Fic: Joyride 3/?
3.
It’s one thing to drive - or even sit on- a hoverbike, the wind in your hair, accelerating faster and faster, the hum of the machine beneath you. It’s… freeing. Researching hoverbikes, however, is a completely opposing sensation.
She can’t believe she wanted Commander Spock, her phonology instructor, the Vulcan, to teach her something outside of curriculum. What was she thinking? She pulled another glossy tome from the shelves at the back of the library.
Oh, that’s right, she wasn’t thinking. She was too overwhelmed with being whisked away on the wind and the feel of warm leather jackets. Treated to an entire day of exotic languages and of course such brown brown eyes she wasn’t in her right mind obviously. She snorted and slammed her book down heedless of the dozen or so heads that shot her glares from the digital media area.
He might have seemed like he was really a normal person under those ears and that haircut, maybe he could have even been funny, charming. But then she opened her big mouth and initiated the autodestruct sequence.
To a Vulcan, teaching was serious. It must be thorough, rigorous, well rounded, and it must start with facts. So, she had homework, in a course she wasn’t getting credits for, that wasn’t furthering her career, and in general was sort of a waste of time.
So why in blue blazes was she doing it? Gaila laughed for ten solid minutes when Uhura had explained why she was rolling out of bed on Saturday to go to the library. That’s what she should have done when he sent her the ‘assignment’, laughed in his face.
But -she sat down and spread out her materials sluggishly- he had seemed genuinely eager? Happy? He had seemed…animated when he offered to tutor her in this area of his expertise. She couldn’t say no, well that wasn’t true, maybe she just couldn’t say no to him.
Wasn’t that a troubling thought? Her first word was no, and to suddenly have it taken away from her by some dashing male alien- who really wasn’t all that dashing, maybe endearingly socially awkward- was truly distressing. She loved all her words, and to be missing one…It was a challenge.
Uhuras didn’t back down from challenges.
She opened her first book cautiously, ‘paper cuts’ sounded awful and she didn’t want to bother the medical cadets on weekend rotation. They were always so much more snappish and likely to turn small injury into an entire educationally demonstrative physical.
The images inside were beautiful, two dimensional but rendered perfectly in three dimensions. She marveled at the artistic ability of those in the past, it seemed today so many skills were falling by the way-side because of computers. When would her job become obsolete? In ten years? Twenty? One hundred?
She furrowed her brows, pursed her lips and began to take notes on the internal combustion engine. Fossil fuels were so barbaric, what must the Vulcans have thought of the first warp sentient humans? War torn, still destroying their planet bit by bit…they must have been repulsed.
But who really knew what Vulcans thought, their outward displays suggested peace, and a factual, analytical calm. Their inner minds however were supposedly intensely emotionally turbulent. Their most ancient artifacts were weapons, shields painted with exaggerated faces, and clay pots used for bartering that were stained green from the blood they soaked in. Passion and rage seemed a rather far fetched and whimsical folk tale when considering the modern reality that was Commander Spock.
He was collected, cool, intelligent, and aloof. He could talk to computers better than to people and Uhura didn’t know why. Vulcans were social hominids just as Humans, thriving on interaction, physical and mental stimulation from others of equal intelligence…so why did they all seem to be so private?
She tapped her stylus against the polished granite tabletop and rested her cheek in her hand. She glanced down at her dry reading materials and rolled her eyes. Really, how could Spock expect her to do research about ancient modes of transportation when she had the much more challenging complex riddle that was decoding and unraveling him?
--
He was in his office, in uniform, doing something productive when she stopped by to drop off her report. It seemed silly for her not to think he’d be in the office, but she hadn’t actually been expecting him to wave the door open when she requested access, assuming the terminal would decline her entrance and instead offer to deliver anything she left for him.
She stood to straighter attention when she entered the room, feeling a tad self conscious in her civvies when he was so pressed and put together. He sat at his desk and did not get up when she entered the room causing her to have to press toward him. Her boots seemed heavy, clunking as she shuffled forward. They weren’t her usual standard uniform. These were low, square toed, with thick rubber soles. Not sexy.
But who cared about sexy? She was dealing with a superior officer, she wasn’t in a bar, and she certainly wasn’t supposed to look sexy. She fumbled with the chip-drive in her hands, it suddenly felt about ten degrees more awkward in the small grey-walled space.
“Cadet Uhura,” she looked up from where her eyes had fallen to her hands, “is there something you require in my office?” He looked sincere, oh sure, he sounded sincere, but there in his eyes, he was mocking her. She didn’t like it.
Uhura cocked a hip and took a step forward offering the chip. “I finished the…” she didn’t know what to call the impromptu homework Spock had assigned her, it wasn’t a project nor real class work, “research, you required me to do,”
He took the chip from her carefully and busied himself with inserting it into console beneath the desk.
“You know, I didn’t think there would be homework for these kinds of lessons,” She didn’t mind he was going to look at her information immediately; it wasn’t intimidating, she knew she did her work meticulously and that was all that mattered.
“It was necessary that you familiarize yourself with the concepts and background of the vehicle before attempting its operation.” She knew, he had said much the same thing in his first message outlining the requirements she was to fulfill for him to allow her to begin instruction in how to run the hoverbike.
“Of course,” she said in a low voice. “ Silly me,” she added under her breath but he still looked up at her with a sharp, disapproving expression anyway. It was moments like this one that made her so confused, one minute he was Spock and she was forgetting all about rank and just giving him a piece of her mind and the next he was the Commander, glaring at her like she was just talking in one of his lectures.
“Very well. Your basic background of the vehicle is satisfactorily presented.”
He removed the chip and offered it back to her, “I suggest you review it frequently between now and our next meeting. There will be a test of your retained knowledge.”
A quiz, great, that definitely improves the mood.
“And our next meeting will be?” Her fingers plucked up the chip and stored it in her pocket without looking at him. She couldn’t, not now, she was afraid of what she might see, or maybe not see in his eyes.
“I will contact you when a suitable time slot becomes available. As it is still the beginning of term my office hours are not yet solidified. I will also require a copy of your timetable as to schedule around your classes and any extra curricular programs you may be involved in.” She nodded and he stood while she prepared to leave.
“Cadet...”
she looked up at him properly on reflex and froze. A spike of heat whipped through her core when their eyes met. He looked…intense, like he wanted to say something he didn’t know quite how to phrase. Her heart quickened its beat of it’s own accord while her mind warned her how inappropriate her reaction to him was, how easily he could crush her promising career as well as her spirits.
“In future these meetings shall be conducted at another predetermined venue off campus.” She swallowed, right, wouldn’t want anyone thinking they were up to anything other than the perfectly sound exchange of knowledge that was really taking place.
“Of course,” she gave a small smile unable to attempt anything larger, thinking how intimidating it was to smile at a passive, almost disapproving blank face. Besides, inviting more emotion into her already complicated feelings about Spock was just…about as unnecessary as extra-curricular, one on one hoverbike lessons.
For some reason she couldn’t control herself when confronted with either of them. She sighed to herself as his office door slid shut behind her.
“What are you doing?” she moaned quietly to herself starting down the hall, pressing a hand to her forehead, “ Get a hold a yourself, girl,” she scolded herself as she pushed a few stray hairs behind her ear, took a deep breath and strode away with new resolve.
<2 . 4>
It’s one thing to drive - or even sit on- a hoverbike, the wind in your hair, accelerating faster and faster, the hum of the machine beneath you. It’s… freeing. Researching hoverbikes, however, is a completely opposing sensation.
She can’t believe she wanted Commander Spock, her phonology instructor, the Vulcan, to teach her something outside of curriculum. What was she thinking? She pulled another glossy tome from the shelves at the back of the library.
Oh, that’s right, she wasn’t thinking. She was too overwhelmed with being whisked away on the wind and the feel of warm leather jackets. Treated to an entire day of exotic languages and of course such brown brown eyes she wasn’t in her right mind obviously. She snorted and slammed her book down heedless of the dozen or so heads that shot her glares from the digital media area.
He might have seemed like he was really a normal person under those ears and that haircut, maybe he could have even been funny, charming. But then she opened her big mouth and initiated the autodestruct sequence.
To a Vulcan, teaching was serious. It must be thorough, rigorous, well rounded, and it must start with facts. So, she had homework, in a course she wasn’t getting credits for, that wasn’t furthering her career, and in general was sort of a waste of time.
So why in blue blazes was she doing it? Gaila laughed for ten solid minutes when Uhura had explained why she was rolling out of bed on Saturday to go to the library. That’s what she should have done when he sent her the ‘assignment’, laughed in his face.
But -she sat down and spread out her materials sluggishly- he had seemed genuinely eager? Happy? He had seemed…animated when he offered to tutor her in this area of his expertise. She couldn’t say no, well that wasn’t true, maybe she just couldn’t say no to him.
Wasn’t that a troubling thought? Her first word was no, and to suddenly have it taken away from her by some dashing male alien- who really wasn’t all that dashing, maybe endearingly socially awkward- was truly distressing. She loved all her words, and to be missing one…It was a challenge.
Uhuras didn’t back down from challenges.
She opened her first book cautiously, ‘paper cuts’ sounded awful and she didn’t want to bother the medical cadets on weekend rotation. They were always so much more snappish and likely to turn small injury into an entire educationally demonstrative physical.
The images inside were beautiful, two dimensional but rendered perfectly in three dimensions. She marveled at the artistic ability of those in the past, it seemed today so many skills were falling by the way-side because of computers. When would her job become obsolete? In ten years? Twenty? One hundred?
She furrowed her brows, pursed her lips and began to take notes on the internal combustion engine. Fossil fuels were so barbaric, what must the Vulcans have thought of the first warp sentient humans? War torn, still destroying their planet bit by bit…they must have been repulsed.
But who really knew what Vulcans thought, their outward displays suggested peace, and a factual, analytical calm. Their inner minds however were supposedly intensely emotionally turbulent. Their most ancient artifacts were weapons, shields painted with exaggerated faces, and clay pots used for bartering that were stained green from the blood they soaked in. Passion and rage seemed a rather far fetched and whimsical folk tale when considering the modern reality that was Commander Spock.
He was collected, cool, intelligent, and aloof. He could talk to computers better than to people and Uhura didn’t know why. Vulcans were social hominids just as Humans, thriving on interaction, physical and mental stimulation from others of equal intelligence…so why did they all seem to be so private?
She tapped her stylus against the polished granite tabletop and rested her cheek in her hand. She glanced down at her dry reading materials and rolled her eyes. Really, how could Spock expect her to do research about ancient modes of transportation when she had the much more challenging complex riddle that was decoding and unraveling him?
--
He was in his office, in uniform, doing something productive when she stopped by to drop off her report. It seemed silly for her not to think he’d be in the office, but she hadn’t actually been expecting him to wave the door open when she requested access, assuming the terminal would decline her entrance and instead offer to deliver anything she left for him.
She stood to straighter attention when she entered the room, feeling a tad self conscious in her civvies when he was so pressed and put together. He sat at his desk and did not get up when she entered the room causing her to have to press toward him. Her boots seemed heavy, clunking as she shuffled forward. They weren’t her usual standard uniform. These were low, square toed, with thick rubber soles. Not sexy.
But who cared about sexy? She was dealing with a superior officer, she wasn’t in a bar, and she certainly wasn’t supposed to look sexy. She fumbled with the chip-drive in her hands, it suddenly felt about ten degrees more awkward in the small grey-walled space.
“Cadet Uhura,” she looked up from where her eyes had fallen to her hands, “is there something you require in my office?” He looked sincere, oh sure, he sounded sincere, but there in his eyes, he was mocking her. She didn’t like it.
Uhura cocked a hip and took a step forward offering the chip. “I finished the…” she didn’t know what to call the impromptu homework Spock had assigned her, it wasn’t a project nor real class work, “research, you required me to do,”
He took the chip from her carefully and busied himself with inserting it into console beneath the desk.
“You know, I didn’t think there would be homework for these kinds of lessons,” She didn’t mind he was going to look at her information immediately; it wasn’t intimidating, she knew she did her work meticulously and that was all that mattered.
“It was necessary that you familiarize yourself with the concepts and background of the vehicle before attempting its operation.” She knew, he had said much the same thing in his first message outlining the requirements she was to fulfill for him to allow her to begin instruction in how to run the hoverbike.
“Of course,” she said in a low voice. “ Silly me,” she added under her breath but he still looked up at her with a sharp, disapproving expression anyway. It was moments like this one that made her so confused, one minute he was Spock and she was forgetting all about rank and just giving him a piece of her mind and the next he was the Commander, glaring at her like she was just talking in one of his lectures.
“Very well. Your basic background of the vehicle is satisfactorily presented.”
He removed the chip and offered it back to her, “I suggest you review it frequently between now and our next meeting. There will be a test of your retained knowledge.”
A quiz, great, that definitely improves the mood.
“And our next meeting will be?” Her fingers plucked up the chip and stored it in her pocket without looking at him. She couldn’t, not now, she was afraid of what she might see, or maybe not see in his eyes.
“I will contact you when a suitable time slot becomes available. As it is still the beginning of term my office hours are not yet solidified. I will also require a copy of your timetable as to schedule around your classes and any extra curricular programs you may be involved in.” She nodded and he stood while she prepared to leave.
“Cadet...”
she looked up at him properly on reflex and froze. A spike of heat whipped through her core when their eyes met. He looked…intense, like he wanted to say something he didn’t know quite how to phrase. Her heart quickened its beat of it’s own accord while her mind warned her how inappropriate her reaction to him was, how easily he could crush her promising career as well as her spirits.
“In future these meetings shall be conducted at another predetermined venue off campus.” She swallowed, right, wouldn’t want anyone thinking they were up to anything other than the perfectly sound exchange of knowledge that was really taking place.
“Of course,” she gave a small smile unable to attempt anything larger, thinking how intimidating it was to smile at a passive, almost disapproving blank face. Besides, inviting more emotion into her already complicated feelings about Spock was just…about as unnecessary as extra-curricular, one on one hoverbike lessons.
For some reason she couldn’t control herself when confronted with either of them. She sighed to herself as his office door slid shut behind her.
“What are you doing?” she moaned quietly to herself starting down the hall, pressing a hand to her forehead, “ Get a hold a yourself, girl,” she scolded herself as she pushed a few stray hairs behind her ear, took a deep breath and strode away with new resolve.
<2 . 4>