nyota_uhura24 | [SOL! Verse - I Heard It Through The Grapevine]

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[SOL! Verse - I Heard It Through The Grapevine]

Finally it was Monday. Nyota usually went several days without seeing Jim during the week, but the wait between Saturday and Monday always felt like forever. Thankfully her father had mostly recovered from his illness and told her he didn't mind if she kept her weekly dinner date with “Anna.” She felt a little twinge of guilt every time someone used the name she'd invented to cover for her relationship with Jim, but as always she ignored it. She deserved her happiness.

Besides, she really needed to be out of the house tonight. Trent and his mother were coming over for dinner, and she'd been avoiding him since Saturday night, which was... Just what in the world was that? He usually managed the diner on weekdays, but because her father was ill he came in on Saturday night. After closing they found themselves alone in the kitchen, and while she was talking to him about Jim's music he tried to kiss her. She panicked and turned her head away, downright nauseated by the idea of anyone but Jim kissing or touching her. She knew about her father's hopes, of course, but had never known that Trent wanted any part in them. He apologized profusely when she told him how very improper it was, and she fled before he could say anything more.

She had been hoping to steal a few moments with Jim that night, but perhaps it was for the best that he was already gone when she left the kitchen. There could never be anyone in her heart but Jim, but she knew she'd have to reconsider her assumption that Trent opposed their marriage. But surely... surely he didn't actually want to marry her? They'd been close friends for so long that she thought of him as a cousin, almost a sibling. Maybe he was just trying to please their parents. She knew on some level that she'd have to figure it out eventually, but for now she just wanted to spend time with the man she loved. Smiling a little to herself and putting Trent far from her mind, she walked into Jim's building and took the elevator to the top floor, where she knocked quietly on the door.

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One full Sunday and the better part of a Monday had not even been close to sufficient time for Jim to calm down. Not after what he'd seen and heard before leaving the diner late Saturday night. After his last set, he'd packed up, then headed to the kitchen to see if he could steal himself a moment or two alone with Nyota. He'd gotten as far as the door when he'd stopped dead in his tracks and just... stared through the small round window. There she'd been, having a seemingly intimate conversation with Trent, and then the bastard had leaned in to kiss her. And she. hadn't. stopped. him. After that, he'd turned on his heel and gone back to the small stage to gather his things.

To add insult to injury, Kamau had been there, and at Jim's oh so very helpful hint that he go check on what Trent was doing with his sister in the kitchen, Kamau, the rotten kid, had smirked at Jim and informed him that Trent was allowed. Because he was her fiance. As in, the man she was engaged to be married to. At that point, Jim had put on his jacket, picked up his guitar, and tried to look as amiable as possible while simultaneous getting the hell out of there before he gave into the temptation to storm into the kitchen and break Trent's face.

He'd wandered the streets for a while, and finally made it home sometime after midnight, then proceeded to crawl as deeply into a bottle as he could. The hangover he'd had all Sunday hadn't helped matters, but at least it had kept him immobile enough not to seek her out and tear her head off.

And now, it was Monday, he hadn't acted on any of his impulses to call her and cancel, and she'd be here any second. There was no more time to lick his wounds, but that didn't mean he had to play nice with her anymore. She'd used him, she'd filled his head - and even worse, his heart - with pretty words, and known all along that none of what she said would ever happen.

When the knock on his door came, he set his jaw and called for her to enter, flipping through a few records until he found the one he wanted. She was here to learn how to dance, he'd teach her how to dance. And tonight, he'd teach her the tango. Just because he felt like it.

Edited 2011-04-20 04:29 (UTC)

By the time he called out for her to come in she was only thinking about Jim. Sometimes her time with Jim still felt like a fantasy, but it was also the part of her life that felt most real, the part where she could simply be herself. She'd always loved and cherished her family, but had known all along that there was a part of herself she couldn't let them see. It wasn't until she met Jim that she'd found out what it was like to freely speak her mind, to dance, to be with someone she truly loved. There was a lot she wanted that she'd never have, but being with Jim always gave her a sense of possibility. He renewed her convictions that the world could and would change.

But when she walked in the door, something about the set of his shoulders as he looked through records made her lips purse slightly in a frown. She tried to shake it off and walked over to the bed to drape her jacket over the table. "I missed you," she said in greeting, walking over to where he was standing to kiss his cheek. "What dance am I learning today?" Even though the main reason she came here now was to see him, she still loved the dancing.

He didn't look up from his records when she entered his apartment, simply put them back on the shelf with a 'thunk', and stretched his arms over his head. She was pretending for all the world that nothing had happened, and of course, in her mind, nothing probably had. She probably still thought he was some mindless sap she could string along for the ride until she either got married or grew tired of him. When she said she'd missed him, he had to bite his tongue to keep in the sharp retort, only replying to her with a bitter chuckle.

The kiss to his cheek made him want to either kick her out, or slam her against the wall and fuck her until she changed her mind about marrying Trent, and he had to take a deep breath to stop himself from doing either of those things. "The tango," he answered simply, then moved to the middle of the floor and held his hand out to her. "I thought it fitting."

She blinked a little at the greeting. Normally he would hug and kiss her, tell her he'd missed her as well, instead of just immediately starting the dance lesson. She peered at him as he stepped onto the improvised dance floor, wondering if she'd missed something. He certainly looked a little tired, which wasn't really surprising given how hard he worked between the diner and the studio, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

"I've always wanted to learn the tango," she replied, smiling as she stepped closer to take his hand and put her other hand on his shoulder. Her eyes searched his face for the joy and love she was used to seeing there, but she couldn't find it. In fact, something about his expression on his face sent a little chill down her spine. Frowning a little, she asked, "Jim, is everything all right?"

She took his hand, and he jerked her closer, assuming the correct stance and putting his arm around her. There was really no way around doing that, the dance required some amount of physical contact, but it was just aggressive enough to suit his mood today. "Good, then now you have a chance to learn. It's not as easy as it looks, so you'll need to focus."

Without further ado, he began leading her through the basic steps, very carefully keeping his eyes from meeting hers. "Oh, I'm just peachy keen, honey," he smirked in response, though he couldn't keep the undercurrent of sarcasm entirely out of his voice, cheerful as he tried to sound. As they moved, he idly wondered just how long it would take for her to get wise to the fact that she'd been found out, that he knew about her little game, and if she'd have the nerve to play innocent with him. If she did, then... Well, he'd never in his life hit a woman, and he sure as hell wasn't going to break that perfect record over the likes of her, no matter how much she deserved it.

Edited 2011-04-20 05:18 (UTC)

She gasped a little when he pulled her closer, feeling a familiar thrill when his body brushed against hers, even if she couldn't shake the feeling of apprehension. "I always focus," she protested, assuming the basic stance and expecting him to tell her if she needed to adjust her stance for the tango. Her eyes traveled downward so she could watch and mirror the movements of his feet, but when she looked up she couldn't catch his eye. All his normal warmth and encouragement seemed absent today.

His reply to her question did absolutely nothing to assuage her concerns. She knew him well enough by now to easily be able to detect the underlying sarcasm. What in the world is going on? she wondered, trying and again failing to catch his eye. "If you say so... Is this the correct stance?" She wanted him to tell her more about the dance, about what drove it, about what it meant. And more than that she wanted him to stop acting so strangely distant, but she wasn't quite sure what to do when he was insisting that everything was fine.

Not dignifying her protest with a response, he kept his own stance to tightly, even the pros would approve. There would be nothing personal about this, not until he was ready to make it personal. Until then, he was content to let her stew in the dirty little trap she'd set for herself. See how she liked being the one who was kept in the dark for once.

Her steps were hesitant and more unsure than they usually were, and he gave her a not entirely gentle little smack on the back. "It would be if you'd straighten up. Maybe it'd make it easier for you to find your feet. I told you you needed to focus." Okay, so maybe he wasn't being one hundred percent professional, and maybe he was being extremely impatient with her, but he was the wounded party here. He was allowed. This would usually be where he told her the history of the dance, told her about the underlying emotions in it, but that would be just a little too much of a clue for her to figure out what was going on.

She blinked in surprise when he swatted her back. He'd kept the promise he made her all those weeks ago in the diner to teach her correctly and not accept sloppy footwork, but he'd never been harsh or unkind about it. In spite of her protest she was finding it more and more difficult to focus on the steps. Why won't he look at me? She forced herself to straighten up, trying to concentrate on the movements. "Is that better?" she asked, hoping that something she did would make him look her in the eye. She'd seen tango a few times, and it had always seemed like such a beautiful, dramatic dance, but now it just felt like a mess.

He still gave her no hint about the dance's history. Learning the story behind a dance was always one of her favorite parts; it gave the dance meaning, made it feel alive. Plus it brought them closer to together, because usually some aspect of the dance mirrored their emotions for one another. "What's the dance about?"

The swat to her back seemed to help with her posture, and while he'd never gone easy on her, he had kept in mind that she wasn't aiming at dancing professionally. "It's a start," he shrugged, and kept leading her around the floor. Maybe she wasn't aiming at becoming a pro, but that couldn't stop her from treating her as if she did.

His jaw clenched a little tighter when she asked about the dance, and he weighed his words very carefully before replying, knowing that what he told her about the dances he taught her usually indicated something about how they felt. "The tango," he started, then did a quick turn. "Was invented in the back alleys and brothels of Buenos Aires. As a dance, the emphasis isn't on the places you touch, but about the space that separates the dancers."

She nodded and tried to concentrate on maintaining her posture and following his lead, but while they normally moved so seamlessly when they danced together, this felt more like an argument than anything else. But she had no idea what in the world they were arguing about, only that something was clearly bothering him. Something he refused to talk about. She wondered briefly if it simply had nothing to do with her, but didn't really believe it. What is happening?

His explanation of the dance felt a little stilted, but she was glad to be getting something out of him. She normally loved it when he turned her, but now it just made her feel even more off balance. "Back alleys and brothels," she repeated, trying to sound amused even though there was obvious strain in her voice. "Is it a space we want to close? Or a space we want to leave between us?"

The way she didn't quite follow his rhythm as easily as she usually did, and the strain in her voice were more than enough evidence to prove that he'd successfully put her off kilter. Good. At least he wasn't the only one trying to find his feet, one way or the other.

"The space between us is permanent. Like an invisible barrier. Unbreakable, and mocking us with its presence." It was as much of an explanation as he was really comfortable giving her, though there was a certain sick satisfaction in telling her about the dance. "You want to touch me, but you can't, and you won't ever be able to."

Something about his explanation made her mouth go dry. I want so badly to touch you, she thought, fighting the inclination to stop dancing and just throw her arms around him and beg him to smile for her. But there was an invisible barrier between them, a barrier that felt far higher than the one that had kept them apart before they'd admitted their feelings to one another.

"It's not a very happy dance," she said softly. Being this physically close to him always excited her, but now all she could focus on was where they weren't touching. "And you? Do you want to touch me, too?"

"It's not meant to be a happy dance. It is, however, meant to be passionate. About a hunger that can never be satisfied." Briefly moving his arm from around her, he adjusted her pose, tilting her pelvis further away from his. There was something almost poetic about it, about every move, every step, his feelings doing the dance justice.

His lips curled up in an almost predatory smile at her question, his feet walking her a few paces backwards. "The dance was invented in brothels, sweetheart. What do you think the man's role in it is? If you need a story to go with it then, to put it bluntly, imagine a whore who falls in love with one of her johns."

Edited 2011-04-20 06:52 (UTC)

She paid close attention to the way he adjusted her stance, wanting to learn the dance correctly even if her mind was preoccupied with him and his behavior. Since he didn't seem to want to talk about it, she was trying to glean what she could from the dance and his explanations of it.

And there was hunger and passion between them, but his story about the whore falling in love made her cheeks color. It didn't seem the right way to describe any part of their love. "I'll try," she answered softly, trying to show him through her movements just how much she wanted to close the space between them, just how much it pained her to be this far away from him. "Does he... does he love her?"

Regardless of whatever else was going on between them, she was certainly picking up on the mood of the dance. There was a tension in her, in the way she kept the stance he'd showed her and didn't try to close the space between them that mad his heart beat faster. Just as it should be with the tango. As bittersweet, as passionate, and as painful as it was.

It was nearly as painful as the uncertainty in her voice when she asked if he loved her. They both knew that while they were discussing the dance, there was a lot more to it than that. And perhaps it wasn't fair to liken her to a whore, she'd been too unsure and ignorant about those things the times he'd been with her for him to question her virginity. But still. It fit with the story. "Only a fool falls in love with a woman like that," he replied, knowing it wasn't much of an answer, not to what she was really asking.

Tension coiled in her limbs, fed by confusion and hurt and need. The dramatic music seared something inside her, made the emotions feel sharper. Paradoxically it got easier to follow his movements in spite of the sinking feeling in her stomach. It wasn't unusual for her heart to beat faster when he was close to her, but her desire was muddled with confusion and hurt.

Only a fool falls in love with a woman like that. Her step faltered, and she tried desperately to reclaim it. "But she loves him," she protested, knowing the emotions in her voice made it very clear that she wasn't talking about the dance. "Even if they're both fools she loves him. She doesn't know how to not love him." She blinked back the prickling feeling in her eyes, resisting both the urge to pull away and the desire to press her lips urgently against his. "Jim, what's wrong?"

The growl that escaped him at her insistence that she loved him was quickly covered up with a glare directed at her feet. He'd been right, she did have the nerve to play innocent with him. Little did she know that every time she professed her love for him, she dug her own grave a little deeper. Just how much of an idiot did she take him for?

"What's wrong," he gritted out, spinning her in half a circle, then back again. "Is that you're not concentrating on the goddamn steps!" Once she'd returned to his arms, he stopped and steeped away with an irritated sigh, then moved over to the record player to stop the music. "Maybe we should try something simpler since you're obviously not up for doing your best today."

The angry noise he made caused her step to falter yet again, and of course at that moment he was glaring at her feet, which made it even more difficult to reclaim the rhythm. She all but winced at the criticism to her dancing, knowing full well that this had absolutely nothing to do with her being unable to follow the steps.

When he stepped away from her she was left gaping at him, trying to find in him the man she knew and seeing only anger. "I don't know how you expect me to concentrate and do my best when you're so obviously upset." She searched her mind for an explanation of his behavior. The last time she'd seen him everything had been fine. They'd exchanged a warm smile before she slipped into the kitchen to help Trent clean up, and she hadn't seen him since then. What had gone so wrong between then and now? Her mind fixated briefly on exactly what had happened in the kitchen - something she'd been too busy worrying about Jim to consider - but it wasn't as if anything had happened. She would never let someone who wasn't Jim kiss her. "Will you please just talk to me?"

"Upset?" he asked guilelessly, giving her a quizzical look. "What could I possibly be upset about?" It was as much of a chance for her to come clean with him about her and Trent as he was willing to give her. If she still insisted on feigning ignorance, then all bets were off.

Keeping his back to her, he slipped the record into its sleeve, then returned it to the shelf and ran his finger over the backs of the other ones, searching for something dark, Russian, and suitable for a waltz. A grim smile tugged at his lips when his finger landed on Prokofiev. The Cinderella Waltz would do nicely for this. He placed the pickup in the right groove, then turned to face her, once more holding out his hand to her. "You do still remember the waltz, don't you?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking," she replied, a hint of hysteria creeping into her voice. She couldn't understand why he wouldn't just tell her what the problem was when it so obviously existed. Her mind was still racing for an explanation, and once again landed on her conversation with Trent. But it wasn't as if Jim was there, and it wasn't as if there was anything going on between them. She still didn't know why he'd tried to kiss her, but she hadn't let him.

"Of course I remember," she said, stepping closer and putting her hand in his as she assumed the stance. She didn't feel much like dancing, but he was refusing to communicate with her any other way. "It's the first dance you showed me." They'd danced in the kitchen the first night they met, with her sisters snickering in the background, and she'd been irresistibly drawn to him even then.

Lowering his eyes so she wouldn't see the flash of anger and hurt that her continued denial brought about, he took her hand and assumed the correct stance. This waltz was a good deal faster than what he'd taught her before, but it shouldn't be too difficult for her to follow along. She looked so confused, and he had to give it to her, she played her part flawlessly. From the timbre of her voice to the slight wetness in her eyes. It was truly worth an Oscar. But then again, everything between them so far must have just been an act to her. It really shouldn't surprise him that this was, too.

"Mm, it was," he nodded, a humorless chuckle rumbling in his chest. She wasn't the only one with flair for the dramatic, and it was so exquisitely and painfully poetic that their first dance should also be their last. "Still, I figured you could use the practice. Wouldn't want you to get the steps wrong on your big day, would we?" And only now did he meet her eyes, a saccharine smile on his lips matching the thinly veiled venom of his words.

The waltz was an easy enough dance to follow, and they'd danced it often enough that she could move with him, but somehow it felt so discordant with the music. As if they were hitting all the wrong notes. Her heart was racing, the lump in her throat almost too painful to swallow around, and he was still wasn't answering her questions. So few things in her world felt truly good and happy and right, and although her family couldn't know they were together, Jim had always been one of them. Until now.

The poisonous words combined with the obvious fury and hurt in his eyes when he finally looked at her caused her to stumble, and this time she couldn't make herself dance any more. Not when things between them were so wrong. "What big day? Jim, what are you talking about?"

Easily catching her when she stumbled, he didn't let her stop dancing, only slowed down as the music faded along with his smile. In the few seconds of silence between the numbers on the record, he paused to pull her close against him and rest his cheek against hers. It was so intimate, and so close to what he'd wanted, thought he had, and then lost that he closed his eyes with a sigh as the music started again. "That, my sweet, lovely Nyota," he muttered, then began to lead her in a slow dance, his lips moving closer to her ear. "Is a question you'd best ask your fiance about. Or would he be too upset knowing you'd already let someone have a taste of you?"

Her feet faltered, and it was obvious she didn't want to keep dancing, but he pulled her tighter against him, forestalling any interjections she might make. "Don't. Not a word. I don't wanna hear it, okay? Don't you dare take this away from me, too. Now..." Swallowing hard, he nuzzled against her temple, letting himself indulge in her scent one last time. "We're going to finish this dance, and then, you're going to put on your coat, walk out that door, and never come here again. When this song ends, I never want to see your face again."

She tried to stop dancing, but he pulled her along with him. Normally having him so close against him would feel like love and desire, but now she felt trapped in his embrace, unable to see his face and unable to find either her footing or her words.

...You'd best ask your fiance. There was a split second where she still didn't understand... and then she did, with horrible, agonizing clarity. Her eyes went wide as she stumbled again, but he held her tighter. For the first time since Christmas being in his arms frightened her, but this hurt so much more deeply than anything else ever had.

She opened her mouth to explain, but he wouldn't let her, so she continued to stumble through the steps, the nuzzling making her heart beat a painfully fast, jarring rhythm. She could scarcely move through the hurt and panic. It isn't like that her heart protested. There's no one but you. There's never been anyone but you. I love you. And now she was losing him to her family's plans, plans she'd been too cowardly to openly oppose.

She couldn't take the dance away from him, but the moment the music faded she pulled back to look at him, the words tumbling rapid fire from her lips. "Trent isn't my fiance! Our parents want us to get married, but I've never wanted any part of it! He's never asked me and I certainly wouldn't say yes if he did. I love you and no one else."

Every step combined with the melancholy violin was as agonizingly perfect as he's imagined it would be when he'd spent the small hours of the morning planning how their last meeting would go. Thankfully, she had the good grace to let him have his say in how things ended, and he let himself get lost in the music and the moment. She'd probably never know just how deeply she'd hurt him, and he sure as hell wasn't going to clue her in on that. His heartache, his grief, would be his and his alone. He'd get over it somehow, he usually did when given enough time.

As the last notes of the song faded, he let go of her and turned away to let her leave in silence. But apparently, she had other ideas, and as she started speaking, he flinched, moving to brace his hands on the kitchen counter lest he do something he'd regret.

"You just couldn't do it, could you? You couldn't let me end this my way, you deceitful, lying bitch!" His voice rose with each word, the last one being spat out loudly, a wave of renewed fury making his arms tremble as he fought for composure. "I saw him kiss you, dammit! I heard it from your brother! I've seen the way he looks at you, how he was all over you on New Years! Now get out!"

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