12

Nyota hurries to keep up with the rapid pace of her instructor, Dr. Savat. He's quick to be so short and squat; still, he's one of Nyota's favorite teachers at Starfleet and he's always gone out of his way to assist her in her training since she's come to Starfleet Academy. He's been that way since he discovered her personal goal to become a communications officer. It had been his first career, but he'd been wounded on one of the missions, leaving him completely deaf in his right ear.

"He's really rigid...you know...got the reputation of being a hard ass, excuse my French. Most students fail his classes at least once, but you won't need to take his courses. You should really add just a few more research credits from the computer science department to your transcript, and a recommendation from Commander Spock would almost guarantee you placement on one of the top star ships. Here we are. Let me do the talking. And don't shake his hand. Vulcans don't like to be touched," Dr. Savat says.

"Yes, Sir," Nyota says, feeling a hint of nerves twisting in her stomach as they arrived in front of a closed office door. The neat font outside reads Commander Spock, Instructor.

Dr. Savat wastes no time knocking, his chubby fist aggressive on the glass window of the door.

"It is unlocked," a voice inside says.

The man sitting inside the warm office is nothing like what Nyota expects to see. Absolutely nothing. It never registers with her that he might be so...young. Not only is he young, but he is strikingly handsome, so much so that when he raises his eyes to her own, her heart skips a beat. Had she been any lighter in skin tone, her blush would have been visible. She fights the quickening of breath by holding her head a little higher, giving as haughty an air as she can.

"Forgive our disturbing you. We won't take too much of your time. Might I introduce Cadet Nyota Uhura, the student I emailed you about last week? Surely you remember?"

"There is little I forget, Dr. Savat."

Dr. Savat chuckles. "Yes, of course. Well, I wanted you to meet her in person."

The Commander nods at her, and she does the same in return as Dr. Savat presses him, "You've already seen her transcripts, I gather?"

The Vulcan pushes himself back from his desk and walks over to them, standing just before them, both hands behind his back.

"I have, and I am afraid you have wasted your time. As I stated the first several times you mentioned Cadet Uhura, Dr. Savat, my course load is full. The semester has already begun, and even if she made perfect scores on every remaining exam in Advanced Phonology, she would still be unable to obtain marks high enough to meet the academic requirements of one hoping to earn credits towards a career in Xenolinguistics, particularly if it is aboard a ship that will be taking its first flight the summer she graduates."

He has studied her file. He knows about the Enterprise. She's impressed.

"That's just it, Commander. She's exempted out of Phonology, all levels. Her placement tests are off the charts, in fact. She came to Starfleet a polyglot. I'm telling you, she's brilliant. She's determined. She has practically everything she needs to get on board any top star ship except a semester, maybe two, of computer based research. She needs an independent study from a teacher who will challenge her, beyond what I can do."

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting I agree to create a course for one student, whom I do not know, simply because she is, as you say, brilliant? I have known many brilliant Cadets at Starfleet. I make exceptions for no one—"

"Nash veh aitlu stariben Vuhlkansu ek'ariben. Nash veh bolau T'kehr. Veh vaikau a'rie'mnu e'tum y gol'tor du ekhartausu," she interjects. (This one would like to speak Vulcan more fluently. This one needs a proficient teacher, and would devote the time to master the beautiful language, as well as assist with teaching your courses.)

The room goes silent for a moment as his eyes burn into hers. She freezes, sure she's fucked up the words or said something totally offensive.

"Who has taught you to speak Vulcan?" Spock asks sharply.

Nyota glances at Dr. Savat before clearing her throat. He'd told her to let him do all the talking. "I…I taught it to myself—"

"Impossible."

"I beg your pardon, Sir, but it's the truth. I've made it a personal challenge to myself to speak as many languages as I can of the nations in our Federation. My roommate is Orion, and I've gotten fairly decent at it. I also know the northern and southern dialects of Andorian. I can speak some Romulan as well. When I found out that Starfleet had a teacher who was Vulcan, I was curious about it and I started to learn what I could. Sir."

"How long have you studied?"

Nyota fidgets, but tries to appear confident. "Not long. A few months."

"What other areas of Vulcan language are you familiar with?"

"I can do all formal greetings and introduce myself. I can ask for change and hail a hover cab. If you'd like I can—"

"Nahp starun sa rom. Nash veh panah tor mnah. K fai," he says. (Your fluency thus far is impressive. This one will consider your proposal. That is all.)

He leans forward in a slight bow, then returns to his desk.

"Thank you, Commander Spock," Nyota says.

On the way out, Dr. Savat pats her back. "You really surprised him when you spoke to him in his native tongue."

Nyota finally lets out a sigh of relief. "That was so nerve wracking! He didn't crack a smile! I know you told me not to say anything, but I was just trying to show him I was serious about it. He seemed so disinterested. I had to do something!"

"You acted wisely. He'll take you on. If he doesn't, let me know and I'll see what I can do about getting you an internship on Vulcan myself. It is a useful language to have in the Federation. You really proved yourself back there."

"I'm so grateful to you for trying to help me get everything I need. Thank you."

"Nyota," Dr. Savat says, stopping to look at her. "You're going to make a wonderful communications officer one day. If I don't help you achieve that, well, then, I'm not much of a teacher."

Every Starfleet cadet enrolled in the Academy had a photograph attached to their files. Spock had seen her photograph on the first transcripts Dr. Savat sent to him, and he could remember in passing noting her attractiveness, but he had been uninterested in fulfilling his colleague's wishes to add another student to his already long list of cadets enrolled in his courses.

Her photograph does not do her the justice it could have.

He's mesmerized by her the moment she sets foot in his office. The room suddenly becomes too small, the air becomes too still, even though he has one of the larger offices on the faculty. It had been her, filling up his space, starting the magic within that he had not thought possible in all his Vulcan years.

When she started to speak to him in his mother tongue, part of him wanted to weep. He had not heard Vulcan spoken so beautifully by any other human, save his mother. Nyota Uhura had much to learn, but he would be a fool to deny that she was indeed linguistically gifted.

Months, she had said. She had taught herself nearly perfect phrasing in months. It was so highly unlikely for most humans, he would not have believed it had he not borne witness personally.

Of course he will allow her to be his research assistant, and mentor her in speaking his native language. He would teach her so well she could be mistaken for Vulcan herself. But he will need time to build restraint against already budding emotions he is having difficulty understanding.

What is it about her? Why, when he tries to meditate his heart and soul into nothingness, is she there? Why does he still smell the scent of amber on her brown skin and still see her dark eyes— alert, blinking back at him, taking him all in? The stirring within that started approximately nine hours and twenty three minutes ago is still making its presence known, has since the moment they were introduced.

He knows, in the most honest and humble part of his heart, that he must see her again, no matter what.

Rising from his meditation mat, he collects his PADD, flips it on and begins to type.

THE END