Social Experience
It had been an extraordinarily long week.
Of course, he knew that to be a colloquialism, of sorts. This week had been exactly as long as any other, and yet it felt as though his chronometer had stopped completely, as though he were not spinning in front of and around the same, alien sun as he had been for nearly the last 7 years, and, if he were being especially overdramatic, as though space and time had somehow disconnected to root him interminably to his desk chair.
He had sent his teaching assistant on an errand to his quarters 2 hours and 32 minutes previously to retrieve the rest of his students essay PADDs that still needed to be graded under the assumption that he would be finished with any other duties far earlier than he inevitably was. He had received a great number of calls with questions and complaints regarding the academy's recent curriculum changes, which he had been instrumental in implementing, and had sent Cadet Uhura a missive that she was, instead, relieved for the evening. Given that the downpour of, what was earlier in the day, light rain had picked up drastically, she had informed him that she would rather simply complete them in his apartment, as she had no wish to make another venture outside. She had used the space before while he was in meetings or otherwise engaged, and her comfort in it had been a source of discomfort to him at the start, but after having found nothing to have been disturbed, or even any bother on his part at her continued presence for long after he arrived, he had no qualms with her using it as just another secluded, and quiet place to work.
He had never set his comm unit to its 'do not disturb' setting, but did so then as he extinguished the light in his office. He felt his patience growing exceptionally thin with each passing day of this week, and did not believe he had ever looked so forward to the moment when his door would close behind him, would shield him from the noise of the inner city, would shroud him in a warmth he did not otherwise feel on this planet that he had yet to know any semblance of fondness for.
He was soaked with rain, having seen no need in the weather report to have brought an umbrella, by the time he entered the lobby of the faculty housing, as if there could have been anything more to add to the day that this had already been, his boots squeaking on the tile in the turbo lift. His limbs were heavy as they carried him, and he could still smell Cadet Uhura's familiar scent outside of his door with a strength that would suggest she had either just left, or was still inside. Considering he could still see a sliver of his hallway light through the frame, he imagined the former held true, and would with all likelihood be required to remind her again of her curfew, which he himself had kept her past on more than one occasion. The weekend lengthened it significantly, but he was quite sure she would not wish to stay long after he saw her.
Triggering his entry, he stepped out of his boots to drop them in the hall, expecting to be greeted with apologies from around the corner for her mere existence in his quarters, an illogically frequent occurrence given her permission to be there, but did not. He brought himself around that corner, and found her at his dining room table, surrounded by the very PADDs she had vowed to complete.
Asleep.
He had, in fact, noticed an unusual slowness in her general gait during their office hours, but had not thought to ascertain the meaning behind this behavior after she had answered him in the affirmative that she was, indeed, well.
In that moment, he also noticed that, although she was still in her cadets' uniform, she had taken her hair down, the tie being wrapped around one of the slender wrists her head was laid on, and it hung over the edge of the table dark, smooth, and very long.
He could similarly describe her legs as that, a part of her anatomy his eyes wandered to of their own accord when his concentration could not be held on his work. Her breath was shallow, but slow, and he took in a breath of his own to speak her name, only to let it out again, uncertain as to the proper way to wake a young, human woman. He did not believe it correct to shake her. He imagined that would be rather alarming. The slide of the front door had been too soft to stir her, and he could surmise that tapping the table may prove to be equally frightening. In either scenario, admiring her relaxed form was not bringing him any closer to the least disturbing answer, and he was aware that, should she awaken and find him doing that, she would be quite disturbed, so he took a small step back, and straightened.
"Cadet Uhura?"
Her eyelashes, which he could truthfully refer to as rather beautiful, fluttered lightly against her cheek, but he had not elicited any other notable reaction. He raised his voice a bit.
"Cadet."
Again, nothing. He extended his arm, but pulled it back again, his mouth hanging open with more words he was unsure would be correct in such uncharted parameters. He had never been required to forcibly waken his mother, and he would certainly never have anticipated his need for the experience had he been. Human women seemed to be somewhat similar, however. He did not think his mother would have been angered by a slight… jostling, in any case…were he to be in a situation that called for it. Which, he was.
Tentatively, he placed a hand over the fabric at her back, lowering his voice in a way he hoped would counteract the comparative forwardness of his action.
"Nyota."
He found himself pushing back fast and far enough, as to be nearly pressed against the opposing wall with the strength of her response.
In the short time it took him to blank his facial features, she was standing, her personal PADD held in front of her for what he assumed was the current hour, her breath seeming to him to be stuck in her chest. She let it out in a yawn that she covered in her arm, and a soft whine that nervously quickened his heart, his stomach twisting in what he thought was nausea, but not quite.
"I'm sorry. I was… I promise, I'm not usually this… I don't know."
"It is of no consequence, though I would suggest greater specificity in your future explanations."
She huffed a laugh, and nodded, as she sat back into the chair she had sprung from, rubbing her eyes briefly before straightening the devices in a way that relaxed him enough to take a step forward.
"I have like five left, I'll take them home. Judging by the state of your uniform, I can… guess it's still raining?"
"Tumultuously, yes. If you would prefer, you are welcome to stay and complete the remaining PADDs here, as I imagine the weather will clear before you must return to the student building."
"Are you sure? You look tired, I really wouldn't mind just walking back."
"Contrarily, you have once today expressed a strong dislike for traveling in the rain. Furthermore, I would not feel comfortable allowing you to do this on your own, regardless of your changed opinion, and given that mine has not, I would prefer it if you were to remain until it is, at the very least, far lighter."
"So you don't want me to walk home by myself, but you don't want to go with me until the rain lets up?"
"Precisely. Although, I would be amenable if you had a prior engagement. I have come to understand that most cadets typically make plans to celebrate the end of the work week."
"And you don't?"
"No."
"Have you also come to understand that, typically, all you do is work?"
"I have heard similar sentiments employed to describe yourself."
"I cannot argue that, which is why it would be illogical to assume that I have a prior engagement to kick off the weekend."
"I did not assume. I merely stated that it was typical. Having said that, I have also come to understand that you are not a typical cadet."
"Oh? Can I pretend that's a compliment?"
"In your case, I suppose it is, though I assure you my reasoning is factual."
"As is typical. Well, I guess I'm going to make some coffee then, which I may or may not have researched how to reprogram your replicator to make for me, if I'm going to be here. Is that okay?"
"As it is typical in Vulcan culture for the guest in a home to prepare such things for oneself, I am not offended, though again, I would remind you that it is illogical to ask if a thing is 'okay' once it has already been done."
"Sorry."
"As I said, an apology is pointless."
"Okay," she laughed, and stood to head toward his kitchen, but turned to pause, her hand on the wall frame. "You don't have to sit here with me in a wet uniform, you know."
He had quite forgotten his state of dress. Or rather, the thought of it had no longer been bothering him. In circumstances such as these, he supposed it could not be helped, as she was, as she had always been, incredibly easy to converse with. Nevertheless, he still felt a bit uneasy with himself.
"Is it not improper for me to be in anything else, in this context?"
"The context is that it's pouring rain, so I'm going to finish these essays here, and then go home when it's not. The setting might be what someone would find strange, but, no, I don't think so."
"Very well. If you would not mind, my tea is in the cabinet above the replicator."
"You got it," she said, and disappeared behind the partition.
Once the door to his bedroom had closed behind him, he leaned against it for a moment, fighting to center a dizzying feeling of near giddiness. She had agreed to remain, and it made him feel almost… excited. Generally, when confronted with new social experiences, he had found himself wrestling for control over lingering doubts and anxieties, but for the last 2 years, Nyota had been there to quietly explain to him what was happening, and why it was normal, or was the source of them all together. He had not attended a Starfleet function without her after the first 6 months of her employment under him. He rarely felt as though he had to think long on what next was appropriate to say, and never felt as though his Vulcan demeaner was offending her. She had never left a questioning message from him unanswered, and had never given him an explanation he felt unreliable. Even the majority of his other students found him less intimidating now with her help, if not more relatable, and he was truly grateful.
He pondered the idea of thanking her for this another time, while he stripped his wet clothing off into the refresher, and pulled on an outfit he deemed casual, and warm enough to walk her home in later. He pushed his still damp hair out of his face, unwilling to trouble anymore with it, and exited his room to the smell of coffee mixing with the spices in his most preferred tea, a scent that would have made him feel nostalgic for his mother's kitchen, were he so inclined toward such sentimentality. She was sitting in the same chair she had been, stylus in hand, her hair pulled back again into its usual fashion, although far more hastily done than it was before she had left their office to come here, and paid him no more mind than she ever did when her thoughts were occupied with work or her studies. He sat into the chair to her right where she had placed his mug, and took a PADD from the dwindling stack of ones uncompleted, reading in silence next to her with an acquired comfort he did not believe he would ever come to know.
He had listened with unbecoming dismay to the beat of the rain on the roof recede to the point that he assumed it had come to a total stop, as the last PADD was finished, their mugs emptied, and cleaned. The frustration he felt for the week had shifted to an illogical wish that it could be repeated sooner than the intervening weekend would allow so that he might look forward to seeing her enter the office, the break room, his classrooms again at their respected time while they pulled their jackets and shoes on in the hallway.
They rode the lift down together, and discussed his students essays on the walk back to her dorm block, but his mind was not as focused on her words as they normally were. He had heard many professors thank their assistants in the way he was thinking on, but knew that it would be seen in a different light were he to be the one posing the suggestion. She climbed two stairs up to their destination before turning to face him again, fidgeting with the zipper on her little coat.
"Look, I want to thank you for trusting me in your apartment. It's been really helpful to get away from Gaila every once in a while, as much as I love her, and even the library has been pretty crowded recently, and I don't like to be in the office building by myself, so… thank you… for that."
She had done this before. She would plainly apologize for something he had been unable to logically express regret regarding, or bluntly voice an opinion he had for so long been attempting to place in the most politically correct manner. He could go as far as to say that their thoughts simply fit, their personalities so vastly different, and yet in almost every way compatible. He imagined he may not even find it especially difficult to explain their odd relationship to a Vulcan were one ever to ask, or find themselves in their company. She was still awaiting his response with her lip caught between her teeth, her eyes illuminated by the soft light of the street lamp staring ever so slightly down at him from her elevated position, as she was not one to be made to feel inferior based upon her petite stature.
"I had also thought to thank you for your assistance with my classes, as well as your persistent understanding of some of my more oblivious traits. I am aware that I am… not easily understood, and yet you do. If… If it would not be inappropriate, and would not interfere with your schedule, I would like to take you to dinner tomorrow evening, as I do not feel as though I have adequately expressed my appreciation for you during your time in my employment."
After a quick dart of her wide eyes up to his, she held them on the steps below her feet, but he could see her cheeks stretching to form a smile when he ducked his head to try and catch her gaze, which he did not. Even with his superior hearing, he could hardly make out her saying,
"It isn't."
"It is not what?"
"Inappropriate to ask a cadet to dinner in this context."
"May I pretend that this is an acceptance, then?"
"That would be logical."
"Factual?"
"Reasonable."
"Accurate?"
"Yes. I would love to."
"Then I will make a reservation for 1900 tomorrow, if that is acceptable."
"Sure. I'll, um… I'll see you tomorrow then. Goodnight, Commander."
He nodded, and watched her walk up the remainder of the stairs until he could no longer see her at all. He barely noticed the temperature, which would have been nearly intolerable if he were not so concentrated on the wind in the leaves of the large oak trees above him as he paced back to his apartment, or the water moving over the rocks in the pond near the building, or the memory of her hushed voice so near to him flushing his face, and plucking at the place in his mind where every blocked feeling was held back like a dam in a flooded river. Overwhelmed by one, he stopped halfway between where he had left and where he was going to close his eyes on the deserted sidewalk, and listen to the planet he was on.
He heard, and yet did not, various animals, either tucking away, or coming alive as the sun had long set around them.
He heard, and yet did not, thunder somewhere distant, and did not resent it.
He heard hover cars and buses in the neighboring streets outside of the academy walls, and yet he did not, as all of these noises were drowned by her.
For the first time since he was a boy, he did not meditate once he was prepared for bed, warm and comfortable in a familiar setting, but instead sat up against his headboard and read a fictional novel his mother had bought him over a decade ago that he had always thought to be an illogical waste of time. When it was finished, he watched an older movie that held no educational value whatsoever. When it shut off, he learned a new composition on a virtual piano he kept on his personal PADD for no other reason than because he simply enjoyed playing it, and when his muscles had memorized it, he shut that off too. He closed his eyes again late that night to the growing feeling of anticipation in his stomach for his evening with a woman who had taught him as much about his characteristics, and how to present them, as he had taught her about the stars, and how to navigate them.
His mother had told him, time and again, before he had left her that he would grow accustomed to, and perhaps even fond of the planet she called her home, and he felt, if just for a moment, that she would be proud.