*Spock*

By the time he had arrived at the shop to pick up her breakfast, he had lost his own appetite entirely. The walk back had been quiet, given that it was still comparatively early, but his thoughts were deafening. He entered his apartment, having only left it 31 minutes previously, to find that she had vacated it already, and yet her scent assaulted him. Clung to him. His guilt flared, as he dropped the bag onto the table, and himself into a chair. How could he have done this to her?

He had acted in great violence, and she had given him comfort that he should not have wanted. He had taken her body, again and again, and she had given him trust that he did not deserve. That base, ancient feeling of male rivalry had been a near compulsion to remove her from danger with such force that it could have easily triggered him into fever, but this was not that. This was simple, human weakness. She had been intoxicated, and he simply weak at the sight of her. He felt her attraction to him strongly when her mind had been clouded by alcohol, but when she had told him that morning definitively that he was hers, how could he be certain, with his hands on her skin, that his feelings weren't manipulating her own? His bonding had been a mere formality, and he had never experienced such wrenching feelings for T'Pring. Her only true purpose in his regard was to guide him through pon farr, and she had abandoned him to spurn it in meditation, alone. He had had to be transported to the Vulcan Embassy, where it had taken him days to recover, but he could not ask Nyota to take her place. A beautiful, talented, fragile young woman, who, through no fault of her own, knew so little of what it would mean to be a part of his future. He had no right to have so claimed her, and yet he still felt as though he could not let her go. She would find another if he did, he was sure. Someone who could care for her emotionally in a way that he would forever be unequipped to do. A man whose child she could carry without constant risk to her life. A human that would not be a perpetual source of xenophobic judgement upon her. Another.

He felt sick as the thought squeezed his heart, but hardly had time to breath through it before his comm was ringing priority. He attempted to calm himself before he reached for it, and with what he felt was a sufficient mastery of his voice at the very least, he flipped it open.

"Yes Captain?"

"Spock, where the hell are you?"

"I am at home."

"Well I'm in your office, and I'm amazed you're not working on break at this ungodly hour. I got a message from the Dean this morning that one of your students dropped out of the Academy after he claimed you beat him up last night. Now, the only evidence we have that you two were in the same room together is the security footage outside the bar, and that only shows him leaving with Cadet Uhura. That right there tells me that something is going on, and it took a hell of a lot of convincing for the school board to let me handle this, so get your First Officer ass over here on the double."

"Yes Captain."

"I mean it, Spock. Hurry up. Pike out."

Although he had not expected it to be so soon, he was not surprised by the subject of the meeting. He was overwhelmingly grateful that they had allowed Captain Pike to mediate it, rather than the Dean, or any other fellow officer who was not already aware of his feelings toward his assistant. He stood, and opened a small drawer on the side table next to his couch to grab the paper pad he left there. He knew it was not uncommon for the admiralty to monitor outgoing message frequencies during an investigation, so he wrote her a short note that he would be away. Stepping out the door, he placed it in a slot on the touch plate, and queued it to be set for her palm scan before starting down the still empty path toward campus. He would have to further delay his increasingly urgent need to speak with her.

Quite unnecessarily, he played the memory of the previous evening again in his head as he walked. He had indeed been overly rough with the boy, Cadet Eric Jameson he was called, but had not, he believed, caused any lasting damage. His grip had been bruising, to be sure, and he was uncertain if the cadet had understood what he had said, as his words had been extraordinarily accented. Although his father had told his mother that she should generally only speak Vulcan to her son at home, he had been taught to speak fluent Standard during his schooling, and had not done so with such Vulcan inflection in approximately 22 years. It was strange to have heard it again in his eidetic memory, but he was skeptical that it would have been mentioned to the board at all. On the other hand, he assumed that his own report would not be sufficient to close the investigation, and that the captain would need to speak with Nyota in equal haste. He would make every attempt to keep her from this, considering she had not sustained any bruising of her own, and also given that the cadet in question was no longer her peer at the Academy, but was doubtful of his ability to succeed in that endeavor. Even he was not aware of the nature of the attack, though he had figured it was due to his decision to move him to a more remedial class, and Nyota had not yet told him the extent of what had happened between the time she left the bar, and the moment he came upon them. He had only recently been occupying his room in the complex, but had seen no security cameras in the immediate area that would have this information recorded.

He wondered at this as he rode the turbo lift up to his office, and took a calming breath as he triggered the door to find Captain Pike spinning in semi circles in the rolling chair behind his desk. He stood as soon as he came into view, and addressed him in a rush.

"About damn time, Spock. Here's what we got. Before I called you, we only had the video from her with him outside the bar, and that only really showed their backs until they turned the corner, and that was as far as the camera went. Now, they've sent me the video from inside the bar that shows you with me, Cadet Jameson confronting Uhura on the dance floor, he leaves ahead of her out the front, and she follows him after alerting you. Obviously, outside picks up from there. There's only one more piece we have from a coffee shop between the bar, and your complex, that shows them headed in that direction, and everything else is word of mouth. Since all those show you going after her, we need your report on what happened past the camera. Did they go to your apartment?"

"They did."

"How did you find them?"

"She had been… wearing a perfume that—"

"Got it. Did you see him attack her? The kid didn't mention anything about her other than that he wanted to talk to her, but I know you, and that doesn't add up with me."

"I did not, though you are correct. I heard her scream when I was five meters out of sight, and found Cadet Jameson to be bent over in a way that would suggest she had retaliated. I held him in custody, so to speak, but he ran in the direction they had both come, as I turned to tend to Cadet Uhura. I am rather curious as to why the schoolboard is handling this accusation, considering the attack occurred off campus."

"All three of you are, or were, members of StarFleet, they like to keep these things internal. Wait a minute, he ran? You just let him go?"

With that, he paused, and crossed to seat himself in the chair opposite the one Captain Pike had vacated. He could not lie on an official report, and could not, at that moment, find a technicality suited to his account. He folded his hands in his lap to keep from fidgeting.

"Captain, you are aware of the regard in which I hold my assistant, and I imagine you have surmised that I was, perhaps, a bit overzealous in my dismissal of the cadet. However, I am reasonably sure that I have caused him no long term injury."

"They said there wasn't a mark on him." He sighed, and rubbed his forehead before he resumed his seat across from him. "I've been back on this planet for one day, and you better be glad they gave this to me, Spock."

It seemed he had been more careful than he had consciously realized. He was pleased by this, but just as he was about to reply that he was, in fact, rather glad that they had entrusted him with this detail, his comm blinked with a message that she had returned to his apartment. It reminded him how intensely he wished to shelter her from this, with the possibility of monitoring, and her reputation in the balance.

"As Cadet Jameson has already been reprimanded for his unwarranted aggression in her reference, I believe she will not press charges now that he has resigned himself from the Academy. I do not wish for her to recount such a distressing experience to the board."

"I don't think there's any way around that. They're going to want to send her to medical just for the file, but she could probably get away with a written report if she really doesn't want to press charges. It sounds like what I told them. That he took her from the bar to knock her out, and you found them before he could, but like you said, you don't know what happened between then, and neither do I. I have to have that report within 48 hours, Commander, or you'll both end up in front of the panel."

"I am aware of the regulation."

"Then why, may I ask, have you not already sent one in? Been a little… preoccupied, have we?"

He was again quite shocked by how openly he was willing to discuss a breach in the code of ethics, but he had himself been the transgressor in this particular instance, so he raised a brow, and regarded him carefully.

"Chris, I would remind you of the importance of remaining—"

"I'm joking, Spock. In all seriousness, I need you to make sure Cadet Uhura gets to medical today, and both of you need to send me those reports no later than tomorrow. They told me about what happened in the sparring match though, and it made them pretty skeptical about his side of things, so it shouldn't be hard for me to get you two out of this."

"It will not go unappreciated, if you are able."

"Any time. Well, I guess that's all for now then, but don't be surprised if the board still wants to see you. Go on, dismissed."

"Captain." He gave him one quick nod, and stood, turning on his heel toward the door, but stopped when it opened to allow his exit. He turned again to face him. "Captain, I wonder if I might inquire as to your plans for tomorrow evening."

His eyebrows shot up, but he shook his head. "I don't have anything going on. Why?"

"There is an event occurring in the student lounge tomorrow evening that had not been brought to my attention until early this morning. It will require the supervision of what I imagine will be a minimum of three officers, and I had thought to ask if you—"

"Are you about to ask me out, Spock?"

"I was merely attempting to ascertain whether or not you would be in attendance."

"I'll go with you if you tell me exactly how you came to be aware of this event so early this morning." His tone led him to think that he had made a mistake in his openness at The Malfunction. He could only hope his friend's teasing would remain in the confines of privacy, but his smile only widened when he straightened his back, and clasped his hands behind it.

"I believe I was dismissed, Captain."

"As you were."

He heard the door slide shut on his laughter as he entered the waiting lift, and contemplated replying to Nyota's message to alert her that he was on his way there. It would be overly redundant, as he had written on the note that he would return shortly, but he pulled his comm unit out of his pocket anyway. He typed out a general missive that he was on his way, as he came through the exit of the building, feeling rather agitated that he would have to put off such an important conversation a second time to accompany her to the medical center for injuries she had not sustained. She would have to explain why she was there, which was what he had intended to avoid, as it would most assuredly cause her unneeded stress. Her comfort had swiftly become his priority, and he felt his previous guilt well up in him again. He wanted more than anything to be a source of comfort to her, and he had only truly managed to worry her with his inability to openly speak on certain subjects. With their relationship being acted upon so swiftly, he did not think that she was ready to hear them, but he could not allow her to continue without a knowledge of the Vulcan way. If she were to be frightened by it, he would have to let her go. If she were not, he would know, beyond question, what she needed to be happy and comfortable, and if the answer was him, if he could feel the truth of those words from her, he would center his entire life around the realization of it. There would be no force in the universe that could sever her from him. He was suddenly having difficulty concentrating. One moment, he was simply walking, the next, he was almost struggling slightly to stay upright. His lungs were tightening on every heavy step closer to home with an acute need to be within touching distance of her.

As though compelled, he stepped up to his door, and found his note missing, the touch plate reprogrammed, and the faint smell of her shampoo around him. He was, once again, hit with a wall of that scent as he came inside to drop his shoes by the hook that still held the bags she had carried just two days previously. He noticed her own regulation boots near by, and her breakfast missing from the table, but could not hear any movement inside. When he closed his eyes, he could hear her steady breathing from the bedroom, and as if a tether were tied to his waist, he was pulled to the sound. It was a feeling much like floating, his feet moving without conscious thought, images of them together flitting through his mind, as the last sheet of material separating them slid open.

She was sleeping curled up on her side, her long hair pooled around her, her hand by her face, and he was arrested by how young she looked, how little space she took on his bed. His legs moved him to stand at the edge of it, and he reached to press his fingers into the palm of her impossibly small hand. Blurry pictures of himself through her eyes flashed behind his own, and that dire need to be in her presence faded with them. He had sensed her dreaming of him. Their connection was far more deeply rooted than he thought plausible. He was standing in lecture on her first day of class, her confusing, dreadful longing twisting in his stomach, as he experienced in her perspective the way his voice had affected her. As if in a blink, a memory came to focus of him seated at her console, and he viewed his alien features through her. For the first time since his relocation to Earth, he suddenly felt that they did not make him so negatively different, but the opposite. She thought them to be beautiful. The image of his bright lab turned to darkness as he felt his teeth clenched in the skin at her shoulder. Beautiful. He jerked his hand away, and his eyes came back to present. Her collar had covered it, but it had shifted with her position, an angry bruise just barely visible under the fabric of her uniform. It was worse than it had been the night before, and he had a strange desire to run his tongue over that purple spot. She was not his to mark, yet the sight of it stole his breath. He left the room, leaning his back against the wall at the entrance of his kitchen as soon as the door had shut.

He was not feeling residual pain, or sadness from her, but something else that was so extreme, he felt his parents plucking at their familial bond to him while his control waivered outside of his bedroom. He closed the link, and thought of folding himself to the ground in meditation where he stood, until he had heard her muffled voice through the door, fabric shifting on his bed.

"Spock?" He squeezed his eyes shut before he could smooth his expression, his hands tingling at his sides, over oxygenated by his rapid breath, as tiny footsteps came towards him. She appeared in the archway, and he saw her brows pull together. "Are you alright?"

"I am uncertain."

It had taken him a moment to respond, and he could not force himself to move from where he was to take a step in her direction. She took those steps in his place, wrapping her slender arms around him, her breath cooling his heated skin. Something was wrong with him.

"I really need to talk to you. Where were you?" She whispered into his neck, and his head dropped to her shoulder. Weak. There was no other word.

"I was… with Captain Pike… in our office. I am required to accompany you to the medical center, and we must submit a report on the events of—"

She had stood on her toes to kiss the point of his ear, and he shuddered with the sensation it sent through him. His hand came up between them to push against her chest, walking her back to the wall opposite the one he had been leaning on.

"Can it wait? Can we please just go later?"

"We cannot." He had said, but his knees bent to hoist her up to his height, while his mind shouted at him to put her down.

She set their foreheads together, her hands tugging at his hair, and he closed his eyes so she wouldn't see in them how much he wished to give in to her. She could feel his dueling intentions, he knew, but he did not notice any alarm in her over them, as he had feared. He shook slightly, so tightly wound, when her lips met with his, and his fingers twitched with the urge to press into her face.

He put her on her feet, and backed away, holding her at arms length as she stumbled a bit before his subconscious could convince him to create a tie that would require a healer to free them from. Her eyes were wide with shock, but softened soon after to understanding.

"I actually do need to go to medical?"

"Yes."

"Is this about what happened last night?"

"Yes."

"Are you in trouble?"

"I do not believe so."

"But you're not sure?"

"Definitively, no, but I imagine his story was far from accurate, and I believe they will find me within my bounds. Captain Pike is officiating the investigation, and will be required to present a medical report from you, and an incident report from us both."

"Shit." She sighed at him, and reached up to kiss his flushed cheek, already moving toward the door to pull her boots on as he trailed behind her. "I guess I'll just go now then."

"I will—"

"No." She straightened to turn to him, and pointed at the spot on her shoulder that had been grasping at his splintered attention since he had first noticed its existence. "I'm going to have to figure out a way to explain this, and I'd rather not have you standing there waiting to give a perfect match of your Vulcan teeth for it."

He ran his fingers over what he could see sticking out of her collar. "I have been meaning to apologize for giving you this."

"I like it." She shrugged, and started to turn away from him again, but his hand gripped her shoulder.

"This mark… is more than just… On Vulcan, it is a way of showing that you are romantically unavailable, and I did not intend to unduly imply that you are exclusively—"

"Spock. I am unavailable. I have been since your first lecture, and people don't need to know who put this here to know that my availability is never going to change again. Now, I'm going to go to the medical center, and then I'm going to come back here, and then we're going to do nothing, together, all day."

"With the exception of writing the reports—"

"Reports, yes."

She triggered the door open, stepping outside to face him in the entryway, and although her logic was sound, he wished he could accompany her.

"Please hurry back. There is something I must explain to you as soon as possible."

"I'll do my best." She said, as she took his hands, and raised herself up as high as she could get to his eye level. "We're going to be fine. We just need to be patient, which we suck at so far, but we won't have to hide forever. I can feel you worrying about some secret you need to tell me, but it doesn't matter what it is because I'll still be here as long as you'll keep me. I'll be back soon, Spock."

After spending a moment watching her hair swing behind her, he let the door slide closed, and crossed back to his bedroom. He sat in front of his newly lit firepot, and simply listened to his respiration and heart rate return to normal, as thin clouds of aromatic smoke began to escape from under the lid. She was right. They would not be required to remain secretive interminably, and if anyone should find patience a virtue, it would be a Vulcan man. However, being that, it was extremely difficult for him to share such private information, no matter the import of doing so. He had always known Nyota to be an intuitive woman, and now also knew her to be exceptionally sensitive to the emotions she received from him telepathically. She was aware of his concern, and had even been able to differentiate from the temporary link through their hands that he was not hiding something, but rather waiting for the right moment to tell her. There was much he needed to tell her.

His eyes blinked open, as a thought occurred to him. She was, indeed, unusually psi receptive. He may not need to tell her at all. He had been able to hear full sentences within her mind when she had been only mildly intoxicated, but when he had pressed a finger to just one point at her temple, it had taken no small amount of concentration from himself to send a single word to her. Without a full meld, conversation would be almost entirely one sided, where as strong feelings would come through clearly from both. Perhaps the disinhibiting nature of the alcohol she consumed had, in some way, softened a mental barrier he could not generally break with simple contact. Although he had been attempting to distance certain feelings from her then, if she were consenting now, he believed he was practiced enough to keep himself at her surface thoughts for a beneficial experiment. He could not allow her feelings to grow any further until she truly knew the potential significance of his recent struggle for emotional control. He closed his eyes again, and scanned the gallery-like view of his memory, plucking pieces from anything and everything he needed her to understand about the most elusive aspect of his culture. He would have to wait until that evening to show them to her. With a suitable library of feelings and images stored away, he pulled out his comm, and sent her an encrypted message to call him the moment she left the medical center.

He would need to make a trip.