Disclaimer: The story and original characters are mine, but the ST: 2009 characters are not. Let's consider this an origin fic for how Spock and Nyota got together. I make no profit from this writing exercise.
Of Moths and Flames
Chapter One: Office Hours
When I was a kid
The other kids thought
I was crazy because
I loved going to school.
They didn't understand
How much I loved
Learning something new
Testing myself,
Surpassing whatever I achieved
The previous day
Now, I'm here
At Starfleet Academy
It's the greatest opportunity
I'll ever have
To push myself
To set new goals
And dream new dreams
Of meeting people
Going places
Bridging worlds
With the clarity of my words
There's no time for distractions
Like the one I sense
I'm caught up in now
I thought I had all
The perfect comeback lines
Excellent armor
Against a sexy smile
From a cadet or a townie
I wield words
Like weapons
At the guys who try
To distract me
But no one told me
This could happen
No one warned me
My heart could be taken
Like this
He didn't say anything special
He didn't smile a dazzling smile
His eyes didn't sparkle
As he made senseless small talk
Instead
He stole my heart
From the front of the lecture hall
With the sound of his voice
Where others heard a monotone
I heard a melody
Where others saw ice
In his intense gaze
I saw quiet fire
And wondered
If there was heat
In his touch as well
Morning comes
To my eyes
And I can't wait to get to class
Just so I can be
In the same room with him
It doesn't matter
That he'll never notice me
I see him
Afternoon brings me
Back for more
Office hours
My questions are real
But it gives me an excuse
To see him
To watch his lips
As he pronounces
The words
For me
Then I pronounce them
He goes completely still
Listening only to me
Success
I've managed to command
His attention
For one moment in time
Such a small thing
Really
It hardly compares
To what my heart wants
He's my teacher
Off limits
Regulations and all
Forbidden
Lesson over
Time to go
I walk back
To my dorm
Taking the long way
So I can daydream
About what I wish I could have
Writing poetry was a hobby that I picked up from my step-father. When Khalil had something on his mind, when something was churning his gut into knots, he wrote about it. Poems were his weapon of choice. It suited me just fine, too. I was nowhere near as good as he was, though. He wrote in more than thirty languages, including Klingon. I wasn't able write in that language yet, but someday I would be. But I was able to do something he couldn't do: I could write poetry in Vulcan.
The how and why I was able to do that was really pathetic. I, Nyota Uhura, fearless interpreter, had developed a ridiculous crush on one of my instructors, specifically, Commander Spock. Sometimes, after masochistically dragging myself to his scheduled office hours just so I could look at him, I went back to my dorm room and wrote poetry. One day, I got it into my head that my "yearnings," as Khalil would have called the poems I was writing, might sound better if they were written in Vulcan. Or maybe not better, but, I don't know, deeper? Might capture more of what I wished I could to say to Commander Spock if I said it in his native language?
The writing became an excuse to talk to him. I would write the whole poem in Standard first, or Swahili, if I was really feeling adventurous. Then, I'd struggle with the translation. The challenge was not just getting the words right, but capturing every nuance of meaning, squeezing every drop of emotion out even the most mundane words.
Once, I went to him with a question about a particular stanza I was working on:
Come to me
Come, taste my thoughts
Taste my joy
At being yours
Come,
Lick the sweet nectar
That pours forth
From my flower of life
It was very…satisfying to watch Commander Spock's face as he read the lines, to know that he was aware of what was going through my mind, even if he didn't know he was the one I was talking to. As usual, his face betrayed no emotion, no shock or discomfort.
"Cadet, why do you I wish to translate this poem into Vulcan?"
I decided to tell him, sort of. "It's an exercise I've made up for myself. You said that communication is more than just learning the words. I believe that we can learn an incredible amount about a culture from analyzing and imitating their literary styles. Even learning older forms of expression and comparing them to modern forms allows the reader to gain insight into the values of that culture. As a future Communications Specialist, shouldn't I understand and be able to duplicate as many literary forms as possible?"
The Commander was quiet as he considered what I'd said. He did not agree or disagree with me. "Why do you wish to compose poetry in a writing style that predates Surak's teachings? It is highly improbable that you would ever have an opportunity to display such a technique."
"There is someone that I wish to display my talents to, Sir, a writer that I know very well. He writes poetry in many languages. I've been trying especially hard to perfect my technique in a language he is not skilled in. He cannot write in Vulcan, neither modern, nor pre-Surak forms."
The Commander was watching me as I spoke, his eyes intently focused on my face. Had I been less familiar with Vulcan culture, I might have mistaken his attention for something else. However, I knew better. He was simply giving me his full attention. His eyes darkened when I mentioned that the person I wanted to impress was a "he," just the slightest movement across his brow.
"And you have chosen to write erotic poetry to impress him, Cadet?" The Commander's eyes were still on me, intently. But there was something in them that I'd never noticed before. Was that protectiveness? How sweet. Not what I really wanted, but then again, it might be nice to have a big brother. Or a friend, if such a thing was possible with him.
"I'm not getting myself into something I shouldn't, Commander. Many writers create works of an erotic nature. I just saw it as an exercise. The writer I was speaking of is happily married, and he simply encouraged me to write from my heart. The subject matter was entirely my choice. And it has helped both my creativity and translation skills."
The Commander considered what I said. Then, he focused his thoughts on the lines in front of him. "May I please review what you have already written?" I showed him the PADD I kept my draft on. Slowly, he began reading the lines I'd written.
Unable to help it, I recited them aloud as he read. Just as slowly his eyes left the page and slowly crawled up to my face. When his eyes met mine, I could see it. There. The "quiet fire" I'd noticed before. I would have given anything to know what thoughts were attached to that kind of look. Still staring at me, he gave me the words that had eluded me, pronouncing each one carefully.
For once, his gaze was too intent for me. I focused on entering the words into the PADD. I completed the translation as he watched.
"Thank you, Commander. As always, your help is invaluable." I prepared to leave his office, another session of pathetically grasping at straws now over, but he stopped me.
"Cadet, please recite the poem once more, this time in Vulcan."
I did as I was told. He listened, his eyes still on mine. He nodded, satisfied, and softened his gaze. Whatever he was thinking before had passed.
Again, I thank you Commander."
He looked at me, this time thoughtful. "You are correct, Cadet Uhura. Literature does offer a window into the understanding of others. Perhaps I should consider writing poetry in Terran languages, as a way to enrich my own understanding of humanity. Your aural sensitivity is above what I have come to expect from my students. I am now discovering your sensitivity extends to word choice as well. You would make a fine instructor for an exploration of poetic forms. Would you be willing to assist me in this endeavor?"
I was speechless. Me help him learn something? The Commander was not known for making fanciful requests. If he was asking for my assistance, then he considered me adequate for preparing him for the task he'd set for himself.
"Of course, Commander, I'd be honored."
He checked his schedule, asked about mine, and set a date for our first poetry session.
Convinced that I was about to wake up from my surreal dream any second, I decided to leave before anything embarrassing could happen or be revealed. Then I remembered I should give him an assignment or something. Wasn't that what instructors did? That way, we'd at least, have something to discuss when we met for our first session.
"For our first session, write down your thoughts about the first time you met or noticed anyone in our current class."
It was the only thing I could think of on such short notice. Heavens, I was so pathetic.
A/N: Special shout-out to my Beta, Aashlee Elizabeth. Thanks for believing in romance.
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