Chapter Seven: What Doesn't Get Said
Disclaimer: I neither own nor profit from these characters—except in the emotional sense….but that's something!
By the time Amanda feels strong enough to continue her journey to Seattle, Spock has been forced to change his own travel plans several times—an annoyance he tries hard to hide from his mother.
He can tell, however, that she is not fooled. Twice she has gotten as far as leaving his apartment and hailing a ground car to take them to the transport hub—and both times she has been forced to turn around and wait a few hours until she can sit up without fear of fainting.
Both times she has apologized profusely—though Spock reminds her that apologizing for something she cannot help is illogical—and apologizing to a Vulcan for anything at all is probably a waste of energy.
At last, however, she seems more herself—regaining her strength and losing the sickly pallor that has been so alarming—leaving Spock just enough time to gather his own things and catch the last shuttle to Amsterdam.
At Schiphol terminal he calls Nyota on his comm and makes his way to the train to Leiden and what he expects to be a short ride to the conference center—but protesters block the train platform and he and a small knot of travelers are forced to wait while local police forcibly remove them.
When he is finally able to board the train, he hears shouting—words clearly directed at him, telling him to go home.
"This isn't your world!" an older man yells as the train doors slide closed.
The familiar hurt rushes through him—sharp and infuriating—and Spock looks straight ahead and refuses to meet the gaze of any of his fellow passengers.
Instead of checking in at the conference registration, Spock heads immediately to Nyota's room when he arrives. He doesn't trust himself to talk to anyone else yet.
By the time he has walked up seven flights of stairs, he has regained a measure of composure—until he passes Captain Pike's attaché in the hall, and he thinks about the interview again and how badly it had gone. Immediately he is angry—and horrified to have to acknowledge his anger.
Nyota opens her door as he is about to press the chime. She has obviously been waiting and watching for him—the kind of attention that she often bestows, not just on him but on his students as well, and on her friends.
He breathes deeply and feels a quiet rush of gratitude for her.
"What's wrong?" she says as he lowers his duffel to the floor and turns to her. He takes a step and puts his hands loosely around her waist, leaning his forehead to hers. They stand like that for a moment, and then she pulls back and says again, "What's wrong? What happened?"
What to tell her?
That human prejudice has evoked an emotional reaction in him? That hearing someone shout "this isn't your world" has made him feel as vulnerable as he did as a child?
That part of him is still with his mother as she settles in with her family in Seattle—and that he has been unable to set aside his worry about her unusual reaction to the radiation treatment this time?
That the interview with Captain Pike feels like a personal and confusing rejection—like a door that has been shut unfairly?
He wants to tell her none of these things—but he does not want to lie, either, the way a human would do, with some misdirection or platitude, and so he tells her another truth, one that is suddenly urgent and real.
"I have…missed you," he says, pulling her closer, and she sighs and puts her arms around his neck.
"You aren't telling me everything," she says.
Her arms around his neck are cool and soothing. Spock closes his eyes and concentrates on her touch—and the rage and worry begin to ebb away.
He is surprised at how quickly he can let go of the turmoil of the day—and he is surprised, pleasantly so, to realize that he is becoming aroused. He unwraps his arms from Nyota's waist and puts one hand on the small of her back, nudging her toward the bed.
Her laugh is quick yet her eyes are narrowed—she is watching him as though she is uncertain about something. He knows he needs to reassure her that he is well, but before he can, she says, "Dinner's almost over. You better get something to eat before they close the buffet."
She may be joking with him—she knows that he can go without food for quite some time with little discomfort—or perhaps she does not share his arousal and needs more time to prepare. He lets go of her and looks at her more closely.
"You need to make an appearance," she says. "You've missed most of the conference, and people have been asking me where you are."
He opens his mouth to respond but she cuts him off.
"And don't say that you don't care," she says. "These people are your colleagues—and they are curious to hear from you."
Above all else, he respects curiosity—and so he shifts his expectations of the evening and stifles his budding disappointment.
"Don't look at me that way," Nyota says playfully. "We'll have dessert—later."
When they arrive at the conference room, Spock realizes that most of the participants have already left—only a few scattered people are still sitting and eating. Nyota motions him toward the steamer table with various unfamiliar foods.
"I tried that one and it was awful," she says, pointing to a sliced purple vegetable sprinkled with chopped herbs. "Which means you will probably like it," she says, and he lifts the serving fork and puts one on his plate.
"Don't take that," she says, indicating an aromatic curry. "It is loaded with cinnamon."
She waggles her eyebrows at him—and he gives her an amused look. He had told her about the time he had eaten an entire tagine of cinnamon-laced vegetables—and had discovered the aphrodisiac effect on Vulcans—similar to the better-known effect of cacao.
"Perhaps the chocolate cake?" he says, teasing her, and Nyota snorts.
"Don't you dare! I said we would have dessert later," she says, "in my room. Not here now in front of everyone!"
They move from the table and he sees Captain Pike at the same moment that Nyota spots him.
"Uh oh," she says. "There's Pike's attaché again. I saw her on the shuttle here, but I didn't remember who she was until later. She was on that trip to Riverside Shipyard—though she wasn't there the whole time. It might be my imagination, but I think she's been watching me."
Spock looks down at her with clear skepticism, and Nyota rushes on.
"I know it sounds crazy—but we need to be careful. They're looking over here. Go on—I'll meet you back upstairs."
Spock hesitates for a fraction of a moment but moves forward when he feels Nyota's hand brush his briefly. Of course she is right. They do need to be cautious—and now that the captain has seen him, he needs to acknowledge it. He takes his plate and sits at the table.
"Commander Spock," the captain says, "my attaché tells me you are making a presentation tomorrow."
Like so many things that humans say, this is an obvious statement of fact and needs no reply. From the corner of his eye Spock can tell that Pike's attaché is swiveling her head and making a motion with her hand—a signal of some sort, he is sure, though whether it is for him or Pike he is uncertain.
On further reflection, he decides it must be a signal for Captain Pike. Pike looks in her direction and then asks a question that is specific enough to answer.
"So tell us, what's the presentation about?"
The tutorial rotation that Spock and Professor Artura have designed is elegant and simple—and Spock is pleased that Captain Pike seems genuinely interested in it. Such a program would have limited usefulness on a starship—so Pike's interest is a surprise—and a welcomed one. Perhaps his knowledge base is deeper than Spock had assumed.
And then Pike does to Spock what he had done in the interview—he baffles him.
"I'm sorry to hear that your mother is ill," the captain says.
That Pike knows this sort of personal information is extraordinary, and Spock's first reaction is to ask how he knows. No matter. That he can ferret out such details suggests a network of contacts that is formidable—and impressive.
In spite of his earlier anger—in spite of his disappointment with the first interview and with Pike in general—Spock feels his assessment of the man changing. This is no uninformed martinet, no lackadaisical pretender.
Spock decides to test his impression further by venturing a small witticism about his human relatives—and sure enough, the captain and his attaché seem to appreciate the effort. Their smiles denote a positive reaction—but before Spock can consider the implications of this, the building shakes and he and most of the people in the room are tossed to the floor.
Later at the debriefing at Starfleet, Spock will recount what happened next—how Pike had quickly taken control, sketching out for Spock a wordless plan with hand motions—circle around while I distract them—and how the violent protesters had been quickly subdued.
He tells Starfleet about his decision to pick up the sonic grenade and run—about how he considered throwing himself on it before the timer ran out—and how he was uncertain that his body mass would be enough to deflect most of the explosive force.
He tells about running down the hallway, ready to break the far window and throw the grenade outside until he saw a group of protesters standing on the lawn.
He tells about the three doors he noticed to his right—two ornate wooden ones and one metal service door, and how he had debated what might be on the other side. The wooden doors were decorative and probably led to other meeting rooms—which would mean conference attendees might be there—but the metal door looked more utilitarian, possibly used only occasionally by the staff. He had chosen that door, surveyed the work room behind it and decided that it was empty, tossing the grenade inside and then shutting the door, pinning his body against it to hold it shut.
He tells about his next memory—a few seconds later—when he found himself on the other side of the hallway, the unhinged door on top of him, glass shards embedded across his brow.
What he does not tell anyone is what else he thought about in those seconds after he had picked up the grenade and had rushed and considered and made decisions.
He does not tell them that underneath his determination and logic he had been consumed by a sudden sadness about his own death—and his certainty that he was about to die.
He does not tell them that part of his mind was reliving his time with Nyota even as he was opening doors and bracing himself for the explosion. Like watching a crazy, out-of-sync holovid, he had seen both of them together, their work and play and sexual exploration—watching like someone other than himself watching their story—knowing the end was coming, and wishing an illogical wish that he did not have to die now, just as he was beginning to really live.
He does not tell them that all of these things were not enough to stay his hand or stop his actions—and discovering that level of commitment has given him much to consider about himself—has given him much to meditate about when he has time again to sit and reflect on what has happened and what it means.
And he does not tell them what happens later—after the medics have cleaned his cuts and checked for breaks—after the emergency shuttle flights have begun evacuating the conference attendees and he and Nyota are assigned different departure schedules hours apart.
How Natalie comes up to Nyota and says, "trade with me," holding out her own departure slip, and Nyota does, gratefully, leaving on the flight with Spock instead of later with the other cadets. How both he and Nyota fall asleep on the flight back to San Francisco, and how no one seems to notice or care that they wake with their hands entwined, their fingers curled together.
A/N: For everyone who has read this far, thanks! I hope that means you are enjoying this story. For everyone who has left a review, you are a jewel! I hope you know how much I have enjoyed you! One more chapter in this particular story….coming soon!