Disclaimer: If you recognize it and I didn't invent it in Chapter 1, I don't own it. I make no money from this. Not even fake money.
A/N: Chapter one has been majorly rewritten from a one-shot into something that is paced more for a longer story. The plot is similar, but you will probably want to reread to pick up on the foreshadowing and nuances of character and motivations I've added.
Special thanks to Jake, Leo, Dave, Roy, and my beta vampirealchemist13 (Paula). Several months back, Paula and I worked through the plot of this story together, and she has continued to help me edit right up until yesterday! I couldn't have done it without her!
Posted: 8/17/11
Last edited: 01/09/12
When her alarm chimed at 0700, Nyota was already awake with a throbbing headache and thoughts of the previous night circling each other like le-matyas. She slapped the "off" button and dragged herself out of bed to retrieve a small green lozenge and a glass of water.
Last night, Spock had touched her. Nyota drank the water and placed the pain relief lozenge beneath her tongue, wincing at the bitter taste as it dissolved.
Vulcans were contact telepaths, she knew. She hadn't considered the implications beyond what she'd been told during her Vulcan language courses and in the proxemics unit of her Intercultural Etiquette course: Vulcans don't like to be touched. It was practical knowledge for a xenolinguistics major like Nyota, whose career would entail significant interaction with non-Terran species.
Nyota recalled with involuntary thrill the few occasions that Spock had made physical contact. Once, with her consent, he'd adjusted her fingers to correct a particularly complex Andorian hand sign she was having trouble mastering. Twice, he'd awakened her with a gentle hand on her shoulder when she'd fallen asleep in her chair at the xenolinguistics lab after a late night of grading assignments. Until now, she hadn't realized how mentally restrained these brief moments had been. Last night's touch, so different from the ones before, had been instinctive and raw. If only he had maintained the contact for a moment longer, she might have deciphered the emotions she had felt from him…
Nyota downed the last of the water to rinse away the bitter taste of the lozenge. She wouldn't allow herself to indulge in daydreams. The spark of emotion she'd felt from Spock had been far too brief to identify, and it had probably been innocuous anyway. Perhaps it had been annoyance at being unable to contact her; after all, he had seemed annoyed at the bar.
It was simple: Spock was half-Vulcan, and in his behavior he was more Vulcan than that. He had emotions, but he didn't - couldn't - return her romantic feelings for him, and it was harmful to imagine otherwise.
Nyota wished for a fraction of his control.
Spock had meditated all night.
Despite his human DNA, he had been born with a Vulcan eidetic memory. Usually this was advantageous because it meant that he did not have to rely on written memory aids as the vast majority of humans did. Today, however, his memory served only to plague him.
A single scene from the previous evening forced itself repeatedly to the forefront: Nyota, lit appealingly by street lamps, her long legs emphasized by her footwear and the high hemline of her dress... a moment later, the failure of said footwear and Spock's calculation that her trajectory would result in injury...
And his instinctive reach to steady her before he could properly shield his emotions.
The rate of his heartbeat increased by eleven percent.
Vulcans were taught from childhood to avoid breaching the mental privacy of others at all costs. Aside from Spock's parents and his half-brother Sybok, with whom he shared a natural familial link, Spock had known only one foreign mind. He had once been bonded to a young female Vulcan named T'Pring; however, after an incident at the age of nine in which Spock had physically injured an older child, the two families had agreed that the already unusually weak bond be dissolved.
Spock had touched Nyota's mind without her permission, and she was neither his family nor his bondmate. Though under any other circumstances, such a violation would be inexcusable, in this case the emotional contact had been unavoidable, and Spock was not at fault. Nevertheless, Spock found himself unable to put the moment out of mind. In those .47 seconds of mental contact before Spock had been able to erect his emotional shields, he had felt a surge of what could be classified as... longing. Given Nyota's obvious disappointment as they had departed from the bar, Spock found it likely that this emotion had been directed toward her Romulan companion.
Spock found it impossible to ignore the distress this conclusion caused him.
Nyota arrived at Spock's office at 0756 to discuss their linguistics research, comparing the Old High Vulcan and modern Low Rihannsu dialects. Recently, they had completed their straightforward study of syntactical structure and had begun to look at nuances in vocabulary and usage. Neither she nor Spock had the background to parse the idiomatic structure of the texts, and it was becoming clear to Nyota that they needed another perspective.
Romulan scientists as a whole were less prejudiced than were most of their species, but so far Earth's two resident Rihannsu linguists had politely declined to work on the project, citing reasons that were more likely excuses.
A tentative truce between Romulus and the Federation had been signed almost twenty-five years prior, when the Federation had begun seeking out new member worlds and, barring that, truces with previously hostile nations. Prejudice was long-lasting, however. Romulans were beginning to venture into the stars for non-military pursuits, but few of them liked Vulcans, and the feeling – though Vulcans might object to use of that term – was mutual.
Nyota had thought of a possible solution to their research problem, but she was unsure of how Spock would react.
Acknowledging her arrival from his seat at the small table in his office, Spock offered her breakfast – today, a whole-wheat English muffin with avocado and egg white – from a café near his morning route to the lab.
Nyota accepted the food and in return handed him a cup of rooibos tea and a fresh pear from the market near her dorm.
Their routine was filled with small moments like this. Normally these casual rituals were a comfort, but today the familiarity between them made her chest ache. Nyota took a breath and forcibly pushed the feelings aside. This wasn't the time. This was work.
"I've been thinking about how best to approach the next phase of our research," she began. "I'd like to bring in a native speaker."
"If you are referring to the Romulan from last night, I am unsure if that is wise." He raised an eyebrow.
She mirrored his expression. "Why not?"
Spock looked up from his tea. "Cadet, he attempted to intoxicate you, and given the circumstances I doubt that his intentions were altruistic."
"Commander, I chose to be in that bar and to accept his drinks," she countered. It was unusual for him to speak so condescendingly to her – almost as unusual as it was for him to comment on her personal life. "Regardless, I hardly think Sorel's intentions are relevant. We must consider the value his knowledge might have to our project."
Spock's lips were a thin line. "Many other Romulans could provide the same knowledge."
"How many do you know?" she asked, already knowing the answer. After a few moments, she took his silence as validation.
"We need a native speaker, Commander. Logic dictates that we pursue all viable candidates." Nyota knew she had him here; he tilted his head, and after a moment he gave a small nod. "I'll contact him later today, then," she confirmed, feeling victorious. Spock again said nothing, merely sipping his tea.
After a long moment, Nyota's triumph began to fade, and she opened the first translation file, unsure what she wanted him to say.
Nyota stopped by her favorite coffee shop on the way back to her dorm room. This morning she and Spock had successfully translated two folk tales from Old High Vulcan into Low Rihannsu, noting similar idioms between the two languages. It was meticulous work that computer programs could not properly accomplish, and they couldn't be sure of their results until Sorel could assist them.
Normally her work with Spock energized her, but today it had left her in desperate need of caffeine and chocolate. "A small mocha, please," she told the middle-aged Jewish woman behind the counter. "Skim milk."
"I started making it the moment you came in," the woman said warmly, pouring out a cup of hot coffee and adding sugar. "Bad day, ketzile?"
Nyota smiled. "It's only morning, Mira."
"Exactly," Mira replied, stirring in the milk. "You're coming in here before lunchtime, you're having a not-so-good day."
Nyota took her drink with a sigh. "With any luck, a mocha will help. Thank you."
Mira smiled at her. "See you tomorrow, Nyota."
Nyota sipped her mocha as she walked back to the dorm. By the time she entered her room, her cup was empty and her mood somewhat improved. Gaila had just showered and was drying her curls with a diffuser, wearing nothing but a lacy bra and panty set that matched her blue eyes. She set down the hair dryer and twirled to show off her outfit. "I was in the mood for blue today, Ny." She sighed. "Last night was delicious. You can't even imagine what Andorians can do with those antennae."
Nyota rolled her eyes with a smile.
Gaila giggled. "How was your Romulan?"
Nyota gave a half-shrug. "He wasn't. Commander Spock stopped by to remind me about this morning's meeting and walked me to the flitter station."
Gaila flipped her head upside down to dry the underside of her copper locks. "He came all the way to The Stardust just to remind you that you had a meeting?" she said skeptically.
"My communicator was off," Nyota explained, feeling defensive. "He couldn't contact me."
"He was worried!" Gaila giggled from her bent-over position.
"You're reading too much into it." She slipped off her boots.
"You think so?" Gaila said impishly. She turned off the hair dryer and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. "You could have been getting some hot, pointy-eared Romulan lovin', but your Vulcan wasn't going to let that happen."
The familiar tightness settled around Nyota's chest. "He's not my Vulcan, Gay," she said firmly. "Anyway, I should be meeting with Sorel soon. I'm calling him now to see if he's interested."
"Wooo!" Gaila catcalled from the bathroom.
"Interested in meeting for research," Nyota insisted, amused despite herself. It was hard to feel down around Gaila.
A few minutes later, following a quick search of the San Fransisco directory, Nyota found herself face-to-face with Sorel by vidscreen.
"Miss Uhura," he greeted her with a smile. Damn. He was just as attractive when she was sober. "It's good to hear from you."
"You weren't kidding about being the only Sorel in the San Francisco directory," she said, licking her bottom lip.
"I was not," he confirmed with a roguish grin. It took her a few moments to realize she was staring, and she cleared her throat.
"I'm afraid this isn't a personal call. Was I wrong to assume 'practicing Rihannsu' wasn't a euphemism for something?" she asked, only half-teasing.
Sorel chuckled, low and sexy. "The idea crossed my mind, but my offer was sincere."
Nyota felt her body heat up and forced herself to focus. "What do you think about assisting with a research project regarding your native dialect?" She explained the project and the difficulties they had encountered in finding a native speaker to assist them.
Sorel smiled archly. "I'd love to help. I've always been a 'dark sheep.'"
Nyota grinned at the endearing idiomatic mistake. "Are you free to meet tomorrow?"
Perhaps this weekend would be pleasant after all. Meeting with Sorel might be a clean break from routine.
A/N: As always, concrit is welcome, and I will reply to all reviews, even if it's just a thumbs-up or thumbs-down. :-) This fic is complete and has about eight chapters total, so set an alert if you want to read more!
