Girlfriends (Not Like That)
She's sitting, again, in Rec Room Six.
Why? She's not really sure. Probably that same feeling she gets every now and again, that there's something… well, wrong… with the fact that she, as young as she is - as inexperienced, as untried - holds the position she does.
Never mind that the Captain – senior officer on the whole damned ship – is only three years older than she is (and the First Officer a single year older than that). The ship's grouchiest 'old man' is only 34, for pity's sake!
No wonder Commander Spock just blinks when she says 'no,' occasionally, to the Officer's Mess; she needs, she says, to connect with people more like herself.
And, really, he's right – Even when he hasn't actually said anything at all…
Last time, she had spoken just as his arms had closed around her, when he returned from the lab; he had considered for a moment; then, without comment, he'd turned and headed for the door, drawing her after him. She'd followed, and found herself on the Bridge they had left less than two hours before: To all appearances, Chief Communications Officer and Chief Science Officer – or was he First Officer, now? – in an unscheduled inspection of the Bridge… They stood for several minutes at the spot he preferred, a few paces in, gazing at the main viewscreen. She turned in place, and looked, instead, at the faces all around her - and knew that that was what he had, in fact, brought her to see.
She kissed him, then, in the turbolift on the way back down. He said (his fingers barely brushing her skin) that he had been thinking that she should visit the Officers' Mess, in addition – However, if she were no longer in the mood to connect with others 'more like herself,' perhaps his quarters might serve as well?
Now, here she is in Rec Room Six - this time without him - and frankly, she is more than a little annoyed by the company.
She is being forced to overhear, at a volume to which she is no longer accustomed, a girly-girl convo two tables over.
Seriously?
The more she hears, the madder she gets.
These girls are in Science Blue: They ought to know better, at least!
She can't imagine anyone acting like these girls describe. No one – no man – could be as self-indulgent, as irresponsible, as disrespectful – as downright selfish. And though she knows the whole exchange to be self-aggrandizing, self-righteous juvenile hyperbole, it pisses her right off.
'Men aren't like that,' Uhura thinks. 'They're not.'
And the girls go on and on. They gossip about the other girls, they complain about the guys. And Uhura is glad she doesn't know which guys they mean, specifically, or she would have to step in. Seriously?
'Even Jim's not like that,' Uhura thinks. Then, to be fair, she clarifies: 'He might want people to think he is, a little: Sometimes it gets him lucky - but mostly it gets him underestimated: And that's what he really wants. But is he really like that? No.'
She hears an echo of Gaila's giggle, and it makes her smile: "Jim Kirk?" Gaila had said, stretching luxuriously and turning onto her stomach, having flung herself with abandon onto the bed. "Oooh, honey, let me tell you what he's like…"
And in spite of Gaila's unintentionally disastrous character reference, she knows that Jim's not like that.
'Spock's not like that,' her heart affirms. No. Spock's not like that.
Although she's only just gotten her tray, she's thinking of leaving - maybe coaxing him from the Chem Lab in spite of himself - when she feels someone pass close behind her. It's Chekov. He pauses, and wonders, please, Miss Uhura, if he might sit.
She smiles, nods; tells him, sincerely, gratefully, "Oh, please do, Chekov. I'm so glad you're here." The relief is plain in her voice.
So Chekov slides his tray onto the table, and sits, though he still seems a bit unsure.
She puts down her fork, and leans toward him.
He meets her eyes, in that shy way he has, his fingers still gripping the edge of his tray.
"I was feeling a little out of place," she confides.
And bless him, he looks around.
And nods.