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AN: Hey readers. Thanks a bunch to those of you reviewing. I've gotten some really positive PM's from you all, and I appreciate it very much. This story is a practice for me in organic and rhythmic dialogue, so I haven't written a plot chart for it at all. That being said, Spock and Uhura could go anywhere from here, so if there is anything you'd like to see in the story, review, and let me know. Thank you for reading, and on with the show!
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Over the course of the next month, they were inseparable, and he had noticed a subtle difference in their mannerisms during this time.
They had not touched, either accidentally or purposefully, again, but sat slightly closer together on the small couch in his office than before they had. When she worked in his apartment, because she still sometimes did, she sat on the floor in front of the coffee table in his living room, rather than at a chair in front of the table in his dining room, as comfortable in this space as she was at any desk in any classroom. Nearly all of their meals were taken off campus, either in or out of uniform, and his anxiety over this seemed a distant memory. It had become a recurring event for them to venture out for dinner every Saturday evening, and with each new restaurant, their friendship grew to the point that they had nearly run out of questions to ask during her most requested game.
He knew that her grandmother made a recipe for a cake that she greatly enjoyed, but that no matter how many attempts she made at replicating it, it did not taste the same.
She knew how much he secretly loathed the bulky hat of his ceremonial dress uniform, as it was not designed to take into account the shape of his ear.
He knew that she was exceptionally partial to frozen yogurt, but only the mango flavoring.
She knew that he had accidently eaten a comparatively large amount of chocolate when he was a cadet himself, as it was white, and that he had become so dizzy, he had had to skip his last two classes.
She preferred most things to be sweet and light, and she like paper books, and ornate teacups, and the feeling of sand under her feet, and this list of things he knew of her went on so that he could no longer compartmentalize them adequately. Instead, they filled his thoughts at all times.
This particular Saturday was no different, part of his mind conjuring the image of her with her family dog, the other posting his students' final exam scores, while he waited for her to arrive at his door. He waited, and waited, and had completed both his Advanced Phonology and his Interstellar Navigation courses before he grew concerned. She had yet to arrive, and it was unlike her to be late, even when promptness did not technically matter. Her assertion to walk to his quarters alone had coerced him every week to resort to simple distraction when he knew that she would be on her way, as he had a distrustful tendency toward making rather dark assumptions in regards to the more wayward male cadets on campus. If it were to occur, she would most certainly not be the first assault to take place within the grounds, and he was unsure that he would be able to keep a neutral bearing were he to hear of it.
35 minutes past her scheduled arrival time, he pulled out his comm unit, and listened for her, as the dial tone turned to her voicemail. He knew that she had a terrible habit of ignoring a primary call if a secondary did not immediately follow it, so he tried again, but received the same result. He forced a breath into his lungs.
"Computer: locate Cadet Third Class Uhura, Nyota A."
"Location found. Student Building, Dorm Block C, Door Number 305."
He moved to stand by his wall terminal, his head tilting to the side in a near compulsory reaction when confronted with perplexity. She had not left her room at all. He buzzed her intercom, which, if the layout had not changed since he had lived there, should be by her bed, and within a few moments, she answered it on audio only.
"Yes?"
"Nyota? Are you unwell?"
"I'm okay."
Her voice was in a much higher pitch than was normal, her sinuses obviously obstructed, and his stomach dropped into his boots.
"You are crying. What has happened?"
"Nothing."
"There would be no need for such distress if nothing has occurred. Are you hurt?"
"No..."
"Open your screen."
"No."
"I am ending this transmission, and coming to get you."
"No! I look… I've been… It's nothing, Spock, I was just… talking to someone, and it made me upset, that's all."
"You were in an argument?"
"Something like that, I guess, I don't know."
"You do not know with certainty if you were in an argument?"
"I was—it… it wasn't really an argument, but kind of. You know how… my dissertation, or whatever, is coming up?"
"Yes."
"I was working on it, until your mom sent me an article I liked a lot, so I went—"
"My mother?"
"Yeah, she… emailed me the title, and I hadn't said anything to her about my paper, but it looked like it would help with it, so… I went to the library to find the journal it was in. I talk to her like once or twice a week, you didn't know that?"
"I—"
"Whatever, it doesn't matter, I went to the library to find it, was in the Foreign Language section, and you know what's right next to the Foreign Language section, right?"
"Federation Law."
"Mhm. In that section, were Loak and Thoria, discussing the best way to go about reporting us for the amount of time we've been spending together."
"Pardon?"
"You heard what I said, Spock. Because apparently it's so unfair, or some dumbass shit like that, that I have the most brilliant professor in StarFleet 'doing my homework for me.'"
"That is untrue."
"Yeah, I said that."
"You confronted them on the subject, then?"
"Yes! I mean, how often do I actually have to ask you for help like that?"
"Rarely, and even if you were to do this more often, it is not against regulation to ask a professor for assistance. My comparative proficiency is at the disposal of these cadets, also."
"Yeah, I said that, too. I don't know it just made me really upset, because they said they were going to file a fucking accusation report to send in to the Dean, and I really like hanging out with you, because it's not like we're doing anything wrong, but—but I don't want you to think you can't see me anymore now, or for someone to tell me that I can't be your TA at all! What if they—"
"Nyota, as I am in a tenured position, I am the only individual who is authorized to terminate your employment, and this information has not driven me to do so. Furthermore, I am well acquainted with the Dean of this academy, and am quite under the impression that she will not take seriously a report filed on the basis of a rumor."
"But—"
"I believe I can assume that this threat is due to the fact that your scores have been consistently higher than the ones of these cadets, and I have never altered any system to make them this way. In opposition, I have been told by three of your other professors during your time here that I marked you far more harshly than your peers—"
"—Asshole—"
"—because I genuinely believe you to be peerless. Nyota, truly, I am unconcerned. Do not trouble yourself with this to such a degree."
"But they said that… Should I go talk to them again?"
"No."
"Should I talk to the Dean about it?"
"I would not suggest it."
"But… Are you sure it's really not a big deal?"
"I would not say so if I were not."
"No, you… you wouldn't. You're right," she sniffed, and he heard her shift on her bed, her breath still shivering a bit, but her voice even enough to relax some of the tension he held in his shoulders. "Well... I'm not really dressed now, but we could still go to dinner sometime tonight, if you want."
"We do not have to."
"No, it's fine. Gaila is… out anyway. We could… just go on a walk together, instead. Go to that park, or something."
"I would not be opposed."
"Okay. Wanna just meet me there?"
"Yes. I will be there shortly."
"Alright. See you soon."
He closed the audio window, and let out a sincere, and authentic sigh. He felt as though he had been holding his breath throughout their entire conversation. He had never been so useless to her, and although he could hardly be considered completely emotionless, he hoped her own emotional state had improved by the time he reached her, as his knowledge of the sciences was not applicable to consoling a distraught, human female.
He searched for her when he entered the park, the walk having been almost completely deserted with a long break scheduled before them, many students having gone home to their parents. She was not sitting in what he now considered to be their bench, but he soon found her on a swing set within the large play area of the academy child care center, and he came to stand in front of her when she waved him over after their eyes had met. On a playground meant for a toddler, he could not help but to marvel at how young she looked with her makeup having been rubbed off, and visible to him were light freckles on her nose, and under her eyes that he had never seen before. She wore a pair of warm looking pajamas that had chocolate bars printed all over them, her hair wet and messy and long, and he was suddenly as nervous to speak to her as he had been on her first day in his class. There was not another woman in the universe who was so—
"Hey."
"Hello. Your… outfit is very interesting."
"Would not consider this an outfit, but thank you. Are you just going to stare at the swing, or are you going to sit on it?"
"It does not look as though it was built to withstand our combined weight."
"Have you ever been on one before?"
"Once. In fact, it was on my first visit to Earth."
"How old were you?"
"I was two years old."
"You remember that?"
"As a Vulcan, I can recall memories from as early as six weeks old."
"Six weeks? Sit down on the swing, please, you're looming, and what is there even to remember that young?"
The corner of his lips twitched at her demand, but cautiously he sat on the swing to her right, planting his feet firmly in the sand to keep from moving about on the illogical thing. Her own feet were there too, only much smaller, bare, and almost entirely hidden in the dirt, so he continued so as not to stare.
"Granted that these memories are not as clear as ones more recent, I remember mostly a light that was kept on a table in my room that projected Vulcan constellations on the ceiling above my bed."
"What did you think of it?"
"It is difficult to explain. I did not speak, or think in any language then, but I have been told that I was an oddly powerful telepath for one of that age, and would project my feelings onto anyone when it was on. I was rather captivated by it."
"I actually had something similar when I was like 7 or 8, and I really loved mine, too."
He would not go as far as to say he loved an inanimate object even then, but did not disparage her the sentiment, as they listened to the many insects and other creatures outside of the fence around them. He very much enjoyed these moments they spent with each other in the night air, their conversations comfortable and optional, rather than strained and socially necessary, which was how he generally found speech to be on this planet. A planet he may not be on for much longer.
"You are still planning to apply to the Enterprise upon your graduation, correct?"
"Of course. Why, has something changed in the launch schedule?"
"It continues to be in alignment with your graduating class. I am merely attempting to ascertain that the ship will have the most consummate staff."
"You say that as if I can help with that."
"I say that because I am not the only person who believes you can. My mother is among those impressed with your skill, and I say that because I was unaware you had been speaking with her."
"Yeah, I just… thought she would've told you already, so I didn't mention it. We both know you to be such a huge fan of redundancy."
"This is an example of sarcasm."
"Yes, it is. You're getting pretty good at that."
"I should say so. I am StarFleet's most brilliant professor."
"Oh, shut up," she giggled, and bumped her shoulder into his before she jumped from the swing. "Let's head back. I know it's early, but my head is starting to hurt now that I feel better."
"You have a headache because you feel better?"
"Yeah, when I've been crying, I… uh… It's a human thing. Come on."
On the walk back, he knew that he had never been to the African continent, but imagined her on it anyway, her hands pulling on the 'pigtails' she said she had had when she was that much younger, entranced with the artificial light of the celestial bodies pictured on her wall. He wondered if she knew then that she would be as close to them as she would soon be, and even given his certainty that luck was nothing more than a man made figmentation, with any of it, they would be there together. He hoped they would go anywhere, and everywhere together, the thought of her on a different ship almost too much to bear, as he watched her take one bare footed step up the staircase when they arrived too quickly at it.
"I'm sorry I didn't… at least message you earlier. That I wasn't going to make it over. I should have."
"It is of no consequence. It was not difficult to find you, but I would suggest answering your comm unit with more frequency when it rings, if you are to have one."
"Whatever you say, Professor, but no promises. But hey… does it… It doesn't bother you that I talk to your mom, right?"
"No. She is an extraordinary woman, and I believe the two of you to be much alike in that aspect. Why would this bother me?"
"Well, some people can see that as… as a… Nothing, don't worry about it. Will I see you tomorrow, or Monday, or…"
"Both, if you wish."
"Okay. I will answer my phone, then."
"That would be appreciated."
"Whatever. 'Night, Spock. Thanks for… coming to get me."
"You are most welcome." She smiled warmly at him for a moment, and turned to leave him there once more. He let her take two paces before his hand shot out to grab the cuff of her sleeve, an instinctual need to reassure her blooming in his chest with her cheeks still showing the evidence of the streaks left by her tears. "I… I feel that it would be prudent of me to inform you that there is almost nothing that will keep me from seeing you, and absolutely nothing that will disincline me toward wishing to. You said that this was something that was concerning you, and I thought that I had made my regard for you very clear, but I assure that I am no expert in this area. I am at my most comfortable when you are with me, and I would, indeed, prefer for you to simply call me if you are ever again so pained, rather than compelling me to search for you. I do not… I do not take pleasure in seeing you in such a state, but if you ever find yourself additionally in it, your ice cream is still in my—"
By reflex, his hands came out again to catch her, as he initially thought that she was falling off the step, her eyes dropping closed, but she wrapped her arms around his neck, and squeezed him with her head on his shoulder. His own remained suspended a while, more hesitant and unsure than he had ever been in any other way, before slumping limp and unavailing to his sides. She buried her face in his jacket with a sigh that made him light headed on the sidewalk, his eyelids fluttering, when one of his hands moved to rest on her back, but no matter how long he kept it there it was not enough, and his brows tightened, as he lifted her fully off the concrete. Something in his stomach, in his heart at his side, was intensifying with her fingers in his hair and on his skin at the back his neck to the point that he felt sick with it when she pressed a kiss on his shirt, and whispered into his collar,
"It's not ice cream, it's frozen yogurt."
He held her there for minutes he did not count.