"I don't think it's going to arrive on time and I don't know what else to get Nyota if it doesn't."
Spock pauses surreptitiously, as he is wont to do when he overhears Nyota's name. Nyota's friend and roommate, Gaila, and another friend, Gerald Hendorff, are leaning against the wall two meters away in casual conversation.
"Just get something that'll help her study; no big deal."
"No big deal?" Gaila screeches. "Birthday celebrations are important to Humans, right?"
Hendorff nods slowly.
"Okay then, then I want to celebrate! ʃaoŋla, if I don't hurry I'll be late. Don't say anything to Nyota!" Gaila warns with a wagging green finger in Cadet Hendorff's face.
He holds up his hands as he backs away. "Not a word," he calls after her swiftly retreating form, and heads in the opposite direction.
Spock considers the exchange as he travels to his next appointment.
Why hasn't Nyota mentioned this impending event?
"Many reasons," Christopher Pike says later on that same evening as they play three dimensional chess in his faculty issued housing unit. "But I can't be specific without more information."
Spock's mouth quirks slightly as he evaluates his options; he adjusts his knight and straightens in his seat. "Your endeavor to learn the name of my significant other is illogically amusing to me."
"So glad I make you grin," Christopher says dryly before he takes a swallow of whiskey. "Don't know why you want to keep it a secret; you've assured me you're not breaking fraternization regs."
"While that is indeed true I do not wish any undue influence on her record or career, favorable or unfavorable."
"Ah," Christopher crows, "so it's a she!" He looks triumphant at the miniscule revelation.
"Indeed," Spock says coolly.
"When a man is starving he is content with mere crumbs," Christopher says with a grin. "Well she's female and she's from Earth, right?"
"…Correct."
"Then birthdays are a big deal," he says. "Maybe she didn't mention it because you're Vulcan and she knows you don't celebrate birthdays?"
"But would it not be logical to find a compromise of both our cultures in order to maintain balance within our relationship?" Spock asks.
Christopher nods slowly. "That would be a good idea," he says. "So buy her something nice and surprise her."
"I should not speak to her about this?" The disquiet felt by what should be a relatively simple matter concerns Spock, and he cannot help but return to the topic a few days later.
Amanda shakes her head. "It's more romantic if you surprise her," she says.
Spock attempts to keep the exasperation from his expression but fails, but he does not roll his eyes as his mother laughs at him over their weekly subspace conversation. "I do not wish to be romantic, but considerate. I do not wish her to feel as if she need to conform to every facet of my life and beliefs," he says.
"You worry Vulcan social mores dominates the relationship?" Amanda is no longer laughing.
"That is correct. I fear… my inability to address certain emotional requirements coupled with negligent observation of human ritual may…" Spock doesn't want to complete that thought aloud, illogical or not.
"May burn out your relationship," Amanda says, and Spock nods, grateful for the rush of love through the familial bond.
"Was everything this difficult between you and Father?" he asks. "It has been almost two years and I find it hasn't gotten easier."
"What does Nyota say when you speak to her about your fears?"
Spock looks away. "I have not spoken to her yet," he says.
"Two years you've been wondering and worrying? Spock, my darling son. How is that logical?"
Spock knows it's not logical but within his mind logic and emotion are forever locked in a traitorous dance. What is emotionally healthy is not always easy, especially when said emotions are invoked by Nyota Uhura. "It is not," he concedes.
"How did she respond when you told her you did not celebrate your birthday?"
Spock straightens. "She… did not ask. I believe she knew it was not Vulcan custom, although she did tell me she wished that day to be supremely momentous."
"Oh, so she was slightly less emotional about your birthday than I tend to be," Amanda teases.
"Indeed." Spock allows himself a small smile and is gratified when his mother beams back. The rush of affection through the bond is the second best thing to her physical embrace but he cannot tell her such; she would in all likelihood never let him go.
He may not find the strength to leave her embrace.
He sends fondness and just a bit of exasperation and his mouth twitches as Amanda laughs. "If you truly feel you've been neglectful in your romantic duties-"
"Mother-"
"-then you should arrange a date that she would love and present her with a thoughtful gift. Not something useful, but slightly frivolous that she enjoys or indulges in. Trust me; Human women don't want logical, productive implements. Not as gifts on their birthday." Amanda jabs her finger to further punctuate her words.
"You refer to the time Father replaced your cracked PADD and presented it as your birthday present?" Spock remembers the way his mother's face fell and her side of the bond quickly shut. "You were not pleased," he noted.
"I was not," Amanda agrees. "After I had calmed sufficiently we were able to talk; love and expectation rarely meet in the middle. Is this… love?"
"I have a deep and abiding need to have Nyota in my life," he says, and beyond that words fail to convey.
"I can't wait to meet her in person. You haven't changed your mind, have you?"
"I have yet to speak to her about it but I do know she still wishes to meet you and it would… please me to have that happen." Spock pauses. "What is an appropriate gift for one's birthday?"
Amanda laughs. "It depends on quite a few things, I'm afraid. The esteem you have for the recipient of the gift, how much affection you wish to express and the type of relationship you have all factor into what constitutes an appropriate gift. Most importantly it should strike you as logical."
Spock blinks; he does not expect his mother to suggest logic in deciding a gift. "Explain," he asks.
"Analyze her favorite hobbies and habits and cross reference that with things she's said and objects or people you've seen or heard her admire. Logic will allow you to narrow down the best options for a satisfactory gift."
"That is logical," he admits.
Amanda's expression flattens into mocking exasperation. "Must you sound so surprised?"
Spock straightens. "You are correct, Mother. I should not be surprised when you offer sound advice and logic."
"No," she sniffs. "You shouldn't. But I love you anyway, my son. How far away is her birthday?"
"Tomorrow."
Amanda's eyes open wide. "I think you should get to thinking, shouldn't you?"
Spock agrees. He deliberates upon everything he knows of Nyota Uhura and gains a new appreciation of how well their personalities and goals are compatible. He considers the emotions she produces within him and decides on the perfect gift; something aesthetically pleasing and functional.
The day before Nyota's birthday his last scheduled meeting is cancelled. He takes the time to peruse the various jewelry shops of San Francisco. He surveys and inspects ornate gold hoops and wooden talismans and delicate silver charms and valued Terran gems.
He sifts through Andorian, Orion, Tellerite, and Betazed trinkets; outrageously priced and almost free. Nothing speaks to him, as his mother suggests. Perhaps he is too Vulcan to have a voice purely dedicated to announcing the right gift for Nyota. He imagines her smiling up at him, head tilting and her earrings glinting-
Spock pauses and realizes he knows exactly what to procure.
Nyota's birthday falls on a Saturday; they have plans to spend time together (as they do every weekend), but most of her day is consumed by her friends and their jubilant, overly enthusiastic celebration. The sun sets before Spock hears the slide of pneumatic gears and the smells the sweet and familiar scent of Nyota's perfume.
"I'm so glad to be here," she says, but he is still unable to see her due to the frosted glass partition that separates the entrance from the living area, creating a well-ordered foyer type space but delaying her appearance. Spock hungrily watches her blurred form bend forward to remove her heels and listens to the slight clink of beads as she places her clutch on the small table next to the door.
Finally Nyota comes around the barrier and Spock finds that his chest is constricting in what should be the most disconcerting manner but lack of air is immaterial in the face of her beauty. She's changed her hair; braided rows against her head that lead toward a chignon comprised of more braids.
Words fail him momentarily.
"Are you alright?" she asks as she comes closer. "You haven't just been waiting around here for me, have you?" Nyota kisses him and squeaks when Spock responds with more ardor than he anticipates. He loosens his hold on her but presses her closer. "What was that for," she asks, breathless and flushed in his embrace. "Not that I'm complaining," she clarifies.
"I had words prepared," he admits as they begin to sway without music.
"Words? For what?" She rests her head against his chest and sighs with what Spock hopes is happiness.
"Your hair is lovely," he says, and briefly he wonders if his words sound too severe to be taken as a compliment, but Nyota burrows against his chest and the emotion he senses from their linked hands indicates an amused fondness.
On a whim Spock spins her into a simple waltz around the room, contrary to popular belief Spock does know how to dance, and under private circumstances and a willing Nyota, he sees nothing illogical about it. He is rewarded with a wide, warm smile; one Spock finds is solely for him. "Was your day satisfactory?" he asks, and dips her gracefully.
Nyota snorts. "It was nice. My friends surprised me; I thought we were going to lunch but it was a party instead. I think they just wanted to celebrate because we're starting summer vacation next week."
Spock brings them to a standstill. "Explain."
"Well I- " Her eyes dart to the partially open sliding glass door as a breeze filters through the area. "What is that?"
Spock wanted to reveal his work in a flourish worthy of the surprise but allows Nyota to move past him and onto the balcony; it's decorated with draping linens in her favorite colors, green, blue, and grey. A vase full of Euphoria roses were centerpiece of the intimately set table.
"Mndani…" she whispers.
Sweetheart, Spock's brain supplies the translation.
"What is this for?" Nyota turns in the balcony doorway with a confused expression.
Spock is discomfited; is his expressed affection so subtle and seldom that any gesture on his part is unimaginable? "You do not like it." His stomach twists with embarrassment and disappointment before his bio-controls assert themselves and icy calm trickles down his spine.
"It's beautiful," Nyota says firmly. "But what is it for?"
"For you." She still stares at him expectantly. "An intimate celebration of your birth."
Nyota takes a wondering step toward the table and Spock finds himself out of his emotional depth; he grasps her hand within his and lightly probes to get merely an impression of what she is feeling.
Curiosity.
Amusement.
Confusion and concern?
"Nyota, you must not lie to spare my feelings," Spock says as he follows her onto the balcony proper and watches her finger the petals of the roses gently.
"Spock this is very lovely and it is quite obvious you put a lot of thought into everything."
"I sense there is a yet uttered addendum to your comment," he says dryly.
Nyota shrugs a little helplessly as she turns to him; the material of her skirt flares just enough to give Spock a tantalizing glimpse of brown thighs. "It's… I didn't think I had to do this with you," she says.
"Explain." Spock draws himself up and vows not to interpret the situation without more information.
"I know Vulcans don't celebrate birthdays," she says.
"Correct, but after overhearing Cadets Gaila and Hendorff discuss the occasion I realized that you had never mentioned it to me."
Nyota tilts her head. "Well, no I hadn't, but to be fair Gaila found out by hacking my file before I arrived to our dorm and she has an eidetic memory." She pauses. "Did you ever consider why I don't mention my birthday? Or most other holidays?"
Spock purses his lips and reflects on the one year, eleven months, six days, sixteen hours, seven minutes and forty-two seconds that he and Nyota have been engaged in an exclusive emotional relationship. He recalls the first major Terran holiday they would observe as a couple and the peculiar relief felt when Valentine's Day came and went without mention.
Starfleet sanctions many days free of class for some Terran celebration or another; Nyota has never informed nor requested that he participate.
"I considered your diligent and considerate nature and merely thought you were respecting Vulcan culture and sensibilities," he says.
"That was part of it, yes; I have researched the Vulcan culture because I want to understand you enough to create a space for you to feel comfortable." Nyota leans upward and Spock meets her halfway down for an unfortunately chaste kiss. "But what do you know of my people?" she asks against his lips.
"You are from Kenya," Spock says as he straightens to his full height. "Part of the United States of Africa, also known as the African Confederacy."
"Yes, kipenzi, but that is a location. What do you know of my people?"
Spock reaches for information that is not there. "…I find myself woefully ignorant."
Nyota nods and turns away, and Spock sees the disappointment on her face before it is covered by understanding. "Quite a few Waswahili do not celebrate birthdays. When you did not bring up birthdays I assumed you had done research as well," she confesses.
"This displeases you," Spock says as he steps close and takes Nyota's hand again. It isn't anger he feels, but disappointment. It boils in his stomach and makes Spock feel as if his clothes no longer fit correctly. "I did not intend to cause you pain."
"Pain isn't the right word," Nyota says quickly. She moves closer to Spock and rests her head on his chest. He presses his cheek against the crown of her head and holds her tightly. "I want you to know as much about me and my people as I know about you and yours," she says.
This is a reasonable request and briefly wonders why he never took the initiative to research. "I believe I have fallen into the logical fallacy that Humans are of one culture."
Nyota's expression is annoyed as she pulls away. "Because after all this time Starfleet wants to present America as Earth's default culture. It is an infant in the face of the age of the Bantu Waswahili." She takes a deep breath and smiles. "You are not the only one who has had to adapt to things since coming here; unfortunately there are things in place to make even Humans native to Earth feel alien on their own planet."
Spock raises Nyota's hands and kisses the palms. "I will do better, beloved," he says. "I wish you to feel as comfortable to be yourself as you have made me." He looks at the decor and thinks of the food waiting in the kitchen. "This seems unnecessary now," he admits.
"It is still beautiful, and what is beautiful is never unnecessary," Nyota says.
"It gratifies me to have such a logical significant other," Spock says, taking on the long suffering tone he's heard his father employ when he wishes to tease his mother as much as his Vulcan self can manage. "But what shall I do with the irio, ugali, and matoke?"
Nyota's eyes dart toward the kitchen. "You made matoke?" she asks.
"No," Spock confesses. "I had it delivered. I also picked up your favorite vegetable samosas and spicy tamarind chutney."
"And dessert?"
"Citrus fruit salad."
Nyota pretends to contemplate the matter at hand. "Well, logically we shouldn't waste food. I mean, logically."
Spock nods. "What you say is true," he says blandly. "I have also gotten you a gift. It can be returned," he assures her.
"That isn't necessary; the gift is already here and regardless of the day I am in possession of your esteem, am I not?" she asks.
"Indeed." Spock's smile is faint. "Then it would be only reasonable for you to keep the gift."
"One cannot deny logic. It's settled, then. Our only recourse against illogical practices is to eat everything and then burn off excessive caloric intake with sex. Lots of sex," she says with a perfectly serious expression. "Just so much sex. And for me to keep the gift."
Spock watches her mouth quiver with poorly concealed humor. "Your grasp of reason is prodigious," he says as he leans down to press his forehead against Nyota's. "I look forward to the privilege of another year to love you."
Nyota's grin turns radiant. "Now that is a birthday sentiment I have no problem celebrating."