[Date Night] - [NVC] - [Uhura, Len]

[original_fierce]

Bill had been pretty clear about it when she had messaged him on-ship: an invitation from Uhura would not be taken badly, by anyone. Still, Uhura had deliberated for a few days after beam down, as to whether this was really the time. After a day or two of exploration, however, her mind was made up. The colony already presented a staggering array of

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[original_fierce]

Uhura had always had a problem with being early for everything. Not for her the fashionably late arrival, nor the casual disinterested appearance so well worn by other women she had known, despite her best intentions. As usual, she was ready ten minutes early, dressed for the heat in a short white dress that sat strikingly against her skin.

[len_not_spock]

Leonard was, as usual, right on time. Which actually was rather remarkable in this instance, seeing how it had taken him entirely too long to pick a shirt (in the end he'd settled on a deep green, short-sleeved for comfort), much to Bill's amusement. Damnit, he'd never had this issue - but then, it had been absolute ages since he'd last gone on a proper date with someone who wasn't Susan, and some indecision was surely acceptable, no matter how many times Bill called him a fifteen-year-old girl

[original_fierce]

She had the door open almost as soon as the buzzer sounded. Embarrassing, but hopefully he wouldn't notice. Or mind.

She hadn't expected flowers. And yet, even as she laughed her pleased surprise, she wondered why not - for Leonard was exactly the sort of old-fashioned gentleman who wouldn't dream of arriving for a first date not bearing some kind of gift. She took the flowers from him, beaming, and pushed open the door the rest of the way to let him in.

"Leonard." She held an arm out, indicating. "These are beautiful; you really shouldn't have. I'll have to get them some water - I want them to last as long as possible."

And on impulse, just before she turned away with the flowers, she leaned up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. He really did look very handsome. Perhaps she would tell him so, later.

[len_not_spock]

And there it was: the warm rush of elation that left him unable to do anything but grin in response, the flutter inside his stomach as her lips pressed against his cheek for an instant.

"You're very welcome," he said, "and I couldn't have not - they suited you far too well."

No stretching the truth needed there, either. She looked truly stunning in the simple dress she'd chosen to wear, its color a delightful contrast against her skin. Leonard would have been perfectly content to just stand here and look at her.

[original_fierce]

She smiled at him over her shoulder as she crossed the room, flowers bundled in her arms, to put them in the glass vase that stood on the windowsill. "They're stunning," she said again, noncommittally, biting her lip on a grin as she carried the vase to the sink to fill it with water.

"And now - " she set the vase back down on the sill " - the whole room looks a lot more inviting." She laughed. "Almost a pity we're leaving it, but I'm too hungry not to. Don't mind me if I order half the menu. I've been walking around all day, looking at things, and I'm starving."

She held out her arm, clearly inviting him to take it. "Shall we go?"

[len_not_spock]

He laughed as he offered her his arm, gesture so well practised over the years he fell into it without thinking.

"I won't mind one bit," he assured with a smile, "although you may have to translate the menu for me. It's been somewhat interesting, replicating dishes at random and attempting to figure out what they actually are."

He chose not to comment on her regrets about leaving the room, if only because the thoughts that sprung to mind were probably more inappropriate than not, still.

"You find anything particularly interesting during your exploration?"

[original_fierce]

She smiled, slipping her arm easily through his and giving it a pleased little squeeze as she led them out into the dry warmth of the evening. The door was programmed to lock behind her on leaving, and would open again on her command.

"I'm happy to translate it for you," she assured him, "but half the time, I'm guessing, too, because they don't tend to give explanations - just the name of the dish. Which sometimes doesn't mean anything, or tell you anything about what it's likely to be made of." She laughed. "Still, sometimes being surprised is half the fun."

She led him firmly left, down the road in the opposite direction from way he had come. "I found a little store earlier that had some excellent Vulcan sweets. And - " in explanation of her quite pointed directing of their route - "a little restaurant that looked promising. Family-run, with a massive menu. And it had little booths."

Vulcans, clearly, understood the logic of little booths.

[len_not_spock]

He followed easily, obviously more than content to be led by the slightest pull of her arm on his. It was still light out, the city being situated this close to the equator, but the burning midday heat had given way to a far more pleasant warmth that wasn't nearly as fatiguing, and brought to mind languid summer evenings during vacation.

"And here I would have thought sweets would be considered illogical," he laughed, mostly at himself, "but then I had the same misconception about their stance on art before I dropped by the cultural center." He shrugged. "It's interesting, getting a glimpse into something I never would have contemplated until recently."

Little booths were an excellent idea, all around. Clearly the Vulcan regard for privacy stood them in good stead.

[original_fierce]

"Sweets are only illogical," Uhura explained, "if they're covered in powdered sugar, or anything else that would get all over your fingers. So there are a lot of hard sweets, which can be put in your mouth in one go, and then some sweet things you're supposed to eat with cutlery, but nothing squishy and sticky and delicious that you'd have to lick off your hands."

She indicated a small building on the left, fronted by a red awning. It was still daylight, but the fading daylight of summer evenings in the Mediterranean, and so the little strings of fairylights that decorated the outside of the restaurant - logicaly, of course - were already lit. "That's the place," she said, turning them towards it.

"I haven't had a chance to see any Vulcan art," she went on, "although I've heard Mr Spock play Vulcan music, of course. What's it like?"

[len_not_spock]

"Surely that's half the fun of sweets, though," Leonard commented wryly, knowing full well that it wasn't really the point. If those miniature cakes at James' tea-party had provoked that kind of response from Spock, he could only imagine the outrage that certain other culinary delights would lead to.

The little booths, as it turned out, weren't confined to the enclosed part of the restaurant, as a stoic waiter led them through the room and onto a small terrace overlooking the bay, clearly designed so there were plenty of space where one didn't have to look at the expanse of water, should one not wish to.

"Surprisingly varied," Leonard answered as they both sat down - alas, no chairs to pull out in this environment, "not as much of a divide between pre-Reform and later areas as I would have expected. Although there was the most remarkable painting based entirely on fractal calculations, incredibly intricate."

[original_fierce]

The little terraced area was beautiful, Uhura thought, as she sat. The sea was beautiful as the setting sun glanced whitely off the surface of the water. The sky was beautiful, colours arcing across it as the light shifted. And Leonard's enthusiasm was beautiful, his interest, the cadences of his voice, the descriptive motions of his hands.

"I need to go and have a look, evidently," she said, smiling. "It's always interesting to see the areas where Vulcan society seems to have failed to divide itself properly - where the emotion does bleed through, however logically they think it's expressed. Art is emotion, whether or not it's composed only of straight lines and angles."

She reached for the menu, caught Leonard's gaze, and spread it flat on the table, leaning over towards him so that they could look at it together. "So. Anything that sounds interesting?"

[len_not_spock]

The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. "Not that I don't agree with you entirely," his own photography certainly teemed with emotion, even when he focused on a concept, "but don't let them hear you say that."

Her shoulder brushed lightly against his as she leaned in close, the shifting colors of the sky casting warm glow over her skin, her dress. The menu might has well have been written in English, his ability to decipher, or hell, even focus on it would have been equally nonexistant.

"I think I shall trust your judgement on this," he responded, far more evenly than he felt, "and put myself in your capable hands."

[original_fierce]

From this distance, she could smell him, warm skin and shampoo and something else clean and masculine. She smiled at him sidelong, and reached a finger to indicate something near the top of the menu. "A wise decision," she told him, her mouth quirking. "In which case, if you're going to put yourself entirely in my hands, you might like to know that I always have this to start, when I'm anywhere that serves Vulcan."

She tapped the menu. "And as for the rest of it - well. I'll order starters and mains, and - " she paused - "they don't drink alcohol on Vulcan - or they didn't rather - " and what a horrible correction that was, to have to make "- but they do a wonderful sweet drink, non-alcoholic, like...I don't know...like sweet-flower tea, iced. Here." She indicated it, under the drinks list. "So I think we'll have that."

Her foot brushed against his as she leaned across to catch the attention of a passing waiter with the traditional elaborate nod.

[len_not_spock]

She could have ordered gagh for all he cared right now, with her body so distractingly close and radiating warmth against his side - although it probably was a good thing that she couldn't. Open-mindedness to new things aside, some things were best kept away from a first date at all costs.

Like, say, alcohol.

"That's convenient," he remarked casually, "seeing how I don't drink, either."

He leaned back in his seat as the waiter approached, cautiously putting a little more distance between them. Not because he wasn't enjoying the proximity, but rather the opposite - and he didn't get the impression that that was the kind of thing Vulcans would take too kindly to witnessing, accidentally.

[original_fierce]

Uhura had never developed any kind of taste for Klingon comestibles - but then, Klingon had never been her specialisation. Vulcan, on the other hand, had been a planet of beautiful people, beautiful words, and delicate flavours. There were a number of Vulcan dishes she had eaten often, and knew well. The pale sweet drink she had ordered, without fail, on every occasion. The fact that Leonard didn't, apparently, drink, served only to heighten her hopes that he would like it, too, and not feel somehow cheated out of an alcoholic accompaniment to their meal

[len_not_spock]

Of course he had heard Vulcan spoken before since they had arrived on the planet, but there was something particularly melodic about it when Nyota fell into it with an ease that spoke of long-borne practice. Maybe it was the sudden shift from the tones and cadences he'd gotten already far too used to hearing in her voice, or maybe he was quite simply biased. He felt similarly about Bill speaking French, after all.

In any case, Nyota speaking Vulcan was extraordinarily pretty to listen to.

She was right, too, about the service being efficient, the waiter barely seemed to have disappeared when he returned with their drinks. Leonard took an experimental sip.

"This is lovely," he agreed with a smile. Not like iced tea at all, far too subtle and varied a flavor for that.