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Nyota Uhura paused at the crest of the slope, letting her heartbeat slow while she studied the forest trail ahead. It was a warm day. Too warm. She brushed a hand across her forehead, wishing for a drink of cold water. The path underfoot, soft and resilient and covered with pine needles, descended gently into a stand of trees. Just a few more steps and then she would be under the shade of the towering pines, the harsh afternoon light appearing broken and dappled by the intertwined branches. High in the canopy, birds called back and forth, their songs blending and overlapping until a louder trill sounded over the rest. It was a familiar sound to her ears but somehow foreign in this setting.
She frowned as she tried to place it, to pin down where she’d heard it before. It sounded like the door chime to her quarters. But how was that even possible, this deep in a vast forest? The noise grew louder, drowning out everything else until she startled awake and lifted herself from the surface of her bed with both arms. She groaned and fell back to the mattress. Moving that quickly had been a mistake. Her head pounded in time with her heart and she didn’t want to move, no matter who was waiting in the corridor.
She tried to call out but managed only a muffled muttering into the blanket bunched under her head. Her attempt at speaking triggered a painful cough that scraped along her throat. She rolled to her side, wishing again for a drink, something to soothe the burning ache. Had she had the foresight to leave a glass of water nearby? She squinted in the dim light of her quarters but the nightstand was empty. Of course it was.
She’d felt tired when she woke that morning and remained distracted all day, her mind fuzzy and confused. She’d had a little bit of a scratchy throat and a drippy nose but had chalked it up to dry cabin air or allergies. She certainly wasn’t sick. But by the time she’d reached her quarters after shift, she’d been so exhausted she’d fallen face-first across her bed, pausing only long enough to remove her boots. And now there was no doubt in her mind that she was ill.
She heard the door sliding open and yelped in surprise, rolling and trying to pull the blankets to cover herself.
“Forgive me for entering without permission.”
She sighed at the familiar voice. And although apologetic, he’d not actually entered yet. He stood waiting in the doorway, the corridor lights forming a halo around him.
“Spock.”
“The computer indicated you were in your quarters," he said, stepping forward and letting the door slide shut. "But when you failed to answer your chime, I thought it best to check on you.”
Nyota sat up and scooted backward, inch by inch, until she sat propped against the headboard. She clutched a pillow to her middle with one hand and shielded her eyes with the other as she called out a brighter light setting.
“Sorry,” she said, her voice a harsh rasp. “I was sleeping.”
She took in the sight of him, barefoot and wearing a set of loose-fitting robes. It almost looked like he was dressed for a workout.
“You missed our appointment at the gymnasium,” he said, moving closer to the bed. “We were scheduled to meet at eighteen hundred hours.”
“Right,” she said, as the faint memory began to return. “Sus Mahna practice. I wasn’t feeling up to it tonight, Spock. I sent you a message.”
He tilted his head slightly. “I received no such communication.”
“Yes you did, I sent it as soon as--” Her gaze went to the console on her desk, the screen still blinking, waiting for her to finalize and send the message. “Oh no,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Spock. I wrote it and then completely forgot to send it to you.”
"This level of inefficiency is highly unusual for you. Can you explain?”
She laughed. “Going to put me on report? I--” She inhaled sharply and then folded forward, stifling a congested sneeze into the bend of her elbow.
“What is it I’m required to say?” Spock stood at the side of her bed now, proffering a box of tissues. “To acknowledge the act of sneezing?”
She grabbed a few tissues from the box and blew her nose, flopping back against the headboard.
“You’re not required to say anything at all.” To acknowledge the act of sneezing, she added under her breath, with a soft giggle.
“Are you feeling unwell?”
“Yeah, I haven’t been feeling my best today….for a couple of days, actually. I think I’m coming down with something. ”
“If you are ill, I will accompany you to sickbay.”
I don’t need to go to sickbay, Spock. It’s just a cold or, I don't know, some kind of weird alien virus.” She was only partially joking. “I’ll be okay after some sleep.”
She checked the chronometer and sighed. Since the two-hour nap she just took had done nothing to improve her condition, she wasn’t holding out much hope that additional sleep would help.
“You shouldn't be here, Spock,” she said. “I don’t want you to catch this, whatever it is.”
“There is approximately a zero point--”
She held up her hand, a wad of tissues held tightly in her grasp. ‘Stop right there,” she said. “If you start quoting statistics at me, there is a 100% chance I’m going to throw this pillow at your head.”
“Understood. But the chances of my contracting your illness are quite low.”
“But not impossible.”
“It is a risk I am willing to accept.” He moved around the foot of the bed, his manner distracted as he paced back and forth slowly.
“Something on your mind, Spock?”
“We were planning to share a meal after our session in the gym.”
"You should go get yourself something to eat, then."
“I was not thinking of myself," he said. "But if you are ill, it is important to maintain an adequate nutritional intake to ensure the proper functioning of your immune system.”
“Isn’t it ‘feed a fever, starve a cold?’” she asked. “Or is it the other way around?”
His mouth opened slightly as he considered a response and then he shook his head. "I am unfamiliar with that particular maxim."
“Doesn't matter. I don’t have much of an appetite anyway.”
“I could prepare soup,” he offered. “Or perhaps a cup of tea.” He wasn't nervous or anxious by nature but he was persistent. She realized he would continue with his queries unless he had a task to complete.
“A cup of tea would be nice.” She was still thirsty and the warmth of the tea would be soothing.
“What is your preference?”
“I don’t know. Surprise me.” She stopped to consider if there were any real surprises in her tea collection. Nothing strange came to mind, just a standard assortment of familiar earth teas and some other more exotic blends collected at various points in her travels.
He moved to the small kitchen area around the corner and she curled on her side. Faint noises drifted over to her: the sound of the tea drawer being opened, the burble of the kettle being filled with water, the click as the switch was flipped on, the clink of a porcelain mug on the counter, the metallic sound of a spoon being placed on a saucer. She was beginning to feel drowsy as she listened to the soft domestic sounds from the other room.
She snuggled deeper into the blankets. His soft padding footsteps neared the bed but she was much too comfortable to open her eyes. She was sure she made a pretty picture, tissue wadded up and pressed to her nose to stem the incessant drip, mouth hanging open so she could breathe, but she felt so cared for and safe and comfortable, she didn’t care. Spock placed the cup carefully on the bedside table and then she sensed him hovering over her, could almost picture his puzzled expression as he tried to ascertain if she were awake or asleep.
“I’m awake, Spock,” she said. “Just comfy.”
The act of speech made her head hurt, and then she needed to sneeze again. She rolled to her back and steepled her hands over her face, curling forward slightly with the force of it. She held her hands in place, nodding gratefully when Spock offered the tissue box again.
“It still seems some type of response is necessary when you sneeze.”
She sniffled and blew her nose. He wasn’t going to give it up.
“Bless you?” she suggested.
“No.” His eyes grew distant as he thought. “It was a phrase my mother always said to us.”
“Gesundheit, maybe?”
She stretched her arm out toward the bedside receptacle and dropped in the used tissues, taking the time to study his face while he was lost in thought. The offhand mention of his mother had come easily to him and he did not appear to be grieving. But who knew what was in his heart that was hidden from her?
She tried to reach out gently with her mind, keeping her thoughts on him, allowing herself to think all the tender things she never felt quite comfortable expressing directly. And she felt nothing at all except the sensations of her cold, the heavy leaden feeling throughout her body, the burning ache in her sinuses, the scratchy throat that made swallowing painful, her senses too enmeshed and involved in her own physical discomfort.
She gave it up and reached for her cup of tea instead. She cradled the warmth of the mug and held it to her face, breathing in the steam eddying from the surface of the tea. The liquor was a reddish-yellow with a light, spicy aroma. She took a small sip, eyes fluttering closed as she swallowed. The tea, a mix of lemongrass and ginger, soothed the ache in her throat. She sniffled once and then again and realized between the fragrance and the effect of the steam, she was going to sneeze and it was going to be messy. She waved her hand in front of her face, breathing deeply, and then pressed a loosely clasped fist to her nose. Spock retrieved the cup and she folded forward with another powerful sneeze that left her feeling a bit dizzy and breathless. She remained bent double and a hard shiver chased itself through her body.
“Are you cold?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “I’m cold. And I’m achy and I have a headache and I can’t stop sneezing and I feel miserable.” An uncomfortable silence hung in the air before he spoke.
“You are normally very independent and self-sufficient, Nyota. I am uncertain how to help you.”
The words struck her to her core. She didn’t want to be independent and self-sufficient right now. What she really wanted was someone to cuddle her, to stroke her hair and talk softly to her, to tell her everything would be fine. And although she wanted that attention from Spock, she knew better than to expect it. She turned her head to look at him and he was
studying her with his brows slightly drawn together. Was it a look of concern? Expectation?
“You don't have to help me, Spock," she said. "But maybe you could--” She made a helpless gesture with her arms. “I mean, if you don’t have other plans tonight--”
“My plans were to spend time with you.”
“Then maybe you could--” The word ‘snuggle’ died on her lips and apparently ‘cuddle’ wasn’t coming any easier. “Could you sit with me?” She motioned toward the side of the bed. “Maybe keep me company for a while?”
“If you wish.”
He lowered himself gingerly and perched on the edge of the bed, sitting with his back straight, hands folded in his lap.
She laughed. “Not like that. You look like you’re waiting for a transport shuttle.”
“Then how am I expected to sit?”
She scooted over to give him room. “Relax. Open your arms, like this.” She demonstrated for him and although it took a few moments for him to arrange his arms and legs in a suitable position, he finally held his arms open for her. She crawled into the space between his legs and sighed deeply as she settled against his chest and tucked her head under his chin. He folded her into an embrace and they sat quietly for a few moments.
“Nyota?”
She pressed herself closer to him. She really didn't want to have a conversation. “What?”
“Do you think you will need to sneeze again?”
She glanced up at him but his expression was serious, questioning. He wanted to be prepared.
“I have no idea.” she said. “Probably. It depends on how long you’re here.”
He moved slightly to retrieve the box of tissues and placed it within her reach.
“Would you like more tea?”
“No, this is enough.”
“What do you mean by 'this?'"
“This,” she said. “Having you here, next to me. I know it must sound odd, but the physical closeness is comforting. I don’t know if you’d understand.”
“I do understand," he said, shifting his position and tightening his arms around her. "My mother would occasionally hug us and if we protested, she would tell us the gesture was more for her benefit than for ours. My father in particular was very tolerant of her need for physical contact.”
Nyota smiled against his chest. Maybe Spock had learned something about humans from his father because as he held her, his body language was relaxed and his hand made gentle circles against her back. An unconscious gesture perhaps, but the soothing motion and pressure was lulling her into a drowsy state.
“I’m sorry if I ruined our evening,” she said.
“You did not.”
“Still, I was kind of looking forward to kicking your butt in Sus Mahna.”
“It will take several years of practice before you attain that level of proficiency.”
“Do you promise?” The words, spoken in a sleepy mumble, were out before she could reconsider them. The movement of his hand against her back stilled suddenly.
“Nyota.”
“I know,” she said, covering a yawn with one hand. “I’m sorry, I'm half-asleep and don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Before you fall asleep, perhaps you would be more comfortable in different clothing,” he suggested. “You are still in your work uniform.”
“Mnnnh, I don’t care. I’m comfortable.”
But there was wisdom to his suggestion. Now that she was aware of it, her uniform felt stiff and a little bit itchy and she’d probably sweated in it. But she didn’t want to get up and change. She wanted to stay right where she was with her head resting against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady under her hand, letting herself drift away to the rhythm of his breathing. She sniffled, the sound more like a congested snuffle at this point, followed by a cough. The cold was settling in now. It would be an uncomfortable night and tomorrow would probably be worse. Best to get up and change while she still felt like it.
She threw the blanket aside and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed before she could reconsider. She shuffled to her closet, the floor seeming to shift slightly under her feet as she walked. She unzipped her uniform, let it pool on the floor and kicked it to the side as she pulled on an oversized sweatshirt and a baggy pair of sleep pants. That did feel better. She padded back into her bedroom, certain she was she forgetting some important detail but found herself too distracted by the sight of Spock stripping her bed to remember what it was. He straightened and bundled the sheets and blanket in his arms.
“Spock, you didn’t have to--”
“You will be more comfortable,” he explained as he moved past her, crouching to retrieve her uniform before depositing the entire load in her reclamation unit. She stood silently as he fitted a fresh sheet and a pillowcase on the mattress and pillow. He turned and caught her eye, motioning for her to lie down. She crawled on her hands and knees toward the head of the bed, flopping to her side and groaning slightly at the feel of crisp, cool sheets against her tired and aching body. He lofted a blanket over her and tucked the edges in tightly.
“I will say good night now.”
“You’re not staying?”
“You need to rest. But I will check on you in the morning.”
“Do you promise?” And there they were again, those weighty words she could not take back.
He brushed the fall of hair from her cheek with one finger, his voice soft as he spoke.
“Yes.”
Through a sleepy haze, she was aware of him turning away, the soft whisper of fabric against fabric, and then he returned. She squinted sideways at what he held in his hands.
“You forgot this,” he said. “And you do not like to go to bed without it.”
She looked up at him. His face betrayed no emotion but his concern for her was obvious in this simple gesture.
“My bonnet.”
She lifted her head from the pillow and he settled the silk wrap securely around her hairline with gentle tugging motions. The moment was intimately familiar but the memory eluded her.
“How did you know?” she asked softly.
“The Academy,” he said simply as he tucked errant strands of hair under the bonnet.
“That’s right. Graduation night.” She’d gotten a bit tipsy and ever the perfect gentleman, he’d walked her home, a protective hand on her back, keeping watch at her door while she changed, then helping her put on her headwrap when her fingers proved too clumsy for the job.
“Thank you,” she said, meaning not only this particular moment but every other moment when his considerate actions betrayed his feelings for her.
“Do you require anything else?”
“I don’t think so.” She wrinkled her nose, feeling an intense burn deep in her sinuses, then barely brought a hand up in time to cover an irritated sneeze.
“I remember now,” he said. He pulled the blanket up to her chin and then crouched near the side of the bed so they were eye to eye.
“Remember what?” She sniffled and pressed a tissue to her nose.
“What my mother used to say when anyone would sneeze.” He rested a hand on her cheek and she shivered slightly at his touch. “A tes amours,” he said softly.
“To your loves,” she murmured. “That’s French Standard, on Earth.”
“One of the many languages my mother studied,” he said. “It was her favorite, I think.”
Her breath hitched and she sneezed again, followed by a weary sigh.
“A tes souhaits,” he said. “I will check on you in the morning. But if you require assistance tonight--”
“I know, Spock.” She gave him a sleepy smile. “Merci.”
He started to speak but stumbled over his next words and she squinted up at him. His expression was faintly troubled.
“I hope you feel better.”
She felt warmth bloom in her chest at this very human-sounding way of expressing his concern for her. Maybe he was only imitating what he’d heard others say but his wish was sincere. She held out a hand and he enfolded it in his.
“I will," she said. “Eventually.” Congestion blunted her words and she sighed. She hated being ill but he didn’t seem to mind it. “I hope you don’t catch this.”
“There is a zero point--” He stopped himself, his lips quirking into a smile. “I will not.”
“You’re a quick learner.”
“Please don’t worry about me,” he added. “Sleep now.”
He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, the slightest brush against her skin. He walked away and the lights in her quarters lowered, the door slid closed and high in the canopy of the forest, the birds began to call to each other again.