[Date Night] - [NVC] - [Uhura, Len]
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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"Or that I express anything beyond vague amusement or disapproval without one needing a manual? I don't know," he shrugged, "it is strange, it was more than a little disorienting at first with Jim looking exactly like Bill. And yet I have absolutely no doubt I could tell them apart in an instant, even though they share far more mannerisms than I do with Spock. I guess there must be a lot more subtle clues in a person's body language than we necessarily notice, consciously?"
He was, quite possibly, rambling. Oh well. She'd hardly seemed to mind during their previous meetings.
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She laughed, and was considering her response when their waiter reappeared with the food. "Oh," she interjected, a little surprised. Vulcans really did work quickly. "Thank you."
The Vulcan nodded, poker-faced, and set the food down. Uhura glanced up at Leonard, holding his eyes, and smiled. An apposite demonstration of the very real difference between Leonard and Spock, here in the contrast between this Vulcan's demeanour and Leonard's sheepish smiles.
"I guess you're right," she told him, when the waiter had departed again. "I'd elaborate, but I'm - " she'd said it before, but it was still true - "starving."
She picked up her knife and fork.
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Still, he took his time as he applied himself to his entree - some kind of lightly spiced vegetable mixture wrapped in a crispy, light pastry that all but melted on his tongue. He kept catching himself trying to compare it to dishes he was used to from home, shook his head at himself in mild exasperation.
"If this is what most Vulcan food is like," he commented in between bites, "I sure as hell can't blame you for becoming permanently attached to that restaurant during your academy days."
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"I'm glad you and I are in agreement," she told him, setting down her fork for a moment to reach across and squeeze his arm. "I had a lot of friends who never really understood my fascination, but..."
She shrugged, and went back to cutting up her own food. "For a logical race, they certainly aren't utilitarian when it comes to food. Wait till you see the desserts."
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"I have a suspicion that people in LA would, pardon the pun, eat this up. I mean, healthy and nutrituous food," because there was hardly any doubt it would fulfil those criteria, as that would surely be the height of illogic, "that's still indulgent, somehow? It would spread like wildfire."
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She spread her hands, and laughed. "That's Vulcan logic for you."
She was almost done with her entree. Well, she had been hungry, and had told him so.
"I went to LA once," she told him. "After I first arrived in the North American territory. I hear San Francisco hasn't changed much in the past two centuries, but LA..." She shrugged. "They had to industrially suck out all the pollution, in the end."
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He laughed at her comment about LA. "That doensn't surprise me in the slightest," he said as he pushed set aside his empty plate, "I mean, don't get me wrong, I love it there - it's very much become home, and it's just such a fascinatingly diverse city with so many contrasts. But I'm also acutely aware that I'm in the incredibly lucky group of outliers who can afford to live up the hill, in a gorgeous neighborhood, when the majority of people simply aren't." He shrugged. "Class divides are funny things. Or rather, used to be."
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She pushed her own plate away, and glanced around from the waiter. When he caught her eye and came over, she said something to him quickly in Vulcan - Leonard had to try this concoction, and she wasn't about to give him the opportunity to refuse dessert. Given his expression when she had brought up old LA diet fads, she doubted that he would have objected, but she didn't feel like risking it.
"So you aren't from LA originally?" she went on, when the waiter had left.
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"No," he shook his head, "born and raised in Boston. I didn't move to California until I'd gone to college at the urging of my parents, and then ultimately decided that acting was what I really wanted to do." His lip quirked wryly. "Not the most popular decision at the time, with the Depression still so fresh in everyone's mind, but I was extremely determined."
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She shook her head, incredulous for a moment. She had known, of course, that he had lived through it; chronology and her understanding of Earth History told her so. But to hear him speak of it like that, as so direct an influence upon his early life... It was incredible.
"That must have taken a lot," she told him, sincere admiration in her tone. "To go for what you really wanted like that, when it was so insecure a prospect."
She smiled. "Still. I get the impression that you do that, as a rule. Go for what you want, so long as it doesn't hurt anybody. Am I right?"
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"I think it actually helped me do so, in hindsight. I was too young to genuinely experience the loss of security as such, even though I did experience the deprivation, you know? So it didn't really feel as if I had anything to lose, but everything to gain by taking that risk."
His eyes were crinkling at the corners as he looked at her, for a long moment, only too aware of the subtext. "But yes, I think that's a pretty good assessment of my stance." A deliberate pause, his eyebrow arching slightly. "Unless, of course, I am sufficiently... compelled to be patient."
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"I think I can understand that," she told him, contemplatively. "When you've nothing to lose, you want to leap for what you can see in the distance. But when you've got something you want right there in your grasp - " she flattened her hand on the table in demonstration " - there's a certain pleasure in taking the time to - assess it - first."
She restrained herself from the schoolgirl urge to nudge his foot under the table, a gesture which would have entirely ruined any gravitas she had succeeded in establishing. However, she did not move her hand.
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His own slipped over hers with ease, tingling sparks from the point of contact as Leonard was once again incredibly thankful of the presence of little booths in preventing offense to Vulcan sensibilities.
"Anything else would be unscientific?" he questioned deadpan except for the slightest quirk of his lip.
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Evidently, he responded well to subtle suggestions. This was encouraging; not that she'd expected anything less, but it was nice to have it confirmed by the warmth of his hand over hers, the smoothness of his fingers as she trailed her own up the length of them.
It was a Vulcan establishment. He knew enough about Vulcans to understand the implication.
He probably also knew that the gesture was more than a little obscene, to Vulcan sensibilities. Her mouth quirked, wondering what he made of that.
She was still wondering, holding his eyes, when the Vulcan waiter swam back into view with dessert.
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She knew this, too, just as he was acutely aware of the positive spectacle they had to be making of themselves, the sense of delicious illicitness it brought to the touch. She might as well have been straddling him on the bench, for all the difference it would make to a Vulcan.
The thought made him flush, all the more so once the waiter came back into view. Leonard withdrew his hand swiftly, though not with enough speed to draw further attention to how their fingers had been entangled.
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