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Michael’s first week aboard Shenzhou is far from satisfactory by any means. She’d talked back to the Captain more than once. Stared sullenly through briefings and orientation that reprised information she already knew, not realizing they were more about socializing with the crew than learning the systems. And she had utterly failed in making any friends among the crew. More likely, she had made enemies.
Upon meeting Saru, she’d said something about the limits of pre-warp education and how uncommon it was for members of newly-contacted species to earn high-ranking positions in Starfleet. He’d gone still for a moment and then responded with a cold, “Then I hope that I might be an exception to that trend,” and walked away before she had time to decipher her mistake or even begin to correct it. It wasn’t until he was gone that she considered the same things had been said of a human among Vulcans.
Her second impression hadn’t gone much better. He had not been particularly pleased with her disapproving assessment of Shenzhou’s outdated science labs.
Michael knows Captain Georgiou expected more from her. Disappointing her teachers is hardly a new experience for her. This hurts so much more. But she can’t let that emotion show.
“It is not always easy.”
The click of a tray on the mess hall table jolts Michael from her examination of a particularly complex equation on her padd. She looks up to see who has disturbed her and what they want.
Saru ducks his head. “Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you.” He sits opposite her and pulls out his own padd. No doubt he has reports to file after the events of the day.
She studies the tray. He’s brought a dish of sliced fruit and two cups of tea, one dark and one pale, in plain Starfleet-issue dishware. “You have two beverages. Are you expecting someone to join us?”
“It’s for you. Vulcan spice tea,” he offers, placing the dark cup in front of her. Steam coils up in meditative patterns. “It might be a presumption, but I saw you drinking it yesterday and I thought you might like some now.”
He noticed that much? She takes the cup. “It is acceptable, yes.” She winces. “I mean, thank you.”
A few moments pass, in which she tries and fails to continue her work.
Finally, she has to ask. “Why are you doing this?” She knows she offended him earlier. In her experience, few people were willing to socialize with her after that. “I insulted you.”
“Yes, you did.” Straightforward, like a Vulcan. She finds she appreciates that.
She looks down. “I apologize.”
“And I accept.” She’s grateful. It does make her feel a little better, but something tells her it won’t be the last time they’ll disagree to the point of insults.
More quiet.
“What did you mean?” she asks. He looks at her. “You said before, it is not always easy.”
“This.” He gestures to the room around them. “Existing among so many people who are so different from you,” he explains. “Who have their own expectations and cultures that seem impossible to grasp.”
“I am human,” she says. She has far less excuse than he to be so troubled by her fellow officers.
He tilts his head. “And I am not. Yet we both find ourselves set apart from our comrades.”
She doesn’t like that she can be so easily exposed. So easily labeled as different, even here, far away from Vulcan. For a moment, she’s incensed at his daring, how he thinks he can so easily classify her. But he has proven himself perceptive, and she’s spent this week burning bridges before they’re built, so she swallows that feeling as she’s been taught to swallow most, and simply nods.
Then asks, “How do you do it?”
“By listening, mainly. It is a useful skill. Learn what others expect, and then decide what of that you will give them.”
She looks away from his eyes, focusing on a spot on a distant wall. “But what if there are things you cannot give them?”
“Those who know you well enough will understand. The rest will have to learn to deal with it.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know anybody here.”
“That will change soon. I would say we are changing that right now, in fact.”
“I suppose,” she says, not quite believing it. But then, does she know enough about relating to others to judge?
She’s been around nearly-expressionless Vulcans long enough to recognize that tip of his chin as a tell of some sort. Akin to a smile, perhaps.
“Captain Georgiou believes you will accomplish great things,” he says. “She is rarely wrong in such assessments.”
For a few moments, she lets that faith warm her. But that warmth is soon replaced by the knowledge that she has to live up to it.
They continue to work, separately but in the same space. She decides to count that as a successful interaction.
Finally, Saru rises from his seat, gathers the empty teacups, and wishes her goodnight.
She pulls up her schedule for the next day. She’ll be spending most of it in the science labs. Perhaps she’ll be working with Saru.
If she is, or even if she’s not, she’ll prove herself to the Captain, and to him.