We got a brief glimpse into where Spock and Nyota will end up. Now we'll see how they started out.
Thank you so much for your reviews. I aim to respond to each one personally.
I will continue to cherish every piece of feedback.
II.
If Music be the Food of Love
Nyota Uhura's rendition of Partita in D minor is without error, a most impressive feat considering the difficulty of the piece. She is an exceptional violinist. Her hand moves deftly over the fingerboard. Her passion is evident but controlled. All in all, it is a technically proficient but artistically accomplished interpretation of Spock's favourite Johann Sebastian Bach composition.
Father, too, is moved. A shiver of feeling nudges Spock's consciousness through their tremulous familial link. The sensation is overwhelming in its intensity, but disappears after only a few moments, Sarek pulling away from their bond as if 'caught with his hand in the cookie jar'—a curious but oddly apt Standard idiom.
Mother has her hand clutched over Spock's, and she transfers her excitement telepathically. Spock is unsure if his increased heart rate is a result of the bombardment of emotion coming from Amanda, or if it is a reaction to Ms. Uhura herself.
Grand Curie is a small but majestic theatre, built as an homage to the Terran concert halls of old: pre-Medieval European architecture on the exterior, finely etched wood and plaster on the interior, lit softly with incandescent lights. Compared to the magnificence of the theatre, Uhura appears cartoonishly tiny on the stage, fragile and vulnerable as her skinny arms pull the bow back and forth with vigour. Her dress, pale gold, shimmers under the stage lights, complementing the bare skin of her shoulders and chest. The garment appears to lack sleeves. Illogical, but somehow not unpleasing.
The piece reaches its conclusion, and the packed hall claps wildly. Amanda is the first to stand, pulling Spock up in the process. He's never understood clapping, and so he does not take part, but he'll make sure to convey his appreciation to the musician later, in person.
Captain Pike's assistance that he attend this function had been warranted, indeed. The concert turned out to be a stimulating as well as gratifying sensory experience, and Spock is pleased that the event coincided with his parents' visit to Earth.
Soon, everyone is standing. The volume of the theatre roars to an impressive peak.
"Smacking one's hands together and shouting to the point of hoarseness is one of many Terran customs to which I have never properly adapted," says Sarek. His use of Vulcan is not surprising. He is an ambassador, and they are surrounded by Standard-speaking diplomats.
"I, too, find the practise flummoxing," returns Spock.
"Yes, we are alike in this regard," says Sarek, and Spock notes something akin to pride in his voice.
"Shut up, you two," says Mother. "Did you or did you not appreciate the performance?"
Both Sarek and Spock answer in the affirmative.
"Then clap. It isn't rocket science. I swear, you two are so deliberately obtuse sometimes."
There are cocktails and hors d'oeuvres following the performance, and Spock indulges in a spinach and goat cheese tart, a glass of red wine. Mother, as usual, charms everyone. Sarek stands stiffly next to her as she tells a joke to the Admiral of the Fleet, a crowd laughing raucously around her.
Spock overhears several conversations, none of them particularly exciting, but he knows it would be impolitic to leave now. Further, he does not wish to depart before commending Ms. Uhura on a 'job well-done'.
"You look very, very uninterested," says someone in Vulcan, a voice Spock does not recognise.
"It is my life's endeavour to look as uninterested as possible at all times," he says, then turns toward the voice, startled to see a human there, none other than Nyota Uhura herself. He'd thought the speaker Vulkhansu based on the accuracy of the accent.
"Well, you are succeeding magnificently." She smiles cunningly, her hair pulled up into an elaborate updo, a few curls hanging over her cheeks in dainty coils.
"Am I?"
"Indeed," she says. The darkness of her irises is accentuated by a line of coal-black pencil smeared beneath and above her eyes, drawn to a catlike point. It is quite striking. For someone so young, twenty-two years old according to the biography in the programme, she has a distinctly womanly ere.
"I must say, I am surprised that you deem my attempts at indifference successful, as I suddenly find myself having difficulty in that regard," says Spock.
"Difficulty in what regard?" she asks, again with that coy smile.
"Difficulty looking uninterested." He stares at her fixedly, and her face flushes pink.
"Wow, a Vulcan with game. Definitely did not see that coming," she says. He guesses that she's switched to Standard because it would be impossible to express a similar sentiment in Vulkhansu.
"I am simply stating facts, Ms. Uhura," says Spock. "And since I am stating facts, let me take a moment to inform you I found your performance immensely satisfactory."
"I am honoured that you think so, Commander Spock," she says, and before he can react to her suddenly knowing both his name and rank, Captain Christopher Pikes joins them. He kisses the back of Nyota's hand, tells her that she looks stunning, and if she's as successful at playing a communications board as she is a violin, they'll be awarding her the Medal of Valour in no time.
"So, Spock, what do you think of our newest recruit?" Pike says.
"Excuse me, Captain?"
"This lovely young woman has just enrolled at the Academy. That is why we're here. Meet Cadet Uhura, xenolinguistics major, on the Communications track."
"How do you do, Commander," she says still beaming. "I'm sorry I didn't announce myself sooner. I thought you knew. Captain Pike here was the one who talked me into doing this concert. Said it was good for Star Fleet's image or something, fighting the stereotypes about rampant militarism." She shrugs, and only she could make such a banal human gesture look exceedingly elegant.
"I am pleased to meet you, Cadet. Xenolinguistics will suit you well. Your Vulcan is impeccable. May I inquire as to how you gained such fluency?"
"Years of dedicated study, she says, though I have to admit an advantage. My mother is a diplomat, and I spent much of my childhood travelling the galaxy. I've been speaking Vulcan since I was five or six."
"Indeed."
"Vulcan is one of thirty-one languages the cadet speaks fluently," Pike chimes in.
"Impressive," says Spock. "I have little doubt that you will be an asset to Star Fleet."
"Thank you, Commander. I hope I get to work with you at some point, though I know it's unlikely. I've read everything you've published on subspace communication. Your insights are always original and exciting. Your paper about locating humanoid-inhabited planets by applying the Teslyck-Hymes principle to radio-waves was really cool." Her praise is hugely gratifying.
"Baby, you're gushing," a woman says, with striking resemblance to Uhura. The cadet blushes.
"Sorry, Sir," she says, looking at him with what Spock recognises to be a bashful expression. "It's just, you're kind of one of the reasons I wanted to get into this field in the first place. I never thought I'd excel in the sciences, it just wasn't my thing, but you showed me that communication engineering is an art, or at the very least, a creative act. That allowed me to access it for the first time." Nyota Uhura is speaks with grace and passion, and Spock is reminded of the way she played violin, that balance of power and restraint.
"Don't let her get you wrong. My daughter does excel at science, but as you probably saw tonight, music is her gift. And forgive her rudeness. I am her mother, Naomi."
"I am Commander Spock. I am pleased to make your acquaintance Naomi."
As people recognise Uhura as the musician, they crowd around her, offering praise, most of them doing so much more effusively than Spock had. He hopes she'd understood how much he respected and valued her performance.
Several minutes later, someone clinks a glass. Everyone turns to see—a Romulan? A man with olive skin, shaved head, and the characteristic tattoo markings on his face dings his spoon against a glass of amber liquid, pointed ears, unswept eyebrows. Romulans are virtually unheard of in Federation space, especially on Earth. "Nyota, join me," he says gruffly, his eyes playful.
The cadet smiles apologetically at her admirers and joins the Romulan, kissing him on the cheek before she takes a place at his side. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her flush against his body, his bare hand on her upper harm, is hip to her hip. It is, for some reason, an unpleasant sight.
Once he has the attention of the room, the Romulan begins his toast, his accent clear but harsh, each word tinged with gravelly force. "My name is Hadif, and it is my great honour to introduce you all to the lovely, beautiful, clever, and fierce Nyota Uhura, my student, protégé, and friend."
The audience watches Hadif politely, and Spock suspects the intoxicating effects of wine has something to do with their calm.
"I have worked with her for the better part of fifteen years now," says Hadif, "and in that time, I've gotten to know a musician who is not only dedicated and industrious, who approaches each song with violent, warlike fervour, but a woman whose talents extend beyond the violin. She told me, several months ago, her intentions to join Star Fleet. She did so in my native tongue—I expect to soften the blow. But Nyota was wrong to think it was joining Star Fleet that would upset me—although I cannot I am thrilled. Admiral, please do not arrest me for saying that." A murmur of laughter fills the room, but Spock finds himself very unamused.
"What upsets me is that she will be leaving me. Nyota is a gem among gems. On Romulus, we call such females a word that can loosely be translated to shieldmaidens, or Valkyrie, a woman who fights alongside the men, with a ferocity unmatched by even the gods themselves. Although I will be losing my most prized student, Star Fleet is gaining an excellent soldier. To Nyota," Hadif says, finishing, holding up his glass.
"To Nyota," says Spock. Oddly, her name feels like a swear word on his lips, lovely, but forbidden.
"No wonder she plays with such passion with a goddamn Romulan as her teacher," says Pike beside him.
"It would explain a lot," Amanda agrees. "I wonder why he's here? How they even met?"
"It is most curious," says Sarek. "They seem overly affectionate toward one another. Are they bonded?" he adds in Vulcan.
"To you, saying 'hello' is overly affectionate. Really dear, I think they're just friends, as Hadif said."
Spock feels something, an emotion he cannot identify, when he sees Hadif drag a finger along Cadet Uhura's cheek. He reasons that it is his Vulcan modesty, scandalised by the sight of such intimate displays. It is improper and inappropriate.
Yes, that's what the emotion is, minor shock at a breech in decorum. This is a public space, after all.
#
Nyota flops onto the mattress, stretches, then collapses backward onto the pillow. The first day of orientation had been absolutely exhausting. She prized herself on her physical fitness, her endurance, but traipsing the huge campus over a period of ten hours had proved to be her limit.
"I feel like a warp 4 capable ship forced to travel at warp 8. Kill me now," says Gaila.
"I know, right? My feet seriously hate me right now. They're all like, 'Nyota! We hate you! We're resigning our post!'"
"Good riddance," says Gaila.
Nyota smiles at her roommate's use of the colloquialism.
"Did I say that right?" she asks, twirling a strand of red hair in her finger.
"Yeah, well enough," says Nyota, then toes off her boots and socks, rolls her feet around her ankles, stretching them.
They'd received their roommate assignments earlier this year and had used each other's contact information to video chat. They spent much of the time teaching each other idioms, expressions, swear words, insults.
"Ugh, you know what I need right now?" says Nyota
"To get laid?" Gaila says. "You do look stiff. I'd offer my assistance, but my advisor said it was a good idea to set boundaries or something? I don't know why. But it's what she said."
Rolling her eyes, Nyota removes her uniform skirt and jacket until she's in nothing but her underwear. "I'd actually just settle for a foot rub. I need a manservant."
"Ooh, a manservant. That does sound exciting. I totally didn't have you pegged for a dom, kind of figured you to be controlling in the streets, submissive in the sheets. But I can see the dominant side, too. "
"I am seriously disturbed you've spent enough time thinking about my sex life to have a theory about my personality in the sheets."
"You should be flattered," says Gaila.
They continue in amicable banter as each finish setting up their sides of the room. Neither has had much time to pack with the schedule of activities.
Nyota tacks pictures onto a board, sets up a few potted plants, makes up her bed with a patchwork quilt her nan had made her. She's about to declare herself done when Gaila walks up one of the pictures from the board.
"Ny, you didn't tell me you had a boyyyyyyfriend," she says. "And a hunky one at that. He's really handsome."
"I don't have a boyyyyyfriend," Nyota replies, and snatches the picture back, returning it to its rightful place. "That's Hadif. My friend and teacher. I've known him since I was a kid. He's like a brother to me. The one who inspired me to take up violin."
"Uh huh," says Gaila. "And also your boyyyyyfriend."
Nyota laughs despite herself. "Could you stop saying it like that? You sound like you're ten years old. And I mean it, friends only."
"Do Romulans even have friends?"
"Yes. And that's all we are."
"Ny?" asks Gaila.
"What?"
"Um, why is there a picture of you and Commander Spock up here?"
"I had my mum take it a few months ago, at one of my concerts. I couldn't resist asking Ambassador Sarek to have a photo with me, and Amanda Grayson and Spock joined in. Why?" Again, Nyota snatches the pictures back from Nyota so she can put them up. She yawns. Two more days of orientation. By the time her classes start, she's going to be burnt out already.
"I don't know. It just seems weird. So is he your boyyyyyfriend?"
Smiling, Nyota removes her hair from its ponytail, shakes it loose, rubs her fingers through her scalp. "Spock? My boyfriend? Ha. Ha. I'm actually pretty sure I completely embarrassed myself in front of him. I acted like a silly, gushing, flirty fool. It was awful."
Remembering their exchange is slightly humiliating. Did she really tell a Vulcan that he had game? Jesus, Ny.
"Flirty? So you mean, you tried to flirt with him?" Gaila asks.
"Leave it to you to put words in my mouth. That's not what I said and you know it."
"Uh huh. Sure," says Gaila, then breaks into song, "Spock and Nyota sitting in a bush!"
"It's a tree," says Nyota.
"Spock and Nyota sitting in a tree. F-L-I-R-T-I-N-G."
"That doesn't even work, like, at all," says Nyota. "I'm hopping in the shower. You better be done with that stupid song by the time I'm out, or I will be forced to unleash the Kraken."
"Sounds hot," says Gaila.
#
It is not until the end of the first semester that Spock sees her again, at a Christmas party (in name, it is actually a 'winter holiday' party, but as a Vulcan, Spock is adept at deciphering euphemism). The attendees are professors, TAs, and a few students.
Everything about it is unpleasant, as expected, the noise, the food (no love lost between Spock and fruitcake). The company is not awful, but as usual, he colleagues try to engage him in overly familiar conversation. He does not wish to tell them about his relationships, his childhood, his life before the Academy, his convictions, his spiritual beliefs or lack thereof, his philosophical stances, his political affiliations, his opinion on this and that violent conflict, food shortage, civil war. Spock has been forced to attend these events for years. Each year, they grow seemingly worse.
"Ah, now you are definitely looking uninterested."
"Cadet," answers Spock, this time immediately recognising it is her. He looks up from his cup of eggnog, a drink he's not too keen on—but he'd needed to escape an invasive conversation, and he noticed that when others were in similar situations, they excused themselves to get a beverage. "I did not realise you were in attendance," he say.
"Disappointed?" Uhura says.
"Not in the least," says Spock, taking in her outfit, a form-fitted burgundy dress that stops mid thighs. This time, at least, there are sleeves.. He realises that by talking to him she is merely being polite. Humans are often under the mistaken impression that when they see him standing alone in a corner, he wishes for company. In actuality, that is rarely the case.
"I bet you're wishing I'd go away, aren't you?" she says. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I know you probably hate these sort of things. I kind of do, too, for what it's worth. Anyway, I just thought it'd be rude not to say hi. So hi. Now good bye."
Before Spock can protest, she nods her head politely and leaves, joining the crowd of mingling attendees.
"What'd you to scare that one off?" says Lieutenant Marcus, a fellow professor in the engineering department. "I got the distinct impression that she was fleeing."
"I do not know," Spock says. "I seem to have a habit of causing offence when my intention is to do the exact opposite."
Lieutenant Marcus nods, places a sympathetic hand on his shoulder before removing it. "Maybe I can help," says Marcus, her frown transforming into a mischievous grin. "Oy, Uhura, over here!"
Spock believes the feeling he is currently experiencing is mortification.
"Professor Marcus, hi!" says Nyota. She is exuberant in her affection, giving the lieutenant a hug. "I had no idea you were coming to this."
"We'll see how long I last. I don't get on well at parties. One minute, someone asks me how my semester went, the next, I'm providing them deep analysis of dilithium reaction models, why they're the perfect element for stabilising warp cores as a result of their crystalline molecular structure, and then suddenly realise I am standing alone, talking to myself."
"It sounds like an intriguing topic of conversation to me," says Spock.
Both Marcus and Uhura laugh, though he cannot fathom why. He also cannot fathom why his reaction to Uhura's smile is so, for lack of a better word, dramatic. He feels his muscles seize into tight lines.
"Isn't Commander Spock charming, Nyota?" asks Marcus.
Uhura doesn't answer, just bows her head slightly and takes a sip of her punch.
"Speaking of, I was disappointed I didn't run into you at all this semester. Maybe we could figure out a time to grab lunch?" Uhura says. "I've had lunch with all my professors," she adds on hastily. "Carol and I have a standing Saturday coffee date. I mean, I understand if you're very busy. I'm busy, too. We're all busy. Life is busy." Lt. Marcus reaches out and puts a hand over Uhura's wrist, and she stops speaking abruptly.
"What the cadet means is, it's perfectly acceptable for two colleagues with similar interests to catch up every once in a while."
And so they do. Indeed, Spock is busy, but he arranges to join Uhura in the mess hall one Wednesday afternoon following Winter Leave. Instead of the usual cafeteria fare, she's packed something for the both of them. "I hope you don't mind. I hate most of the food they serve here. Gaila and I both take serious advantage of our dormitory's kitchenette."
"It is agreeable," says Spock. The scent of the food she's prepared is appetising. As she unpacks the glass containers, he notes some sort of soup, a fried bread, and vegetables.
"Okay, so we've got plantain and yam bisque, and this is gomen, kale with ginger, carrots, and onion, although I cheated and used swiss chard, and beignets, though they're not sweetened. However, if you find yourself craving something sweet, I made a cardamom-ginger maple syrup to pour over them.
"A veritable feast. I appreciate your effort, Cadet."
"Oh, it's no effort. I love to cook when I get the chance," she says.
It is the most satisfying meal he's had in 7.1 years, save for his mother's matzoh ball soup, which he has an illogical fondness for.
"Are you managing to find time to play violin?" Spock asks, genuinely curious.
"Barely," she says. "I get very antagonising vid calls from Hadif weekly." Then Nyota does what Spock imagines to be her impression of a Romulan. It is somewhat amusing. "Nyota! I will not have my best student ruined by the mediocrity that is Star Fleet! You must practise! Daily! Or die!" Spock notes that her Romulan is as advanced as her Vulcan. Fascinating.
"He does not sound like a man to upset," Spock offers.
"It's actually his way of being sweet. I got to see him over the break, which was nice, really nice. I didn't realise how much I missed having someone yell you're way too goddamn sharp, Nyota! at me. And fix that terrifyingly bad bow hand! You shame the Empire with your playing!"
"You consider yourself to have strong emotional ties to Hadif?" he asks.
"Well, of course," she says, her smile faltering somewhat. "Very strong emotional ties."
So it was as Sarek suspected that night at the concert. The two of them were bonded, or at least in an intimate relationship. There is no reason this news should aggravate him, and yet.
#
He—accidentally, of course—memorises her workout schedule. There were enough mornings where they overlapped, and he simply caught on to her rhythms.
When it's raining, like today, she runs at the indoor track, five kilometres. This early in the morning, the gym is deserted.
Spock's doing weights, bench pressing two hundred and thirty kilograms as she jogs. She's listening to the second half of Tchaikovsky's 1812 on her music player, and Spock enjoys the piece second-hand. He knows that when she's finished with her run, she'll do another thirty minutes on the stationary bike, at a slow, leisurely place.
"Good morning, Commander," she says, when she sees him. Her jog finished five minutes ago, after which she completed a cool-down lap.
"Cadet," says Spock, nodding his head, letting the barbell fall back into its place. Next, he attempts small talk. "What will you be reading today?"
"Hm?" she asks. Nyota stretches her arms across her chest. Her top garment adheres to her torso, her breasts apparent.
"Maybe I am mistaken. I was under the impression you enjoy a book during your time on the stationary bicycle." Spock knows that this is true, as he's witnessed the behaviour most mornings she spends on the machine.
Her brow crinkles, then she smiles. "I forget how observant you are," she says, then takes a seat next to him on the bench. Her skin glistens with sweat. A messy bun sits on top her head, a few curls of hair escaping the confines of the elastic.
"Do you mind if I join you?" Nyota asks, even though she's already sitting next to him, rather closely. "I'm a little more winded today than usual." She pulls a PADD from her bag, clicks on the screen. "And here's what I'm going to read. It's pretty trashy. Don't judge me."
"You are a diligent student, Cadet. You are entitled to entertainment for entertainment's sake. I would not begrudge you that." The book appears to be a work in the genre of historical fiction, emphasis on the fiction rather than the historical.
"But isn't entertainment for entertainment's sake illogical?" she says. Her smile hints that she's teasing, an activity with which Spock has gained only minor success. Still, he gives it, as they say, the old college try.
He turns to her, drags his gaze over the details of her face, the delicate plumpness of her lips and the darkness of her eyes. "I assure you, reading a book whilst engaged in physical conditioning barely registers as illogical when measured against the behaviours of which your species is capable. For a human you are quite logical."
At that, she stands, her hands on her hips, tiny grin still in place. "Oh, trust me, I'm as prone to bouts of illogic as my human brethren. Besides, logic is ridiculous. And boring. I have no interest in it. I will read all the bad fiction, and like it. So there." She sticks out her tongue in a childish gesture, then laughs warmly.
"I did not guess you to be a romantic," says Spock.
"And what did you guess me for?" she asks.
He doesn't know what to say to that, and thus raises a solitary eyebrow. "Enjoy your book, Cadet. I must depart."
Spock cannot read faces with much precision, but he knows that the expression flitting across Nyota's face is one of hurt. Had his dismissal been too abrupt?
Then again, maybe this is what's required of him, to create some distance.
A/N: I posit that the Narada's attack on the Kelvin might make Romulans slightly less of a mystery to the Federation, and their general appearance would be known (despite what we see in TOS). I hope you like it. Please tell me what you think : )