There are many Earth customs which Spock finds intriguing, to a point — Christmas being one of the many on the list.
He understands the base of the tradition — the religious dimension that stems from it — yet, what truly intrigues him is that so many people celebrate such a tradition, when they do not believe in its definite meaning.
He's wearing his uniform to the Christmas event — which is not being held on the particular date of Christmas, as many of the Cadets leave for home around that time — to which he had respectfully declined, until he had overheard a conversation a certain female Cadet was having, and her admittance that she would be assisting said event.
Cadet Uhura has been his Aid for the first semester of the Advanced Phonology course and he has begun to learn to appreciate her company, both as an intellectual and something he's yet to place.
He believes that if he could discuss with anyone the behaviors behind the tradition, it would certainly be Cadet Uhura, as she never takes offense from his questions and has a great understanding of his search for logic. Sometimes, he believes she finds them amusing, but never offensive, and it never stops her from answering.
The event is taking place on the Academy lawn, strings of light connected from tree to tree, making it seem like the stars had descended from the very sky, and illuminated the Earth with a kiss.
There are Cadets and Instructors socializing, with mutual respect, yet Spock suspects that there is a certain patch on the Academy grounds where others seem to venture — unseen — and hardly ever return. The majority of the males have kept their uniform, though Spock had spotted a rather peculiar male dressed in an entire green suit — a Cadet, no less — yet most of the women had chosen to wear civilian dresses.
There are tables groaning with food — none which Spock has even attempted to touch — and there is a band playing music that is not soothing or calming, yet not unpleasing to the ear.
It's new.
"Commander," he hears a voice behind him.
And speaking of new, as he turns, his eyes adapt to an entirely surprising vision, one that renders him speechless for a second too long.
"Cadet Uhura," he acknowledges her presence, and that of her Orion friend, "Cadet," whose name he doesn't know, but he acknowledges all the same.
The Orion woman laughs — though he's unsure at what she's laughing at — before she speaks, "Commander." She turns to look at Uhura, "I'll catch you later."
Uhura nods, letting her friend go, and Spock is left to observe her once again.
The dress she's wearing is red, much like her uniform, but with differences that are clear to even the most unobservant individual.
Her shoulders are bare, for starters, and the sole purpose of the dress seems to be to bring attention to her chest; it looks tight around the waist, and as it falls below it, seems to cascade around her legs like an ocean, with a visible cut on the right side of her leg.
He wonders if the fabric had ripped, or if it's something else humans do for the sake of 'design'.
Uhura tightens her hold on the black, oblong cloth that she holds over her shoulders, what Spock believes would be called a shawl.
"I'm surprised to see you here," she smiles softly. "It's a good thing I didn't tell Gaila I'd be working at the lab with you tonight."
He quirks a brow, "You did not wish to attend to the event?"
She wrinkles her nose for a moment, a gesture that does not go unnoticed by Spock. "I was sort of... forced into it."
"Forgive me, but I have difficulty believing that you could be forced into any such thing."
And she laughs at that, which makes the corner of his lips turn ever so slightly before he catches himself. It's alarming how often it happens around her.
"You would be right, except that you're not."
"May I inquire further information?" He moves to stand beside her now, watching as the activity continues to unveil before them, and waiting for her to speak.
"Of course. Gaila made me an offer I couldn't refuse. She'd..." There's a hesitation in her voice before she speaks, as if measuring her words carefully, "Grant me peace for next semester, in our living-quarters and, in exchange, I'd come here, with her, and wear this dress."
"The garment was not of your choosing?"
"No," she chuckles softly, "I would've preferred my uniform. It's not the sort of thing I'd wear around my instructors and classmates," she admits.
He doesn't reply to that, though he feels that he should — should tell her that she seems to have been the one to benefit from her friend's triumph in their bet, as she has lost nothing in the process, but gained various admirers that he knows are watching her, even now.
"How about you? What brought you here," she asks.
"Curiosity towards the tradition," he answers simply.
"Ah, I should've known."
He turns his head to gauge her reaction to his answer, and sees that her smile is very curious indeed. "Do you mean to imply there could not be any possible reason for my presence?"
"Tsk," she makes a particular sound with her tongue before answering, "Forgive me, Commander, but since you don't seem to be the gambling type, I hardly think there could be another reason."
He looks away from her, so that the tug at the corner of his lips — the one she so easily evokes — remains invisible to her, "You would be right, except that you are not."
He catches her expression of surprise and deep amusement, from the corner of his eyes, at the echo of her words. Not many believe him in possession of a sense of humor, but he is most familiar with the concept.
"What is your other reason then, if I may ask?"
"Certainly." As their dialogue has taken a more conversational turn, he turns his body to face hers, so that she may have his undivided attention. "I overheard you would be assisting this event, and had hoped to encounter you, in order to inquire your insight on the tradition."
She blinks once — and twice — before a smile adorns her face.
"So, in the end, curiosity is still your main reason." It's not a question, but she is looking at him for confirmation.
He doesn't give it, "If I wished to satisfy my curiosity on the simple facet of the tradition, I could've turned to human literature."
"Yet," she interrupts him, "Sometimes being able to see a tradition in action can be so much more rewarding."
"Indeed," he agrees.
"And, you hoped for my presence so I could serve as a mediator between your observations and what is, correct?"
"Affirmative," he eyes a passing couple, both laughing hand in hand, before continuing with his words. "Your views on the mannerisms of your own culture are both insightful and greatly appreciated. As you learn from me, Cadet, I have been grateful to learn from you."
There's a slight rise of her cheeks as her smile grows, and she looks up for a second, her eyes widening momentarily before she looks down and laughs. He looks up, curious, but sees nothing that could've brought such amusement from her face.
"Nyota." He hears her say.
"Pardon?" He looks down to meet her eyes, and sees her smile to be a soft one.
"My name is Nyota. It would... please me if you would call me Nyota, though I understand if you can't call me that in front... others."
He understands the informal offer, as they have been working together for some time now, it is only logical for them to be so acquainted, but still, expressing such informality as a Cadet and Instructor is highly recommended against.
"Very well, Nyota," the sounding of her name is pleasing on his tongue, somehow. "You may call me Spock, when we are alone, as well."
Her smile widens slightly, "Spock. Do you have any questions for me, Spock? About the tradition?" She presses.
"Yes," he turns to view the festivities again, and now there are a group of people dancing over the green grass. "I see many people who do not uphold the religious belief behind the tradition, yet they participate in the festivities and convey what some people refer to as... the holiday spirit."
Her chuckle is soft, but audible to him, even in the midst of the music.
"That's easy," she tightens the hold on her shawl, moving it slightly so that it covers her back and most of her chest. "While Christmas does have a religious connotation, it's seen as more of a cultural activity everyone can participate in. Those who aren't religious merely see it as a day for the exchanging of gifts, enjoying the company of your family and, like my uncle always said, any excuse for eating makes for the perfect holiday." She laughs the last of her words.
"Fascinating," he observes the people as they indeed seem to be consuming large quantities of food.
"You are familiar with the Thanksgiving tradition as well, aren't you?"
He turns to gaze at her now, a sudden rush at her question, "I am familiar with its history, yes." He had formed an observation of it long ago, and received a rather irrational response from someone who did not seem to appreciate his view on the matter. He hopes that Uhura might be different.
"What's your opinion of it?" The smile she gives him reassures him, and he doesn't feel like anything he says will offend her in the least — she hardly ever is.
"Human history dictates that Thanksgiving was first begun when a race of Native Americans brought harvest to a group of English settlers after a harsh winter. It is seen as a tradition in which to express gratitude, to those responsible in the making and harvesting of the food, as well as the deity within their beliefs."
Uhura nods, accepting his information as accurate, but Spock isn't finished.
"Yet, what I found most curious in your ancient historic literature is how the Native Americans began their decline once more English began to arrive. Some would say what was done to the Native Americans could be seen as a form of cultural genocide."
Uhura smirks, "That's the spirit. You and my father would get along very well." Before Spock even has a chance to ask, she continues, "Thanksgiving, in that way, is a lot like Christmas. People would rather not see the undertones — what was and what is — and just decide to enjoy it as a chance, an excuse, to get together and be better than what once was. My mother often says that if the holiday does more good than harm, who cares where it comes from, as long as it comes with good intentions."
"That is a plausible story," he admits, but doesn't go any further than that.
"Uhura!"
They both turn to see Gaila running towards them, a man locked on her arm. Gaila gives Spock a second glance before returning her eyes to Uhura, "We're going to go down by the..." She takes another glance at Spock, and simply nods her head behind her.
Spock quirks an eyebrow at the Cadet's attempt to be 'discreet'.
"I was wondering if you'd like to come with," Gaila smiles, almost in mischief, and Spock hears Uhura sigh.
"No, thank you, Gaila. You go, have fun," Uhura's smile is patient, but there is a slight tired tone behind it that Spock is quick to catch.
"Okay," Gaila shrugs, turning around with her grinning, silent male friend, and Spock observes as she continues to glance behind her — even squinting — until Uhura catches his attention again.
"She's a firecracker, but she's not a bad person."
He turns his face to her, "Your judgment is sound, and I am certain your assessment of your friend is true."
Uhura smiles, ready to speak to him again, when they are rudely interrupted, but this time it's just Gaila — the man seeming to have gone to where they were headed to in the first place.
"Hey! I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I was just wondering, Commander. How familiar are you with Earth traditions, such as Christmas?"
"Gaila," the warning tone in Uhura's voice is obvious, and Gaila simply looks at Spock, with an innocent air he hardly believes to be real.
"I am familiar with the history, and under Cadet Uhura's tutelage, have been learning its more modern adaptation."
"Really," her smile is wide, as she looks between them both. "So, did she tell you about mistletoe yet, Commander?"
He tilts his head to the side, "It has not become relevant to our conversation, but I am familiar with its history, primarily its Scandinavian origin."
"Right," Gaila smirks at him, barely interested in the origin. "Well, as is tradition, a male and a female who meet under mistletoe are supposed to share a kiss... well," she points above them, "Happy Christmas!"
Gaila turns around before Uhura can devour her with her eyes.
Spock merely looks up, and after a brief inspection, he sees the mistletoe seemingly tied around a branch, and he remembers what Uhura had done not too long ago — looked up and smiled, yet said nothing.
"You knew of its presence, did you not?" He asks without looking at her, his eyes still locked on the plant above them.
"Yes, I'm sorry, Comm—Spock," she corrects herself. "I didn't think it was appropriate to point it out, given the circumstances."
"Indeed," his eyes seem locked on the object, because he can't seem to shake the feeling it's giving him. As a Vulcan, he strives to control this feeling, but something in him is shifting... dangerously.
"Nyota, am I correct in the assumption that you will not be staying for long?"
"What? Oh, well, yes. With Gaila gone, I think it'd probably be best if I opted for a fast getaway."
"May I accompany to your quarters? As you will be joining your family for the remainder of the Earth holiday, I would like to treasure our last opportunity at a conversation until classes begin again."
When he looks down on her, she looks completely stumped, and she nods.
He walks ahead, forcing her to keep a pace with him while leading him to where her quarters reside.
As they walk, their conversation mainly revolves around her classes and the fact that she probably won't enjoy much of the holiday as there is still a substantial reading list she refuses to leave for the last minute. As they walk, he merely listens to her, and part of him is absent — the part of him that keeps thinking on the mistletoe.
"Well, this is me," she announces, stopping finally in front of a door, the hallway empty. "Goodnight, Spock. Thank you for walking me."
"Nyota, why did you not tell me of the mistletoe?"
His query makes her eyebrows shoot up, "As I said, I thought it was inappropriate, given the circumstances that I am your student."
"That sounds logical, and yet," he takes a small step forward, making her tilt her head higher to keep her eyes on him, "As I have read, and observed, there are many who follow the tradition behind mistletoe, regardless of their circumstance. Indeed, it is only most discomforting to those who feel a strong dislike towards the other."
"I can assure you, Spock, I do not dislike you," she mutters, and he can hear her heart rate accelerating and ringing in his ears, but before he can question her further, she reaches for his face, pulling him down to her to meet her lips. Her hands wrap themselves behind his neck and head, clinging to his hair, as she attempts to explore his lips, but she finds that he is most unresponsive.
When she pulls back, her eyes are closed, and she is biting at her lip, hard.
"Hmm." Is the only sound from her lips, and Spock observes — but says nothing on the matter — how she still hasn't let go of him.
"Unless I am mistaken, there is no presence of mistletoe currently," he announces, surprisingly controlled, given the circumstances.
"No, no mistletoe, just a desire," she blurts out.
And that word he understands very well — if there was ever a word he could've used to describe what he had been feeling for Uhura the past months, that would've been it, yet, he had chosen to be wise and hardly speak it to himself.
"Am I correct in the assumption that you desired to kiss me?" She lets go of him, slowly, as he speaks, and finally meets his eyes, and they look like they're burning.
"Yes," she admits, her mouth forming a very thin line, and she sighs, "I know, it's most illogical that I didn't want to kiss you under the mistletoe becauseI wanted to kiss you, but I was trying to avoid a rather messy situation, which I now see as unavoidable, considering that I am, and have been, attracted to you for quite some time now, and I've tried to be professional, and I know I can be, so if you can overlook this small weakness of character, I can assure you it will not affect my performance as your Aide in the least."
He waits until she's finished ranting, and weighs in her words for a moment before responding, "That is most illogical of you, Nyota."
She snaps her head at him, eyes narrowed, "What?"
"I do not believe it is possible for us to work together and pretend it never happened, as you have aptly suggested. If you find yourself attracted to me, it will be most difficult for you to ignore your feelings, particularly when they've already been acted upon."
Uhura's mouth is slightly open as she takes it all in, "What are you trying to say?"
"I am trying to suggest a more... sound alternative," he closes the distance between them, to the point where he can feel her chest against his, and she is clearly not moving away. "While a courtship between us would be against the ethical regulations in this institution, as long as we maintain an air of discretion, such a relationship could be explored."
Uhura looks down away from him, in near shock. "Did Gaila spike my drink?" The question had clearly not been meant to spoken out loud, and he's not sure whether she even knows it has.
Spock places a gentle finger under her chin to guide her eyes to him again.
"You are not under the influence of an intoxicating chemical substance, Nyota."
She swallows, "Oh, I'd attempt to argue against that statement, but I'm sure I'd lose."
"Strange," he tilts his head to the side, this time allowing her to see the tug of his lips she's been evoking for so long now, "That has never caused to cease trying."
And she smiles back, "Okay, then I think I am incredibly intoxicated, the closer you get to me."
"Should I move away?" He suggests, but doesn't move.
"Not on your life!" She grips his arm, and loosens it a little, simply caressing the area and he finds it... pleasing. "I can't believe this is happening," she murmurs.
He cups her face, and she leans into his hand, savoring the feeling — as he is.
"It is only logical, Nyota, for two minds such as ours to reach a sound agreement where mutual attraction is acknowledged, and the discomfort of avoiding each other and attempting to ignore what has already been established, can be replaced by something advantageous to both."
Uhura's smile pleases him, because he knows — he truly knows — that not many find the way he conveys his message — and what he says — pleasing, or even comprehensible, in the least. Uhura understands everything.
"I agree. Permission to proceed with physical stimuli?"
He quirks an eyebrow at her attempt at humor — mimicking his very speech pattern and wording — and finds himself amused by it.
"Permission granted." And she kisses him again, though this time he tries to follow her movements. Luckily, the kiss is slow, as if she knows he's trying to catch up with her, and he does, rather quickly, for he is the one to quicken the pace and admit that, yes, kissing is very pleasing — incredibly so — but something he observes silently is how better it is without the presence of mistletoe.