Work Text:
"You don't want me."
Nyota’s words rang out loud and clear in the empty room and he was surprised by them. He was not entirely sure what had happened between them, how it had come about, how it had started or where it was headed, but this, he was sure, was not true. “I do not understand,” Spock said with a frown, watching her lean over the desk and going through the stack of papers on it. The statement seemed to come out of nowhere. There had been nothing leading up to it, and they had been working in what had been up until now rather companionable silence, or so he had thought. Perhaps he had been mistaken. “Nyota, what do you mean?”
“It’s simple,” she said. “I know we can’t be obvious about things, I’m not an idiot, but if you wanted me you’d be more...well, obvious about it. When we’re alone, I mean. You’d make it a point to be close to me, to show me you want me. And you don’t, so...you don’t.” She continued leafing through the papers. “And that’s fine. I mean, there are other people who do. You’re attractive, you’re a good kisser, but you’re one of my teachers and it’s probably not a good idea anyway.” She selected the paper she needed and straightened up. “So we’ll just forget anything ever happened, okay? It’s easier that way, for both of us. And I won’t say anything. I promise I won’t get you in trouble. You don’t deserve that.”
“Nyota...” he began, giving her a confused look, but she shook her head, taking the paper and putting it in her bag and then heading for the door, her steps quick, as though she just wanted to escape. She paused at the door, almost like she was having second thoughts, and he began to get out of his seat, but then she took a deep breath and opened the door and walked out, and he sat back down, feeling rather dejected. The situation that had just happened seemed rather surreal. It had come out of nowhere, with no warning, and now he was left to pick it apart and figure out what exactly had happened. He would do his best to apply logic but he wasn’t sure logic would suffice. Logic did not seem to apply well to romantic endeavors, he had been told, and from his own limited experience, he had indeed found that to be true.
He was not used to feeling emotions. He had not planned on getting involved in any relationships of a romantic or sexual nature with anyone at Starfleet Academy and had avoided the many advances of amorous woman, as well as a few men and some non-binary denizens, thrown his way over the last few years with great care. It had not been hard; he had stayed focused on his studies and let them consume him, paying attention to little else, whether it be extracurricular activities or his fellow students. It had allowed him to graduate at the top of his class and be offered a position at the Academy when his schooling was finished.
When he had agreed to stay on as a teacher at the Academy, his mother had been proud but his father had been...not displeased, but not pleased, either. He had hoped he would return and take his rightful place on Vulcan, do as he should have done all those years ago.
That was not what he wanted for himself. He was not entirely Vulcan. That was not his world. He would never be made to be comfortable there, so he would continue to make his way in the universe at large. It was best for all involved, he had thought. He would not besmirch the legacy of what it meant to be a true Vulcan, as he had by turning his back on his kind by going to Starfleet Academy in the first place if he came back and tried to make a name for himself in their hierarchy. If he remained an outsider, as he was well considered, then all would remain well within the order of their society. And that would be what was most comfortable for him as well, because here at Starfleet, he felt that, perhaps, he had found his calling. His father may not have understood, but his mother had, and he was content enough with that.
And then he had met Nyota and he had felt stirrings he had never felt before. He had slowly started to realize what his father had felt for his mother, why he had gone against what his culture dictated and chosen to be with her. Perhaps by now it had blossomed into love. He was not sure. He couldn’t quantify it or classify it so he wasn’t sure. But he didn’t know how to show her, how to tell her, how to know for sure. And now, perhaps, it was too late.
He didn’t want it to be too late, though.
He needed to figure out a way to tell her how he felt, that he cared deeply and that he wanted no one other than he. That he did want her, if she did not already know, if she was not aware; she might not be, given the tone of her conversation. He needed to tell her that his feelings were strong and deep, so much so that he, at times, worried that they might overwhelm him with their intensity, and that even though Vulcans tended to be seen as an unfeeling race he was not among them, and he had passions that ran deep, and one of his passions was her. He had to make her see, and hope she understood.
He did not want to lose her, and he had to figure out the best way to make her understand all that before it was too late and someone else realized what a wonderful, brilliant and perfect woman she was and tried to claim her for themselves and she was lost to him forever.
The question was...how?