A/N: Yeesh, this chapter was hard to write. Next chapter we enter movie-land!
Beta love: I love my beta, mhgood.
Disclaimer: Star Trek and its characters to not belong to me, and I am not making money off of this business. I'm just having fun.
Cadet Kirk took quite a bit more time to fail the Kobayashi Maru the second time than he did the first. His style changed dramatically as well. The first time, he had rushed into the simulation, oversure and overbearing, firing out clipped orders and ostentatiously flirting with half his simulation crew. The second time, he took a much more cautious approach, analyzing all possibilities, exploring diplomatic advances, and even endeavoring a bold secretive maneuver involving the transport shuttle and several adjacent moons. Whereas his first pass through the exam seemed to fit the personality that went with his reputation--brash, arrogant, ready for a fight, and perhaps eager to prove his strength, Spock observed in retrospect--this pass involved a much more analytical approach to the problem. His intelligence was manifest, though it remained clear that the point of the exercise was entirely lost on him.
Spock had been less strongly opposed to Kirk's repeat of the exam than the other principal proctors of the Kobayashi Maru. The administrative proctor flatly balked at the idea of allowing Kirk to retry, arguing that Kirk had clearly missed the point: everybody failed. Spock countered, with his usual calm, that the fact that Kirk had missed the point was precisely the reason he should be permitted to retry. In fact, Kirk's insistence somewhat impressed the older officer. He surmised, and he had been proven correct, that Kirk was simply implementing a breadth-first traversal of all possible solutions to the exam before concluding that it could not be passed. This potentially betrayed intellectual depth, if Kirk realized the futility of victory after a second attempt.
This did not seem likely, as the hours progressed. Kirk was less brash this time and appeared to the outward observer to be much more focused, but still did not appear to accept or even realize that the situation was impossible. He sank into what appeared to be a fouler and fouler mood as the hours passed and the stalemate progressed. His classmates around him struggled not to wilt under the strain as Kirk attempted to hold his command together, and, as the Klingons turned their guns to the command deck in the 7th hour of examination, he simply ended his series of commands (which had become terse, but not desperate, like those of so many other takers of the Maru), turned in his captain's chair, and walked silently out the door, skipping past the evaluation period entirely. The rest of the room took a sigh of relief that was, by Spock's estimation, 87.4% synchronized.
Although he recognized the breach in protocol demonstrated by Kirk's sudden departure and noted that the cadet should likely be reprimanded, Spock could not find it in himself to mind, particularly, that he would not be required to pass an additional hour outlining an initial analysis of the cadet's performance. A new message containing the latest profiles from the Enterprise's command system had arrived that morning, requiring him to look over the performance numbers and make suggestions for the next battery of tests against the system, and he had a midterm to design for his intermediate algorithms course the following week. It would be a late night, as a human might say. Betraying no sign of his mental fatigue, he rose from his computer, initiated the shutdown sequence, and walked to the door, carefully minding the lock behind him.
She was at the table in his quarters when he arrived, deeply engrossed in the work in front of her. She had not been present at Kirk's second attempt at the Kobayashi Maru; Spock wondered if she had not been requested, or if she had managed to avoid the duty by some other means. There was tension in her shoulders, her ponytail had slipped twelve degrees to the right, and she only barely greeted him as he walked in the door. He knew her, and he knew humans, well enough to know that these were signs that she was unhappy. Vulcans could, and did, experience bad moods, but they were well-trained to avoid displaying that fact to others. While this generally provided for a more harmonious society, and allowed the Vulcan people to avoid the explosive outbursts that had so marred their pre-Surak history, it did render interpersonal relationships a shade more complicated. Humans were convenient in the ways that they wore their emotions so openly; in this respect, if no others, he appreciated their volatility.
"You are behaving in a manner that indicates that you are troubled."
She let out a snorting noise, similar to the one his mother would sometimes, albeit infrequently, make, when frustrated or disgusted. She blinked once, long. "Let's just say I had a bad day."
"It has been observed that humans find a that discussion of negative circumstances can relieve negative emotions surrounding them."
She closed her eyes and put her head in her hands. He thought that she might enjoy physical contact, which humans, and Nyota as well, by his observations, sometimes found beneficial in the relief of unhappiness. He stepped up behind her and lay his hands on her shoulders. They were cool and solid beneath his touch.
The words came out in a rush as she rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes. "Jones was poking around, again, got a little forward, and then there's this exam that's just been moved, and the comments on my thesis draft came back, and I do wish that Lieutenant Forretnal would return my messages because without her signatures I can't finalize my plans for break..."
"Do you require additional assistance or comfort?"
She seemed to almost smile at this, but not with real pleasure. She spoke slowly. "No, thank you." A beat. He found her difficult to read this evening; it was troublesome. "Have you eaten?"
Abrupt changes in subject were a habit of a number of races outside Vulcan, not just human. It was astonishing how many practices, often quite subtle, to which one had to become accustomed when one joined Starfleet. The Science Academy, for all its academic rigor, would, in many ways, have been far less mentally disruptive.
He decided, in light of her avoidance of the subject at hand and his lack of information about her mood, to simply answer the question. "Instructor Pershing ordered food for the staff in the supervising room of the Kobayashi Maru approximately 4 hours into this afternoon's simulation."
She sighed. "I guess I'll order something in a bit, though I'm not very hungry." She trailed off, then appeared to rally. "I am assuming Kirk didn't pass this time, either."
"Your assumption is correct."
"I don't understand the point of that thing, to be honest."
This comment was unexpected. She had quite accurately surmised the lesson behind the exam very quickly after she first assisted in its administration. It had been the first time she had showed up in his office unannounced, in fact--she had knocked and entered almost simultaneously, a rare early breach of protocol, and, when he had looked up from his desk, she had said, rushed, breathless "It can't be won, can it?"
It had been the first time she had surprised him.
"The principle lesson of the Kobayashi Maru is--"
"No, I get it. I'm sorry. I just--you said we could have dinner tonight."
Considering the issue further, he believed that he was actually growing more accustomed to such subject changes; spending so much additional time with a human was instructive. He believed it was improving his reaction time in general, though he struggled to consider each fact in his day with the necessary depth, given that his focus so often had to shift.
He considered this new conversational course. They seemed to be near dangerous territory; she was acting irrationally, potentially betraying an uncharacteristic emotional frailty. He therefore chose his words carefully, but truthfully. "I believe your phrasing is inaccurate, Nyota."
"Oh, fine, you didn't say that exactly, because heaven forbid you actually commit to anything, but you--"
"I said that I may be available for dinner at the conclusion of the Kobayashi Maru exam. My word choice reflected the unclear nature of the length of my commitment this afternoon. My comment was not to be taken as a guarantee. As ever, if you have other plans--"
"Oh, if I have other plans! I don't want other plans! I'd rather see you! And you're telling me that you did not, in seven and a half hours, have a moment to send me a message from your console informing me of Kirk's lack of progress?"
This was not an unreasonable suggestion. It had not occurred to him that she would require additional knowledge. However, it remained unclear what exactly was upsetting her so obviously. Her first comment about her day had been about Jones, but she had not raised her voice until she began discussing his dinner availability. She was not typically given to such strong irrationality, by his observation, and certainly never in his presence. Humans, with their synaptic complexities, emotional intricacies, and infrequent meditation practices, could often misjudge the sources of their unhappiness. She might be misprojecting her anger at Jones and Forretnal onto him. If this were the case, his acquiescence on the subject of contacting her when he had not made a firm commitment would not, in the long run, improve her emotional balance.
"Are you certain that you are upset at my behavior?"
She almost jumped, looking up at him in a manner that could only be described as incredulous. "Do I sound as though I'm not upset with you? Or that I'm upset with someone else?"
"I apologize for my vague query. To clarify, are you certain that you are not upset about the other inconveniences you experienced over the course of your day--"
"You think I'm taking my bad day out on you?" Her eyes had gone wide.
"I am merely attempting to gather the requisite information--"
"To tell me how I really feel." She snorted at this, again. "That's rich, thank you. Please can stop patronizing me, Spock. I know how I really feel."
This was a fascinating statement. Vulcans did not often experience ambiguity of emotion--their problem related to an excess of uncontrollable emotion, not an inability to distinguish between them. Humans, in addition to exhibiting an inability to reign in strong feeling, a problem to which he himself fell victim far more often than other members of his paternal race, suffered an ambiguity that most Vulcans would find incomprehensible. He found her hard to talk to, now.
She squinted at him. "...you don't believe me?"
He did not know. To avoid an untruth, he simply asked a question. "Why are you troubled by my lack of message when I did not commit to a dinner engagement?"
She shrugged, and looked oddly small as she turned away. "It's...inconvenient. You know, I have other things to do."
"You planned to work here regardless of my presence, given your exams next week."
"Why are you so quick to dismiss me? Oh for crying out loud, Spock, all I want is a little recognition that I am an individual in your life who is planning at least partially around you and around whom you sometimes plan yourself and it would be at least considerate of you to, I don't know...acknowledge that."
Acknowledgement? He turned her statements around in his brain. Was it possible that she felt as though he did not care for her or consider her needs or think about her over the course of his day? Admittedly she could not know his thoughts, as she did not share them, but the idea that she might not know how much of his mental time she occupied was novel.
He was, however, hopelessly unprepared on the subject of how to express to her that he understood her unstated second meaning and that she had misunderstood. He observed that he was standing above her, hands just above her shoulders, now, staring at the top of her head, not speaking, which would likely be considered strange by a human participant in any other conversation. Perhaps she noted the pause. She was unlikely to comment on it, but she was not behaving as she usually did this evening.
In the end she saved him by speaking first, before he formulated a rational and truthful response to her outburst. She was looking at her hands on the table now, and not at him. Her voice was quieter. He recognized an individual enforcing emotional calm. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't...freak out at you. Listen." She took a breath. It was shaky on release.
He furrowed his brows slightly, concerned, and walked around the table to her side. He wished to comfort her and thought of her touch, when they sat together, not arguing about statements he had not made. He wondered if a human male might actually know what to say, or if a human male would have been involved in such a conversation in the first place. Perhaps it would occur to a human that his imprecise phrasing could suggest an unintended level of commitment with requisite emotional consequences for the other party.
Instead of voicing his confusion, he sat beside her and laid his hand on hers, without relaxing his posture. Slowly, deliberately, he threaded their fingers together. He rubbed his thumb along hers. He always enjoyed the sensation from her; he hoped she found comfort in it.
She looked at his face, seeming surprised.
"I understand that you're busy and that this whole thing is...nonstandard. And I don't mind that our schedules don't always work out. I mean, I mind, but, you know, I'm not mad about that; I'm just--if you say you might be free and Commander Pershing brings take out to the exam room, could you just shoot me a quick message?"
Her request was extremely specific. She likely intended a broader interpretation. She desired additional advance knowledge of his availability. This request was not unreasonable. At the very least, it would not be difficult to do. He filed away the request. "I will attempt to fulfill that request to the best of my abilities."
"Thank you. That's all I want. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to waste the evening by fighting; it's already so late..." She smiled, pushing through.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, and the human inside of him wished he knew the words to tell her that her smile was, by far and away, the best part of his life.
"Come, tell me about your day, before we get back to work. What the hell took him so long?"
Several hours later, their limbs tangled together and with the sheets, it was quite apparent that she had forgiven him. He was grateful.