my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,

Sometimes Spock was sure he could perceive Nyota's presence when she walked into a room, his senses tuned to her very being. The light tread of her feet, the patterns of her breath. The light sandalwood fragrance, the scent of her skin. The swish of her hair against the fabric of her uniform.

It was unsurprising then, when he felt the inexplicable need to pause his workout routine even before he looked up to see her entering the training room. She began approaching the various machines in the resistance training area when their eyes met. Her hair was wet, presumably from a swim, pulled into a slick ponytail behind her. She stopped in her tracks and pursed her lips. She seemed to change her mind, turning towards the treadmills instead.

Spock tried to ignore her presence, continuing his routine as always. However, after his intervals, he generally concluded his visit to the athletic facilities with a short run. To his dismay, when he approached the treadmills, he realized that, because it was a busy hour in the training room, all but the one beside Nyota's was occupied. He hesitated.

Spock disliked disrupting routines of any kind. He briefly considered taking his run outside, but he had a meeting to attend in less than an hour and needed to shower beforehand. He considered skipping his run altogether, but his physical conditioning routines were precise and followed faithfully, and any deviation might result in unwelcome aches or strains. At last, concerned that this last open machine might become occupied while he stood there pondering the best course of action, he stepped forward to claim the treadmill.

Nyota's gaze flicked towards him once quickly. Spock slid his ID badge into the machine and chose one of his preprogrammed pace settings. He tried his best to keep his gaze forward. The treadmills faced a glass paneled wall that offered a view of the pool on the floor below. He watched the little figures splashing from one end to the other, little flecks cutting white streaks into the blue surface of each lane.

Even then, he could not help but be distracted by the scent of pool sterilization agents that still clung to Nyota, the rhythm of her sneakers, the flick of her ponytail in his peripheral vision. He hazarded a glance in her direction and found that she was watching him.

Her face flushed and she turned to the window. "You keep a quick pace, Commander," she said between breaths.

"I have more stamina than the average human," Spock replied, turning his head to look at her. This was an unwise decision: he was able to get a full view of the fine sheen of sweat on her neck and the curves of her muscles in her tight-fitting training clothes.

She raised an eyebrow and tapped the control panel on her machine to increase its pace to match his. "Let's see."

"I would not recommend it." Spock's pace automatically increased according to his program. Nyota tapped her machine to match it. Her breath quickened. Spock looked forward again, but the sound traced the shell of his ear. He pictured clearly the way her lips parted at each exhale, the trail of sweat escaping her wet hairline and trailing down her spine. He found his own breath coming short, despite the mild pace he used for his end-of-workout jog. The pool below became an unfocused imagining of Nyota's body gleaming wet, her dripping profile, her chest rising and falling in time with her breath in his ear. Spock cancelled his routine abruptly and stepped off the machine.

"Done?" Nyota stopped her machine and leaned against it, panting.

"That will be sufficient." He pocketed his ID.

They stared at each other for a long moment. This was the longest exchange they'd had since their escapade to the Grand Canyon two weeks ago. They had not even conversed over transmissions—Spock continued to send Nyota articles but she had not responded to a single message. The summer semester was quickly nearing its end, but Spock was convinced that even after its conclusion, Nyota would not want to resume exploring an intimate relationship with him. Or any relationship, for that matter. He was fairly certain that he had irreversibly damaged whatever friendship they had managed to cultivate. Given their current status as student and instructor, he could not ask her anything directly or attempt to make amends as long as she refused to speak to him. It was made clear by Starfleet that all Academy calls and transmissions were archived in the event of a security breach, and he did not want to leave any traces that could be cause for suspicion or misunderstanding. Yet when he tried to approach her on campus, she walked pointedly in the opposite direction until he lost sight of her among a smattering of passing red uniforms.

There were certainly telltale signs of displeasure—perhaps even anger—in the way she tilted her head and looked at him with narrowed eyes under the white lights of the training room. He tried to keep his gaze on her face but it wandered over her body of its own accord, and he had to resist the urge to close his eyes.

He had been feeling almost ill in the past couple of weeks. The longer he went being neither bonded to a partner, nor in Nyota's presence, the more he felt his mind and body separating, losing synchronicity. His appetite lost its moderation—sometimes he would go days without sustenance, and sometimes he was suddenly ravenous. Meditation often resulted in his mind consuming him, leaving him in a reverie that took such discipline to break, he felt fatigued rather than refreshed afterwards. He could no longer regulate his sleep, and found that he needed to set an alarm to wake at the correct hour each morning.

He dreamed for the first time in over a decade, wandering lost in the Vulcan desert, drowning in the Earth's tumultuous sea, clawing off Nyota's uniform under the blazing afternoon sun. He woke sweating, panting, frightened and aroused at once.

He turned from her without another word, walking briskly toward the locker rooms. He heard her follow, his sharp ears knowing, unwillingly, the unique sound of her footfalls. He turned the corner into the row of lockers where he kept his belongings. It was empty, though he could hear showers running in the next room. Nyota turned the corner as he slid his ID into its reader. The locker slid open and he rummaged through his bag for a towel. When he looked up, she was standing before him, leaning her shoulder against a locker three units away from his.

"Can I help you, cadet?" he asked, clutching his towel in a tight grip.

"Spock." Her voice was low. "I'm sorry."

"I do not understand what you have to apologize for." He wanted to ignore her, walk past her towards the showers, but he could not.

She bit her lip. "I admit I've been avoiding you."

"That is obvious."

"I just thought it would be best… I mean, that's what you wanted, right?" She began to fidget with her fingernails, an action she engaged in often when she was agitated.

"It is the most prudent arrangement." He felt the towel crumple under his tight grip.

"Then… well," she sighed. "Stop looking like that."

"I do not understand."

"So lonely."

He did not have a ready response for this. Vulcans did not lie unless absolutely necessary, and in truth he was quite alone without her. They were both aware that she was his only friend. His interactions with his colleagues and transmissions with his mother could not fulfill the same function. He wished he could return to his previous state of complacency in solitude. Once he knew companionship, the empty spaces in his life became blatant without it.

"Please do not concern yourself. Perhaps…" he knew before he spoke that this was a very optimistic request: "Perhaps we could continue this conversation when the semester has concluded."

Nyota looked down and didn't answer right away. "Perhaps," she said at last, and his relief was nearly overwhelming.

He nodded quickly and began to walk past her. Her hand caught his forearm with a light graze just as they were side-by-side. He stopped, and she let her touch linger and trail down until her fingers rested on his wrist. He turned his head slightly and caught her gaze as she looked up at him. There was something in her expression that he knew perfectly well—the same emotions that assaulted his mind when he mediated: affection, confusion, longing, desire. He ached with it.

Everything went blank for moment and then suddenly his towel was on the floor and the lockers rattled behind Nyota's back as they kissed desperately, feverishly. Her hands gripped his sides and clawed at his shirt, his hands were on her face, neck, waist, breast. They fumbled with each other's bodies, trying to imprint every touch. She tasted like the salt from her sweat and the tang of pool chemicals. He heard a door and the quick slaps of bare feet as someone began exiting the showers.

Reluctantly, he pulled back and pressed their foreheads together, panting. "I am sorry. I—" Nyota stopped him with a quick kiss before he could recite unnecessary apologies.

"You're a real mess, Commander," she said, opening her eyes and training her black pupils on him. "I mean, I'm not any better, but I never expected it from you of all people. Are you sure everything is okay?"

"There are things I would like to tell you—or perhaps more accurately, things I need to tell you. You may not find them entirely agreeable." She blinked expectantly. The footsteps grew closer. "But I believe they should wait until the semester concludes." He exhaled and stepped away from her, walking towards the showers without another word. On his way he met an Andorian cadet wrapped in a towel—one he recognized as Cadet Valdez's companion from the night at the Grand Canyon. She followed him with her eyes as he walked past, and he knew that she would meet Cadet Uhura as soon as she turned into the locker room. He walked faster.

Spock scanned the temple for Sirak's lean silhouette, but the old Vulcan was nowhere to be seen. He approached one of the priests and asked him, in a low voice, if he was serving in the temple that day. The stouter Vulcan shook his head and explained that Sirak had lately taken ill, and would not be performing his duties as usual for some time.

Spock's brow furrowed. He wondered about the nature of Sirak's illness. He had never asked his age, but could assess from the curve of his spine and the thinning head of entirely white hair that he was easily over 150. Just as he was about to search for an unoccupied pocket of the curtained meditation rooms, the third priest—the one who often played ka'athyra in the temple—approached him with his instrument tucked into his elbow.

"Spock, son of Sarek?" he asked, raising his hand in a salute.

Spock nodded and returned it. "Can I help you?"

"I was instructed to give you Sirak's hospitalization information." The priest handed him a chip. Spock accepted it with a twinge of concern. Hospitalization indicated a more serious ailment. "He requested that you visit him at your earliest opportunity," the second priest continued. "Visiting hours are included in that data chip."

"Thank you." Spock nodded, pocketing the chip.

"Live long and prosper," the priest said in Vulcan.

"Peace and long life," Spock replied.

Spock decided to forgo meditation in favor of visiting Sirak in the hospital. The medical facility was a short ground transport ride away. The San Francisco Starfleet Medical Center was a ring of slick metal towers built on the site of the old San Francisco General Hospital, interconnected by a series of glass walkways, with an open, tree-lined courtyard for patients to get fresh air. Spock had spent a semester at one of its facilities, working on some xenobiological research as a prerequisite to becoming a science officer—though he was never quite as interested in the organic sciences as he was in chemistry, physics, and linguistics (which he considered to be a science, though some might disagree). Still, he had not set foot on the campus in quite some time, not since before his last assignment, before his tenure as an instructor at the academy.

He entered the hospital room and found Sirak lying with his eyes closed and his hands folded on his chest, a sheet tucked neatly around him. He opened his eyes as Spock approached his bedside, turning his head just slightly. "I've been expecting you. Please," he raised his hand weakly to gesture towards a chair sitting at an angle by his bed. "Have a seat."

Spock pulled the chair closer and sat down. "How is your health?" he asked tentatively.

Sirak's lips curled into a grimace. "Not well. My body and mind are fatigued."

"If you do not mind me asking, what is the nature of your illness?"

Sirak raised his eyebrows and sighed. "Time. Nothing extraordinary."

Spock was silent, unsure of how to reply.

"That expression of concern is very human of you." A flash of amusement crossed Sirak's face. "Your eyes are quite like your mother's."

"You are acquainted with her?"

"I met her the same year she met your father. She is a remarkable woman."

Spock let a small smile light his face. "She is." After a short pause filled by the beeps and hums of the various medical devices surrounding Sirak, he asked, "Can I help you in any way?"

"Yes, of course. I am sure you are wondering why I called you here."

"I am."

"I would like to request that you meld with me, if you do not find it to be too much of a burden."

Spock blinked in surprise at the sudden intimate request. "Are you certain?"

"At this age, one finds oneself certain of everything, however misguided that certainty might be. I do not wish to share my entire mind with you, but there is a part of my life that has remained only mine. I do not want it to die with me."

"I do not understand. Our acquaintance has been brief, and though I have shared my mind with you in counsel, I do not believe I have earned such confidence from you."

"It is a time very few will understand, memories that I believe will benefit you most out of any person I know." He waved Spock closer. "Come." He gestured to his face.

Spock leaned forward, resting one elbow on the edge of the bed as he reached his other arm forward so that he could place his hand in the correct configuration on Sirak's face.

In an instant he heard a voice singing in a language he was only beginning to understand, saw the flutter of red fabric and felt the press of humid air on his clothes. A coppery skin tone he recognized, cheekbones that bore racial resemblance to Nyota's. Dark eyes and a melodic laugh, a symphony of words in accented standard and accented Vulcan that spread warmth through his chest. "What about yearning?" it asked. Rain on his skin, a damp yellow flower clinging to a thick braid. Fingers tracing his forehead. A flurry of emotions—confusion, intrigue, affection. An overcast day, a herd of great beasts he recognized from his study of endangered Earth species, a kiss long and lingering. A frenzy of heat and confusion, his blood running hot in his veins, thunder, hard rain and the tumble of skin on skin. A third mind, bright and distinct, a wild tangle of rich feeling he only just brushed his fingers through. He saw her clearly now: a woman with warm brown eyes and a brilliant smile that felt familiar. "Come back to me," she said, and his chest filled with a culmination of emotions he did not want to suppress—that he gave himself wholly to. He would relinquish every other experience if he could just return to her.

Spock broke the connection gasping, shocked to find his face wet. He sat breathing heavily for a moment, Sirak watching him with his usual serene expression.

"I apologize," Sirak said. "I have overwhelmed you."

Spock wiped his eyes clumsily with his sleeve. "No, I am the one who should apologize. I was not expecting…" he trailed off as words failed him.

Sirak looked away as Spock composed himself. "Do not recoil from strong emotions, Spock. Learn to understand and master them."

"I do not understand why you have chosen to share this with me. It was more personal than I expected."

Sirak raised an eyebrow. "I do not believe the emotions I shared with you were entirely unfamiliar."

Spock looked down, clasping his hands in his lap.

"Moreover, it was a selfish request. I wanted someone to remember her as I did."

"She was beautiful," Spock said quietly.

Sirak's face became wistful. "Quite like your cadet, was she not?"

"In some ways."

"The universe is a strange thing. So vast, yet so connected."

"The universe may be vast, but this planet is quite small."

Sirak looked at Spock with smile as wide as he had ever seen on a Vulcan. Spock realized with a pang that he must truly be quite ill. "And our time is very short. Now, I must rest."

Spock stood. "Of course."

"Live long and prosper, Spock." Sirak raised a trembling salute.

Spock returned it. "Peace and long life, Sirak."

Sirak gave him a mournful expression. "Long, indeed." He lay back and closed his eyes.

The days were getting shorter. Spock sat in his quarters for a long time after he returned from the hospital, watching his apartment fall into shadow. He could not shake the old Vulcan's memories from his mind. The strength and vivid colors lingered, clinging to his consciousness.

He stared at the chess set on his table, which lay untouched for some time. He remembered the last time he and Nyota played together, when the set was still in his former office in communications. He had been distracted by the way the sun played on her smooth hair, and allowed his concentration to slip from the game. It was the only time she had managed to defeat him at a game. He realized then that he was very much in danger of something, though at the time it remained nameless. This was, of course, before she had kissed him, before he could have even imagined that she returned his feelings. She had jumped up in excitement at her victory, laughing and crying out, "Finally!"

He reached over and touched the white queen, which had secured her victory. He picked it up.

The evening air was on his face before he could think twice, and he was crossing the campus in quick, determined strides. His meld with Sirak had left the world looking fresh and saturated, enriched temporarily by the perspective of an older, wiser mind. His reservations seemed small now, given the stretch of time he had felt between the present and the time of Sirak's memories.

He was climbing up the steps to the cadets' quarters when, to his surprise, Nyota emerged from the entrance. "Spock!" She was also evidently surprised to see him. She glanced around, but the quad was empty, save for two cadets entering a building on the other side.

"There is something I must confess," Spock said breathlessly. "I thought I would wait until the end of the semester, that there might be a better time, but I realize that I was being evasive."

"Did you—" Nyota began, but Spock interrupted her before he could lose this streak of boldness.

"I love you."

Nyota's mouth remained half-open, and her eyebrows flew up. "W-what?" she said in almost a whisper.

"I believe those are the words that humans use to express what I feel towards you."

Nyota's face flushed and she began to fidget. "I… that's…"

Spock's adrenaline began to subside and he felt traces of humiliation replacing it. "I apologize if you find my declaration disagreeable. It does not necessitate—"

"No!" she said quickly, her eyes widening. "I'm… I mean… I'm happy but… I wasn't expecting… Also, the timing."

Spock tucked his hands behind his back and took a step backwards. "I should have waited until after the semester's conclusion."

Her eyebrows drew in. "Wait, did you not get the transmission?"

"Transmission?"

She pulled a PADD out of her small bag. After tapping it a few times she turned the screen towards him. "It's a summons from the Academy for a disciplinary hearing. Your disciplinary hearing."

Spock eyes darted over the message. He had not checked his own messages since before he went to the training facilities earlier that day. Misconduct, it read in crisp Starfleet font.

"I was not aware," he said quietly.

"It's okay, I—"

"I should not be here," he replied, looking around. "They will be monitoring me."

Nyota slid the PADD back into her bag. "Spock…"

He reached forward and took one of her hands. He pulled the white queen from his pocket and pressed it into her palm. "It is not your fault," he said firmly. "I will take full responsibility for whatever consequences may arise."

Spock turned and walked back down the stairs before Nyota could respond, unaware of how long she would stand there, clutching the slim glass piece to her chest.