Thank you to tomfooleryprime for helping me organize my thoughts on this. This will be a bit different from my last fic; there will be a lot of OC content, but I promise it will all connect in the end! Please bear with me!

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

Until this night, Spock had never spent quite so much time in front of the mirror, examining his reflection and wondering if his attire was adequate.

It had been exactly one week, two days, one hour and forty-seven minutes since Nyota Uhura had kissed Spock on the lips in the darkening academic quad and bade him, in a soft voice, to call her "Nyota". The half-Vulcan commander's perfect memory allowed him to recall, with certain accuracy, the way his heart had stirred in response to the sound. He found it quite pleasant—the syllables of her name danced over his tongue in a neat way that he could repeat tirelessly. The Ny stretched his mouth close to a smile, the o parted his lips just so, and the tap of his tongue against the roof of his mouth at ta with a slight exhale spread warmth across his chest.

Afterwards they took a long walk until night swathed the campus and the streetlights blinked on all at once, casting deep shadows along the tree-lined paths that connected its buildings.

A few steps from her dormitory, Nyota stopped walking and turned to Spock. "I'm going to have to be clear with you, aren't I?"

"Regarding?"

"Everything." She paused and reached hand up to press against his cheek. "I would like to keep seeing you, Commander."

"You may call me by my given name."

"Spock." There was something different about hearing the word tumble from her mouth alone, unaccompanied by its title. He liked the way her lips sprung open as she transitioned from the p to the ck. It invited him to close the space with his own lips, which he did, reasoning that their interaction on the bench less than an hour ago had made it apparent that such an advance would not be unwelcome. Her hand slipped from his cheek to the back of his neck as she pressed against his chest. He gripped the red fabric on her shoulders with uncertainty. Later, he would need to consider more seriously where would be the most appropriate placement of his hands during such exchanges.

Nyota pulled away from him, pushing against his chest to create distance between their bodies. Spock blinked, began calculating an apology for his assumption that this would now be an appropriate action. She was, to his surprise, laughing.

"Wait, wait," she said through a chuckle. "We're talking now. We can do more of this later—and trust me, I would like to do a lot more of this."

"I would not be averse to that."

She laughed again, nervously this time, dropping her gaze. "Certainly not." She took his fingers in hers, lacing them together between them. "Do you know what it means, though?"

"It is a precursor to more intimate relations, and is used as an expression of desire for—"

"No, Spock." Nyota squeezed his hands. "I mean between us."

Spock took a pause for this. "I am not opposed to intimacy."

"Not just physically."

"I am aware."

They stared at each other for a long time, before Nyota said, "I would like things to change between us."

Spock found the sleek rope of her ponytail and tugged it over her shoulder. It curved around her neck and fell against her breast. Her eyes flickered down to follow his fingers. "I understand that a change will occur," he said slowly. "Though I do not have the adequate experience to ascertain what exactly that change will entail. I was… expecting that you would lead this progression."

She smiled and nodded, rising to her toes to place a light peck on his lips. "Let's meet again tomorrow, then. I only have a couple of weeks of recess before summer classes start, and I think I'd like to spend a decent amount of it with you."

He nodded, finding himself suddenly reluctant to part from her. "I would like that as well."

Spock walked home alone, relieved to be spared the difficulty of articulating his feelings, which he hardly understood himself. "Feelings" were not his expertise. Nyota understood this. In the following week they spent some time each day in each other's company, and she never once asked him to say out loud everything he implied that night. This, among her many favorable qualities, he appreciated deeply.

The next day they went out for dinner, but on Friday Nyota had promised to spend with Gaila before she went off-world for her summer holiday. That weekend, she took Spock to the San Francisco Botanical Garden, which he had still neglected to visit. They spent Sunday afternoon competing as to who could more expediently recall the scientific names of the plants they encountered on their stroll. Spock won, of course, but Nyota did not seem to mind.

Spock spent Monday in meetings with the soon-to-be senior staff of the Enterprise, but on Tuesday they shared lunch. On Wednesday, Spock took her to his favorite antique bookstore, and reveled in her bright expression as she explored its shelves.

It wasn't until Thursday that Spock recognized the mildly dissatisfied way she was staring at him over the table at lunch, as though he were an equation she was having trouble solving. He set down his knife and fork.

"May I ask what troubles you?"

Nyota bit her lip in response.

Spock looked down at the spread of vegetables on his plate. "Are you displeased with our continuing acquaintance? Do you not find it adequate?"

She tilted her head and put down her own utensils. "Well… I mean, displeased would be going a little too far. I really like being friends with you."

Spock waited, sensing that this statement would be followed by an adversative conjunction.

"… but I would like to be more than friends."

Spock, who had just spent an entire semester analyzing and interpreting the meaning of "friendship" with Nyota, could not even begin to understand what she was attempting to convey. "I do not know what that means," he admitted.

"I know you don't. That's why I'm troubled."

"I do not wish to be the source of your troubles." Spock knew next to nothing about how their relationship would proceed, but he knew that his reasons for exploring it was to seek out a state of mutual satisfaction in each other's company. In that respect, he seemed to be failing, despite his efforts to make their time together enjoyable. He had been too complacent in the pleasure of simply being with her, to consider that her expectations may differ.

"I know. I'm not sure what I was expecting myself. I feel like I'm always going out of my way to impress you, and I don't know…" she shook her head and looked down. "You seem a bit… indifferent. But of course, I know it's the Vulcan way. I'm sorry. I'm being silly."

"What would you like, Nyota?" Spock disliked the expression on her face. He leaned forward, trying with difficulty to dissect its meaning. "Tell me, and I will adjust my behavior."

Her face changed. Spock suppressed a rush of relief as a smile crept onto her lips. Her eyelids became just a touch heavier, and her eyebrows shot up at a moderate angle. He had deduced, from the occasions he had seen it light up her face, that this expression indicated affection. "Let's go on a date."

"Date?" Spock tilted his head slightly. He had thought, given what he knew of human courtship (he had done extensive reading on its practices in the past week) that the activities they engaged in alone together, such as eating meals and visiting attractions, qualified as "dates".

She seemed to sense his confusion because she went on. "Gaila had tickets to a play that some cadet wanted to take her to. She's already off-planet, so she gave them to me. Let's go together. Look nice. I know it's not logical. But just… try."

Spock did not know how to explain to her that he had already been trying, with concentrated effort. He had spent considerable time picking the places they would eat, arranging outings that he thought might please her most. Still, if his efforts could not convey his regard, they must be somehow deficient.

"I will… try."

And so, he stood scrutinizing his reflection fifteen minutes prior to their scheduled meeting time. He had, in preparation, been sure to be as clean cut as he would for a Starfleet formal event. He chose a shirt that was dark blue, because he recalled a day when he had worn a sweater in a similar color and Nyota had complimented him for his choice. He polished his shoes carefully, clipped his fingernails neatly, applied balm on his hands so that they would be soft to touch. He left his quarters only when he could not conceive any possible way to improve his appearance.

Nyota was standing on the landing in front of her building when he arrived. When she saw him approaching down the path, she descended the small stone staircase to meet him. She was wearing a short, densely pleated green dress that swayed around her knees as she walked. Spock stopped short of the stairs to watch her, the way her sleek hair bobbed and tumbled over her bare shoulders with each step.

"… Hi." she said when she got to the bottom and he failed to greet her.

"Let us proceed." Spock looked away and began walking. Nyota hovered unsurely behind him for a moment before following.

As they approached the entrance to the underground transport, Nyota's voice called out from behind him "Spock, wait!" He turned to find her several paces behind him. He waited for her to catch up.

"Can you slow down? It's hard to walk in these." She pointed to her feet, gloved in high heeled shoes.

"That is very illogical footwear."

Nyota looked embarrassed, tucking her hands behind her back and looking down. "They look nice, though."

"They are unnecessary. You would look nice without them."

She toyed with the tip of one strand of hair. "I suppose."

"I will slow my pace."

They walked side by side into the station and waited in silence for the train. Spock felt the back of Nyota's hand brush his briefly. The touch made his skin thrum, like a bow streaking across a violin string. He quickly pulled away and clasped his hands behind his back. When he looked at Nyota, she was staring at the floor, her fingers looped together at her stomach. He wondered momentarily if pulling away so quickly might have mistakenly conveyed aversion. Before he could say anything of it, the train swept into the platform before them.

In the entry line, they stood nearly an arms length apart. Their conversation was brief and stilted. Nyota looked uncomfortable, bordering on upset, and this made Spock uncomfortable and unsure about what to say—whether it was his words, or actions, or something else that was upsetting her. It would be logical to simply ask, but something in their conversation the day before had implied that he should already know. He wasn't sure if admitting his ignorance would upset her further. He found that he was increasingly more concerned with not upsetting her than pleasing her, which seemed to be a progression in the opposite direction. Perhaps he should have chosen a different shirt.

During the first two acts of the play, Spock was aware that her head leaned into his shoulder slightly, and her arm pressed against his on the armrest between them. Spock adjusted himself to sit very tightly in his seat, his elbows resting cautiously on his knees, in order to give her more space.

During the intermission he turned to see her sitting with her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach.

"Are you cold?" he asked. He himself found the room slightly cooler than he would prefer, but he assumed that was due to his acclimation to Vulcan climate.

"No." She shook her head and stood up. "Listen, I'm not really feeling this. I think I would like to go home."

"You do not wish to know what befalls the characters in the second half?"

"I'll look it up later."

Spock frowned. "Shall I accompany you home?"

"I can go alone, if you want to stay and watch the rest."

Spock looked at the heavy curtains that hung over the stage. He had no particular interest in the play. The characters all acted in an unfathomably illogical manner that he found rather unsightly. And he did not want to part with her yet—not when she was so clearly displeased, not until he asked her what he had done wrong, from what seemed like the very beginning of this purported "date".

Nyota did not sit next to him on the train, instead choosing a seat across the aisle. She kept her eyes fixed on her knees the entire ride. The train was packed with loud cadets and civilians alike, all on their way to some Friday night amusement or another. Spock could not speak to her properly while they were so far, separated by the din of other passengers.

Her stride was sharp, her impractical shoes making loud sounds against the pavement as she walked.

"Nyota," Spock entreated. "You are unhappy."

She shrugged and quickened her pace. He lengthened his stride to keep up. As she climbed up the stairs to her building with equal ferocity, the heel on her left shoe snapped, and she went tumbling sideways.

Spock lunged forward and caught her before she could land painfully on the stone.

"Fuck." She said through gritted teeth. "This is just typical." She turned to sit on the stair she had fallen on, studied her foot. It was already beginning to swell.

Spock took her ankle in his hands, examining the sprain as she tore off the other shoe. "It is just a minor twist. Easily repaired at the infirmary." He felt a finger trace the tip of his ear. It sent an odd shiver reverberating through his spine. He looked up.

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at myself. Everything I understand about starting a relationship feels wrong. You're unlike anyone I've ever been with. I really want to do it right, but I don't know how."

Spock stared at her ankle, slim and slender in his large hand, feeling woefully inadequate as he said, "You are also unlike anyone I have ever been with, because you are the only one I have ever been with."

"That's a lot of pressure."

"Pressure?" He gently slid her shoe off and placed it on the stairs next to its match.

"To make it good. To make it worthwhile."

Spock was unsure when his hand had wandered, but as he looked back at her leg, he found that it was resting on the inside of her calf. The hem of her dress fluttered over his knuckles in the light breeze. "I find that simply being in your company is worthwhile."

"Then why don't you ever touch me?"

Spock wanted to contradict her, since he was, at present, touching her. Yet something about her soft, almost whispered statement made her meaning clear. He looked up once more. Nyota was leaning back on her hands, one cheek resting on her shoulder as she stared at her discarded shoes. "Nevermind," she said, standing up and hooking her fingers into their straps. She attempted to limp towards her dormitory entrance.

Spock stood and grasped her arm to steady her. "Let me assist you."

Nyota looked at her shoes, her toes, and Spock as though considering her options. Finally, she shrugged. "Fine."

Spock knelt down in front of her and waited.

"What are you doing?"

"It would be more expedient if I carried you."

A pause stretched out behind him. He continued to stare at the glare of the doors, wondering if he should stand up and explain to her how he intended to carry her (perhaps she was confused), when he felt her arms slide around his neck. He grasped her thighs, the soft skin giving under his fingers as he stood. When they reached the door Spock bent forward so she could tap her ID card. This pulled a laugh from her, ringing pleasantly in his ear.

"This is ridiculous," she said as they made their way down the hallway.

"It is not ideal."

"Am I heavy?"

"I am much stronger than the average human." Spock felt the corners of his lips tug at the second laugh that followed.

"Should I get down?" she asked as they got in the lift together.

"That will be unnecessary."

"Okay." She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. The cool metal of her earring and her warm breath left contrasting sensations on his neck.

"Nyota… you are mistaken in believing that I do not wish to be close to you. To… touch you."

She didn't say anything for a long moment. As the lift reached her floor and Spock stepped out into the eerily quiet hallway, cleared for the summer holidays, she whispered, "You always pull away."

Spock set her down when they reached her door. "Vulcans do not practice such displays of intimacy. Our way is much more private."

"I think I knew that already. But it still feels…" she shrugged. "Like you're rejecting me." She looked away and tapped her ID card. The door slid open and Spock followed her inside. "Lights."

He had never been in her quarters before. One side of the room was stripped and empty, which he assumed must belong to her absent roommate. Nyota's side was neat, with little shreds of evidence that made it uniquely hers—her PADD charging on the shelf by her unmade bed, next to the small stack of books she had purchased from the antique store they visited that week; the boots she wore with her uniform discarded on the floor; an empty coffee cup stained dark with the remnants of her breakfast; the collection of earrings hooked neatly onto a many pronged silver tree in one of the storage hexes on the wall.

"Nyota."

She dropped her shoes to the ground and turned towards him, leaning her shoulder against the frosted glass divider in her entry.

Spock held out two fingers between them and reached for her arm, pulling it by the elbow to close the space between them. "Like this." She curled her second two fingers into her palm. Their fingertips touched, the place where they made contact turning warm under the gentle pressure. "If you wish to convey affection, simply hold out your two fingers like so, and I will touch them with mine as a reciprocal gesture."

"How simple." She smiled, moved her fingers along his and curled them together. It sent a tremor up his arm. She grasped him firmly and tugged until he took a step forward. "And when we are alone? What do Vulcans do in private?"

"I…" Spock was surprised at the low tone of his voice. It sounded unfamiliar in his own ears. "I do not know."

He noticed the flash of pink that darted out as she licked her lips, saw keenly the wet glimmer as they emerged from her mouth freshly moistened. "What would you like to do?"

For a moment, Spock could not move as he realized that he was caught in a lie. A lie even to himself. While it was true, Vulcans did not practice overt displays of affection in public, that was not why he pulled away from her each time she reached for him, chose not to look at the stretch of her legs in those impractical shoes, the shadows on her sternum as it dipped between her breasts, the way the pleated dress followed the curves of her hips when she walked. His pulse quickened at an alarming rate. He rested his forehead against hers.

"I do not know," he repeated in a harsh whisper. Another lie.

Nyota tilted her chin up so that their lips met, and the taste threatened to unhinge some part of his mind. He tugged at her lips until they parted, letting him run his tongue along hers, trace the smooth ridges of her teeth. Her neck tilted back from the force with which he pressed against her mouth. She rolled over and pressed her back against the partition. He took both her hands in his and locked them on either side of her, his fingers feverish between hers.

Spock's mind grappled a losing struggle with his body. It had begun some time ago, when he faced Nyota after being permanently severed from T'Pring. An unfamiliar beast, coiled tightly in his chest, suddenly stirred—something that could not be tamed by logic.

He did not know when his breathing had gotten away from him, but soon they were panting. He felt Nyota flinch as her weight shifted to her injured ankle, so he lifted her easily by the hips and held her against the glass, her legs wrapping around his waist in response. His lips left hers and traced her jaw with rapid, wet kisses. He tasted the different parts of her skin from her cheek to just under her jaw and behind her ear, to slope of her neck. Her chest rose against his in quick, heavy swells, her hands seeking bare skin under the hem of his shirt. The cold touch of her fingertips sent a jolt through his sides and he pressed his hips more firmly against hers, lifting her further from the ground. Dizzied by the gasp this elicited against his ear, he sank his teeth into the tense muscle on her neck. She yelped.

The sound cut through the blinding roar that pulsed in Spock's ears. He pulled back, the haze ebbing from his vision. He saw her clearly now, her eyes unfocused and cheeks flushed, the dark, ring-shaped bruise forming on her neck.

He dropped her gently to the ground and turned away, attempting to coax his heart rate down to a reasonable level and relax the tightness in his pants. "I am sorry."

He heard a breathy laugh behind him. "No, please… don't be."

"I have injured you."

She laughed again. "It's really fine. I just wasn't expecting…" she paused and he felt her small hand press between his shoulder blades. "Any of it."

Spock could not bring himself to look at her. His body was tense with humiliation, running through the previous several minutes with utmost shame. "I apologize, truly. I will harness myself."

"No, Spock…"

He moved towards the door before she could stop him, and was in the hallway without another word. He stepped into the night air, wishing for the first time since he moved to Earth, that the night was not so warm.

When he returned home, his communicator buzzed with a transmission.

We should talk about this, when you're ready. We'll take it slow. —N

Spock had thought this relationship would be more simple, more natural, given how simple and natural being in her company had come to be. But since they had introduced this new level of physicality, Spock found his psyche tangling itself into dense, complex knots. At times he longed for counsel, assistance in sorting his mind, but had no-one to turn to. He was inherently private, and was raised to hide these little chips and stains in his emotional control. He did not feel comfortable breaching the subject with his mother, was still not on speaking terms with his father, and aside from them, he had no other intimate connections outside of Nyota.

He thought about T'Pring, and had a momentary desire to speak to her. Things were always neatly arranged and formal between them. He had not fully appreciated their orderly relationship until now. He knew from his diverse and comprehensive studies of ethics and diplomacy that interspecies relationships were never easy. He had a newfound respect for those who engaged in them, especially before it had become so widely accepted and thoroughly examined—his parents included. He saw his own arrogance in thinking that he and Nyota would be somehow different.

I will contact you when I am ready. Once more, I must apologize. —S

Spock was about to begin a meditation session when his computer rang with an oncoming transmission. He wondered who it could be at such a late hour. The ID read as the head of Starfleet Academy's philosophy department. Spock opened the channel.

"Commander."

"Commodore."

"I apologize for contacting you at such an odd time."

"I was not occupied."

"I have just heard some alarming news about Commander Samson—while on leave he contracted quite a severe illness, foreign to his human immune system."

"That is unfortunate."

"Certainly. While he is expected to make a full recovery, the process will take months. Now I realize that you were to be exempt from your teaching responsibilities given your new appointment as First Officer and Chief Science Officer on the Enterprise—congratulations, by the way—" Spock gave an appreciative nod. "—however could you find it in your schedule to take over Samson's Interspecies Ethics course? All other qualified instructors are occupied or away for the summer semester, and since you have taught the course before, I thought it appropriate to ask."

Spock mulled this over. The class was not a particularly rigorous one, and his familiarity with the content would make preparation time minimal. Finally, he tilted his head forward. "I accept."

"Thank you, Commander. As always, your service is exemplary. Your dedication will not go unnoticed."

"Thanks is unnecessary. It is my duty."

They ended their conversation with polite goodbyes, and Spock was thankful for another responsibility to distract him from his personal conflicts. He would spend the night in meditation, and the weekend preparing for the first Interspecies Ethics class. Routine would reorder his thoughts and then, perhaps, he would be ready to open a rational discourse with Nyota.

When Monday came along, Spock was pulling the syllabus up on the board as the class shuffled in. He turned to survey them for the first time; he did not find adequate time to study the roster on such short notice, as he had more pressing matters to attend to. It would not take him long to learn their names and faces.

Especially when it came to the name and face in the front row, looking up at him with dark, intelligent eyes, painted neatly with black strokes tracing her eyelid and stretching beyond into a slanted wing.

Her lips parted in surprise as their gazes met. He lingered just a second too long on her, could not stop himself from recalling the violet flush and heavy eyelids of her expression when he last saw her, pressed between his body and the frosted glass in her quarters. Her fingers wandered unconsciously to her collar and tugged it up tighter around her neck. He knew without seeing what lay beneath. He swallowed and bade himself to look away. "I am Commander Spock. Welcome to Interspecies Ethics."

He did not look at her for the remainder of the class, but it was plainly, glaringly evident that they would be facing more unforeseen complications.