InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "IT'S OVER 9000!!!!!"

Lt. Uhura (talentedtongue) wrote in colligo_threads,
@ 2009-09-03 15:54:00

Entry tags:

!closed

WHO: Nyota Uhura & Spock
WHAT: Vulcan biology lessons.
WHERE: Their apartment
WHEN: Mid-Morning
RATING: TBD
STATUS: In Progress

He had been edgy the last couple of days, a little more quick to respond, far more curt than she was used to. She was concerned, of course, but when she had attempted to ask him what was wrong, he avoided the question all together. Nothing was wrong, of course. He was behaving perfectly appropriately. He was simply a tired or stressed or frustrated with their situation, and he would rather that she not ask again. And that had been a simple enough request to accomplish...until he did something else that seemed wildly out of character, and Uhura felt that she just had to ask again.

It wasn't until this morning, however, when she been woken by him flinging something (she still wasn't sure what) against the wall in a fight of barely contained anger, that the alarm was sounded in her head. Anger, of all things. Something definitely had to be wrong, and as she extracted herself from their bed, padding across the bedroom and out into the kitchen, frowning heavily at the pieces of ceramic bowl that littered the opposite side of the room, Uhura knew that it wasn't something that could be ignored any longer.

Casting a quiet, worried gaze in his direction, Uhura crossed over to where Spock was standing, settling a hand lightly against his chest, "Tell me what's going on," Uhura said, concern mixed with a firm edge that made it clear that she wasn't going to take no for an answer this time. "We can't do anything about it if you won't tell anyone what's happening."

(Post a new comment)

meritsofemotion
2009-09-04 02:08 am UTC (link)

Spock's chest tightened at her touch and his brow furrowed. He kept his gaze focused on the countertop in front of him. His hands rhythmically opened and closed as he focused on his breathing for a long moment. He wanted to jerk away from her, insist that nothing was 'going on', and leave their apartment as quickly as his legs would carry him. He knew that's what he should do, too. Go somewhere quiet to meditate, somewhere that didn't have the never-ending distraction of Nyota so very close and within arm's reach.

Yet Spock also knew that he couldn't, wouldn't, leave. It was part of what had led to him throwing the bowl. As much as logic dictated that he get as far away from the woman with whom he shared a bed nightly, he just couldn't not bring himself to do it. Yet he couldn't speak of what was bothering him either. Not only was it distasteful to speak of such things, as well as embarrassing (and yes, he was aware how illogical being embarrassed was but currently did not care), but he knew that Nyota would want to help and he simply could not allow such a thing.

However he couldn't lie to her, or avoid the question anymore, either.

Reaching up, he gently grasped the wrist of the hand pressed against his chest and pulled it away from him. Without the feel of her warm skin upon his, he could focus a bit better and chanced a glance at her. His dark eyes shone with an obvious internal struggle that was bordering on downright painful; there was a gleam in his eyes as well that, simply put, was all but feral. When he spoke, his voice was quiet yet wavered ever so slightly from obvious emotions he was just barely keeping in check.

"Pon farr."

It hurt, to say the words. Two simple words, words that he was all but certain that Nyota - with all of her schooling in languages - would not even know the meaning of, and it was all but impossible for him to speak them aloud. He managed, though, and after another shaky breath he added, "I am... experiencing pon farr."

(Reply to this) (Thread)

talentedtongue
2009-09-04 02:22 am UTC (link)

The phrase was unfamiliar. But with every Vulcan and Romulan dialect that she knew, the various syntax structures and etymological histories, she was able to come up with a very rough translation. But for the life of her, she couldn't understand at all what 'rhythm' would have to do at all with how he was acting.

"If it's idiomatic, you're going to have to explain," Uhura said, schooling her expression to try and keep the worry out of her features. Was he sick? Did he need a doctor? If that was the case, why was he pretending like it didn't matter, especially since he was steadily getting worse? "Because unless you're about to break into a dance, the literal translation doesn't make any sense."

Hardly the time to be flippant, perhaps, but it was easier than allowing the worry that was creeping up on her suffocate her. She was severely at a loss right now and all she wanted to do was help him. Why wasn't he allowing her to do that?