It had been exactly the kind of day that Spock had been trying to get Nyota to avoid. She'd woken early to go to her dress fitting. He wasn't sure how long the appointment took, but directly thereafter, T'Pau whisked her along to an etiquette lesson that had lasted until it was just about time for the evening meal. Then his wife was insistent on making dinner after she realized that she's never actually cooked for him before. Pointing out that she would have many more opportunities to prepare a meal did absolutely nothing to dissuade her. Neither did the fact that she didn't recognize any of the ingredients in the kitchen. But relying on Amanda's recipe data base, she was able to come up with something appetizing that he would have no problem eating again.

After dinner was over, she stayed and held court with both sets of his grandparents—an art that no one had mastered up until that point. They both seemed sufficiently entertained until Skon and T'Pau decided to take their leave.

"We will retire also." He announced to the room. She looked up at him, a small crease of confusion between her brows. "Attend, My Wife."

She rose from the sofa, accepted the ozh'esta and gave her goodnights.

"Are you tired?" She asked softly, already whispering as if she were going to disturb his sleep.

"No. You are."

She chuckled and conceded with a nod. "You do know me well.'

"I also know that in the week preceding our arrival on Vulcan, you slept an average of four hours a night and in the weeks preceding that you averaged only six hours a night."

"I'm not sleep deprived. I'm just sleepy."

"I disagree."

"I was just anxious. And honestly, I don't think I'll be able to really rest until after the reception. I thought I was up on all my social graces before I met the etiquette tutor. I swear, that woman must think I was raised by wolves or something. Everything's so different. And the male/female dynamic is really hard for me to swallow."

He opened the door to his room and allowed her to go ahead of him. "That is because the disparity in the male/female dynamic of our two planets is significant. But perhaps if you remember that the human and Vulcan cultures evolved separately and that men and women are still considered equals on this planet, you may find it easier to cope."

"That's what I'm trying to do."

"And, My Wife, you know that I have deep respect for you."

She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest. He smelled like sand and sun and yet not like the beach at all.

"I don't want to embarrass you."

"You couldn't"

"Oh, don't throw that challenge out there. There's so much to remember, how to stand, how to sit, how and when to speak, safe topics to talk about. Then there's all the formal stuff, what to do with my napkin, which fork to use, how to hold my glass, how to sit it down as quietly as possible…"

"I'm sure the teacher made those things seem much more important than they actually are." He smoothed his hand over her hair and pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.

"If I mess up, people are going to think you married an ill-bred woman. Or they'll think that humans are total barbarians, with maybe the exception of your mother."

"I know better."

"I just wanted to have a party." She wined, dropping her head back into him.

"It will all be over soon."

"The anticipation is the hardest part. All I can do until the reception is worry…" her fingers traced over the piping of his shirt for a while before she spoke again. "Take me somewhere tomorrow. I don't care where. One of the places we talked about before—into the mountains, or out to the sea. Just somewhere where I don't have to be Lady Schn T'Gai or lieutenant Uhrua."

"Very well. Tomorrow will be ours."

"I love you." She kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I'm being so selfish. How was your day?"

"It was interesting."

"Oh yeah?" She pulled away to get a better look at him and also so they could change into their pajamas.

"Indeed. Skon took me to the high council. They have decided to erect a monument for the Intrepid. Because I have strong ties to Starfleet and Vulcan, they would like me to oversee the project."

"Well, Sugar, that's an honor isn't it?" She watched as he removed his pants, folding them neatly and starting a pile so that he could carry all the clothes to the refresher. She followed his lead, setting her things on top of his.

"I consider it to be so. However, I also wonder if this is a thinly veiled attempt to involve me in the activities of the government."

"Probably. But it's not like you're running for office. You'd be working on something that's important to you. I'm proud of you." He opened his mouth to speak, but she talked over him. "No. Stop it. I am. Just say 'thank you, My Wife.'"

"Thank you, My Wife."

"You're welcome, My Husband."

When everything had been cleaned up, she settled between the sheets and waited for him as he open the French doors opposite the bed. There was a very warm breeze and the air smelled like Spock, or maybe Spock smelled like fresh Vulcan air. She kind of liked not being able to tell the difference.

"Spock," she began once he was beside her. "What's going to make our house feel like a home for you?"

"You."

"Can you stop being smooth for even one night?"

"I'm not being smooth. I am being sincere. If I understand the human concept of 'home' correctly, it is the place where one feels most comfortable. I feel most comfortable when I am with you. That is why I made you my wife—logically."

"Logically." She swept his hair away from his forehead and traced the line of his eyebrows, causing his eyes to fall shut. "What else?"

"My home would be somewhere that my mother is always made to feel welcome."

"Done. What else?"

"I would need to work uninterrupted for long periods of time. And I would need everything to be maintained in an orderly fashion."

"We've got that down too."

"Music."

"Music?"

"There would need to be music."

She kissed the space right between his brows. "There will always be music, Mndani."

His eyes opened slowly while his hand cupped her cheek. "Nyota." His voice was soft and she could feel the vibration of her name in his chest. "Taluhk nash-veh k'dular, hi bolau tu shom."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, K'Diwa."

Then next morning, Spock heard soft footsteps behind him, padding across the cool tile of the balcony. He heard two cups scrape lightly against the glass of the tabletop as they were being set down. Brown arms wrapped around his middle and squeezed gently.

"They say," Nyota whispered. "That no sun rises like your own."

"Familiarity does breed a certain fondness." He reached around to bring her in front of him and turned her so she could see the sun climb Mount Selaya.

"I brought you some tea."

"Thank you."

"Did you meditate yet?"

"I did. I've been up for some time."

"Of course you have. This is a wonderful view. How do you not miss it?"

"I never said that I didn't."

"No. No you didn't. It reminds me of Africa. Have you ever seen an African sunrise?" He shook his head gently, passing her cup to her. "I'm going to have to take you home." He circled his arm about her shoulders.

"I look forward to it."

Eventually, the sun had risen fully. Already it was starting to heat the air, the sand and even the tile under her bare feet. She jogged back inside when it got to be too much.

"I've made plans, but we'll need to get an early start before T'Pau comes and claims you for the day."

She snickered and nodded, getting dressed as quickly as she could.

They started in the city square, not far from where her dress fitting had been the day before. She would never turn down a shopping trip, even with Spock's constant reminders about what was practical and what wasn't. But this time was different. He needed new clothes since all of his were well out of style. So instead of him standing in the background tell her she already had four shirts just like the one she was looking at, he searched for himself and asked her opinion. Shopping for him was new, but a good new. The kind of new she wanted to get used to. It was an activity that was just mundane enough to fit into the image of life on Vulcan she's started to create after seeing the building site.

So far, everything he'd picked was black. She took it upon herself to inject color into his selections, things she knew he looked good in like dark green and lavender.

She tried to observe the other couples discreetly. At least one of the pairs of people seemed to be mother and son. Another group were probably brothers or T'hyla. There were also two other people she recognized.

"Spock, isn't that Geoff and our healer?"

He turned from the rack and looked at the couple Nyota was tilting her head to.

"Technically," he answered. "They are both our healers."

"But it's them?"

"Yes."

"What do you think they're doing here?"

"It's a menswear shop. There are very few things they could feasibly be here to do."

"Let's go say hi!"

He intended to stop her, but she was gone before he could even formulate an objection. By the time he joined her on the other side of the room, the greetings had already been exchanged.

"I didn't expect to see you here." Nyota said.

"Well," M'Benga answered, "This is about the only time I have to myself. The chief wanted to make sure I stayed busy this week. Selaya was nice enough to come with me and help me pick out something. I have this really tedious affair coming up. Some friends of mine are having this over the top reception."

"You better look nice then, so your pretentious, over the top friends don't put you out for not complying with the dress code."

"I was going to wear my dress blues, but when I mentioned it to the chief, the look he gave me changed my mind."

"I didn't realize you two knew each other so well." Uhura added lightly. But the way the other woman turned to look at Geoffrey instantly told her that her words had been a mistake.

"Selaya and I have been friends for years. In fact, she was the first person to be a real friend to me when I arrived on Vulcan. She's my counselor, confessor and confidant."

She inclined her head slightly, indicating that his quick and gushing response had appeased her.

"That makes me feel even better about having you as one of our healers. Any friend of Geoff's is a friend of ours."

"You honor me, My Lady."

"You can call me Uhura."

It was hard for Nyota not to smile, especially when she was trying to make a good impression the way she was now. And Selaya's innate warmth made her want to smile. She liked the bright colors and interesting patterns she dressed in. She liked her big curly hair that was simultaneously wild and tame. She liked her smooth voice. And she really liked the way she got to Geoff with just a look.

"Very well, Uhura."

"So, who's your plus one for our modest little occasion, Selaya?"

"My sister."

"That's nice. I've always wanted a sister."

"I often hear that exclusively from people who do not have one."

"And who are you bringing, Geoff?"

"Sovan. And T'Lara. I finagled my way into a plus two."

Spock nudged at her impatiently through the bond. He did have plans for the day and making small talk with their doctors was not one of them.

"Well," she sighed. "We need to get going. It was…agreeable to see you both."

"Likewise."

When they were outside the store and well out of earshot, Spock spoke again. "I thought we agreed that you would not interfere."

"Who interfered? I only made conversation. But I think it's interesting that neither of them are bringing a real date to the social event of the season. And it's curious that he never mentioned her before, even though he says they're close."

"The doctor is entitled to a private life."

"No he's not! Ever since he got on the ship, he's been third-wheeling us. He's so in our business, he told us that we were married. He's not allowed any secrets."

"That is illogical."

"I don't think so."

"Of course you don't."

She stood in front of him, blocking his path with her hand on her hips. "I ought to kiss you for that comment, mister."

"That would not be appropriate in this setting," he replied, peering over her head at the crowd. She went up on her tippy toes, swaying forward and he leaned back slightly. "Nyota," he warned.

"I didn't do anything." Her eyes were wide and playfully innocent. But through the bond she was sending images of them kissing passionately, in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing appalled passersby to skirt around them.

Part of him—approximately half—was intrigued by the idea of doing something so forbidden and taboo. Another part of him knew it was time to get her back in the car.

The next item on his itinerary took them to the Sarpk concert hall. It was a beautiful building, twisting and reaching for the sky above it in a way that reminded Uhura of the flame of her husband's meditation lamp. The structure it's self was musical, suggesting rhythm and a carefully conceived meter. Uhura wondered—not for the first time—how people dedicated to non-emotion could produce such expressive art.

"Spock, I'm not dressed for a concert. Not even a matinee."

"We are not here for a performance. You may find it interesting that this hall was designed by Keto."

"Our architect?!"

"One and the same."

"Are we meeting her here if we're not here to see a show?"

'No."

He led her into the lobby. She'd never been an empty concert hall before and it was strange, for a place designed as a temple of music to be so silent. And that's what Sarpk was, a temple, adorned with glittering metals that seemed more precious than silver and gold. Even the lighting was done creatively, giving the sense that this was a place for reflection and reverence.

They walked into the main auditorium. She had her arm wrapped around his. She didn't care if it wasn't good form. Everything here seemed so much larger than life, made her feel so tiny that she feared she might get carried along. By what she didn't know, but she needed to have part of him to hold onto.

He pointed to the stage. "That is the Shi'Karh Philharmonic."

"We're the only ones here." She looked around at the empty seats.

"This is a rehearsal."

"Oh, Spock. You arranged this?"

"Indeed."

"You really want me to kiss you, don't you?"

"There will be plenty of time for that later. For now, let's listen."

They took two seats in the center of the first row and she let the symphony wash over, until it consumed her the way sleep does. It was hard not to cry, the way the notes wined and called out. It was even harder to believe that this wasn't written out of some ardent desire that was destined to go unfulfilled. The piece sounded like being in love, and that person loving you back, but being in a situation that meant that love simply was not enough. It sounded like the most pleasant heartbreak.

She was proud of herself for not clapping when it was over, even though she had to fold her hands to keep from doing so. She was also proud of herself for not gushing over the musicians when they went back stage to greet them. The conductor was informative and seemed eager to tell her about the piece, one she'd never heard before. Apparently it was a new song by a well-known composer and they would be debuting it for the first time on the next night.

"You are the first outside of this company to hear it played in its entirety."

"We are honored."

"We come to serve, my lord. There was a delivery for you earlier this afternoon. I was told to keep these until you arrived."

Spock nodded appreciatively and took two boxes from the conductor. Nyota recognized them as their harps.

"What are these doing here?"

"Come."

He took her out onto the stage, where there were just two chairs under a spotlight.

"Spock?" Her voice carried in the acoustically balanced space and sounded small when it returned to her. He gave her the ka'athyra and gestured to the seat. She sat and removed her instrument from its case. Then she looked out on the hall. The house lights were down and didn't feel like it was empty anymore. She could imagine every seat being occupied, and everyone in the audience anticipating their performance as much as their crew mates did on talent night. It was electric. Her heart was doing acrobatics in her chest and her stomach was full of something flutterier that butterflies. Her toes were curled in her shoes and her knuckles were starting to change color where they were wrapped around her harp.

"Look at me," he husband said gently. Focusing on him made her feel like she could breathe again, like she really could entertain a crowd large enough to fill Sarpk.

He inclined his head and played a set of notes that she knew. And before she had to think about what to do next, her fingers were moving over the strings and their music was floating all the way to rafters, as powerful and intoxicating to her as the philharmonic's—better than that even, because it was their music. The professionals could play the exact same notes, the exact same way. But it would be different. Because she and Spock were one entity inhabiting two vessels when they played, it had always been that way from the first night they performed together.

Translation: Mndani: Sweetheart; Taluhk nash-veh k'dular, hi bolau tu shom: I cherish thee, but you need to rest; Sarpk: A famous ka'athyra maker from the 5th century

A/N: If you see any grammatical errors, let me know. I try to catch them all but sometimes they get through. Thanks for all your continued support.