"Have a good start of the semester, Uhura. Gotta go say goodbye to the wife," Puri says with a smile and a wave, already halfway back up the street before either she or Spock can say a proper farewell.

It's quiet between them, a silence hanging in the air until she turns from watching Puri jog back to his house to look up at Spock.

"I'll, uh, no rush on those comments," she tells him. She thinks about touching him again but doesn't. "It seems like you'll be busy."

"I will send them as soon as possible."

"Oh, ok, good. Thank you."

There's a lot of distance between them that wasn't there before. She's not sure if she moved away or if he did but it's there, an expanse of sidewalk and warm night air, an arm's length that she'd need to reach across if reaching across it was something that she was going to do.

He just watches her for a long moment and she knows she's staring at him too, but she feels like the moment she looks away suddenly that will be it, everything that was anything between them dissipating in the space of a few moments on the sidewalk, their summer together punctured by the news that everything actually worked out and they don't have to do this anymore.

"Nyota, I-"

"I'm sure you're-"

They both fall silent again, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear for something to do with her hands. They feel heavy and clumsy and she should really just go. Let this be, let it slip away into her past and the sooner she walks away from him, the sooner that can happen.

"You probably have to go pack," she makes herself say. "Get everything ready."

"I do." He glances behind him, in the direction of HQ. It's the opposite direction from their walk back to the Academy. It's fine. Convenient, really, that they were at Stoyer and Puri's since Spock is that much closer to Headquarters and he needs to go by there anyway.

She tells herself to take a step back but doesn't.

"It's funny that the Ambassador's gone," she says instead.

"Is it truly?"

She wants to smile at that, wants to be able to feel the humor because no, it isn't funny, not literally but she mostly just feels a little numb.

"Well enjoy the trip," she tells him, taking a step back from him. She tells herself to take another one but her legs aren't really listening to her so that's as far as she gets.

She clears her throat, gives him a small wave and presses her lips together since she doesn't trust herself otherwise to not just keep standing there talking to him. She doesn't really trust herself to not touch him either and she forces herself to turn, to walk away down the street, trying not to listen to the voice in her that tells her to stay and talk to him more, like they can slip back into the sunny, warm weeks they spent together.

"I have your padd," he says and he's suddenly right beside her, close enough that she has to tilt her chin up to look at him. She doesn't know how he got there, how he appeared next to her without her noticing but everything seems a bit far away, like she's looking at the world through a wavy pane of glass.

"My padd?" she hears herself ask. He's so close. She's staring up at him and somewhere along the line she stopped walking and that's ok because their arms are brushing together with how near he's standing.

"The dictionary."

"What dictionary?"

"That you checked out from the library."

"I checked out when?" she asks.

"At the beginning of the summer."

"I did?" she asks and as the words leave her mouth she raises her fingers to press to her forehead, remembering the Saphian dictionary she had given him back when he had been cool towards her, aloof and rather forbidding. Worrying about things like returning padds and getting everything all sorted out for the beginning of the semester seems so far away, like it's happening to a friend or it's in a movie she's watching. She tries to get herself to focus on it, on practicalities like that instead of him standing right there. "It's due soon, isn't it?"

"I had thought to return it to the library for you when the semester begins but I do not know if I will be back on Earth."

"You won't be back?" she asks, dropping her hand to stare up at him.

"I do not know."

"But you're teaching," she tells him.

"My primary assignment is to the Enterprise. The Computer Sciences department will find a different instructor if Captain Pike has not returned us to our teaching roles when the semester begins."

"How long are you going to be gone for?" she asks, realizing she's been shaking her head as he speaks. But he's teaching, he's an instructor, he has to be back next week when classes start.

"Unclear."

"But how long do space trials normally take?"

"I do not know. It is impossible to ascertain until they have begun."

"But…" she starts again, staring at the center of his chest and trying to wrap her mind around what he's saying. She can't. Her thoughts aren't working right and his words are slipping through her like water, like she's hearing them muffled and far away and they can't find purchase in her mind. "But days or weeks or months?"

"To provide any more specificity would render my answer inaccurate."

"Approximate, then."

"Why?" he asks, which draws her up short.

The tiny rock she finds with her foot scrapes and grinds against the pavement as she drags her toe over it, working it back and forth.

"I can come grab it," she offers, looking up from the ground to meet his eyes. "And thanks-" She has to pause and clear her throat, which feels like there's something stuck in it. "Uh, thanks for thinking of returning it for me."

"Of course," he nods and he wouldn't have always done that, just accept her appreciation, would have launched into some explanation of how it was the logical choice and gratitude is therefore irrelevant.

Then again, she wouldn't have always thanked him, either.

They're halfway to his apartment when she realizes that she can feel him looking at her.

"Not months," he says when she glances up at him.

"Ok," she says softly.

She doesn't take her shoes off when they get to his apartment and lingers right inside his doorway as he sets his boots under his coat rack and crosses over to his bookshelf.

She can't help but glance around at the now familiar room, lit in the soft golden light of the lamp on his desk and the orange glow of streetlights coming through the window. When she left the other morning the sun had been streaming in, a rarity for San Francisco. Now, she can see the fog outside, wispy bits of mist and haze against the dark of the night.

It only takes him a moment to bring the padd back to her and she takes it without looking at it, her eyes locked on him.

"So," she starts, then can't remember what she was going to say next. She folds the padd against her stomach, her hands crossed over it and glances down at it before looking up at him again. "Thanks."

"For what?" he asks and she nods down at the padd. She already thanked him. She didn't need to do it again, but other words aren't really coming to her.

"And," she says, feeling her mouth move on whatever it is that she was going to say, something that doesn't come out. She doesn't know what it was going to be and just drags her teeth over her lower lip, biting at it in a way that's a bit painful, listening to the silence between them. She tries to swallow except that her throat still feels tight. It'd be better if it wasn't like that, if she could breathe easily and if her heart would stop pounding, a sickening rapid flutter that is making it hard to think. "So, I'll… I'll let you get to packing then."

She rises on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek, thinking that she might hug him goodbye except that she's holding the padd. She wishes she weren't since he's so tall that it would feel good to put a hand on his arm while she's brushing her lips to his cheek, but she can't figure out how to unclench her hands from around the padd and then the moment's gone and she's dropping back on her heels, that careful distance still between them.

"See you around," she gets out but then she's stepping forward to press against him, one hand uselessly clutching the padd and the other coming up to grip the back of his neck, drawing him against her. She tilts her face up and they're kissing over and over, their mouths pulling and tugging at each other's, his bottom lip drawn between hers, and then his top one, and then he's doing the same, kissing her like that until it pulls a soft sound out of the back of her throat.

She can feel how tightly he's holding himself, a control in his frame that she's never felt before and it's that which makes her step back, her fingers coming up to press against her lips, replacing the ghost of his touch with her own.

"Sorry."

He doesn't say anything in response and instead there's just the sound of their breathing. She wonders if he can hear how her heart is hammering. She can, and can feel the blood rushing in her ears like a dim roar.

She needs to go. He has to pack and get up to the ship and Pike is waiting for him. Maybe not right this second, but Pike's expecting him before morning and Spock isn't on her time anymore, he's a Commander and an officer and he has his job to get to, one that doesn't involve her. She's going to go back to her dorm, turn in her application for Advanced Morphology and get ready for the beginning of the term, which he will very likely miss.

"I'm, um-" she says, then nods back at his door behind her, the one that goes out into the hall, to the edge of campus the faculty apartments are on, and down the path that leads back to her dorm, her room. She could call Gaila when she leaves. Will call her. That thought calms the way her stomach is turning over and over. "I..."

The padd falls to the ground with a clatter and she has his instructor's jacket in her fists, is yanking it up his back as she tilts her head back for him, raises her face to be kissed and kissed and kissed. When he presses into her, she can feel the hard jut of the doorframe meet her back, the press of his palm under her jaw as he drags her up into his kiss, their tongues sliding together and the hot skin of his back under her nails. His hand shoves under her shirt, her skirt, the hard heat of his body trapping her against the wall. His hand is on her thigh, under it, dragging it up over his hip and with one firm push he has her off balance, his hand under her leg and his weight against her the only thing that's keeping her on her feet.

She can't get his pants open, not with the way her hands won't work so instead she just shoves her hand into them, gripping him. She can feel the tightness of his body against hers, the power with which he's pinning her against the wall, and he's so much stronger than her but when she raises her hand to push at the middle of his chest he backs up and when she pushes again, he takes another step.

She gets him into his bedroom, gets him down on the edge of his bed so that she can kneel over him, use that hand on his chest to push him on his back. Her fingers cooperate long enough that she gets his jacket and shirt stripped off of him and she's scratching her nails over his stomach as he works his pants open, their hands bumping together so that her skin tingles. She peels the fabric apart as she bends down and mouths along the hot length of him through the fabric of his boxers, feels his fingers grab at her hair and tangle into it, his hips rise off the bed.

"Off," she tells him, her hands sliding under his hips and jerking at his pants.

He's gorgeous like that, his pants stripped off and his stomach heaving, a green flush mottling his neck and chest and she has to taste it, has to drag her teeth over his ribs, nip at the skin over his collarbone and suck at the hollow of his throat, lightly at first and then harder until he lets out a shaky breath and raises one hand to her shoulder.

She thinks he's going to push her off or flip her over but instead he tips his chin back, baring his throat to her. She wants to take her time but can't, doesn't, just makes her way up to his mouth, kissing him hard and firm, over and over as he holds her head in both hands.

She has to stop to get her boots off and it nearly breaks the moment, nearly makes her think about what they're doing, but then his hands are covering hers, helping her jerk them off her feet and then she's getting pulled against him and down into his lap, his mouth on her breasts through her shirt and she's not thinking about her shoes any more.

His hands palm over her stomach, against her skin and under the fabric, scooting up until he's tugging at her bra, his mouth rising enough to pull at the skin of her neck.

"Just-" she says, trying to tell him to let stand her up so that she can take her clothes off, but his arm is wrapped low over her waist, pinning her down against him and then his fingertips are skating over her nipple and she's clawing at the back of his neck, getting swept away in his touch, the press of his body.

Leaning away to grab at his bedside table drawer gets his attention, gets the arm around her to loosen enough that she can open it and get her hand inside. Stripping off her shirt does too but she loses track of the condom when it falls from her fingers as she tries to get her bra off. She can't because his hands are all over her and the way his mouth pulling and sucking at the top of her breasts is searing through her thoughts, blanking them, and then her bra is off, tossed on the floor, and then she's on her back and her skirt and panties are gone too.

She feels like every sense is full of him, his scent, his skin against hers, the sound of his harsh breath and how his mouth tastes as he starts kissing her again but it still isn't enough and she rubs her foot over his calf, presses restlessly up against his body.

She pats at the bed until she finds the condom, the foil pricking against her palm as she grabs it. She tears it open and nearly drops it again with how restless he is on top of her, his mouth everywhere. She's not stopping him, though, can't get her fill of him like that and the moment she's wormed her hands down between them and unrolled it over him he's pressing her legs back, his hands spread on the back of her thighs and she's letting out a sound that's close to a whimper as he pushes into her.

"More," she demands, rocking up into him even though that first thrust was a lot, is burning in her, hot and slightly aching.

But it feels so good like that, his body on hers, a deep pang in her legs as he presses them back, how it is to just give herself over to it, let pleasure and heat course through her, wash over her.

She knows her nails are biting into the skin of his back and she wonders if they're going to leave marks, if he's going to be up on the ship with green scratches drawn down his sides, hidden under his uniform.

"Harder, please," she tells him and he lets out a noise that is less than a groan, a breathy, hard exhale against her cheek as he begins to move faster, firmer. His forearm is braced next to her head, his body curling into hers on each thrust and when she turns to press her face into his, his fingers fist into her hair, holding her against him. She doesn't kiss him, just breathes against his mouth, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to get even closer to him.

She wants it to last and it doesn't and she comes like that, gasping through it against his cheek. His orgasm is a wash of pleasure through her, hot and deep, making her press up against him, try to chase after every place her skin touches his.

Her pulse still pounding and pulsing in her as she tightens her hold on him. They're breathing in time with each other, the skin of their stomachs pressing together and when she slips her hand down his ribs, she can feel how fast his heart is beating.

But she can't keep him there forever and when he presses a soft, gentle kiss to her cheek, she lets him go.

Her body's aching as he sits back and eases her legs down to the bed, a tenderness she's sure she'll feel tomorrow that settles down deep, makes her limbs feel heavy.

She should get up and get dressed and go, but instead she draws the sheet over her crossed legs and watches as he gets a duffle bag from his closet and begins pulling clothes out of his dresser.

"You don't keep clothes on board?" she asks. Her throat is dry and she swallows, trying to unstick it.

"I have never been there for this length of time."

"Oh."

There's something endearing in the way he shakes out his instructor's uniform before he tosses it in his hamper, like he's making sure it's as neat as possible.

"You must have pretty big quarters." His apartment is nice. Spacious for one person. She's pretty sure that the captain and first officer quarters on ships are fairly large as well and probably those of the rest of the senior staff.

"It is a relative measure."

"Sure."

He glances over at her as he steps into his pants and she thinks that it's strange to watch him dress and maybe stranger that it's his active duty uniform not his instructor's blacks.

"However, they are superior to other options," he says.

"They haven't expanded ensign quarters just because it's the flagship?" she asks as she draws her knees up under the sheet and wraps her arms around them. Her skin still feels heated, like her entire body is overly warm and her heart is still beating too fast, so that she can feel her own pulse.

"They have not," he tells her as he fastens his pants.

"Guess that's yet another reason to try to graduate as a Lieutenant."

"Your motivations for your career goals are duly noted," he says as he takes another uniform shirt out of a drawer.

"Good," she says, resting her chin on her knees. "I hope it's sufficiently exemplary reasoning."

"Highly logical," he tells her and when he glances at her she gives him a small smile.

That tight black shirt looks just as good on him as the undershirt he wears under his instructor's jacket, and the blue jersey hangs on him just right, hugging his chest and pooling loose around his narrow waist.

And he does have a scratch on his back. It's not deep, just a faint green line against his pale skin. It'll be gone within a day or two.

"You must be excited," she says as she shoves the sheet back and stands, unable to take her eyes away from how his hands look as he pins his insignia on his shirt. His neck is still slightly flushed, a green tinge to it that hasn't fully receded.

"I would presume that you would have a similar anticipation in regards to the beginning of the term."

"Of course," she says as she searches for her underwear, even if it sounds slightly hollow. She would be so, so excited if she were going out on a brand new ship. She's not, though. She's going back to her dorm and starting classes and this time next week she's going to be doing homework. She lets out a breath as she steps into her panties and looks around for the rest of her clothes.

She has half of the knots worked out of her hair and is watching her fingers pull through the rest of the tangles in his bathroom mirror when he comes up behind her. Their eyes catch and hold for a moment, her hands stilling in the mess that is her hair as she watches his reflection. She can feel his body behind hers, that peculiar wash of warmth she feels every time he's close to her and she stares back at him, barely breathing as he watches her in the mirror. He looks neater, more put back together and she can still feel the prickle of sweat on her skin, the way her blood hasn't stopped coursing through her.

He doesn't speak and neither does she and maybe she should or he should but then his arm brushes against her as he reaches for his toothbrush and he's gone again. She doesn't look at herself in the mirror, finds that she can't, and instead just bends down to splash water over her face and tries to breathe, in and out, the sound muffled by the running water.

"Send me a postcard," she tells him when they're outside, right before she steps away from him to walk back to her dorm.

"I do not know what that is."

"Perfect research opportunity for you," she tries to say as lightly as she can. She's not sure it works though because her voice is doing something funny, like it keeps threatening to crack.

"I will take that under advisement."

"You should."

She crosses her arms over her chest, looks past him, beyond his shoulder and down the path that leads to HQ, blinking at it a couple times.

"Enjoy your weekend," he tells her and she nods, since she should and it's her last free days until the semester ends, but somehow the idea of being at loose ends until classes start feels like a gaping amount of time to fill, like it's too much and too empty to even be able to conceive of.

"You better send me those edits pretty quickly so that I have something to do," she says and tightens her arms around herself.

"I will endeavor to."

Of course he will. He has the Enterprise to worry about now, and then the classes that he'll have to get caught up on if he doesn't make it back for the start of the term and wrapping up his role as her research advisor as quickly as possible is probably the only logical course of action.

"I'll-" she starts, then swallows against the trembling, shivering feeling in her throat, in her chest. Her eyes feel hot, like they're prickling slightly and she blinks, raises her hand to rub at the corner of her eye. She didn't know how she wanted this to end but this is apparently it, in the middle of a path on campus, standing a few feet from each other. "Bye."

He nods and before she can stop herself, she reaches out and tugs at his sleeve.

"Say goodbye," she tells him and the way his mouth quirks in the slightest of smiles makes something in her chest flutter.

"No."

"C'mon."

"I would prefer not to," he says in a voice that is too low and too soft and then he's stepping forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead. She reaches for him as he does it, watches how her fingers spread over his chest, pressing into the soft fabric of his science blues and the hard heat of his body, and then she's letting her hand drop as he turns from her.

He doesn't look back as he walks away, which she only knows since she watches him until he's out of sight.