Let This Not Be Our Last Good-Bye
Spock waits outside of Uhura's door and imagines just how she might have felt before her confrontation with him only a week and a half ago. So much has changed since then. In fact, their entire world seems to have been turned upside down. The feelings of apprehension he feels growing in the pit of his stomach make no logical sense to Spock. There is nothing that is going to be unexpected in this conversation. He will go in, tell her he will miss her company and . . .
"You should've knocked earlier, Commander, instead of brooding over my doorstep."
Spock masks the surprise on his face and takes in the sight of Uhura lolling against the doorframe. She is no longer dressed in her regulation garb. In fact he isn't sure he has ever seen her dressed in such a manner before. He is accustomed to seeing Earth women wearing such fashions, but somehow this tight-fitting and low cut item is not organic with her being.
She turns and pads back into her room, barefoot, though Spock catches a glimpse of a pair of rather high, pointed shoes stashed to the right of the door. Uhura brushes her hair up into a sweeping ponytail, angles her face to both sides in the mirror, and then lets it fall back around her shoulders. Spock longs to reach out and run his fingers through her hair, feeling its silkiness. He has to remind himself more than once that he is here for only one reason.
"You are leaving soon, Lieutenant."
Uhura's reflection in the mirror raises an eyebrow, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
"I didn't think you capable of such an obvious statement, Spock."
She turns to him and twirls about in place, her arms outstretched. Brushing down the front of her black dress and patting her back into place she strikes a pose.
"Well then, what do you think?" she asks, putting on a smug look, "Do you think the Vulcans will approve?"
Spock clears his throat. "I think they will be intrigued. Surely you do not intend to wear such inappropriate attire for your studies?"
Uhura shakes her head and makes her away to the built in bureau. After pressing a few buttons one drawer slides open, and Uhura lifts out a regulation skirt and sweater.
"Of course not. What do you think Starfleet gives us these for, hmm?" she says and chuckles to herself quietly as she folds them neatly and places them inside her suitcase sitting open on the bed. She stares at it briefly, lost in thought, before turning her attention back to Spock. Her countenance has changed completely in a mere instant. Her eyebrows are drawn together, and her eyes, he has never seen them look so tired and sad.
"Why are you here, Spock?" she asks, as she leans against the wall, one leg tucked behind the other. "Surely you didn't come all the way down here to cite regulations to me, did you?"
"No, I did not," he states simply, looking at the floor rather than Uhura's softened gaze. "I simply came to say good-bye."
Uhura's face crumples into the most beautiful smile Spock has ever seen, more beautiful than even his mother's. At the same time, her lip trembles, and tears glisten in her eyes. She takes a few tentative steps toward him and puts her hands gently on his arms. He shivers involuntarily at the touch, and reciprocates the feeling by placing his hands under her arms and near the small of her back. She swallows hard but does not break the contact.
"You wouldn't mind if I kissed you good-bye, would you?"
He shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak. He closes his eyes as she presses her lips against his for the last time, and he savours every moment of it; the heat radiating from her skin, the softness of her lips against his, and the gentle touch of her hands. When he pulls away he feels light-headed as though she has sucked all the breath out of him in that instant.
Uhura lets her hands drop and wipes half-heartedly at the tears trailing down her cheeks. Spock reaches forward, as he had done once before, and wipes a stray one away with his thumb. She glances at him before looking away, a thousand different emotions running through her mind and coursing through her veins.
"Good luck with Starfleet, Spock," she whispers, her voice shaky, as she turns her back on him.
"Live long and prosper, Nyota," he replies, and backs out of her room slowly. Her response is thick with emotion and almost inaudible in the suppressive silence stretching between them.
"I will do neither, because you have been torn from me forever."
The doors shut with a thud of finality, and Spock hangs his head in grief before walking away. Now he finally understands why Doctor McCoy drinks all the time. He could do with a glass himself, to drown all his sorrow.
Authoress' Note: Well, that's that. I think I've finally sunk that ship all the way down. I hope. These sorts of pairings always have a habit of turning up in nasty places. Ah well . . . we shall see. Please review! Thanks to everyone who has so far!