Chapter Ten: Dinner Date
Disclaimer: All for fun and fun for all…no money made here.
"May I help you?" The tuxedoed waiter steps toward Nyota, his head turned slightly to the side, his reservation PADD in his hand.
"I'm meeting someone for dinner," she says, looking past the waiter's shoulder to the darkened room behind him. This early—1800—only a few diners are seated. One rises and waves.
"There he is," Nyota says, and the waiter nods briskly and swivels around, leading the way.
The man waiting for her at the table is Chris Thomasson, one of Spock's human cousins. Nyota met him several months ago when Spock was seriously injured in a hover bus accident and Chris came from Seattle where he practices psychotherapy. Although he looks nothing like his Vulcan cousin—Chris is stockier and shorter, with dirty blonde hair that falls into his eyes—Nyota occasionally catches a glimpse of a similarity between the two men—the way they hold themselves, for instance, their shoulders back, their arms flexed at their sides. The way both men grow still and narrow their gaze when she is speaking—as if nothing else is worth attending to.
When she met Chris, Nyota felt an almost instant connection. More than that, really. An instant familiarity bordering on affection. Of course, at the time she was stressed by Spock's injuries, uncertain why he wasn't regaining consciousness. Chris had been the key to his recovery, showing her how to participate in a light mind touch, something that had entertained the cousins when they were youngsters. Although Chris confessed that he had trouble picking up telepathic messages from Spock, Nyota discovered that she could. With her fingers pressed into his palm, she could hear Spock's words leap into her mind.
That was before they'd become lovers—even before they'd become friends—but the tingle of communication convinced her that what went unspoken between them was as powerful as any words.
Now she wonders if that's true.
Chris makes a sudden dip forward and kisses her cheek, his hand on the small of her back pulling her close. The intimacy catches her off guard—not that it is sexual or intrusive, but as she always does around Chris, Nyota senses that he is on the verge of asking her something and then deciding against it. She feels the same double step now—the rush toward her followed immediately by a hasty retreat. She'll have to think later about that—consider what, if anything, it means.
"It's good to see you," he says, grinning. With one hand he pulls the chair out for her before the waiter can. Usurped from his duties, the waiter stands to the side while Chris bustles around, scooting her chair to the table and handing her the napkin from her place setting.
"Madam," the waiter says, offering her the lighted menu, a hint of long-suffering patience in his voice. "Sir."
"I'm glad to see you, too," Nyota says, returning Chris' smile. It's true. She is glad to see him. Chris is easy to be with—good-natured and funny. When he first contacted her with a suggestion that she and Spock join him for a meal while he was in San Francisco for a conference, she agreed right away, sure that Spock would be glad to see his cousin.
"I looked at your calendar," she told Spock when he returned to his office after giving a cybernetics lecture to his computer science class, "and you have nothing scheduled this Friday night."
"I do have things to do that evening," Spock said, sorting through a stack of flimplasts as he settled in the chair at his desk. Nyota crossed her arms and waited for him to explain. He glanced up and said, "You, of course, are free to meet with him. Please make my apologies."
"You mean—you aren't going? For dinner?"
"As I indicated, I am occupied on Friday."
"Spock, Chris is only in town for one night. You haven't seen him since the accident. He was here for days at your bedside. I would think you would want to see him."
She knew her words were fueled more by her own disappointment than anything else. She and Spock had so few opportunities to socialize together in public—the threat of the appearance of impropriety always hanging over their heads—that an evening out for a real meal with real company was a welcomed treat.
Spock's expression was unreadable. For a moment she thought he was going to change his mind, but then he said, "My wishes in the matter are immaterial."
"Don't be ridiculous," Nyota said. "I'll tell him it isn't going to work—"
"You have already accepted his invitation. Go. Enjoy the evening."
And that was that. He turned—physically shifted in his chair—so that his back was angled toward her, as is he wanted to punctuate the fact that the discussion was over. She felt her face flush.
If this had been an isolated incident, she would have made her excuses to Chris. But for the past few days she'd had the growing conviction that Spock was starting to avoid her—not in such an obvious way that she could call him on it, but slowly, slightly—citing work as a reason to pass over opportunities to share a lunch, for instance. Ignoring her playful suggestion that they hire a flitter and get away for a weekend. Something was up, though she'd had no private time to talk to him about it. When she was in the lab, students were always around. When she was in his office sorting his mail, he made a point of being too occupied for conversation.
Was he regretting their getting involved? Her heart hammered at the thought.
Chris sets his menu on the table and folds his hands.
"Should we wait to order until Spock gets here?" he asks. Nyota blinks in surprise.
"Didn't he get in touch with you?"
"No," Chris says slowly. "Should he have?"
"I'm sorry! I thought he told you. He couldn't make it tonight. He has…something…to do."
Chris is clearly as nonplussed as she is. For a moment he looks surprised; then he shrugs and smiles.
"Well," he says, "I'm glad you didn't stand me up, at least!"
"I wouldn't do that," Nyota says. "And I don't think Spock is really standing you up. He's just busy."
"You don't sound convinced."
Nyota is so startled at being this transparent that her menu slips from her fingers. "I—I guess I'm not. I shouldn't say anything, but—"
"But you don't have anyone else to talk to? I'm a therapist. I recognize denial when I see it. And someone who needs to talk."
Nyota gives a sigh. "I don't want to say anything about your cousin—"
"If you think you're being disloyal somehow, well, I already know he can be…a challenge."
"Not him," Nyota says, making a sudden decision to be honest with Chris. "Us. Him and me. That's what's hard. Figuring out how to be…together."
Chris is looking at her so intensely that she has to glance away. She really doesn't have anyone else to confide it—not her mother, who ordinarily is someone Nyota goes to easily, quickly, for advice. Not Gaila—who probably suspects she and Spock are involved but is hoping she's wrong for everyone's sake.
Even with Spock she has trouble putting words to the steady thrum of anxiety she feels—not only the worry of being accused of fraternization but the deeper, harder question to answer: what do they mean to each other?
She's never been in a relationship where the future is as murky and unsettled. Or rather, she's never cared that much about the future of a relationship. Not that she wasn't upset about break ups or separations, but her focus has been so laser like on her career that she's given short shrift to such thoughts.
Suddenly she thinks about it all the time.
At some level her anxiety is about that—her worry that Spock is not committed to a future with her and his pulling back—if that is what he is doing—is his way of letting her know.
She's not even sure she's committed to a future together. Especially if they stay in the service, they are almost certain to be posted apart. Although Spock has said that his teaching assignment at the Academy is acceptable, she senses that at some level he's bored—or at least would welcome a change.
As for herself, she's been tracking the progress of the flagship's construction since it was first announced. To serve on the Enterprise! That goal is like an unwavering star—or it was, until she finally admitted that what she feels for Spock is more than a crush or infatuation—is, in fact, the kind of emotion she had hardly believed in until now.
"I don't mean to intrude," Chris says, waving away the approaching waiter, "but if you want to talk—"
"That's just it," Nyota says, swallowing. "I really don't know what to say. There are so many reasons this is problematic."
"Such as?"
"Such as Starfleet regulations governing fraternization. Spock's a professor—a Commander—and I'm a cadet who used to be his student. That's tricky stuff. Technically we aren't doing anything wrong. I'm not being coerced into a relationship. He's not giving me a special advantage other students don't have."
She swallows again and looks up. "Well, you know what I mean."
"That's why you are keeping things under the radar, so to speak. Keeping a low profile."
"It's exhausting," Nyota says. "Having to pretend we are nothing more than a teacher and his aide. I'm always afraid I will slip up and say something too familiar, or someone will see me coming out of his apartment one morning—"
She darts Chris a glance and sees him blushing.
"I shouldn't be telling you all this."
"No," he says quickly. "It's okay."
The waiter drifts up again and for a few minutes they are busy placing their order. When he drifts away, order PADD in hand, Chris says, "I'm actually kind of relieved that your concern is about something as ordinary as Starfleet regulations."
Nyota frowns and Chris goes on. "I was afraid you were going to tell me that Spock's being a Vulcan was the issue. That you couldn't navigate what that means for the two of you."
At Chris' hopeful tone, Nyota's heart sinks.
"I wish I could say it isn't a problem. But there is a gap there. I'd be stupid to say I don't feel it sometimes."
"That's not what I mean," Chris says, tapping his hand on the table for emphasis. "Of course you are aware that Vulcans and humans are different. Of course that can be a problem. I certainly watched Spock's parents struggle with it. I love them both, but they are strong personalities and they get crossways with each other sometimes." He grins, obviously remembering something. "Though they have very different ways of expressing themselves."
"Tell me about them," Nyota says, leaning forward.
"Oh, Aunt Amanda is the best aunt a kid could ever have! She was always sneaking contraband to me—candy, hologames—things my mother wouldn't let us have. And she rescued me more than once from a scolding. One time my mother told me to do something—a chore or an errand—and I got busy with Spock in the backyard instead. Probably catching beetles—we had several summers where we had a massive collection—and Aunt Amanda made up some elaborate fiction about how we were working for a naturalist doing important research."
Nyota laughs at the image of Chris and Spock as boys.
"And Sarek," Chris says, shaking his head. "He always listened to me—asked me what I was doing and seemed to be genuinely interested. When I decided not to specialize in surgery, he was the only one who supported me. My own dad was so disappointed—he'd wanted me to follow him in the profession, I think."
"Spock doesn't talk about him much," Nyota offers. Chris nods.
"I'm not surprised. Sarek was hard on him. Maybe it's a father-son thing—the way fathers have so many unrealistic expectations for their sons—the way sons resent the hell out that. I know they care about each other, but Sarek didn't hide his disapproval when Spock joined Starfleet."
"But Starfleet is an important part of the Federation! How can an ambassador disapprove of anyone joining it?"
"Not anyone," Chris says. "His son. Spock was supposed to go to the Vulcan Science Academy and stay close by. I remember the kerfuffle when he left for the Academy. They didn't speak at all for years."
Suddenly the waiter is at Nyota's elbow, leaning forward and arranging a pretty plate of colorful pasta in front of her before disappearing again.
"If two rational Vulcans can't communicate, what hope do I have?" She says it with a half-smile, as if making a joke, but she knows that Chris isn't fooled. He sets his fork down and sighs.
"Look," he says, "I know it's none of my business, but for what it's worth, I've never been in a relationship where communication wasn't hard. I know Vulcans are another story—that they can be reserved and private to a fault—but you can't doubt that you are important to Spock. I saw that the first time I met you—even when he was flat on his back in the hospital. You were the only one who could reach him, remember? And later, once he was out of the hospital, I could tell. This—" Chris waves his hand to include her—"means something to him."
Nyota spears a noodle and says, "I wish I knew that for certain. He doesn't seem to want my company these days. Lately he seems…far away."
The expression on Chris' face makes her pause. For a moment he looks disappointed, but then his eyes brighten and he grins.
"Hardly," he says, pointing behind Nyota. She turns and sees Spock following the waiter to their table.
"I completed my work and decided to join you," he says, settling into the chair beside Nyota.
"How'd you find us? I didn't tell you where we were meeting. Did Chris get in touch with you?"
"He did not," Spock says, shifting his gaze from her to his cousin.
Chris throws his hands up like someone in surrender. "Hey, I thought you were coming together. I didn't know I needed to send you a note, too."
"No matter," Spock says. "I deduced you would be here."
Before Nyota can chime in, Chris says, "Hundreds of restaurants along the waterfront and you knew we'd be here. Explain, Sherlock."
"67% of the available restaurants specialize in seafood, something you do not eat."
Chris meets Nyota's inquiring gaze and says, "I'm allergic. Always have been."
Spock goes on. "That narrows the field considerably—to fewer than one hundred options."
"Considerably," Chris says, smirking.
"Of those, 53% are highly spiced ethnic cuisines which I know from past experience you enjoy. Humans, however, have definite preferences, and since you invited both me and Cadet Uhura for a meal, your choice of one of those would be risky since you have not, as far as I know, discussed her food preferences."
"I like most food!" Nyota protests, laughing.
"The odds are that Chris did not have that data when making his selection. Hence I eliminated those options in narrowing down my search."
"Go on," Chris says, and Spock tilts his head slightly as if examining some internal file. "The remaining choices were all vegetarian restaurants, which given your sensibilities concerning Vulcan customs, made them likely destinations. They are, however, of unequal quality. Although I have seen you consume what I could consider ordinary or even sub-par fare on occasion, you would not invite us to share a meal of such low quality, particularly since the rarity of the occasion makes it, as it were, special. That left fewer than five truly well-regarded venues near the waterfront."
"How did you know I'd choose the waterfront?" Chris says. Without missing a beat, Spock says, "Visitors to the city seem to find the view of the bay particularly amenable. There are fine vegetarian restaurants elsewhere in San Francisco, but the ones by the waterfront are patronized more frequently."
"So you narrowed it down to five," Chris says as the waiter hands Spock a menu. "That still doesn't explain how you found us here."
"This," Spock says, "is the fourth one on my list that I have visited this evening. Without more data, I was unable to narrow the search further."
Throughout the exchange Nyota has hardly breathed, so fearful she was of bursting into laughter. Now she gives a loud guffaw; Spock turns to her and gives her an appraising stare.
She's about to open her mouth to say something when she feels the warmth of his fingers seeking her hand under the table. The telltale prickle of electricity snaps across her palm and she has a disorienting moment where her vision swirls and she sees the world through the haze of Spock's thoughts and memories and emotions.
Like watching a kaleidoscope, she sees a collage of images—a tiny bruise on her wrist after an enthusiastic evening of love making, Spock's horror speeding his heart and stopping his hand from reaching for her again the rest of the week. A summons in his mail queue to serve on a disciplinary hearing for a colleague—the charge unethical fraternization with a student. The disappointment when he refused her offer to stay over at his apartment; the alarm he felt when the owner of the deli near the west gate of the Academy gave a double take when they ate lunch there two days in a row.
The weight of deceiving her with stories of being busy—and over everything, the gnawing loneliness and need for her that takes her breath away. Not indifference, as she had imagined, or regret—but an aching, longing concern for her well-being that is causing him such misery he has no words to describe it.
Her vision blurs as her eyes fill up with tears.
"More data is just what you need," Chris says, lifting his glass like someone offering a toast. "More data for better communication. Let's all drink to that."
A/N: Please forgive the tardy update. The summer has been a bumpy road so far. Hopefully this little offering is a pleasing read for you. Thanks for letting me know!