Tactile
AN: I will own up to having always been a Star Wars kid, but after the new Star Trek movie I had no choice but to fall in love. S.T. is like a tar pit of sexiness.
In space.
Special THANKS!! to my trio of unbeatable betas: doctorjessi, fragilepixie411, and tehlanes. Thanks so much guys!! Any mistakes left in here are my own stubborn fault.
EDIT***: Some concerns y'all might have (pertaining to OOCness mostly) will be addressed below! (You'll have them after you read XD ).
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing related to Star Trek, except my fluttering fangirl heart.
Often, Spock found himself musing over the irony of a race of telepaths who relied on touch to establish connections--and yet considered physical contact a violation of personal boundaries, highly offensive unless invited.
Was it because Vulcans so greatly valued decorum and restraint?
Maybe it was to avoid distractions? Imported ideas and emotions could be very disruptive, to say the least.
Possibly, it was because touch was so intimate a sensation that it required those in contact to have a strong mutual bond of trust…even affection.
There was no such thing as 'casual' touches amongst his people. Even the slightest brush of flesh to flesh had some deeper meaning, had been considered carefully before being initiated, a calculated risk that communicated more than any verbal expression. To touch was to breech another's privacy, to be willing to have one's own privacy breeched, a consensual exchange in which both parties gave each other the opportunity to inflict pain--and trusted that none would come.
Anything less was rape.
He could count on one hand the number of beings with which he had experienced physical contact during his lifetime, and of those, only one had been truly welcome: his mother.
Spock had many memories of her soft, cool fingers smoothing his hair, stroking his cheek, straightening clothes rumpled by the natural discord of the young. Her touch had the power to soothe hurts, calm troubled thoughts…
And there were many of both during his turbulent childhood, a halfling among a species that prided itself on its exclusive, ancient ancestry.
When cut, did not his blood run the color of jade? Did not his ears taper to a point? Was not his mind just as sharp and analytical, if not more so, than those of his classmates?
But his eyes revealed him for what he truly was--glittering brown orbs that broadcast his every joy and sorrow in a way no other Vulcan's eyes did.
Or perhaps could.
Whereas most scorned him for his unintentional emotional displays, his mother urged him to think of them as a sign of his individuality, his rarity. "Just one of the many things that makes you so precious to me, my son."
"But Mother," he responded, voice steady but furrowed brow betraying his anguish, "to be unique on Vulcan is to be erroneous. The very concept of being unique is contradictory; if everyone is unique, no one is."
"And yet you are the only one of your kind. There is no one in the entire universe like you, Spock." His mother smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a way he secretly adored. "No one sees what you see, thinks what you think, feels what you feel--and no one can live your life but you."
Although he had surpassed her in height years before, she found a way to draw him down into an embrace that made him feel small again, forever a child in his mother's arms.
He would never be fully Vulcan, nor fully Human, no matter how hard he tried to prove himself to either.
But he would always be loved, without the slightest effort.
"Quite the paradox, indeed," he mumbled into her shoulder, straining to speak around the lump in his throat.
Since enlisting in Starfleet, Spock had further isolated himself--although not initially. He'd made the unfortunate decision to let his guard down upon arrival on Earth, hoping it would ease the assimilation process; instead, it merely encouraged his overly friendly roommate to drunkenly attempt to put Spock in a jocular headlock after a long night of debauchery.
Lacking experience in mind-melding, the young telepath was instantly bombarded with unwanted thoughts and visions that were not his own, two consciousnesses blending into one swirling mass of confusion. The bitter, burning taste of alcohol flooded his mouth, as though he had been the one bingeing all evening long.
Needless to say, one of the cadets wound up spending an extended period in the medical ward--and it wasn't the Vulcan.
After that, Spock never had to share living quarters again.
He constructed a mask of unflappable studiousness, of discipline and dedication. This he wore always, with one focus in mind: self-preservation. Spock could handle questioning looks and suspicious glares, could ignore whispers and rumors, could take his meals alone and be excluded from study groups and converse solely with his instructors--
But one touch threatened to bring his entire world crashing down around his furled ears.
In truth, the commonplace manner in which humans casually touched one another was quite the culture shock; in contrast to the inhabitants of his home planet, Terrans were downright indecent. They seemed indiscriminate of who they touched, or where, or when. He witnessed many forms of flagrant contact:
Females grooming each other's hair. 'An old instinct passed down from their ape progenitors?' he pondered.
Males slapping their palms together in a noisy greeting that he learned was known as a "high five." 'How primitive,' he sneered, his own palm stinging at the very idea.
The clasping and rattling of hands between one senior officer and another called a "handshake." 'How literal,' he quipped wryly.
Occasionally he would spot a pair of lovers in a passionate clinch, too impatient to seek a more private setting, nibbling at each other's lips and necks in a manner that both stunned and intrigued him; how was that kind of emotional bond forged--the kind that ignored propriety, eschewed rational thought, in favor of amorous physicality? What would it feel like, he wondered, to give another such liberties with one's body--and in his case, one's mind as well? How intense it must be, to drive its participants to such a degree of indiscretion!
But he did not allow himself to ruminate on this line of thought for long, as it was pointless to speculate about a phenomenon he would never experience firsthand.
Nyota Uhura's first impression of San Francisco was that it was cold.
Especially in comparison to her homeland, Africa.
Kicking off her strappy white sandals--a mistake, borne of departing from a hot climate only to arrive in a much cooler one--she sat heavily on the bare mattress of the bed in her new dorm room, idly rubbing her hands together to heat them up.
The temperature was not entirely to blame for the chill that pervaded her; the loss of all her friends and family was like a broken door in her heart, hanging off its hinges as a frigid draft blew through, freezing her from the inside out with loneliness. She'd spent her entire life surrounded by familiar faces and places, and had voluntarily left it all behind to follow her dream of exploring the stars above.
She scrubbed at her skin, trying to rub away the unpleasant tingling of goosebumps prickling along her arms; she thought of everyone who had come to see her off, most of all her dear grandmother. The old woman had gathered Nyota into one of her bone-crushing hugs, transferring all her strength and warmth and love without uttering a single sound. How she'd miss those gentle, wrinkled hands, the ones that used to weave flower-necklaces and tuck her into bed at night, the ones that traced the caramel-colored shell of her granddaughter's tiny ear as she taught Nyota to listen to not only what was said, but how…
But she was driven, had a goal, eyes fixed firmly on the future, and so here she was--alone.
'Where's all that determination now?' The young woman sighed bitterly, angry at herself for moping.
"Oh--hi! Are you Nyota?"
Nyota looked up quickly to find a green-skinned girl with fiery red hair and a cheerful grin standing in the doorway, several brightly-colored bags slung over her. "Ah, yes, hi. Are you Gaila?"
"Yep!" the other girl chirped, flouncing into the room and dropping her luggage willy-nilly as she went. "Guess that makes us roomies!"
Before she knew what was happening she was caught up in a tight hug, Gaila's perfumed curls tickling her nose. "It's so great to finally meet you! I just know we're gonna be best friends. I've always had a knack for that kind of thing."
Nyota felt herself smiling as she slowly reached up and returned the favor.
After making one new friend, many others followed; here, a Bolian girl with a talent for mixing various intoxicating drinks, making her a popular fixture at campus parties; there, a boy from Andoria who painted beautiful landscapes, although Nyota felt his portraiture could use some work--'My chin isn't THAT big,' she grouched inwardly.
The first semester consisted of the usual energy-sapping introductory courses, meant to impart 'useful information,' although most students agreed that they were really a means of weeding out those who couldn't retain much beyond "Hey baby, I'm in bunk 324C--wanna get the guided tour?"
While Gaila may not have minded these types, if the number of men she brought back to their room was any indication, Nyota had no interest in such diversions: there was a whole universe out there to discover…and she planned to do so, one dialect at a time. She couldn't wait until Advanced Xenolinguistics, where the real fun would begin.
"I think you mean work," Gaila huffed from her bed, where she reclined with the latest issue of CosmosGirl flickering on the display screen of her PADD. "Why did I let you talk me into taking that? It's totally gonna suck!"
"Oh please," Nyota laughed, "how are you going to function without knowing at least one alien language?"
Her flirtatious roommate chuckled huskily. "I'm already an expert on foreign relations..."
Nyota resisted the urge to slam her forehead into the nearest wall, deciding instead to review the notes she'd taken on the first chapter of their virtual textbook again.
The lecture hall was surprisingly empty when the girls arrived the next morning--at least, Nyota was surprised. Gaila just shook her head and scowled before flopping down into the nearest desk, muttering something along the lines of "endless suffering." Over the next several minutes cadets continued to trickle in, until finally a grand total of fifteen sat chatting and joking loudly, as if they hadn't noticed they were in a classroom with the supposed purpose of learning.
At precisely ten o'clock the door swished open, and in strode a man whose rigid posture and piercing, intense stare plainly said no-nonsense. Nyota was struck by the sight of his precisely cropped black hair and elongated ears: 'A Vulcan! I've never actually seen one before…' She sat up straighter and fervently wished she'd taken a seat nearer to the front of the classroom, knowing instinctively that this man was highly knowledgeable and worth listening to closely.
Plus, he was rather attractive…but she wouldn't allow herself to dwell on that. Much.
Gaila had no such qualms. "Check him out!" she hissed in Nyota's ear, rapping her painted fingernails on her desktop excitedly. "Maybe this course won't be so bad after all!"
The teacher flicked his dark eyes in their direction as he made his way to the podium at the front of the hall, and Nyota felt her stomach twist at the realization that he must have overheard. 'Great, what a wonderful first impression…how humiliating!' Flushing, she snatched up her PADD and switched it on, schooling her features into what she hoped was an expression of polite interest.
"I am Commander Spock," he said without further ado in a clear, crisp voice. "Your scheduled instructor, Commander Suvak, will be unable to report until further notice. As such, I will act in his stead until such a time as he is able to retake his post."
Nyota recorded the title in her notes and gnawed her lower lip thoughtfully, tongue itching to try the name out: 'Spock…'
"I thought he didn't look right--I heard Suvak was an old, pudgy, bald guy with a taste for--ahem--women of ill repute," Gaila snickered under her breath. "He must've contracted some intergalactic STD!"
Spock glanced up at the two girls and arched an upswept eyebrow questioningly. "Cadets. Is there something particularly amusing about debilitating diseases that you would like to share with the class?"
Gaila hunkered down in her seat, chastened. "No, sir." Next to her, Nyota squeezed her eyes shut, pinched the bridge of her nose and prayed for a stray meteorite to smash through the ceiling and put her out of her misery.
The distinct feeling of being watched had her blinking her eyes open--and locking gazes with Spock. Her heart did a frantic little dance around her ribcage.
He broke contact first, turning to face the projector and start the class in earnest. Gaila slid further down in her chair and pouted, whispering petulantly "cold fish!"
Nyota, cheeks flaming hotly, had to disagree.
The sun was hanging low in the sky by the time Spock reached his quarters. He paused briefly to observe the daily setting of Earth's most important star; the view was aesthetically pleasing, he supposed, but the weather was much too brisk to remain outside for longer than absolutely necessary. A sharp voice command saw the door to his rooms sliding back, allowing a welcome gust of artificially heated air to wash over him.
Stepping inside, he set down his bag and made a beeline for his favorite chair, an angular but comfortable import from his bedroom on Vulcan. Leaning back, he took a deep breath and released it slowly, making a conscious effort to relax his muscles one by one.
Although xenolinguistics was not his focus, Spock was proficient in more interstellar languages than most instructors in the field were. 'I was the logical choice, although not the most appreciative,' he thought, calculating the increased workload he would now have to take on while Suvak recovered. Being one of the youngest and most highly celebrated Starfleet graduates ever was often a mixed blessing.
'All things considered, today was an acceptable first discussion of the subject matter. Cadet Uhura in particular brought up several insightful points…'
The look of her bottom lip, swollen from being bitten in a human gesture that indicated embarrassment or bashfulness, suddenly leapt forth in his mind; he frowned imperceptibly, the minute tic the only outward indication that he was unsettled by his lack of mental control.
He spent the rest of the night meditating.
"Well, good morning, Commander."
Spock paused mid-stride, but did not turn around. How foolish he had been to assume that bullying was a trial faced only by the young--
"I hear you've got yourself a cushy teaching job at the school. Perfect for a freak like you, eh?"
--as stupidity knew no age limitations.
He had long struggled with the singular privilege that was being Human and Vulcan, had attempted to compare and contrast the two so as to find any 'happy medium' that might exist.
What he discovered was that both cultures had far more in common than he might have guessed--at least where outdated prejudices and hazing rituals were concerned.
His tormentor, a bulky man twice his age and less than half his talent, shuffled in front of the leanly-built halfling, reeking of perspiration and jealousy.
Spock assessed him calmly, unimpressed. "As you say, Cadet, I have procured a position within the Academy. I thank you for the reminder. Should I be in need of your unparalleled recollection abilities in the future, I shall certainly seek you out in the waste technician's office."
He allowed himself a moment's satisfaction at the sight of the hefty man's mouth dropping open, his flabby jowls jiggling from the impact.
How sweet, the sound of dumbfounded silence.
After that disastrous first day, Nyota became hell-bent on proving herself. Every class was a new opportunity to showcase her ever-improving skills, every discussion an opening for intellectual debate, every homework assignment a chance to go above and beyond…way beyond. She strove to be recognized, and the first time Spock rewarded her efforts with his version of a compliment was easily the best day of her life:
"Cadet Uhura, your essay pertaining to the possible connection between the harsh pitch inherent to Romulan diction and their aversion to Tribbles was rather…fascinating."
For a Communications major, she had barely managed to form a coherent reply. All at once she felt thankful to have inherited her mother's graceful swan-neck; her rapid nodding expressed her pleasure at the praise well enough.
Gaila only wasted a few weeks calling her an 'overachieving teacher's pet' before getting wise and sucking up in an attempt to leech off of Nyota's work: "Please…? If you just let me copy today's notes, I swear, no guys in the room for a whole month!"
Nyota took pity on her, "but just this once," she scolded. "You'll never learn anything without doing your own research!"
Besides, being able to study in the comfort of her own dorm room would be a nice change.
"You know," her green friend noted, "that sounds like something Commander Spock would say."
Nyota's head shot up instantly. "Y-you really think so?"
"Uh, yeah," Gaila snorted, twining a lock of red hair around her fingertip. "Try not to look so happy about it, you big dork."
"That concludes today's instruction period. One further announcement--Commander Suvak has recovered, and will be returning to his position as your instructor as of next week."
Nyota's heart plummeted straight through the floor.
"I have informed him of our current place in the curriculum, so there is no need for concern as to the quality and continuity of your education. Dismissed."
From the bored expressions on the other student's faces, there was very little anxiety over the matter--aside from Nyota's. She waved Gaila ahead and hung back as the rest of the class scurried out of the lecture hall. "Commander? A word, please?"
Spock folded his arms behind his back, a posture she'd noticed he preferred. "Cadet Uhura?"
She suppressed the little shiver that crawled up her spine every time he said her name, but it was a close call. "Commander, I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea of switching instructors halfway through the semester."
He cocked an eyebrow at her, but otherwise remained impassive. "Regrettably, that is not my decision to make, nor dispute. I was merely a substitute for Commander Suvak for the duration of his illness."
"I know," Nyota said, "but I still don't…sir, we've only just begun to explore the Klingon vernacular, and I feel this is too important a topic to risk any misinformation that may occur as a result of changing professors. I take my career very seriously."
"Indubitably," Spock answered.
She felt herself blushing, and cursed her human weaknesses for parading themselves in front of this paragon of self-control.
"This is an…admirable trait, Cadet. Should it be agreeable to you--" he broke of, and she chanced a quick peek at his face. In his eyes, she was surprised to see what she recognized as uncertainty. "Should it be amenable to your coursework and extracurricular activity schedule, perhaps we could arrange weekly review sessions. You may address any obstacles you encounter, and I will endeavor to clarify the material."
"I would be honored!" she gushed, unable to contain her enthusiasm. "Thank you. I hope I'm not a burden…"
"The enlightened mind is weightless," he supplied, giving her a curt nod and instructions to meet him in the campus research center, affectionately dubbed 'the library,' the next evening before marching straight-backed out the door.
'So is the infatuated heart,' she sighed, admitting it to herself at long last.
Spock contemplated the nature of his earlier impulsiveness for many hours, but could come up with no better explanation than one inquiring mind seeking to aid another on its quest for greater knowledge. 'Both Humans and Vulcans are social beings; it is logical to seek to form relationships with others, to maintain one's mental health and further the development of vital social skills.'
It had nothing to do with legs, or breasts, or long-lashed eyes, or melodic voices that neither simpered nor whined…
'Such are the vices of an animal, and I am above such baser desires,' he assured himself sternly. 'I have a responsibility to this institution, and my position within it, that I will not betray.'
He felt if he repeated this mantra often enough, it might drown out the persistent notion that maybe it was possible to be attracted to both the physical and the intellectual, without cheapening either one.
"Commander, over here!"
Spock twisted in the direction the call had emanated from. The source was Cadet Uhura, decked out in her uniform reds, glossy black hair coiled around itself atop her head before cascading down her back like an ink-spill. In one hand she clutched her PADD, while the other flapped busily to catch his attention; when she saw she had it, she broke out into a dazzling grin meant just for him.
'…I shall have to develop a better mantra,' he brooded.
As he made his way to her, Spock did not fail to notice several disbelieving stares from the library's other patrons. He was not unaware of his reputation as the strictest and most unapproachable man in Starfleet--he had worked hard to cultivate it. Was he endangering Cadet Uhura's social life, by appearing with her in public? He found himself dismayed at the thought.
If she felt in any way ashamed or intimidated, she didn't show it. "Thanks again for doing this, sir. Commander Suvak isn't even close--"
He held his breath, irrationally interested in what she was about to say.
"--well, honestly, he isn't even close to the caliber of instructor you are." She looked him squarely in the eye, daring him to disagree.
If Spock's cheeks took on a slightly darker green hue than normal, she was not inclined to point it out.
Nyota quickly settled into a routine; classes by day, assignments by night, partying occasionally--whenever Gaila actually succeeded in dragging her to whatever room was sin-central for the evening--
And relaxing every Wednesday and Thursday after class, in the library, with Commander Spock.
Working alongside him wasn't work at all. Instead, she felt for the first time that she was connecting with someone who cared as much about academics as she did, someone who didn't think she was an uptight perfectionist for wanting to fully grasp her area of interest.
At first their conversations had been somewhat stilted, with Nyota doing most of the talking--'interrogating,' she winced--and Spock saying little more than what was needed to respond. After a while though, she began to crack his subtle non-verbal code; a twitch of an eyebrow meant he had been caught off-guard by her question, a tightening of the lips meant he had more to say on the subject than he was letting on, the twining of his long fingers meant he was done with the current explanation and ready to move on.
Soon they were spending more and more time at the little round table by the windows overlooking the San Francisco Bay, sipping at tea from a vending machine in the lobby (tepid, but with a hint of bitter-sweet that both enjoyed), discussing things outside of xenolinguistics: her mandatory self-defense class, his mandatory staff meetings (both agreed he had the shorter end of the proverbial stick).
Sometimes she would see things flickering behind those fathomless black eyes of his, so like and yet unlike any human's--some slippery shade of emotion that would evade her the moment she attempted to pin it down and decipher it.
She had always loved a challenge.
Gaila, ever-observant, eventually commented on Nyota's budding friendship with Starfleet's resident icicle: "So, have you screwed his giant-sized brains out yet?"
Nyota spluttered and nearly choked on the mouthful of granola bar she'd been chewing, a suggestion from Spock when he'd noticed her 'unhealthful predilection' for chocolate. "No! Where the hell did that come from?!"
"What-ever. It's pathetically obvious that you want to--you spend, like, every spare moment with him. What's the big deal? He's hot, so why not?" Much suggestive brow-waggling ensued.
Nyota swallowed carefully and flicked through the digital pages of notes on her PADD, trying to look busy. "It's just not like that. He helps me with my homework, mostly. I'm probably more bothersome to him than anything else…"
"I guess," Gaila nodded solemnly. "He's part Vulcan, after all. Nothing going on in there except calculus and quadratic equations."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Nyota asked, piqued.
"You know what they say," her Orion roommate continued, "they're emotional wastelands. Sexy, but…" here she sighed and shrugged as if to say 'what can you do?' "…passionless."
"That's not true at all. There's nobody more passionate about anything than Spock! He just doesn't advertise it all the damn time, that's all."
Gaila smirked wickedly. "Spock, huh? On first name terms now, are we?"
Nyota recoiled as if she'd been slapped, because no, they weren't.
The other girl, seeing that she'd gone a bit too far, rolled over and pretended to yawn loudly. "This is getting boring. Let me know when you've done something interesting, like slept with somebody--anybody, you prude."
Still reeling, Nyota managed a small smile. "Shut up."
The following night found Cadet and Commander at their usual spot, in the throes of a particularly interesting concept. To anybody else, it might have looked like two nerds geeking out together; to Nyota, it was as meaningful and heated as though they were making love, only with theories instead of bodies.
And a heavy wooden table between them, instead of silk sheets.
And the man she was engaged with thought he was helping her study, not tempting her to the point of hopeless distraction.
And one night, when he escorted her to the entrance of her dorm building and made to bid her goodbye, she casually interjected with "My first name's Nyota, by the way."
From the slight widening of his eyes, she could tell she hadn't been quite as slick as she'd hoped. "I am aware of the fact. All students are listed on the class roster by their full name."
It was her turn to be confused. "But…you haven't been my instructor for over two months…"
He seemed dangerously close to turning around and leaving without another word; desperate, she added "What I mean is, I'd be happy if you'd call me by my first name. Which is Nyota. As you…already know."
He mulled this over for a second, then bowed his head slightly in acquiescence. "Cadet Nyota, then."
"Just Nyota," she corrected gently.
He said nothing, head still bent forward.
"May I," she started, pausing to moisten her unusually dry lips, "call you by name?"
His eyes followed the motion of her soft pink tongue with intense interest, and she felt a little flash of nervousness in spite of herself.
"I would not be adverse to it," he said finally, "except that you cannot pronounce it."
Stung, she shrank back further into the shade of the overhang above the entrance.
Spock turned to leave, but threw one last comment over his shoulder: "Yet."
As he disappeared into the darkness, Nyota slumped against the door and thought if she were a smoker, now would be an excellent time to light up.
After that, she became all the more determined to master every language known to sentient life, especially Vulcan. As her abilities improved, her need to discuss her class work lessened, leaving more opportunities to simply talk with Spock about anything and everything that came to mind--or crossed their path.
A walk around the campus on a particularly fine afternoon resulted in an encounter with a terminally annoying fellow cadet called Jim Kirk.
"Hey there, Miss Ooh-her-Ah." He leered unabashedly, obviously a fan of Starfleet's female uniform. "Do I get to hear your real first name yet, or should I make up another one?"
Spock hardly even twitched, but Nyota could see he was taken aback. Laughing off the other man's futile, and mostly playful, attempt at seduction, she breezily replied "That's okay, we can stick with Stacey for now."
As Kirk floated away on his personal sea of arrogance, Spock watched him go with what Nyota guessed was loathing. "Does he behave thusly upon your every encounter with him?"
"Pretty much, but he's harmless."
"I would request that you report any further…disturbances he may cause you to me," her companion stated gruffly. "I will see that he is disciplined accordingly."
She hid her corresponding blush of flattered joy behind an overly large--'fashionable!', Gaila had declared them-- pair of sunglasses, even though it was beginning to look like rain.
Another instance found her walking normally one moment, eyes fixed on Spock as he waited for her by the library door, and the next knocked to the ground by a bouncy, bubbly young man who hadn't been looking where he was running.
As he apologized to her profusely in a heavy Russian accent, Spock drew up beside her, eyes conveying concern on his otherwise stolid face. She smiled up at him, disconcerted but unhurt, and almost childlike, reached up for him to help her back to her feet.
His gaze had jumped from her face, to her outstretched hand, and back before cutting to the side and staying there. He did not take her arm, and she was left to lever herself up off the ground with a very chatty ensign jabbering in her ear the entire time.
He'd kept his hands clasped firmly behind his back the rest of the night, and she could not shake the feeling that she had been rejected in some way.
The awkwardness between them seemed to have dissipated by the next night, as they sat together discussing the finer points of the Academy's cafeteria food--literally. "I swear, that meatball had a tack in it. I nearly sliced my tongue open on it!"
"That is why I recommend an all-vegetarian diet," Spock rejoined with a hint of haughtiness in his tone. "I have yet to injure myself on any plant-based compound."
"Sure, sure, if you don't mind the lack of taste!" Nyota teased.
Spock raised a brow at her, eyes gleaming with thinly veiled amusement. "I have heard a Terran colloquialism pertaining to this subject--"the greener the leaf, the richer the flavor," I believe it goes."
Unbidden, an image of Spock's faintly emerald-hued skin came to mind; Nyota's face instantly flared with heat. 'I'm positive he didn't mean it that way,' she scolded herself, feeling like a pervert for reading too much into his innocent attempt at a joke.
Trying to play off her sudden silence, she swatted at his shoulder lightly--only to have him jerk out of range, his eyes closing off immediately and leaving her feeling cold, despite the toasty sweater she'd worn.
She thought about his actions all that night, unhappy. 'So he doesn't like to be touched. I shouldn't take it personally…'
But she couldn't help but take it personally, because all her life she'd been raised to see physical contact as a sign of comfort, of caring…
Of love.
The fact that Spock refused to touch her at all, even just a casual pat on the arm, felt like he was refusing to acknowledge her as a friend…let alone anything more than that.
If Gaila overheard her sniffling sobs, she did not feel inclined to question what, or who, had caused them.
He never really liked that chair much anyway, Spock mused indifferently.
Or that nightstand. Yes, what an eyesore that had been.
In fact, he seemed determined to do away with all furnishings and take up a completely Spartan lifestyle--or so it would seem, as he continued to systematically demolish everything in his quarters that wasn't bolted down.
He was disgusted with himself, as evidenced by the needless destruction of harmless home décor: 'mere objects, or symbols of my growing attachment to this place?' he wondered. 'I am becoming too comfortable. Too at ease on an alien planet, among alien people, and their alien notions…'
Most disturbing of all was the fact--inescapable, biological fact--that this planet, and its people, and their notions, were not so alien as he might like.
He very much wanted something from Cadet Uhura--'Nyota,'-- but his inexperience in such matters made him unsure. As a man of science, there was little he despised more than an unpredictable outcome, and one would be hard pressed to find so inconstant a variable as emotion.
As a man, there was little he despised more than being caught between his Vulcan sensibilities and his Human libido.
'She does not know what she is asking for,' he decided tersely, 'any more than I know what I am asking for. In human society, physical contact has many connotations; I would be mistaken to think her attempts at contact as anything more than mere gesticulations, leaving myself open for an emotional blow.'
He recalled the unsavory blonde cadet's desire to know her first name. The significance of her granting it to him freely, outright telling him to address her as such, was magnified.
Yet he still denied that which was staring him in the face, proving what every woman instinctively knows to be true: men are stupid, not matter how smart they are.
'It is imperative that I maintain the upper hand over myself, at all times, no matter the level of provocation. No matter the provocateur.' Spock settled into a splinter-free patch of carpet and gazed out the window, across the vast expanse of time and the daunting vacuum of space, at where he knew Vulcan to be.
'Imperative, impossible…'
Eyes drifting shut, he sought inner peace; what he found was Nyota's face, frozen in one of her illogically irresistible smiles. How he longed to reach out and touch her supple skin, in a way he had never longed for anyone before…but to actually do so was, if not unthinkable, unacceptable. Against regulation, at the very least.
The mental image of the young woman came alive, seemed to hear his unspoken wish, and obliged by stroking all the places he could not: her fingers brushed delicately over her mouth, grazed down the seemingly endless column of her throat, tickled tantalizingly across her collarbone--
She stretched her hand toward him, all but her index and middle fingers folded back, in the traditional Vulcan greeting of loved ones. All he needed to do was extend his own hand and touch that which he wanted…
The island countertop in the kitchen, having thought itself safely affixed to the floor, was shocked to find itself forcibly relocated to the lawn outside.
She was late.
Spock clenched his jaw, a motion so subtle as to be invisible to the average onlooker--but to a trained eye, he was practically tapping his foot with impatience. And that was saying something.
But then, there was no eye so trained as Nyota's, 'and she is not here,' he thought, becoming more and more agitated.
Not even a full minute later she was dashing up to him, panting and apologizing--"Sorry, sorry, Gaila's curling iron--nearly burned the whole dorm down--"
"It matters not," he cut her off, somehow not placated. "Let us move indoors. It is too cold outside."
She blinked up at him curiously, but followed him into the library nonetheless.
He stalked past the vending machine where they usually stopped for drinks without a second glance; she trailed after him, scowling.
He sat down in his usual chair; she pulled out her own seat and scooted it nearer to his, as she had been doing for some time.
But tonight it was not to be. He slid his chair away, only a little, but more than enough to be noticeable.
Nyota smacked her hands down sharply on the tabletop, fed up. "Okay, what? What is it?"
Spock did not flinch. "I am merely asserting my right to a certain degree of 'personal space.'"
"Excuse me?" she gawked. "Where is this coming from? I try to sit next to you and suddenly I'm invading your privacy?" She edged closer, ignoring the warning in his tensed shoulders. "Suddenly you can't stomach me anymore?"
"That is not the case," he growled lowly, at a loss as to how to handle the furious female.
"Then what is the case?!" she snapped, inching nearer.
His blood was thrumming so loudly in his veins he felt certain she could hear it; unsure of the logical response, he made to stand up and remove himself from the situation completely.
"Wait--Spock," she implored, voice cracking weakly. He paused, glanced back--
She touched his hand.
The five little points of cool contact seared him like brands, one for each letter of her name--"Nyota," he heard himself saying as he lunged at her, her startled face rising to meet him, colliding with his in a clumsy kiss that was all power and no control.
She released him immediately, but he did not release her; he forgot himself, forgot his strength, forgot his ability, and without meaning her any harm and yet unable to stop himself, he pressed his flesh to hers and melded their minds in a lightning strike of need and inhibition.
He heard nothing, saw nothing, tasted and smelled and most of all touched nothing but Nyota; she was everywhere, all around him and inside him, and he was inside her--finally he could share his true feelings with her, his confusion and trepidation and desire, unfettered by clumsy words and unrestrained by stifling politeness…
And he could finally feel her, her attraction to him, her admiration and determination--
Her ungodly fear and pain…
With a gasp he withdrew from her mind and her mouth, stunned to see that he had doubled her over the table and pinned her there with his superior strength, had forced his way into her mind without permission--
Had violated her.
He let go as if she'd burnt him, and perhaps she had; her head lolled back against the tabletop, unconscious. Several other cadets were rushing to the scene, talking excitedly to one another; he didn't hear them, didn't feel the many pairs of hands that grabbed and jostled him away from the body lying prone on the table--
All he saw was the woman he loved, hurt, because of him.
Nyota awoke to a strange room, in a strange bed, with a strange person next to her--'Oh wait, that's just Gaila,' she mused sleepily.
"Hey, you!" her roommate cried, jumping up and hugging the girl in the bed tightly, "How do you feel?!"
'A little sore, actually,' Nyota thought. Her back ached, she had a bump on her head, she didn't even want to know what her hair looked like…and her lips were bruised, tender.
"I'll get the med tech, McBoner or whatever his name is--"
"No need," Nyota sighed. "What happened?"
Gaila shuffled her feet in a manner that plainly said she had bad news to impart. "Uh, well, it seems you did something to piss Commander Spock off, 'cause he tossed you down and had his way with you--not the sexual, awesome kind, mind you--and hightailed it back to his home planet."
Nyota went absolutely still. "…What?"
"'Fleet didn't kick him out, although they were gonna investigate of course--he left on his own. Said he was unfit for duty and hopped the first shuttle back to Vulcan…hey, don't get up so fast!"
Nyota didn't make it far before collapsing, the searing pain in her skull reverberating throughout her entire body. 'What's happening to me…?!'
To say his mother had been surprised to see him would be a massive understatement.
Spock had always been gifted in this.
She didn't question him--much--but she did attempt to embrace him; he pushed her away, gently but insistently. "I apologize, Mother. I have not returned to Vulcan for a simple visit."
His mother crossed her arms and blinked at him owlishly. "Should I go get your father?"
"Yes," Spock said, face shuttered. "He can inform the rest of the Council of my decision to complete the discipline of Kolinahr."
AN: So! I wrote this about....5? 6? months ago, and simply never got around to posting it--I think I wanted to wait until I'd completely written the second half, but...screw it. Ha!
But yes, there IS a second half planned. It just needs to be written! I'll find the time somehow.
Thanks to everyone who continues to review/favorite my work: you guys are everything to me!
Special thanks goes to doctorjessi, who was vital in the planning and eventual writing of part 2 of this story. I couldn't have done it without you. Thank you.
***SUPER COOL EDIT TIME: Wow, 11 reviews after I just posted?! Thanks so much to everyone for your amazing feedback!! I hear you when you say 'but Spock is out of character! What the hell is he doing? And in PUBLIC no less!' YES. You're right. All will be made clear in part 2.....believe me. I hate it when people make Spock overly emotional and crazy for no reason. Sorry I can't say more, but I'd ruin the surprise!
---258.