Chapter 2
Scotty edges into the room with a smear of grease bruising his skin black, all the way from his right temple to the curve of his jaw. Nyota gives him a flash of a smile, as he places a card and a scruffy bouquet of flowers on the already-overflowing table of tributes. Absentmindedly, he rubs the side of his face. The grease spreads across his cheek and blackens his knuckles.
"Now Cap'n," Scotty says sternly, standing beside his bed. "I know ye're feeling a little peely wally, but ye better wake up soon or ah'll play my bagpipes loudly enough to wake this whole place 'till ye do."
"That's quite a threat, Mr Scott." She says softly.
He shrugs one shoulder, looking away embarrassed. "If it makes him better quicker."
"How are the repairs going?"
"Och, our lady will be right as rain, ye'll see. She's a bit battered, but she'll make it."
His enthusiasm is catching, and the Scottish patterns of speech have always been a source of fascination to her. Nyota nods attentively, before cocking her head to the door, tracking the sound of footsteps from far down the hospital corridor.
"That will be Doctor McCoy. I promised that I'd monitor Jim, but I'm sure it would be fine to leave him in the Doctor's hands long enough to visit the cafeteria."
"Aye, I could go fer a sandwich." Scotty nodded gravely.
The door snaps open and Spock strides in. He isn't precisely tense but Nyota reflects that there is a certain stiffness about his limbs, his steps a little too fast and hard. She blinks.
"Spock? I thought you were in a meeting until 0230."
"It concluded earlier than expected."
Nyota wishes to roll her eyes.
"All right, well Mr Scott and I will be in the cafeteria if you need us."
She glances back as they walk into the corridor, and the door shuts as Spock sits in his chair by Jim's side. Something's shifted now, and she daren't speak to Spock about it just yet. Scotty walks by her side in silence, and she realises that he was there to see it shift too.
"Does the Commander seem a bit.. off to ye?" He brings it up before Nyota is able.
As with everything she says, she picks her words carefully, sorting them into something eloquent and precise. After a second, she settles on the truth.
"I wouldn't call it 'off', however there has definitely been a - change in Spock. I think Kirk dying caused him to understand things about himself that he didn't know of previously. Spock does tend to get like this when Kirk becomes injured, but never to this extent before."
"Aye lassie, he realised a few things alright. I cannae say that I have seen such pain before."
"Nor are you likely to see it again. Mpende akupandaye - love only the one who loves you. It's good advice. Perhaps I should have listened to it."
"Don't put yerself down, lass. You are a strong'n, a brave woman. Many a lad would be mighty glad t'even be near you."
"Thank you, Mr Scott. Now, let me buy you a sandwich."
"Well, if ye insist. And call me Monty."
...
Shuttered eyes leave eyelashes shadowed against Spock's pale skin. Nyota watches as his breaths drop to the same tidal steadiness of Kirk's. She doubts he is even aware of it. There is something heart-achingly indescribable about this synchronicity - she wonders when they became so codependent that the death of one meant the breaking of the other.
"Spock?"
He blinks, easing himself out of his meditation. She's loathe to interrupt it, but she has, and now those black-brown-beautiful eyes are gazing back. Nyota crumples.
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"Actually, this is a social call."
He inclines his head towards the second chair.
"Please take a seat, Nyota."
With a hesitant elegance, she does.
"How is he?"
"Doctor McCoy has informed me that the Captain will be brought out from his induced coma in a day or two. It appears the prognosis is good."
She can remember when Spock was an immovable object against Kirk's unstoppable force, and when they collided, their words cut deep to see each other burn, and bruises noosed Kirk's neck as Spock's walls free-fell into powerful blows. They had ripped each other apart, but somehow, in the aftermath, they'd rebuilt each other better.
"We need to talk."
Spock glances up at Kirk's monitor and then fixes his gaze coolly onto her.
"You are ceasing our relationship."
For all the languages she speaks, it's still too hard to find the right words.
"...Yes. I should've known you'd figure it out."
Nyota lets her laugh chime ruefully in the air. Spock quirks his head.
"We once watched a favourite sitcom of yours that featured that line. It occurred as the main protagonist was 'breaking up' with her partner. You informed me that this was a common sentence to use when ending a relationship."
Hesitantly, she touches his arm. Something hot and frighteningly like tears scald her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Spock, I am so sorry."
He reaches up.
"You are crying. This is illogical, as you are the one terminating our relationship."
Nyota had seen Spock wet-eyed before, holding the grief tight inside his stilled body - and even then he'd never cried. But then Kirk was dying, and their ritual words were perfect but still not big enough, and Nyota knew Spock had fallen the instant his tears did the same.
It still haunts her, that cry, that scream, that sound of uncontrollable emotion ripping out of Spock like a tangible thing. She would've said it was like he'd lost his entire world. Except that had already happened, and - outwardly at least - this was worse.
"I know. That's what happens when you have to let go of something you don't want to."
"If you do not want to 'let go' of me, then why are you?"
There is hurt laced through his curiosity, a tiny frown crinkled in between those sweeping brows.
"Because I love you, and you don't love me."
Spock looks slightly forlorn, but not in any way surprised.
"Nyota." He sighs inaudibly, "I apologize. From a young age, I was taught that I should be unable to feel, unable to love. It is... difficult for me to even acknowledge the presence of my feelings, let alone categorize them."
She shakes her head. Her smile is bittersweet as almonds and honeyed regret.
"No, you don't understand. I was fully aware going into this relationship that it might be hard, maybe even impossible, for you to return my feelings. That was okay, because I knew even if you never felt that way about me, I'd still be closer to you than anyone else in the universe."
Kirk's breath hitches, as if to complain. Spock's gaze flickers and alights softly on his face.
"But then you fell in love with someone else."
"I do not understand. Please clarify."
His guard is up now, higher and more iron-clad than it is normally. Nyota wants to laugh. She'd once thought they'd be perfect together, obsidian and alabaster, their combined cool wisdom becoming more than the sum of their parts. And at first, they were.
Twice a week they'd meet for dinner, and breakfast together almost every day. Slowly, though, Kirk began to join them in the mornings, play chess with Spock almost every night. They had teasing, dare-she-say flirtatious conversations on the bridge - Kirk put Spock's life before any other, and, illogically, Spock did the same. They were ivory and gold, logic against emotion, and Nyota began to realise what two halves of a whole truly looked like.
"I think you'll figure it out, Spock."
Nyota stands and gently cups his jaw, tilting his face up as she presses a kiss to the heated skin of his forehead. As she leaves, she thinks of the way death can change priorities, change people. Of Kirk and Spock reaching out until death do us part.
Of the way their hands were kissing through the glass.