Loving Her Is Red

Chapter Three

It was not part of his weekly or even monthly routine but Spock decided he would take his hoover bike out for a short trip. He reasoned that logic would dictate that the bike be used since non-used of a piece of machinery would cause it to deteriorate and it's none use would indicate the need to relinquish ownership of such an object. Consequently, dressed in his riding gear, holding his gloves in his hand, he stepped out onto the campus and started his walk to the Academy garage. Uncharacteristically he was holding the gloves in his right hand while tapping them into his left, this was an unnecessary, and non-productive motion. He consciously stopped himself. The activity was totally un-Vulcan, unnecessary, illogical and unreasonable. He did not remember ever engaging in motion, speech, or thought that was without purpose or non-productive. Later that day he would meditate on this slip from his normal behavior.

Entering the garage he went to his bike, straddled it and was taken back by the sound of melodious laughter, followed by speech he did not readily identify. He did not have to wonder as to the source of the sound, his acute hearing zeroed in to identify Cadet Uhura's voice. She was taking to her Orion friend and their laughter was playful. Of course, his conclusion was speculative because his experience in this area was practically nil. Then surrounded by the unknown language he heard his name…Spock…and then the conversation continued. He wondered how he could be a topic of conversation or maybe perhaps not the central topic, just a passing reference. He exited the storage facility, idled his bike's' engine and waited for the two females to pass his bike, He feigned that he was adjusting his helmet and as they passed he nodded and said in Vulcan,

" Hia'thati'lu ne-lan." (Good day cadets)

Then he sped off., leaning heavily to his right as he turned the corner. Leaving both of the women standing in shock with their mouths' open in surprise. He was certain he would continue to be mentioned as they walked. He sped past the outskirts of town and headed for the quiet roads bordering the farms and vineyards. He did not ever remember traveling without definite travel plans. His mind was on the verge of wandering and he attempted to center himself by concentrating on the sounds and movement of his bike. He allowed these to consume him He breathed deeply and allowed the rushing wind to ease his mind. Out of nowhere the questioned pushed into his consciousness,

'Did Cadet Uhura ride?'

Remembering Heris easy as remembering the words to an old favorite song

As he sped on his mind slipped comfortably into his recent encounter, Cadet Uhura, with a friend, out of uniform, dressed in a non-regulation garment that seemed to caress her lithesome body. He had left her standing at attention, her dark hair blowing in the breeze generated by the cool air from the underground garage. Before he turned the corner leading to the exit his final observation in his side mirror, was of the cadet, her hand on her mouth, a look of surprise on her face. Such a sight, it remained with him for his entire ride.

Spock's final analysis of his ride was that it was not as refreshing as he desired because of the ghost that rode with him. He continued to visualize his last sight of his star cadet, her skirt and hair moving rhythmically. He unwittingly continued that mental exploration...

'What did her skin feel like? Was the feel as flawless as its' appearance? What was 'her hair's texture? Was it as heavy as it appeared? What sensation would he feel as he ran his fingers through it?' Like echoes these thoughts drifted by him in a pinkish haze. He uncharacteristically sighed. He then pulled his bike over to the side, removed his helmet, and shook his head. Spock's mouth had became dry. Perhaps his disordered thoughts had caused him to breathe through his mouth. He reached into his side compartment and located his water bottle. After a long draft, he lowered his head and bit his lower lip, mentally chastising himself. His thoughts were uncharacteristic, completely at odds with The Vulcan Way.

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Entering his apartment he placed his gloves inside his helmet and stowed them on the shelf in the hallway closet. He disrobed, showered…almost with the hope that the water could remove the impure thoughts that had plagued him for the entire afternoon. At that point, meditation was a necessity, as he lowered himself to the mat he was bombarded by the vision of her again, and the need to consciously remove these visions of her. He needed to corralled his thoughts and only view her in an academic setting, visualize her in cadet reds—well that did not help him, Should he concentrate only on her face? No…perhaps visualize her mouth…absolutely not, just hear her voice….? The color that accompanied his observations of her deepened.

Forgetting Heris like trying to know somebody you've never met

His rise to consciousness did not free him of his mental torment. Shaking his head in disbelief he stood and walked slowly to his kitchen to brew a cup of tea and make an attempt to bring logic into his reasoning. He managed to clear his mind enough to settle down for some research. His creation of a program for the command track was going to test the potential of bridge crews' in training. His object was to create a'no win situation'—perhaps that is the place where he now finds himself, because of his vivid imaginings of having a relationship with Cadet Nyota Uhura. How was this problem to be solved? Should he diplomatically make the attempt to transfer her to another class. His immediate realization was that only he taught her core classes. So, any adjustment could not come from her end, for he was the one who had to deal with this unusual set of circumstances. He had to truthfully identify what was happening. It could best be described as his Terran half attempting to form an…attachment, while surprisingly, his Vulcan side evidenced its' support by this increasingly intense display of color in reference to said cadet.

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Nyota Uhura was struck dumb when she saw him, her Vulcan instructor, straddling a hover bike, dressed in black leather. His crisp address, in Vulcan made her wonder how long he had observed herself and Gailia. She did remember that she and her roommate had been, for want of a better word, gossiping in Gailia native tongue. She was aware that Lieutenant Spock did not understand Gailia language but his name had been mentioned. She could not quite remember the context of the comment. Perhaps Gailia could recall.

"Gailia, do you remember what we were talking about just prior to when Lieutenant Spock addressed us and then roared off on a hoover bike the other day?"

"His butt."

"No, no, for real"

"That he is just so f-I-n-e!"

"Get serious Gaila."

"Okay. We were talking about Vulcans telepathic abilities. I mentioned that they use that power in intimate situations."

"Yeah, yeah, I remember and I said I did not agree with you. I believe you were the one that mentioned his name."

"Of course, I was stating that I would not like the idea of loosing my control in a situation like that. In my culture, we females are the aggressors in that area. We do the picking."

"Gailia, you are hopeless. I don't think I am capable of reforming you."

"Yeah, I know. Thank you very much. Nyota, why would I want to change what is already perfect?"