xxx
Thus started for Spock a period of in-depth research in the application of logic to a wide variety of situations.
As in, it was logical that he should slow his pace as he walked across the plaza to the Shi'Kahr library in case T'Roal might happen to cross said plaza, for her study regimen was necessarily similar to his in that they were both researchers at the academy, the fact that they researched diametrically different topics with irreconcilable aims being a distinction of little importance.
It was logical that he should linger in the eating chamber after having eaten so that if she were to interrupt her studies and decide to come for sustenance she would find an acquaintance to talk to.
It was logical that he should delay his departure until the sun dressed the sky in crimsons so that he would be able to lend a hand if her skitter experienced any mechanical difficulty.
Fate, fortune, or happenstance, depending on one's belief structure, smiled on him for T'Roal seemed to have embarked on her own study of the application of logic to everyday situations, and her proofs of concept dovetailed with his in a fashion so precise that only logic could have been the reason.
Thus, it was logical that she would cross the plaza at an angle to him right about the time he would be there, and the fact that his pace varied from normal to very slow was an interesting but not controlling parameter. It was also logical that she would interrupt her studies for sustenance about the time when she knew he would be breaking his own concentration so that he would not have to be alone in the eating chambers. And it was eminently logical that she would depart around the same time he did and wait by her skitter until he walked by, in case there be any need for his technical knowledge.
In such manner did their familiarity with each other progress from stranger to acquaintance to colleague and their chance encounters stop being driven by twisted logic and become the product of conscious choice.
It was conscious choice that led him to her lodgings, for he was profoundly interested in her collection of pictures of shields from the pre-Awakening era, and they stayed talking into the small hours of the night about experience and meaning and about the unspoken meaning of language, while their fingers and eyes and wrists held a conversation of their own.
It was conscious choice that led her to visit him on day when the library was closed for a spiritual celebration and find out that he would come with her to the mud springs of Tal'Hara, where it was said in pre-Awakening times that one could swim to the center of the planet, a claim which everybody knew was logically untrue but that had never been officially disclaimed.
It was conscious choice that united their bodies into the rhythmic dance of sex, that made him mouth her neck and bite her shoulder, suck at her breasts and lift himself on one elbow to more deeply enter her, that made her grab his head and suck his lips, scratch his back and take hold of his buttocks so that he could more deeply enter her.
They were together.
xxx
Spock watched T'Roal getting ready, taking pleasure in her movements as she donned her ceremonial robes and put her hair up in the approved style. The function at the academy was always well attended, Vulcan professors and foreign dignitaries rubbing shoulders and exchanging views, at least those foreign dignitaries who had no interest in small talk. This ensured the event was never oversubscribed. Vulcans always enjoyed the exchange of knowledge, however arcane and idiosyncratic their fields of study, and alien visitors, well it was a fair statement to say that some of the alien visitors actually had knowledge to impart, others would only gawk open-mouthed trying to follow the theoretical constructs.
Today was the day they would arrive together, and depart together. It had taken long months of assiduous yet understated courtship before she accepted that his interest in her was deeper than what could have come from a brief exchange of minds. He could spend hours talking to her, amused and impressed at her interest and knowledge of pre-Awakening culture, some of her observations disturbing the careful theories he had absorbed as a child and never bothered to question. He saw how different their trajectories were, he intent on answering scientific questions, an unknown that could be answered positively or negatively but always accurately, her trying to recreate past reality through present vestigial forms of experience, questions whose answers could only ever be indefinite. He sometimes had to recognize that the uncertainty of the answers she could derive would have 'driven him nuts', a turn of phrase he had learned at Jim's side, a colorful yet very appropriate description of the nauseating chaos that arose in his mind whenever he tried to imagine what uncertain answers may feel like.
But for the time being she was his, and it didn't matter if they went after different answers, what mattered was that they made music together, their interests intertwined in some basic manner, their bodies nicely cusped against each other. An advantage of his hybrid nature, his ability to be easily aroused. An expression of her constant quest for knowledge, her learning the quickest paths to reach that goal and throw his logic to the winds.
She walked up to him, caressing his hand with the back of hers, knowing only too well the small explosion of pleasure that erupted in the back of his mind, how he had to prevent it from propagating to other parts of his body. He looked at her reproachfully and she answered with the arch of an eyebrow that would have made his Human half chuckle in spite of himself. Later tonight, when they came back from the function, would be his time to tease her mercilessly, making her feel the full agony of unfulfilled desire until she was pliant in his hands and he could till her like a fertile field, complete her like rain completed seeds, like night completed day.
The event was proceeding as planned and as expected, when a dour-faced, tall Vulcan arrived at the doorway, his robes claiming his affiliation with the academy of Nahrat, a lesser knowledge center. Spock felt T'Roal tense up from across the room and looked up in puzzlement, wondering what should have so shaken her. They didn't have a bond yet, but the premises of one was building between them, tendrils of thoughts and feelings that yearned for a deeper connection. That would come in time, when he claimed her as his before the world.
A flick of her wrist interrupted his progression, told him to stand by, not to come talk to her. He did as he was told, looking for clues in her bearing, not taking his eyes off the newcomer for a second, all his senses alert to the intrusion of the stranger, yet knowing from T'Roal's demeanor and the blood that had just started singing in his ears that this man was no stranger.
She went and talked to him, demurely nodding in response to his curt nods, her entire body a column of emotionless marble. The Vulcan lingered, walking around the room as she followed at the distance appropriate to a consort. Spock felt like all the light and air had been sucked out of the reception hall, the only three figures that remained in the darkness that had just invaded his mind were him, T'Roal, and the unknown man. She didn't look at him as she glided by, didn't even let her gaze waver in a sidelong glance, yet he saw the two fingers on her hand lift up in a silent kiss. He knew it was an entreaty to wait until she could explain.
So he waited.
Finally the dour Vulcan stepped away, swallowed by the night outside, and light and air rushed back into the hallroom, Spock feeling like he had just come out of a trance, T'Roal turned towards the door with an expression of defeat and agony. She turned to go to him but he was already standing behind her, she almost ran right into his chest, managed to stop herself without touching him. He let his eyebrow ask the question.
She shook her head. "After my husband died, my family worried that I would be alone." She didn't need to finish, he already knew what she was going to say, she still had many pon farrs to go through and it was her family's obligation to preserve her life, whether she was so inclined or not. "It would have been fine," she went on, "but then I met you." He inclined his head in acknowledgement, secretly thrilled to learn she had not yet experienced ponn farr with the man, was simply betrothed, not yet married. There would be time yet to figure things out, familial arrangements around pon farr were no weightier than contracts, and contracts could be renegotiated.
"And I met you." That was his answer to her unspoken question. They were in this together.
And if eyebrows were raised when they took their leave of the congregation as a relational unit, he could hardly have been less concerned. His life was his to live, in or outside of Vulcan tradition.
