Nyota knows something has changed. She can't describe what exactly, but something in the air between her and Commander Spock is different. Maybe dropping the "Lieutenant" from his title, letting his name fall so quickly from her tongue, dropped something else from their interactions. Or maybe all that's really changed is her.

After she returned to her room from visiting Spock at the hospital, Nyota called Sonia right away and said, "What have you been telling Jackson?"

Sonia was quiet for a moment, before asking, "Is Gaila home?"

"No…"

"Okay, I'm coming over."

Sonia lived two floors down from her, so a quick lift ride later, she was sitting calmly on a chair while Nyota paced the space between her and Gaila's beds.

"I feel like you guys have been conspiring against me!" Nyota groaned, crossing her arms behind her head. "At least ask me whether I'm—" she raised air quotes on either side of her head, "—in 'love' with anyone, before you go around telling people! Especially if that person is my future boyfriend! Or…. past boyfriend, I guess, at this point."

Sonia sighed. "You two broke up?"

"Pretty sure." Nyota bit her lip.

"Damn it. Listen, I just thought it might motivate him, you know? He was really dragging it out…"

Nyota sat down on her bed. She was still wearing her uniform from earlier that day. Sonia was in Starfleet issue training clothes, probably about to leave for the gym. Nyota sighed and pulled off her boots, dropping them to the ground by her bed.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine…" She didn't feel ready to explain everything that had happened at the hospital. "I just… we were having a lot of fun, and now everything is weird."

Sonia joined Nyota on the bed and placed a hand on her knee. "Look, I'm sorry. I got carried away playing matchmaker. You and Jackson seemed to be working well, so I didn't want to bring up all that stuff with Lieutenant Commander Spock."

"Commander, actually."

"What?"

"He just got promoted."

"Oh…." Sonia looked puzzled, and seemed on the brink of asking something when Nyota cut her off.

"I thought we were on the same page about Commander Spock. It was a fun joke. Why didn't you tell me that you were taking it so seriously?" Nyota stared at Sonia's fingernails, neatly clipped and coated with clear polish. Her own were beginning to chip.

"I mean, what was I going to say? Hey, I know we joke about you having a crush on your instructor-slash-superior officer, but I'm your best friend and I know you're seriously into him? What would you have said?" Sonia laughed and shook her head. "I didn't think it was something you wanted or needed to hear."

That was fair. Nyota most certainly would not have taken that assertion well, even twenty-four hours ago, but after the events of that day, she found herself hesitating. Sonia, sharp as ever, caught her silence immediately.

"You never stopped to think about it?" she asked after a pause. "I know you like doing well in your classes, love being in the chorale, and playing that Vulcan instrument of yours—but it's different. You are always so mad at him, for noreason. You're never unreasonable, Nyota. Are you some kid on the playground? What happened on that first day of class?"

"I… don't know."

Sonia raised her eyebrows, a smug grin already beginning to creep onto her face. "So you're not going to deny it?"

Nyota shrugged, felt her face heat up with every word. "Can I… can I tell you something silly?"

Sonia bumped her shoulder. "Sure."

"On my eighth birthday, my mom took me to see a ka'athyra performance in Nairobi, and I met this Vulcan kid after the show. He was the first Vulcan child I'd ever really seen—we ran off and played together for a bit and well… I was just so happy. Probably one of my best birthdays. There's something about Commander Spock that reminds me of that night."

"I mean, they all have the same haircut," Sonia offered, and Nyota slapped her in the arm. "Or maybe it's the ka'athyra."

"Well, whatever it is. After all of the stress at the Academy, everything that's yet to come once I've earned my commission… I thought it would be so nice if I could go back to that feeling again, just for a moment. But of course, Commander Spock has no idea about any of that. He basically ignored me for a while. I thought it would go away eventually, but the more know about him, the worse it gets. I just hate myself for it. God, he makes me so angry."

To her surprise, Sonia just started laughing.

"Are you going to make fun of me now?" Nyota frowned.

"No, no, I'm sorry. You're just… so cute and so dumb."

"I'm never telling you anything again."

Sonia wrapped her arms around Nyota and gave her a tight squeeze. "You are the worst at this."

"Get out of my room," Nyota muttered, even as she returned the embrace.

Sonia released Nyota and hopped off the bed. "Yeah, I should go see Jackson. He's probably pretty bummed out."

Nyota nodded, a wave of guilt tightening her chest. She still hadn't called Jackson since she left choir practice. She was too humiliated to talk to him.

"Maybe you should just accept it and tell him," Sonia said from the doorway. "Commander Spock, I mean. A straightforward, Vulcan rejection might help you get over it."

Sonia does not mention Nyota's potential feelings for Commander Spock again until they are walking through the quad after his promotion ceremony. As they cut through a diagonal path bisecting one of the lawns, she says, "Okay, this is going to sound crazy."

"What?"

"I'm starting to think Commander Spock likes you—I mean really likes you."

"No way," Nyota says immediately, rolling her eyes. "Why would you even say that?"

"It's just… a feeling I got. From the way he looks at you."

Nyota laughs out loud this time. "That is crazy."

Sonia shrugs "You guys were standing awfully close, though…"

"Just shut up."

She thinks about it often in the weeks that follow, though: Sonia's words, and her own. The way Spock held onto the hem of her skirt in that brightly-lit hospital room. She got so used to chasing him, only to have him run in the opposite direction every time she got a little close. Suddenly, it feels like he's stopped and turned to face her so abruptly, she's crashes right into him.

They begin to take lessons in his apartment more frequently, when Spock's schedule doesn't allow him to visit the practice rooms. Each time, she stays far later than she plans to, drinking tea and talking about anything and everything at his little square dining table. Or sometimes on the couch, her legs folded up comfortably, Spock holding his cup in both hands. In the choir room, she is fairly certain she catches him watching her from time to time. She tells herself that she's making it all up: the lingering looks; the way he leans across the table attentively every time she speaks. That it's all because she herself is becoming aware that Sonia is right, Jackson is right—that she really must like him more than she ever wanted to.

When they practice their songs in Vulcan, the way he watches her almost makes her forget the words.


New York City is always busy and loud, but on the weekend of the First Contact celebration, it is positively bursting with energy. Host to the biggest First Contact celebration in the world, it draws thousands of people from around the globe—and even some off-worlders looking to participate in the revelry. The Vulcan high council, Vulcan Federation administrators, and members of the ancient families travel to Earth as well, to celebrate the bond between their two planets. Streets are shut down for parades, different parts of the city present musical performances (the biggest one being, of course, in Times Square), fireworks fly over the Hudson—in short, it's a giant party.

The official Federation celebrations are less rowdy, confined to a hotel not far from the the epicenter of festivities in Midtown and Hell's Kitchen. The ceremonies, performances, and presentations are more tasteful, mostly out of respect for their Vulcan guests, who don't enjoy such displays of excess. The chorale performs in uniform this time, in a large ballroom full of sharply dressed dinner guests. The audience is a combination of Starfleet formal wear and the deep golds and coppers of formal Vulcan robes.

It was a point of contention, whether or not Spock should be in Vulcan-style clothing or his Starfleet uniform. The Academy finally determined that uniform would be best, in order to show their commitment to inclusion in Starfleet, his chest pinned with the medals and honors he's already earned during his brief commission. At the conclusion of the performance, the chorale is given a table at the dinner, and allowed to mingle among the guests as a gesture of appreciation from the Academy administration.

While the cadets can't believe their luck—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to interact with nearly every important person in Starfleet, as well as Vulcan Federation leaders—they are equally excited to throw off their uniforms and join in with the raucous celebrations in the city outside.

They lose Spock very quickly, barely given a moment to congratulate him before he's whisked away by Captain Pike. Nyota finds herself alone at their table, watching the guests chatting around the room. Christie and Angie are speaking to the Academy commandant and Sonia is nervously starting up a conversation with a xenobiologist she admires. Jackson is among a small group of cadets in a lively conversation with a starship captain. Nyota is content to just sit for a moment, sipping a glass of champagne.

"Nyota!" Two small hands are on her shoulders, a familiar voice at her ear. Nyota twists in her seat to see Amanda, dressed in a formal Vulcan dress, standing behind her.

"Amanda! I didn't know you were going to be here."

"I take it Spock didn't mention it." Amanda grins.

Nyota stands up. "He probably thought it would be 'irrelevant'."

Amanda laughs. "True enough. Fantastic performance, dear. Spock really does not exaggerate about how lovely your voice is."

Nyota blushes, unable to imagine Spock calling anything "lovely".

"I'm glad I caught you! I'd really like you to meet my husband." She hooks her arm into Nyota's elbow and begins leading her across the room.

Nyota browses the crowd of Vulcan officials flanking Ambassador Sarek, searching for a face that might look like Spock's. Amanda walks past each of them and stops, at last, in the center.

"My husband," she gives Ambassador Sarek a slight curtsey.

"My wife," Sarek extends two fingers and Amanda raises two of her own to meet his. She smiles as their fingertips touch, and shifts to stand close to him.

"Sarek, I'd like you to meet Cadet Nyota Uhura. She is quite a fan of your ka'athyra playing."

Nyota is too awestruck to speak for a moment. Finally, she manages to raise a Vulcan salute and say, in as precise an accent as she can manage, "Greetings, Ambassador. It is an honor to make your acquaintance."

Sarek is evidently surprised to be addressed in his native tongue, as are several nearby Vulcans who glance in her direction. "Greetings, Cadet. You speak our language well."

"I have studied it since I was young. I find its sound and structure pleasing to both my ear and tongue." She tucks her hands behind her back in an imitation of Spock's standard pose. Sarek does the same and for a moment, she sees the resemblance to his son very clearly. "I attended your performance on Lunar One. It was enjoyable."

Sarek gave her a nod of acknowledgment.

"She's the cadet I told you about—the one Spock's been teaching." Amanda cuts in, giving Nyota a quick wink.

"My wife informed me of your proficiency. I have high confidence in her judgments."

"Oh, it was only secondhand," Amanda places a hand on Sarek's chest. "Spock is the one who is always telling me how 'exemplary' her abilities are. Apparently she's got a great ear."

Sarek studies her and Nyota feels her face redden under his gaze. The longer they speak, the more she notices familiar mannerisms—the way he tilts his head, the quick, direct paths his eyes take.

She really feels stupid to have never put two and two together. She was too busy navigating their arguments and overthinking their interactions to really look into Spock's background, though it had crossed her mind occasionally, because of Amanda. Nobody really expects these kinds of coincidences—a trick of fate, really—to happen in real life. The odds are astronomical.

Spock appears beside her, so close their shoulders are almost touching. Nyota jumps a little when he speaks. "Good evening, Mother. Father."

An uncomfortable silence passes, Spock and his father caught in a standoff as Sarek does not offer any greeting. Amanda, undisturbed by the strained atmosphere, says, "Spock, you played wonderfully. You two sound great together."

Sarek shifts his gaze back to Nyota and says, pointedly ignoring Spock, "Your performance was indeed satisfactory and enjoyable. Now, if you will excuse me, I must speak with some associates."

"Of course, Sir. It's been a pleasure." Nyota raises a salute, feeling a bit lightheaded as she says to Ambassador Sarek—actually in person—, "Live long and prosper."

Sarek raises a salute in return with a nod. "Peace and long life, Cadet Nyota Uhura."

As Sarek walks away, an admiral approaches them with a greeting of, "Lady Amanda!"

After exchanging a few pleasantries, Spock and Nyota leave the admiral to speak with Amanda. They drift away from the crowd, towards an unoccupied space along the windowed wall. The city blinks and gleams below, only a few buildings reaching to the same height as this one. Nyota lets her hand brush the glass. The winter air presses cold against her knuckle.

"That was weird," Nyota says finally.

"My father and I… have our differences." Nyota does not ask him to elaborate, but to her surprise, he does. "He had wanted me to enroll in the Vulcan Science Academy, but I chose Starfleet instead."

"Oh." They continue to gaze out the window, staring at anything besides each other. "Ambassador Sarek is really your father?" Nyota asks, because she wants to hear it clearly in Commander Spock's own voice.

"He is."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was—"

"Irrelevant," Nyota finishes.

"Precisely."

Nyota turns her hand and presses her palm against the flickering web of lit windows and passing vehicles. "But it wasn't!" she says, and turns to look at him at last. Their gazes meet and she knows, absolutely for certain, that he is the same boy she met all those years ago. She is even more certain that he recognizes her as well.

"I did not—"

"You're the one—"

"Commander Spock, there you are!"

They both turn from the window to see one of the Enterprise officers (Nyota is fairly sure it's the chief medical officer) weave towards them. "The person who basically invented long range scanners desperately wants to talk to you about how the Enterprise's science station equipment is coming along."

"Of course," Commander Spock nods.

He glances at Nyota, but neither of them dare to say anything more while the other officer waits expectantly.

"We can continue this conversation later, Commander," Nyota replies.

Spock swallows and only manages to nod before walking away in a pace that looks a bit quicker than his usual gait.

The rest of the night follows in a disconnected blur. Several courses and speeches later, the cadets return hurriedly to the accommodations provided for them in nearby Starfleet lodging. Sleeping two to a small bunk-bed room, they nudge elbows as they change and put on make up. The group of cadets shed their Starfleet selves and become regular twenty-something-year-olds, blending into the crowds outside clubs, leaning over bars, finding each other on dance floors. Nyota follows the other chorale members through the city, but no matter how many drinks she has, she feels kilometers away from everyone, back in a hot night in Nairobi.

In the bathroom of the third bar, while Nyota reapplies her lipstick, Sonia leans a hip against the edge of the sink and asks, "Well, do you think he's cute?"

"I'd say so," Nyota replies, assuming that Sonia's talking about the guy she met at the previous bar, who then followed them to this one with his friends after spending nearly an hour talking to Sonia.

"Okay, on a scale of 1 to 10, how drunk are you?"

Nyota caps her lipstick. "A soft 5."

"Okay, under 6, I trust you." She leans toward the mirror and fixes her hair. "If we're lucky, I'm not coming back to our room tonight."

"Well, make sure you send me his address just in case."

"I know, I know."

Sonia squints at Nyota through the mirror. "You don't have to stay, you know."

"Hm?"

She turns around. "I can tell when you're having a fun night and when you'd rather be reading in a quiet room."

Nyota shrugs. "It's New York on First Contact. It would be lame if I went home."

Sonia crosses her arms. "Did something happen?"

Nyota starts rummaging through her purse. "No," she replies as evenly as she can, checking her comm even though she's not expecting any calls. "Just a little tired."

Sonia reaches around Nyota's head and gives her ponytail a tug. "Go home. I'll tell everyone you got too drunk. Or should I tell them you went home with some guy…?"

"Sonia."

"Alright, alright. I'll tell them you're not feeling well." Sonia readjusts her purse and begins walking towards the door. "Plus, it'll be easier to wingman Jackson without you here, no offense."

Nyota raises her eyebrows and lets out a breathy laugh. "Well, at least make sure she's cuter than me."

"Aye, aye." Sonia gives her an exaggerated salute and walks out.


When Nyota exits the bar, it has just begun to snow. She pushes through the crowd until she turns away from the main drag onto a quieter street, lined mostly with Starfleet lodgings. She slows then, watching the little white pinpricks drift down from the sky. Having lived in Kenya and then San Francisco, she has never seen real snow. When she sees Commander Spock, standing alone outside one of the buildings, everything is already coated in a fine white dust.

He's staring straight up, hands buried in the pockets of an overcoat he's wearing on top of his uniform. It takes a moment for her to realize that he's watching the snow. She smiles. Having lived on Vulcan and then in San Francisco, perhaps he hasn't had many opportunities to see snow, either. Despite all of their differences, this detail makes him seem so close, so tangible.

"It's beautiful," Nyota says as she approaches. Spock looks down quickly. He is undoubtedly shocked to see her.

"It is fascinating," he nods. She leans her weight against the cool, stone wall of the building. It is closer to a hotel than the one she's on her way to, reserved for mid- to high-ranking officers and visiting dignitaries. They stand in the pale yellow glow of the lights outside its entrance.

"I can't believe you didn't say anything," Nyota breaks the silence.

"Concerning?"

"You know what I mean."

Spock falls silent. A car whirrs by. "I… I did not think you remembered. Human memories are—"

"Are you serious? I was eight. That's definitely old enough to remember something like that." Nyota can feel the familiar frustration bubbling up in her chest. Her voice grows louder before she can stop it.

"You never mentioned the encounter either."

"Well I'm sorry for not assuming that every dark-haired Vulcan is the same person!" She throws her hands up in an exaggerated shrug, leaning her head back against the wall.

"What consequence does any of this have?" Spock asks with sharp, measured enunciation.

"Because, it was… because you're impossible." Nyota can't think of a clear reason why she's so upset, why this distant childhood encounter should be so important. A stream of accusations spills out of her instead. "You ignored me in class all semester, you're always playing this hot-and-cold, cat-and-mouse game—everything's great and we're getting along so well one minute, and the next you say things like 'irrelevant' and 'inconsequential', I mean what are you even trying to prove? What is your problem?"

"Nyota, please." Commander Spock's tone carries a warning as he steps towards her.

She feels suddenly small, cornered between his body and the wall. She knows she is far, far out of line, but this goes beyond Starfleet, beyond their ranks and uniforms. The few drinks she's had that night have left her feeling bold. She squares her shoulders and raises her chin to look him straight in the eye. "No. Why do you always—"

She doesn't have a chance to finish her sentence, completely forgets what that sentence was going to be, because he takes her face in both his hands and she's kissing him back before her mind has even processed the fact that he's kissing her. It's desperate and hungry, their tongues inside each others' mouths in an instant, their teeth clashing. Spock pulls away. His hands are still cupping either side of her jaw but his eyes are full of shock and apprehension. "I am sorry, I—"

She doesn't allow him to complete his apology, and instead leans up, sliding her arms around his neck as she resumes the kiss. He reciprocates eagerly, leaning forward until she stumbles back into the wall. They stand there, pressed against the stone for a long moment, neither wanting to stop until another car drives by. They both pull back abruptly. They had forgotten for a moment that they are not alone, that someone could walk by at any minute.

They stare at each other, slightly short of breath, both waiting for the other to say something. Neither of them manage to. Spock takes her hand without a word and leads her through the doors. They cross the empty lobby in a few quick strides, staring at their reflections in the glass doors while they wait for the lift.

As soon as Spock has tapped in the floor number and the doors have shut, Nyota closes the space between them and kisses him again, burning suddenly with the urge to touch and taste. He leans back into the corner beside the control panel and she slides her knee between his legs and he runs his hands along her waist.

The lift makes a sound as they reach his floor and Nyota quickly steps away, backing into the opposite corner before the doors open. Captain Pike is standing there, checking his comm. He looks up and his eyes dart between the two of them. Nyota realizes with mortification that Spock's lips have a pinkish tint from the lipstick she had freshly applied before leaving the bar. She is thankful that she had chosen a light shade. Pike's eyebrows fly up so far Nyota is afraid they might leave his face entirely.

Spock's ears and neck have turned a noticeable greenish hue. "Sir, I—" he begins, but Pike raises a palm to silence him. He waves his hand, directing them to pass. Spock exits the lift and Nyota wonders if she should follow. She decides that, at this point, all bets are off. She bows her head and walks past the captain.

"I'll be okay pretending this never happened, Spock," Pike says once inside, tapping at the control panel. "Have a good night." The doors shut between them.

Spock stares at the lift with such an alarmed, dumbfounded look, Nyota almost laughs. When he looks at her again, there's something in his eyes that makes whatever smile was beginning to form on her face wilt away into a tense line. In a split second, she's in his arms and against the wall again. He's biting her bottom lip and then their mouths are colliding and they're stumbling down the hall in a frenzy of dragging and shoving. At the end of the corridor, Spock fumbles in his pockets for his access card. Nyota has unbuttoned his coat and undone the front of his uniform jacket before he's swiped the key card. The doors barely slide open before he pushes her inside. Her hip knocks into the table on the left wall and Spock lifts her to sit on top of it, scattering the neat assortment of amenities that was stacked on its surface. The added height allows him to kiss her neck easily, his breath hot against her jacket collar. She pulls his body towards her, and he fits his hips between her legs, running one hand along her thigh. She yanks off his coat and jacket and lets them fall to the floor. Just as her hands slip into his shirt he pulls back suddenly, holding her wrists. His face is flushed and they're both panting. His eyes have this hazy quality that she's never seen in them, his eyelashes fluttering as he struggles to breathe more evenly.

"Nyota, is this… should we… I do not know if—" he gives several attempts at trying to make sense of what is happening, but Nyota does not want to, not yet. All she can think about is the skin under her fingertips and the hardness she can already feel against her thigh.

"Just shut up and undress me," she says between breaths.

His eyes study hers for a second longer, then wander down to the short black dress she's wearing under her jacket, the skin peeking out between its hem and her knee-high boots. She can almost see the clear, sharp lines of logic waver and blur behind his gaze. She tugs his shirt over his shoulders. The skin underneath is so warm, it almost feels hot. He pushes her hands away to pull off her jacket, letting it crumple onto the table behind her. She undoes the zipper of her dress and slides off the table, letting the fabric join his shirt on the floor. His hands are all over her without pause, and even as she leans down to take off her boots he continues biting and licking the back of her neck and her shoulders. His fingers slip under the wire of her bra and she shivers when they find her nipples. When her shoes and socks are in a heap on the floor, she turns to him with a fierce look. He tries to reach for her again but she pushes his chest until he backs into the bed, almost tripping over his travel bag.

She climbs over him and presses her elbows into the mattress on either side of his head as she leans down to kiss him. Her ponytail falls over her shoulder and against his ear and she feels him tremble slightly under its feathery touch. She trails kisses along his cheek and runs her tongue along ridges in his ear, sucking the pointed tip. She can feel his body tense between her legs, his breath catch. She reaches one arm down between their chests and deftly undoes his pants. When she slides her hand inside the waistband, he makes an entirely unexpected sound, somewhere between a gasp and a hiccup. She props herself up so that she can see his face. He looks like he's straining to remain expressionless, his lips parted and his eyelids heavy, a crease beginning to form between his slanted eyebrows. She finds his obvious effort, the way she is slowly unraveling him, undeniably arousing.

He feels average and normal in her hand—she wasn't entirely sure what to expect, having never looked so deeply into the anatomical specifics of a Vulcan below the waist. She wonders if this is how all Vulcans are, or if this part of Spock is just human. He certainly responds in a very human way when she strokes it, his fingers curling into the sheets, his breathing becoming quicker.

She pulls her hand out and sits back, tugging his pants down over his hips. After watching her struggle for a few seconds he pushes her aside, kicking off his shoes and letting his pants fall off the foot of the bed. She shifts backwards on the bed and he crawls towards her until he is kneeling between her legs, staring down at her. His pulse jumps in his throat. Nyota can't entirely complain about the view, the pale glow of city lights illuminating the well-kept contours of his body. She's surprised at how normal this feels. Without his clothes, Spock really is just a man, looking at her in a way other men have before. She rises to her knees before him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She kisses him gently this time, with slow, tender pecks.

When he pulls back they look at each other for a long moment, and the world seems to hush around them. She sees then, between their impatient needs, a hint of something else, something more. His hand rises to her face and slowly traces her jaw. He places his palm flat against her cheek, his fingertips at different angles on the bones in her face. She holds her breath, wondering if he's going to try one of those Vulcan mind melds she had read about. After an extended pause, he blinks and moves his hand back behind her head instead, pulling the elastic from her ponytail. Her hair falls over her shoulders, filling the air with traces of fresh shampoo. His hand trails down her spine and fumbles with the clasp of her bra.

She smiles and reaches behind her back. "Vulcan women don't wear these?"

"Not in my experience," Spock replies, dropping his hand to rest on her hip.

She tosses the bra onto the floor. She tries to move towards him but he holds her elbows, leaning away from her. "Nyota," he says, and she realizes suddenly that he's addressed her by name. Is this the first time? She's not sure. She likes the way he says it, pronouncing each syllable with precision. It's odd to hear his voice, low and close in a dark room. It's the only thing that connects the Spock kneeling naked before her with the tightly buttoned commander standing at the front of a lecture hall. "I have never… done this with a human."

She bites her lip and rests her forearms on his shoulders, crossing her wrists behind his neck. "It can't be that different, right?"

He surveys her body, lingering a moment on her bared breasts before looking back at her face. "You appear to be nearly anatomically identical to a Vulcan female."

She nods. "You look pretty much the same. Except, you know… the color."

"Considering the differences in our—"

She cuts him off with a kiss. "No more analysis. Let's just… improvise." she grasps him in her hand and he's kissing her again, pushing her down into the bed, all of their urgency returning in a rush. He opens her legs, traces his hand between her thighs. A small sigh escapes her at the light touch, and his fingers come away slick. He slides forward, hooking his arm under one of her knees and positioning himself above her. "May I…" he whispers. She opens her eyes, and he's looking at her in such a vulnerable way, his eyebrows drawn together in an expression that is as close to agony as his smooth features will allow. She didn't realize how long she had been waiting for this until this moment. She tightens her knees around his hips and pulls him closer so that his tip just brushes against her.

"Yes," she nods and he doesn't waste a moment. He's inside her and she's hugging his neck tight and he's nipping her collarbone and they're moving against each other at a steady, escalating pace. Spock doesn't make a sound, barely changes his breathing, but one of his hands grips her wrist like a vice, the other digging his fingers into her thigh. When the initial shock of skin on skin subsides, Nyota pushes him off, crawling out from under his body. He sits back on his heels, blinking in surprise. He opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but she turns her back to him, grabs the headboard in one hand and his thigh with the other, pulling him closer.

He doesn't need to be told what she wants. He buries one hand into her hair and himself into her. She inhales sharply, her voice breaking from a gasp into a quick moan. She arches her back, and inches at an agonizing pace towards her orgasm. She whimpers, pressing back against him, and while she focuses on the mounting sensations, he slides his hand over hers. Her eyes snap open as she feels her pleasure augmented, her extremities flooded with warmth. She comes very quickly after that and when she cries out, she hears the smallest noise escape his lips, his fingers curling tightly around hers.

They're still for a moment, Nyota's forehead pressed against the wall behind the bed, their hands still connected on the headboard. She turns and sits against the pillows, panting. Though he remains quiet she can see his breath coming quicker in the rise and fall of his chest. "What would you like?" she asks when she catches her breath, her finger tracing his shaft.

His eyes dart between her hand and face as though he's not sure what demands his attention more immediately. He tilts his head.

"Has nobody ever asked you that before?"

He shakes his head, very slightly. She raises her eyebrows, wondering what Vulcan women are like in bed. Demanding, it seems. Though she has no idea how many he has slept with, whether they were even Vulcan. She knows nothing about this aspect of his life. "Well, I'm asking. How would you like it?" She sits up, placing her free hand on his chest.

He stares at her like he's considering this, calculating an algorithm for optimal pleasure in his mind. He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her towards him, sitting back. She straddles him, lowering herself onto him as she moves to her knees. He presses his forehead against hers and says, in Vulcan "This is my preference." She hears it now: the husky, melodic tone; she finally understands the difference between the language spoken in a classroom and the language spoken between lovers in the dark.

She rocks against him slowly. It's strangely intimate for someone who keeps his emotions at an arms length. She can feel the subtle changes in his breathing against her cheek. His hands behind her neck and in the curve of her spine pull her closer with every motion. She searches for his fingers again, reaching behind her back until they touch. She feels it more strongly this time, the layering of his pleasure over hers like tense cords twisting into each other, stretching and threatening to snap.

"Is this adequate?" she whispers into his ear, quickening her pace. "Satisfactory?"

"It is exceptional."

"Shall I continue in this manner?"

"It would please me if you did."

She can feel herself coming closer to her orgasm, and his as well—it's like they're running through a dense wilderness towards a sunlit opening. A few more steps and—

"Nyota," Spock chokes, his grip on her neck tightening. "If you continue—" She smothers his protests with a kiss and keeps going. The next few seconds melt together, her kiss turning into a moan in his mouth, a low groan vibrating in his throat so quietly, she almost doesn't hear it. When its over he opens his eyes and they look at each other with the same expression of disbelief.

She lays her head on his shoulder, her nose nestling into the crook of his neck. She doesn't know what to say. She feels dizzy and euphoric, but also immensely confused. He holds her body in a close embrace that he seems reluctant to break, and she finds that she is okay remaining in his arms. They sit there for a long time, without speaking or moving.

Finally, Spock disentangles himself from her and walks into the bathroom. Nyota lies on the bed, sweaty and breathless. She's not sure what any of this means, or what she wants it to mean. She lets her eyes close, and when she opens them again, the cool light of early morning is already peeking through the curtains.

She can hear the distant sounds of traffic as New York begins to wake. Her head is pounding from dehydration. She's covered in a blanket and nestled next to Spock, who is asleep facing her, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting on her stomach. A sudden panic rises in her chest. She carefully extracts herself from the bed, trying not to wake him as she tiptoes around the room, collecting her scattered clothing. When she's dressed, she looks back. He hasn't moved, still positioned as though she is lying beside him. She wonders if this is wrong of her, to leave him without saying goodbye, without even trying to talk about what just happened. She doesn't have time to think about it, though. She has no missed calls on her comm, which means Sonia hasn't come back to their room yet. She needs to hurry back before her friend returns with a thousand questions that Nyota does not know how to answer.

She ignores the impulse to crawl back in bed and curl up against Spock's warm chest. She chooses not to acknowledge the part of her that knows, undoubtedly, how she got here in the first place, and why. She forces herself to turn her back and leave Spock to sleep alone.


Aside

Captain Pike walks into the diner to see Lady Amanda already sitting at a booth with a cup of tea. She waves, and he slides in across from her.

"Finally got a spare moment to catch you," he says, reaching for the menu. "Happy First Contact."

"This is what I love about New York—Earth meals at all hours! Happy First Contact, Chris. How have you been?"

Pike smiles. "Not bad at all. Ran into your son on the way here."

"He's still awake? That boy never sleeps!"

"We really can't talk."

The two of them chuckle. A waitress walks by and Pike orders a coffee.

"Maybe I should ask him to join us," Amanda muses. "I think I will." She reaches for her comm.

"Don't." Pike says sharply, looking her in the eyes. Amanda blinks, still holding her comm in hand. "Trust me," he continues. "Not tonight."

"Oh?" Amanda raises her eyebrows. "Well."

"Well, indeed."