if i forgot who i am, would you please remind me

[hischair]

When: 26th onward.
Where: All over the City.
Rating: PG13 for angst/language/pissed off Jim, probably.
Characters: Treks, Pitch Black & others TBA.
Summary: Spock's departure.

Crew Orders: Uhura | Bones | Sulu | Chekov
CO Notif: Janeway

26th, Underground Search » closed to Pitch Black (from x)

28th, Absence » closed to Bones

29th-31st, City Labs » OTA

Comments

[phonetical]

[She instinctively begs off the chocolate without so much as a shrug of the shoulders, like it doesn't exist, eyes dipping back down to the plastic and screws in front of her. Uhura's gotten so used to limiting her chocolate intake, just in case of impromptu kisses in discreet corners, that she doesn't notice she's still doing it for someone who isn't here to appreciate her motives.]

I'm fine.

[Uhura's not. She knows it. He knows it. All four walls around them know it. It should be insubordination to lie directly to your superior's face, but if she's not questioning his condition, who is he to question hers?]

[hischair]

[ He doesn't blame her for that mild insubordination, not in the slightest; it doesn't even register as such between them, because he knows her. Jim cares enough about her to have to make himself view it as such with conscious effort. ]

You can come back first thing tomorrow morning, but for now I'm revoking your clearance to the lab. [ Blue eyes search out brown, not unkindly. ] You need to sleep. I'll inform you if the system picks up anything on the comms.

[phonetical]

If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to continue working.

[Nice words, but not quite said that way. Her tone and cadence broadcast that she isn't looking for his permission into or out of the lab. She certainly isn't looking for his permission on how she chooses to ruminate. Most of all, she doesn't care for any of it. The cat that hops up on the opposite side of the the bed, the wool winter hat lain across her dresser, his leftovers in the fridge, an unfinished chess game... all things she doesn't want to see right now.

But none of this is said in actual verbiage, just the tensing of her shoulders as she digs into a particularly stubborn screw that appears to be mirroring and mocking her both at the same time.]

[hischair]

[ The thing about being the caotain is that, while suspecting some deep emotional imbalance in any (or all) of his crew, he needs to look beyond it. ]

Nyota. [ His tone is quiet but firm. ] We've got the comms open, we're working on new ways to keep tabs on people, there's nothing else you can do tonight. You're no good to me like this, so come back in the morning when your mind has recharged.

[phonetical]

[He's never used her first name. The sound of it in Kirk's mouth, on his tongue, is like a splash of ice water on her face, unwelcome and shocking. Uhura would compare it to it being pronounced in a heavy Klingon accent, so foreign to her ears.

She lays her screwdriver down calmly, which is probably scarier than if she slammed it down or thrown it aside. Uhura has always had some measure of control within her, the type of control that had her classmates commenting on how she was untouchable, maybe even a bit of an ice queen, but the fractures are barely being held together right now, duct taped at the very least, and she leans her arms on the edge of the desk, cupping her face in her hands as she breathes once, twice, shakily.

When she speaks, it's from the confines of her hands, words muffled and hollow.]

I don't want to go there right now. Just... please. Just not right now.

[hischair]

[ His hand slides from the chair to Uhura's back, light but there. In his clenched jaw, a muscle tightens. ]

You can stay at ours. Bones will give you our room.

[phonetical]

[And that's when the tape gives way. It snaps and she snaps and the hand on her back is so supportive and comforting, things she's come to expect from Kirk, and she sobs into her hands, never ashamed of her emotions, just disgusted at how they've come about.

Uhura knew Spock didn't belong here. None of them do, but still, she reveled in having him around, spending amounts of quality time they were never afforded at home. All she wonders now is if he could ever come back again (if the rest of them don't get home first) and if he will end up like her, remembering nothing at all about his stay here, the small life they just began to cultivate together.]

[hischair]

[ He doesn't hesitate in wrapping an arm around her, offering his body for her to hide against as Jim's hand runs soothingly over slim, hunched shoulders. ]

I'm here, I'm right here.

[ He doesn't say It's okay because it really, really isn't. ]

[phonetical]

[Deep down, somewhere where Uhura will only discover once she's fully calmed down and reflected back on this incident, she will be grateful he didn't say that. For all that Kirk is brash and bold, cocky and sometimes downright idiotic, he's a man who knows good and well when things just don't need to be said. False platitudes won't help. Support of the rest of the crew--her friends and family--will. Some of them weren't as close to Spock as she and Jim were, but one additional piece of the puzzle missing will sorely be noticed.

Last time she cried into somebody's shoulder, sobbed right into their shirt, soaking the fabric, it was over Jim. Now it's over Spock. She's tired of doing this multiple times for the people she loves.]

I hate this place.

[hischair]

I hate it, too.

[ He's a big, gentle giant as he holds her throughout her crying, feeling too gutted and hollow to join in. It's as if all his grief has been knotted irrevocably into his veins and distributed throughout every inch of his body; it's tense and uncomfortable, he feels like he's going to be attacked at any moment.

His hand glides over her back. ]

We won't be here forever, I promise.

[phonetical]

[She sounds childish and she knows it, whining in between sniffles. But why hide the truth they all (with maybe one exception and that's because Chekov has everything he wants here) feel? He doesn't need to promise her a way out, though. Uhura has faith in her captain, an undying loyalty that she hasn't questioned since the very beginning. He'll bring it to them one way or another.

But she hopes an exits comes sooner than later, not just because Spock is no longer here, but because all of them have jobs to do and none of them can be done here in between the days of calm and days of complete insanity.

Uhura's feeling all cried out and she pulls back from the embrace, hand coming to wipe at her nose and eyes. A little gross, but she's been worse for the wear before and she truly doubts Jim's in any shape to judge.]

You should sleep too.

[Or bathe. Change clothes. Something. Don't be the only one out of control here. They need their captain to be their rock. If she's of no use to him like this, how can he be of any use to her in the same condition?]