Here you are, the next installment! Thanks so much for following and for your reviews and favorites!


Chapter 4- Never Alone

Nyota Uhura woke groggily from a sedative-drenched sleep. She still felt bone-tired, even though her sleep had been heavy and dreamless. Her first lucid breath brought her the tang of disinfectant, and her eyes snapped open to stare at the white particle-board ceiling. The previous night's events rushed back to her, and she looked over at the bed next to her. Natalie Thompson was still sedated, her own drug cocktail having been mixed so as to ensure a full eight hours or longer. A figure stirring close by cause Uhura to look in the other direction, toward a chair situated in the corner of the room.

"Leonard?" she asked, and the doctor blinked at her owlishly.

"Hmmgood," he expulsed, stretching. "You're awake."

"Did you stay here all night?"

"It was the only place people would stop bothering me so I could catch a cat nap," McCoy replied, standing and stretching more fully. The chair had been particularly uncomfortable, but he spoke the truth for the most part. He had dodged into the room an hour before, sat down, and almost immediately had fallen asleep. He had been happily snoring away until the medically-trained officer in him heard Uhura's breathing change. McCoy glanced at his watch. "Well, my dear, my shift is over in twenty minutes and it's time to get you checked out of here and back to your normal life."

Uhura moved gingerly, testing her limbs and finally her neck. The sedative and pain-killer mixture kept her pleasantly numb to most of the pain, except around her neck. McCoy ran his scanner around her again, then placed a stethoscope over her heart and lungs. Apparently please with the results, he nodded and typed something into his PADD. "Well, you have as clean a bill of health as anyone can after being choked and beaten."

"You make it sound like I lost, Leonard. You forget, I won," Nyota said with a grin.

"Cadet Uhura, is that pride I detect in your voice?" McCoy teased her gruffly. He gave her a paltry look. "Maybe if you had a little humility you could stay out of trouble."

"Says the man who is friends with the most ambitious and cocky man in all of StarFleet." Nyota hopped off her hospital bed, patting McCoy on the shoulder as she did so. She disguised a grunt of pain in a laugh.

"Who, Jim? The kid's not so bad once you get to know him," McCoy swore.

"No, thanks. Gaila has gotten to know him well enough for both of us. Can I change and go back to my dorm, now? I'm already late for class."

"Don't worry, Cadet Demanding," McCoy said. "I already sent out a communication to all your professors. You get to play hooky today, and you earned it, stepping in like you did. Don't tell anybody I said that."

Nyota thanked him, and he gave her a little privacy to change. She saw her torn uniform had been replaced by a freshly laundered uniform, and she slipped it over her head gratefully. Drawing the curtain away, she saw Leonard checking over Cadet Thompson's vitals. Nyota pulled on her boots and asked how she was.

"Same as last night. Just a few bruises, nothing she won't heal from just like you," McCoy replied quietly. "Based on her reaction to the attack, though, she's going to have nightmares for a very long time."

They walked out of the room together, and McCoy escorted her to the reception desk. "That pointy-eared commander must think very highly of you, Uhura. He dropped by that uniform early this morning, said to contact him if you needed anything else. What exactly is he to you?"

Uhura raised an eyebrow in his general direction as she signed her paperwork. "He's my commanding officer, and I'm his TA. I consider him a friend but I don't really know if he reciprocates. He's Vulcan, for goodness sake, you never know what's going on behind that façade."

"Ok, Cadet, cool your boots," McCoy said. His expression said he thought more might be there. "You're free for now, but I want to see you back in a week to make sure everything is healing like it should be. You seem to be a little on the anemic side, so those bruises may take a little longer. If I feel they're not pretty enough I'm going give you a blood replenisher and iron supplements to speed the process a little." McCoy flicked a card at her across the desk. "Call my direct line and set up a time with me."

Uhura nodded in affirmative and gave the grumpy doctor a playful wave. The morning air engulfed her as she stepped into the sunlight. It was crisp and refreshing after the stale recirculated air of the hospital. She wanted to get home before the pain killers wore off completely, thinking that lying in bed might just be the best plan for the day. They were already fading from her system, and she felt everything more acutely than before.

Thankfully, the medical center was strategically placed near the dormitories. She had reached the building in five minutes, and it only took another three to bring her to her door. She palmed open the hydraulic door and ambled inside.

"What in seven hells happened to you?" Gaila shrieked. The Orion was teary-eyed as she looked at her friend, assessing her condition. "Commander Spock showed up here early this morning and said something about needing a uniform for you and an attack?"

"Gaila, I'm ok, really. I'm sorry, I should have had Leonard or Commander Spock tell you. I stayed in the hospital last night. I broke up an attack on Cadet Thompson. You remember her, right? She's in our focus." Nyota sat down on her bed and gingerly loosened the high neck of her uniform. Gaila stared at the blossoming bruise. Seeing this, Nyota said, "He caught me in a headlock, pretty tight. He looks worse."

"If you say so," Gaila replied incredulously. She inspected Nyota's bruises while the other girl undress. "You're staying in today, right?"

"Yeah," Nyota groaned, pulling her covers over herself. "Leonard sent an excuse to all my professors. I honestly won't be surprised if Spock still wants me for grading, but it's all stuff I can do here."

"Surely he wouldn't still expect you to do anything today? Is he that cold-blooded?" Gaila glanced at the clock on her bed stand, and begrudgingly began to pull on her boots.

"He's not cold-blooded. His blood is actually five degrees hotter than ours," Nyota replied. She had decided her back was the least painful, so she was laying on her back with one hand over her eyes, massaging them gently. She already had a headache.

"Right. Smart-ass," Gaila grumbled in mock-hostility. She grabbed pain capsules out of her drawer and placed them next to her friend. She ran a glass of cool water, and left that next to the medicine. "I have to go, hon. I've already missed my first class waiting for you."

"Mmm-k," Nyota mumbled, already falling into a light sleep. "See you later."

The door whooshed open and closed again quietly, leaving Nyota to her own jumbled thoughts. The sedative had almost entirely worn off. She had kept the previous evening out of her mind until she would have the opportunity to go over it alone. Every emotion came back to her, filling her body and mind. Her own fear at her snap decision, her worry for the other woman, the relief when Spock had come…each emotion in turn came as she analyzed the event.

Dread had knotted itself in her stomach. She had not thought of her own welfare the night before, and was just now realizing, as the pain returned to her, how bad it could have turned out. Her fighting had been sloppy. Despite the breathing drill and attempting to make a fast recovery, she had been unable to recall the most effective neutralizing moves she had been taught. Had the man been a little more calculating and less blinded by rage, he would have easily overpowered her, and that scared her. She felt her breath hitch in her chest, and quickly took a deeper breath, releasing it slowly to calm herself. The last thing she needed was a panic attack. It's illogical, she thought, smiling a little to herself at the phrase she had picked up from Commander Spock.

Nyota reached for the aspirin on her bedside table. She dumped out two into her palm and downed them with a sip of water. Her ribs ached. Her neck ached. Her head ached. She had punched her attacker hard enough to break the skin on her knuckles, and had been surprised at her own strength. She looked at them now. The skin was red and swollen, but clean and no longer bloody. It had not merited bandaging, so Leonard had just told her to keep it clean. A badge of honor.


Spock stood before his class, lecturing on the difference between trading and military dialects of Andorian. He was present in the classroom with only a quarter of his mind. One small portion was concerned with the Enterprise, but the rest of his compartmentalized machine was concerned with Cadet Uhura. She had not been in his first class, nor had he expected her to be. He had spoken with her attending physician, and both men had agreed she needed a day off. Spock found himself preoccupied with her, though, despite his efforts to remain focused. He dismissed his class at the bell, frustration growing within himself.

The students filed out eagerly. One student seemed to pause, consider approaching him, and thought better of it. Spock wondered at this, but only for a moment. He sat in a chair beside the lectern, and breathed in deeply. He centered himself on Uhura, and pushed the thoughts of her to the back of his mind, compartmentalizing them as efficiently as he could. In another breath, he brought his pressing problems forward, and partitioned them off so he could divide his attention among them, rather than illogically concerning himself with the well-being of an officially healthy student.

Friend, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. He pushed it aside.

Able to focus now, he rose to attend to the next class. It was in the Sciences and Exploration building, and it was an advanced science protocol course. It required much of his attention, more than he had been able to give his last class. The day was bright and warm, and he let the sun sink into his skin. It was not the same heat as Vulcan—even now, he felt chilled, though the temperature was approximately 26 degrees Celcius. Stifling a sigh, Spock walked on to the next building.

His class had already assembled by the time he arrived. He followed his routine, setting up his computer console, keying up his screens, and listened to the loud rumble of students talking. Only a few had paused at his entrance; the remainder ignored him completely. As his first slide popped onto the screen, the students began to quiet, until a hush filled the entire room. Spock watched as it settled, his hands clasped behind his back, posture erect. He was focused now, and he launched into his lecture.

"We shall begin today where we had ended yesterday. When embarking on an away mission, as a scientist or science officer, your primary objective is to obtain as many samples as possible, within reasonable limits. However, this must be done with as little disturbance to the planet's environment as possible…"

The hour was over much faster than he had anticipated, even though he had been counting down the seconds in the back of his mind. The next hour was his allotted lunch break, and he had formulated a plan to set his mind at ease. Spock dismissed his class, warning them about the upcoming examination, and walked hurriedly to his quarters.

Spock palmed open his door, and felt the heater in his apartment kick on. He kept it Vulcan-hot usually, and the heat was welcome. His single bookcase was full of old volumes, the rare hard-copied books lined up neatly by origin. The tome he was after quickly drew his eye, and he pulled it off the shelf. It opened to a well-marked page, and Spock traced his finger over the verse. It was a poem, and he heard his mother reciting it melodically, giving the lines the emotion his father never could. He carefully closed the book, and walked over to his console. "Computer," he said evenly, "Locate Cadet Nyota Uhura."

"Working…Cadet Uhura is in dormitory A113," the mechanical voice intoned.

Spock walked out of his apartment, the number A113 drummed into his memory.


Her door buzzed, and Nyota rolled her eyes. Sleep had been elusive because the pain from her ribs had become insistent, despite the NSAIDs she had popped. She had a feeling the prying eyes outside the door were only interested in investigating the rumors that had no doubt been flying around the campus this morning. Regardless, she stood and slipped on a robe over her sweats and walked over to the panel. To her surprise, the man standing outside her door was dressed in academic greys.

"Commander Spock!" she said in surprise.

"Cadet Uhura, I wanted to be certain as to your health this afternoon," the Commander said. He stood tall in her doorway, his lithe body framed in metal. "Also, I brought you something to pass the time. It is unusual for you to sit with nothing to do." He held out an old leather-bound book.

Nyota accepted the book, running her fingers gently over the cover. "Thank you, sir," she said. She opened to the nameplate of the book, and smiled when she realized what language it was in. "High Vulcan?"

Spock nodded. "I thought this volume might be an asset to your study of the language. It is one of the books used in my own education. I took the liberty of adding notes in addition to what my father had in order to give you a more complete grasp of the translations. I…apologize, for some of the words in High Vulcan have a very poor translation into modern Vulcan, and no translation into Standard."

"I'm sorry, Commander, do you want to come in?" Nyota asked, remembering herself. She stepped aside, motioning for Spock to enter. "Please excuse the mess, Gaila's a great friend but a terrible roommate."

"The state of the room is unimportant," Spock said. "Indeed, my roommate during the academy would put yours to shame."

Nyota chortled a little, but winced in pain. She put a hand over her right ribs, rubbing the bruise gently, and took a seat on her bed. She pointed to her desk chair, the only one not covered in Gaila's clothing.

"Cadet Uhura, were you significantly injured in the altercation last night?" Spock asked. He took the seat she had motioned to, perching stiff-backed on the edge. Nyota shook her head slowly, and Spock took in her bruised neck. He knew her other bruises were covered up, and he was concerned as to their extent.

"No, sir." Nyota placed the book in her lap. "I'm just bruised, nothing a week won't heal."

"Should you need additional time away, all you need to do is ask me, or Dr. McCoy."

"Nonsense, today is plenty. Any more time off and I might go stir-crazy. What ended up happening to the attacker?" Spock's gaze was intense on her, but she had become used to being appraised in this manner by the Vulcan. All it meant was that she had his full attention, nothing more. However, out of uniform and in no more than a thin t-shirt, shorts, and a robe, his gaze made her feel unusually uncomfortable.

"The police took him to holding for the night. I have not discovered what charges will be brought, though I expect you and Cadet Thompson will be expected to testify." Spock saw Uhura shift a little, and interpreted it as a reaction to his scrutiny of her bruises. He dropped his gaze, not understanding her discomfort, but desiring to abate it. "Will Cadet Thompson be up to the task?"

"I don't know. Just the attack left her shaken. She may not be willing to testify. But I will," Nyota said strongly. Thinking of Natalie's injuries brought her anger back to heel.

Spock was struck by the passion in Uhura's voice. It made sense, but it still caught him slightly off guard. The attack had not been on her, after all, but on one of her underclassman, a woman she knew very little of. "Is your anger at the criminal, or the crime he attempted to commit?"

Nyota caught and held his stare, and he saw a focus he rarely saw in the eyes of a human. "Both. And why not? The crime by itself is heinous, but it requires a person to execute it. Crime would not exist without a twisted consciousness."

"You suggest that crime cannot exist without individuals to execute it. Do you mean to say that, were everyone like-minded, crime would not exist?" Spock had leaned forward slightly, engaging himself completely in the conversation.

"How can an entire population be like-minded? That suggests the removal of free will, something unknown in the Federation. Not to mention, highly illegal, since that would involve the same philosophy as slavery." Nyota shook her head. "Even in former utopian societal experiments, there was crime, because you can't control an individual."

"History has shown crime is the result of population size. Theoretically, if you could control crowding, you could control crime," Spock returned.

"I don't agree. I grew up in a little village outside of Nairobi, less than 500 people. There was no crowding, most of the population was middle-class, but even those considered lower class were comfortable. Poverty wasn't a problem in our community. Yet we still had crime. Most of it was petty theft, but when I was 18, we had a murder. One man killed another for having an affair with his wife. It wasn't a crime of passion, it was premeditated. He could have easily divorced his wife, but instead, he planned out how and when to kill her lover. Crime exists because selfishness is uncontrollable from person to person." As she spoke, Nyota had sat up straighter, motioning with her hands. She leaned towards Spock, almost close enough to touch him.

His dark eyes were transfixed by hers, and he leaned closer. "Emotion was his motivation. Had he controlled his emotion, he would have chosen a more logical path."

Nyota smiled at him, her lips drawing back in a graceful motion that lit up her eyes and dimpled her cheek. "But he was human, and emotion is our defining characteristic. Try as we might, we can't purge emotion like Vulcans can."

"Emotion is only purged by those who follow the discipline of kolinahr," Spock pointed out. "Mastery of one's emotion, if taught at an early enough age, is possible in any species."

This got him a laugh. "You've obviously never been around a human toddler," she said.

Spock's internal clock was ticking away, and he knew he needed to leave. "This conversation is most stimulating. However, I must return to my duties."

Nyota's face fell a little, but she nodded. "Thank you for visiting me, Commander. It means a lot to me."

Spock rose, and Nyota thought she saw the edges of his mouth turn up ever so slightly. "I must admit, Cadet, I came for rather…selfish reasons. I have recently realized that your friendship means a great deal to me, and concern for your welfare was a rather disorienting feeling. Enjoy the book." With that, he showed himself out, leaving Nyota alone.

"Well, that was different," she mumbled to herself. She picked up the book again, holding it as though it were the most fragile thing in the world. It was old leather, dyed hunter green, with gold molding around the edges. Nyota ran her fingers over it again, and opened the book to the first page. Nothing was written on the first page except the title and author, and the date published. It was a very old book, from that date. This was a second edition, so not quite so priceless as a first, but very close. Nyota flipped to the next page, and began to read.

"Olaya qual nes k'shatri tor Ah'rak sutra." The language was much more difficult to pronounce than modern Vulcan. She looked at the translation written above the script. It was in Vulcan, in a strong, square hand. "Emotion is not foreign to the Vulcan people," it said. She was hooked, and continued the translation. Many words she could not pronounce, but locked them in her mind to ask Spock. By the time she had finished several chapters, she could recognize many of the words that no longer had translations written over them. The translations were becoming fewer and fewer. At first, all of the translations had been written in the square hand she could only believe to be Spock's father. After the first forty pages, another hand began to show up in the margins. She recognized it as Spock's handwriting from the few notations she had ever seen him make. It was delicate script, still in Vulcan, a few in both Vulcan and Standard. The text was surprisingly detailed on the depth of emotions and Vulcan use of them.

She flipped back to the title page and read it once more, able to understand it now. Fi'olaya, or, On Emotion, was all it said. Nyota understood now that it was a treatise on Vulcan thought and emotion, written by Surak, the father of the Vulcan Awakening. It had been extremely enlightening, though she wondered if much of it still held true. Yet another thing she wanted to ask Commander Spock.

As an afterthought, Nyota grabbed her PADD and flipped through her messages until her last communication from Spock came up. She opened it and scrolled to the bottom of the memo to read the last sentence.


Spock scrolled through his PADD, sitting at his desk. The most recent modifications to the U.S.S. Enterprise had come through, and he was actively perusing them. Most of them were insignificant figures, but he saw specifications for the bridge were ready to be considered. Several members of the engineering team had already submitted their suggestions of console arrangement to be considered by the command crew. Ultimately Captain Pike would have final say, but he was relying on Spock's suggestions for most of the design approval. They both knew how the bridge flowed best.

He reviewed each arrangement carefully, down to the square centimeter required. Some placed engineering next to communications, or next to the science station. Others placed science opposite communications, with engineering and navigation between them. None, however, placed science and communications near one another. Spock could not pin down the reason this upset him in any way, but it did. He typed out a memo, requesting the two be placed together. It was a logical arrangement, as communications was vital to the science officer's duty.

At least, that is what he told himself.

He included measurement specifications for both stations to compensate for the move. Very little had to be changed, but he knew it would be questioned. Not out loud, by anyone working on the ship, or any of the engineering team, but he would be called out by Pike.

There was a holo on the edge of his desk, which he left on constantly. It was of the Enterprise, from early renderings of her design. The original drawings were computerized, of course, but one of the artists had put his own flair on it, giving it more character than a simple computer image. It was as though each line had been hand drawn, shadings carefully done brush stroke by brush stroke. It was a beautiful reminder of the certain glory of the ship.

Nyota had remarked on it, the first day they had worked together in his office. It was after realizing that a lab table left much to be desired for grading space that Spock had insisted a small desk be installed in his office for her. She had walked in and immediately, her eyes had been drawn to the holo. It was the third distinct smile Spock had observed from her.

"It's so beautiful," she had said, longing in her voice. "Even in the shipyard, with half her hull unfinished, she was beautiful."

"You have seen the Enterprise?" Spock had asked, nearly surprised.

"When I first started the Academy," Nyota replied, sitting down. "The recruitment shuttle stopped over there for an evening. It made for quite an evening, but honestly the ship was the highlight of the trip. I knew the instant I saw her that I wanted to serve aboard her."

"There are many worthy ships in the fleet. You should not rule them out simply because the Enterprise will be the newest."

"It's not that. Have you ever heard of love at first sight?" she asked. "I don't think I've ever felt it for a person, but I felt it for that ship."

It had been a slightly absurd conversation, in his mind. It was illogical to love an inanimate object, and he had pointed that out. However, the small part of his mind that was still rebellious, still human, told him she had the right of it. It was a beautiful ship, and he too, felt a deep connection to it. He did not go so far as to call it love, but he was already fond of it, having guided its design every step of the way.

A ding on his PADD drew him back to reality, and he realized how long he had been staring at the holo. He opened the message, and saw it was from Cadet Uhura. The first sentence was in High Vulcan, the rest in Vulcan, and he suppressed a satisfied smile.

S'frei nash-veh. I understand your message now. 'To understand, one must first set upon the path, and never alone.' If that is an offer of help, I am in need. I'm afraid my pronunciation of any of this is terrible, and only you will be able to school me on it. Thank you again for bringing me your book, and for visiting me. It means a great deal, and translating several chapters wasted many hours away for me. With any luck, I will become proficient enough to hold a conversation. So, thank you. I will be in tomorrow.

Good evening,

Cadet Uhura

He reread the message, though he did not need to. He lingered on the last words of his challenge to her. Worlo sa'awek.


So now you know what Spock told Uhura! Again, thank you all for the amazing reviews you have been giving me. I apologize for the time it takes me to post. I may start shortening the chapters in order to post faster, but if you indicate in the reviews that this is a good speed and length, things will stay the same! Also, I must give credit where credit is due. The Vulcan seen here is not my own creation, but is rather scavenged from the Vulcan Language Dictionary. So, if the creators of said compilation happen to be reading this, thanks! It is also not High Vulcan, but I'm not creative enough to come up with an entirely new dialect. Sorry!