ST Fic: "Dance Like Nobody's Watching" 1/1
So, despite having many other things to do, I am half way through a long S/U fic and my brain is hammering at me with plot bunnies - i.e. plotty plot bunnies, with action and adventure - that I have NO TIME to write. Gah! Curse you, shiny new fandom.
Anyway... Here is a short one shot, because I just had to write something.
Dance Like Nobody’s Watching
by
SalR
Their table is next to the wall, furthest away from the window and the streaming stars beyond. Not that it is really ‘their’ table, because Spock would never be sentimental enough to become proprietorial about something so functional. Nevertheless, it is where she almost always sits and, when they can eat together, he joins her there. She likes it because she can look past him and watch the crew watching them.
She knows that they wonder, she sees it in their eyes as they look away with half-turned smiles and significant glances.
What the hell does she see in him? He’s so cold, so inflexible. So painfully proper. What does he give her?
She watches them wonder whenever they sit together, talking in the quiet privacy of his language; the language of a now rare and shattered race.
Nyota has always been a studier of people, interpreting the unspoken meaning in face and body. Mostly what she sees in these faces is a fusion of curiosity and surprise, a remnant of the prurient interest that swept through the ship in the first weeks of their long mission and that has not yet dispersed.
Have you heard…? Is it true…? No way, how did that happen…?
Occasionally, there is disapproval. This, she notes, is usually from muscle-bound men who feel threatened by her preference; girls like her have no business being interested in men like him. In their own minds, of course, it is all very simple - he is alien, other, a threat.
Do you know what he did to the captain? I heard it took five men to pull him off! I don’t trust him. He’s a loose cannon. He’s just plain weird…
And sometimes, to her secret delight, there is envy. A silent young ensign watching with flushed cheeks as Spock enters the mess hall, following with her eyes as he makes his careful selection of food and moves to join Nyota at their table. Sometimes there’s a giggle, muffled and silly, between women who are only a few years her junior but who are, nonetheless, girls in her eyes.
I wonder what they talk about - particle physics? Do you think he can kiss? Do Vulcans even have sex? I heard it was only once in seven years...
They watch and wonder, and Uhura smiles and keeps silent.
Their relationship has always been defined by privacy; it is precious and beautiful, and for them alone. But sometimes she thinks how she might answer their questions, how she might explain what they are to the curious, the disapproving, and the envious...
To the curious she would say that, yes, it is true, and that it has been true for almost two years - since that warm San Francisco night when he seduced her with a burning look and a touch of his hand. She would tell them that it started with heat, with the clash of two sparring minds and a spark of sardonic humor; the truth is, her knees were weak long before their hands first met. The curious, she thinks, would be surprised to know how often he has made her laugh.
She would tell them that, in the aftermath of Vulcan, things changed. That their nights were framed by silence and touch and unspoken feeling, and that there are still times when he cannot hold, when his grief is so overpowering that she feels it ripple through her in waves. Her tears fall because his cannot, and through her he finds balance and strength. There are few, she supposes, who imagine that she is his anchor.
Seven months into their voyage, his humour has returned - changed, as he has been, by all he has lost and gained. And to the disapproving she would note that Jim Kirk is one such gain, a friend different from any he has known; brash, reckless, charismatic. Loyal. She sees his influence every day - bright threads of self-confidence that straighten Spock’s shoulders and lighten his step. In Kirk she sees gravitas, the weight of command, and knows that he too has been changed by their friendship.
To them, the disapproving, she would also confess that she knows exactly what he did to the captain. She saw it, after all. But she would add that it took only a single word to stop him - a word, and a world of guilt. She would tell them of the shame in his eyes, but that mostly she remembers his courage and dignity. She would tell them that, though he is alien, he is still the finest man she has ever known.
For the envious, however, she has no words of comfort. Because, yes, he can kiss - but it is the least of what he can do, and there are no words to describe the sensation of being caressed by the mind of your lover. When they are intimate, he opens himself to her and she feels all that he cannot say; the experience transcends the physical, the emotions are overwhelming and humbling.
So, to those who watch and wonder what he gives her, she has only this to say: he gives her himself.
And that is enough.
~End~
Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. :)
Anyway... Here is a short one shot, because I just had to write something.
Dance Like Nobody’s Watching
by
SalR
Their table is next to the wall, furthest away from the window and the streaming stars beyond. Not that it is really ‘their’ table, because Spock would never be sentimental enough to become proprietorial about something so functional. Nevertheless, it is where she almost always sits and, when they can eat together, he joins her there. She likes it because she can look past him and watch the crew watching them.
She knows that they wonder, she sees it in their eyes as they look away with half-turned smiles and significant glances.
What the hell does she see in him? He’s so cold, so inflexible. So painfully proper. What does he give her?
She watches them wonder whenever they sit together, talking in the quiet privacy of his language; the language of a now rare and shattered race.
Nyota has always been a studier of people, interpreting the unspoken meaning in face and body. Mostly what she sees in these faces is a fusion of curiosity and surprise, a remnant of the prurient interest that swept through the ship in the first weeks of their long mission and that has not yet dispersed.
Have you heard…? Is it true…? No way, how did that happen…?
Occasionally, there is disapproval. This, she notes, is usually from muscle-bound men who feel threatened by her preference; girls like her have no business being interested in men like him. In their own minds, of course, it is all very simple - he is alien, other, a threat.
Do you know what he did to the captain? I heard it took five men to pull him off! I don’t trust him. He’s a loose cannon. He’s just plain weird…
And sometimes, to her secret delight, there is envy. A silent young ensign watching with flushed cheeks as Spock enters the mess hall, following with her eyes as he makes his careful selection of food and moves to join Nyota at their table. Sometimes there’s a giggle, muffled and silly, between women who are only a few years her junior but who are, nonetheless, girls in her eyes.
I wonder what they talk about - particle physics? Do you think he can kiss? Do Vulcans even have sex? I heard it was only once in seven years...
They watch and wonder, and Uhura smiles and keeps silent.
Their relationship has always been defined by privacy; it is precious and beautiful, and for them alone. But sometimes she thinks how she might answer their questions, how she might explain what they are to the curious, the disapproving, and the envious...
To the curious she would say that, yes, it is true, and that it has been true for almost two years - since that warm San Francisco night when he seduced her with a burning look and a touch of his hand. She would tell them that it started with heat, with the clash of two sparring minds and a spark of sardonic humor; the truth is, her knees were weak long before their hands first met. The curious, she thinks, would be surprised to know how often he has made her laugh.
She would tell them that, in the aftermath of Vulcan, things changed. That their nights were framed by silence and touch and unspoken feeling, and that there are still times when he cannot hold, when his grief is so overpowering that she feels it ripple through her in waves. Her tears fall because his cannot, and through her he finds balance and strength. There are few, she supposes, who imagine that she is his anchor.
Seven months into their voyage, his humour has returned - changed, as he has been, by all he has lost and gained. And to the disapproving she would note that Jim Kirk is one such gain, a friend different from any he has known; brash, reckless, charismatic. Loyal. She sees his influence every day - bright threads of self-confidence that straighten Spock’s shoulders and lighten his step. In Kirk she sees gravitas, the weight of command, and knows that he too has been changed by their friendship.
To them, the disapproving, she would also confess that she knows exactly what he did to the captain. She saw it, after all. But she would add that it took only a single word to stop him - a word, and a world of guilt. She would tell them of the shame in his eyes, but that mostly she remembers his courage and dignity. She would tell them that, though he is alien, he is still the finest man she has ever known.
For the envious, however, she has no words of comfort. Because, yes, he can kiss - but it is the least of what he can do, and there are no words to describe the sensation of being caressed by the mind of your lover. When they are intimate, he opens himself to her and she feels all that he cannot say; the experience transcends the physical, the emotions are overwhelming and humbling.
So, to those who watch and wonder what he gives her, she has only this to say: he gives her himself.
And that is enough.
~End~
Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. :)