It's embarrassing the way he lies to her. How his eyes don't linger. The way his face remains blank like a forgotten canvas when she calls his name.
"Commander, I..."
She blinks faster than the time it takes him to school his features. He does not adjust the hem of his garment, crinkle an eyebrow, nor even shift his attention to her query. The only change is the imperceptible growth of facial hair too insignificant to measure and the steady tick of time. He is decidedly impassive and he just turns.
"Yes, Cadet Uhura."
The sharpness of his response startles her. For two years he has said, yes, Cadet Uhura, and though her memory is far from eidetic she cannot remember a time this three words had sounded so hollow as if they had traveled the distance from the Earth to the Sun to reach her. She has exceptional aural sensitivity and from the four meters that span between them she hears sorrow and detects regret in the clipped six syllables.
Whatever his dilemma, it cannot come between them. She will not let it.
Reflexively, she swallows disrupting the tense silence that parades clamorously in classroom 67A-1. Her fingers clutch tightly at her leather satchel and levity grants her the untimely thought that at least the animal is already dead less she'd choke the last breath out of it. Subconsciously, she fights back a gratuitous display of emotion as the rest of her body snaps slowly to attention bracing itself for the impending and harsh demurral.
She is operating solely from instinct.
Her mind has reasoned that she ought walk-away. It has calculated the odds and they are not to her favor.
Her body has readied itself to crumble in defeat upon return to standard issue domicile.
Her heart has stopped beating. Rushed to make up for the missed counts. Stalled to a rhythm of a mourning hymn.
But, her training supersedes them all.
"Commander Spock." She stops fidgeting with the strap and snaps her head to face him, ponytail swinging. "I'd like a word with you 1900 hours, Sir." As a cadet, she knows that it is a superior officers' prerogative to designated the who and the what and the where and the when, but as Nyota Uhura and in this present situation, she cannot subsist in this practice. It is ill-suited to her purpose and to do so would be illogical.
"My office hours conclude at 1630, Cadet."
This is information they are both thoroughly aware of and if this is some sort of tricky grandstanding or useless attempt for stalling by making statements of the obvious, then she will have none of response is slick. "Yes, Commander, I've been aware of that for the past four semesters."
"Then you are indeed cognizant that I cannot respectfully entertain your request."
It is not a forthright 'no' and encouraged by the counterfeit evasion, Nyota presses forward. "Since it is of a matter of personal record I'd like to discuss, I thought it prudent we meet outside of StarFleet." Her words settle and the parade stops. The boldness of the entendre cloaks them in swirls of vivacious purples, and it is with these words tinged with desire and respect that light and color are cast upon the forgotten.
"Are you positive Cadet?"
Nyota looks into eyes that she knows are lying to her. Linger eyes on face carefully blank. Her reply is deftly weighted, composed equally of sincerity and the sass that has gotten her into more trouble she dare think about. "I'm quite certain that my judgment couldn't be any more impeccable, Spock."
And before he can address her misconduct, Nyota Uhura is out the door.