Fic: Two Summers, 1-15
Nyota is playing Spock’s lute.
Jim’s supposed to be going to the bridge to check up on something but he forgets that when he passes the rec room and he hears the sound of the lute. He could never mistake it anywhere. It’s one of the few hobbies that Spock had. He once told Jim that more than anything, music had always connected him to his suppressed emotions.
Nyota’s got this expression on her face that’s indescribable. It’s not sad but it’s not serene either. Not quite acceptance or resignation. There’s an underlying strength to her expression though. Jim can see why Spock was once attracted to her. Hell, Jim was attracted to Nyota, for sort of different but kind of similar reasons.
He wonders how Scotty’s holding up. Spock’s death can’t have been easy on them either.
By the sounds of it, Nyota’s gotten a lot better at the lute than the last time he heard her play. It’s a tricky instrument because the strings are so close together that it really takes Vulcan precision to get it right. The knobs are also especially sensitive, so it also takes Vulcan ears to pinpoint the exact tuning you might want. Jim’s not a musical-he only knows this because Spock told him.
Her proficiency’s up too. Her fingers pluck the strings deftly, quickly. The shifts in the notes are graceful, less jarring. The complexity of the piece she’s play is definitely in the more advanced range of lute repertoire. It’s impressive. She must’ve practiced a lot.
Jim narrows his eyes and he imagines that he can make out the blisters on her fingers from all the hours of practice. Nyota’s temper can be unpredictable. He envisions sheet music scattered on the floor and the lute thrown to the side, Nyota pacing her room in frustration because she just doesn’t get how anyone could play that seventh passage. Then broken sobs coming out as she crouches to the floor and collects the mess.
They were close. Jim’s so used to thinking of Spock as his, but Spock and Nyota were very close, best friends almost like brother and sister. Nyota is the closest thing he can get to replacing Spock on the bridge. It was probably a relief for her and Spock to have each other, balancing out the craziness of their respective lovers. Scotty’s as far as you can get from Nyota, just as Jim’s as far as you can get from Spock.
He’s not sure what this is, her decision to master the lute. Is it the way she deals with her grief? Is it a way she remembers Spock? A way to keep him alive? Is it a tribute to him? Probably some combination of all of those, and some other reasons he can’t fathom. Spock and Nyota shared music with each other. He likes music, the sound of it and the rhythm and all. But he won’t pretend to understand it or the enjoyment Spock derived from playing his lute. He won’t pretend to know why Nyota’s teaching herself how to play Spock’s lute.
Yet somehow it gives him comfort. Comfort to know that he’s not alone in enduring two summers, and comfort for Spock. That somehow he’s living on in memory, in music, in his lute. He left a legacy, and Jim’s glad that others are continuing it.
Grief seems to be about keeping memories alive as much as it is about moving on and continuing to live. Like trying to carry the dead with you, without becoming burdened down with death itself.
When Nyota’s done playing, there’s quiet applause. Her eyes are shining, but she smiles. As the crowd disperses or goes back to whatever they were doing, Jim walks towards her.
“What was that you played?”
She’s packing the lute away carefully into its case. Nyota wipes the strings with a soft cloth, does something to the knob, and runs the cloth over the body of the lute. She closes the tip, pulls the various zippers and clasps, then finally looks up at him.
“It was Spock’s favorite piece.”
Jim’s heart aches.
“He promised he’d teach me to play it before he died. It was a joke at the time,” she looks away.
His heart aches for her, for himself, for Spock.
“I decided to teach myself.”
Silence. Nyota touches the case, her hands flat against the cover.
“You sounded really good,” he offers. “You’ve gotten a lot better, as far as I can tell. I can’t really tell that much, but for what it’s worth.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you going to keep playing? You have any other pieces lined up?”
“I don’t know. I don’t,” her voice falters. “I don’t have anything planned.”
“I think you should keep playing.”
She gives him a look.
“Do you know how hard it is to play this thing?”
“Nope. But, it’d be,” now he falters. “It’d be nice. I like to hear you play.”
Nyota doesn’t reply.
“Hey, it’s okay. Two summers, remember?” He looks into her eyes. “I miss him too.”
“Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing, not letting you trade your ship for Spock.”
His heart aches.
“He wasn’t supposed to go like that. He wasn’t supposed to die like that,” she says, voice shaking, hands still flat against the instrument case.
Jim takes the case out of her hands and pulls her close. She doesn’t return his embrace, only keeps repeating those two sentences.
“He wasn’t supposed to leave us like this. He wasn’t supposed to die like that.”
“I know,” he says. “I know.”