Chapter Nine: United
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, but I admit responsibility for giving them mischief.
Nyota wakes with a start—her heart pounding in her ears. With a gasp she sits up and looks around. Across the room she sees a mound of covers and pillows—Gaila still asleep. Not another earthquake, then, but Nyota's own internal fault line shaking her awake in the middle of the night.
And not the first time, either. In the past month she's woken up several times this way, panicked about what she's doing. About what Spock is doing.
So much has happened this month that she can hardly get her head around everything—so no wonder her brain won't let her rest. It seems like only yesterday Spock returned from Vulcan, apologetic for not forewarning her about his absence—or as apologetic as she assumes a Vulcan can be. She'd shown up at work the next morning expecting to tease him about going AWOL. Instead she was met by someone from the Dean's office telling her that Spock had been in a serious hoverbus crash.
For two days Spock lay in limbo in the hospital, too hurt to respond or heal until his cousin Chris showed Nyota how to reach him through a light meld.
Even now she gives an involuntary shiver at the memory. What she thought she knew about the Commander fell away like some silly sandcastle overwhelmed by the sea. How did she not know that his mother was human, that he had spent summers in Seattle with his cousins?
Why hadn't she recognized the significance of the light tingle that leapt from his skin to hers when they accidentally touched? Or her conviction during those moments that the lines between them blurred, that for an instant she saw the world through his eyes and entertained him in her mind?
She leans against the headboard and mulls over the bigger reason that she wakes with her heart pounding—memories of the night they were caught in a sudden downpour near his apartment, Spock circling her wrist and leading her inside—and into his bed, or she had led him.
"We could be censured," he said, but she had pressed closer as the syllables leaped from her. "I want this."
And that was that.
Becoming lovers changed everything.
Becoming lovers means being paradoxically more honest and less so—acknowledging to each other the feelings they had for so long denied, even as in public they are more circumspect, the quintessential professor and his aide, never touching, hardly speaking when anyone is in earshot.
Yet in some ways, nothing is different. Underneath the pretense they have not fundamentally changed, not really. The world, instead, has shifted around them, a metaphorical dizziness that is as real as it is dangerous. If they are caught, their relationship could end their careers in Starfleet.
"Technically," Spock told her when he spelled out the regulations on fraternization, "we are not violating the rules, as you do not stand to benefit in any way."
A serious moment, but she had deliberately lightened the mood by slyly grinning and sidling up for a kiss.
"I disagree with that assessment," she said. "I do benefit—greatly."
It was the kind of verbal playfulness that made her laugh, unlike the baffling miscommunication that caught her off guard and made her question her ability to understand him at times. Like what had happened earlier this week, when she'd shown up at Spock's apartment late one night and he'd opened the door in his heavy meditation robes, his eyes hooded, and she knew in an instant that he wasn't expecting her.
"Oh!" she said, embarrassed. "When I said I'd see you later—"
"You were indicating that you planned to come by. Now I understand."
He'd stepped away from the door and she'd followed him inside. Turning, he said, "You are welcome to stay if you like. I will be meditating."
He disappeared down the hall and she stood, surprised—and if she is honest, a little hurt. She made a cup of tea and sat on the sofa to drink it. When Spock still hadn't reappeared by the time she finished, she washed up her mug and left.
As her heart rate finally slows, Nyota scoots back down and rolls over in the bed, closing her eyes and willing herself not to worry, to fall back to sleep. The sudden noise of the shower startles her, and with a jerk, she looks across the room. If Gaila is in the bed—
Getting up, Nyota hurries to the bathroom and pushes open the door. Gaila stands beside the shower, undressed, a towel around her red curls.
"You're up early!" her roommate says, laughing.
Nyota's mouth drops. "Who's that in your bed—"
"Is Luke still here? That lazy git!"
Nyota flushes and rests her hands on her hips. "I thought we talked about this."
"Stop asking me to be human," Gaila says. "You're so…anthropomorphic."
Despite herself, Nyota giggles. "I taught you that word," she says at last.
"Good job, Teach," Gaila says, stepping into the shower. "You should be proud."
"No, seriously, Gaila, we need to talk about this—about boundaries. Bringing guys into our room makes me very uncomfortable."
"Anthropomorphic!" Gaila trills as the water sluices over her.
From long experience Nyota knows there's no point in arguing with Gaila when she's in this mood. Instead, she heads back to the bedroom, ready to give Gaila's current paramour the proverbial boot—but he's already gone, Gaila's bed its usual untidy mess of covers.
Forget trying to sleep. With a sigh, she unwraps her hair and changes into her uniform. By the time Gaila emerges from the bathroom Nyota has tidied up and is heading out for breakfast.
Despite the early hour the cafeteria is already busy. As Nyota grabs a carton of yogurt and slides into a chair, she glances up at the large vid screen on the wall. The local news is on, a familiar newscaster framed by one of San Francisco's icons, the Golden Gate Bridge.
And not just any shot of the bridge, but the view from the west gate of the Academy. As Nyota watches, the camera pulls back and she can see the west gate guard house, a line of people carrying signs walking past.
The people with signs are protestors, members of Earth United, a xenophobic group whose ideology is frankly racist and reactive and misinformed, demonizing people from other worlds and calling for their deportation from Earth. Recently they've set up camp outside the west gate of the Academy, presumably because Starfleet actively recruits non-Terrans as cadets. Whenever Nyota sees Earth United's leaders on the news feeds, she's angry that they have such a public platform to air their perceived, faulty grievances. By contrast, the opposition's voice is almost silent.
The camera turns in a different direction and Nyota drops her spoon in surprise: Spock, the news anchor shoving a microphone towards him. The footage isn't live—from the angle of the sun it was shot in the afternoon, probably yesterday, though Nyota can't figure out why Spock would have been at the west gate. His apartment is on the other side of the campus near the east gate.
"Commander," the anchor says, "can we speak to you?"
The look he gives the news anchor is the same one Nyota's seen him give a tardy cadet or one wasting the class's time with a thoughtless comment. The anchor, however, is undaunted, and she matches Spock's stride, the camera bobbing along.
"Commander? A word?"
Spock stops abruptly but a sudden uptick in the noise level in the cafeteria keeps Nyota from hearing the question or Spock's reply. In a rush, she makes her way outside and flicks on her PADD, searching for the link to the newscast.
It isn't hard to find. As she walks and looks down at her PADD, she slows and stops, like a rock in stream, cadets detouring around her.
"Commander? A word?"
And there Spock is, his words recorded, permanent, as shocking as if spoken by someone she doesn't know at all.
Which, she thinks, is truer than she realized.
X X
"I saw you on the news."
Nyota's tone of voice doesn't match her words and Spock looks up from the stack of flimplasts he's grading at his desk. She stands in the doorway of his office, one hand on her hip.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" Her words ricochet around the room.
"Regarding?"
"What you told the reporter? About the protestors?"
"I do not understand your question."
"Spock, on the news you made it sound like that group, Earth United, was reasonable instead of the evil people they are."
Anger, certainly, but Nyota's tone of voice also implies confusion.
"I said I understood their xenophobia, and I do," Spock says.
"Well, I don't! And I don't see how you can!"
What to tell her? That Vulcans can be as xenophobic as humans? The negative consequence of an eidetic memory—he recalls without wanting to a succession of bullies, Stonn prominent among them. "He has human eyes." It was not a simple observation when Stonn said it. And this: "Your mother is a human whore."
"Go home," the Earth United protestors shouted when Spock went out of his way every day to walk past them at the gate. "Earth is for humans!"
Compared to the insults he'd heard for years these are bland words indeed. He hardly hears them, so focused is he on making sure he draws the attention of the protestors, forcing them to acknowledge his presence. Since the protestors began their daily vigil at the west gate 18 days ago, Spock has started detouring that way home even though doing so adds 43 minutes to his commute.
"The other children will learn to accept you in time," he recalls one of his teachers telling him after overhearing a group of older boys taunting him.
But it wasn't true. Only later, after Sybok left to join the outcast V'tosh ka'tur, did Spock understand the depth of Vulcan prejudice.
He pushes aside the flimplasts and motions to Nyota to sit in the chair beside his desk. With an audible sigh, she does. Because her brows are still knit and her mouth is turned down, he waits for her to speak first, a lesson learned from growing up with a human mother.
"It's just—" she says, stammering to a stop. "It's just, when the interviewer asked you if you supported more non-Terrans coming to Starfleet, you said you were not able to speak for the Academy. I thought you did want Starfleet to recruit more off-worlders. I've heard you say that the more diverse a student population, the greater the potential for learning. So which is it? You do or you don't think Starfleet should recruit non-Terrans?"
"My answer to the interviewer was accurate. I cannot speak for anyone other than myself. That I personally advocate for a more inclusive student body is immaterial to what Starfleet does or does not do."
"But you made it sound like you didn't care! Like you tacitly support the protestors!"
"Understanding their position is not the same as condoning it."
"They advocate race hatred! There's nothing to understand!"
"Perhaps we have different definitions for understand." At once he knows this is the wrong thing to say. Nyota makes a huffing noise and crosses her arms.
"That's not all," she says, glaring. "When the interviewer asked you about the loyalty oath, you didn't say anything!"
"Untrue," Spock says. "I said I signed it."
The loyalty oath is, in fact, a source of genuine irritation, despite Spock's attempt to meditate away the emotion. It is simple enough—two sentences pledging allegiance to Starfleet above and beyond any fealty owed to an off-world entity. In and of itself it is hardly offensive. That only non-Terrans are required to sign it is what makes it objectionable.
Nyota uncrosses and recrosses her arms. "I know that! I know you had to, but it's wrong. Here you had an opportunity to say something about the injustice and you didn't."
"I signed it, Nyota. My personal disapproval does not matter."
"But it does. The oath is unfair. The human faculty and staff don't have to sign one. Starfleet is letting Earth United dictate policy for them."
"If you mean that Starfleet is cognizant of the protestors and is responding to public pressure, then I concur."
"I mean that Starfleet should be above such pressure! And speaking out against an injustice is the right thing to do!"
"To what effect? Stating my objections will change no one's mind."
"Stop saying that! Your opinions do matter."
"But they are my opinions only. Professor Artura, for instance, believes that the loyalty oath is a reasonable precaution. On Andoria such oaths are commonplace."
As he speaks, he sees that this information surprises her, that it takes the wind out of her sails, as his mother would say.
"Oh!" she says, blinking. Then she purses her lips and takes a breath. "But this isn't Andoria. This is Earth, and humans should be above such race hatred."
"You are confusing an ideal with the actual," Spock says. He doesn't freight his comment with any emotion—it is an obvious truth—but Nyota bristles.
"I'm saying that true understanding leads to compassion, and compassion leads to peace. Without it, we get these groups like Earth United."
"An anthropomorphic idea," Spock says as gently as he can. "That may be true for humanity but not for others. You cannot presume to know what is best or true for people unlike you."
Nyota flushes—a sign that he's embarrassed her—and he feels a pang in his side as pointed as if he himself is the one being chastised. Curious, indeed.
"I—I know that," she says slowly. "It's hard not to…think of my values as…universal. But…you're right—"
She looks down as if meeting his gaze is a punishment. Again Spock feels the odd pain in his side. An image pops into his mind—an imagined scene of him standing up, taking two steps towards Nyota, and pulling her upright into his arms. The scene is so intense that he can feel her cool embrace, the way her hair will brush over his fingers, her face lifted to his. His urge to comfort her is astonishing—and new—overlaid as it is with the steady undercurrent of arousal he feels when she's near.
Pushing back his chair, he gets to his feet.
"Commander?" Professor Artura's voice from the doorway, the Andorian leaning heavily on his walking stick. How peculiar that Spock had not heard his approach.
"Is something wrong?" Professor Artura says, his gaze shifting from Spock to Nyota and back again. "I thought I heard loud voices."
From the corner of his eye Spock sees Nyota straighten, her expression blanking.
"Good morning, Professor," she says. "We were just discussing the news. About the protestors?"
Professor Artura's antennae swivel forward and down, signaling his mood. Curiosity? Dismay? Some emotion, certainly, but Spock isn't sure which.
"Interesting business, that," the professor says. "Reminds me of clan wars at home."
He nods and looks away, as if consulting some internal barometer. Then he says, "Well, if everything is alright—"
He turns and shuffles down the hall, the noise of his footfalls punctuated by the tap of his cane.
As Spock watches, Nyota rises and walks to the door, shutting it softly. Then she steps back toward him and he feels himself moving to meet her.
"I'm sorry," she says, her eyes large and luminous. "I know you don't speak for all off-worlders, or even all Vulcans. I didn't mean to turn you into some representative—"
Her pain seems to radiate like a heat wave, and before he can stop himself, Spock lifts his hand and brushes his fingertip along the side of her face. As he does he lets her see his earlier memory—Stonn yelling an insult in the practice yard, the other children forming a circle around them.
It's a memory he's visited more than once—each detail in sharp relief. Stonn's shoulders squared, his fists at his side flexing and unflexing, the expression on his face an indictment of the hatred he would have denied feeling.
"You do not belong here," Stonn says. "You do not belong anywhere."
That familiar rush of anger—the twitch in Spock's hand as he refrains from striking out—but this time the memory is different. Or not different, but enhanced. Two boys standing behind Stonn look frankly aghast. A girl from the intermediate class turns, calling to a distant teacher. Why hadn't he noticed that before? Looking around, he is astonished that most of the children seem—if not exactly sympathetic—then concerned.
He lets his hand drop from Nyota's face and the memory fades. He blinks and watches a tear spill down her cheek.
"I didn't understand your words to the interviewer," she says. "But I didn't know."
"Nor I," he says, aware that she will not fully understand his words now, nor what his words cannot say—that her vision has widened his own.
A/N: So many apologies for having to skip ahead through so much exposition in this chapter…the hoverbus crash, Chris' visit, the moment they became intimate—but I've already told those stories and didn't want to repeat myself. As much as I love the misunderstandings rife in UST, intimacy breeds as much—or more—delicious conflict. Onward!
Thanks for reading and reviewing! I truly appreciate the support! Hopefully updates will be more timely now that summer is here!