucinating…"
"…has been under…strain…"
Perhaps Spock wasn't as well off as she thought, despite appearances to the contrary. Still, she didn't know if she was strong enough to handle sitting with him and reminiscing over old times as if there wasn't more between them. She might just break down and only confuse the issue more with her tears.
"I have it on good authority he's reading in Rec Room 7 right now," Kirk said, interrupting her reverie with a wink and a smile. "If you hurry you might catch him."
No. She couldn't. Could she? Perhaps if she treated them like the professor and student they once were… "Actually," she replied with a far-off look in her eye, "I need to head back to my room first." The twin looks of disappointment on their faces were difficult to miss. "But don't worry, I'll talk to him."
He waited until he was sure she was well on her way before addressing his friend. "What the hell, Bones? Hallucinating? Strain? I thought we just wanted to try and set the two of 'em back up, not scare her into early labor…"
McCoy grimaced as he sank into his seat. "I wish I was lyin' but it's true. I've been seein' the signs he's been under stress for a while but didn't see a point in worryin' anyone just yet since he seemed to have it well under control. Besides, he wouldn't listen to me and you and we'd just be talkin' ourselves in circles like we were when he was tryin' to get back on duty."
That made Jim take notice. Spock had been back at work for over two months and he hadn't noticed anything different other than the more formal and reticent attitude. What did Bones see that he didn't?
"The tiredness and more recently some more weight loss. If he isn't locked up in meditation he's been spending upwards of three hours a night in the gym, I've checked the logs. Something's obviously been on his mind and I think it's her. His fear that he's been hallucinatin' is only the most recent symptom." Looking up across the desk at him the Doctor added, "You didn't see it because you didn't want to, Jim. We all wish he were back to his old self and in spite of the progress he's made it's time for us to face facts; maybe this is the new 'normal' for Spock and we all just have to get used to it."
U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.131, 1907 hours. It took her six months as his TA and a trip to the grocery store with Gaila for Nyota to realize she'd been trying to seduce her professor with tea…and found she'd rather been seduced by him instead.
"Face it, Ny," Gaila said, her voice husky and low. They'd been standing in front of the row of herbal blends for ten minutes now trying to make a selection but she couldn't decide which one Commander Spock would like best. She needed something different for Monday. Perhaps the one with a hint of cinnamon…?
"You're doing this not just 'cause you both love tea but 'cause you really love watching Commander Hot Stuff's hands! You just want to watch him flex those fingers and imagine them touching you and curving around your…"
"GAILA!"
"What! Like I said, he's HOT! And you, my friend, have great taste. If it weren't against regs to date a professor…mmm, mmm, yummy…"
She'd stopped her friend mid-verbal orgasm not only out of embarrassment but also from shock. It was true, she'd always been turned on by Spock's hands—had been fascinated by them really—but she'd never thought of their tea ritual as a means of mutual seduction. She just knew they both derived a great deal of pleasure trying a new blend and chatting over a cup; it took Gaila to point out to her why.
Now, pouring the brew into the thermos she reached for the parenting journal and headed for Rec Room 7.
The scent of ginger wafted in from the doorway as Lieutenant Uhura stepped through, thermos and PADD in hand. Barely lifting his eyes from his reports Spock took a deep inhalation of the spicy, exotic scent and unobtrusively watched her navigate the floor. She stopped here and there, pausing to chat with friends and accept their congratulations. Yeoman Rand was granted permission to rub her stomach.
Spock quickly tamped down the growl he felt rising in the back of his throat. Concerned about making a scene he turned his eyes back to his work.
"May I join you, Commander?"
She had surprised him with the request, and when he glanced up into her glowing face he was not entirely certain the smile she wore was for him; yet he knew he would not be able to refuse her. "Of course." Spock rose and pulled out a chair, waiting for her to settle in before resuming his own seat. She said nothing more but rather spent a full 14.32 minutes reading intently from her PADD. Her silence distracted him more than any chatter and he wondered what had so captured her attention when she reached over to uncap the thermos.
"Oh shoot!" The Lieutenant turned to him in frustration. "I forgot to bring a mug."
"Allow me to retrieve one for you," he replied, already moving to the sideboard before she could protest.
"Only if you'll join me."
His stride stuttered and his eyebrow rose sharply.
"I'm not avoiding you…"
"If you are suggesting that I am shunning you socially…"
"I SAID DON'T TOUCH ME!"
"Only if you'll join me."
He had heard of the severe disparities in behavior of k'kan* women but Lieutenant Uhura was doing a complete about-face. As if interpreting human behavior as colored by emotion was not baffling enough for him now he had this added layer of complication to deal with. Deciding it would be in his best interest not to debate the point he brought two white mugs to the table as per her request.
"Thank you."
Spock watched entranced as she took hold of the thermos, her slender wrist curving gracefully in time to dispense the warm, spicy brew into his cup without spilling a drop. She made pouring tea into an art form and he speculated as to whether that was her aim or simply her natural state of being. He felt the all-too-familiar heat rise within him and struggled not to tenderly stroke the back of her hand and test if their touch would be as electric as he predicted.
When she finished the Lieutenant gripped her mug in both hands and brought it to her face, inhaling the bouquet of clove, ginger and cardamom before taking a small sip. This time when she smiled her pleasure was obvious. He took his own test sip and was satisfied with the palatable result, the rich tastes coating his tongue both foreign and familiar.
"It's my mother's brew," she explained without prompting. "Her own mix of spiced black chai. She sends me a canister almost every month."
Spock nodded and took another sip to savor the tea. Looking about she dipped her head toward him. "Commander," she said in a low voice. "The Doctor says you think you're remembering things from before, back when we were at the Academy. He asked me…"
Ahhh, so it was in favor to Doctor McCoy that she was currently seeking out his company. He should have anticipated this possibility sooner. The mug hit the table with more force than he intended. "Thank you, Lieutenant, but you need not involve yourself in this matter if it is—" he cast about for the right word, suddenly uncertain as to what to say, "—distasteful to you. I apologize for having previously drawn you in. The state of my mental health is not of your concern."
Nyota watched in amusement as he tried to hide his fascination with her mother's tea, and she had to bite back a laugh at the almost-smile in his eyes when he took his first sip. It was why Mama forgave them for bonding on New Vulcan instead of marrying in a traditional African ceremony; not only did she know how much it meant to Spock but because he was so appreciative of her fine cuisine she was instantly won over by her new son-in-law. Nyota thought that tasting it again might help jog his memory but he looked like he was trying it for the first time.
"It's my mother's brew. Her own mix of spiced black chai. She sends me a canister almost every month." With an extra container just for you.
He considered the information thoughtfully and his dexterous fingers wrapped a little more possessively around the cup. She knew he appreciated it even if he didn't say the words.
"Commander." She stopped herself short when she realized she was about to take hold of his wrist. "The Doctor says you think you're remembering things from before, back when we were at the Academy. He asked me if I could help you figure out which memories were true ones."
Nyota knew she'd lost him the moment she mentioned McCoy; his whole posture changed and his expression was distant, almost angry. Even his voice was colder and it chilled her to the core. "Thank you, Lieutenant, but you need not involve yourself in this matter if it is—distasteful to you. I apologize for having previously drawn you in. The state of my mental health is not of your concern."
YES IT IS! she wanted to scream. I WANT MY HUSBAND BACK!
It occurred to her as he dismissed her that she'd created this distance; that it was her own fault he was rejecting her now. If she hadn't been trying so hard to spare her own feelings she would've seen that, as his friend, she was hurting his.
"Please, Spock," she said, reverting to Vulkhansu to try and make him listen. "I want to help you. Please let me help you."
Those warm cocoa eyes she so loved came back to life.
She stopped breathing—why had she stopped breathing? And the serious frown she wore deepened as her hand clenched into a fist. He was releasing her from her obligation so why was she upset? He was the one who should be insulted if he ever deigned to feel such a thing; he never wanted to become an object of pity. Spock returned to his work to distract him from her distress; if she cried he would be forced to do something unseemly, like wipe away her tears.
"Sanu, Spokh. Ki'aitlun mamuk du. Sanu kaltor t'nash mamuk du."
His heart stopped. That voice had a hold over him like none other in the universe…and he would never admit to it, could never admit to it. If he refused her now he might very well lose his mind from the missed opportunity; if he accepted he might lose it as well, having her so near without any possibility of being able to possess her. The Lieutenant turned away, her neck exposed as if in invitation…
"Ha*."
Her head whipped around so fast he was concerned she might experience whiplash. "Ha?"
Even in Vulkhansu she exhibited the human compulsion to repeat things. It was an...endearing quirk. Spock nodded again. "Ha."
Now that the decision had been made each fell silent. Looking down at the lukewarm mug cradled in his hands he thought to ask, "Have I ever had the opportunity of tasting this unique blend of tea before?"
She smiled and uncapped the thermos again, re-filling his mug without prompting. "Yes, you have. The first time was back at the Academy. We both discovered we liked tea but it wasn't until my senior year that I thought to bring in Mama's blend for you to try…"
U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.164, 1906 hours. He sat at what had quickly become their table waiting expectantly for Lieutenant Uhura. The memories she shared captivated him, and while he had little if anything to contribute he appreciated the time she took to tell the tales all the same. Tonight he would show her his gratitude with a gift for her child.
The doors opened and she strode in, head held high and stomach jutting out proudly before her. She was negotiating her way to his side when Ensign Chekov approached her with a question. Spock watched unobserved as she listened intently then broke out into a grin and took both his hands and positioned them on her belly. The Ensign leaned in close, murmured to the infant, then straightened up blushing profusely and stammering as he ran for the door.
"Good evening, Commander!"
Lieutenant Uhura was beaming when she finally took her seat. Whatever the young ensign had done had clearly pleased her to no end. In light of this response his gift suddenly seemed inadequate. He would present it to her at another time.
"Lieutenant."
Spock tried to discreetly get the figurine off the table but he was not quick enough for her observant gaze. "Say, what've you got there?"
"It is nothing." He dropped the toy to his lap and the look she shot him would serve to admonish even the Captain for such an obvious falsehood. "It is…"
"A sehlat*!" she exclaimed as he presented the gift for her inspection. Examining it in detail she asked, "Is this what I-Chaya looked like?"
His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "How do you know of I-Chaya?"
She was late for her meeting with Spock—not that they'd ever set a time but it quickly became the norm for them to meet around 1900 hours unless there was a work emergency. As Nyota walked in she met his eye and got the warm tinglies all over. It was good knowing that they could still be friends; the baby would need that as it got older if Spock's memory problems went unresolved and he ultimately decided he did not want to re-forge the bond. There were many things about Vulcan culture she didn't know and couldn't teach and she would need him to guide their son or daughter in the right direction.
Still, Nyota hoped it wouldn't come to that.
"Nyota?"
She shook herself out of her worried musings and looked at her friend. "Chekov! What's up?"
"I…" he blushed and stammered, twisting his hands this way and that as he struggled to spit out the words. It was hard to believe he had as much responsibility as he did being as young as he was but there wasn't anybody else she trusted more at the helm than him and Sulu. "You see, in my family there ees a blessing ve give to the baby and I vas vondering…vould you permit me? You do not haf to say yes, eet ees ok, I just thought…"
It looked like he'd been trying to screw up his courage to do this for awhile now. "Of course you may!" she exclaimed, overwhelmed by all the love and support she was getting from the crew. Reaching for his hands she placed them on her stomach and he leaned over her, muttering in Russian.
"Little One, may you find peace, love and happiness wherever you go, all the days of your long life."
"Pavel, that was beautiful."
The spell was broken and the nervous kid-genius returned. "Da, I…" his eyes darted around the room, "I haf to go."
"Of course. And thank you." Nyota let go of his hands and he bolted, making her chuckle at his hasty exit.
She reached her seat next to Spock without further incident, still glowing from Pavel's prayer. "Good evening, Commander!"
"Lieutenant."
His tone more than anything else caught her attention; that and the way he was trying to unobtrusively remove something from the table. Last week he brought a book of Vulcan poetry to share with her and it wasn't until he was mid-way through the third verse that he recalled having introduced her to the piece before.
It was funny the things he remembered; a lunch spent dining with her in the Academy cafeteria; a walk across the quad on their way to open up the lab. There was no rhyme or reason for it so far as she could see and the memories were more like fleeting glimpses than hard, impermeable facts. All in all they were rather insignificant. The one constant was that none of Spock's memories touched upon time shortly before, during, or after Vulcan was destroyed; the closest he came was a random afternoon about a month before the emergency distress signal was received at HQ—everything after that was a blank, including the two of them.
"Say, what've you got there?"
"It is nothing." Nyota frowned. He was lying and he never lied to her, not before. Shooting him a glare normally reserved for Kirk she watched him hedge around the subject until he finally lifted his hands. "It is…"
"A sehlat!" She picked up the offered trinket that Spock had obviously carved with his own two hands and she was amazed by all the effort he'd put in. The grooved detail for the fur was remarkable and he'd even gone and added a tan, fluffy, fabric tail for more realism. He'd told her stories of his pet but she'd never seen pictures; they were lost on Vulcan. Before she could stop herself she asked, "Is this what I-Chaya looked like?"
Spock stiffened and she knew she'd overstepped. The sehlat's sacrifice was the reason he was alive but it was information he didn't share with just anybody. "How do you know of I-Chaya?"
"Commander, I'm still not sure why you asked me here," she said as they walked behind the first-year Vulcan language students at the San Francisco Zoo.
"As it was you who suggested this outing to enhance the cadet's language skills I thought it best you be here to supervise."
Nyota smirked as they entered the newest exhibit and the basis of their unorthodox field trip. "It wouldn't also have something to do with the fact that I've talked of nothing else for the last five weeks, right?
The Commander stopped and inclined his head. "That may have also factored in to my calculations."
She grinned at his teasing and looked ahead at the first corral. "Ohhh, the sehlats!"
She'd rushed over to join several of the students milling about the enclosure. The domesticated sehlats were truly majestic beasts, with skin the color of sand that she longed to reach out and stroke despite their having fangs the size of her fist. Together they watched the five creatures romp around until someone from the group called to the other cadets, hailing them toward the kushel* display; as they moved off she felt the Commander come and stand beside her.
"You are not interested in viewing the birds?"
"No," she replied with a smile as she leaned on the railing. "I'm fine here." Two male sehlats began to tussle, kicking up dirt. "They're beautiful, aren't they?"
"There is a certain aesthetic quality to the creatures, I will admit."
An updraft carried his scent into the open pen. All five animals turned their heads as one and rushed to get closer. 'He must remind them of home,' she thought. Nyota was further awed when he reached across the moat meant to separate them and affectionately rubbed the littlest one on the nose. When he withdrew it immediately set to baying and soon the others picked up it's desolate tune.
"What happened?" she cried over the sound.
"They are mourning."
"Mourning? Mourning who?"
The Commander nodded at the tiny cub he had been petting. "It could not be helped. T'Espera saw how I lost my own pet sehlat as a boy. They are honoring his katra in their way."
"You had a pet sehlat?"
"I did. His name was I-Chaya. He was my father's before mine."
It was indecorous of her to ask but her curiosity got the better of her. "What happened to him?"
He took a deep breath and clasped his hands behind his back, looking fixedly at a point in the back of the enclosure. "I-Chaya died in my stead, defending me from a le-matya* during my kahs-wan*."
She gasped; she couldn't imagine going through such a terrible experience like that and not coming out unscathed. Clearly the memory still affected him to this day if his recent empathic link with the sehlats was any indication.
"Tushah nash-veh k'odu*."
Unthinkingly she reached out and took hold of his hand. Hurt surprise sadness anger guilt grief wonder awe amazement affection strummed across her skin at the contact. She was about to pull away when he squeezed her hand back and pushed his gratitude across to her.
She always thought of that field trip as their first unofficial date. Now though, how to tell Spock that?
"You mentioned him once or twice."
He accepted the white lie with his usual magnanimity. "The figurine is 1/36th of I-Chaya's original size. The fangs and claws have also been sanded down so as to render it safer for a child's use."
The Lieutenant paused in her examination of the object and looked up at him in surprise. "You made this for the baby?"
Spock nodded. Surely she had not thought he crafted the figurine for her own use? "Initially the object's movement will help foster the child's eyesight; in later months it will be a useful tool in engaging in hand/eye coordination. I have also been made to understand that as a child ages it is encouraged to use such items in imaginary play. While I am unfamiliar with the concept I thought the sehlat would be an appropriate item for such an endeavor."
She was glowing again; it was the only suitable adjective he could ascribe to her current state of being. Lieutenant Uhura cradled the wooden sehlat in her hands as if it were a most precious relic. "Thank you, Commander. Thank you very much."
"Your thanks are not necessary. It is only logical to assist you and the child as much as possible until your husband returns." He rose and headed for the replicators to order up their tea.
"…it is only logical to assist you and the child as much as possible until your husband returns."
Yes, it was logical…but was it right to keep lying to him? Watching him turn away Nyota had her doubts.
*kolchak = Vulcan flute
*Ode to A'rie'mnu = Ode to Passion's Mastery (song title made up by me)
*k'kan = pregnant
*ha = Vulkhansu for yes
*sehlat = Vulcan pet, cross between a bear and a dog
*kushel = Vulkhansu for bird
*le-matya = Vulcan animal similar to a cheetah
*kahs-wan = rite of passage undergone by all Vulcans at the age of 7
*Tushah nash-veh k'odu = Vulkhansu for I grieve with thee