A/N: Because your comments have been so kind, I release Chapter 3. Early! I'm moving next week, so there might be a mild slow-down in posting rate, but I'm still writing, I'm just packing at the same time. I said to mhgood that I had a mini panic attack when I realized exactly how long this thing is going to have to be to tell the whole story. What have I gotten myself into?? :-)
Beta love: Love to my beta, mhgood, without whom I would suffer too much self-doubt to actually post anything. And who catches all my stupid mistakes. Which are numerous.
Disclaimer: Star Trek does not belong to me. I'm just playing.
He had considered the necessary structure of this conversation over the course of the previous evening; he had forgone sleep in the interest of preparation. It was much easier to consider the shift in their situation when she was not in the room, and he found himself able to analyze the parameters of their circumstances with more care and precision once he was alone.
His first conclusion was that they should engage in a careful and serious conversation about what had happened and how they should proceed. There were a number of possibilities, and consequences associated with each, that had arisen in light of the previous day's events. He wished to enumerate them aloud, engage with her on their possible implications. The nature of their relationship had changed, and required a decision; any such determination had to be made jointly in order to be considered equitable.
He composed a list of relevant issues.
The Cadet walked through his office door 4 minutes and 37 seconds before the appointed hour and strode to his desk with her typical efficiency of movement. She did not smile as he looked up. She looked as though she had not taken as much sleep as she was accustomed to the previous night; she further looked as though she had tried to hide it.
Her hair was arranged differently today, the top part tied back, the rest flowing down her back in a single sheet. Not a strand lay out of place.
"Cadet."
"Commander."
"Let us walk."
His second conclusion had been that the conversation could not take place in his office. His office was a place of authority, and a space defined by his position in Starfleet and at the Academy itself. No matter the course that this conversation would take, defined by her responses to the subject, and her own contributions, it was important that her reactions were not unduly influenced by his authority and his power over her. The integrity of the situation depended on it.
They did not speak as they walked down the hallway to the elevators. He stepped aside to let her pass through doorways ahead of him, as was customary between human men and women, and she nodded in acknowledgment of his courtesy. She strode easily, with her usual confidence, though she was oddly silent. He had received no word from her yesterday after they agreed to a meeting time. He sensed that she was exercising self-control; he wondered, for the seventeenth time since he had first touched her, what she thought about the situation.
The turbolift was only partially full of academics, officers, and students, either engrossed in conversations between themselves or buried in PADDs or in their own thoughts. When it opened on the ground floor, he kept his hands clasped behind his back and strode purposefully beside her, eyes straight ahead. Looking at her elevated his heart rate, and the conversation he had prepared required utmost concentration.
She turned to him, a questioning look in her eye, as they descended the stairs from the front door of the academy, but he merely gave a brief nod and continued to walk across the lawn. He had not, in his planning, determined the exact ideal location for such a talk, but, as the light was good this time of year, and the weather innocuous, he headed left down the waterfront, away from campus.
The bench he had remembered was deserted, to his satisfaction--the next one was quite a bit farther away, and he wished to commence as soon as possible. He gestured for her to sit and she did so, gracefully; he descended similarly, and placed the PADD he had been carrying on his lap, where he could see it. He had prepared notes, though he had also committed the list to memory; the PADD was simultaneously to remind him and to provide a plausible explanation for onlookers who strayed from the academy. He did not dwell on the slight deception.
Instead, he paused a moment to collect his thoughts. She looked uncharacteristically uneasy; the coolness with which she had left yesterday, and with which she had entered today, had finally begun to lift. Her nerves were apparent on her forehead.
The wind rustled her hair; it flowed against her shoulders, like liquid.
They started to speak at exactly the same time.
"Commander, I-"
"Lieutenant. We-"
They both stopped. She breathed out, deeply. "Whew. I'm sorry. This situation is...strange."
The lightness, the teasing, the sarcasm, the smile that lit her eyes so frequently when they worked together, was dimmed --she looked lost, scanning his face.
He started again.
"I agree the situation is nonstandard."
He paused.
"I have several thoughts on the matter, though I do not know yours."
His third conclusion had acknowledged the fact that, in the course of evaluating a number of options in order to formulate a decision, particularly an important decision, one was highly benefited by a knowledge of all relevant facts. As she was to participate in this decision, he was therefore bound to share such facts with her. He could not assume that she had any foreknowledge of his own thoughts. He paused again, reflecting on exactly how difficult the sentence he was formulating would be to express aloud. He thought back to the day he told his father he had turned down the Science Academy. Then, he had anticipated disappointment; he had been correct.
He had no idea how she would react.
"I find your company enjoyable beyond what is acceptable between a commanding officer and a subordinate, or between an instructor and a cadet."
The woman next to him, who always had so much to say, somehow determined that this was the moment to remain silent. Humans were a frustratingly inconsistent race.
His layout of facts germane to the situation continued. "This is inappropriate. Starfleet Regulations 523 sections b and c and Academy protocol, particularly section 211, explicitly--"
"Please don't cite regulation at me, Spock; I know what it says."
He had been staring at the top of her head, he realized, avoiding her eyes; he corrected his gaze at the sound of his name. They had gone from dim to angry. She spoke before he could continue.
"You're saying you like me."
"Yes."
"You enjoy my company."
"Yes."
"More than in just a friendly way."
"Your phrasing is imprecise, but I follow your meaning. Yes."
"Are you attracted to me?"
He looked away; the reaction was involuntary.
"Again, your phrasing is--"
"You know what I mean."
"Yes."
"Yes, you know what I mean? Or yes, you are attracted to me?"
He forced himself to look her in the eyes again, swallowed. He had neglected to include this fact in his list of important information to share with her; this was evidently an oversight. "Yes, I understand your intended meaning, and yes, I find you physically appealing."
She looked away, then, and let out what seemed to be an unnaturally deep breath. Human lungs could hold, at capacity, a total of--it was not relevant.
"Why do you sigh?"
"I thought, all this time, that I was being silly..."
"I do not follow."
"I like you too. Way more than is...professionally responsible." Her words were guarded, and carefully chosen, but laden with emotion. He was grateful, for a moment, that humans were often so easy to read.
The silence between them hung heavily with their joint confessions. He found it fascinating that verbalizing a fact that was so plainly obvious to both parties, given the events of the previous afternoon, could have such a significant effect on the mood.
"I have considered several aspects of this situation. I believe we have a number of options."
She smiled now, finally, wryly. "I take it you've compiled a list?"
"Yes."
"Then...please. Share." She gestured, as though the list were a physical collection he could spread between them on the bench. He did not understand why she appeared amused, and mentally noted that he should find time to ask at a more appropriate juncture.
"The first, and, with high probability, most responsible option is for us to acknowledge these feelings between us and to suppress them. If necessary, we may terminate our working relationship--"
"Spock. Spock, listen." Her hand reached out to rest against his, on the bench, cool and tiny and inviting. A wave of emotion, of connection, washed over his brain, before he remembered to fight it. He closed his eyes and breathed in, imperceptibly. Her touch, simple as it was, tore at the edges of his control.
"Cadet, " he looked at her. "My apologies. Nyota, I merely wish to articulate our two primary options and their potential consequences as I have calculated them. I assure you that your thoughts on the matter are highly relevant to these calculations, but--"
"I'm sorry. Continue."
Continue he did.
"We may terminate our working relationship, and I will recommend you with enthusiasm to any other instructive fellow for the remainder of your tenure at the Academy. I would do so because your abilities are unparalleled, not because of my--" if she was listening carefully, she may have heard him stumble, ever so briefly "--affections for you."
This last sentence was included to head off what he calculated with 93.24% probability would be her likely response to such a suggestion.
"This option avoids several shortfalls offered by the alternative, which I shall enumerate next. However, in the event that you wish to continue spending time in my company, it presents a disadvantage."
She pressed her lips together as she considered this. "I wonder. What do you want?"
While he was growing accustomed to much about the human thought pattern, the human unwillingness to follow the linear progression of a rational sequence of thoughts remained challenging. He decided, quickly, that noting this fact would more than likely annoy her, more so than simply responding to the question at the appointed time, and continued without responding.
"The second option is to acknowledge these feelings, and act on them, and engage in an illicit and professionally dangerous romantic relationship."
She smiled, in a manner that appeared almost involuntary and let out a short breath. "Please go on."
"There are several reasons that this is the incorrect path to follow."
"Enlighten me."
"From a professional standpoint, as the subordinate, and as a female, and as a student, this is dangerous for your career, much more so than mine."
"Tell me, are all your objections professional?"
"Many, but not all. I wish to emphasize--"
"I know."
"Lieutenant--"
"Nyota."
"Nyota--"
"Listen. I'm not trying to dismiss you, and your concerns for my professional well-being are touching. But it's only a problem while I'm here, yes?"
"While protocol dictates otherwise, practice supports your claim."
"And it's only a problem here if people find out, right?"
A pause.
She was offering him a dangerous, dangerously tempting gift.
"This is true." He carried on, resolved to make his objections clear to her, to clarify the parameters. "I do not know your thoughts on a liaison that cannot be recognized by others. I do not make a habit of discussing my personal relationships with my acquaintances, but your habits may differ from my own. It is possible that you would find such an arrangement unsatisfying."
"That's up to me, though, right?"
"Yes. That is up to you."
"I can do it."
He moved on, looking away.
"I am not aware of your level of familiarity with Vulcan mating rituals. However--"
She surprised him, again. "You are engaged."
"Yes." This point aroused a deep-seated discomfort within him. He disliked even considering his intended bond-mate, upon whom he had not laid eyes in 15 years, with whom he had not communicated in 6. She had agreed with his father on the unsuitability of a life in Starfleet as compared to the Science Academy.
This woman, so different from his bond-mate, spoke again. "Does that bother you?"
"The nature of Vulcan mating is very different from human practice. I wish to emphasize--"
"Does it bother you?"
"In terms of--"
"You're not answering my question."
He was struggling; his hand tingled next to hers. He changed tack.
"Are you troubled by my attachment to another female?"
"Not a bit."
Why not? He could not bring himself to ask. It was inappropriate; it was none of his business. Perhaps she sensed his desperation; perhaps one day he could tell her why T'Pring was kept in a locked corner of his mind, tell her about his people, his culture. About the life of a Vulcan who was only half-Vulcan. The possibility was foreign, and heady.
Of all of the enumerated facts, the next was, by his estimation, the second most important. He let his gaze travel to the water and admired, for a moment, the sunlight off the bridge.
"I believe you will find me unsuitable as a romantic partner."
She did not respond to this. She glared, instead.
"I have never engaged in a romantic relationship with a human female. Vulcan emotional attachments are very different from that to which you are likely accustomed. Your people describe me as 'emotionally distant;' I am unable, constitutionally, culturally, to fulfill your human needs."
Constitutionally, or by choice? Did it matter? He remembered a conversation with his father, in his youth, after another entirely different sort of emotional indiscretion. He had been urged to make a choice.
He had turned down the Science Academy, in the end.
He turned back to face her, and she looked him in the eye, again, here. Her anger had been replaced by an emotion he could not immediately recognize. "You're patronizing me. I know what I'm getting into. I know who you are."
There was the promise, again.
"I am not demonstrative."
"I don't care."
He believed her.
The silence hung stretched out between them. She spoke first.
"I...you...this is...different, for me. This isn't, just..."
She sighed, and looked down. He gazed at her, experienced consternation. Her half-sentence had been remarkably inarticulate.
His list had almost ended, and they had not arrived at what was, perhaps, the most important question. She voiced it for him. "I want this. What do you want?"
His fourth conclusion had been that he wanted. He wanted to be able to spend time with her, speak with her, without noticing that time was passing. He wanted to speak with her about topics unrelated to phonology without contriving to structure the conversation appropriately such that they flowed naturally from the subjects of their work. He wanted to watch her smile without being mindful that she would notice his attention. He wanted to know what her hair felt like between his fingers.
He did not know how to tell her.
He looked around, observing that they were, in fact, quite alone, with twilight reaching out over the park. The students must be studying; if he were possessed of a superstitious nature, he might imagine that the world had aligned exactly to give him this moment of silence and peace alone with her. He felt her move more closely, and turned again. Very, very gently, she reached for him, leaning, and brought his chin up to meet hers, and chastely touched her lips to his own. He backed away as she did and watched her eyes open. He pressed his own lips together, relishing the thought that he might be permitted to do that again.
Somehow, they had come to an agreement. He wondered how it was that, whatever his resolve with her happened to be, she managed to unravel it.
"We must take care that no one discovers our relationship."
The word was unfamiliar, when used with this meaning.
"What should we do if anyone asks?"
"We should lie."
"I thought that Vulcans never lie." She was teasing him, now.
"It is considered morally advisable to avoid lying, but a lie to avoid greater harm or injustice is morally permissible."
She smiled and looked down again at her legs, which swung off the edge of the bench. Strange, that he had somehow entered a relationship of a romantic nature with this lovely human female. He believed, quite suddenly, that his mother would be proud of him, if he were to ever tell her. He did not know if his father would understand. It was not what had been planned for him.
What did one say, at this moment? Did all human relationships begin this way?
She picked up her hand and laid it on his directly, interlacing their fingers slightly, and beamed at him. The world spun. "I love this time of evening. The light reminds me of home..."
A/N: Reviews are love...