Eclectic Muse Fics

Fic: The Wiser Part of Knowing (Doctor Who), Part 1/3

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 17:54:28 GMT

Title: The Wiser Part of Knowing, Part 1
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,571
Characters/Pairings: Martha, Bennett (an OC), and the Sixth Doctor with a cameo by the Tenth
Summary: Martha calls the Doctor for assistance with an alien threat--but the Doctor that shows up is not the one she is expecting. The similarities she finds between the two are more than a little bit glaring.
Author's Notes: Written for fearlessfirefly for the 2009 Summer Sixathon, who requested Martha, Six, and an alien invasion (with no Tom Milligan bashing). May I be flogged for posting this so late! The plot bunnies got out of hand on this one so it demanded more than one part. Many thanks to infiniteviking for doing a pinch-hit beta. :)

All in all, Martha thought it was shaping up to be a rubbish day.

The coffee maker had broken and dumped grounds in the pot. Then she couldn't find her keys. And straight in the door at UNIT that morning, Bennett had informed her they'd had another sabotage attempt on a London-area waterworks system--bringing the month's total to five. This news alone was enough to give Martha an instant headache. Nine o'clock AM and already she was reaching for the aspirin: things could surely only get better from here.

The source of the attacks on London's water system was almost a complete mystery. All UNIT had been able to ascertain was that the threat was alien, elusive and very persistent. The first attempt had been six weeks previously, when a city maintenance worker had come across what he described as "some mutant-looking bloke with brown scales" preparing to pour an unknown substance into a water filtration unit. The hapless man had been so surprised his gut reaction had been to hurl his tool belt at the intruder, hitting it in the head and knocking it unconscious. UNIT had been alerted, but unfortunately before they could arrive the alien had come to its senses and, according to the worker, vanished into thin air.

The second attempt was at West Brompton just three days later. When the third followed just two after that, UNIT was forced to acknowledge that they had a serious problem on their hands.

Considerable manpower was being spent putting a UNIT operative at nearly every major water station in the greater London area deemed to be at risk, while headquarters was a frantic mess trying to determine origin and motive. To the great frustration of the top brass, every encounter went much the same way as the first: the alien discovered mid-sabotage activated some sort of device strapped to their wrist--similar to Jack Harkness's vortex manipulator, Martha thought--and disappeared.

Today, Bennett had assured her, they'd gotten a breakthrough--UNIT had managed to capture one of the saboteurs in action. In addition to performing a standard biological assessment, Martha's superiors were hoping she could get some information out of the alien. Other interrogators had been unable to communicate with it and it was hoped that Martha, with her residual vortex energy, could translate.

"You've got too much faith in me," Martha said, frowning at the coffee pot in the canteen. It too was broken, adorned with a yellow Post-It with 'out of order' written on it. "I don't think it works that way--it's the TARDIS that did the translating, not me or the vortex."

Bennett shrugged. "I don't pretend to know how that stuff works. I'm just the messenger. I relay what I'm told." He smiled charmingly for her benefit. "Come on, let's go."

Martha tried her best to clear her mind as she followed Bennett down the halls of UNIT headquarters towards the detention block. She had never really been very comfortable with the military side of UNIT's operations; she much preferred putting her medical training to use. She felt she was at her best treating operatives hurt in the field or running tests in the lab, not chasing down alien threats.

She figured that a year spent walking the Earth under constant threat of capture and death had probably put her off the whole deal.

Up ahead, two UNIT soldiers were standing guard outside a door halfway down an otherwise deserted hall. They nodded at both Martha and Bennett as they approached. "What've we got?" Martha asked.

The taller of the guards spoke up. "Marks over in Millwall got this one in about an hour ago. Caught him with the usual stuff but Marks stunned him before he could beam out."

Martha took a moment to peek in the window of the door while the guards debriefed Bennett. The alien in question was sat in a chair towards the back of the small cell, shackled to the wall by both hands and feet. She thought it didn't look too unlike the Weevils that Jack's team in Cardiff dealt with. Just as she made to look away, the alien raised its head and looked at her, blinking slowly. She suppressed a shiver. She did not doubt the intelligence of the creature; there was just something ... knowing in its gaze.

"We don't know if the subject doesn't know our language or is just refusing to talk," the tall guard was saying. "It hasn't responded at all to us, but it doesn't seem to be confused either."

Martha forced herself to look away. "Well, shall we, gentlemen?" she cut in, taking a deep breath. "I'd really like to get this over with."

The guards unlocked the door and stood aside to let Martha and Bennett through. She smiled by way of thanks as she passed by; then the door shut behind them and they were alone with the strange creature before them.

The silence stretched out as the two sides sized each other up. The alien stared at them quietly, seemingly unperturbed. After a moment Bennett audibly swallowed. Martha glanced back at him and cleared her throat.

"Hello," she began. "Can you understand what I'm saying?"

No reply. Martha shifted her weight to the other foot and glanced sideways at Bennett again, then back to the alien. "I'm Martha Jones," she added. "Medical officer for the Unified Intelligence Taskforce. I'm ... I represent Earth. Where do you come from?"

Still no reply. The alien was showing no signs at all of having even heard her, much less understood what she was saying. He kept his eyes trained on her, impassive and unreadable. Martha could tell Bennett was growing more and more uncomfortable as each moment passed, and had to admit the lack of response was unnerving her as well. She waited one more minute before sighing, and crossing her arms. "This isn't going to work," she muttered aside to Bennett. "We'll just have to go tell the Captain we couldn't get through. I'm sorry, but I think--"

"O'shurg'ha."

Martha stopped mid-sentence and both she and Bennett turned wide eyes to the alien, who was sitting as still as ever, blinking quietly at them. Bennett overcame his surprise first. "I'm sorry, what?"

The alien looked directly at Martha. "O'shurg'ha. Mal'sholanka har fordan ma gor'hurg'han."

"I ..." Martha was at a loss. "I don't understand what you're saying."

"Gor'dahn." And from the look on the alien's face, it knew she couldn't understand--and was enjoying itself. Rather than confuse her more, it just made Martha irritated. "Look," she replied. "I can see that you understand me. I can't understand you. Even if you can't--even if you don't speak my language, maybe we can still communicate. You're obviously here for something. UNIT could help us come to some sort of compromise ... maybe you can get whatever it is you need here, without harming us or our planet. How's that?"

The alien actually smiled--a predatory grin, revealing two rows of narrow, pointy teeth. It did not reassure Martha. "Gar."

She frowned. "Was that a 'no'? 'No' what?"

The grin widened. "Gar. Ma gar'ha forshol dan hurg'datha monafor." He pointed upward, then back down and out. "Har fordan golanka. O'shurg'ha."

"You keep saying that," Bennett interjected, leaning forward. "'O'shurg'ha'. What does that mean?"

The alien glanced briefly at Bennett before turning a smug face to Martha. "Har fordan golanka," it repeated, then laughed shortly. "O'shurgha!" And then he spat at her, soiling her boots with a bright red mucous.

Definitely a rubbish day.

"Oh, I think that is quite enough," Martha said sharply, grabbing Bennett by the elbow. At the door she turned and jabbed a finger at the alien, who looked quite pleased. "I'm not done with you yet," she bit out. "The next time I come back in here I will understand you, and we will get to the bottom of this." She yanked the door open and stalked out, Bennett fast on her heels.

"Wow, remind me never to get you dirty out in the field," Bennett muttered, grinning in awe. Martha silenced him with a glare. She couldn't even begin to guess the chemical makeup of that alien's saliva and how it would react to the leather of her boots, but at least it didn't seem to be corrosive. Bennett pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket. "Here, you can use this to--hey, where are you going?"

Martha was walking off down the hall, away from the guards and any prying ears. "Getting us some help," she replied as he jogged after her to keep up. She had pulled her mobile out and was thumbing quickly through the numbers listed. "I'm calling the Doctor."

"You're calling the Doctor? Are you sure that's necessary?" Bennett whispered incredulously as he drew level with her. "I'm sure we could find something in the vaults that we could use, or even call that Torchwood lot you were on loan to."

Martha shook her head. "Torchwood's in Cardiff--it will take them hours to get here. And if we had something that could translate that thing, the Captain would've used it already. I know the TARDIS can translate for us, and the Doctor can be here in a snap. Unless you have a better idea?"

Bennett held his hands up. "All I'm saying is, things tend to go tits up around here when the Doctor's involved. I've read his history. Do you really want him getting involved in this?"

"We don't have to tell him what's going on," Martha reasoned. "He doesn't even have to leave the TARDIS."

"What, you're going to say you just rang him up for a chat?" Bennett was unimpressed. "'Want to pop round for lunch, Doctor, I've got a free hour'?"

Martha rolled her eyes. "Why not? It's happened before. Besides, from the way you're talking you sound like you wouldn't even want to meet him." At his affronted look, she grinned. "Don't lie, everyone here wants to meet the famous Doctor at least once. You're excited, I know you are."

Bennett fumbled for a response before finally smiling back, his shoulders sagging a little. "You've got me there, Martha. I'm just not looking forward to all the paperwork for when this does go tits up. And trust me, it will."

Martha hit the dial button on her mobile and listened for the ring. "You sound so sure," she muttered. "It won't. Hopefully."

She waved off Bennett's reply when she heard the line pick up and the Doctor's familiar voice come through the speaker. "Martha Jones! Hello! To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?"

She couldn't help but grin. The enthusiasm in his voice, however fake it could be given the circumstances, was infectious. "Hello, Doctor. How have you been?"

"Oh, me, I've been the usual--you know, traveling, seeing the universe, that sort of thing. Good as always. And yourself? How's Mister Milligan?"

"I'm fine, Doctor. He's--fine. Listen, Doctor, I need to ask a favor ..." Bennett was almost hopping in excitement next to her. She swatted a hand at him.

"A favor?" His voice took on that evasive tint she knew all too well, even though his words spoke differently. "I've got all the time in the world for favors, Martha. In the universe, really. And time, at that. Anyway, yes, a favor--what do you need?"

"I just--" She decided to go for broke and be honest. "I need to borrow the TARDIS. Not to do anything with it," she added hastily, "I just need it nearby for a little while. We're having a little bit of a translation problem here." Bennett snorted rudely.

"UNIT doesn't have something that will translate? Shame," the Doctor said. "I recall having all sorts of brilliant gadgets like that when I was around, I wonder where they went to ... Martha, I don't know about this."

"Doctor, please." She hated wheedling, especially in front of Bennett, as much as she liked the other man. "I hope you know I wouldn't ask unless it was crucial and there wasn't any other way."

The Doctor paused for a second, and when he spoke his voice was a touch softer. "Alright, Martha. But don't make this a habit! I don't let just anyone borrow my TARDIS."

"I know, I know," she said, and she was smiling again--she knew the Doctor was, too. "Do I need to tell you where I am?"

"Nah," he replied, and she could already hear the sounds of levers being pulled and dials turned. "You've got enough residual void stuff about you that I can use that to lock onto your location. UNIT headquarters, eh?"

"That's right," Martha affirmed. "Lower levels, in the detainment block."

"Not a good place. Alright, here we go, hit this button and--bam!--bob's your uncle, I'm there. See you in a jiffy, Martha Jones."

"Goodbye, Doctor." Smiling to herself, Martha ended the call and slipped her mobile back in her pocket. Before Bennett even had time to open his mouth she could hear the familiar wheezing sound of the TARDIS dematerializing down the hall. "That was quick," she muttered. Back outside the alien's cell, the two guards looked around in interest.

"It's nothing," Martha called out, wincing at the baldness of her lie. "I'll just--we'll be back in a second. Nothing to worry out." She raised her eyebrows at Bennett. "Let's go."

Together they followed the waning sounds of the TARDIS, Bennett trying and mildly failing not to look overeager. Two halls and one turn later, they found it in the back corner of an unused storage room. Martha grinned at Bennett. "Behave," she chided good-naturedly. "If you treat him like the god he's made out to be he'll start believing you."

"Who, me?" Bennett straightened his tie. "Don't worry, I'm a professional."

Martha laughed just as she heard the key turn in the lock on the inside of the TARDIS, and unconsciously stood a bit straighter. Then the door opened, and the Doctor came out--or at least Martha hoped it was the Doctor. She had never seen this man--or that outfit--before in her life. Beside her, Bennett seemed to know that this was not who they were expecting, and blinked in surprise. The stranger turned around after locking the door behind him and stopped short when he saw them; after a second his face relaxed into a cautious smile.

"Ah, a welcoming party!" he said brightly. "I find those to be more and more rare these days. Hello, I'm the Doctor--who might you be?"

All Martha and Bennett could do was blink open-mouthed in surprise.

Fic: Comedy of Errors (Star Trek), Chapter 1

Thu, 04 Jun 2009 21:45:17 GMT

Title: Comedy of Errors, Chapter 1
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: T for future content
Word Count: 5,732
Characters/Pairings: Entire cast of characters. Spock/Uhura, others to come
Summary: Spock's decision to leave the Enterprise for the new Vulcan colony has far-reaching consequences for the crew.
Author's Notes: Thanks as always to my betas superkappa , weepwop , and stars_fell for all their help and support. Your suggestions and comments give me the bravery to post! Things of note:
- Canon gives us very little to go on with Uhura's family, so I started almost from scratch.
- I completely made up the details of Gaila's surviving the Nero attack.
- Did not make up the name of the Vulcan colony planet. If you get the reference you are a giant nerd. <3

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Sarek, son of Skon, father of Spock, was not a man given to fits of emotion. As a Vulcan who had undergone the ritual of kolinahr he had, in theory, been purged of all vestigial emotions. Logic directed the path of his life. Yet, as he stood before the interim Vulcan High Council, Sarek could not help but wonder if some of his late wife's human traits had not rubbed off on him.

"It is critical that the boy be brought back into the fold," Minister Kuvak was saying. Next to him, Minister T'Pau was watching Sarek with bold, sharp eyes. She nodded. "Sarek, the Council has decided it is imperative that you bring Spock to the new colony. Permanently."

Sarek betrayed no outward emotion at this, but he found his thoughts roiling. He respected T'Pau a great deal. As one of only three surviving High Councils members--including himself--she commanded respect. Not only because of that, but because of her years of service to the people of Vulcan and her formidable logic, said to be the finest in Vulcan history. In spite of this, he found himself questioning that logic.

"The colony flourishes without him there as a permanent fixture," Sarek said evenly. "I do not see the need to have him withdraw from Starfleet."

T'Pau's stare was piercing. "No one here needs to be reminded of the dire state all Vulcans currently face," she said. All around the room, the assembled Vulcans nodded slightly. "In the face of our situation it is imperative that we rally and assemble what few numbers we have left to support this colony. Our entire culture, our way of life, depends on it." She addressed Sarek once more. "There is no denying that Spock is now a war hero, a very visible one at that. It is in the best interests of the colony that he be the face, so to speak, of it. People admire him. They would listen to him. They would, I believe, even overlook his dual heritage."

Sarek's cheek twitched, barely.

"Your logic is sound," he replied, bowing his head in deference. "Yet I still do not see the need to pull him from his duties. Would he not better serve the memory of Vulcan as an officer of Starfleet, out amongst the stars?"

The venerable old Vulcan's eyes narrowed slightly. "You wish him to remain in Starfleet?"

Sarek squared his shoulders for the response he knew was inevitable. "I do."

There was a general outburst of murmuring. It was well-known amongst the Vulcan elite that Sarek had vocally opposed his son's choice to attend Starfleet Academy, and that he would change his view on it was wholly confusing.

"Why the change of mind, Sarek?" Minister Kuvak asked.

Of course, he would not tell them the real reason: that in light of Amanda's death he had realized the importance of his son embracing both sides of his heritage, that he learn to balance the Vulcan with the Terran. That he realized how selfish and foolish and illogical he had been to ensure his Vulcan roots took precedence. He had learned so many things since Amanda had died. Not all of them sat well.

"It is my logical belief that Spock's abilities are best served with Starfleet," Sarek finally said. "Once the colony is firmly established and settled, I see no reason for him to remain. His duties and obligations to the colony will be fulfilled."

"Oh, but I believe they will not be," T'Pau said, and Sarek could not help but frown inwardly. "We have more to rebuild than a home, as you surely know. We must also consider the question of repopulation. In these times, we cannot afford to be ... choosy." She looked coldly down on Sarek from her perch on the dais. "A child that is three-quarters Vulcan is better than none at all."

Sarek stared at her. "You know what you are asking?"

"I do." T'Pau switched off her PADD, indicating that she was done speaking. "And I fully expect you to relay our wishes to your son tomorrow morning." She stood. "This council is dismissed."

As the assembled Vulcans exited the chamber hall, Sarek drifted to the tall windows overlooking San Francisco Bay, and across the water to where he could just make out the buildings of the Academy. His mouth set in a thin line. He would relay the message of course, but from there he had no control of the consequences. He knew which path he preferred for his son; however, he knew in some ways Spock's grief over losing both mother and homeworld was still as fresh and new as it had been that first day. Having become attuned to certain facets of human emotion and thought processes during the years he had spent with Amanda, he could only guess what path Spock would choose.

He would be the first to admit that he was worried--nay, afraid--it would be the wrong one.

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"Hold still, Nyota," Gaila said impatiently. "I don't want to stick you."

Nyota Uhura forced herself to stop fidgeting and stood still as her Orion roommate carefully fixed the last of three pins to her uniform. With a satisfied grunt Gaila finished and patted Uhura's shoulders, smiling. "There! All done. Don't you look smart!"

Uhura chuckled to herself and looked aside modestly. All around them, Starfleet cadets were fussing with their uniform jackets, smoothing down skirts, attempting last-minute shoe-shines; grouped in clumps and clusters, talking and laughing. It was mid-June, more than four months after the destruction of Vulcan, and the Academy was preparing to graduate its most tried class yet. There was no getting over the obvious fact that this class was far smaller than most: Starfleet had sustained heavy losses in the battle against Nero and most of the senior class had been wiped out. The loss of some of their best and brightest would not go without remark, however; their seats in the auditorium would remain empty in memoriam, and there had already been a plaque bearing their names dedicated in the main cadet center building. Today was a well-earned victory, Uhura thought to herself. The weeks immediately following the disaster had been pure hell, but Starfleet was nothing if not resilient. As the dust settled, classes slowly began to resume again and graduation was postponed a full month in order to make up for time missed. Attendance rules were relaxed in order to accommodate grieving students, but all were aware that if they wished to graduate on time, they still had to fulfill all the same requirements expected of them before Nero arrived.

Uhura turned her attention back to her roommate, who was fiddling with her own commendation pin. In many ways, she was still adjusting to this newer, somber Gaila. Sometimes they would go a day or more without speaking where before there had always been conversational chatter and gentle teasing. She still maintained her prior cheer and bubbliness, but it was muted, and she was now prone to fits of quiet brooding, especially late at night. Uhura couldn't fathom what silent horrors dwelt in Gaila's mind, but whatever it was, the Orion held it close to herself alone. All Uhura knew was that Gaila was one of only sixty-five survivors off the USS Hood, out of a total three hundred and sixty-two; her commanding officer had shoved her and one other crewman into an escape pod built for only one, seconds before the bulkhead around them had disintegrated. It was a miracle Gaila had even survived.

"Well, are you ready?" Uhura asked at length, giving herself one last glance-over. Uniform was tidy and wrinkle-free, boots shined to within an inch of their life. Gaila nodded and looked towards the ancient clock tower at the corner of the campus green. It was almost time for the ceremony to start. As if on cue, Admiral Barnett appeared at the top of the steps to the assembly hall and blew a sharp whistle. Around the green, all talk and movement came to a stop as the cadets snapped to attention.

"It's time," the admiral announced. "File into rank according to your school of instruction and wait to be seated. Thank you."

He disappeared back into the assembly hall as the gathered cadets scattered to join their classmates. Gaila smiled at Uhura and nodded before going off to join the College of Astrosciences and Technology, and Uhura to the College of Communications.

She was aware of the pins Gaila had so lovingly attached to her clinking heavily as she walked. One of them was for finishing first in her College; she was very proud of it. The second was one that all the graduating cadets had: a special pin for participating in the battle against the Narada. It was only the third that made her slightly uncomfortable--a pin recognizing her as a crew member aboard the Enterprise and therefore a savior of humanity, if one wanted to get cynical. Cadets bearing that particular pin were regarded with a mixture of fascination and envy that made Uhura squirm. She had done no more than any other cadet on any other ship; she had just done her job.

As she filed into the assembly hall she craned her neck a little to look for Spock. He would be sitting with the other graduate instructors--and sure enough there he was, sitting amidst a cluster of charcoal-colored uniforms off to the far left. She caught his eye and winked; he rewarded her with a slight tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Uhura let her thoughts drift to the Vulcan science officer as she took her seat and the ceremony began. They had not found much time to spend together since returning to Earth. She was busy adjusting back to student life and revising for final exams, he with teaching and the back-and-forth trips between the Academy and the Vulcan consulate there in San Francisco. Spock had stayed true to his word to remain in Starfleet, but he could not turn his back on his Vulcan upbringing so easily. He had become a regular sight in the halls of the embassy, avidly participating in the preparations for a new Vulcan colony. Someone had found a viable location on Clak'dorr VII, a planet several light-years past where Vulcan had once been. While already inhabited, the planet boasted a large expanse of untamed desert not completely unlike Vulcan, and the ruling body had been gracious in bequeathing it to the Vulcan refugees. Preparations were already underway to build the first settlement and Spock, now a certified war hero, had been instrumental in rallying the remaining Vulcans scattered across the galaxy to support the colony.

"It is uncanny, how much the Clak'dorrian desert resembles Vulcan," Spock had said one night as they sat together on Uhura's bed. He had just returned from a short offworld trip to the new colony. Gaila had disappeared to places unknown, so they had her quarters to themselves. Uhura was making the best of a rare situation and had managed to get Spock to lean back against the headboard, his long legs stretched out in front of him. She had snuggled up under one of his arms and was idly tracing random patterns across the front of his tunic. Spock, for his part, kept that arm close around her while his free hand remained in his lap. He was slowly learning to adjust to the untried frontiers of a romantic relationship, just as she was learning to deal with having one with a half-Vulcan.

"Oh?" she murmured. They had turned all the lamps off; the only light in the room came through the window from the city lights outside. That combined with the slight movements of Spock's fingers against her shoulder had made her quite drowsy.

Spock nodded once. "With eyes closed and logic put aside, it would be possible to believe one was actually on Vulcan," he replied. Uhura couldn't help but smile a little at that. The enormity and pain of his loss still weighed heavily on him and he still kept it mostly to himself, but she could see the beginnings of healing in him. The fact that he was able to make a quip like that showed progress.

Back in the present, she watched the steady stream of cadets walk across the floor. Each accepted their graduate pin, shook Admiral Barnett's hand, and received a small plaque with their name, rank and date of commission. Each cadet received applause of varying degrees; some also were whistled at from the audience, or cheered for by their families and friends. Graduation exercises were normally much more reserved and formal than this, but it looked like the top brass could not bring themselves to begrudge their students some celebration this year. Uhura reasoned they knew better than anyone how precious each life was that crossed the floor, how fortunate they were to be alive. While it was true the crew of the Enterprise had faced considerable peril in defeating the Narada, anyone who had been on the ships that first made it to Vulcan were doubly lucky.

Uhura sat up straighter in her seat as the School of Astrosciences reached the C's. Earlier in the week she had caught wind of some prank James Kirk and Hikaru Sulu had been planning on behalf of Pavel Chekov, navigator extraordinaire. The Russian--who was Sulu's best friend--was receiving a special commendation for being the youngest graduate in Starfleet Academy history. At the age of just seventeen, this was no mean feat and their captain had no intention of letting the occasion go without remark. Uhura had no idea what the two officers were planning but, knowing Kirk, it couldn't be anything proper.

On the floor " Yeoman Cerveris, Samantha Lynn" received her pin and then it was Chekov's turn. The teen stood straight and proud, his face bright. "Ensign Chekov, Pavel Andreievich" was called out, and he crossed the floor to shake Admiral Barnett's hand and receive his graduate pin. Then the admiral cleared his throat.

"I would like to take this opportunity to recognize a special achievement," he said, eyes sweeping across the assembly hall. "Today Starfleet Academy is proud to acknowledge its youngest graduate in the history of this institution. Not only has Ensign Chekov completed his education at an age before most students would even begin their studies here, he did it while receiving highest honors and surpassing all the expectations of his peers and professors." Barnett accepted a small box from a nearby officer and withdrew a medal from it, fixing it to Chekov's chest before snapping smartly to attention. "Congratulations, Ensign." They shook hands again as the audience applauded loudly; Chekov beamed with pride.

Uhura glanced around as she clapped. Across the room in the section of the Astrosciences School that hadn't yet walked, both Kirk and Sulu's faces were the very picture of calm attentiveness. Uhura relaxed. Perhaps she had heard wrong and they weren't planning on embarrassing Chekov to death after all.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud yell from back behind her. Twisting in her seat, both she and those around her looked up to see Montgomery Scott and several of his fellow Engineering crewmates rise to their feet, clapping enthusiastically. "Russians do it better!" they bellowed, ending their cheer with a singularly lewd body gesture and a whoop. On the floor, Chekov froze mid-handshake like a deer in headlights while the crowd burst into laughter. As Scott and his gang sat back down, however, he broke out into a wide grin and pumped his fist triumphantly in the air. His face was both pleased and flushed pink as he exited the floor. Admiral Barnett tried to look stern but failed utterly; he couldn't quite hide the smirk on his face. Behind him, the assembled top brass also showed varying degrees of amusement.

Uhura just smiled, shaking her head. Kirk and Sulu were nodding at each other, grinning like idiots, while three rows ahead of her, Leonard McCoy was rolling his eyes but smiling all the same. She looked at Spock; his face was wholly disapproving, but his eyes were twinkling.

Some things never changed. In a way Uhura hoped they never would.

When it was finally her turn to walk, she accepted her pin and plague with a rush of accomplishment. Four years of hard work had paid off and now it was nothing but onwards and upwards for her, out amongst the stars. As she walked back to her seat, she sought out Spock's face in the crowd. He was applauding, and his face shone with unreserved pride. Uhura felt her breath catch. When their eyes met, he nodded once at her and smiled slightly; it was the happiest she'd ever seen him look.

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"Mom, honestly--Mom. You don't have to. Really!"

Uhura rolled her eyes good-naturedly as her mother flitted about her, fussing over her pins and generally just exuding pride. "Hush now, I'm your mother. I'll do what I like." But she was smiling as she grasped her daughter by the shoulders and held her at arms length. "My Ota, a Starfleet graduate! I know it's just killing your father that he couldn't be here."

Uhura felt a wistful twinge at this; her father, Alhamisi, was a deep-space freighter pilot for the Federation. He was currently on a month-long trip and therefore was not able to attend. At least she had received a comm message from him that morning, telling her how proud he was of her. It took the edge off of her missing him, but at least her mother was here. M'umbha Mahia Uhura was her daughter at fifty, with identical cheekbones and eyes gently creased by years of smiling. She had held her family together during her husband's often long excursions into space, and Uhura could think of no better role model than her.

Next to her mother, her brother Omari crossed his arms, grinning. Omari was several years older than her and while they had not been extremely close growing up, he had always looked out for her without coddling. Uhura figured she owed at least half of her strength of will to him.

"Might as well let her fuss, Nyota," he said. "Let her get it out of her system."

Uhura made a face and punched him lightly on the arm. "I'm twenty-one years old now," she said. "I need being cooed over about as much as you do."

Omari held his hands up, laughing. "Just saying ..."

Their mother had brought out her holocamera and was squinting at it in the bright sunlight. "I can't see these tiny little buttons," she muttered, turning it this way and that. "Omari, give me a hand, will you dear? I'm hopeless with this thing."

As he took the camera from her with a gentle eyeroll, Uhura let her eyes drift over the crowd littering the campus green. The air was filled with excited chatter; friends were hugging and saying farewell; some were getting in a last word with their favorite professor; and here and there pops of light flashed as families posed for holos. Some distance away, she could see that Hikaru Sulu was one of them. The man she figured for his father--a short, distinguished-looking man with glasses--propped his camera up on the seawall ledge and ran back to his wife and son, hastily posing in time for the flash to go off. Off to one side of them Chekov was talking to a middle-aged woman in rapid-fire Russian, his hands gesticulating wildly. Picture taken, the Sulus dropped their pose and his father retrieved the camera. Hikaru took the opportunity to grab Chekov by the arm and yank him in for an impromptu photo as well. The young ensign looked surprised, but then both grinned widely for the camera.

Nearer to the central information kiosk, Doctor McCoy was holding a small, dark-haired girl in his arms. She was pointing out different buildings around the green in turn, and the doctor seemed to be answering her questions about them. Uhura was more than a little thrown to note how open and affectionate the normally surly man's face was. Next to them, a thin, sharp-nosed woman was scowling, looking for all the world like she would rather be anywhere else but right there.

Uhura had just noticed Gaila and Jim Kirk actually talking when she saw Spock approaching out of the corner of her eye. She turned smiling to face him as he came to a stop next to her. "Spock," she murmured. "Glad that's over with?"

He shook his head once. "Quite the opposite," he replied, assuming his customary stance of hands folded behind his back. "It is always important to recognize the achievements of others--especially at a time such as this."

"All the same," she muttered, stretching--her back popped--"sitting still for so long kind of cramps you up." She was now acutely aware of both her mother and brother staring at her pointedly, and she turned to them. "Mom--Omari--this is Commander Spock. He was my instructor for Advanced Phonology and he also served with me on the Enterprise."

Omari nodded in greeting while M'umbha smiled and offered her hand. Spock stared at it a beat too long before accepting it, clasping her hand in both of his and bowing slightly. "A pleasure to meet you both," he said. "Nyota was one of my top students. You should be very proud of her."

M'umbha beamed. "I certainly am, Commander!" She focused on Uhura. "Are you ready to leave, dear?"

Not really. She looked up at Spock, stalling, then clicked her jaw shut. "I need to say goodbye to a few people first, if that's okay," she said. Her mother nodded. "I think there's still a box or two of my things left in the dorm, though, if you don't mind getting them?"

"Not at all," her mother replied kindly, taking Omari's elbow. "We'll meet you at the shuttles when you're done." They headed off in the direction of the cadet dormitories, Omari turning to wave as they went. "Nice to meet you, Commander!" he called.

Spock nodded in return before mother and brother were swallowed up in the crowd. Then he favored Uhura with a small smile; she felt her stomach flutter. "You have not told them?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"About what? Oh." He was talking about them, their relationship. Uhura shrugged a little lamely. "No ... I just haven't found a really good time to bring it up yet. But don't worry, I will--probably before we leave. Would be the smart thing, right?" She smiled up at him. "I don't think professors visit their students at home very often, especially after graduation."

Spock's cheek twitched in amusement, but he was still peering at her closely. "You are not ... ashamed of this, of us, are you?"

Uhura balked. "What--no!" she cried. Spock's eyebrow rose again and she softened, taking one of his hands in hers, looking up at him earnestly. "Never, Spock. You know that. I wish I could shout to the whole world about you. It's just ... the circumstances, our roles here--it might not be the best idea, just yet." While fraternization between a cadet and a graduate--even a professor--was not unheard of, it was not exactly smiled upon either. Spock's position as both her superior officer and instructor demanded a certain brand of respect that was difficult to maintain in an intimate relationship. Certainly it had been a fine line to tread thus far and it always would, but she was willing to try it, for him.

Spock's lips pursed as he nodded, considering her argument. "Your logic is sound. It would be advisable to maintain ... discretion ... for the time being." His eyes softened as well. "Forgive me for doubting you."

Uhura smiled up at him and opened her mouth to speak, but James T. Kirk picked that exact second to walk up. He clapped both of them on the shoulders. "If it ain't my science officer and his lady!" he said cheerfully.

Uhura pushed down a sudden rush of impatience as she pasted a smile on her face. Spock as always was the picture of calm indifference; she wished he would just tell Kirk to bugger off. "I'm my own person, thank you very much," she said icily, just as Spock said, "Captain, I would appreciate it if you would not draw attention to--"

Kirk was not deterred. "Of course you are. Look, Spock"--he frowned--"You're coming with us, right? When the Enterprise leaves dock?"

Uhura fought the urge to make an ugly face. How adorable. He's worried about someone besides himself.

Spock tucked Uhura's hand into the crook of his elbow and regarded Kirk with a serene face. "Perhaps. My father has requested my presence at a meeting of the interim High Council tomorrow to discuss matters pertaining to the colony on Clak'dorr VII. He says it is of utmost importance. I cannot think of what they would request of me, but at this moment, I have every intention of being on board the Enterprise."

"Great," Kirk replied easily. "I'd hate to gave to find a replacement science officer." Suddenly, his eyes looked past Spock's shoulder and he grimaced. "Oh shit, here comes Gaila. I really don't wanna have that discussion again--see you guys in a week!" He beat a hasty exit just as Gaila approached from behind Spock.

"Hi Nyota, Commander," she said, eyes narrowing slightly at Kirk's retreating back. "Happy to be done?"

Uhura nodded while Spock replied, "Indeed, Ensign Gaila. May I offer my congratulations on your graduation and commission?" The Orion nodded, and Uhura was shocked to see her look a little shy. Spock offered her one of his rare smiles and inclined his head. "Where will you go from here?"

"I've been assigned to the USS Marconi," Gaila replied proudly, standing straighter. "You know, the new communications ship? I'll be running computer tech support, make sure everything runs smoothly, that sort of thing."

Uhura beamed at her roommate while Spock nodded. "A critical function, and an honorable one. I wish you the best of luck, Ensign."

"Thanks!" Gaila said brightly, then turned to Uhura, her face sobering. She was surprised to see Gaila's eyes turn misty. "I just ... I just wanted to say thanks. For the past four years. You've been a really good friend and roommate."

Uhura felt a lump rise in her throat. She hadn't been expecting this sort of farewell from Gaila at all, but now that it was here she was actually feeling a little choked up. She had taken Gaila's presence in her life for granted--indeed, everything about the Academy. The familiar buildings and sights, her bed with its purple bedspread, the same route she took to the communications lab every day. The cadets she shared most of her classes with, the mess hall, the table she usually sat at in the library. And, of course, the girl she had lived with for the past four years. They had never been the best of friends, but you don't live with someone for that long and not form some sort of kinship.

"Oh, Gaila," Uhura mumbled, and stepped forward to give her a hug. "You don't have to do that. I couldn't have asked for a better roommate." Which was a little bit of a lie--how many times had Uhura complained about the endless parade of men through their room?--but it was just water under the bridge now.

Spock watched silently as the two women patted each others' backs, sniffling, then drew away and smiled at each other. "Take care of yourself, okay, Gaila?" Uhura said. "Keep in touch. Really. I mean it."

Gaila nodded, then looked at Spock. "You keep an eye on her," she said seriously, though her eyes were twinkling. She jerked a thumb at Uhura. "Keep her out of trouble."

Spock looked bemused. "I was not aware the Lieutenant required looking after."

"Nyota, Commander, Nyota," Gaila corrected. "And I know she doesn't. What I meant was--well, Nyota knows what I mean." Uhura nodded, rolling her eyes and smiling. "Take care of each other, you two." She winked at Spock--who raised an eyebrow--then sketched a short salute before disappearing into the crowd once more.

Uhura watched her go, sighing. Spock glanced between her and Gaila's retreating form a few times before touching Uhura's elbow. "You will miss her?" he asked at length.

"Of course I will," she replied, taking a deep breath. Then she turned to face him, hands fluttering like she wanted to grasp his arms. "1100 hours at the shuttleport, right?"

Spock nodded. "Yes. Though I am still unsure about this--spending time with your family. It is a ... daunting idea."

Uhura grinned playfully. "Don't worry! They'll love you. They love you already. Good luck at the Council meeting tomorrow." She stood on tiptoes to lightly brush her lips against Spock's cheek and was pleased to see him briefly flush a dull green.

"Thank you. Be safe until then," Spock replied, still blushing, and squeezed her fingers. Then he bowed slightly and walked off.

Uhura turned to head for the shuttleport, but was interrupted by the return of Jim Kirk. "Uhura! Glad to get you alone for a minute," he started. She groaned and turned away from him, crossing her arms. "Hey!" he exclaimed defensively, "I know we got off on the wrong foot--"

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"--Okay, so we've always been on the wrong foot, but I want to make things right. I'm going to try and do better, alright? I have to--captain of a ship, and all."

Arms still crossed, she let her eyes scan the crowd again before they fell on Doctor McCoy once more. It looked like he and the short brunette were having an argument. His hands were gesticulating wildly and she was red in the face, her upper lip curled in a sneer. "I'm willing to cooperate with you professionally, Captain, but I'm not going to become a fawning fangirl any time soon, if ever," she said icily.

Kirk nodded as if he were expecting this. "All I ask is that you try. I know you're still mad about that whole deal with Spock--"

She swiveled to glare at him, her ponytail whipping around. "Mad? There aren't enough words in thirteen languages to describe how mad I am at you, Captain," she spit. Kirk's eyes went wide. "I know that everything turned out all right in the end and that it was all part of some devious master plan you had--but that was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen anyone do. There had to have been another way to get yourself in that seat without you making a complete prick of yourself."

To her surprise, Kirk did not boast or joke or argue back. Instead, he looked properly chastised and shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"There should have been, yeah," he murmured. "I wish there was. But I couldn't see any other way to do it."

"Do what."

"I--" Kirk's hands flailed helplessly; indecision did not suit him very well, Uhura thought. "Forget about it. Look, Spock's already forgiven me, why can't you?"

Uhura scowled and turned away again. She couldn't begin to understand why Spock had absolved Kirk of any wrongdoing that day on the Enterprise deck, but she knew she herself was only human. She didn't let go of a grudge or forgive a slight easily. She thought for a moment on how to answer that, but instead looked back at the McCoys. "I didn't know the Doctor had a family," she said abruptly.

Kirk blinked a few times at her, but settled for watching said family himself quietly for a minute. "I did. You don't live with a guy for four years without learning something about his home life." In front of them, the brunette was stalking off, leaving a sputtering McCoy behind her. The little girl was tugging on his hand. After a second he gathered himself up and turned to her, pasting a smile on his face. She said something up at him, and then he smiled for real, though it was tinged with sadness. He tweaked her nose affectionately and then, hand in hand, they followed the brunette in the direction of the spaceport.

"Are they married?" Uhura asked skeptically. She hadn't recalled seeing a wedding band on McCoy's hand, though it wasn't as if she'd ever spent a great deal of time looking.

Beside her, Kirk snorted rudely. "Hell no. Not anymore, anyway." He nodded at the brunette. "Jocelyn there is a bitch on wheels. Divorcing her and joining Starfleet is probably the best thing Bones has ever done for himself."

Uhura winced. "And the little girl?" She didn't want to think too much about what sort of effect McCoy's obviously nasty relationship with his ex would have on any offspring.

This time Kirk lit up. "Joanna? She's great. Smartest kid you'll ever meet, takes after her dad. Luckily." He sobered. "Bones tries to keep all of the animosity out of her sight but, as you can see, it doesn't always work." He sighed. "He misses her a lot. He won't ever admit it, though."

Uhura frowned, then checked the time on the clock tower with a start. "Shit--I said I'd meet my family at the shuttleport. Got to run." She saluted Kirk, not without a little sarcasm; he saluted back, smirking. She wanted to slap it off his face. "See you in a week." She started off for the shuttleport at a jog before a thought hit her. She turned back to Kirk for a moment, who was still standing where she left him. "What are you doing on your break?" she yelled. "Any family to visit?"

"Eh, yeah," Kirk called back, shrugging. "They're always so excited to see me." Uhura rolled her eyes, then turned back towards the shuttleport.

She was halfway to her home in Africa, sitting in between her mother and brother, before she realized that Kirk had not really answered her question.

Fic: I Will Surely Break (Star Trek, Excerpt) 1/1

Thu, 04 Jun 2009 04:30:48 GMT

Title: I Will Surely Break
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: T (some graphic content)
Word Count: 3,077
Characters: Uhura, Chekov, Sulu, Kirk, McCoy, Christine Chapel
Summary: Lingering guilt over losing Amanda Grayson's transporter signal has terrible consequences for Pavel Chekov.

Author's Notes: An excerpt taken from roughly halfway through the timline of a fic I am currently writing, called 'Comedy of Errors'. This part was just screaming to get out of my brain, so it was the first to be written. Some notes of mention concerning this ficlet:
- Spock is not on the Enterprise here. He left for the Vulcan colony some months earlier, hurting Uhura very badly in the process.
- Chekov had been nursing a crush on Uhura and about a week prior to this had confessed it, but was politely rejected.
- Of course, the real reason behind all this was guilt over Amanda (which no one was aware of), but Uhura turning him down was sort of the straw that broke the camel's back.

-----

"How much longer til we come out of warp, Mr. Sulu?" Kirk asked.

The helmsman consulted his readouts. "Approximately ten minutes, sir." Kirk nodded, then shifted his gaze back to the empty tactician's seat. He frowned.

"Anybody know where Chekov is?" he finally asked, throwing his hands up. The informality reminded Uhura again of Kirk's struggles in adjusting to his captaincy; sometimes he just wanted to talk to his bridge crew like normal people. As it was, he was swiveling side-to-side slightly in his seat, chewing on a thumbnail.

Sulu glanced back, trying and failing not to look a little worried. "No clue, sir," he replied, as other crew members shrugged. "Last time I saw him was at lunch in the mess hall."

Kirk continued to chew on his thumb, brows creasing. "And he seemed okay?"

Sulu nodded without looking up from his station. Kirk sighed and stretched. "Well, he's ten minutes late for his shift and we need him to help get us through that gas field when we come out of warp." He swiveled around to face Uhura. "Lieutenant, can you page him for me?"

Uhura nodded as she switched over to an internal frequency and sent a hailing tone to the comm in Chekov's quarters. After waiting the standard fifteen seconds, she tried again. No answer came back.

"Captain, he's not answering," she said, looking back at Kirk. This time not only did Kirk swivel to face her, but so did Sulu and Lieutenant Harrison. Kirk looked like he was torn between rolling his eyes and being genuinely concerned.

"All right," he said. "Do me a favor and go beat down his door for me." At Uhura's affronted look, he added, "Please?"

Sulu was standing up. "Sir, I'll go--"

Kirk waved him down. "No, Lieutenant, we need you here to take us out of warp. Uhura, you go--Lieutenant Hawkins can cover for you."

"Yes sir." Uhura stood and headed for the lift, looking to Sulu as she went. He nodded at her; then the doors to the lift swooshed shut and she was on her way.

She couldn't help but feel a nervous twinge in her stomach as she exited onto Deck 9. She was pretty sure she was still the last person alive Chekov would want to see, but maybe she could make the best of it. Yes, that was it--now that she had the opportunity to talk to him where he couldn't run, she would apologize. Guilt had been gnawing at her gut the entire past week, and she hated that Chekov didn't seem to be able to even bear her presence anymore. If anything, this needed to be fixed for professional purposes at the very least. Tactical and Communications couldn't work together if Tactical refused to acknowledge Communications' existence. Beyond even that, Uhura mused, she really just wanted her friend back.

She stopped outside the door that the ship directory had told her belonged to Chekov's quarters, and pushed the door chime. "Ensign Chekov? This is Lieutenant Uhura," she said into the speaker. Nice, even and professional. "The Captain is requesting your presence on the bridge and, due to failure to answer your comm, I've been sent here personally."

Several seconds passed, and there was still no answer. Uhura put her ear to the door; she couldn't hear anything inside. Frowning--and with an irrational pit of dread growing in her stomach--she walked a couple steps over to a deck terminal and keyed into the ship's directory again. "Computer, please locate Ensign Pavel Chekov," she said. A second passed for the query to compute, and then the screen lit up with a map of Deck 9, Section 2 and a red dot blinking in the room where she had just been. Chekov was in his quarters.

Uhura shook her head once to clear it. Something was off--Chekov had never been derelict in duty before, and he was clearly in his quarters; why wasn't he answering his comm? She walked quickly back to his door and, feeling silly, knocked loudly on it. "Ensign Chekov? Are you there?" Still, silence. Her stomach twisted, and she shook her head again. Surely nothing was wrong; perhaps he'd overslept. He had looked exhausted lately, now that she thought about it.

She decided to try a different tack. "Pavel?" she said, knocking again. "Pavel, it's me, Nyota. Open up." A passing crewman gave her an odd look, and she smiled akwardly at him, shifting on her feet, before turning back to the door and knocking one more time. "Pavel?"

On a split-second decision, she half-ran back to the deck terminal and brought up Security. "Security, this is Lieutenant Nyota Uhura requesting security override to enter Ensign Pavel Chekov's quarters." She brought up his officer profile in another window. "... Deck 9, Section 2, three-F one-six-nine."

The voice that answered back was decidedly less than friendly. "What for, Lieutenant? You know we don't honor requests like that, for obvious reasons."

Uhura felt heat rising in her cheeks, and it wasn't at all due to embarrassment. "Captain's orders," she bit out. "Ask him yourself if you don't believe me. Now open that door."

The reply was two seconds too long in coming for her comfort. "Yes ma'am." Down the corridor she heard the faint click-and-beep of the autolock on Chekov's door shutting off. She paused long enough to log out but not thank the Security officer, then rushed back to the door. "Pavel?" she called one more time, just to be safe. When no answer came, she squared her shoulders and stepped in front of the door, activating the sensors and opening it.

As she stepped inside and the door swished shut behind her, she registered several things at once. First, the room was completely dark save for light filtering in through a crack in the lavatory door. Second, the bed was unmade and empty, the sheets twisted into a convoluted mess and nearly pushed off one side of the bed. Third, there was a faint odor on the air that she couldn't quite identify. Taking an experimental sniff, the first things that came to mind were alcohol and sick.

She moved instinctively toward the lavatory and the ribbon of light peeking through the door. "Pavel?" she stage-whispered. "Are you in ..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes took in what was visible through the door: a few shredded, soiled napkins and a pair of boot-clad feet, sprawled at an unnatural angle on the floor.

Uhura's heart leapt into her throat and she all but charged the lavatory door, slamming her hand into the door release and stumbling through, nearly tripping over the feet the blocked the entrance. When her eyes adjusted to the sudden flare of light, what she saw made her stomach drop through the floor and her blood run cold.

Pavel Chekov was unconscious on the floor, still fully-clad in his uniform, body crumpled with his neck jammed up against the toilet. It was obvious that he'd been sick at least once in the toilet, and then several times after that on the floor beside it and on himself. A halo of destroyed tissues surrounded him and littered the area closest to the shower stall, where they kept several empty vodka bottles company. His skin was deathly pale and his face shone with a film of what looked to be tears mixed with snot. He didn't appear to be breathing.

"Oh god," Uhura breathed and rushed to his side, shaking fingers searching for a pulse at his neck. His skin was cold, too cold, and clammy. After a terrifying minute, she found it: agonizingly slow and weak, but there. Cursing under her breath, she stood and ran into the room proper and slapped at the comm. "Uhura to Sickbay!" she yelled. "We need Medical in Ensign Chekov's quarters, now!"

McCoy's voice came back immediately, and Uhura had never been happier to hear his voice in her life. "Uhura?" He sounded confused. "What's the emergency?"

"Just get down here," she cried, her voice growing more and more panicked by the second. "Quick. He's dying, Leonard, he's dying--"

"On my way," he said, and the comm clicked off before the last word was out of his mouth. Her head buzzing white noise, Uhura ran back to the lavatory and knelt at Chekov's side, hands fluttering over him for a second as the gorge rose in her throat. If it were possible, his face looked even more pallid than it had twenty seconds ago.

"No, no, no no no," she muttered, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. Not this way, not yet, not like this--she forced herself to take two deep breaths, then opened her eyes. Okay. Recovery position, one of the first things taught in compulsory first aid at the Academy. With a gentleness that belied her terror, she grasped underneath Chekov's shoulder and ribs and rolled him onto his side, drawing his arms out in front of him. His right arm flopped bonelessly over and his hand hit the tile with a wet smack; Uhura gritted her teeth and moved his head to tilt his chin up and his face over. Almost immediately he vomited, his torso spasming as his body sought to rid itself of the lethal alcohol. Uhura jerked back in surprise, then grabbed his face to try and keep his throat clear. His whole body shook as he had another convulsion. Even more sick bubbled at the sides of his mouth and he started gagging; she desperately tried to keep his head angled correctly. With a loud clank, she heard the outer door open and then McCoy was staring down at them, two nurses and an orderly behind him. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he switched over to full doctor mode.

"Clear out, Lieutenant," he barked, moving inside the lavatory with a portable stretcher in his hands. Uhura was forced to back into the shower stall as McCoy and the orderly set the board down beside Chekov and maneuvered him onto it, securing straps over him. He'd gone still. Christine was hovering over them, getting readings on a medical scanner.

"Acute ethanol poisoning," Christine said grimly, stepping back and punching something into a PADD. McCoy's face twisted as he and the orderly lifted Chekov up. "Tell me something that isn't obvious," he growled, carrying the front end of the stretcher out of the ensign's quarters and into the corridor. Uhura followed numbly, unable to tear her eyes away from Chekov's slack face. "Main Sickbay, and hurry," McCoy was saying, practically running. The orderly kept up easily on his end. "He hasn't got much time left."

Uhura felt bile rise in her throat again and she ran after them, her mind spinning. In Sickbay, Chekov was immediately taken behind a curtain, McCoy shouting orders left and right. The room was suddenly alive with a flurry of activity. "Chapel! Fifty milliliters of that dextrose saline flush now, and Brent, get me a hypo of thiamine. Tracy, get the aspirator ready. We're going to have to pump him."

Uhura stumbled backwards until the backs of her knees hit a bed, and she put out a hand to steady herself, the other hand pressing against her stomach. She was in absolute shock--she had never, ever expected to find Chekov like this, and underneath the abject fear she was beginning to feel a crawling, ugly guilt. What if she was somehow responsible for this?

Christine hurried behind the curtain with a bag of clear fluid and an IV drip, then reappeared a minute later and went to a comm module next to the bed Uhura was leaning against. "Nurse Chapel to Bridge," she said briskly.

It was enough to startle Uhura from her stupor. "Wait--no, Christine, what are you doing?"

The nurse fixed her with a hard stare as she opened her mouth to speak at the Bridge's acknowledgement; then, her eyes softened. "Nyota, I have to," she said quietly. "The captain needs to be informed of this." She held her eyes for a second longer before turning back to the comm. "Yes, Bridge, this is Nurse Chapel. We have a personnel emergency in main Sickbay. The captain needs to come down here immediately."

Uhura dimly heard Hawkins's reply and then, strangely, Kirk's tinny voice coming out of the speaker. "Is it Chekov?" he asked.

Christine glanced at Uhura before simply saying, "Yes."

"I'll be right there," Kirk snapped. "Bridge out."

Christine sighed heavily as the link broke, then looked back at Uhura. "You don't need to be here right now," she said gently. "There's nothing you can do for him."

Uhura shook her head, even as she felt nearly consumed by an overwhelming hysteria. "I do--"

There was an angry-sounding beep of machinery from behind the curtain that couldn't possibly mean anything good. "Chapel!" McCoy yelled, but the nurse was already jogging back. The instant she disappeared behind the curtain, the doors to Sickbay opened and both Kirk and Sulu came running in full-tilt. Kirk glanced briefly at Uhura before flagging down one of the nurses who'd come out from behind the curtain at their arrival. They moved off to one side and began talking in low, quick tones. Sulu, however, ran past them all and went straight for Chekov. He was barely behind the curtain before Uhura heard McCoy roar "OUT! This is a sickbay, not a goddamned circus! Get out!" and a protesting Sulu was pushed back out into the middle of the floor. Before the curtain fluttered back into place Uhura was horrified to see Chekov's limbs spasming again, rattling the both bed and the orderly straining to get his ankles under wraps. Another high-pitched beeping was getting evermore insistent. "Brent! More thiamine, that obviously wasn't enough--yes, dammit, that's what I said, do you see him--"

The cowed assistant ran past Sulu to the supply cabinet as the helmsman backed slowly away from the cluster of activity, until he bumped into Uhura's shoulder. She could see the whites of his eyes.

"What happened?" he rasped.

She shook her head, mouth working noiselessly. "I--I don't know--" she finally said, her voice cracked. "I just--I found him--like that--" Her face felt hot and her throat tight, and it was a moment before she realized that the irregular pat-pat sound she heard was her own tears, falling fast off her cheeks and onto the floor. Sulu didn't answer, and together they stood in silence watching nurses run back and forth, listened to the clicking and beeping of medical instruments, all working furiously to save the life of their friend and crewmate. Behind them, both Kirk and the nurse he'd been talking to exited to the turbolifts.

Suddenly there was a high-pitched whistle followed by a droning of another tone: the sound every person in a medical environment fears. They could hear McCoy growl in frustration, followed by a loud bang. "Fuck! Don't do this, kid. Come on back. Goddammit, Chekov--"

The curtain fluttered again and both Uhura and Sulu caught a glimpse of the doctor ramrod-straight over his younger crewman, physically performing CPR on him; and Christine beside him, holding the bag of liquid high with one hand while the other flew over the control panel of some suddenly meaningless machine. Uhura felt the floor tilt dangerously underneath her. An instant before her vision went while she felt strong hands grip her by the upper arms: Sulu was the only thing keeping her upright even while his eyes remained locked on the shadows moving behind the curtain. His fingernails dug painfully into her skin but she hardly felt it. It was as though her own life was slipping away along with that of Chekov.

Sound, sight and thought all blurred together until it was one deafening roar in her ears. Chekov was dying--he was nearly dead--and Uhura couldn't get past the thought of it's my fault, it's my fault, he's dead because of me, I got there too late--and yet, the one logical corner of her brain that remained insisted it couldn't be the case. Surely her gentle refusal of his affections could not have been enough to drive him to drink himself to death, intentional or otherwise. Surely? Something else had to be there, something they all had missed, something she would make damn sure was fixed, if only he would survive. She closed her eyes and prayed to any god listening that Chekov's life be spared. He's too young, too brilliant, he's still got so much to do, please god don't let him die ... I swear I'll forget I ever met Spock and sign away my life to a silly, wonderful, beautiful Russian boy if only you'll save him, I don't care, please ...

Minutes passed in an eternity before Uhura was aware of McCoy emerging from behind the curtain. He looked like he'd been caught on the wrong end of a transporter beam and older than he had any right to. It was only then she noticed that all the blaring machines had quieted down to routine beeps and hums, and that the nurses were moving around silently, folding up cords and stowing away tools. Her head snapped up to look at the doctor; beside her, she could hear Sulu's breath coming in ragged gasps.

McCoy let out a heavy breath and dragged his hand across his face. "He'll make it," he said quietly. "He'll be here a little while, but he'll make it. Stupid kid ..."

Uhura's knees gave out and she sank to the floor, dragging Sulu with her. She stumbled and fell sideways into a hard sit, burying her face in her hands. Just beside and behind her, Sulu steadied himself on one knee and dropped his forehead blindly onto her shoulder, his fingers squeezing her arms hard enough to hurt. She convulsively reached up to grab his hand where it gripped her shoulder.

McCoy tried to ignore the way the other man's shoulders shook, the sound of Uhura's quiet hitching sobs. After a minute he walked to them and awkwardly touched both their heads. His fingers caressed their hair for the briefest of seconds; then he straightened and cracked his knuckles, sniffing loudly. "I'm going to go notify Jim," he said, and walked off to his office without waiting for a reply.

Uhura and Sulu remained where they collapsed for a long time, until Christine came out and told them that Chekov needed his rest, and that they had to leave Sickbay.

Fic: Genesis (Star Trek, Spock/Uhura) 1/1

Thu, 04 Jun 2009 04:14:14 GMT

Title: Genesis
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: G
Pairing: Spock/Uhura
Summary: Little snippets in the life of Nyota Uhura that culminate in the events in the Enterprise turbolift. SPOILERS.

Author's Notes: This is my first foray into ST fanfic and only my second fic ever so I am extremely nervous. I hope you enjoy! This fic is a result of me explaining to myself how Spock and Uhura came to be at that pivotal moment in the lift.
THANKS A MILLION to my lovely betas -- superkappa , camellie , weepwop , and stars_fell . I can't thank you all enough. You guys rock and all of your input was so wonderful. May Spock visit you in your dreams.
Uses some dialogue from the novelization. Also borrowed a line from another fic (WHICH I CANNOT FIND TO CREDIT D:). Contains a reference to both Doctor Who (if you spot it you get a cookie) and Laurie R. King's A Monstrous Regiment of Women (if you catch this you are my fandom soulmate)

------

Genesis (noun): beginning – the time or circumstances of something’s coming into being.

For almost as long as Nyota Uhura had been with Starfleet, she had admired Spock. She admired his intelligence, his skill with computer systems, the way nothing seemed to ever ruffle his feathers. He was unflappable; she liked that.

He was patient with her. For all her brilliance she was not immune to the occasional mistake, and when he corrected her she never once felt like she was being spoken down to. He was also willing to debate topics relevant to and even outside the realm of her topic of study, something only a few of her professors did.

Because of all this she could say with confidence that Spock was by far her favorite teacher at Starfleet. She flourished under his tutelage. His cool efficiency was very conducive to productive work, she found, and was not distracting--unlike the vocal frustration, tiredness, and snappiness her other professors sometimes exhibited. Uhura did not see this as necessarily bad traits—they were simply human and did as human often do. More than once she found herself—with only just slight bit guilt—wishing all of her teachers were Vulcan. If she could do as well in all her classes as she did the one with a Vulcan for a teacher, she was sure she could graduate top of her class.

Not that she thought she couldn’t graduate top of her class regardless—it would have just been so much easier that way. Uhura was not one to back down from a challenge, however.

She found herself eagerly anticipating time spent with Spock, whether it was in class listening raptly to his instruction, or working as his teaching aide for Advanced Phonology. She enjoyed discussing the subtle intricacies of the Vulcan language with him and drew great satisfaction from answering his own questions on languages he wasn’t as familiar with.

It wasn’t until Gaila made an offhand comment that Uhura realized there might be a flaw in the works.

“You talk about him nonstop,” the other girl said. She was fluffing her curly hair in the mirror, preparing for a night out with one of her gentlemen friends. Uhura was sitting on her bed studying a text on Romulan phonology.

“What?” Uhura asked blankly. Her roommate had interrupted her in the midst of a ramble on the finer points of Romulan syntax, and the remark had thrown her for a loop.

“Spock,” Gaila replied. “You’re always going on about him. ‘Spock this’ and ‘Spock that’ and ‘Spock is so great, I wish all my teachers were like Spock.’” She capped her lipstick and swiveled in her chair to face Uhura, a knowing twinkle in her eye. “You don’t like him, do you?”

Uhura automatically dismissed her with an eyeroll and a “pfft”, but on the inside she was frowning. Was that what she really sounded like? Spock was merely her favorite professor and nothing more; he challenged her mind, pushed to her learn and grow, and she craved the knowledge he had to offer. That was all. That there might be something more … well, that would just be ridiculous.

“I don’t blame you,” Gaila was saying. “I don’t think a Vulcan would be my first choice, but on second thought it could be kind of hot. They can mind meld, you know, and ooh wouldn’t it be fun to see that hard exterior crack—“

“Gaila!” Uhura cried sharply, horrified. “I do not want to have sex with Spock. He’s my teacher, for goodness sake. Just … no.” She slammed her book shut. “End of story.”

Gaila shrugged delicately as she picked up her purse, but Uhura didn’t miss the smirk on her face as she walked out the door.

This would not do. Gaila was a good roommate and friend and not nearly as stupid as she made herself out to be, but if she had a weakness, it was gossip. Uhura did not need the entire cadet class thinking she had an absurd crush on her eminently logical professor. She had lofty ambitions and a very demanding course load--she didn’t have time for this kind of silly nonsense.

So Uhura internalized it, her admiration and respect, and went about business as usual. She limited her comments to others about Spock to the point of nonexistence, and if he caught wind of anything, he didn’t let on.

To her dismay, though, Gaila’s insinuation had wriggled its way into her brain and planted a tantalizing seed. Almost against her will she found herself paying extra attention to Spock’s words, the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, his gestures and actions and demeanor around her. She even found herself giving special care to her own looks before a class with him or before going somewhere he might be: maybe some new lip gloss, or earrings, or just a splash of perfume when Gaila wasn’t looking. She thought about how she found a night spent discussing Romulan liturgical evolution with him more interesting than a night at a bar; how one of his rare half-smiles meant more to her than a ‘compliment’ from a rowdy cadet.

Before she knew it, she was most definitely infatuated with her Vulcan teacher.

Uhura was a little furious with herself—there was no way she was going to let Gaila know she’d effectively won. Her rational side knew there wasn’t much of a point to it all anyway. Even though she had inferred that Spock was half-human on his mother’s side, he seemed to take more after his Vulcan heritage and was the most stoic person she knew. If—and even if—Spock took notice of females in the first place, it would probably be another Vulcan and certainly not a lower student such as herself.

To combat this distraction—which Uhura considered silly at best and very juvenile—she attacked her studies with an almost religious zeal. Even if Spock never noticed her in that way, she felt grateful and fortunate just to have him as a teacher. His expertise had been invaluable to her in her studies, and it was all worth it just for the sparing praise he awarded her with after a job particularly well done.

-----

One Friday around midterm, when the first subtle hints of winter began popping in the air, Uhura was staying late in the lab finishing up a difficult analysis comparing the deviations of Romulan syntax to that of Old High Vulcan. She was aware her work that night had been less than stellar, but her mind was preoccupied. She told the computer to run the daily logs with a sigh.

“Miss Uhura,” Spock said. He was across the room doing diagnostics on a faulty panel; wires were trailing all around him from the innards of the computer. Uhura turned wearily to face him, rubbing her eyes; it had been a long day.

“I have noticed that your analyses tonight showed signs of carelessness and lack of thought. This is most unlike you.”

He didn’t outright ask what was bothering her, but by now he didn’t have to. They’d worked so closely for so long that he could tell when she wasn’t completely focused. Uhura sighed again and stood, crossing over to sit at the console next to him. “I’m sorry,” she said lamely. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind today. I promise I’ll do better on Monday.”

Spock carefully set aside his spanner and gave her an appraising look. “Distraction is also most unlike you. What is it that gives you such cause for worry?”

For the first time since she had met him, Uhura felt stupid in his presence. “It’s silly,” she mumbled, twisting her hands and hating the sudden onset of doubt. “Don’t worry about it.”

“The rare thing that causes my best student worry could hardly be classified as ‘silly’,” Spock countered. She flushed slightly at his veiled praise. “Perhaps if I knew the source of your discomfort, I could offer insight to a solution.”

Uhura didn’t respond immediately. She watched him work for a minute instead, his nimble fingers attaching wires and nodes with ease.

“I have a Chorale recital tomorrow,” she finally said. Spock nodded minutely, eyes focused on the panel. “We have a few every semester. I was assigned a solo for this one. What with the rigors of this assistantship, and everything else I have going on, I haven’t had much time to practice. I’m … afraid I’m not going to do very well. I don’t want to embarrass both myself and the Chorale.”

Spock fit the console panel back into place and touched it once at each corner with the spanner. Then he turned towards her, crossing his arms.

“Is your schedule too demanding?” he asked seriously. “I can see to it that it is relaxed—“

“No!” Uhura said quickly. She was more than able to deal with her activities; she had just been devoting more time to her core studies than extracurricular. “It’s more like … a lapse in time management. I ought to know better. I do know better.”

Spock nodded once, then steepled his hands as he considered her once again. “I have not heard you sing, but I have no doubt as to your proficiency with it,” he said, his gaze level. “You excel in everything you do, Miss Uhura. I find it illogical to believe you would not excel there as well.”

Other humans would probably call Spock’s compliments backhanded, but over time Uhura had come to understand and appreciate them for what they were. His calm assessment of her skills succeeded in calming her much more than Gaila: “Of course you’ll do great, Nyota! You are vice-president of the Chorale after all!” But Uhura knew she was not vice-president because she had the best voice; it was because she was one of the best leaders amongst the group, best able to organize and take care of the managerial duties of the Ensemble.

The next night, as Uhura stepped forward for her solo, she received the shock of her life when she saw Spock sitting in the audience. She was surprised—as far as she knew, he didn’t attend campus events like this. If she had been a lesser woman, the sight of her crush—whose opinion meant more than she would perhaps like to admit—would have made her even more nervous. But she was not a lesser woman. Spock believed she wouldn’t fail so she would prove it to him, and everyone else as well. She threw her shoulders back and sang with all her heart and soul.

The following Monday Spock didn’t make any mention of her concert until they were leaving the lab for the evening. Before they parted ways at their customary spot—she to the cadet dormitories, he to the graduate—he turned to face her.

“You performed most admirably Saturday evening,” he said, his hands behind his back. “So you see, just as I said, it was illogical of you to worry.” Uhura could swear she saw the corners of his mouth upturn slightly.

She couldn’t help it—she actually blushed. “Thank you,” she said simply, and meant it. She wouldn’t gush or exclaim how she was so surprised to see him there or how she couldn’t believe it. That just wasn’t how they worked.

Spock inclined his head at her, and she thought she saw the ghost of a real smile on his lips before he straightened. “The hour is late, Miss Uhura,” he said. “The dormitories await. Thank you for your time and effort--it is most appreciated.”

It was his traditional farewell. Uhura walked back to her quarters with her feet on clouds. Spock was her favorite teacher, and her silly crush—but more importantly perhaps, he was also her friend.

-----

A friend that she could be quite defensive of, she realized later.

Uhura was not deaf; she heard the whispers, was keenly aware of them. Even in the enlightened mindset of the Federation bigotry was not unheard of, though it was mostly due to ignorance or an unfortunate upbringing than out of any real animosity towards a person. She knew of Spock’s mixed heritage and had gleaned from some of his more unguarded comments that he had probably not had an easy childhood due to it.

She herself was no stranger to bigotry. She had encountered some of it herself just once due to the color of her skin, but sometimes because of her gender. As a woman she felt she had to push herself farther, be smarter than everyone else and succeed at everything, just to prove her worth.

These were but minor stumbling blocks in the main scheme of things. Her first experience with how it could truly hurt had been through Gaila. Her roommate, cheerful and bubbly as she was, let the comments slide most of the time. One time, she didn’t.

Uhura would never forget the night Gaila came back to their quarters crying, shaking and bruised, sobbing about the male cadet that had shaken her and called her a green-skinned slag. Uhura’s heart had cried, and she had spent the night smoothing her friend’s hair back and drying her tears, tending to her light wounds and giving her words of comfort and strength. Gaila had not wanted to report the cadet, much to Uhura’s dismay; she said she feared repercussions. Uhura had wanted to go to the authorities regardless, but Gaila had trusted her. It was something Uhura still regretted all the same.

They had gotten along fine before that incident, but afterwards there was something new in their friendship. Uhura still bemoaned Gaila’s never-ending stream of gentlemen callers and Gaila still despaired over Uhura’s lack of them, but they had a much deeper understanding of each other. Uhura never let another remark about her Orion roommate slide again.

Thus Uhura was keenly aware of the whispers she sometimes heard in the library, in the halls, on the campus grounds. According to another cadet, Spock’s heritage made him an aberration on Vulcan. The small number of Vulcans in Starfleet to begin with made them ripe for speculation, and Uhura heard it all: Emotionless. Cold as ice. Arrogant. Impossible to please. Pointy-eared bastard. Half-breed, even. And other, uglier remarks Uhura didn’t like to think about because it made her blood boil. She wanted to yell at those ignorant mouth-runners, stamp her foot and scream that if they thought they could do better than Spock had she’d like to see them try.

But she didn’t.

She knew, somehow, that Spock would not appreciate her—or anyone else—coming to his defense.

They did not socialize much outside of class and their project—if anything Spock did could be construed as socializing—but sometimes if they finished their lab work before the cadet mess hall closed for the evening, they would eat a quick meal together. Uhura was aware that this generated a small amount of talk, but she was now beyond the point of caring. Let them talk, she thought rudely. I’m proud to be seen with him. They only wish they were half as brilliant.

Sometimes Gaila would be in the mess hall too, and she would make it her mission to flirt with the Vulcan: a salacious wink here, a slight reveal of out-of-regulation cleavage there. Spock was never anything but polite to her, asking briefly after her studies and never showing the slightest hint that he was interested or even aware of her advances. Uhura would stab her fork at her salad and grit her teeth until Gaila left with a happy wave and a “See you later!”

She couldn’t be too angry with her, though. Just as Uhura stuck up for her now, Gaila reciprocated. One evening after Spock had left their table Gaila’s crowd had descended on her, wanting to know all about the enigmatic science officer. To Uhura’s surprise, Gaila did not join in and in fact looked highly upset. “Drop it, guys,” she had said firmly.

It was so unlike Gaila that her companions were stunned into silence and they had slunk back to their own table. Back in their room, Gaila shrugged it off.

“You like him,” she said quietly. “No, don’t look at me like that, I know you do. So he must have some redeeming qualities.”

At Uhura’s surprised look, she smiled wryly and said. “Sex isn’t all I think about, Nyota.”

Spock never called Uhura by her first name.

-----

The semester was over too quickly and before she knew it, Uhura had completed her assistantship with Spock. She spent the last night of the term before winter break putting the finishing touches on a data pad detailing the entire project that she was due to deliver to her advisor first thing in the morning.

She was aware of Spock somewhere behind her the entire time, moving about the lab, saying nothing. She made her final edit, made sure it was saved, and slipped the pad into her pocket. Then she spun quickly in her chair to face Spock, a look of finality on her face. “Well … I guess that’s that.”

“Indeed.”

Spock was sitting at the same console he had been at a few months previously, when they had discussed her music recital. His hands were steepled again and he was looking at her keenly. “I trust my edits were satisfactory?”

Uhura nodded. “They were. More than that, really. They were perfect. I think Captain Becker will be pleased.”

“Excellent. Then we should adjourn,” Spock said, and stood. Uhura followed suit, but neither of them made to leave. Instead they both just stared at each other, and for perhaps the second time in their friendship Uhura felt a rush of stupidity. This felt so anticlimactic—that their close association should come to such a quick and impersonal end. After two straight semesters as his teaching aide she had gotten used to seeing him more often than just about anyone else. She wanted to say something meaningful, something heartfelt, but words had failed her. Silly Nyota, she thought. You’re acting like this is the last time you’ll ever see him.

“Commander—“ she began, just as he said, “Miss Uhura—“

They both stopped and stared again at each other, awkwardly. After a long moment Spock set his toolkit down on the console.

“I understand you are to be promoted to Lieutenant at the start of next term?” he asked.

Uhura was so thrown by the non sequitur she had to fumble for a moment to regain her thoughts. “Oh—yes,” she stammered. “Yes, I am.”

Spock seemed pleased. “Then let me congratulate you on the achievement,” he said. “You have earned it.”

Uhura nodded again; she knew she’d earned it. “Thanks, Commander.”

He closed his eyes briefly in acknowledgement. Then: “You may call me Spock.” At her raised eyebrows, he continued, “Are we not familiar enough with one another by now that we may dispense with the formality of rank? We are not yet in a professional environment.”

Uhura figured he had a point, and felt a rush of pleasure at being privy to this form of intimacy. “Sure … Spock.”

He was silent again for a long moment; he seemed to be on the verge of saying something important, though what that could be Uhura had no clue. Finally he nodded once to himself and took a step toward her.

“Then I think perhaps a more sincere farewell is in order. Allow me this opportunity to say that working with you these past two terms has indeed been a pleasure. Your expertise and knowledge of your subject have been invaluable to me and have taught me a great deal. You have been, as Humans say, a joy to work with. I thank you.”

Uhura was stunned. It was the most open Spock had ever been with anything for her, and the oh-so-human earnestness creeping into his voice stirred something deep in her heart. “Me too, Comman—Spock,” she amended. “I’ve learned a lot from you. I’m glad you picked me for the assistantship, and I hope we can work together again in the future.”

Yes, that sounded very professional. Uhura was proud of how even her voice sounded after her initial gaffe.

Spock inclined his head at her, and she thought she saw ... sadness? somewhere in his eyes. “I must confess that I will … miss … our collaboration,” he said softly. “It has been truly unique, Miss Uhura ... Nyota.”

She snapped her head up to look at him, her breath congealing in her throat. He was still looking steadily at her, his gaze unfathomable, but his eyes were a strange mixture of emotions she couldn’t quite identify. She swallowed thickly.

“Me too,” she said quietly. “I’ll miss it too.” And before she could embarrass herself any further: “So what are you going to do over the break?”

Spock blinked, and his eyes swirled back to their normal critical gaze. It was not a step backward, Uhura knew, but an acknowledgement of the moment: it would be kept, tucked safely away in his mind.

“Vulcan calls,” he answered. “My father has requested my presence for the holiday. And yourself?”

Uhura shrugged. “I planned on visiting my parents for awhile. I think my mother misses me more than she lets on.”

Spock nodded, and there it was again: the hint of a smile playing about his lips. “My mother yearns for me as well,” he said lightly. “She is always curious about my studies here at the Academy.”

Uhura found herself smiling; she was pretty sure there was a joke in there somewhere, and it was the first time she could recall him mentioning his mother directly. “And what will you tell her this time?”

He seemed to consider her question. “I think I will tell her of a most remarkable Human woman, not so unlike herself,” he said, the barest hint of a twinkle in his eye. Now Uhura knew he was humoring her, and she was entranced. “Intelligent and stubborn, yet highly logical for a Human,” he added. He tilted his head at her, and Uhura felt her tongue turn to sawdust.

If only you knew how illogical I feel right now, Commander, she thought, but before she could contemplate that line of thought further a piercing whistle sounded: curfew was in fifteen minutes.

Spock snatched up his toolkit. “I see time has escaped us,” he said. “Please allow me to escort you to your dormitory this once, Nyota, and there I shall bid you farewell and safe journeys on your holiday.”

Acting on impulse, Uhura slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as they walked out the door. Spock stiffened but did not pull away, and after a second he relaxed. If anything, he walked taller and with an almost proud lilt to his step. Uhura laughed in delight and as they walked across campus, she tried not to think about how she could feel the heat of his skin, even through the sleeve of his tunic.

-----

It shouldn’t have surprised her, but Uhura would have been lying if she said she wasn’t a little hurt by Spock’s return to form after the winter break. It was as if those shining few moments had never happened. He never mentioned their conversation and went back to calling her Miss Uhura (or Lieutenant), but she insisted on calling him Spock. He didn’t correct her.

He was still her instructor for one class, but they did not see each other with near the frequency they had the previous semester. His conversations with her outside the realm of academia were brief and perfunctory but always polite. At first his casual distance twisted something painful in Uhura’s gut but as she accepted that things were not going to change, it faded into a somewhat bittersweet ache.

She dated for the first time while at the Academy, that semester. He was a fellow cadet majoring in Engineering that she had met in the Chorale Ensemble, with brown hair and laughing green eyes. She knew deep in her heart that she was settling (and thought perhaps he knew it too), but he still treated her with respect. He taught her again to navigate the often-awkward dance of courtship and Uhura wished more than once that things were different, that she might be able to fully give her heart to this wholly deserving young man. He was good for her.

More than once, in the mess hall, Uhura saw Spock sitting across the room at the graduate tables. He was always alone. She thought sometimes she felt him watching her, talking and laughing amongst her friends and boyfriend. Once she caught his eyes; her smile faltered as he averted his gaze, but not before she saw something like regret written plainly in them.

Her mouth drew into a thin line, and she turned her attention back to her companions. She was doing nothing wrong. Spock had made it clear he was not interested in pursuing her in any way, and she would not let herself be made to feel guilty.

Uhura and her engineer boyfriend split shortly before the midterm break. They remained on friendly terms.

She had managed over the course of the spring to compartmentalize her infatuation with her Vulcan teacher, to tuck it into a safe place where it could no longer distract her. She knew the almost-might-have-been would be a light bruise on her heart for some time, but she would get past it. She knew she would. In the meantime she would learn to cherish the relationship she did have with her him: Spock was a trusted mentor and valued colleague, and dare she say it friend, even in spite of the space he had put between them since December.

For those moments when she got too lonely or her work too stressful, she would think back on her memory of being escorted across campus like a lady, listening to Spock tell her tidbits about growing up on Vulcan in his even, measured tones. She had wondered more than once what had transpired over the break to facilitate his change in attitude, but she thought she already knew the answer. His Vulcan side had evidently won out.

Uhura was able to admit to herself that she adored him, and she was confident Spock adored her in his own way, even if he couldn’t show it. Favorite teacher he might be, but he was a friend first, and if he ever needed support she would make sure he knew he had it. In her, at least, his favorite student.

--~--

Barely two months later, as Spock sat in the captain’s chair of the Enterprise staring sightlessly out of the front viewport at where his home planet had once been, Uhura felt her heart break for him. She knew—knew—that he was hurting far more than he would ever let on, and that his Vulcan sensibilities were struggling to stay in place.

When he stood suddenly and made for the turbolift, Uhura felt her legs move to follow him. She went automatically, without even thinking, and she had no clue what she would say or do after she hit the emergency stop on the lift control panel.

In the sudden silence she looked up at his face, searching, looking for anything that might betray a hint of his feelings. He was staring impassively at a point just over her left shoulder. It was this that finally succeeded in crushing her heart: the knowledge that he couldn’t, wouldn’t show his grief. She felt tears bubble up inside of her and it was suddenly hard to breathe. It was as though since he could not express his anguish, she felt it for him—his sorrow for his planet, his people, his mother.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered brokenly.

Still he did not look at her. She bit back a sob and fought the urge to rail at him until she couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m so sorry,” she said again, and her hands came up to cup his cheeks, smooth over his brow; barely aware of herself, she was raining kisses on his cheeks, forehead, lips.

He was unresponsive and stiff and for a wild second Uhura thought that she was making a grave mistake, but as her arms wound around his neck to pull him into a hug, she felt his arms come up behind her to awkwardly grasp her shoulders.

She let loose a breath. Spock touched his nose to the crook of her neck for the briefest of seconds before raising his head again, their cheeks barely touching; she could feel his heart hammering painfully against his chest, against her own.

Drawing back just enough so that he leaned his forehead on hers, eyes shut, she cradled his face again. “Tell me what you need,” she implored. In that moment she would have done anything in the universe he could ask of her. Her favorite teacher, her friend, her beloved: she was desperate to take his pain, share it, ease it just a little bit, if she could. She could feel his shoulders trembling.

“What do you need?” she repeated. “Tell me.” She tightened her hold, desperately. “Tell me.”

His hands spasmed once against her shoulder blades. “I need …” His voice was ragged and wobbly, but Uhura could tell he was already turning inwards, his calm Vulcan veneer reasserting itself to present to the rest of the crew. “I need … everyone to continue performing admirably.”

Uhura felt her stomach drop even as she nodded tearfully, accepting his gentle redirect. She knew that right now, in this moment, that was what would serve him best. There would be time to properly grieve later; she had tried, at least.

He had stood back to release the emergency stop on the lift, but as it shuddered back into motion he looked gravely at her and she saw all the raw emotion he couldn’t verbalize in his eyes. It was hard to fight back the tears again.

“Okay,” she whispered, nodding again. “Okay.”

But I will be here when you are ready.

The lift doors hissed open and Spock brushed past her and out into the hall, not looking back. It took several deep breaths and half a cycle of the lift for Uhura to regain her composure enough to return to the bridge.

-----

A very short time later, Uhura honestly thought that she wanted to kill Jim Kirk. In the awkward silence that followed Spock’s resignation, she felt her heart break all over again.

--~--

Before he left to beam aboard the Narada, Spock had taken her aside in the transporter room as she affixed a translator to his uniform. He didn’t say anything for a moment or two; just held her lightly by her upper arms and stared at her. His eyes were intense, as if he sought to memorize everything about her before he left.

“This goes in place on your uniform, in the chest area,” she was saying, trying not to feel his eyes on her too much. “Far enough from your mouth to enjoy some protection, close enough to pick up speech and transmit replies.”

“I am aware of the instrument’s optimal location,” he replied. His eyes had not yet left her face.

“Yes—yes, of course you are.” She forced a smile onto her face. “We don’t have a full understanding of Romulan syntax—some of their words and names are hard to pronounce, as you know—but I’ve modified these translators to allow you to speak and to be understood conversationally.”

“Thank you, Nyota,” he said quietly. It was the first time he’d used her first name since that night in the lab, a million lifetimes ago. He opened his mouth to speak again but just as quickly snapped it shut. Then he touched his forehead to hers.

“I trust you will open all hailing frequencies as soon as you are able?”

Uhura couldn’t stop the ragged chuckle that burst out, despite the levity of the situation. “Yes,” she promised. “Yes, of course.”

He released her and gave her a wry smile. It was not the hint of a smile she had seen before, but a true quirking of his lips. Behind them, Jim Kirk came through the door and stopped at the console to have a quiet word with Mr. Scott. Spock gave him a brief glance and released her.

“Be careful. Come back,” she said thickly.

“I always endeavor to come back,” he murmured. “Especially when I have something to come back to.” He raised his hand to her face, his knuckles ghosting over her cheek, before he turned to the platform with purpose. Uhura followed him like a magnet.

She felt like, given all the variables of the situation and the likelihood of their mission’s success, that she ought to say something back—but the words died on her tongue. As Spock turned to face forward on the transporter, she stopped just below him, face helpless. Their eyes met and she sensed, rather than saw, something inside the Vulcan crack.

Decisively Spock reached for her, drew her up to the step below him, and kissed her gently.

Uhura supposed it was a moment she would remember for a very long time. It was not unlike what she knew from old fairy tales, where time slowed down until all that was left were the two lovers suspended in space, but she knew better. She was not a damsel in distress and Spock was not a dashing young knight. If anything the kiss was bittersweet and spoiled by the knowledge that it might be the last time they ever saw each other.

She heard footsteps approaching behind her and knew it was Kirk come to take his place next to Spock on the transporter dais. His eyes were burning holes through her skull—he was completely and utterly baffled by the tableau before him.

Sorry Jim, brawn and bravado doesn’t always get the girl, she thought as she threw her arms around Spock’s neck. His hands were hovering hesitantly near her waist and though Uhura felt she could have remained there for an eternity, there were bigger fish to fry.

She disengaged softly from Spock’s hold and gave him one last meaningful look before turning to leave. Though she didn’t spare Kirk a glance, she couldn’t stop the smirk from showing on her face where he could see it, and she put an extra sway in her step as she left—though that was more for Spock and somewhat of a one-finger salute at Kirk.

Scott made a great show of muttering over his readouts as she passed by, but the instant she was out in the hall the smile slipped from her face and she had to lean against the wall for a second so she could process everything. This whole ordeal was frightening her more than she cared to admit, and it was not over concern for her own safety.

-----

What followed was easily the tensest hour of Uhura’s life. She was certain one could cut through the atmosphere on the bridge with a knife. True to her word, she opened all hailing frequencies the second the drill was disabled and began a rapid-fire series of communiqués with Starfleet headquarters below. The instant she heard Scott’s voice on the frequency saying he had a lock on both Kirk and Spock, she transferred her job to Lieutenant Hawkins. Duty be damned for once—she was bolting for the lift before Scott had even finished talking.

-----

Uhura came through the door to the transporter room just as Kirk, Pike and Spock were beaming aboard. The latter made a beeline for her the second he had fully coalesced, and took her hands as he continued out the door to the bridge, never slowing down. The fight was not yet won.

He didn’t speak, but the hand at her elbow spoke volumes. Uhura was grateful for it; she was dizzy with relief. She had seen the tiny ship on the main screen, dancing around the Narada’s rockets, heading straight for the massive ship. Its impact and resultant fireball were but a blip on the mining vessel’s hull, but it had turned her heart to ash.

Spock walked with purpose, and as they exited the lift onto the bridge he gave her elbow the smallest of squeezes before heading for the front, and she to her station. On the main screen, the Narada was writhing in the clutches of the black hole that was swallowing it.

Uhura slipped her earpiece back on. There would be time for other things later. Hopefully.

-----

As the proverbial dust settled on the Enterprise’s adventure, Uhura finally had a second to slow and reflect before the cavalcade of duty began anew. Back on the ground amongst the familiar normalcy of Earth, the past few days felt like little more than a dream—all of it. But that was not the case, and reminders of the turmoil were everywhere.

The bruises that Kirk and Sulu wore like badges of honor. The covered corpses of the losses the Enterprise had sustained in the medical bay. The empty rooms in the cadet dormitories. The lack of light in Gaila’s eyes; what the Orion girl had seen in the terrible moments before the Enterprise came out of warp above Vulcan, Uhura didn’t know. She saw it also in the way young Chekov’s face had lost some of its certainty and confidence. Even the lower water levels in San Francisco Bay; the drill’s beam had evaporated a good bit of it and scientists reasoned it would take some time to return to normal.

The next couple of weeks were a blur of debriefings, funerals, and ceremonies, and Uhura only saw her crewmates in passing. It was an odd mix of solemnity and celebration that she found jarring. Starfleet mourned the loss of a good portion of its cadet class, but it also celebrated the bravery and valor of those that survived. There was much to do to mitigate the loss of Vulcan and many of Starfleet’s best and brightest, but it would be done.

Finally things began to settle down, and one bright afternoon found Uhura sitting on the wall of the campus green looking out across the Bay. After days of being stuck in debriefing rooms and auditoriums she just wanted to feel the sun on her face. She was idly watching the small fleet of boats puttering about in the vicinity of the Golden Gate Bridge, where the drilling rig had fallen. Divers were checking the integrity of it; if it passed inspection, it would be left to molder as a sort of artificial reef. Making lemonade out of lemons, Uhura figured.

She didn’t realize anyone was behind her until she heard a soft voice: “Lieutenant Uhura.”

She looked around and there was Spock standing a few feet behind her, hands clasped behind his back. She stared at him for a moment, unsure how to respond. She was half-afraid the time spent apart had cooled whatever it was he felt, and that what they had shared on the Enterprise was nothing more than the conflicted feelings of a man who had just lost everything.

“Commander Spock,” she finally said, and turned back to face the Bay.

She missed the faint crease of his brow as he came forward to stand next to her perch. “I trust you have been well?” he asked.

Uhura shrugged. “About as well as anyone, I guess. Things have been so hectic lately I’ve hardly had time to breathe, let alone much else. I’m … glad it’s almost all over.” She chanced looking at him. “What about you?”

His eyes were on the boats in the Bay. “I am well,” he replied. “No lasting harm came to me on our voyage. Indeed these three weeks have been severe, but it was required. Nevertheless I, like you, am thankful for the respite.”

A lump formed in Uhura’s throat. No lasting harm. Physical harm, anyway. And when he turned to look back at her she could see proof of her thoughts hiding in the depths of his eyes.

She still wasn’t sure of him though. The use of her formal title made her wary.

She settled for nodding thoughtfully. “Are you going to stay with Starfleet, or will you rejoin your people?”

The look that passed over Spock’s face was curious, and his cheek twitched. “I will stay with Starfleet,” he replied firmly.

Uhura blinked—it wasn’t the answer she was expecting, but at the same time she felt a small weight lift from her chest. “I thought you would want to help rebuild your race,” she said bluntly.

The curious look was still on his face, but it after a second it dissipated back to his usual serene countenance. “I am a child of two worlds, Lieutenant. I believe the best solution for all would be for me to remain with Starfleet for the time being.”

They stayed silent for awhile in companionable silence, watching the boats on the Bay move about, each concerned with their own thoughts.

The sun was starting to dip low on the horizon before either of them spoke again.

“I have … missed your company, since we returned,” Spock said. He was inspecting the concrete wall on which she sat. Uhura felt her heart twinge as she looked askance at him.

“Have you?” she asked softly.

Spock raised an eyebrow at the wall. “I have,” he affirmed. “Though I am uncertain it needed saying.”

“I think it might have,” Uhura murmured.

At this, Spock raised his head to look at her fully. “I am afraid I do not understand.”

She sighed, and leaned back on her hands. “I don’t know what to make of you, Spock,” she said honestly. “You’ve reverted back to titles again, the same as after winter break. You’re nothing if not a mystery. I guess … I guess I just don’t know where I stand with you.”

The Vulcan’s eyebrows creased. “Do we not stand right here?”

Uhura couldn’t help but smile at that, and twisted so that she was sitting facing the campus green. “I meant … I’m not sure what I mean to you.”

“Ah.” Both his eyebrows rose this time, and he was silent for several minutes. Then he folded his hands on the wall in front of him and regarded her seriously. “Despite my heritage, I sincerely doubt I will ever offer you flowery declarations of love and commitment,” he said.

Uhura gaped at him. “I don’t want—“ she started, but stopped when she caught his face. His lips were twitching again and she was sure she saw a sparkle in his eye. She crossed her arms and looked at him in disbelief. “You’re teasing me!”

Spock shook his head. “It would be inadvisable of me to tease you,” he said. “I know those are not the things you desire. It is why I regard you as I do.”

Uhura did not deny that some obscure part of her makeup might have been pleased by impassioned declarations and tokens and kneeling on one knee, but truthfully, it didn’t matter so much. What she desired—truly desired—was right here in front of her: inscrutability wrapped up in an enigma, his mind and his thoughts more appealing than any dashing smile. She didn’t love (and she could admit that now—love) him for the man he had the capability to be—more human, less Vulcan—she loved him for who he was right now.

She hopped down from the wall so she could face him. “And how you do regard me, Commander Spock?”

If he could ever look exasperated, he managed it then. “Must I say it? I confess I might require a reevaluation of my prior assessment of your logic. I care for you. Nyota.”

The spreading smile on her face—she had known all along—was more reward than Spock could have hoped for. And when she kissed him, in front of everyone on the campus green, he let her.

It was the most bold he would likely ever be.

-----

If she was honest with herself, Nyota Uhura knew that this—her unconventional romance with her Vulcan superior officer—would probably not last forever. She did not harbor fantastical dreams of happily ever after, certainly not yet. Somewhere along the course of their lives and their careers something would inevitably cause them to drift apart.

Perhaps one of them would be transferred and the lack of nearness would fade their feelings back to the point of friendship.

Or one of them would choose career over love, as often happens.

Whatever the outcome, however, Uhura hoped it was without regret.

Fic: Stuck On You (Doctor Who)

Thu, 04 Jun 2009 03:58:20 GMT

Title: Stuck On You
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: G
Word Count: 4,616
Characters: Second Doctor, Jamie McCrimmon, Zoe Herriot

This was written for moocow1985 for the 2007 Second Doctor Cliche Ficathon over at two_love .
As of 2007 this was the first fic I had written in ten years, and the first one I had ever completed.

It had been a slow few weeks on the TARDIS. Everywhere they went, calm and peace prevailed. Even using the randomizer hadn’t helped. The Doctor, for all that he said this was how he wanted to show them the universe, seemed to be at a loss without civilizations to save and madmen to topple. Jamie was similarly restless. Zoe, however, was content to stay in the TARDIS and do some research. She was fascinated with the vast stores of knowledge in the library and spent hours sorting through various tomes. It was on one of those trips that she decided to take up chemistry as a hobby.

As an astrophysicist Zoe knew all there was to know about stars and equations and probability, but the fine art of chemistry was new territory to her. She set up shop in a forgotten laboratory on a TARDIS side-corridor and was soon surrounded by bubbling beakers, frothing vials, and stacks of written formulas. Deconstructing compounds to see how they worked (along with making up new ones) was good exercise for Zoe’s brain. She often stayed in her lab long into the night, long after Jamie had gone to sleep and the Doctor had gone … wherever it was he went.

On this particular day Zoe was experimenting with adhesives. She was toying with different compounds to try and achieve a glue that would bond snugly to any surface on contact, but separate cleanly if a proper solution was applied. She was already successful with the adhesive but was having trouble with the solvent.

When Jamie came in to ask her if she was hungry enough for dinner, he found her muttering over a piece of paper, scribbling something out and adding something else. “Zoe, are you hungry?” he asked. “I’ve got some food for ye if you’d like.”

“In a minute, Jamie,” Zoe said, writing furiously. “I’m having trouble with this formula.”

Jamie came around the side of the table and peered over her shoulder at her writings. “What’s that yer doing? You’ve been in here for hours, nay, days, we never see you anymore! Something important?”

“Oh, I’m just toying around,” Zoe replied, erasing yet again and making notations in the margin. “It gives me something to do now that we’ve had all this free time. It’s just … I can’t quite figure it out! This last bit of formula has me stumped. It’s driving me mad.”

Jamie squinted at her paper. The lines, squiggles, numbers and bars meant nothing to him. Zoe and the Doctor both had been teaching him to read, and he’d been doing well, but this was beyond him. “What exactly is it you’re doing? Maybe I could, er … help,” he finished lamely.

Zoe smiled at him and pushed back from the table. “I’ve been working with adhesives. I’ve made all sorts, even improved on some the TARDIS has already. This one,” she indicated a beaker full of a clear, viscous liquid, “will bond on contact with anything it touches, and quite strongly too. Super-glue, if you will. I’ve tested it and it’s very effective. It won’t break down and lose its adherence until the proper solution is applied. It’s just … I’m having problems with the solvent. I’ve got the formulas right, I just know I do, but every time I mix it up it just isn’t strong enough to dissolve the epoxy. Something’s not right and I can’t figure it out!” She huffed and crossed her arms impatiently.

Jamie smiled fondly at her and clucked his tongue. Zoe would never let herself be defeated by a silly math problem. However … “Mebbe in English this time?” he asked hopefully. “Sorry, but all that adhesive and solvent and eppix … apex nonsense goes right over my head.”

“Epoxy,” Zoe corrected. “Alright. Basically, I’ve made glue.” She pointed at the clear beaker again. “Very tough glue. Trouble is, I can’t figure out how to make a cure for it, if you will. You can get glue off a lot of things if you just apply the right solvent. This solvent is being downright difficult though, it won’t work.” She chewed on a fingernail, then picked up one of her equation sheets and shook it at him. “I just know my calculations are correct … so why is it not working?”

“Mebbe you’ll be able to figure it out after you’ve had some dinner,” Jamie said. “Have some time away from your work, you’ll think with a clearer mind. Come on.” He smiled winningly at her. Slowly, Zoe smiled back. “Well, alright,” she said.

Suddenly the TARDIS gave a great lurch. Zoe yelped and slid backwards off her stool, as the beaker of adhesive came sliding toward the edge of the table. She gasped and tried to roll out of the way, but the beaker crashed to the floor and splashed onto one of her hands. Jamie dove out of the way of a toppling stack of papers. A second after the turbulence began it was over.

Zoe was curled on her side, trying to figure out a way to get to her feet without touching anything, lest she get stuck to it. Jamie came out from underneath the table, worried. “Zoe!” he cried. “Are you alright?” Instinctively he reached out to grab her hand to help her up.

“Jamie, wait!” Zoe said. “Don’t–“

It was too late. Jamie had grabbed her sticky hand and hauled her to her feet in one swoop. When he went to let go, his hand wouldn’t budge. “What?” he frowned. “What in the …”

“Jamie, you silly, silly idiot!” Zoe wailed. “The glue! Didn’t you see it? It splashed on me! And now you’ve gone and got us stuck!”

Jamie was shaking their hands vigorously, trying to get Zoe’s hand off. “I didn’t see–you–wait, me? I was only trying to help, you’re the one who made this daft mess in the first place! Get off!”

Zoe screeched. “Jamie, you’re hurting me!” He was throttling their arms so violently Zoe’s was in danger of coming out of its socket. He stopped, face livid. “Now, let’s just calm down, and think,” she said. “Let’s get my solvent. It won’t get us all the way free but it’ll be a good start.”

“No chance of that now,” Jamie said, pointing. “It’s gone and busted too.” The beaker of solvent lay smashed on the floor next to the glue.

“Hallo! Jamie, Zoe, are you in the laboratory?” The Doctor’s voice came echoing down the corridor, getting louder as he drew nearer. “I’m so sorry about that, I don’t know what the old girl was on about, she just jerked so suddenly–“

The Doctor stopped in the doorway as he saw Jamie and Zoe standing amidst a sea of broken lab equipment, holding hands. “Well, I’m glad to see chivalry’s still alive, at any rate,” he said, dusting off his trousers. “As I was saying–“ He stopped again at the looks on their faces. “What?”

“Doctor, it’s all Jamie’s fault,” Zoe began as Jamie stamped his foot and cried, “This wee harridan’s stuck us together!” The Doctor jumped back, wide-eyed, and waved his hands at them to quiet them.

“One at a time, and calmly now. Zoe, why are you still holding his hand?”

Zoe turned beet red as Jamie pried ineffectually at their fingers. “Well, Doctor, you know I’ve been in here experimenting with different things and, and I was showing Jamie some of the adhesives I’ve been working on when the TARDIS jerked, and it spilled on my hand. Jamie grabbed it before I could tell him not to. Now our hands are stuck together.” She shuffled her feet. “Doctor, why did the TARDIS move like that?”

The Doctor scratched his head. “I haven’t the faintest idea, Zoe. I was just fiddling about underneath the console and quick as you like, there she went! Gave me quite a nasty bump on my head, too … anyway, why don’t you just get some of your glue remover and be done with it?”

Jamie pointed again at the smashed beakers on the floor. “The TARDIS went and broke it too.”

“Oh, I see … oh dear oh dear, my my my,” The Doctor hummed, hiding a smirk behind one hand. “Well, we’ll just have to go see what we can dig up here in the TARDIS, won’t we? Come you two, I’ll have you right as rain in no time …”

-o-O-o-

Unfortunately, the TARDIS was not being very obliging. They tried everything–rubbing alcohol, paint thinner, even gasoline and water–but nothing worked. Jamie and Zoe’s hands remained as steadfastly joined as ever.

“Well, I must say I have to congratulate you on your chemical prowess, Zoe,” the Doctor said as he threw a sponge into a bucket of acetone. “You’ve created a mixture to be proud of.” Jamie scowled while Zoe just looked miserable. “Now we’re going to have to think of other methods to try here.”

“What if you can’t think of anything?” Jamie demanded. “What if we’re like this forever? Mind you, I think Zoe’s a fair lass and all, but I dinnae want to be stuck to her for the rest of me life!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Zoe snapped as the Doctor chuckled. “I’ll think of something. We’ll think of something. We can start by making some more of my original solvent. It won’t work but it will help. You’ll have to do it for us though, Doctor, seeing as I’m … occupied.” Jamie forgot his decorum and elbowed her roughly. Zoe stomped his foot in return.

“My dear boy, girl,” the Doctor sighed. “You two have a bite to eat while I look over Zoe’s notes. It’s no use sitting here sniping at one another, we won’t accomplish a thing. No, don’t argue, just eat. We’ll get this sorted out.”

The Doctor shuffled through Zoe’s formulas and calculations while the other two ate. Zoe’s right hand was free so she had an easy time of it; unfortunately Jamie was also right-handed, so he ate clumsily with his left hand until he grew tired of fumbling with his fork and settled for spearing everything with his dirk. The Doctor wouldn’t say as such aloud, but the muttered jabs of “barbarian” and “well I wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t made that mess” coupled with “get your hand off my leg” and “you put them there!” were quite amusing.

By the time the Doctor stood to go to the laboratory, both Zoe and Jamie were done eating and were sitting facing away from each other as best they could, their entwined hands on the table between them. One of Jamie’s fingers was twitching like he wanted to scratch an itch. Zoe was furiously chewing her bottom lip.

“Well, I’m off,” the Doctor said cheerfully. “I’ll have this done as soon as possible. In the meantime, you two try to … well, try not to hurt each other.” He went to the door.

“How long will it take?” Jamie asked. “To make the solvent.”

“At least eight hours,” Zoe mumbled.
“What?!” Jamie yelled, jumping to his feet. Zoe cried out as she was dragged from her chair, hitting the ground with a thump.

“It has to simmer at room temperature for at least six hours,” Zoe said, standing up. “And it takes another two just to get to that point. I’ll thank you not to do that again.”

Jamie’s face was rapidly matching his kilt. “And I’ll thank you not to go spilling sticky glue stuff on your hands again!”

“We wouldn’t be stuck together if you weren’t so–so–polite!!” Zoe cried shrilly.

The Doctor sighed and rubbed his forehead. He had better get this solvent fixed–and soon.

-o-O-o-

“Jamie, we’ll have to do it some time.”

“No.”

“Don’t be silly, Jamie, we can’t hold it forever! The longer we wait, the longer the chance of getting hyperhydrated.”

“No. Hyper-what?”

“Hyperhydrated. It’s caused by hyponatremia, an overdilution of sodium in blood plasma which causes water dilution to go from extracellular to intracellular. Too much water in the blood, it will make you sick and you could possibly die.”

Jamie gaped. “All because I won’t relieve myself?”

Zoe nodded briskly. “I won’t have you dying of water intoxication while stuck to me. So we’d best go.”

“I’m telling you, I won’t be doing that in the presence of a lady,” Jamie said firmly. “I can wait, it will only be another … seven hours.” He hopped from one foot to the other. “At least. I can do this, I can do this …”

Zoe laughed. “You should see yourself. Come on, we’re going, and that’s final.” She set off in the direction of the loo attached to her room, dragging an unwilling Jamie behind her.

“Wait,” he cried, digging his heels in. “Not your room, I won’t go to a lady’s room. We’ll go to mine.” He set off in the opposite direction. Zoe sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Whatever works best for you,” she said. A few minutes later they were standing inside Jamie’s loo and he was hopping again, face set and stubborn.

“This is wrong, my whole clan would be in shame if they saw this, me in the bathroom with a lady,” he said, voice wobbling. “I tell you, I can hold it. I’d rather die than smear your honor.”

“Oh, don’t be such a hero,” Zoe retorted. She was growing impatient. “It’s not my honor, it’s a simple bodily function, that’s all. Look, I’ll go first.” She went to stand in front of the loo and reached behind her to fumble with the zip of her catsuit.

“Zoe!!” Jamie’s face turned maroon and he whipped away, making Zoe stumble. It was hard work doing it one-handed, but she eventually got her zipper undone and stepped out of the catsuit, leaving it dangling by the arm that was attached to Jamie. He shut his eyes and willed out the sensation of his hand lowering slightly and the sounds of Zoe doing her business, trying not to die of embarrassment. A minute later the loo flushed and Zoe stood back up. Several minutes and many uncomfortable jerks later, Zoe was fully clothed and beaming at him.

“You can look now,” she said. “See? Not a problem at all. Your turn.” She turned him to face the loo before turning her own back.

“No peeking,” Jamie said for good measure, then faced the loo with a big gulp. Of all the things he’d done … Zoe made a show of inspecting her fingernails. Barely a minute later, the loo was flushing again and Jamie was hastily making his exit, taking Zoe with him.

“Did you fake that?” Zoe demanded. “You weren’t away for a full minute! I won’t have you getting sick just to spare me humiliation!”

“Oh, I did, I did,” Jamie mumbled, turning red again. “I just have an easier time than you, erm, ah …” He gestured to his kilt. “Are you going to tell the Doctor about this?”

“No,” Zoe replied. “Though I doubt he’d need telling. We are humans, after all, and we have basic needs.” She squeezed his hand.

“Needs. Yes. Right,” Jamie said, following Zoe out the door, still embarrassed.

-o-O-o-

“This is going to take a few more hours,” the Doctor said. “It’s late, and I can tell you’re tired. Why don’t you try and get some rest?”

“M’not tired,” Jamie said, his head listing to one side. He and Zoe were sitting at a workstation in the lab while the Doctor worked on the solvent. They’d long ago tired of playing thumb war and now Jamie was restlessly rubbing her hand with his thumb. Neither of them seemed to be aware of that fact. Zoe was watching the Doctor’s progress with keen eyes, but Jamie was falling fast. He’d propped his chin on his free hand but was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

“Nonsense,” the Doctor said. He added two parts of one concoction to the already simmering base on the burner, and gave a satisfactory grunt when it bubbled and turned just the right shade of purple. “You’re asleep already. Zoe, your notes are excellent, I won’t have any trouble proceeding from here. You might as well go with Jamie, because, well …” He nodded at their hands and shrugged helplessly.

Zoe nodded and made to stand. “Wait, wha?” Jamie asked. “We can’t go to sleep, because we have nowhere to sleep. We can’t sleep together!” He frowned at Zoe’s expression. “Right?”

“Well, we very well can’t sleep on the floor,” she snapped.

“Zoe, I’ve already humored ye once today, I won’t do it again,” Jamie warned.

“Oh, just get some blankets and sleep in the console room,” the Doctor said, stirring the solvent with a glass stick. He winked at Zoe where Jamie couldn’t see. “It won’t kill you.”

“Right,” Zoe replied, and marched out of the laboratory and down the hall. Halfway to the console room,Zoe took the right turn instead of the left. Jamie turned to look behind them but still had no choice but to follow.
“Zoe, ye missed the turn,” he said.

“No I didn’t,” she replied purposefully. “I’m not sleeping on the floor just so you can feel better about yourself. We’re going to my room.”

Once again, Jamie dug his heels in. “Zoe Herriot! The loo, well, that was bad enough, but this is something else entirely! Me … you … sharing a bed … I’ll not have it! We can’t! It’s not proper!”

Zoe stopped outside her bedroom door and turned to face him, sighing at him like one would a small child. “Jamie, we won’t be having sex,” she said. “Just sleeping.” He turned red at the implication. “And we’ll still be fully clothed, and even above the covers if you like. What’s the sense in sleeping on the floor when my bed is plenty big for the two of us and much more comfortable?” She squeezed his hand again and smiled. “Stop being so honorable and listen to sense. You’re almost asleep on your feet as it is.”

Grudgingly, Jamie nodded. Zoe smiled even brighter and pushed her door open. Jamie paused at the threshold, but Zoe’s insistent tugging pulled him in. Somehow, the room seemed to suit Zoe: it was done in shades of white and lavender with a fluffy duvet covering the double bed. She’d taken a scrap of purple cloth and taped it over one of the harsh white lights, bathing the room in soft light.

Zoe went to the bedstand and switched on the side lamp before turning off the overhead lights. “Do you have anything you need to do before we go to sleep?” she asked. “I normally have a bath and wash my face, but that can wait until the Doctor gets us unstuck.”

“I’m fine,” Jamie gurgled.

Nodding, Zoe sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for Jamie to do the same. Nervously, he sat down beside her and toed off his boots. That was a little courtesy he could extend to her, at least. Then he wriggled up onto the bed beside her, being careful not to splay his kilt everywhere.

Zoe swung her legs up beside them and considered their situation. “I wonder how best we could do this and still be comfortable. On our backs?” She flopped back on her pillow and Jamie did the same. “Or on our side?” She rolled to face him, their arms between them and clapsed hands by her cheek. Jamie rolled to face her and for a long minute they stared at each other, their breathing awfully loud to his ears. Then Zoe coughed and rolled over onto her back, breaking the stillness. “Perhaps our backs would be better.”

Jamie grunted to himself and returned to his back as Zoe switched off the lamp and the room descended into blackness. They laid in silence for a few minutes, and Jamie was suddenly keenly aware of the fact that they were holding hands. He hadn’t been so aware of the sensation of her hand in his since they’d first gotten stuck.

“Jamie?” Zoe’s voice sounded timid. “Do you think this happened for a reason?”

Jamie frowned. “What do ye mean?”

Zoe shifted a little on the bed. “Well, you know, we’re always arguing and squabbling with each other like siblings, maybe … maybe this was to teach us a lesson. I don’t believe in Fate, the universe is much too practical for that, but perhaps this happened to help us get along better? It sounds like something the TARDIS might do.”

“Well, she’s doing a sorry job of it, if that’s the case,” Jamie said, grumpier than he’d intended. He could practically feel Zoe wilt next to him.

“You’re probably right. Oh well. Goodnight, Jamie.”

“Goodnight, Zoe.”

-o-O-o-

Early the next morning, the solvent was done. Eager to test it on his two companions, the Doctor hurried to Zoe’s room and knocked on the door. When no one answered, he cracked the door slightly and peeked in.

Zoe and Jamie were fast asleep, facing towards each other, their glued hands cuddled to Zoe’s chest. Jamie was snoring slightly. His breath was stirring Zoe’s hair, whose head was nestled underneath his chin.

The Doctor couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps the TARDIS had succeeded after all. He shut the door quietly and retreated back to the laboratory. Jamie and Zoe could come get their solvent when they woke up.

-o-O-o-

The first thing Zoe was aware of when she woke up was warmth. She was fully clothed, above the covers, and warm. Cracking an eye open, she was met with blackness. Upon closer inspection she found that this was due to her head being burrowed in Jamie’s chest, which was blocking out the light. Her first instinct was to jerk away and apologize, but she forced herself not to, lest she scare Jamie. Instead she relaxed and let herself wake up slowly.

Grass. That was what Jamie smelled like. Grass and leather and wind. Was that what she smelled in her dreams? Anyway, it didn’t matter. Jamie didn’t fancy her, and she was pretty sure she was okay with that. She stretched, being careful not to disturb Jamie, and blinked away sleep.

Jamie was aware of warmth too when he awoke. For a moment he thought he was snug in his sheepskin in front of the fire, but after a moment he realized it was Zoe’s tiny frame curled up against him. He stiffened slightly and fought the urge to draw away, not wanting to give her the wrong impression, but he relaxed. Zoe didn’t fancy him, and he was pretty sure he was okay with that. He stretched.

“Zoe?” he murmured, touching her shoulder lightly. She mumbled something unintelligible before shifting back to look up at him, eyes sleepy. “You reckon the Doctor’s done by now?”

She nodded and turned her face away to yawn, but not before Jamie caught what looked like disappointment in her eyes. Then she sat up. “He should be. Do you want to go to the laboratory and ask?”

Jamie was already putting his boots back on, eager to be separated from Zoe, though not for obvious reasons.

“Aye,” he said. “The sooner the better.”

Zoe nodded, watching him, then stood to follow him out the door.

-o-O-o-

“Good morning sleepyheads,” the Doctor said cheerfully as the two companions entered the lab. The beakers were bubbling merrily away again, and he had a jar of Zoe’s solvent waiting on the table for them. “I trust you slept well?”

Jamie nodded and rubbed the back of his head. Zoe reached for the beaker. “You got it done then?”

“Certainly,” the Doctor said, producing a cotton swab. “Let’s see how this works. Your hands, please.”

Jamie and Zoe placed their hands on the table in front of him while the Doctor dipped the cotton into the solvent. Then he gently wiped the area in between the sides of their palms and waited. All three peered in close to see the results. The Doctor poked at their hands, prying apart the skin. Amazingly, the separation was clean and complete.

“I can’t believe it!” Zoe breathed. “How did you get it to work? You used my formula, correct? What did I miss that you got right?”

“Correct,” the Doctor said as Jamie took the cotton from him and dabbed at their hands some more. “Your formula was flawless as always. I can’t decipher what the problem was. Perhaps … it was all meant to be.” He winked enigmatically.

“Well come on then, Doctor,” Jamie said. “Can’t we put our hands over a sink and pour it on?”

“Oh, good heavens no, dear boy, you’d wreak havoc on your skin,” the Doctor replied, snatching the beaker away from him. “Just be patient and let me work my way through.”

Ten minutes and several cotton swabs later, they were free. Zoe went to wash her hands while Jamie flexed his fingers experimentally. The Doctor stood up and dusted off his jacket.

“Well! That’s that then. I think I’ll be off to the kitchen, I haven’t eaten in ages and I’m famished … do join me when you’re done.” He clapped them both jovially on the shoulders and left. Zoe and Jamie were left looking at each other awkwardly.

“I guess that’s it, then,” Jamie said, shuffling and crossing his arms. Zoe nodded.

“That’s it.”

“Well … I guess I’m off to my room. Have a clean-up and all.”

“Right … well, goodbye, Jamie.” Zoe turned to leave.

“Zoe, wait.” She stopped and turned back to him, eyes questioning. Jamie fumbled with the hem of his shirt. “I was thinking about what ye said last night, about us being stuck for a reason. I do believe in Fate … and I believe Fate had a plan. For us to get along better,” he added hastily.

Zoe’s smile lit up the room. “Oh, me too Jamie. I know I pick on you and tease you, but it’s because I like you. As a friend, that is.”

“You argue because you care?” Jamie teased, and Zoe laughed. It broke the awkwardness between them and Jamie laughed too. “I care for ye too, lass. Protect you with my life, I would.”

“I know you would, Jamie,” Zoe said. “I would too. So. Friends?”

Jamie nodded. “Friends.” He stuck his hand out as if to seal the commitment with a handshake, but when Zoe gave him a pointed look he realized what he was doing and dropped his hand, both of them laughing. “No need to shake on it,” he amended. “I’m going to clean up. See you, Zoe.”

Zoe smiled at him as she turned to leave. “Goodbye, Jamie.”

-o-O-o-

In the kitchen, the Doctor patted the wall lovingly. “I would call that a success,” he said. The TARDIS purred in agreement..