spock: logic is sexy

Fic: Child/Mother Sinner/Saint (Uhura - gen)

Title: Child/Mother Sinner/Saint
Author: igrockspock
Characters/Pairings: Uhura - gen
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Author's Notes: written because I wanted to see Uhura outside a relationship. Can be read as a one-shot, or with Bitch and The Needs of the Many as sequels

Nyota's room is dark and silent. She slides out of bed, already dressed in a tight white t-shirt and an indecently short leather skirt. Mentally, she congratulates herself on her always-superb advanced planning skills: everything she needs -- jangly earrings, perfume, tiny evening purse -- are arranged on her bedside table. Without turning on the light, she slips a hand beneath her bed and finds her knee-high boots. The zipper breaks the silence, just for a second, and she tenses until she's sure she hasn't been heard. Better put those on outside, she thinks.

Outside, she stands underneath a street light, examining her silhouette. Her breasts are smaller than a lot of the other girls', but they are firm and high, and even though she's naturally on the skinny side, her waist curves nicely. She pops her headphones in her ear and dances experimentally to the music, remembering what her grandmother told her last week: "Every woman works what she's got, Nyota, and don't you forget that! Men like a woman who acts like she's worth something, and if you're not going to enjoy those breasts while they're nice and perky, you can give them to me!" She had blushed at that, but she liked the advice. All week, she has been practicing holding herself straighter, swishing her hips a little as she walks home from school. Still, she's pretty sure this nocturnal adventure isn't what Grandmother meant by enjoying her body; the next words out of her mouth had been, "Not that you should be enjoying yourself too much, young lady! Keep those to yourself another couple of years, eh?"

Remembering her grandmother's fearsome stare, she edges further down the block, away from her sleeping house. Laughter drifts over the silent streets, and two minutes later, she and her two best girlfriends are striding arm and arm through the streets of Mombasa. Everything feels unbearably alive and precious: the faint smell of curry drifting from the open windows, the way their laughter cuts through the hushed night air, the feeling of their sweat slicked arms locked together. They hear the drums first, sharp raps that echo across the streets. A little closer, and they can see it in the distance: bare light bulbs strung around an open courtyard, hundreds of bodies packed together, moving like an ocean on the dance floor. She closes her eyes and lets it envelope her: the buzz of a hundred shouted conversations, chairs scraping against the concrete on the edges of the courtyard, the scent of beer wafting across the bar. And, best of all, the music, staccatto drumbeats that set her hips swinging and toes tapping long before she's on the dance floor.

Men crowd around her, desperate for her company. She lets them buy her shots, lets them watch as she tips her head back to swallow them whole. The alcohol burns the back of her throat, and she likes it.

"What's your name?" they shout over the bass.

"None of your business!" she answers and goes on dancing alone.

This is freedom: the heavy night air, thick and humid in the days before monsoon, pressing on her skin; the music that pours into her ears and fills up her whole body; the knowledge that every one of these men want her and she doesn't have to accept a single one of them.

But then her watch is chiming 4 a.m., and even though it feels like she's been here minuets instead of hours, she is sprinting through the streets to her still-sleeping house. Hurriedly, she shucks the boots and throws them behind a bush; inside, she seizes pajama pants from the laundry she washed yesterday and wedges her skirt between the cushions of the couch. On tiptoe, she creeps past her mother's door, stepping carefully over the sick bowl and discarded medicine wrappers. She had wanted to sleep for an hour, but already, she is composing her to-do list: load the hyposprays and color code them according to the medicine they contain, call the doctor about the new pain in her mother's side, put crisp new sheets on the perpetually sweat-soaked bed. Feel guilty about all the times she's looked at the stars and dreamed of freedom.
This is so lovely, I wish it had gone on longer. I'll have to check out what else you've written. It's wonderful seeing Uhura on her own, working out her own problems.
Thank you! I really enjoyed writing Uhura by herself. I wish it had gone on a bit longer too, although I'm not sure what to add to it. I knew I wanted her moment of freedom to be brief, and I knew that although I don't want to write pure angst, someone as mature as she is in the movie would have been through some heartbreak. I am thinking on how this particular story might be fleshed out.
This. I've been lurking on your journal for the past few days and I must say I tremendously enjoy your fic!

As much as I'm completely in love with the Spock/Uhura dynamic, seeing either of them outside of a relationship reminds me just why said relationship is so involved and fascinating: because they're both layered and complex characters. The movie afforded us with quite a few glimpses of Spock's badassery (which you so wonderfully illustrated in "Nothing Left to Lose") and Uhura captivated me from the moment she appeared on screen--while I understand why she didn't have a detailed backstory and/or character study, I just wanted to see more of her! So I'm quite happy with what you've done here.

Regarding this story specifically: I love that she is still her neat, ordered self no matter what situation is at hand. Also, that's excellent grandmotherly advice and one I'm fairly sure she's followed all the way into canon. :) Her taste of freedom makes me yearn for it, and the last line hurts a little, because you know she's got that much potential.

Sorry, it appears I've rambled a lot. :D
I agree with what you say about seeing both characters on their own. I don't feel upset or slighted that Uhura has a less prominent role in the movie since it's a significant improvement over her character in previous films, but I do feel intrigued enough that I want a back story. I hope that since XI has introduced Kirk and Spock's friendship, they will be able to flesh out the other characters more in the next film.

Please, feel free to ramble as long as you want, especially since your comments are so flattering. Thank you for all the positive feedback.
Thanks so much for this ♥ Beautifully written and OMG I love her! She's so fierce! \o/
Fierce is the perfect word for her! I need an Uhura icon with 'fierce' on it.

Thank you for the comment :)
this is really interesting, her wanting some freedom from the responsibilities of home and her sick mom. thank you
I'm really enjoying this as part of the series, giving a more in depth look at Uhura. I was taken by the inclusion of the grandmother's voice especially. You can feel her warmth.
Oh! I did NOT see that ending coming! Can't wait to read the next ones :) Poor Uhura!