Humans are so unworried by their emotions. They allow feelings to bubble up inside and spill out into conversation, expression, gesture, action, without so much as a thought for the appearance of this, or its consequences. This is not how he has been brought up. Feelings may swell and surge but the outward appearance must be one of calm, and always the mind must assess the situation based on bare facts alone, remaining unfettered to any colour of emotion.
Humans exist in a welter of drama and reaction. It is their normal state. It is fascinating, not so much the exhausting round of ups and downs which every human experiences from waking to sleep each day, and beyond, for dreams contain powerful emotions, and he must assume that full humans dream as vividly as he does – but for the effects it has on their lives and the lives of others.
If a human has suffered a minor personal loss – for example, the death of a domesticated animal – he or she is far more likely to present as confused, bewildered, battered, grieving – than if they have suffered the loss of someone close to them – a parent, for example. In that case they present stoicism, a willingness to get on with their work or their family duties, and a tendency towards grim-faced silence.
Why? Why is the death of a pet allowed to intrude on every activity for a number of days, yet that of a beloved parent or friend is repressed, causing untold mental damage, and in the long term, the reappearance of the trauma in some unwelcome form?
It is what humans do: their social structures are built on such reactions. For all this they are amazingly resilient. Spock has never stopped being impressed with how a human can suffer and yet still carry on. He imagines that were he burdened by such wild emotions, he would be flattened before the end of the first day, unable to function. Yet men, women and children sob and laugh and rage and still go to school or work, are still productive to more or less normal levels, can remain relatively useful.
It is intriguing and – he admits it – appealing. He admires humans for this strength, the strength which many races consider a weakness.
The cadet Uhura is a case in point. When he suggested the translation review, she was so delighted that her feelings became irrepressible. She beamed, fidgeted, blinked many times, repeated herself. She had completely lost control of the feelings simmering beneath the surface.
She used the word love twice in two minutes – to describe an academic pursuit.
Spock understands that in Starfleet standard, the word love covers many layers of affection and devotion, from a mild interest – I love your hair today! – to undying passion for the person considered as a life partner – I will always love you. There are many types of feeling which are all called love, and Spock has direct knowledge of only a few, such as the love between a parent and child.
When Uhura said the word, however, his understanding tended towards the far end of the spectrum, the end where passion and devotion and pleasure and pride crowd together in a single word. She was placing her consciousness of privilege at being invited to participate in this project, high upon her personal scale of appreciation and describing it in terms of deep affection and joy.
Spock recalls that he did himself describe her, accurately, as having passion for her subject.
He also admired her for it, aloud.
This was an unusual step for him. Dedication would have been the more correct attribute to praise. Perhaps insight. But he selected passion, because it was what he saw in her at that moment. The kind of tenacity which allows a person to challenge their tutor; the kind of focus which does not care if this is socially acceptable to those who hear the challenge. Passion.
He understands this completely for he experiences those moments too: he thinks of them as moments of clarity, certainty, pure focus. The sensation of absolute rightness when a word is the correct one. This can occur without any danger of clouding by sentiment or ego: it occurs when the brain has fully assimilated a language or other complex system, and can generate new parts of the system using the rules which have been absorbed. This leads to certainty, and this leads to those sensations of rightness.
He lies in bed now, allowing his body its requisite eight hours of repose even as his mind continues to work, and considers himself, and passion, once again.
Uhura is a passionate human.
He is half a Vulcan.
She looked closely at his mouth, as if seeking its every detail for later recall. He had found that slightly uncomfortable.
She looked at his ears, too. He felt them tingle with additional, unnecessary blood supply – the Vulcan expression of embarrassment. Invisible to humans, fortunately. Her gaze explored his face, his head, in a most personal way before she realised she was doing it and was herself embarrassed.
Then he had found it entertaining, that a blush could transfer between two people so quickly and completely, and had smiled at her, and amazed her.
Humans tend to think that Vulcans do not smile. This is not the case. Vulcans do many of the things which humans do. It may not mean the same thing, and it is definitely not shared as humans freely expose every nuance of their inner selves whether buying a bus ticket or mourning a great leader – but emotions exist. They are simply better regulated, and acted upon only when the situation has been assessed without reference to those personal feelings.
Spock shifts a little in his resting position, and opens his eyes.
Here are personal feelings now, nearer the surface than usual because of proximity to sleep.
Uhura is a passionate person. This consideration gives him a feeling: excitement. Academic excitement, at the prospect of working with a young mind such as hers, a mind untainted by incorrect assumptions. Personal excitement, too.
He dwells on this for a short time. Uhura saying the word love (twice) in her mellow voice. Looking at him with shining eyes. Examining his mouth. Gazing at his ears.
Yes: personal excitement. It is natural to encounter such feelings, at his age, on occasion, when in company with a female. It is not indicative of any problem, or any action which needs to be taken.
He rests his hands loosely on his abdomen. As he closes his eyes he sees Uhura, leaning towards him with her lips parted, saying, I love language. His memory is excellent and he can recall her expression, her words, the sound of her voice, and even her warm scent. She smells of open spaces and green air, Earth air.
He remembers her eyelashes, tilted downwards as she memorized his mouth.
It is not indicative. No action needs to be taken.
