Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. Thank you to DarkPrincesa for reviewing.

"But the most surprising guest at this affair was none other than Ambassador Soval of Vulcan. Unnecessary ellipsis after the sentence...after every sentence...Instead of the usual phalanx of aides – bonus points for using 'phalanx' in a sentence – he was accompanied by a young, twenty-something socialite, later identified as the daughter of Admiral Maxwell Forrest, who is currently employed with Starfleet Command and a notable advocate for a closer alliance with Vulcan – ok, first off, I'm not a 'socialite', Miss Slicker, ten seconds on the 'net would have told you that. And I think you're missing an is...I would have put an is in that last sentence. And who are you saying is employed with Starfleet? I'm deducting points for that."

I scrolled down to the next paragraph. "Ms. Genevieve Forrest was shown around the social scene, the Vulcan ambassador brooding in the background as she stole his spotlight – ok, seriously, what the hell?"

My incredulity dissolved into laughter, and I looked up at the two other men in the room for affirmation that this was so bad no one could ever take it seriously. Soval looked dour, but Timok looked amused. I cleared my throat and continued.

"As she stole his spotlight dot dot dot...despite distracting several senators with her charming smile and good looks, Ms. Forrest spent the rest of the night staunchly at the ambassador's side, the couple trading barbs and witty banter throughout dinner – oh, look, Soval, she thinks we're witty – and our young socialite – I am not a socialite, damn it, I'm a graduate student! Do your research, woman! – flirted shamelessly with Soval, leaning into the space between them, devouring his every word."

I shouldn't have raised my expectations so high as to anticipate a thoughtful news story.

"She goes on and asks all the usual trite questions: are we intimate? Perhaps we got married on Vulcan. Perhaps I'm carrying your child." I let out a soft snort of laughter before sobering and laying a limp wrist against my forehead. "Oh, Soval, what scandal we've caused! Daring outdated social norms, appearing in public together to...dare I say it...socialize! Whatever shall we do?"

I tossed the PADD onto the table, and Soval picked up the article and quickly scanned it.

"She does seem to make several presumptions about our...relationship," he said after a minute. He flared his nostrils and shook his head as he handed the article to Timok. "She would have known if you were carrying my child...though I do not recall being introduced to this Stacey Slicker."

"Probably a pen name, or else one of the other guests blabbed to her," I mused, and Timok raised his eyebrow.

"I find it most fascinating that she interpreted your body language as a prelude to mating, Genevieve." I glared at the old man, but he pressed on. "You were not forward with the ambassador, were you?"

I narrowed my eyes, snorting in frustration. "In retrospect, the way I spoke to him could be construed as flirtatious by the casual observer, but who can blame me for talking to him all night? He was the most interesting thing about that party! And for the record, I spent most of dinner being interrogated by one Ms. Pollyanna Mackleroy."

I dared a glance at the ambassador to gauge his reaction, and his eyes had grown dark, a look on his face that might have suggested he was pleased with himself, but he hid himself well, blinking once and raising an eyebrow at me in response to my compliment.

Timok, on the other hand, looked pensive, his gaze flicking suspiciously between me and Soval before it finally rested on his fellow Vulcan. "Was it worth it to take her with you?" he asked him in a quiet voice, and before Soval could answer, I jumped in.

"Why not? No harm done...no sensible person will care about that article, and I certainly won't waste my time on those who will. I think Soval will agree with me on that."

The ambassador nodded once. "She was pleasant company, Timok. Would either of you care for a game of kal-toh?"

"I'll play you," I volunteered when the elder Vulcan shook his head. "Timok, are you staying or going?"

"I will stay and watch your match."

"My money's on the Vulcan." I smirked at the elder man, but forced myself to concentrate on the jumble of sticks in front of me. Sewing the seeds of order in the midst of profound chaos, Soval had described it, and it was by far the most interesting and difficult game I had come across, besides cards. Poker and blackjack and the like didn't go well for me, but at least here there was one rule and nothing left to chance.

"That attitude is unproductive," Soval argued, allowing me to go first. "If we were indeed taking bets on who would win, and you bet on me, I would assume you would deliberately lose the game in order to win the bet, and thus you will have failed to grasp the ultimate use of this game."

"To sharpen one's mind and hone one's logic," I answered as Timok opened his mouth. "I was referring to your undefeated streak of, what, twenty-three to zero?"

"We have played twenty-five games of kal-toh since your father's birthday party, Genevieve. And yes, I have beaten you every time." (Timok had an extra game in his closet that he rarely played anymore, and until our new set arrived from Vulcan, we were making do with a second-hand game; Vulcan technology held up surprisingly well, considering this particular set was almost as old as Timok.)

I gesticulated as if to say 'see my point', and I slid my stick into a gap on the left side of the jumble. To no one's surprise, no order was sewn, only a more complicated jumble. "So when I say my money's on you, I'm not actually saying we have a bet going where I let you win. What I'm saying is that I'm probably going to lose, which given the evidence we have, isn't so implausible. However...I am determined to best you at least once before this exchange is over. Somehow, someway...I will beat you, ambassador. Your turn."

I thought I saw a smirk twist his lips, and I chewed my lip and watched his move. "I do appreciate a more enthusiastic partner rather than one who lets me win," he said, something buoyant in his voice that made him sound cocky. "Your enthusiasm is inspiring...but beating me is no easy task."

My gaze met his again, and I raised an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge, my dear ambassador?"

I had thought a smirk was twisting his lips, but now I was sure. "Consider yourself challenged. I will not make it easy for you."

"That will simply make my victory all the more sweet. One day, when you least expect it, you will think you are safe and your victory is sure, but then I will swoop in and best you at your own game. One day...you just wait."

Soval's eyes were dark as coffee, and the look he gave me almost made me squirm. He had finally made his move, causing a small corner of the jumble to turn into a hexagon. "Your turn, Genevieve," he said, and was it just me, or did his voice get deeper?

I had almost forgotten that Timok was in the room with us, and I suddenly, stupidly wished he wasn't there. I felt a pressing need to change the subject and keep the conversation going, so I turned to the elderly Vulcan (whose gaze was fixed on me, pensive, almost uncertain) and posed a question:

"Are you ready for Hester's visit tomorrow?"

"I have been studying out of the catalog Soval procured for me. I am prepared to give her a thorough tour."

"Are you ready for rapid-fire questions?"

"Yes."

"Uncontrollable excitement?"

"Genevieve, what does–"

"She's a young woman working to become a landscape architect, who has been given the opportunity to ogle alien plants. She will be very excited by the time she gets here, and she will savor every moment in that garden...I just want you to be prepared."

"I assure you," Timok said quietly, "I am well prepared to give your cousin a tour and answer her questions."

"That's all I wanted to know," I replied.

Another two rounds had passed during my ham-handed attempt to divert the conversation, and it was my turn again. I made a quick judgment and hastily placed my stick in the middle of a semi-circular arc of rods, and I laughed as two rods morphed into a triangle.

"Ha!" I exclaimed. "Finally getting somewhere."

Yet, despite my best efforts, the score became 26-0, not that I had expected to win. I was getting better, and was even able to make three triangles appear, but Soval still had the upper hand, and he used it mercilessly. I was starting to think he enjoyed watching me lose, but perhaps it was simply as Timok always said: he was entertained by my frustration and found some pleasure in arguing with me, and winning victories against me.

The old man left shortly after, as he didn't feel up to staying for dinner, so I was once again alone with Soval. The ambassador started on dinner while I did some reading for class, and I got the feeling that he was dying to say something to me (he kept glancing over at me). I caught his eye when he turned around and raised my eyebrow in silent question.

"You wanted to say something?" I asked carefully. He narrowed his eyes, then sighed.

"That...Stacey Slicker woman...I find it agreeable for you to gain some recognition in higher circles. I assure you, I was not...sulking."

"Oh, ambassador," I muttered, shaking my head. "I know that. She's as hackneyed and trite as a teenager's diary." I rolled my eyes rather than say what I was thinking, then winked conspiratorially at him to drive my point home. "That woman has nothing better to write about, and it's just sad."

He nodded curtly and turned back to dinner, and I got back to work.

…

The next morning I awoke refreshed and excited. Something about my cousin's enthusiasm for this visit was rubbing off on me, and I greeted my roommate with a bright smile and cheery "good morning" once I was dressed, and gave him a hearty pat on the back when he handed me a bowl of plomeek broth, his breakfast of choice. I sipped the rich, golden liquid and sent Hester a message, telling her to be ready for me to pick her up in two hours.

She replied promptly, confirming our plans, and I sipped at my plomeek and set aside my PADDs and textbooks. Today, I decided, I would relax and enjoy a day of nothing. I wouldn't even go out running, unless my roommate proved completely intolerable.

"So what are your plans for today?" I asked as he finished his own bowl of broth.

"I will be leaving shortly to compose a notice for my staff regarding your cousin's visit."

I frowned. "Why? What's there to say? A smelly human will be visiting the gardens today, avoid at all costs?"

"I will inform them that the gardens are off-limits for the duration of Ms. Forrest's tour, yes."

Shaking my head at him, I double-checked the time and typed in Hester's dorm address, looking for a quick route from here to her college. "We're that obnoxious?"

"Obnoxious, Ms. Forrest? I do not understand."

"You don't want us here because we're loud and annoying and we disturb the carefully maintained peace of the Consulate," I said, my good mood dissipating. "But then I wonder why I'm here, as I'm just as loud and annoying as any other human. Sometimes I think you got the short end of the stick."

His expression contorted from confusion to an ugly scowl, and his eyes darkened to deep wells, dark as coffee. I wasn't sure what the dilation of his pupils meant, and I wasn't sure if I'd ever know.

"You will cease insulting yourself," he grumbled, his voice like gravel under a rolling bulldozer. "I do not appreciate it, and I do not wish to listen to it at this time, or any time."

A snort of derision escaped my nose. "I can call myself whatever the hell I want. If I want to say I'm a stupid, fat, ugly little–"

His sudden movement made me stop for a moment, and I stared up at him with narrowed eyes. "If I want to say that I'm stupid and fat and ugly–"

And then his face was two inches from mine, his imposing frame towering over me in my chair.

"You will stop," he said quietly, dangerously, and I swallowed thickly. My thoughts went immediately to Hester and how my behavior now could change his mind about her visit (even though technically we made a deal and I wouldn't be impressed if he went back out on it now). Perhaps it wasn't the best time to push his buttons (who knew Soval had buttons to push?), and yet I couldn't let go of my mood just now. I stared unblinkingly at him, matching his scowl.

"It's my mouth," I said, also matching his volume. "I can say whatever I want about myself."

He did not blink for what felt like forever as he stared at me, and the intense hardness around his eyes did not help my mood. He straightened, breaking his gaze, and I calmly sipped at my broth as I awaited his next move.

"It displeases me that you think so low of yourself. You often claim to have average looks, or even less than average looks, yet immediately take back your statement when I take notice of it. You cannot believe both statements, Ms. Forrest. Either you do not believe you are beautiful, or else you are purposefully confounding me. I do not understand."

"The truth will out, ambassador," I whispered. "You have told me a few times that I'm pretty, yet treat me and, by extension, my friends as if we're the smelly, ugly, obnoxious humans I claim us to be. You can't believe both. You think I'm everything I say I am, but you're probably not saying so to spare my feelings. But I know the truth. You don't like me, and that's ok."

In truth, I wasn't sure what his opinion of me truly was. I didn't think he considered me ugly or obnoxious, but why was he so opposed to another human in his Consulate? I wasn't exactly quiet and demure, and it wasn't my habit to be reserved like he was. Hester, on the other hand, preferred the quiet solace of the outdoors, of books about nature, and if anyone would be a proper visitor to his space, it was my cousin. But I thought, perhaps foolishly, that pretending to assume he thought us obnoxious would reveal the truth: either he truly found us obnoxious and annoying, or he was more indecisive than anyone I had ever met, or else (and this wouldn't surprise me) he was hiding something.

I pulled my attention away from my musings as his expression darkened again. "Genevieve..." he growled.

"So thank you for breakfast, but if you'll excuse me, I need to pick up the other noisy human who will apparently give your staff a headache today. You might as well enjoy the quiet while you can, because I'll be back again this evening, stinking up your quarters with my awful–"

Suddenly his hand was on my chin, gripping me tightly, the pressure almost uncomfortable. I had forgotten how odd his touch felt and how it affected me, but it all came rushing back as my thought processes slowed. Unlike the last time he had done this, it wasn't just my fingertips and my lower back that started tingling. Every inch of my neck and jawline felt warm and sensitive, and I could feel the sensation spreading from my fingertips to my palms and my wrists. My jaw went slack and my lips parted of their own accord.

"You think this approach will reveal my honest opinion?" he whispered, and my eyes locked onto his. They were almost black, his pupils deep, intense wells; I couldn't quite read his expression beyond irritation, but somehow I knew there was a lot more there than I realized.

I breathed in sharply as he adjusted his grip. "I've already told you my opinion. It hasn't changed, and it is illogical to lie. If I thought your looks lacking, I would have never brought it up."

I couldn't, for the life of me, tear my eyes from his. I wasn't sure if he knew some Vulcan hypnosis or alien trance, but I felt like I had to stay still and stare into his eyes, as if there were no other option than to hold his gaze.

And then it occurred to me that I should probably start apologizing. "I'm sorry," I murmured. "I didn't mean to be rude...you just don't seem to have consistent behavior. You say one thing and act the complete opposite."

"Then I will seek to rectify that," he promised, and his thumb shifted over my chin. My sharp intake of breath finally broke his gaze as his eyes flicked down to my mouth, and then I was free. The heat on my neck faded as he sat back down, but the tingling sensation in my fingertips and lower back remained.

I wanted an explanation for why my fingertips were aching and my kneecaps felt like jelly, but acknowledgment of the sensations made another wave of heat rush down my core. I felt a sudden warmth between my legs, and my heart started pounding in shame. Why was my body betraying me like this? Soval had shown he could be a good conversationalist and was capable of reasonable compromises, but he was diplomat. That was his life's work, to excel at conversation and make deals. I didn't think he had much else to attract a woman, but my fingertips still tingled, and to my shame (another wave of heat hit me with just the thought of it), I rather liked the ache of it all. My breathing wasn't as even as it should be, and I realized I could detect the lingering scent of the detergent used in his clothes. And that made every sensation plaguing me much worse.

His eyes were focused on his PADD (he was probably busy composing that memo to his staff), but when I shifted in my seat, his gaze found mine again. My stomach twisted and I felt hot all over, and my cheeks flushed red as his brows furrowed in concern.

"Are you unwell, Ms. Forrest?"

"No, I'm fine," I said quickly. His eyes lingered on me, cutting me to my core, and then they were back on his PADD. He continued with his work, and I drank my broth as quickly as I could without burning my tongue. I quickly set my bowl in the sink and thanked him again for breakfast, and once I had my keys and my helmet, I rushed out of the door and down to the parking garage.

Once I was astride my motorcycle and certain I was alone (I didn't think Soval or any of his staff were going anywhere that day), I paused and examined what the heck had happened to me. When I woke up this morning, the thought of Soval touching me didn't really affect me in any way, good or bad. It would have struck me as simply awkward. But I had seen for myself: he had only gripped my chin, and suddenly I melted into a hot mess. Though his fingers did feel incredibly good on my skin. I wondered what his fingers would feel like stroking my thighs, or going even further up to my–

Bad Genevieve! I berated myself. Vulcans don't do that sort of thing, and if you keep this up, you're only going to get your heart broken. Forget about it.

I swallowed around the lump in my throat as I re-checked my route, and I left the seeds of the worst crush ever in the dust where they belonged.

A/N: So...not to sound like a review whore or anything, but not a lot of reviews for the last chapter. I see reviews as a gauge of audience interest, and if you hit me with a good suggestion, I usually take those into account. I feel like you guys are losing interest in the story. Is that true?