AN: I'm aware these drabbles are pretty short and don't really go together, but most of these are just individual entries on livejournal and I figured it would be better to group the short fics together than to post them seperately, as short as they are. For those that are interested, I'm working on something longer soon which will be posted as it's own story, although this one will continue to get updated with any smaller drabbles I write.

Also, the prompt for this fic (weather) was given to me by forthisreason on LJ.

"Small Talk"

"How about this weather?" she asks, and there is a look in her eyes he doesn't recognize. Not that he knows her well enough to have all of her looks memorized, of course. He is merely aware of the fact that she has a very expressive face and uncertainty is not a look he's seen on it yet, in the classroom or otherwise. He finds the set of her jaw intriguing, but cannot understand why she would be bringing up the weather now and tells her as much.

She droops visibly, it's a disconcerting sight indeed, and takes a step closer to his desk. He stands, hands behind his back but ready to reach out if he needs to.

"Are you ill, Cadet?" he asks and she laughs, a soft puff of breath blown through nearly clenched lips. He recognizes this look now: frustration. An emotion undeniably human which he cannot help but be acquainted with.

"I am not, no," she says. He can tell she's weighing her thoughts, searching for the right words. Halfway through, she seems to almost give up. "No, not ill, just... are you familiar with the concept of small talk, Commander?"

He blinks at her, once, twice.

"I have a cursory knowledge of the idea. Is that your primary objective with discussing the weather?" She nods, her face a swirling maelstrom of human emotion: frustration, relief, want. He swallows, acutely aware his own feelings would not show as such but wishing, just once, they would. It would be worth it if only to save them both this desperate fumbling.

"I was under the impression that 'small talk,' as you put it, was for the most part unpleasant. That it is what two people who have little in common take part in."

Uhura smiles now, just a tiny little shift of her lips but something new, and takes a small step forward.

"Sometimes," she agrees. Her fingers rest on his desk and he watches her, trying to make sense of her, translate her into something he will be more likely to understand. "But sometimes it's what people do when they just want to be around each other. When they don't care what they talk about as long as they other person speaks."

Spock looks at her, long and hard, before casting his eyes to the small window to the left of his desk.

"The weather here is quite different from Vulcan, as I'm sure you are aware."

"Is different good or bad?" she asks. Her voice is lower, just the slightest bit, but it is a difference he can feel in the tips of his fingers.

"Different is neither good nor bad. It is merely a way of stating I find the two places unalike in character or quality." He looks back at her, the tiny smile on her face, the hopeful look he thinks might become familiar with given enough viewings and adds, "Different is fascinating."

Her smile grows, dazzling. He finds he much prefers that expression.

"Well," she says, and shakes her head, relieved for reasons he cannot discern yet. "That's a good start."