Really, it’s her own fault that Spock is smiling at her. Or, not smiling, not exactly, but that his mouth is curved upwards and his eyes are bright and his eyebrow is threatening to rise.
She rocks back on her heels, grimaces, and tries to focus on the fact that they’re in his office with his desk and padds and work.
“I have to go,” she says again except that it just makes his mouth twitch and if she wasn’t too absorbed with watching him, she would probably groan at herself and bury her face in her hands.
It had been such a good idea to insist on things like boundaries. Decorum. Professionalism. But best laid plans and all, how was she to know that due to the machinations of the turning, grinding gears that is Academy scheduling, she’d be saying goodbye to him for her winter break in his office of all places, the room where she had made him agree that they would never, not ever, be affectionate with each other.
The worst part, really, beyond the fact that she’s not going to see him for fourteen days, is how much he’s enjoying this. Not the impending separation - he made his thoughts about that known just that morning and the memory of it is nothing if not fresh in her mind - but that he’s not above watching her struggle with her own self imposed rules.
But they made sense. Really. At the time.
Now… She takes a deep breath, tells herself to get on her way to the transport station, and finds herself - again - summarily unable to move from where she’s standing. She has to get going. No, she had to go five minutes ago. Now, she has to run and yet she still isn’t leaving.
“I’ll see you soon,” she says, even though hearing herself say it, she’s sure that she’s repeating herself, and damn him he’s still smiling.
No kissing. She had been so adamant about it, even if he hadn’t cared as much as she had. No hand holding, no touching, no fingers finding shoulders or arms, no nothing because they had his apartment to do all of that in, and she couldn’t have possibly guessed that there would be a time that she might at all feel differently about it.
She makes fists at her sides, bounces on her toes and tries to get herself to leave.
“Have a safe trip,” he tells her and just the way he says it makes her know that he knows that she’s going to give in.
Well, she’s not. She’s sticking to her guns. Standing her ground. Resisting how he’s an arm’s length away and reminding herself that just because her shuttle was rescheduled and she has to leave sooner than either of them planned, that’s no reason to go back on what she decided. It’s logical, or something. Even if she’s saying goodbye to him for two weeks.
His hair is soft under her fingers and his mouth is pliant and warm and then his arm is tight around her waist and she’s not actually sure that the door’s shut.
“I’m going to miss you,” she whispers and kisses him again.
He can only nod in agreement because she’s holding the back of his head too tightly for him to pull away to be able to speak. For too long, she keeps him there, trying to soak up the moment for when she won’t have him with her for so many hours of each day.
“You must go,” he murmurs when they finally release each other and he’s holding her bag out towards her and his thumb is running under her lip to neaten her lipgloss and it’s a good thing he’s doing the sensible thing of pushing her towards the hallway, because she would much, much rather stay.
When she turns back for one last look, he’s still smiling.