Much Ado About Vulcan (A Spock Love Story) - COMPLETE

A Surprising Proposal

To say that I was surprised when I got the email from the Professor would be an understatement. It was five weeks since what T'yonga and I had taken to calling the 'Great Apology', and although the Professor was no longer rude to me, he certainly hadn't made any effort to engage conversation. The most chatty that we had ever got was a curt nod of recognition if he walked past me in the corridor, or a 'have a good weekend, Cadet', at four O'Clock on a Friday when I finally went home. The email was short, curt and to the point, everything that I expected from a Vulcan.

Cadet Birchwood,

Meet me in my office (Room F266) at 1600 hours tomorrow.

There is something which I need to discuss with you.

Professor S.

No 'please', no 'thank you'. Not even signed with his full name, just 'Professor S.' I had got the email at 9:00 am exactly and had spent the whole day with it playing on my mind. T'yonga was keen to offer up a few suggestions about what the 'something' that he needed to discuss may be.

"He's probably going to ask you for a quick shag." she snorted when I told her.

As always, curt and straight to the point. And completely off the mark. The fact that I was certain that T'yonga was incorrect did nothing to hide the monstrous blush that spread all over my face at her words. Ever since Jackie had drunkenly let slip that I had a slight crush on the Professor, which I DO NOT, T'yonga had been entirely incorrigible. Every second word out of her mouth had been an innuendo, and when I told her about the mysterious email, she had acted like it was her birthday and Christmas rolled up into one.

"You know, Vulcans only have sex once every seven years, so I'd imagine you'd be quite unsatisfied with a relationship..." she continued, smothering a giggle as she peeled an orange, splayed out on the sofa in a yellow fuzzy dressing gown. I poured myself a glass of apple juice from the carton in the fridge, sniffing it first to make sure that it was still in date, before falling into the pink spotted beanbag on the floor like all the bones had been pulled out of my body. I was exhausted, and it was only, I checked my watch, half ten.

"They only mate once every seven years, 'Yonga. It's different. And for the last time I am not going to have sex with a Vulcan."

She made a face that made it clear exactly what she thought of my statement, 'absolute bullshit' and went back to peeling her orange, popping a small segment into her mouth and chewing it thoughtfully whilst she searched for something else irritating to say. I took a sip of my apple juice and gagged, spitting it back out into the cup. Obviously, the smell-test had been incorrect, because it had fermented so much that I was feeling woozy just tasting it. I heaved myself up from the beanbag and went back over to the fridge, checking the back of the carton.

"Best Before September 17th?!" I almost yelled, and glared at T'yonga, "That was three weeks ago. I think my taste-buds have been burnt off."

T'yonga just chortled as I threw the offending juice in the bin, and poured my glass down the sink. I grabbed the next best thing, a half-full bottle of milk, in date, thankfully, and poured myself a tall glass. I pulled a wooden chair out from behind the table, which was quickly being buried under a pile of outstanding loan letters and the occasional periodic table. I cleared myself space and rested my head on my hands and groaned loudly.

"So... what do you think it's about, then?"

T'yonga's question was lost on me.

"What do I think what's about? The meaning of life?"

"The email, you ninny."

Oh. Yeah. That.

To be completely honest, I wasn't sure. I regarded it with a slight amount of apprehension. Surely if everything was alright, there would be no need for him to contact me? I must have done something wrong, must have forgotten to hand in an assignment or failed badly on one of the weekly tests he set for us.