The small silver mechanism rumbled againston the tabletop, and Sophie and Uhura, who had been bickering, both fell silent. Martin's adolescent wish for a writhing, grasping, hair-pulling wrestling match between the girls dissolved as he reached for his comm.
He scanned through the message he'd received and took a thin, shallow breath that still managed to get caught in his chest and hitch his shoulders up around his ears as he read. The results. Finally.
When he saw that Spock's individual score had moved the team into first place overall, ahead of MIT, the sickening knot in his stomach loosened, and he finally exhaled, his lungs pushing the air out in a rush that reached all the way down to his toes. Seeing Oxford still in third helped to ease the stiffness in his shoulders. "Yes," he hissed.
"Shit!" Sophie was staring at her comm screen with huge eyes. "Sorry," she said, although she didn't sound sorry at all.
She handed her comm to Uhura who flicked through whatever was on the screen. "I'll try not to be insulted that you're so shocked."
They were looking at results, Martin assumed. He glanced through the message again for what the girls were talking about, and when he got to the scores for each specific competitor, he felt the thing in his stomach start to reform and his temples began to throb. The room was suddenly very hot.
"I don't believe this," he mumbled.
"Congratulations," Uhura told him and Spock as she handed Sophie back her comm.
"Yes, boys. Well done. I don't think anyone's ever knocked MIT out of first place once they got there." Sophie squeezed Martin's knee, but he pried her hand away and stared at Uhura.
"You got the highest score in the round."
"I did."
"How the hell did you manage that?"
"Excuse me?" Uhura visibly stiffened and slid to the front of her seat.
"How did you do this?" Martin spoke slowly, exaggerating each word and ignoring the way Spock didn't quite glare at him.
"I have no idea what you're asking," Uhura turned to Spock. "Do you?"
"I do not."
But the bits of information Martin had been collecting all night were finally beginning to click together, and even though he could only see a portion of the picture they made, one thing was clear. Somehow, Oxford had cheated. "You're not good enough to get that kind of score," he said, not bothering to hide the scorn in his voice. "There's no way you could have pulled that off without some kind of help."
"Martin." Despite the soft way Sophie said his name, her voice had an edge that cut through the hum of the people and activity around them. She hadn't moved, but her eyes were so hard and cold, Martin shrank away from her before he even realized.
He looked to Spock, certain he'd reached the same conclusion about Oxford's performance. But Spock watched him with the same cool indifference that unnerved plebes so much when he dressed one of them down for some minor rule infraction. "I find myself in a similar quandary. Explain."
The bar was stifling, and Martin unfastened the tight, upright collar of his uniform jacket, unable to hear anything except his heart beating fast and heavy in his ears. Spock was the XO of their cadet regiment and technically his superior officer, and it was within his authority to demand clarification. Martin had just been so sure Spock would be ten steps ahead of him in figuring out Oxford's scheme, he hadn't worried about justifying his conclusions. Especially since the picture inside his head screamed at him that something was wrong with Oxford's score for the individual round.
And that picture was only getting clearer. In fact, Spock's reaction to his questioning Uhura finally brought what had been nagging at him. into focus. He turned on her.
"You said that something Spock told you helped you today."
A faint vertical line appeared between her brows, her confusion at the abrupt change in topic obvious, and she glanced hesitantly over at Sophie. Martin smiled. He was on to something.
"He pointed out another way of looking at things. He didn't give me the answers." Uhura sat perfectly still, and she gripped the seat cushion of the settee so firmly, her fingers dented the dense upholstery.
That one gesture confirmed everything for him. Oxford had to be using Spock's attraction to Uhura, an attraction that was so conspicuous anyone could have seen it, to throw Starfleet's score off just enough so they could keep pace with the front runners.
He congratulated himself for putting Sophie's confession about her ruining Oxford's chances last year together with the clues and signals he'd picked up the last couple of days. An unexpectedly high showing this year would definitely make up for Sophie's mistake last year.
"What exactly did you and Spock talk about last night that got you so upset?" Martin asked. "I think you offered him something for throwing the round, for not performing up to expectations, and he didn't agree right away. Why else would you be so hot for him? You haven't spent any time together. Whatever you promised to do must be pretty spectacular since he went along with it."
Spock, who had watched the exchange in stony silence, stood, and Martin was forced to crane his neck backwards to maintain eye contact. "Cadet Schroeder, you are out of line." Spock's voice, which was almost always cool, was laced with barely contained displeasure. "You will apologize. Now."
"You making that an order?" Martin forced the words out through his clenched jaw.
"If I must."
Uhura rose to her feet and touched Spock's elbow. "You know what? Don't even bother. I wouldn't accept it anyway."
She grabbed her coat and pulled it on, but before she could leave, Sophie leaned forward and tapped her half-empty glass. "Wait, don't waste good liquor."
Uhura looked at her, the crease between her eyebrows deepening, and then she shrugged, reached for her glass, and drained it in one swallow. Turning back to Spock, she hesitated. "I'm sorry." She inhaled through open lips, like she was going to say something more, but then her mouth pressed into a thin, hard line, and she turned and slipped through the crowd, only pausing once on the stairs to glance back at Spock before hurrying up to the street.
Spock watched her leave, and Martin leaned over the arm of his chair get his attention. "Don't sweat it, buddy. She was just playing you."
The Vulcan looked down at him, his expression even more unreadable than usual. Martin felt bad for the guy. Even with all of Spock's emotional control, it couldn't be easy for him to realize the girl he had a thing for was only pretending to be interested in him.
"Hold on." Sophie scooted over to the side of the settee Uhura had just vacated, closer to Spock. "Just so you know, she had other offers tonight, and she hates it when I meddle. She could have said no to this. Hell, if you hadn't been part of the deal, she would have said no."
Spock was quiet for a long minute and then nodded stiffly and collected his overcoat and scarf from where they lay neatly over the back of his chair.
"Wait, where are you going?" Martin stood up. He'd expected the movement to be quick and decisive, but his legs didn't cooperate, and he lurched sideways, grasping the back of his chair to keep from falling over.
"That is not your concern."
Martin felt the knot in his stomach tighten again. "I was just trying to help," he blurted. It wasn't great, but it was the first thing he could think of to stop Spock from following Uhura out the door.
"While I admit to having some deficits in my experience with human social interactions, I was not aware that accusations of intellectual dishonesty or inferiority were acceptable methods of improving acquaintance. I shall endeavor to remember this approach in the future." Spock's tone was both even and detached, nothing Martin hadn't heard before, but for the first time, he felt like Spock didn't consider him worth his time. He wound his long, black scarf around his neck and put on his overcoat on with sharp, spare movements.
Martin rubbed the back of his neck, and he took a deep breath to try and dispel the ache at the bottom of his ribs. A fog had descended over his brain, and he shook his head to clear it, but he still felt a little fuzzy. How did Spock not see how the girls had used him? "Don't you think you're being a little overdramatic?"
Spock fastened his coat and leaned down to pick up his hat from the low table. Avoiding the up-swept tips of his ears, he placed it carefully on his head and turned to Sophie, touching his fingertips to the shiny, black brim where it was pulled precisely over his forehead. "Miss Lansing," he said formally before he, too, climbed the stairs and left.
Martin sank down into the chair across from Sophie, Spock's chair, and watched him walk out, effectively abandoning him for a girl he barely knew. He rubbed his eyes and then reached for his half-filled glass, but Sophie leaned over, plucked it out of his hand, and sniffed its contents.
"What's this? Gin?" Her nose wrinkled but took a sip anyway. "You might want to switch to that," she said, gesturing to the bottle of water. Martin stared first at her and then the bottle. He hated to admit it, but she was probably right about pacing himself.
"What was all that about with Spock?" He didn't bother to use a glass and instead drank straight from the bottle. He hadn't realized he was so thirsty, and he sighed as the cool liquid started to sap some of the heat from the room.
"Just trying to undo some of your damage," she explained lightly. "That might be a record for the most people offended in the space of one drink. Or in your case, three. Unless it was more."
"Yeah." His stomach churned at the smug look on her face. "I guess you're feeling pretty pleased with yourself."
Sophie finished off his drink and set the glass down with a heavy clunk that seemed to echo throughout the room. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Isn't damaging our team's chances what this was all about?" Martin took another long drink from the water bottle.
"That's brilliant," she said, laughing. "After that display of yours, I wish I had thought of it. But sadly, this fiasco was your idea."
"I was trying to do the guy a favor."
"Really? What part of that was the favor? The part where you called my friend a thick-headed cheat, the part where you told your friend the only reason she was interested in him was to cock up your master plan to win a game? Or the part where you implied I'd peddle her out for something so stupid. Even if benefited us, which it doesn't, I know where to stop." As she spoke, Sophie's voice lost its lightness.
"Please, you're just as competitive as I am."
"That's where you're wrong. I shouldn't be shocked; you can't read people for shit. As far as I'm concerned, if we make it through tomorrow's round without any major mistakes? That's all I want. If I had thought for even a second that I'd have to turn on anyone on my team to do that, even Charlie, I'd never have started this."
Sophie pulled up the projected menu again and paged through the screen options until she found the check, which glowed red. She brushed the plain ring she wore over the payment terminal at the corner of the table, and the screen changed to green. Martin guessed that she had a credit chip embedded in her jewelry. Then she stood up and pulled her skirt down from where it had ridden up while she sat and gathered her things.
The tension that had sprung up between them was disorienting but not unexpected. "You're such a goddamn bitch."
"And you're an insecure little boy with daddy issues," Sophie replied.
"Go to hell."
The look she leveled at him reeked of pity, and the hard lump in his stomach roiled at the thought that she might feel sorry for him. What she said next made it even worse. "Actually, I think I'll go see if anyone at the bar wants to buy me another drink. And if that doesn't work out, I'm going to go to my favorite club, find some Neanderthal footballer, and let him tear this dress off of me in the loo."
"I thought you were going to leave."
"And I thought you were a decent enough fellow. I guess we were both wrong."
Sophie leaned over and pressed her lips to his cheek. When she pulled away, she smiled coyly and headed towards the bar where she insinuated herself between two identical-looking men. Great, Martin thought. The twins from MIT. She turned sharply, and bumped one of their elbows, sending the guy's drink down the front of his shirt and trousers.
She made a show of apologizing and helping the guy sop up the mess she had created, and Martin clearly remembered their first meeting the year before. She'd "accidentally" jostled his elbow, and he'd ended up wearing his drink, too. Funny, he'd thought himself lucky.
He knew he needed to leave, but he didn't know where to go or if, given how drunk he realized he was, he'd make it more than a block. He fumbled with the order screen, pulled up the list of detox treatments, and put in an order for one he'd used before along with more water. He had a vague notion of meeting Cadets Zhelen, Solórzano, and Gunheim. They'd mentioned a pub not too far away, and at this point, anything was better than watching his date help another man make sure he didn't end up with a stain on the front of his pants.
A/N: Other than a large number of intangibles for which I'm very grateful, I get nothing from this.
So, that was an interesting week. Goodbye, Mr. Nimoy. You've been a part of my life ever since I discovered Star Trek reruns back in high school, and I couldn't be more thankful. You will be missed.
Short chapter here, but the good news is that I was able to get it revised, re-betaed, and reedited in a shorter time frame. I considered combining it with the previous chapter, but the tone shifted so much, things seemed to flow better keeping them separated.
I am so appreciative of everyone who has kept with this story this long. Thank you for continuing to check in. I'm sure it will come as no disappointment that after this, we say goodbye to Sophie and Martin for a good chunk of time. However, I've only started the revisions on the next three chapters, and oy. They're not pretty, and I'm not sure how long they're going to take to fix. I'm hoping not too long. Have a great weekend!
