She knew how difficult it was for her father, especially after he'd lost the love of his life. Her younger siblings probably couldn't remember the way he was before she died, but no matter how well he hid it Nyota could sometimes look at him and see that part of him was missing. Losing his wife had taken away some of the hope she'd always admired about him.
But now Jim was looking at her so intently and telling her what neither her father nor anyone else ever had: that he couldn't understand why someone wouldn't want to hear her speak. Her eyes dropped to his hand on hers, and she couldn't look back at him for a moment because her eyes were prickling with unshed tears. When she managed to respond, her voice was quiet. “There aren't a lot of people who think the way you do. Most don't care about anything past the fact that I'm black and female, and sometimes... I'm afraid no one ever will.”
She looked up at him, and there was a hint of confusion in her eyes, but there was hope too, or barring that at least a conviction that it was too soon to give up. “But there must be more people like you, and as long as there are there's a chance that other people's views will change too. Someday, it is going to be different...” He shoulder slumped ever so slightly. “But I don't know how it'll ever be different for me. I don't know the right setting, Jim.” She shrugged and tried to shake off the sudden seriousness. "I guess I'll just have to keep looking." It bewildered her a little that she was saying all this to him, but he'd said he wanted to hear her speak, and it was almost shockingly easy to believe he meant it.
Her smile became more genuine as he teased her about the laundry. “All right, I'll teach you how to properly remove a strain, though I do hope you're washing all your clothes properly. They won't last otherwise.”
The hint of sadness faded from her eyes as he kept challenging her. It gave her an outlet for all the frustrated energy that seemed to build up inside her, and she really couldn't back down when he was looking at her like that. “I suppose I can let you entertain delusions of victory until the match."
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But now Jim was looking at her so intently and telling her what neither her father nor anyone else ever had: that he couldn't understand why someone wouldn't want to hear her speak. Her eyes dropped to his hand on hers, and she couldn't look back at him for a moment because her eyes were prickling with unshed tears. When she managed to respond, her voice was quiet. “There aren't a lot of people who think the way you do. Most don't care about anything past the fact that I'm black and female, and sometimes... I'm afraid no one ever will.”
She looked up at him, and there was a hint of confusion in her eyes, but there was hope too, or barring that at least a conviction that it was too soon to give up. “But there must be more people like you, and as long as there are there's a chance that other people's views will change too. Someday, it is going to be different...” He shoulder slumped ever so slightly. “But I don't know how it'll ever be different for me. I don't know the right setting, Jim.” She shrugged and tried to shake off the sudden seriousness. "I guess I'll just have to keep looking." It bewildered her a little that she was saying all this to him, but he'd said he wanted to hear her speak, and it was almost shockingly easy to believe he meant it.
Her smile became more genuine as he teased her about the laundry. “All right, I'll teach you how to properly remove a strain, though I do hope you're washing all your clothes properly. They won't last otherwise.”
The hint of sadness faded from her eyes as he kept challenging her. It gave her an outlet for all the frustrated energy that seemed to build up inside her, and she really couldn't back down when he was looking at her like that. “I suppose I can let you entertain delusions of victory until the match."