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Nyota looks up at the sound of a Kiswahili greeting—that was Kirk’s voice, but it couldn’t be—But there he is, smiling at her and actually looking a little nervous. Disbelieving her senses she asks, “What did you say?”
He repeats the greeting, and she can’t do more than stare at him for about a minute until a look of horror flashes over his face. “Oh god, I’m saying it totally wrong and just insulted you horribly, didn’t I.”
“No.” Nyota shrugs off her daze. “No, your pronunciation is… perfect.”
He gives her a pleased grin, adding in Swahili, “Well, that’s a relief.”
“Why are you learning?” she responds in the same language.
“Oh, you know.” He looks like he’s searching for the words. “I just thought you might like having someone you could speak to in your first language, considering you spend so much time figuring out the impossible and pronouncing the unpronounceable.” It’s odd to listen to Kirk speak Kiswahili. He speaks much slower than he does in English, sounding each word out carefully, and his voice is a little less confident, but there is a rolling cadence to his speech that makes Nyota suddenly homesick for dusty roads, orange groves and tamarind trees. He has clearly been practicing, and she is impressed despite her better judgment.
“That’s… sweet,” she tells him before she can help herself. And it is, she acknowledges. It takes a lot of work for most people to learn a language—and most people wouldn’t do it for their classmates, even close ones. She considers for a moment that it might just be a ploy to get her in bed, but stops herself before she accuses him out loud, realizing that it would be an uncharitable response to his overture of friendship.
“Well, I’ve got to run,” he says looking at a message on his PADD, “but if you’re ever up for a chat, Uhura, just let me know.”
She nods farewell and watches him go, her mind swirling restlessly. It takes her a few minutes to pinpoint the source of her upset. It bothers her that this is the sweetest thing anyone has done for her in a long time—and it’s Kirk of all people who did it—it bothers her that she never would have thought that Kirk would have the capacity to do something so nice for someone else. She knows that he's smart and stubborn as hell--they orbited in the same circles for most of their Academy careers, and then came the Enterprise and the Nero affair--but she's never considered him a thoughful person.
The moment sticks in her mind all day, and later when she is relaxing with Spock she can’t help but bring it up.
“I ran into someone who spoke Kiswahili today,” she tells her lover.
He looks down at her, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Indeed?”
She curls into his side. Spock is not very physically demonstrative, but neither is he the ice Vulcan of gossip. “It was Kirk.”
“I was unaware that he knew the language,” Spock replies.
“Me too. I was impressed by his proficiency,” she admits.
“Curious,” he replies, and returns to his reading, satisfied with their conversation.
Nyota flips through a few more pages of her novel absent-mindedly before lightly bringing up what she had wanted to say in the first place. “Spock? I was wondering if you would ever consider learning Kiswahili.”
He peers at her quizzically, as if sensing that the question means more to her than she has let on before finally responding. “I confess, I do not see a reason at this juncture. May I ask why?”
“Oh,” she says, deflated. “I just thought it would be nice to talk to each other…” she trails off.
“We are already able to communicate in over two hundred and twelve Federation languages and dialects. Adding a language solely for the purpose of conversation seems superfluous.”
Normally she likes how matter-of-fact and direct Spock is, but right now Nyota feels a lump form in her throat. It is moments like these when she remembers why humans and Vulcans so rarely have successful relationships. It’s ironic that the idea that she might enjoy conversing in the language of her birth would come so naturally to Kirk, and yet elude the man she loves, who loves her in return.
“I have distressed you,” Spock realizes.
“Oh, no, it’s not you. Really, it’s fine, Spock,” she replies. It’s not his fault, though she can’t stifle the brief flash of resentment. She knows that she should tell him what it is that’s bothering her, but is it so wrong for her to want him to figure it out?
The next time she sees Kirk is an accident—he’s always running around these days, throwing himself into as many projects as he can to help fix the devastated fleet, and she’s no different. He’s coming out of an engineering bay carrying a thousand small pieces of metal somethings, and clearly isn’t looking where he’s going. She’s going too fast to avert the collision, and in the next instant they’re both on the ground, metal clattering around them.
“Shit! Uhura, I’m really sorry about that.”
She looks up and takes his grease covered hand. “It’s alright, Kirk.” She brushes herself off and starts to help him pick up. “What’s all this for anyhow?”
“Scotty thinks he can repurpose engineering scraps to make basic shuttle cores seven percent more efficient—and with so many damaged and old generation shuttles being pulled back into commission this would be a perfect time for us to make these repairs, so I’m on a scrap gathering mission. If it all works out we’ll present it to the—I’m babbling, never mind, tell me to shut up. Again, really sorry for running you over, Uhura.”
She smiles. “It’s no problem,” she says in Kiswahili.
He grins back and replies, “Good.” His accent is even better this time.
“And Kirk?” She adds as he’s about to walk away. “My friends call me Nyota.”
He freezes for a second, and an expression that she can only interpret as loneliness flashes across his face before he exclaims, “If I’d known dumping scrap metal on top of you was all it took to get your name, I’d have done it a long time ago.”
Nyota rolls her eyes. “Later,” she says softly, and smiles at him.
“Yeah.” He smiles back.
Nyota has to return to her dorm to change into a clean uniform, but she doesn’t mind the inconvenience. Friends are worth it.