Chapter 14: Greeting Cards
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Nyota pushes open the door of the antique shop and nearly stumbles in surprise. Jim Kirk, ten feet away with a hefty book in his hand. At the tinkle of the bell over the door, he looks up and they make eye contact.
"Hey," he says, so muted and unlike him that Nyota almost stumbles again. Where is the Hey, Sally or Just who I was looking for he normally shouts in her direction?
Shutting the door behind her, she makes her way toward him. "What are you doing here?"
"Nothing," he says, putting the book back onto a table. "Killing time. What about you?"
"Looking for a gift for someone. I didn't know you liked antiques."
For a moment she sees a flicker of amusement in his expression, but it disappears as quickly as it came. "Yep," he says. "I've always liked holding them, you know? That tangible connection to the past. It makes me feel grounded, or something. Less ephemeral. That's a word, right? Ephemeral?"
He looks up and flashes a half-hearted grin. Nyota laughs.
"Listen to you," she says. "Not as dumb as you look."
"Yeah, well, maybe I am." His tone skitters so close to self-pity that Nyota bumps her shoulder into his own. "It's not that bad," she says. "You're taking this way too hard."
He's been this way—quiet and maudlin—since failing the Kobayashi Maru test a second time. Not that Nyota has seen him much, but Gaila tells her more than she wants to know about how mopey and boring Jim is these days, especially in bed.
"Maybe," he says, picking up an engraved shot glass and holding it up to the light. "Captain Pike told me to wait a few months and then request a retake. Said he'd sign off on it if I keep my grades up and my head down, whatever that means."
He cuts his eyes at her and this time his grin is genuine. Nyota recalls all too well the brouhaha when some xenophobic protestors from Earth United harassed Gaila one night when she and Jim were leaving the campus—and Jim's response landed him in the brig.
"Then I'm off the hook," Nyota teases. "You can't stay out of trouble—so no more Kobayashi Maru tests for you."
Kirk sets the shot glass down and picks up a folded paper fan. Gingerly he opens it, revealing a painted rose.
"Oh ye of little faith," he says, testing the fan. "I know you think I'm crazy to take it again. That it isn't a wise move. But sometimes you have to do things that aren't wise or you aren't really living. You have to take chances or you're dead, even if you're still walking around."
He pauses and looks her in the eye a moment before continuing. "That's why you need to put February 11th on your calendar. That's the earliest day the retake can be scheduled."
"Seriously?"
"Dead serious. February 11th. I'll need you then at communications. What do you think of this? Would Gaila like it?"
"You're buying her a present?"
"You gave me the idea. You said you came in here to buy someone a gift. Who's the lucky guy?"
Kirk pivots toward her and lifts his eyebrows. Nyota flushes and looks away.
"My mother. It's her birthday." The lie is swift and effortless—and necessary. She came to the shop hoping to find something for Spock, ostensibly for the holidays but really as something of a peace offering.
Or not a peace offering exactly, because they haven't argued, but as a conversation starter, an invitation to talk, something they haven't done much recently. Not since the notice from the Judge Advocate General's office showed up in Spock's mail queue last week, informing him that an inquiry into misconduct was being considered.
It all started when he applied for the position of first officer on the Enterprise. The in-depth vetting process apparently uncovered some hint of impropriety, some whiff of fraternization, which has made Spock skittish around her, hesitant to speak about anything other than work, reluctant to be seen with her outside of the office.
By the strictest definitions, they've done nothing wrong, nothing close to fraternization. Their sexual intimacy didn't start until she was no longer Spock's student—so her grades can't be called into question, though coercion and consensus are still issues that might be raised in an inquest. It won't be pleasant—and it will be awkward and uncomfortable—but Nyota is certain that if Spock is called in for a disciplinary hearing, he'll be exonerated.
Still—if it can be avoided…
In the meantime, she misses him. Even when they are working in the same room he's absent, his eyes rarely meeting hers, his body angled away from her.
Reaching over his head to a dusty shelf, Kirk pulls down a small box and brushes it off.
"What about this?" he says, lifting off the top of the box. Nyota leans forward and looks in. It's a collection of old-fashioned greeting cards, printed with illustrations on the cover and canned comments inside. Rifling through the cards, she sees that they are an assortment of birthday greetings and wishes for speedy recoveries. At the bottom of the pile are colored envelopes—necessities back when people sent paper mail to each other.
"How quaint," she says, taking the box from Kirk's hand and turning it over to look at the price. Something about the idea of sending formal communications this way is appealing—even fascinating—and she can imagine Spock appreciating the box of cards, if not for the sentiments portrayed, then as a human artifact. Despite costing more credits than she had intended to pay, Nyota heads to the front of the store.
"Hey, wait!" Kirk calls out. "You can't leave. I haven't picked out anything yet."
"I thought you were just killing time," Nyota calls over her shoulder as she hands the box of cards to the cashier.
"I have a new mission objective," Kirk says. Indeed, his voice sounds almost cheerful and he seems more animated. "I haven't been very good to Gaila lately. A nice present might be what I need to get some—"
"More than I want to know!" Nyota mimes putting her hands over her ears.
The cashier slides the box of cards in a small bag and hands it to her.
"Help me pick out something nice!" Kirk calls out as Nyota tugs open the door.
"You don't need me for this," she says. "This isn't a no-win scenario."
The antique shop is only a few blocks from the west gate of the Academy, but Nyota detours to a favorite cafe first, ordering tea and sitting at a table near a window so she can examine her purchase in more detail. To her disappointment, there are only four cards in all, though no two are alike.
In addition to a birthday and a get-well card, one has a photograph of what appears to be a dusty, deserted highway. Opening it, Nyota reads the caption: Across the miles.
An odd sentiment, even from the past when travel was less frequent and more difficult.
Rubbing her hand over the surface, she marvels at the texture—smooth but not unnaturally so, and with a pleasing heft when she lays it out in her palm—just the kind of analysis she can imagine Spock making, though he would note the exact size and composition of the card stock.
Placing the card on the table, she takes out the last one from the box. It is bright yellow with painted sunflowers on the cover. Congratulations! You did it! is printed on the inside.
Something about the motion of opening the hinged card—the picture on the cover and the private commentary inside—is inordinately satisfying. How unlike bare text this is, how much richer in every way.
Nyota reaches for her tea and her fingers drift over the card on the table, the mystifying one with the deserted road on the front.
Across the miles.
Why would someone send a card stating the obvious about living far apart? She holds the picture up in the light and looks for clues to the meaning. The road rolls gently over an almost barren landscape of sand and scrub. On the horizon is a setting—or rising—sun, an ambiguous symbol of beginnings or endings.
Across the miles.
We are too far apart to visit. Is the card a description?
Across the miles.
Come across the miles and visit me? Is the card an invitation?
Or is it both and more? A lonely commentary about being apart—a rueful plea for things to change?
Suddenly, Nyota reaches into her pocket and pulls out her compact stylus, the one with a mechanical pencil on one end. How did people used to personalize these cards? The words are already there. Should she add more? Wouldn't that be more confusing—maybe even contradicting what the card is trying to communicate? With a sigh, she signs her name and slips the folded card into an envelope.
Spock is still at his desk in his office exactly as he was when she left an hour earlier for her lunch break. Glancing up, he acknowledges her with a curt nod and then turns his attention back to his computer screen. In three steps Nyota is beside his desk, the card in her hand. Wavering just a moment, she sets it down and turns around, heading to the language lab at the end of the hall.
Two students are already waiting as she unlocks the door, and for the next quarter hour she is busy getting their programs calibrated. When she sits at last at her work station, she sees a flashing indicator light on her mail queue.
Spock—responding to her card.
Please explain.
That's it. She's instantly disappointed. If the purpose of the card was to provoke a conversation, she's failed. Even if Spock finds the card baffling, he could at least say more than this. She types a reply.
Metaphorical, not literal, miles.
There. Let him mull that over. She can't be much clearer about how unhappy she is with the distance between them. If past experience is a predictor, Spock will answer right away. Nyota rests her chin on her hand and waits.
Nothing. Another student arrives at the lab and she gets up to get him settled. When she returns to her station, she expects to see the flashing light but her mail queue is empty.
Taking the box of cards from the bag and opening it, she pulls out the one on top, a get-well card. The cover is a cartoon drawing of several ancient medical instruments whose names Nyota doesn't know but with obvious purposes—a stick with numbers for marking body temperature, a stiff-looking bandage for immobilizing broken bones, a sleeve with a tube and a shiny gauge to measure diastolic pressure. Get Well Soon! is embossed inside.
After signing the card and slipping it into an envelope, she tells the students that she is taking a short break.
Alerted by the sound of her footsteps in the hall, Spock watches as she comes into the office. Before he can say anything, she puts the card on his desk.
"For you, Commander. Read it carefully."
By the time she returns to the lab he's already sent her a note.
Please explain.
Leaning over the keyboard, she types.
Metaphorical illness, not literal.
When fifteen minutes pass without a reply, she pulls out the card with a photograph of a birthday cake on the cover.
Hope your day is a happy one! the inside of the card says.
At the next scheduled break she takes the card, signed and nestled in an envelope, to Spock's office.
This time he starts to rise as she enters the room.
"Cadet Uhura—"
"Commander," she says, cutting him off. "I know you have been busy and…concerned…about important matters lately, but keeping the lines of communication open is important, don't you think?"
From the corner of her eye she sees him tilting his head to the side, his mouth opening to answer, but she hurries away before he can.
She walks directly to her work station and opens her mail queue.
Thank you for your inquiry concerning my health. However, no day is happy when you are miles away.
That's a start. They have a great deal to talk about—not just the potential disciplinary hearing and what that entails, but the bigger picture, too—their career goals and whether or not a future together is feasible. Nyota's never wavered in her commitment to a posting on the Enterprise. Now her plans are complicated by her commitment to Spock.
At some level she understands why he's being distant. He's afraid that if they haven't been scrutinized before, they will be now—that not just his assignment to the Enterprise could be in jeopardy but his career with Starfleet.
And more than that—more than his concerns about his own future—he's distraught that she might suffer in some way, her reputation impugned, her career track derailed. Although he's never told her with words, she senses that he blames himself and his lack of emotional control for their involvement.
She pulls out the last card, the one with sunflowers, and sets it aside until the lab hours are over.
For the past week Spock has made a point of leaving first, his office dark and locked when she closes the lab. Not today. As she heads to his open door, the card in her hand, she feels a lift in her step that has been missing lately.
"One more," she says, rounding the doorway. "Go ahead and open it."
He's sitting at his desk, flimplasts stacked neatly on the side, his briefcase packed with assignments to grade, his computer off.
He's been waiting for her.
Taking the card, he pulls open the envelope with such meticulous care that Nyota bounces on the balls of her feet impatiently.
"Am I too slow?" Spock asks, his tone signaling a playfulness she hasn't seen since the notice from JAG. "Literally or metaphorically?"
"Some things can never be too slow." She tries to sound sultry but ends up giggling. Spock lifts one eyebrow and pulls the card from the envelope. His eyes flick over the message inside.
"Need me to explain this one?" Nyota says, stepping closer to his desk.
"I have done nothing to deserve congratulations."
"I disagree," Nyota says, sliding into the chair nearest the desk. "You got my signal, loud and clear."
"Your signal?"
"My messages. The cards. You understood them."
"Hardly worth congratulations."
"As I said, I disagree," Nyota says, leaning forward. "Communication is hard work, and you haven't been practicing much of it lately."
She waits a beat and adds, "I've missed you. This—" She waves her hands around the office. "—isn't enough. I need to be able to tell you things, to ask you what you are thinking about without worrying that someone will overhear our conversation."
"We have to be careful, Nyota."
"I'm not saying we shouldn't be. But being careful is one thing. Being incommunicado is something else."
As if on cue, distant footfalls echo down the hall. Not Professor Artura—he walks slower, almost a shuffle. In all likelihood it's either his aide or another student. Nyota goes to the door and shuts it softly.
"Get your things," she says, waving her hand at the desk. "Let's go get something to eat."
"It might be unwise to go together."
"Sometimes you have to do things that aren't wise," Nyota blurts out, startling herself. "What's the point of living so carefully that you aren't really living?"
An image of Jim Kirk's earnest expression flashes in her mind. Not wise, exactly, but certainly brave, and in this instance, right.
Spock apparently agrees. He picks up his briefcase and then just as suddenly puts it back down on the desk before standing up.
"Is something wrong?" Nyota asks. Spock shakes his head and moves so close that she steps into his arms, something they almost never do where someone could walk in on them.
"I believe we will be occupied tonight," he says, "with something more important than grading assignments."
A/N: Thanks so much for reading, reviewing, and recommending this story! I appreciate you more than you can know.
Because I've written about this time period in our couple' lives in "People Will Say" and later in "Crossing the Equator" and "Deeper Into Darkness," I don't want to repeat myself...which means that I sometimes give quick exposition paragraphs to explain where we are in the timeline (for example, in this chapter, referring to the letter from JAG that puts Spock and Nyota on high alert about a possible disciplinary hearing in the future).
I apologize if that feels rushed or confusing to readers who may not have read my other tales. That's certainly not my intention...but I also don't want to bore anyone whose been with me through the whole journey! Please let me know if this is a problem.