Early Morning Meetings
He has a meeting with the scientists and technicians of the Physical Sciences Departments this morning. Though the hour is early, he does not silence his movements as he prepares for his day. He has recognized the sounds of Nyota's gradual waking, and knows she likes to hear him as he moves about the room.
She keeps her eyes closed, and lazily listens to those movements.
When she was small, she would listen sleepily to her mother as she got ready for her early morning appointments.
Mama kept the doors open, for air to circulate through the house; and some sounds – not all – would travel clearly.
Nyota could hear the water in the pipes as Mama washed her face, brushed her teeth.
Then Mama would move to the bedroom doorway, and she could hear the zing, zing, zing of the hairbrush. That sound faded, and Nyota heard the little clunk as she put the brush down.
There would be the sounds of drawers opening, closing; footsteps to the closet.
There was a long hush broken only by tiny little noises, as Mama put on her make-up. Nyota loved to watch that part, but was still too groggy to drag herself out of bed.
There was a small clatter and a jingle. Mama was choosing her jewelry. That tink-tink meant the big silver chain.
Bare feet walked to the shoe rack; heeled feet clacked away.
A few minutes later, she could hear, very faintly, the low rumble of her father's voice. She pictured him pretending to grumble at his wife's imminent departure – as he poured her a cup of coffee, added sugar and cream 'til it was just as she liked.
She heard her mama's laughter, then, and knew that that silence meant a kiss.
Breakfast sounds.
She heard more footsteps, and though she was now a bit more awake, she kept her eyes squeezed shut.
The footsteps came closer – and there was the smell of Mama's perfume, and an almost loud tink-tink in time with her body's swaying.
There was the sudden shift of the mattress beneath her as her mama sat on the bed. There – there was the warmth of a soft body, as her mama leaned closer and whispered, "Wake up, sweet sleepy girl." There was the soft press of lips to her forehead. "You don't want to be late for school."
And Nyota would open her eyes on her mother's tender smile; and fling her arms around Mama's neck, and squeeze as tight as her small arms would go.
She has dozed off, listening, and struggles to wake as his footsteps come closer. "I'm up, I'm up," she protests, though it comes out merely as a yawn.
His scent is in her nostrils, then – clean, spicy, masculine – and his weight shifts the mattress.
This time the words come out: "I'm up, I'm up."
"No, beloved," he says, "You are not." And his voice is very deep, even when his words are quiet.
The kiss he gives her, then, is anything but soft, and she feels the heat and strength of his body – Her eyes open as he draws away.
His fingers reach to trace her hairline, her cheekbone, her jaw; her throat. He is watching his fingers moving over her bare skin; she watches his face.
He leans to speak again; and she flings her arms around him, and pulls him down for another long, deep kiss.
"I must go," he whispers in the silence after, and she feels his regret.
She nods, and releases him. As he moves to the doorway, straightening his shirt, she calls after him. "Spock, I'll see you in just over an hour."
And she hears with delight the mixture of pleasure and amusement in his voice - and the faintest hint of doubt - as he answers, before the door whooshes open: "I hope so."