Conversational Vulcan -- Part 1/?
Title: Conversational Vulcan
Pairing: Spock/Uhura
Rating: G
Word count: 1,066
Disclaimer: Star Trek doesn't belong to me. I'm not entirely sure to whom it does belong, but it ain't me!
Summary: Oh God, I suck at these. Pre-STXI, how Uhura and Spock became student and teacher. WIP, part 1/?
Author's Note: Many thanks to Darry for the beta job and Paul for kind words of encouragement. Borne of my wondering how a science officer ended up teaching (Xeno-)Linguistics. My first fic in a new fandom, so please be kind :) -- Mods, I'm a new author but haven't helped myself to a tag because I am shy and retiring. Should I do so?
X-posted to my journal, st_reboot and spock_uhura
“Damn it, it’s not fair!”
With a sigh of exasperation, Uhura pressed her thumb to the broad yellow pause button on her PADD, removing the headphones from her ears. Her face, however, registered only a mild spark of irritation as she looked up at her Orion room mate, sprawled on the opposite bed. “What’s not fair now?”
“I got the freaking Vulcan.”
Uhura blinked her dark eyes. For a specialist - or, at least, future specialist - in Xeno-linguistics, she was finding it oddly difficult to follow the conversation with her alien friend. “Sorry, but you’ll have to start at the beginning. What Vulcan?”
“Commander Spock,” Gaila enunciated. She turned her PADD to face Uhura, tapping at a line of text with a red lacquered nail. Leaning forward and squinting, Nyota saw that it was Gaila’s timetable. “He’s the half-Vulcan teacher, some kind of genius, and everyone says the guy has, like, no sense of humour. I got him for First Contact Protocol and Advanced Geological Analysis. Which I thought would be fun.”
Nyota had heard nothing past ‘half-Vulcan’. She blinked and shook her head, a half-smile of disbelieving excitement beginning to curl her lips. “There’s a Vulcan teaching here and no one thought to tell me?”
Gaila frowned and shrugged. “You’re a Linguist, he’s a Scientist. Why would you know?”
She grinned and tossed her PADD negligently onto the bed. “I have studying to do, I’ll be in the library.” Standing, Nyota straightened her short skirt and walked briskly to the door. She paused briefly, looking over her shoulder with a hand on the door frame. “Spock, right?”
Gaila nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”
*
Three weeks later, Cadet Uhura found herself straightening her skirt once more. She then smoothed a hand over her silky hair, and smudged her thumbs up from under her eyes to remove any make up smears. While she knew that Vulcans placed far more emphasis on the internal workings of a person’s mind than their outward appearance, Nyota could not help the instinct that first impressions were always important. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand and pressed her thumb to the pressure pad that requested entrance to Commander Spock’s quarters.
The minute and a half she spent waiting for the door to be answered was possibly the longest she had stood through since waiting for Starfleet’s response to her application. Eventually, and inevitably, however, the door opened. Nyota allowed herself only a moment to regard the man - Vulcan, she mentally corrected - who stood before her. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with attractive facial features, by human standards: deep brown eyes, cupid-bow lips, a high, strong jaw line. His appeal was only very slightly damaged by the truly appalling haircut that all Vulcans seemed to favour. Commander Spock tilted his head slightly, revealing the delicate point to his ears that matched the upward sweep of his eyebrows, marking him out as something alien.
Quickly affixing a smile to her lips, Uhura took a deep breath and began the speech which had taken her three weeks to perfect. “Good evening, Commander Spock. I am sorry to disturb you,” she recited in perfect standardised Vulcan. “My name is Nyota Uhura, and I am a student in Xeno-linguistics. It is my love-“ She cut off immediately, eyes flicking to the right as she mentally re-played the phrase she had just spoken. “That’s not right,” she murmured, returning to lingua franca. “It is my...”
“Desire?” Spock supplied in Vulcan, eyebrow raised.
Nyota’s smile was now embarrassed. “Thank you. Desire.” She cleared her throat, determined not to let the slip-up ruin the over-all effect of the talent she knew could be developed with just a little bit of help. “It is my desire to specialise in Vulcan and Romulan dialects, specifically the ancient,” she paused and breathed, preparing for the longer technical terms in the foreign tongue, “etymological divergences between the two standardised languages and their subsequent regional dialects.” Nyota indicated the end of her speech with a small, proud nod of her head.
Spock paused a moment more than made her entirely comfortable, before replying, “This is a fine choice of study, cadet, but I fail to comprehend what would bring you to my quarters. I am a science scholar.”
“And a Vulcan,” Uhura quickly replied, following his lead and returning to the familiar lingua franca. “I have all of the technical and grammatical texts and teachings I could possibly need to do well, but to truly excel I need practice. How many Vulcan dialects do you speak fluently, Commander?”
She could tell from the slight upturn of the corners of his mouth that he was growing interested in her proposal. “Five,” he replied.
“My most experienced professor is fluent in three, conversational in one and patchy in six. And speaks only standard Romulan fluently, none of the dialects - I’m doing my learning from tape recordings.” She risked an extra step forward. “I understand that you’re a busy man, but...” she shrugged lightly. “Any time you could spare me would be very much appreciated, Commander.”
Spock considered for only a moment. “I will confer with your senior supervisor. If she concurs that this is an adequate course of action, then perhaps we could meet for one evening a week?”
The result was better than Nyota had dared hope. She beamed and had to physically restrain herself from approaching her senior officer. “Thank you, sir, thank you so much.”
That odd quirking of his lips again, and he inclined his head. “Then I will bid you good evening, Cadet Uhura.”
“Yes, Commander,” she said in Vulcan. “Good evening.”
The door slid shut behind Uhura. She had already begun her way back down the corridor, a spring in her booted step. Gaila could say whatever she liked about Commander Spock’s sense of humour, ; if he was willing to take on an extra student out of the goodness of his green heart, he was all right by her.
Back in his quarters, Spock frowned at the grey panel of his closed door. Or, at the least, his eyebrows were drawn together very marginally, and his lips slightly pursed. This was as extreme a reaction as Spock ever allowed himself - to any kind of situation. “Singular young woman,” he muttered to himself before, with a slight shake of his head, he returned to his quarters and his not insignificant pile of marking.
Pairing: Spock/Uhura
Rating: G
Word count: 1,066
Disclaimer: Star Trek doesn't belong to me. I'm not entirely sure to whom it does belong, but it ain't me!
Summary: Oh God, I suck at these. Pre-STXI, how Uhura and Spock became student and teacher. WIP, part 1/?
Author's Note: Many thanks to Darry for the beta job and Paul for kind words of encouragement. Borne of my wondering how a science officer ended up teaching (Xeno-)Linguistics. My first fic in a new fandom, so please be kind :) -- Mods, I'm a new author but haven't helped myself to a tag because I am shy and retiring. Should I do so?
X-posted to my journal, st_reboot and spock_uhura
“Damn it, it’s not fair!”
With a sigh of exasperation, Uhura pressed her thumb to the broad yellow pause button on her PADD, removing the headphones from her ears. Her face, however, registered only a mild spark of irritation as she looked up at her Orion room mate, sprawled on the opposite bed. “What’s not fair now?”
“I got the freaking Vulcan.”
Uhura blinked her dark eyes. For a specialist - or, at least, future specialist - in Xeno-linguistics, she was finding it oddly difficult to follow the conversation with her alien friend. “Sorry, but you’ll have to start at the beginning. What Vulcan?”
“Commander Spock,” Gaila enunciated. She turned her PADD to face Uhura, tapping at a line of text with a red lacquered nail. Leaning forward and squinting, Nyota saw that it was Gaila’s timetable. “He’s the half-Vulcan teacher, some kind of genius, and everyone says the guy has, like, no sense of humour. I got him for First Contact Protocol and Advanced Geological Analysis. Which I thought would be fun.”
Nyota had heard nothing past ‘half-Vulcan’. She blinked and shook her head, a half-smile of disbelieving excitement beginning to curl her lips. “There’s a Vulcan teaching here and no one thought to tell me?”
Gaila frowned and shrugged. “You’re a Linguist, he’s a Scientist. Why would you know?”
She grinned and tossed her PADD negligently onto the bed. “I have studying to do, I’ll be in the library.” Standing, Nyota straightened her short skirt and walked briskly to the door. She paused briefly, looking over her shoulder with a hand on the door frame. “Spock, right?”
Gaila nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”
*
Three weeks later, Cadet Uhura found herself straightening her skirt once more. She then smoothed a hand over her silky hair, and smudged her thumbs up from under her eyes to remove any make up smears. While she knew that Vulcans placed far more emphasis on the internal workings of a person’s mind than their outward appearance, Nyota could not help the instinct that first impressions were always important. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand and pressed her thumb to the pressure pad that requested entrance to Commander Spock’s quarters.
The minute and a half she spent waiting for the door to be answered was possibly the longest she had stood through since waiting for Starfleet’s response to her application. Eventually, and inevitably, however, the door opened. Nyota allowed herself only a moment to regard the man - Vulcan, she mentally corrected - who stood before her. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with attractive facial features, by human standards: deep brown eyes, cupid-bow lips, a high, strong jaw line. His appeal was only very slightly damaged by the truly appalling haircut that all Vulcans seemed to favour. Commander Spock tilted his head slightly, revealing the delicate point to his ears that matched the upward sweep of his eyebrows, marking him out as something alien.
Quickly affixing a smile to her lips, Uhura took a deep breath and began the speech which had taken her three weeks to perfect. “Good evening, Commander Spock. I am sorry to disturb you,” she recited in perfect standardised Vulcan. “My name is Nyota Uhura, and I am a student in Xeno-linguistics. It is my love-“ She cut off immediately, eyes flicking to the right as she mentally re-played the phrase she had just spoken. “That’s not right,” she murmured, returning to lingua franca. “It is my...”
“Desire?” Spock supplied in Vulcan, eyebrow raised.
Nyota’s smile was now embarrassed. “Thank you. Desire.” She cleared her throat, determined not to let the slip-up ruin the over-all effect of the talent she knew could be developed with just a little bit of help. “It is my desire to specialise in Vulcan and Romulan dialects, specifically the ancient,” she paused and breathed, preparing for the longer technical terms in the foreign tongue, “etymological divergences between the two standardised languages and their subsequent regional dialects.” Nyota indicated the end of her speech with a small, proud nod of her head.
Spock paused a moment more than made her entirely comfortable, before replying, “This is a fine choice of study, cadet, but I fail to comprehend what would bring you to my quarters. I am a science scholar.”
“And a Vulcan,” Uhura quickly replied, following his lead and returning to the familiar lingua franca. “I have all of the technical and grammatical texts and teachings I could possibly need to do well, but to truly excel I need practice. How many Vulcan dialects do you speak fluently, Commander?”
She could tell from the slight upturn of the corners of his mouth that he was growing interested in her proposal. “Five,” he replied.
“My most experienced professor is fluent in three, conversational in one and patchy in six. And speaks only standard Romulan fluently, none of the dialects - I’m doing my learning from tape recordings.” She risked an extra step forward. “I understand that you’re a busy man, but...” she shrugged lightly. “Any time you could spare me would be very much appreciated, Commander.”
Spock considered for only a moment. “I will confer with your senior supervisor. If she concurs that this is an adequate course of action, then perhaps we could meet for one evening a week?”
The result was better than Nyota had dared hope. She beamed and had to physically restrain herself from approaching her senior officer. “Thank you, sir, thank you so much.”
That odd quirking of his lips again, and he inclined his head. “Then I will bid you good evening, Cadet Uhura.”
“Yes, Commander,” she said in Vulcan. “Good evening.”
The door slid shut behind Uhura. She had already begun her way back down the corridor, a spring in her booted step. Gaila could say whatever she liked about Commander Spock’s sense of humour, ; if he was willing to take on an extra student out of the goodness of his green heart, he was all right by her.
Back in his quarters, Spock frowned at the grey panel of his closed door. Or, at the least, his eyebrows were drawn together very marginally, and his lips slightly pursed. This was as extreme a reaction as Spock ever allowed himself - to any kind of situation. “Singular young woman,” he muttered to himself before, with a slight shake of his head, he returned to his quarters and his not insignificant pile of marking.