so quite new a thing
title: so quite new a thing
wordcount: 1807
pairing: pre-Spock/Uhura
summary: From my meme that's taken me foreverrrr to finish. wintersjuly asked for: "pre or post sfsap, someone - uhura, kirk, chekov - anyone, discovers spock's weakness for chocolate? cue chocolate related hijinks and spock manfully resisting his sweet tooth." I don't know if this is that so much as just Spock + Uhura + chocolate as a bribe, but I hope you like it anyway, wintersjuly. Title from this poem by e.e. cummings.
disclaimer: REALLY I know nothing about vector calculus. If there are inaccuracies, I apologize. D:
-
Vector calculus sucks balls.
This is Nyota's first decision about her new school.
It doesn't make any fucking sense, she thinks, slotting her stupid book roughly into its place in her locker. Normally, she's good at math--like, really good. They don't just put freshmen in BC Calculus for the hell of it, after all. She doesn't like to brag about it, but numbers and proofs usually come easy to her. Algebra, for example, slid into her brain and just worked. Geometry was a piece of cake, too; trig was laughably simple, and precal was fine. And up till two days ago, calc was looking okay, too.
Put her up against vectors and she's useless, apparently.
She scowls at the inside of her locker and closes the door carefully instead of slamming it like she sort of wants to. She really hates this feeling of being at sea, especially when she's already feeling it in so many other places of her life. New city--which, hey, she loves so far, but it's not her city yet, and it's throwing her--new house, new school. She's the stranger coming in a month too late to click with the other freshmen, who've already banded together out of misery, and the stranger walking into the wrong rooms in the place that should be her sanctuary.
She catches herself thinking that and rolls her eyes. God, stop being so maudlin, she chides herself, swinging her bag up over her shoulder. You'll settle in better, you know you will.
And she will. She does know. It's just--well, the thing about me, Nyota thinks ruefully, is that I'm not as brave as I pretend to be.
People always seem to think she's got everything under control, but she feels just as tangled up as anyone else does, most of the time. Just as dumb if she says the wrong thing. She just hides it well, and doesn't dwell on it, because that wastes time.
It's not like she doesn't already has a couple people to talk to, anyway--Dana in English and Greg in P.E. (thank god; no one can survive P.E. without a commiseration partner). They just don't seem like they'll ever be more than class friends, that's all. You know, the people you talk to to get through class and get homework, but when you're outside of school you don't actually have too much in common? And high school's supposed to be awesome, if you do it right. She's heard that, somewhere. But to have it not suck, you need people you can laugh with over stupid inside jokes and talk to about things besides unfair project deadlines. Nyota wants some people who get her, like Nat and Jackie did back home, because she can tell already--things like vector calculus' lameness are going to fell her in her tracks if she doesn't have good friends to laugh with.
There's that girl with the curly red hair in choir, maybe . . . she smiles at Nyota every time she glances that way, a cheery little grin without any edge of malice, and she wears all these awesome graphic t-shirts. And there could be the guy in her homeroom. She saw him doodling Beethoven's fifth in the margins of his notebook the other day with his beautiful hands--if someone who does that isn't awesome, Nyota needs to readjust her standards of awesome. He carries a violin case everywhere, so he must be in the orchestra. Man after her own heart, she thinks, a lover of music.
So that's Nyota's second decision about high school: I'll start with talking to those two. Because damn if she's going to let moving or vector calculus or fear or anything ruin her life.
She nods to herself and sets off for class, resolved. I can do this, she repeats.
-
Gaila turns out to be easy. The only reason Nyota hasn't said anything to her yet is because the girl's a first soprano, all the way on the other side of the room from the altos, and she always rushes off right after class, so Nyota just makes sure to come to choir early one day and just says hi right out, I love your shirt, where did you get it? Gaila gives her the shirt's whole backstory, along with a lot of other rambling, delighted details, and by the time class starts Nyota's giggling and Gaila's invited her to lunch with a big grin.
The violin guy, though, he's more of a challenge. She still hasn't talked to him yet--partially because he's almost always got his iPod headphones in during homeroom, and she doesn't want to interrupt him, and partially because she's sort of intimidated by how in-awe everyone seems of him. She doesn't know where to start with him--the direct approach seems a little rude, not quite his style. She can't really put her finger on it, but he's different than everyone else, somehow. She needs a reason to talk to him, something logical.
She gets an idea when she notices him staring at--no, that doesn't even cover it, riveted by--the chocolate bar she's letting herself have early as consolation for failing their latest Calc quiz.
-
She picks her approach time carefully: morning break, when she's seen him hanging around the indoor courtyard before, reading by the fountain. Crossing her fingers, she heads down and peeks in. Sure enough, he's curled up under one of the fake plants, immersed in something slim volume.
She heads over with enough noise so that he knows she's coming, and clears her throat politely when she's at his side. He looks up, blinking when he finds her there.
She smiles at him, huge and bright and open as she can make it. "Hi," she says. "I'm Nyota. Uhura. You're in my homeroom, I think."
He looks at her. "Hello," he says evenly. It's hard to pick out, but she thinks she can hear a faint layer of confusion over his words.
She smiles again, a little more gently this time. "Look, I know you're probably really busy," she says. "You're second chair violin in the orchestra, right?"
He nods.
"And you probably spend a lot of time practicing, so your free time is kind of precious." She waits for his nod again. "But--you're awesome at vector calculus."
He blinks. "I must admit I fail to see any connection," he says.
"Okay," she says, sliding onto the bench beside him. "Here's the deal. I'll pay you in Scharffen Berger 68% Dark Milk Chocolate bars if you'll tutor me on vector calculus at lunch."
He raises one careful eyebrow at her, but she catches his gaze flicker, and almost grins. He clears his throat when he sees her smiling.
"You do not seem to be having much trouble with Calculus, Ms. Uhura," he says. "I observe that in class, you have minimal difficulty answering Mr. Nielson's questions when prompted. I gather, too, he would not have accepted you into the class had he thought you would have any trouble catching up."
"Nyota," she says. "By sheer luck he never asks me vectors questions. And it's mostly vectors that kill me." She wrinkles her nose. "They're my worst nemeses, apparently. I just can't seem to get them."
"Indeed?" he says.
She nods, and then she speaks her mind, because for all that she's not as brave as she pretends to be, once she's gotten started it's easy. "And anyway, I think we'd get along really well."
"Why is that?" he asks. And normally a question like that would seem insulting, but from his lips, it's just pure curiosity--like he really wants to hear her answer. Like he actually cares what she thinks, and she knows--a little catch-hold feeling in her stomach--that she and he are going to be really good friends. She just knows.
"Well," she says. "We're in the same homeroom, so we might as well stick together, for one. We both have great taste in chocolate, for two, and we both love music, for three. And we're both freshmen crazy enough to take AP Calc." She grins. "Plus, you're reading e.e. cummings."
He glances down at the book, he's holding, brushing his perfect fingers over the cover lightly. When he looks up at her again, his eyes are smiling even if his mouth isn't.
"Accepted," he says. "My name is Spock. What class do you have before lunch?"
-
-
Two months later, she comes into school on a Monday, feeling phenomenally good for no reason whatsoever. Which is weird, because it's eight a.m. and she's got a vector calculus review test in ten minutes, followed by one in history--but hey. She and Spock and Gaila have plans to watch Voyager together tonight, and Spock's waiting by her locker for her when she gets there so they can go to class together. It's foggy outside, but watery sunlight's starting to break up the clouds, and it just--it feels like it's going to be a good day. It feels like a day when high school isn't going to suck.
"Morning," she says, knocking her shoulder companionably into Spock's. "You ready for Nielson's test?"
"I feel I have prepared adequately, yes, if that is what you mean to ask," he says, raising an eyebrow.
She sticks her tongue out at him and he gives her that amused look that just comes from his eyes. "What else would I mean, hm?" she asks, getting out her book and the pack of M&Ms she always keeps in her locker, for energy before tests like these. She shoulders her backpack and closes her locker, opening the package as they start down the hall together. "You want one?"
"I should not," he says, eyeing the package in her hands. "I believe they contain partially hydrogenated soybean oil, which I have recently read is not particularly healthy."
Nyota bites back a laugh. "Spock, it's one M&M. Pretty sure you'll survive," she teases, crinkling the package loudly, and knowing he'll take one. "C'mon, we both know you can't resist chocolate in any form. Give up the charade."
The corner of his mouth twitches, and he turns those smooth, dark eyes on her. Her stomach swoops, and her breath flutters in her lungs.
He smiles, fond and fucking familiar, and her whole body goes warm.
"Vile temptress," he says mildly, and holds out a casual, cupped hand. That little smile still turning up the sides of his mouth.
You're not supposed to get a crush him; it could ruin things, she reminds herself for what's probably the hundredth time as she tips the chocolate into his hand.
She has a sweet, soft feeling under her ribs that it's a little too late.
-
wordcount: 1807
pairing: pre-Spock/Uhura
summary: From my meme that's taken me foreverrrr to finish. wintersjuly asked for: "pre or post sfsap, someone - uhura, kirk, chekov - anyone, discovers spock's weakness for chocolate? cue chocolate related hijinks and spock manfully resisting his sweet tooth." I don't know if this is that so much as just Spock + Uhura + chocolate as a bribe, but I hope you like it anyway, wintersjuly. Title from this poem by e.e. cummings.
disclaimer: REALLY I know nothing about vector calculus. If there are inaccuracies, I apologize. D:
-
Vector calculus sucks balls.
This is Nyota's first decision about her new school.
It doesn't make any fucking sense, she thinks, slotting her stupid book roughly into its place in her locker. Normally, she's good at math--like, really good. They don't just put freshmen in BC Calculus for the hell of it, after all. She doesn't like to brag about it, but numbers and proofs usually come easy to her. Algebra, for example, slid into her brain and just worked. Geometry was a piece of cake, too; trig was laughably simple, and precal was fine. And up till two days ago, calc was looking okay, too.
Put her up against vectors and she's useless, apparently.
She scowls at the inside of her locker and closes the door carefully instead of slamming it like she sort of wants to. She really hates this feeling of being at sea, especially when she's already feeling it in so many other places of her life. New city--which, hey, she loves so far, but it's not her city yet, and it's throwing her--new house, new school. She's the stranger coming in a month too late to click with the other freshmen, who've already banded together out of misery, and the stranger walking into the wrong rooms in the place that should be her sanctuary.
She catches herself thinking that and rolls her eyes. God, stop being so maudlin, she chides herself, swinging her bag up over her shoulder. You'll settle in better, you know you will.
And she will. She does know. It's just--well, the thing about me, Nyota thinks ruefully, is that I'm not as brave as I pretend to be.
People always seem to think she's got everything under control, but she feels just as tangled up as anyone else does, most of the time. Just as dumb if she says the wrong thing. She just hides it well, and doesn't dwell on it, because that wastes time.
It's not like she doesn't already has a couple people to talk to, anyway--Dana in English and Greg in P.E. (thank god; no one can survive P.E. without a commiseration partner). They just don't seem like they'll ever be more than class friends, that's all. You know, the people you talk to to get through class and get homework, but when you're outside of school you don't actually have too much in common? And high school's supposed to be awesome, if you do it right. She's heard that, somewhere. But to have it not suck, you need people you can laugh with over stupid inside jokes and talk to about things besides unfair project deadlines. Nyota wants some people who get her, like Nat and Jackie did back home, because she can tell already--things like vector calculus' lameness are going to fell her in her tracks if she doesn't have good friends to laugh with.
There's that girl with the curly red hair in choir, maybe . . . she smiles at Nyota every time she glances that way, a cheery little grin without any edge of malice, and she wears all these awesome graphic t-shirts. And there could be the guy in her homeroom. She saw him doodling Beethoven's fifth in the margins of his notebook the other day with his beautiful hands--if someone who does that isn't awesome, Nyota needs to readjust her standards of awesome. He carries a violin case everywhere, so he must be in the orchestra. Man after her own heart, she thinks, a lover of music.
So that's Nyota's second decision about high school: I'll start with talking to those two. Because damn if she's going to let moving or vector calculus or fear or anything ruin her life.
She nods to herself and sets off for class, resolved. I can do this, she repeats.
-
Gaila turns out to be easy. The only reason Nyota hasn't said anything to her yet is because the girl's a first soprano, all the way on the other side of the room from the altos, and she always rushes off right after class, so Nyota just makes sure to come to choir early one day and just says hi right out, I love your shirt, where did you get it? Gaila gives her the shirt's whole backstory, along with a lot of other rambling, delighted details, and by the time class starts Nyota's giggling and Gaila's invited her to lunch with a big grin.
The violin guy, though, he's more of a challenge. She still hasn't talked to him yet--partially because he's almost always got his iPod headphones in during homeroom, and she doesn't want to interrupt him, and partially because she's sort of intimidated by how in-awe everyone seems of him. She doesn't know where to start with him--the direct approach seems a little rude, not quite his style. She can't really put her finger on it, but he's different than everyone else, somehow. She needs a reason to talk to him, something logical.
She gets an idea when she notices him staring at--no, that doesn't even cover it, riveted by--the chocolate bar she's letting herself have early as consolation for failing their latest Calc quiz.
-
She picks her approach time carefully: morning break, when she's seen him hanging around the indoor courtyard before, reading by the fountain. Crossing her fingers, she heads down and peeks in. Sure enough, he's curled up under one of the fake plants, immersed in something slim volume.
She heads over with enough noise so that he knows she's coming, and clears her throat politely when she's at his side. He looks up, blinking when he finds her there.
She smiles at him, huge and bright and open as she can make it. "Hi," she says. "I'm Nyota. Uhura. You're in my homeroom, I think."
He looks at her. "Hello," he says evenly. It's hard to pick out, but she thinks she can hear a faint layer of confusion over his words.
She smiles again, a little more gently this time. "Look, I know you're probably really busy," she says. "You're second chair violin in the orchestra, right?"
He nods.
"And you probably spend a lot of time practicing, so your free time is kind of precious." She waits for his nod again. "But--you're awesome at vector calculus."
He blinks. "I must admit I fail to see any connection," he says.
"Okay," she says, sliding onto the bench beside him. "Here's the deal. I'll pay you in Scharffen Berger 68% Dark Milk Chocolate bars if you'll tutor me on vector calculus at lunch."
He raises one careful eyebrow at her, but she catches his gaze flicker, and almost grins. He clears his throat when he sees her smiling.
"You do not seem to be having much trouble with Calculus, Ms. Uhura," he says. "I observe that in class, you have minimal difficulty answering Mr. Nielson's questions when prompted. I gather, too, he would not have accepted you into the class had he thought you would have any trouble catching up."
"Nyota," she says. "By sheer luck he never asks me vectors questions. And it's mostly vectors that kill me." She wrinkles her nose. "They're my worst nemeses, apparently. I just can't seem to get them."
"Indeed?" he says.
She nods, and then she speaks her mind, because for all that she's not as brave as she pretends to be, once she's gotten started it's easy. "And anyway, I think we'd get along really well."
"Why is that?" he asks. And normally a question like that would seem insulting, but from his lips, it's just pure curiosity--like he really wants to hear her answer. Like he actually cares what she thinks, and she knows--a little catch-hold feeling in her stomach--that she and he are going to be really good friends. She just knows.
"Well," she says. "We're in the same homeroom, so we might as well stick together, for one. We both have great taste in chocolate, for two, and we both love music, for three. And we're both freshmen crazy enough to take AP Calc." She grins. "Plus, you're reading e.e. cummings."
He glances down at the book, he's holding, brushing his perfect fingers over the cover lightly. When he looks up at her again, his eyes are smiling even if his mouth isn't.
"Accepted," he says. "My name is Spock. What class do you have before lunch?"
-
-
Two months later, she comes into school on a Monday, feeling phenomenally good for no reason whatsoever. Which is weird, because it's eight a.m. and she's got a vector calculus review test in ten minutes, followed by one in history--but hey. She and Spock and Gaila have plans to watch Voyager together tonight, and Spock's waiting by her locker for her when she gets there so they can go to class together. It's foggy outside, but watery sunlight's starting to break up the clouds, and it just--it feels like it's going to be a good day. It feels like a day when high school isn't going to suck.
"Morning," she says, knocking her shoulder companionably into Spock's. "You ready for Nielson's test?"
"I feel I have prepared adequately, yes, if that is what you mean to ask," he says, raising an eyebrow.
She sticks her tongue out at him and he gives her that amused look that just comes from his eyes. "What else would I mean, hm?" she asks, getting out her book and the pack of M&Ms she always keeps in her locker, for energy before tests like these. She shoulders her backpack and closes her locker, opening the package as they start down the hall together. "You want one?"
"I should not," he says, eyeing the package in her hands. "I believe they contain partially hydrogenated soybean oil, which I have recently read is not particularly healthy."
Nyota bites back a laugh. "Spock, it's one M&M. Pretty sure you'll survive," she teases, crinkling the package loudly, and knowing he'll take one. "C'mon, we both know you can't resist chocolate in any form. Give up the charade."
The corner of his mouth twitches, and he turns those smooth, dark eyes on her. Her stomach swoops, and her breath flutters in her lungs.
He smiles, fond and fucking familiar, and her whole body goes warm.
"Vile temptress," he says mildly, and holds out a casual, cupped hand. That little smile still turning up the sides of his mouth.
You're not supposed to get a crush him; it could ruin things, she reminds herself for what's probably the hundredth time as she tips the chocolate into his hand.
She has a sweet, soft feeling under her ribs that it's a little too late.
-