A Matter Of Dates
Title: A Matter Of Dates
Ship: Ashayam S/U
Author/Beta: witblogi
Rating: PG
Words: 999 (methinks)
Warnings: PUN FARR OR SOMETHING LIKE IT ?
Disclaimer: I don't own ST or Spock's silly brain, or Uhura's neck or anything but the lols.
Notes: IDK what's up with my style lately it's all over the map- and yes, it's supposed to be all mother of predictable.
A Matter of Dates
Vulcans, despite their pomp and outward reputation have many faults. They are susceptible to many immune deficiencies, hormonal imbalances, and what humans call ‘trust issues’ among countless other downfalls. The phenomenon of inattention, distraction, and daydreaming however was the fault of only one Vulcan.
Despite his best efforts, Spock was unable to devote his mind entirely to grading advanced phonology papers. He was a scientist, and a programmer but he just didn’t have the unwavering interest or talent for the subject to define himself as a linguist as well. So having diagnosed his decreased efficiency with grading and preparing notes for his class, he requested an advanced student from the communications department to assist him.
Cadet Uhura, smiling and dark-skinned, had not been what he was expecting but served her purpose to exemplary standards. Despite her extroverted personality in contrast to his own, they worked very well together. Enough overlapping interests between them provided a venn-diagram-like ease of conversation that occurred so rarely for Spock.
Of course, during their initial meeting he had also categorized Cadet Uhura as a very aesthetically pleasing Human, with symmetrical features and large eyes associated with feminine ideals. Her relative attractiveness had not mattered to him then, however, only her ability to keep up with his schedule.
Now, looking back over months spent bent over lesson plans and audio files together, he was beginning to see what a uniquely adapted person Uhura really was.
And so the problem of inattention he thought he had remedied came creeping back, larger, and more distracting than ever. It was as he was supposed to be grading, but instead subtly pondering the way Cadet Uhura’s slim neck moved and swallowed that his fault caught up to him.
“Oh,” She laughs catching the direction of his gaze, “I’m being rude aren’t I? Did you want a date, Commander?” She asks with an open expression. It makes him start slightly and press his fingers to the cool PADD under hand. He cannot even begin to contemplate how to respond to her offer. The ramifications of such a relationship-
“I mean-” she hastily back tracks watching his subtle expression shifts, “You may not like them, or know about them? I know I didn’t like them until I came to Starfleet.” She laughs freely, like she has always done and yet he feels certain she cannot be surrendering this information so plainly, or so falsely. For such a friendly creature to have a negative association with any social activity was highly unlikely.
“You did not enjoy dates?”
“No,” Her face scrunches up, “Too sickly sweet for me. That’s why I assumed you wouldn’t want one, what with the differences between Humans and Vulcans,” She shifts slightly in her seat to face him, resting one elbow upon his desk.
“I am only half Vulcan,” he reminds her, regretting his poorly chosen words almost immediately. He had not intended to imply his willingness to indulge her fantasy even if in some far corner of his mind he shared such desires.
“That’s true as well. Have you ever had one?” She asks cocking her head, as if she is not aware of the personal nature of the conversation.
“Cadet, I do not believe this conversation to be appropriate for the setting or circumstances of our acquaintance.” She looks down into her lap and pulls her elbow back off the table.
“Right, sorry, It’s just so close to lunch I figured it would be alright,” Her words perplex him. Terran customs do dictate that romantic encounters circle around appointed meals but that she would so blatantly disregard regulations… It was illogical.
He is just beginning to wonder if his assessment of Cadet Uhura had some how become skewed by his appreciation of her company when he notices the package of brown oblong fruit resting at the corner of her small desk. For a moment he stares at it blankly.
Phoenix dactylifera commonly known as the Date Palm harvested often for its sweet and edible fruit.
A date.
“I apologize cadet, I misinterpreted your intentions. You may continue eating your dates,” he says numbly feeling thick and clumsy and alien. She frowns again.
“My…intentions. Is this because there isn’t a utensil to eat them with? I really didn’t mean to offend-”
“No, not that,” He says but turns his attentions back toward the paper before him without elaborating. The silence falls uncomfortably between them.
“A date. You thought I was offering you a date.” Her tone is hollow but then she begins to laugh. Slow at first but then picking up in rapidity until his small office is filled with its noise. He tugs on his sleeves and does not meet her eyes as she laughs. He cannot be humiliated but he can still feel humiliation.
“Oh, oh Spock,” she laughs and sighs, “I’m not laughing at you,” she promises genuinely, and he finally looks to see a kind smile spread over her face, “It’s just so funny!” she begins to giggle again. Strangely, this time it doesn’t feel like anything but warmth.
“Date, date,” she laughs and shakes her head, standing up.
“What are you doing?” He is wary of further progression of this transgression and unwilling to take any more chances with her actions or words.
“Getting my coat. Come on, we’ll go to lunch and make a date of it,” She stands waiting for him with her red jacket over one arm. He stares at her unwilling to ask for further clarification.
“I’m inviting you to an engagement of romantic or friendly inclinations shared over sustenance this time,” she grins widely as he stares up at her deliberating. Finally he stands and tugs his own uniform tunic down.
“This is an acceptable proposal.” He rounds the desk and joins her at the door, “And to answer your previous question: no I have never had a date.”
Ship: Ashayam S/U
Author/Beta: witblogi
Rating: PG
Words: 999 (methinks)
Warnings: PUN FARR OR SOMETHING LIKE IT ?
Disclaimer: I don't own ST or Spock's silly brain, or Uhura's neck or anything but the lols.
Notes: IDK what's up with my style lately it's all over the map- and yes, it's supposed to be all mother of predictable.
A Matter of Dates
Vulcans, despite their pomp and outward reputation have many faults. They are susceptible to many immune deficiencies, hormonal imbalances, and what humans call ‘trust issues’ among countless other downfalls. The phenomenon of inattention, distraction, and daydreaming however was the fault of only one Vulcan.
Despite his best efforts, Spock was unable to devote his mind entirely to grading advanced phonology papers. He was a scientist, and a programmer but he just didn’t have the unwavering interest or talent for the subject to define himself as a linguist as well. So having diagnosed his decreased efficiency with grading and preparing notes for his class, he requested an advanced student from the communications department to assist him.
Cadet Uhura, smiling and dark-skinned, had not been what he was expecting but served her purpose to exemplary standards. Despite her extroverted personality in contrast to his own, they worked very well together. Enough overlapping interests between them provided a venn-diagram-like ease of conversation that occurred so rarely for Spock.
Of course, during their initial meeting he had also categorized Cadet Uhura as a very aesthetically pleasing Human, with symmetrical features and large eyes associated with feminine ideals. Her relative attractiveness had not mattered to him then, however, only her ability to keep up with his schedule.
Now, looking back over months spent bent over lesson plans and audio files together, he was beginning to see what a uniquely adapted person Uhura really was.
And so the problem of inattention he thought he had remedied came creeping back, larger, and more distracting than ever. It was as he was supposed to be grading, but instead subtly pondering the way Cadet Uhura’s slim neck moved and swallowed that his fault caught up to him.
“Oh,” She laughs catching the direction of his gaze, “I’m being rude aren’t I? Did you want a date, Commander?” She asks with an open expression. It makes him start slightly and press his fingers to the cool PADD under hand. He cannot even begin to contemplate how to respond to her offer. The ramifications of such a relationship-
“I mean-” she hastily back tracks watching his subtle expression shifts, “You may not like them, or know about them? I know I didn’t like them until I came to Starfleet.” She laughs freely, like she has always done and yet he feels certain she cannot be surrendering this information so plainly, or so falsely. For such a friendly creature to have a negative association with any social activity was highly unlikely.
“You did not enjoy dates?”
“No,” Her face scrunches up, “Too sickly sweet for me. That’s why I assumed you wouldn’t want one, what with the differences between Humans and Vulcans,” She shifts slightly in her seat to face him, resting one elbow upon his desk.
“I am only half Vulcan,” he reminds her, regretting his poorly chosen words almost immediately. He had not intended to imply his willingness to indulge her fantasy even if in some far corner of his mind he shared such desires.
“That’s true as well. Have you ever had one?” She asks cocking her head, as if she is not aware of the personal nature of the conversation.
“Cadet, I do not believe this conversation to be appropriate for the setting or circumstances of our acquaintance.” She looks down into her lap and pulls her elbow back off the table.
“Right, sorry, It’s just so close to lunch I figured it would be alright,” Her words perplex him. Terran customs do dictate that romantic encounters circle around appointed meals but that she would so blatantly disregard regulations… It was illogical.
He is just beginning to wonder if his assessment of Cadet Uhura had some how become skewed by his appreciation of her company when he notices the package of brown oblong fruit resting at the corner of her small desk. For a moment he stares at it blankly.
Phoenix dactylifera commonly known as the Date Palm harvested often for its sweet and edible fruit.
A date.
“I apologize cadet, I misinterpreted your intentions. You may continue eating your dates,” he says numbly feeling thick and clumsy and alien. She frowns again.
“My…intentions. Is this because there isn’t a utensil to eat them with? I really didn’t mean to offend-”
“No, not that,” He says but turns his attentions back toward the paper before him without elaborating. The silence falls uncomfortably between them.
“A date. You thought I was offering you a date.” Her tone is hollow but then she begins to laugh. Slow at first but then picking up in rapidity until his small office is filled with its noise. He tugs on his sleeves and does not meet her eyes as she laughs. He cannot be humiliated but he can still feel humiliation.
“Oh, oh Spock,” she laughs and sighs, “I’m not laughing at you,” she promises genuinely, and he finally looks to see a kind smile spread over her face, “It’s just so funny!” she begins to giggle again. Strangely, this time it doesn’t feel like anything but warmth.
“Date, date,” she laughs and shakes her head, standing up.
“What are you doing?” He is wary of further progression of this transgression and unwilling to take any more chances with her actions or words.
“Getting my coat. Come on, we’ll go to lunch and make a date of it,” She stands waiting for him with her red jacket over one arm. He stares at her unwilling to ask for further clarification.
“I’m inviting you to an engagement of romantic or friendly inclinations shared over sustenance this time,” she grins widely as he stares up at her deliberating. Finally he stands and tugs his own uniform tunic down.
“This is an acceptable proposal.” He rounds the desk and joins her at the door, “And to answer your previous question: no I have never had a date.”