Nyota Uhura's father had died that night. The death in itself was not what affected me. Yes, it was tragic, as he was fairly young. Yes, his death could have been prevented. Yes, I felt her pain.

But what really shocked me beyond belief was Spock's reaction. Yes, he's a Vulcan. Yes, he is not your typical boyfriend. Yes, he may have wanted to escape his own grief.

But not even offering to comfort her through her emotional turmoil? No "I'm sorry"? Storming out of her quarters at the first sign of tears? He didn't even do so much as to storm out politely. It was just "Your 'grief' is illogical and is distracting me from my more important duties to this ship". Who in their right mind would do such a thing if they wanted to keep their astounding reputation and banging hot girlfriend? Certainly no logical being.

But at least she came to me to let it out. If she had not softly knocked on the door to my quarters that evening, nothing would've ever happened between us.

She approached me, clearly upset and deeply offended. "You know a lot about Spock..."

"Yea, why? What happened?"

She let out a whimpering sigh. "It's just... after I broke the news to him, he..."

I could see the tears welling up in her eyes.

"He's so insensitive. I can't..." I swept in for a hug as her eyes shut and the tears began to fall. She clutched to me, soaking up my warmth, my sympathy, my care. That pure, therapeutic, tender moment of human touch, so simple, so complex, kept her from melting into a puddle of sobs. I could feel her sharp, erratic breaths reverberating through my core, her tears staining my uniform, and her babbling stabbing my heart.

Saline spilled over my lidded dam at her last reasoned words: "Would you talk to him? I don't... I don't think I can handle another conversation with him for a while. Please, James, please... please... please..."

I squeezed her tighter and promised her I would do anything to help her recover—like any good captain would.

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I approached Spock's quarters with a sense of dread. I was going to have to keep the discussion professional, try my hardest not to let my lecture trail off into the territory of human dating etiquette, or, heaven forbid, my unreserved jealousy of Uhura. Yep, it was going to be difficult.

I knocked nervously at his door, and not seconds later it slid open.

"Captain." He greeted as if he'd been expecting me.

"Commander Spock. I have been told to discuss some issues between you and Lieutenant Uhura. I promise you I'll keep it brief, this sort of argument-settling isn't really my thing."

"Of course Captain."

"Lieutenant Uhura has expressed concern over your reaction to her father's suicide..."

"I am aware that I may have acted in a different manner than expected of humans."

"Yes, Spock, I understand, but the point is..."

"That I should handle the situation as a human would, I am clear on that."

Spock didn't usually do interrupting. It was logical to let the other person finish their train of thought before speaking, and even Vulcans obeyed that custom. So there must be another reason for this strange act. Residual grief for his own mother, perhaps?

"And I'm clear on the fact that there's something else going on. What is it?"

He was silent for a couple seconds. "Nothing, Captain."

I stepped past him, lightly brushing against his shoulder, and began pacing around his room as I always did when thinking. It was three times around the room before I was able to come up with a question that could (and probably would) lead to my solution. I turned toward him. "Did you love your mother, Spock?"

He seemed appalled by my query. "No."

"Did you grieve her death?"

"No."

"Do you love Lieutenant Uhura?"

"No."

I pursed my lips in irritation. "Answer my damn questions. That's a direct order."

"I have been, Captain."

Stubborn Spock was stubborn, irritated Kirk was irritated. "No, you are not. You're just answering 'no' to get me the hell out. Let me tell you something, it's not working."

"Vulcans cannot lie."

"Bullshit." I sneered. "You act as if you are incapable of love, which is most definitely a lie."

"I am capable of feelings such as love, I just choose not to let them affect me."

"Really now?" I retorted sarcastically. "Then by all means, Spock, show me. Show me an emotion, any emotion. Just for shits and giggles." I crossed my arms haughtily.

"Jim..."

His expression softened, darkened. He bowed his head slightly and stepped closer, raising his hand laboriously to chest height, not meeting my eye.

"If you're trying to shoo me off, it's not working. At least make an effort to do it properly, none of this business." I copied him.

And then, just like that, he stretched his arm out and touched my mocking fingers with his own.

Gently.

It was clear he was not trying to push me out. I humored him and mimicked his motions with my other hand, smirking to myself at the ridiculousness of the situation, though it did seem like a natural turn of events. My brain did not register that we were touching almost intimately. I did dully note, however, that his hands were not so much touching as feeling. Spock was looking for something; his hands had direction, purpose. The way in which his fingers squeezed my third knuckle, the ilk of his strokes, his plan of action, was unique to that moment. It was as if he was exploring my hands, maybe even mapping them out for future travels and encounters.

Then came the sudden tapping of alien fingertips, which created a volatile, unconventional rhythm that confused my senses. My befuddled hands froze, unsure how to respond.

For the first time that day, he met my eyes. I could see his brown ones twinkle in amusement. His hands switched tactics, stroking my fingerprint playfully and subsequently numbing my thoughts. Soft fingers danced across my own, occasionally curling into the valleys between, sloppily lacing and unlacing, as would a little boy's shoe. I squeezed his fingertips in my palm as he traced patterns in my other one. My right hand dominated his left, controlling and manipulating its joints and stroking its arid flesh. In no time at all, I was lost in his hands, relaxed by his gentleness and intrigued by his urgency.

He broke the phalangel caress after what seemed like hours and the instant he did, my mind snapped back into place.

"What was THAT?" I asked, baffled, as my brain began the complicated process of analyzing the newfound memories. My reaction must have come off as angry rather than genuinely surprised and curious because Spock looked positively shocked and embarrassed.

A fiery green blush—one that I had never witnessed—tinted his cheeks as he attempted to find words. "I...Apologize, captain. I did not intend to unload such illogical emotions in that fashion."

"No no no... Spock... I'm asking what you just did." I held out my palms to show him. "With my hands, you know."

His tone noticeably dried out, the texture of his voice was stale and even more emotionless than usual. "I was only following orders, Captain. You asked me to show you my emotional capabilities, and I complied."

"So hand touching is some sort of Vulcan ritual?"

"Negative. It is merely a Vulcan way of communicating emotion."

The length, contents, and delivery of his sentences revealed that there was something he was holding back, something big. I decided it was the better part of valor to leave him be, to leave my benign curiosity dissatisfied. "I see. Thank you Spock, and I apologize for my intrusion. I will see that Lieutenant Uhura receives your apology."

I could feel his eyes as I exited his quarters.

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