This story is a prequel to The Second First Date and One of a Kind, but it can be read on its own.

As Uhura stares out the window of her quarters and up at the artificial blue sky, she swears she can see the stars if she squints hard enough.

The imagery Yorktown offered is a nice change of scenery, she had to admit. It reminded her a lot of Earth aside from the complex gravitational matrix of the cities and the fact that they were trapped in what was essentially a giant glass ball.

But Yorktown just couldn't compare to the Enterprise. Even when it got dark and you could see the stars properly, there was hardly anything else. No strange planets passing by or vast nebulae to venture into. Everything was too still. It wasn't home.

Uhura jumps when there's a ring at her door, almost spilling the glass of water she's been holding. She keeps it steady in her right hand as her left smoothes out her hair, and she tells the visitor to come in. But when the door opens, it's not who she expects to enter.

"Doctor McCoy," she greets, trying not to sound disappointed.

"Uhura," he says, stepping into the room and allowing the door to shut behind him. She's a little surprised to see him here; she figured he'd have his hands full with medical emergencies in the wake of everything that happened on Altamid. In fact, she thought that Spock had gone to see him to properly deal with his injury. She keeps her eyes on the doctor's to keep from looking at his hands for any traces of green. It wouldn't be like the doctor to walk around with any amount of blood on his hands in any place that wasn't sickbay, but for some reason she can't get the thought out of her mind.

She's still watching his face when he speaks, and she notices how tired he looks. "I was wondering if you were busy around 1700. I'm putting together a surprise impromptu birthday party for Jim and trying to get as many people as I can."

"Oh, um…" she starts, remembering if she has any plans at that time and realizes she doesn't have any plans at all, outside of work. Spock and her have been incredibly busy lately and she thinks it would be nice if he had asked her to the party, but he didn't because McCoy did and she really needs to give him an answer because she's taking entirely too long when a simple yes or no will suffice. "Yeah, sure. I'll be there."

"Alright, we'll be in the central plaza. Try to be there a little before Jim and I get there." Her throat is dry so she takes a drink, but it doesn't seem to help so she just nods instead.

McCoy opens his mouth as if he wants to tell her something, but seems to think twice about it and doesn't say a word. His eyes search her face, maybe making a medical diagnosis of some kind but he doesn't inform her. He's never been good at this—dealing with the emotions of others. At least not that she's seen, and especially not with Spock or aspects concerning him in general. But Altamid may have changed that; there's a lot that happened that she doesn't know about, but she is certain that they were all different people now, even if just minimally. They've all been through hell and back; change is inevitable. And she's still trying to figure out if that's a good thing.

She can't speak but she has to say something because McCoy is about to leave and she has questions, too many questions to fit into the few minutes that he probably has to spare and she has no idea how to begin. So when he says he'll see in a few hours and heads for the door, she forces herself to ask him one of the many things that she can't seem to ask Spock himself.

"Is he okay?" She's thankful it wasn't exactly a croak.

He stops and turns to look at her again. "He's fine," he says in his Doctor voice, as if Spock was his patient and she was the family member that was waiting for the bad news. "As you know, he had a deep laceration just below his heart, but I took care of the worst of it on the Franklin. He saw me a little while ago and I was able to patch him up, good as new. Nothing to worry about."

Uhura lets out a breath that she didn't know she was holding and sits in a nearby chair. "That's good. I just… I didn't know how bad it was."

She's too focused on the glass in her hand and trying to keep it from shaking to be certain, but she's pretty sure McCoy's voice is closer to her than it was before. "Haven't you talked to him lately?"

"A little bit," she explains as she sits down, in the hopes that everything will become more steady that way. "We've been busy."

Which isn't a lie. Spock in particular has had a lot on his plate and even though they've been trying, they can't seem to be with each other for more than ten minutes at a time. Between working and sleeping, their schedules allow little deviation for anything else. Spock has expressed a desire to talk with her in detail when more time is allotted for them, as they have barely even been able to discuss Ambassador Spock, let alone everything else. But until that time arrives, she has to settle for fleeting exchanges and parting glances.

"Is he going?" Her voice sounds smaller than she wants it to be, so she tries to fix it. "To the party, I mean?"

He shrugged. "He said something about a mission report to finish."

She almost laughs at that and rolls her eyes because if she blinks instead then the wetness might spill over. "Of course he did."

Now she knows he's closer because the next thing she knows his hand is on her shoulder. "Is everything ok?"

But she can't get herself to look at him so instead she rubs the edge of her thumbnail on the smooth glass in her hands. She watches the pieces of ice floating around in the water, wondering if she would be able to see them melt if she watched closely, but right now she can't see any changes. Spock could probably see it, she thinks, but apparently her human eyes just aren't good enough.

She hears McCoy take a deep breath. "Well, not very common for a linguist to be at a loss for words. Or maybe you're just the kind of gal that likes to talk to a beverage instead of an actual person." He takes the seat across from the small table that she's sitting beside. "I don't know if you've heard, but I've become something of an expert of Vulcan psychology in the past few days. So I might as well take a stab at the human brain, too."

She appreciates his attempt at humor, but she doesn't find herself smiling. And how can she, when her insides feel a bit like gelatin and her head keeps spinning like that? She still so confused that she doesn't know what to say or how to feel.

She attempts to smooth her hair again and takes a long sip of her drink, leaving hardly any left. Finally, she licks her lips and says the first thing she can think of that she needs to tell somebody other than herself. "He wanted to leave."

"Not you," he says more firmly than she would have expected. "He never wanted to leave you. Just Starfleet."

"Yeah well, I'm a part of Starfleet so it's kind of a package deal."

"Still," he mutters. His eyes glance at her necklace and she thinks that Spock must have told him it was his mother's. Even for a linguist, words could not possibly describe how grateful and honored she was upon the presentation of such a gift. It probably wasn't logical to care so much about a piece of jewelry or for an object to have ineffable sentiment. But he had been so pleased with her willingness to accept and cherish the necklace, and just the memory itself makes her want to smile. And maybe if she wasn't biting her lip, she would.

When McCoy's eyes meet hers again, there's a certain intensity in them that she's never seen him use before outside the walls of his sickbay. "You know that he loves you, right?"

"Of course."

"And you love him?" he asks, drawing out the first word.

"Yes," she says as she nods, before a brief pause. "But that's the problem, Leonard. That's why this is so hard."

She knows that her voice is about to crack so instead of speaking she focuses on her drink again. The ice cubes are noticeably smaller now and she thinks that maybe they're melting quicker because of the heat from her hands pressing against the glass like they are. There's only a small amount of water left, and she supposes that it's probably not enough to quench her thirst. She thinks about standing and getting more, but she doesn't fully trust her legs will keep her steady. She decides to wait until the ice cubes are melted to take another sip. Then there will be more water and her mouth may even be more dry then than it is now.

Leonard waits and doesn't speak again so when she finally explains, the interruption to the silence seems abrupt and jarring. "It could be so easy if we just went our separate ways. He would go to New Vulcan, have a Vulcan wife, and I could stay on the Enterprise and keep doing what I've always wanted to do. It really could be that simple."

"But it's not that simple."

"It never is," she remarks softly, noticing how the inside of her brain feels like a broken record. She's thought about all of this before and she's told Spock about it, too. She doesn't know why she's talking now and should probably stop but she can't, even though Leonard is probably busy and has other things to do. "It's not the first time this has happened, you know. He's thought about leaving before. And I thought if I broke up with him, it would just be easier for him. Easier for the both of us."

"And that's when I saw you two the other day in the plaza." She nods, solemn in her memories. "And then he got the news about Ambassador Spock, which didn't help anything."

"So now he might want to go to New Vulcan even more." She shrugs and holds her stomach because it definitely doesn't feel right, and she doesn't know if it'll help but she really needs to try and hold herself together right now.

He thinks about that for a moment, then shakes his head. "I wouldn't be too sure about that."

"What makes you say that?"

He seems to contemplate what he should tell her, what part of his discussions with Spock should stay confidential. It makes her want to ask more questions, but she stays quiet and decides that she can ask Spock later. "On the planet, he did tell me that he wanted to live out Ambassador Spock's legacy or whatever, and help rebuild the Vulcan race. But then I got to thinking, and Ambassador Spock's legacy wasn't to rebuild anything. He was an explorer. He was on the Enterprise just like the rest of us, just like our Spock, right?"

She remembers a conversation she had with Spock a long time ago, after the destruction of the Narada. "Ambassador Spock did seem adamant about our Spock being a part of Starfleet. From what Spock told me, his counterpart had said that his friendship with Jim was important. That it would define them both."

"Wait," he says, holding up his hands. "So let me get this straight. Old Spock tells Spock to stay in Starfleet, but when Old Spock is gone Spock decides to take Old Spock's place and leave Starfleet, even though Old Spock never even wanted Spock to do that, and even Spock doesn't want to take Old Spock's place because he doesn't want to leave Starfleet either?" He snorts. "So much for logic."

She's able to manage a small smile. "You'd think with that eidetic brain of his, he would've figured that out before we did."

"Well remind me to tell him all that. It's on my bucket list to see a Vulcan brain explode when he realizes his own damn logic isn't even logical."

"Yeah," she mumbles, her smile fading as she looks at the floor.

He rubs his eyes with his right hand. "Look, I've gotten to know the green-blooded bastard better than I ever wanted to over these past few days, believe me. But I never realized how much a Vulcan could really, you know, feel. It was…strange." His brow furrows. "I thought the day I saw a Vulcan actually care like that would be the day hell froze over."

"Stranger things have happened." She twists a strand of her hair in her hand. "I've seen it."

"I think we all have now." He looks out the window that she was standing by before he arrived. "And when he talked about you—when he didn't know if you were alive…" He exhales and shakes his head. "Well, I just didn't know he could be like that."

She tilted her head, unable to feign her curiosity. "He talked about me?"

"Oh yeah."

She smirks. "So much for physician-patient confidentiality."

"Hey, I told you I'm new at this whole psychiatry thing."

The longer she looks at her hair, the more she realizes that she should really wash it before the party later. She bites her lip again and almost wishes she was on duty again so she wouldn't have to think about all this. "I'm just so tired of getting my hopes up, you know? I mean, how do I know he won't think about leaving again?"

"You don't," he answers matter-of-factly.

Her brow furrows. "Not exactly the pep talk I was expecting, Doctor."

"It's the truth, Nyota." It's strange to hear him say her first name, but she's not opposed to it. "But if there's one thing I've learned from the hell we've all just been through, it's that some things are worth fighting for."

She thinks about that for a moment as she observes the object in her hand. Much like the ice in her glass, she needs to put time and effort into the relationship in order for the hardships to melt away. And through this said time and effort will yield water, or what she'll get out of the exertion of trying to work it out with Spock. But is the melted ice worth the wait? Is the appeasement it worth fighting for?

She relaxes in her chair a bit for the first time since she sat down. "You'd make a good psychologist. Maybe you should quit your day job."

"And expect Jim to try and survive a week without me? Not a chance. Besides, I'm not sure if someone who left the planet to get away from his ex-wife is exactly qualified to be a decent marriage counselor."

"I'll try to remember that the next time you give me good relationship advice." She wants to ask something else but she's not sure how he'll answer. But she figures that a second opinion wouldn't hurt, and her inquisitiveness wins out against her apprehension. "What do you think I should do?"

"I think that not everybody is lucky enough to get a second chance. And I can't even pretend to begin to understand the Vulcan psyche," he pauses briefly as he stands, "but for what it's worth, I think Spock knows that too." He steps beside her and lightly rubs her back. "The two of you will be fine, alright? I'm sure of it." He gives her shoulder one final squeeze and walks away.

She calls after him just before he reaches the door. "You really do care about Spock, don't you?"

"Tell him and I'll deny it to my dying day."

"Thank you." The statement takes him slightly off guard and he turns to look at her just as the automatic door opens for him. "For saving his life," she specifies, though she has much more to thank him for now.

But he seems to understand because she can read the sincerity in his eyes when he says, "Just doing my job."

The door closes behind him, and she's left alone again. Once she feels like she can stand, she doesn't remain seated for long and leans against the same window as before. They sky hasn't changed, but she does think it seems a little more blue than before. The doctor has given her a lot to think about and if she's being honest with herself, she should have a decision to make.

But she's already made up her mind.

And as she waits for the ice to melt, she stares up at the sky, still longing to see the stars.