"Honestly, your coordination is so terrible I'm beginning to wonder how you cut your food or tie your shoes," Nyota sneered, flopping down into the chair in the corner and rubbing her feet.
"Just one more try," Scotty begged, wringing his hands and sitting next to her.
"She must be one hell of a girl," Nyota sighed, before adding, "but couldn't you find some other way to impress her that doesn't include sacrificing my feet to the love gods?"
"Bones says she loves to dance, and I- well, I never really learned," Scotty sighed.
"Clearly," she muttered. "They don't dance in Scotland?"
"Well, of course they do, but I was always busy in me dad's shop," he explained. "Besides, I thought you said you love to dance."
"Yes, dance, not submit myself to calculated torture by the ship's chief engineer," she said, standing gingerly. "And country western dancing isn't really my favorite anyway."
"One more go? Then we can call it a night?" he pleaded.
She sighed and held out her hand, which he took. As he stepped off with his right foot, she braced herself for impending disaster, but followed his lead anyway.
Scotty was running out of time to get the hang of this. Shore leave was in exactly one week. They'd started practicing in the mornings when she was done with her shift and before he started his, but three nights ago she'd agreed to twice-a-day sessions in the hopes it would speed up his improvement. She almost thought he'd gotten worse.
Dr. McCoy had invited most of the bridge crew to his sister's second wedding. It was supposed to be an informal affair – they were instructed to "come as you are" and were promised lots of cake, drinking, and dancing.
Since Scotty had been infatuated with Bones' cousin, a cheerful redhead named Janine, for the better part of five years, he saw this as a chance to get to know her better. From where Nyota stood, he would be getting to know Janine better in the emergency room after shattering the bones in her feet with his incessant stomping.
When she'd agreed to teach Scotty how to dance two weeks ago, she'd thought it would be fun and easy. Spock never danced with her due to his insistence on adhering to Vulcan customs and going out dancing was one of the things she had sorely missed about single life.
Things were tense between them lately, but truthfully they were always tense in some sort of way. She and Spock were very different people, and clashes were common. But between his placid and logical nature and her passionate need to love him and be loved herself, somehow they always managed to keep things together.
Scotty raised his arm to spin her to the right but awkwardly switched direction at the last moment. The end result was her tripping over his foot and landing with her face in his armpit. Gross? Sure, but far from the worst thing that had happened during their lessons.
"I'm done," she groaned, letting go of his hand.
"Just to clarify," he interjected, "you mean 'done for this mornin',' right? Same time and place tonight?"
"Actually no, we're picking up that shipment of medical supplies from Rigel V in ten hours. This cargo bay will be full."
Thankfully.
"I could find us a little patch in engineerin' to keep cuttin' a rug," he offered with a hopeful lilt coating his words.
"I don't know, Scotty," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "You're doing a lot better than you were, but you're still the worst dancer I've literally ever met."
"Hey, that hurts," he said with a crude smile.
"It's true."
"Oh, come on."
She scowled. She had been working the night shift for two months and she was willing to admit she was lonely. Spock was on a different shift and didn't have much free time lately either. Not that he ever did anyway.
Truthfully, it was nice that someone wanted her company, even if it was the ship's goofy engineer with the two left feet. She also thought it was really nice how he was getting out of his comfort zone to show Janine how much he cared about her. In some ways it made her sad that Spock rarely went out of his way to do anything half so uncomfortable or romantic for her. Her rational side knew that was unfair, since simply dating her was lightyears out of his comfort zone. It seemed that whenever they tried to meet each other halfway on things, often there still existed a wide gulf.
"Please?" Scotty whined.
"Ugh, fine."
"Can you meet me in locker 2 by the warp reactor tonight at 2100 hours?" he asked.
"Can we do it earlier?" she asked. "I'm actually off-duty tonight for the first time in three weeks."
"1900 then?" he asked.
"Yeah, whatever," she said, before softening her expression and smiling halfheartedly at him.
"I really owe you," he beamed. "I'll be there with bells on."
They walked into the corridor together and turned different directions. As she limped to the turbolift, she heard a familiar voice behind her. "Hurt yourself?"
"Not exactly," she laughed, turning to address Dr. McCoy. "Blame Scotty."
He raised his eyebrows and waited for further explanation.
"I think I might be missing a toenail; it's hard to say," she added.
"Why don't you meet me in sickbay and we can talk about it."
"I don't think it's that serious. It's just-"
"Oh come on, I don't ever see you anymore. Besides, have you ever seen what a toenail looks like when it grows back improperly?"
She smirked but chose to join him in the turbolift. When they arrived in the medical bay, she sat up on the end of the first biobed and removed her shoes. She was shocked to discover the big toenail on her left foot really was dangling by a thread of skin.
"Oh yuck," she said, recoiling at the sight.
"Just another day at the office," he drawled, sanitizing his hands in the biofilter and extracting a pair of medical scissors. "So wanna tell me how this happened?"
"Well, I guess he didn't swear me to secrecy," she mused. "Scotty's trying to learn country western dancing."
"No kidding?" Bones laughed, picking up a medical tricorder and scanning her feet. "Let me guess. He's terrible?"
"How'd you crack that one, Sherlock?" she snapped playfully, looking down at her nine toenails and bruised feet.
"Well, no stress fractures, so apparently he could be worse."
"Maybe if he weighed a little more," she grumbled.
"Why country western dancing?" Bones asked, fiddling with a dermal regenerator.
She paused but eventually said, "He's really looking forward to your sister's wedding. I think he wants to make a good impression on someone."
"You mean Janine?" Bones asked.
"I didn't say that."
"Well, she's crazy about him. Always has been. He spent a weekend at my family's house in Mississippi last year and I never saw the two of them apart."
"That's so sweet," she sighed.
"Scotty's a bit of an odd duck but he's a great guy. Anyway, I think you'll live," Bones replied, rising to his feet. "Sickbay's always open."
"Bye, Dr. McCoy," she said, standing and heading toward her own room. "And thanks."
As she headed down the deck she got lost in her own thoughts. It was 0730, she'd been up all night, and she hadn't seen Spock in three days. She was scheduled on the night shift for another four months and was beginning to wonder if she'd remember what he even looked like when he turned the corner and approached her.
"Lieutenant Uhura," he acknowledged, stopping and turning to walk with her.
"Commander Spock." She didn't intend for her voice to be so cold.
If she was being honest with herself, she was overjoyed to see him. Her heart was racing and she wanted to grin and hug him, but he liked keeping a professional appearance among the crew. So did she.
"I do not begin my shift for another 28 minutes. Would you care to join me in the mess for the morning's meal?" he asked.
"Yeah, sure."
They ate almost entirely in silence. She hated how their relationship had a tendency to flow between passion and acquaintanceship. After spending eight months on the Enterprise together, rotating between busy and bored, early shifts and late shifts, interplanetary crises and the occasional spat, their relationship had never been more tepid.
As she finished her cup of fruit, she said, "You're really quiet."
"I was considering the possible reasons for an anomaly we detected on long range scanners yesterday. It occurred to me that the particular signatures-"
"You should probably get going to the bridge," she interrupted, not interested in discussing the finer points of astrophysics with him in the six minutes they had left.
"Yes," he said, rising from his seat and disposing of his bowl and utensils in the reclaimator.
"Spock?" she called over his shoulder.
He turned to face her, the same blank, patient, calm expression on his face as always.
"Have a good day," she said with a patient smile, walking in his direction and then past him through the doors of the ship's mess.
She waited for him to correct her or seek clarification on her vague use of the word, "good," but instead he briskly caught up to her and said, "It occurs to me that you are not on duty tonight. Perhaps we could share a private meal together in my quarters."
She looked at him incredulously and beamed. "That would be amazing."
"I shall see you then." He turned to leave, but then she remembered... Scotty.
"Wait, tonight?"
"It is the only occasion in the near future that we share a sustained and mutual period of time off-duty," he explained.
Damn Scotty and his damn awful dancing.
"No," she thought to herself. The Enterprise's ungainly engineer was just going to have to go it alone for one night.
"Is 1930 ok?" she asked Spock.
"I shall await you," he replied, turning on his heel to make his way to the bridge.
She turned and headed in the opposite direction to her quarters and flipped open her communicator. "Uhura to Commander Scott."
"Scotty here," he cooed.
"I'm going to have to cancel tonight."
"But why?" he sputtered.
"Something's come up. Can we push it to tomorrow?"
"But I'm realignin' the warp core tomorrow. T'will take all day and probably all night too. There won't be time," he protested.
"I'm doing my best, Scotty," she said, steeling her resolve. "But I just can't tonight. Uhura out."
When she turned the corner she was startled to find Spock trailing behind her, looking at her curiously. Curiously for a Vulcan anyway. She couldn't explain why, but she actually jumped a little from the surprise of finding him there.
"I tried to catch you to explain that 2000 hours would be better," he explained.
"Yeah, 2000 works fine for me," she breathed, forcing herself to smile.
"Very well, I shall see you then," he replied, first turning his head and then his body to go in the opposite direction.
She walked a few more meters to her quarters and flopped down on the bed in exasperation. She was exhausted but not really tired. Despite the fact that there weren't exactly days on a starship like there were on Earth, being on the night shift was still confusing her biological clock. After just having eaten breakfast, her body was telling her it was ready to start the day.
She got into the sonic shower. The energy impulses felt good and as she rubbed her feet, she had to admit Bones had done a decent job of replacing her toenail. When she was done and had dressed, she collapsed onto her bed and closed her eyes and prayed for sleep.
It seemed only like seconds later when her communicator chirped. "Spock to Lieutenant Uhura."
She fumbled around blindly in the dimly lit quarters for her communicator, flipped it open and croaked, "Uhura here."
"I shall be unable to keep our prior engagement for this evening."
"What?" she stammered. "Why?"
"I am required on the bridge to survey the anomaly I mentioned earlier. Perhaps another time. Spock out."
She slammed the communicator closed more forcefully than she meant to and seethed. She knew he cared about her, but most of the time it was difficult to convince herself that he didn't care more about his job. Anomalies in space were a dime a dozen, and surely not every single one required the attention of the senior-ranking science officer?
Her eyes were adjusting to the light and she glanced at the digital clock by her bedside. It was 1909. It would have been easier to wallow in self-pity. It would have been easier to go back to sleep. It would have been easier to do any number of things, but she flipped her communicator back open and said, "Uhura to Commander Scott…"
Twenty minutes later, she met him in locker 2 by the warp reactor.
"Dancin' is supposed to be fun. You look like you're goin' to a funeral," he said with a measure of concern.
She sighed. She and Mr. Scott weren't particularly close and she didn't feel comfortable sharing her problems with him, so she put on her best fake smile and reached out her hands. He took one and walked her to the center of the small storage locker.
"You're late, you know," he added, feigning hurt.
"Hey, I'm here," she scoffed, more playfully than meanly. "Don't push your luck, bagpipes."
Scotty had managed to pick up some of the most basic moves she could think of, but the only thing he was really proficient in was a two-step, and even then she would put money on a barnyard animal with four legs doing it better. But still, he was eager to learn, and more importantly, seemed to enjoy her company.
She was usually begging to quit after about thirty minutes, but more than an hour later, they were still at it. Her feet throbbed, but she wanted to say he seemed to be doing a little better.
"I need a break," she eventually said, ordering the computer to stop the music and sitting down on the floor.
She rocked back onto her elbows, halfway closed her eyes, and smiled softly to herself. She was not in any way attracted to Mr. Scott, but it was almost nice to pretend he was Spock. Of course, Spock was surprisingly athletic and agile, and if he ever consented to dance, he probably would be really good at it.
She exhaled loudly and looked over at Scotty: he was folding his legs beneath him to sit cross-legged next to her. No, he definitely wasn't the "date" she wanted, but he wasn't terrible company either.
"I'm sure I've said it a thousand times now, but I really do appreciate this," he declared.
"I just hope it works out for you," she replied. "I do think it's really nice of you to go through all this trouble just for someone special. I would give anything to have someone do it for me."
Her words felt childish and she regretted them the moment they escaped her lips.
"Oh, now," Scotty said. "I'm guessin' you're referrin' to Mr. Spock."
"How could you tell?" she said, praying she wasn't about to cry.
"He cares for you," Scotty insisted. "Just in his own way."
Scotty awkwardly patted her on the back and she breathed in deeply to quench the tears threatening to fall down her face.
"You're supposed to be happy when you dance," he added with mock seriousness.
"Yeah, sometimes it's actually fun," she sniffed. "Though I guess I find it hard to believe you never danced when you were younger."
"Is that what you think? I danced all the time. I don't mean a proper reel with a partner or anything, but with enough scotch, I'd do a jig as well as any slobberin' drunk Scotsman," he beamed.
She laughed and he quickly stood up and left the room. She sat up off her elbows and was getting ready to follow him when he returned with a bottle of liquor and two scotch glasses.
"Oh, I don't think-"
"Oh, come on," he interrupted. "I can tell you're having a rough night. I don't know if it's me dancin' or Mr. Spock, but a little nip might put you in better spirits."
She disliked hard liquor straight up, but he handed her the glass and informed her it was a twenty year-old scotch his sister had given him before they left port. She took a sip and sputtered.
"You're supposed to savor it," he tisked.
"It tastes like burning," she croaked.
The liquor was already working its way to her extremities and filling her with a warm feeling. She took another sip and held it down better, and then upended the glass down her throat.
"Woah, lassie. Stuff will put you on the tiles if you're not used to it," he chided.
"How about you show me one of your jigs?" she burped, handing the glass back to him.
"Now that's the spirit," he cried, hopping to his feet and setting the bottle and empty glasses in the corner.
He queued up a fast-paced reel on the computer and began whirling around the room playfully. She tried to cover her laughter with her hands but it escaped anyway. He quickly linked his arm with hers and they twirled around the room.
Scotty was just as terrible at Scottish dancing as he was country western dancing, but he was having fun, and it was contagious. They both reeled around the room in giggles, but she was soon amazed that a few ounces of liquor was going to her head so quickly. The faster they turned about the room, the dizzier she got. Soon she broke away from him and put her head between her knees.
"Ugh, I think I'm going to be sick," she moaned.
"Then perhaps you should go to sickbay," remarked an unwavering voice from the doorway.
She glanced up to see Spock standing there.
"Mr. Spock, comin' to join us?" Scotty laughed.
"No, Mr. Scott," he replied. "I do not dance."
Something in his tone seemed uncharacteristically icy and anxiety crept into her throat. She and Scotty exchanged nervous glances. Did Spock think there was something between her and the chief engineer?
"I'll… I'll just be… ah… goin'," Scotty said, squeezing his way past Spock in the doorway.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, standing up and stretching, thankful that her queasiness was beginning to subside.
"I turned the study of the anomaly over to a subordinate," he explained. "I attempted to contact you via your communicator and visited your quarters, and finally resorted to using the ship's computer to locate you here. I was perplexed by the coordinates the computer rendered, as I had never previously known you to show a significant interest in engineering."
"I'm teaching Scotty how to dance," she explained, her tone low and defensive. "I have been for the past two weeks."
"I was unaware you had credentials as a dancing instructor."
"I don't. He asked me as a friend, and I said yes, as a friend," she snapped. "I love dancing. I miss dancing."
Spock did not immediately reply, so she added more quietly, "He wanted to learn to impress Dr. McCoy's cousin at his sister's wedding next week. It seemed like a really sweet and sincere gesture."
She crossed her arms and stared at the ground. She had nothing to hide and nothing to be ashamed of. Well, maybe dancing a tipsy jig with the chief engineer in a remote corner of the ship wasn't exactly something to be proud of, but still, nothing to be ashamed of anyway.
"I regret that we have had insufficient time to spend in one another's company recently," he finally said.
His confession startled her. It was perhaps the fourth or fifth most un-Vulcan thing she'd ever heard come out of mouth. "I miss you, Spock."
He slowly walked toward her. The door automatically slid shut behind him. She met him halfway across the room, paused briefly in front of him, and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He kissed her in return, his hands slowly traveling up her hips and resting there. She felt a warm tingle travel through her body and when she drew away, she rested her forehead on his.
"So are you saying you're free for the rest of the evening?" she asked.
"I am," he admitted.
They stood another few moments in each other's embrace without speaking, but he finally asked, "Is dancing customary at all human marriage ceremonies?"
"Not at the ceremony, but I guess most people have dancing at the reception," she explained. "Don't worry though. I don't think anyone will expect you to dance."
"No," he agreed. "Though I would not object to attempting to engage in the practice with you now."
She leaned back in shock and peered carefully at him. His eyes were their usual shade of dark and neutral, but as hard as it was to believe he was willing to dance with her, it was even harder to believe he'd play a joke on her either.
"You're sure?" she queried.
"I am."
Spock was often difficult for her to read, even in their most intimate moments, but she felt a sort of subdued reluctance in him. Sometimes it was easy to forget just how far out of his comfort zone he often traveled to make her happy.
"We don't have to-"
"I consented to do this," he interrupted.
"Well, I won't make you dance one of Scotty's jigs," she smiled, placing his hand higher up on her waist. "I'd have to get you drunk first."
"I believe you are aware of my aversion to consuming mind-impairing substances, particularly to excess."
"Oh, I'm aware," she grinned, taking his other hand in her right hand and placing her left hand on his shoulder. "Step forward with your left foot."
He complied in a single jerky motion, but soon he was gracefully box-stepping around the small engineering storage locker with her.
"This does not seem difficult," he noted, looking into her eyes.
"It's not," she agreed. "But thank you for everything that you are."
"It is illogical to imply that I could be anything other than what I am," he argued.
She planted her feet, bringing a halt to their simple dance, and kissed him passionately. He returned her kiss with more fervor than she was accustomed to, causing her to blush.
One of the best things about Spock was his ability to make her fall in love with him all over again.
"What time are you back on duty?" she asked.
"0800 hours."
"Would you be interested in going back to my quarters?" she asked.
"It is an acceptable alternative to engineering storage locker 2," he agreed.
She smiled broadly. An acceptable alternative. Not exactly poetry, but also an acceptable alternative.