You can recall as vividly as the hologram in front of you the moment when logic failed you. It was all because of her, this person who had made you think twice about yourself and about your chemical make-up. But you're Vulcan - well, half of you is - and Vulcans are not supposed to have feelings like this. Regardless of whether or not your father married a human female, that life has never been you...not until her.
Her. She. The woman. The lump of feelings and frizzy ginger hair that made your head spin. She was the first thought that stopped all of your so-called ingenius mental abilities and transformed you into a mass of skin with hot, green blood pulsing your veins every time she looked at you. Did she know that your initial meeting had been haunting you, even revisiting you in your dreams, dreams that had previously been nonexistent? Did she know of her beauty? Furthermore, did she know what she was doing to you?
You swore that you were in control of yourself and that the Vulcan way was the best way. You told your father that you would honor the Vulcan manner of suppressing emotion, knowing that feelings run more deeply in your species than in humans for many reasons. You had done well until she came along and, now, you don't know what to do with yourself.
Whenever you're around her, you feel the constant need to clear your throat as it runs dry, the salivation nearly failing to give you the strength you need to even speak to her. She is just so lovely. Every flick of a finger and each bat of long, thick eyelashes has your insides screaming for physical contact where you previously did not require it. You find yourself imagining what she smells like, what her skin feels like when it's against your own, what her lips feel like...
This is not the Vulcan way. This is your human half trying to take over, and no matter how hard your alien half attempts to repress her, you can't. You can't. In fact, you don't really know if you want to repress her.
You like the way it feels to be near her. You like the way she smiles at you in that half-smirk kind of fashion. You like the way her bushy curls eventually have to be pleated into a braid or fastened into a tight bun at the back of her head, even though the way they cascade over her shoulders and into her face makes your heart sing. Moreover, you like the way you like her.
Occasionally, you make certain that the daily agenda for you both is identical so that she is nowhere but at your side day-in and day-out. A very tiny fraction of you is tempted to schedule an alone-time at the holodeck wherein you can live out a vicarious romance with the woman you're so drawn to, but you can't. You won't. Because you want the real thing.
You give her a gentle smile when you're alone and reprogramming the simulators for the Academy's medical training bay. You are so close to her. You want to reach out and let your fingers graze her hand in the hopes that she will get the idea...
But you don't. You stay your course, intermittently clearing your throat and hoping that she can't hear your heart as it prepares to launch itself from your body. She's quiet now, quieter than you're used to, and inside, your head is begging Please just speak. Say anything. I am longing to hear the sound of your voice. It does not matter what you say. Speak to me...say my name...
"Commander Spock," she says out loud, and you can feel your existence surge with energy.
"Yes, Commander?" you manage, feeling the itch to bite back the grin you feel.
"It pains me to say this, but I think you are too close to me."
Your heart wants to die, but not in a bad way. This is the first time you've ever heard her acknowledge the physical proximity, even if she does find you to be too close.
"My apologies, Commander," you say and move on to another wall to check the logistics of the system itself.
She is silent, but you can feel her breathing.
"It's not that," she muttered, her eyes boring holes into the back of your skull as you continue to work.
"Oh?" you say, practically urging for her to say more.
"...it's unprofessional of me. Forget that I said anything."
I cannot forget, my angel.
"On the contrary," you say, remaining as staunch and upright as you always are in public even though you're a mess of sobs and emotion inside. "If something is bothering you, Commander, I would be remiss if you allowed it to get in the way of your work. If it is an obstacle, I would have you say it aloud so that we may do whatever we can to remedy it." Now she will think of you as...what is the human word for it...an ass. How unemotional you sounded just now!
She is tense - her nerves pervade the air, nearly palpable as you make your way back over to her and make eye contact.
"I don't want you to think less of me."
I could never.
"Say what you will, I have no doubt that your impression on me will go unchanged."
She hesitates and you hold your breath.
"For the past few years, you and I have worked very closely together." You nod, knowing the heartache that the time-gap has burned into your aura. "It's just...well, I don't think that I can be a partner to you anymore. It isn't right for me to." You want to tell her that she's wrong and that there's nowhere else you would rather have her, but you say nothing, your eyes conveying that you're hanging on her every word. "There's something between us. I don't know what it is, but every time I'm not around you, I can't breathe and, when I am, I feel like myself. I'm...I'm attached to you in some way and working with you is unprofessional given that. I'm sorry. I know that this must be difficult to hear. You were my favorite teacher and mentor and tutor, but I can't jeopardize either of us by continuing to work with you."
You pause, knowing fully-well why she had to say that, and knowing her well enough to sense that saying this pained her. She was very similar to yourself in many emotional aspects, almost as if there was a bit of Vulcan heritage in her own ancestry. Even if she didn't, she was right. The connection between them was obvious and impenetrable. You wanted to tell her everything.
"Commander," you begin, placing your clipboard aside, "I cannot deny that your resignation from my personal staff is a stab to me. Your expertise is something I highly value - have always highly valued - but if you feel the need to resign yourself from my presence, then there is something that you should know."
You pause, feeling your Vulcan half attempt to punch down the human half wanting to spill its beans. Your human half wins.
"You are very special to me and have been since I became your morphology tutor in your premiere semester here. I have watched you grow and become an incredible officer, one that Starfleet is prestiged to possess. You are my personal favorite protege, but I request that you keep that between us to avoid favoritism showing itself to my other students. Your attachment, Commander, is nothing short of requited." Her gaze finds yours and a light, a beam of something new, reverberates in your locked expressions. "I, too, feel an attachment between us; so much so, in fact, that I can practically feel the pressure escaping my body as I tell you this. I find you mesmerizing and absolutely breathtaking, and I mean that in a literal sense as you did."
You can tell that she wants to say something - perhaps even touch you - but she doesn't. She is still, and you continue. "There are no more words for this, so I will say that if you wish to leave my employ, I will understand." You take a deep breath and take one step closer to her, your heartbeat pounding away at your ribcage. "However, if you stay...know that I...I want you to stay. I do not wish to work if I cannot work beside you in some form. I cannot explain my need to be near you, but if you tell me right now that you wish to leave in spite of what I have said, I will ne'ermore bother you."
She is hesitant again, but you can sense impulsion parading around her thoughts. Her blue eyes are distant and, yet, so very near. She steps into you, her body mere inches from yours and her face so very, very close now.
Your breath hitches in the back of your throat and you pause, her eyes pleading with her to break that barrier, to invade your personal space so that you won't feel as though you've betrayed half of yourself in the indulgence of emotion.
She pushes herself up on the balls of her feet, the leather-ply of her uniform-issue boots giving a low squeak as she cranes herself up to be near you.
You are breathing through your mouth now, your eyes scanning her facial features - did she always have freckles? - and seeing the flecks of hope in her irises. Her fingers slip up and gently graze the lower portion of your cheek and you feel the ecstasy of contact between your flesh and hers come to life.
She is breathing quickly, each of you so near the other now and as she moves in to press her lips to yours, the doors to the turbolift to the back of the room whiz open and she snaps down to flat-foot, retracting her hand, blinking several times and moving swiftly back to work.
You straighten yourself outwardly while your insides weep for what almost occurred. The lines the pair of you have crossed can never be erased, and as medical students begin to question her about the new technological changes and her eyes once more meet yours, the two of you know that a public acknowledgement of your mutual affections cannot exist.
You return to your work, the place on your cheek, the bit of you that has been one with her, undulates with what did happen.
