*
9. Not Looking
*
It was a good thing people communicated most fluently with their silence, because getting him to communicate verbally would be a graduate level undertaking.
Nyota had come to think of Commander Spock as her pet translation project. Only because of her interest in how people communicate, with their bodies and with their mouths. She had said good morning to him the previous Friday. He had said it to her. It was progress.
It was also really uncomfortable. She'd never seen anyone so wound up and unsure, and she felt like if she touched him he'd shatter. No matter, a ridiculous thought. What reason would a Cadet have to touch him? He distanced himself in every possible way, and between his anxiousness and the fact that he was a superior officer, she laughed at herself for thinking about touching even his sleeve. While he prepared for class to begin, she sipped her morning coffee and pretended to read a padd and her mind traveled in its usual lazy circles and wobbly lines. Would he shatter? Just from the sleeve?
He hadn't spoken to her again. While she thought about how words look on a padd, his arms, sleeves, coffee and cream, she also thought about days past, and how they were at six days and counting since they'd briefly spoken. Since then, it had been only nods.
She only watched him because his movements were so different from those of any being she'd known. He was odd, and not just a little, but literally and figuratively alien. When she studied how he moved, she tried not to anthropomorphize him. It was too hard. His Human side was too exposed. Though she knew, like everyone, that the notable Commander Spock was the only half Vulcan anywhere, and could see plainly that he identified himself as Vulcan, what she mainly saw when she really looked at him was a Human boy. Yet, not a boy, but a man who had been through things that were daunting and mind-blowing. She could only imagine how he had come through whatever experiences he'd come through, to be here, at the academy, in this room, right when and where she was. The thought made her feel as if she were tipping toward him, tumbling down the rows of seats to where he stood below, reading a padd and not noticing her.
His body language was conflicted, dual. Vulnerability was predominant, yes, but there was underlying strength and brilliance. There was weakness and also confidence bordering on defiance. He stooped his shoulders somewhat, but to such a small degree that rather than indicate a caving in, it instead, counter intuitively, spoke of dominance.
While she watched him read, understanding blossomed. It was because it played up his great height. She couldn't tell for sure, because they'd been on different levels of stairs in the auditorium, but when he stood close to her she had judged him to be at least 15 centimeters taller than her, and she was tall for a Human female. Folding his shoulders almost imperceptibly forward allowed him an air of humility while actually featuring his powerful stature.
He looked down on almost everyone.
After class, she walked by his office. She was passing, wouldn't have a reason or an inclination to knock and talk to him. But she saw him there. He'd left the door slightly open, and he stood, leaning a shoulder on the wall, looking out the window. He put his weight on the wall, and it was the first time she'd seen him not completely upright. And though he was facing away from her, she could tell, in part because of the way the black fabric stretched across his back, that he had his arms crossed over his chest. He was comfortable. She had never seen him comfortable before. It was a private, silent moment. She knew she should not look.
*
