A/N: Another big THANK YOU!! to mrstater for her beta-reading and her suggestions. To say I'm nervous about this part is an understatement, to say the least. I hope that this comes across as in character for both Nyota and Spock. My inspiration for writing them comes from the movie and the novelization of the movie, which I happen to love... particularly when spoken out loud by Mr. Spock himself, Zachary Quinto. According to most of the translations I've seen, Furaha is Swahili for joy and happiness. I thought it might be a good name for a restaurant.

Thank you so much for reviewing and alerting this story. I really appreciate the support! I am going through reviews and replying to them, slowly but surely. But I really do want to say, for now, that I appreciate all your comments, insights, and honesty. I feel that you're all helping me write a better story!


Part Six: First Contact

"Your performance during Cadet Kirk's simulation was unorthodox."

Spock walks beside Nyota on the Saturday following Wednesday's simulation. They are inside the Warren Building, the home of the Academy's Xenolinguistics and Acoustical Engineering Departments. They proceed down the corridor, with its silvery walls lined with monitors and screens for announcements on one side, and clear glass overlooking San Francisco Bay on the other. The view is breathtaking; this side of the building overlooks the Golden Gate Bridge. The midday sun shines on its coppery façade, and traffic flows smoothly along both sides. The water is dark blue and reflects the sky brilliantly.

Nyota grins. "Is 'unorthodox' meant to be a compliment?" She is fairly certain that he does not intend for it to be a compliment, but she is testing him, seeing how he phrases the truth.

"I refer mostly to your demeanor during the simulation. I would have approached handling certain aspects of Cadet Kirk's personality differently."

She snorted. "Less sarcasm and more logic, you mean?"

"Precisely." He continues to walk, but keeps a mild expression. "Overall, however, you handled your duties adequately during the simulation."

She laughs. "You don't have to hold back with me, Spock. I know I shouldn't have been so sarcastic, but I can't tolerate arrogance. It's even more grating when the person has done nothing to warrant being so flip and blasé." Nyota taps her fingernails against her PADD, beating it in a steady rhythm on her left hip. Her grin falls as she replies, "I do know one thing. After witnessing what Kirk went through once we entered the Neutral Zone, I'm sure I will never want to command a starship."

She looks at him, their pace slow and steady. He regards her with an arched brow. "Did you ever desire to command your own vessel?"

She shakes her head vigorously. "Never, to be honest."

"Why is that, Nyota?"

Hearing him say her name in his deep voice pleases her greatly. She feels grateful that there are no other cadets or personnel nearby, so they may speak candidly between themselves. Although it does nothing to quell her troubled nerves.

They have just come back from the mess hall for lunch. Although they were engaged in a discussion of an older Romulan dialect, and its unique phonemic structures, Nyota's attentions were diverted more than a few times. She noticed other students looking at her and Spock as they sat together. The smirking expressions plastered on their faces told Nyota that they were the topic of gossip at several tables.

As she walks the halls with the commander, she wonders whether Spock heard them talk; after all, Vulcans have far stronger aural capabilities than humans.

She tries not to think about lunch; she is happy to discuss the Kobayashi Maru and her desire never to command a starship with her mentor. She returns to his question. "Well, mostly because I hate being wrong."

Spock watches her with a raised eyebrow and a barely upturned mouth. "I have often been told," he begins, his footsteps echoing in the emptiness of the corridor, "that humans learn from their mistakes. That, sometimes, failures can be advantageous."

"True, but I can't ask for people to follow me if there's even the slightest possibility I could be wrong. Which is not good for building confidence among a crew."

Spock nods. "This is accurate. Thus, you have demonstrated considerable logic by cultivating your strengths with learning alien languages."

She smiles at him. "I see it as how I can best serve the Federation." She chews on the inside of her cheek as she thinks about Kirk immediately after he lost his vessel to the simulated Klingon battle cruisers. "I certainly don't begrudge Kirk and what he went through after his test." Nyota looks to her left; she is walking next to the glass wall and she can see a watership coming in under the Golden Gate Bridge.

"You are acquainted with the cadet, then?"

"Oh yes, I know him." The exasperation is thick in her voice; Nyota feels a sharp pang of guilt. Her own personal opinion of Jim Kirk is at odds with what she witnessed a few days ago. Kirk's reaction to failing the simulation was unexpected. His demeanor changed in an instant. He lost the arrogance that had marked his personality, and for the first time since she had met him in Iowa, he seemed vulnerable. Haunted.

She did not know what to make of it then, and thinking about it presently does nothing to answer her questions. But the impression she had always had of Jim Kirk since meeting him in the Shipyard bar almost three years ago comes into direct conflict with what she saw in that simulation chamber. Instead of further speculation, she focuses on what she does know about Kirk, and that is—

"He's a character, that's for sure."

"Do you consider yourself a friend of the cadet?"

At this, Nyota cannot help but laugh. Rather loudly. He watches her, his face soft and relaxed, his eyes a little wider than usual. He appears quizzical, for Spock at least.

"Did I say something that was amusing?"

She shakes her head. "No, it's just funny to think of us as friends. We didn't start off on the right foot. At all."

"I do not understand what feet have to do with it?"

"It's an old saying. It just means that Cadet Kirk and I didn't have the best introduction."

"I see. If you wish to elaborate, you may—"

"MR. SPOCK!!"

Nyota jumps; if the shout startles the Vulcan, to whom it was addressed, Spock shows no signs of outward physical reaction. Both the commander and cadet turn around to the source of the gruff voice.

Commander Douglas Kyle is a reedy, middle-aged man. He hurries toward them, burdened with a few PADDs, a big shoulder bag, and an earpiece, used to pick up and amplify incoming transmissions, stuck awkwardly in his right ear. His left eye twitches irregularly, a tic he has had for fifteen years. His shaggy blond hair is mussed, as if he had just rolled out of bed and had not bothered to comb it. It befits him, completing his image of walking chaos.

"There y'are," the engineer blusters breathlessly. "I've been looking for you… they said you left the mess hall."

Spock regards the other man with a perfectly expressionless face. "Cadet Uhura and I were returning to the language lab to prepare for Monday's class."

Kyle stares at Spock with a deeply creased brow and his eyes move rapidly between the Vulcan and Nyota. She takes the opportunity to contrast Kyle's wild, disheveled appearance with Spock's cool, stoic demeanor. There is really no question about which one she prefers. However, Nyota gives Kyle some leeway; it is the worst kept secret in Starfleet that Kyle returned from his mission on Talos IV fifteen years ago a different person. Since then, he prefers to stay on Earth. Rarely, he travels into space, unless expressly ordered by Starfleet.

Nyota is also aware of one basic truth: there are no other Starfleet officers better versed in acoustical engineering than Douglas Kyle. And any cadet with him as a reference can find himself or herself on the short list for a prime, high-profile mission.

Such as the Enterprise.

Nyota cannot help but wish Kyle needs to discuss with Spock the aideship, and that he will be selecting her for the position.

"Might we make an arrangement to have dinner together upon your selection as Commander Kyle's aide…?"

Not that she thinks of Spock's arrangement from the previous weekend. No, not at all.

"Oh, so you're Cadet Uhura?" He shifts all of his PADDs into one arm and holds his free hand out for her to shake. "Read over your application. Spock here says you have exceptional aural sensitivity."

She turns and looks at Spock with her eyebrow arched and a grin on her face. "Thank you, Commander." Spock merely bows his head once.

"And you've assisted him with deep space transmission identification. Signature recognition and noise cleaning."

She feels a burst of excitement, but she does not do anything to show it; instead, she continues to smile and she nods. "Yes. That's true.

"Well, it'd better be! I'm just remembering what you put in your records. I don't suffer liars and idiots, as you well know. They're worse than criminals… or Klingons." He stomps up to her, eyeing her with a seemingly suspicious stare. He squints his right eye shut; his left remains open, examining Nyota. She flinches a bit under his scrutiny. She tries not to have second thoughts about applying for the aideship; perhaps, if a cadet can survive his bizarre personality they can survive flying into space.

After he stares unnervingly at Nyota, Kyle snorts and nods with finality. "Yeah, you'll do."

She would appreciate it if he would elaborate, but Kyle snaps his head toward Spock. "You still having issues with the dampeners?"

"Yes. There is far too much sonic interference, as well as background noise, all of which affect our readings of sub- and deep space transmissions."

Kyle grunts at him and starts walking to the language lab. "I don't want anyone coming in while I calibrate the machines! If so much as a hair touches the floor twenty feet from them, I'll have to start the whole process over again!"

With a final sneer — which Nyota thinks is meant to be a smile in valediction — he leaves them standing where they were, next to the glass walls.

Spock turns to Nyota, his eyebrow arched. "It appears that you are Commander Kyle's new aide."

She blinks in rapid succession… and snorts out a disbelieving laugh. "You're not serious."

"I am. He did say that you will do."

Nyota stares at Spock with a significant amount of cynicism. "And that means I got the job?"

"As familiar as I am with Commander Kyle's demeanor and temperament, I can logically conclude that is exactly what he meant."

"That's not the traditional job offer among humans."

"That may be," Spock says, his voice still smooth, but his lips slowly, subtly drawing up the right side of his face. "Is it not also true that Commander Douglas Kyle is not a traditional instructor?"

Nyota considers this. "Well… yes. You're right."

Spock nods once and turns back to the view of San Francisco Bay. Shuttlecraft fly high above the Golden Gate Bridge, and a slightly thicker mist of clouds settles near the shore—

"As it appears you have been selected as his aide and will, undoubtedly, be put to work by him soon — perhaps even this week — we should make arrangements for dinner."

His words paralyze her. Dinner? Nyota has not forgotten their deal, but she also does not expect Spock to be the first between them to bring it up. There is nothing nervous or amused or coy in his demeanor; he is as dignified as ever.

"Perhaps we should." It is all she can manage, and she is infinitely thankful that her voice is far steadier than her nerves.

Spock, again, nods. "Very well. Do you have any existing obligations next Saturday?"

Nyota stuffs down the smile that wants to erupt across her face. "A week from now? No, Spock," she says in a serious tone. "I don't have any plans."

His eyes, and his eyes alone, shift so he may look at her while keeping his face forward. "Then we shall dine together that evening, Nyota."

She replies only with a smile, unable to speak because her heart has leapt up into her throat.


Gaila enters their room with all the grace and subtlety of a grown elephant. Or an entire herd of elephants.

"Oh – my – God! Nyota, you would not believe the day I've had!" she says very loudly, ignoring the fact that her roommate had been lying on her bed with a pillow covering her face. At Gaila's entrance, Nyota jumps up and glares at her angrily.

"Couldn't you see that I am — no, was — resting?"

Gaila looks at her apologetically. "Sorry, sweetie." She throws her bag to the ground, where it lands with a dull thud. Gracelessly, she plops on her bed. "Rough day?"

Nyota sighs and lays back down, pressing the back of her hand against her closed eyes. "You can say that again."

"Hm… rough day?"

Nyota turns to shoot Gaila a flat expression. "That wasn't meant to be taken literally."

The Orion smirks. "I couldn't resist. Lame jokes," she says with a shake of her head. "I've been on this silly world way too long."

Abandoning any attempt to nap, Nyota sits on the edge of her bed facing her roommate. "Only one day as Kyle's new aide, and all I know is that man is insane!"

Gaila guffaws. "I thought you already knew he was all—" She whistles as she her finger makes little circles next to her head.

"Knowing from secondhand information is one thing. Actually living through the Commander Kyle Experience is something else altogether." She rubs at her temples, the sound of his bellowing throughout the day, from the most general concepts to the tiniest minutiae, still resonating in her head. She suspects that the first day alone has overwhelmed her eardrums. "I can tell you, working with Spock never gave me a headache."

Gaila throws a pillow at Nyota's head.

"Hey! That was uncalled for!"

The Orion woman stands up, her hands on her hips, her skin a far deeper green than normal. "Do I need to remind you that we talked about comparing Spock and Kyle's mentoring styles? And how you weren't supposed to?"

Nyota tosses the cushion back at her friend. "Fine, alright? In my head, I'm constantly comparing the two. I can't help it." She grunts as she falls back onto her bed and shuts her eyes. "Only one day in, and I've got no idea how I'm going to make it through until graduation. If I did one thing, he yelled at me. If I did the thing he wanted me to do, he yelled at me to do something else! At this point, I've got no idea if I'm doing anything right."

Gaila flops down on the bed next to her and primly crosses her arms. "I will bet you all the credits in Captain Pike's account — which I hear is not an insubstantial amount — that you're doing everything right. Don't forget, I've seen you the last few days, and you've been pouring over every manual and diagram that you can lay your hands on. I'm sure by the end of all of this, you'll be able to tear apart and put together subspace signal cleaners even if Spock was dancing in front of you—"

"Gaila!" She tries not to smile. But as she jabs her elbow in her friend's ribs, Nyota lets a soft chuckle escape.

"Naked," the Orion finishes. Nyota rolls her eyes.

"This is how you're helping me get over Spock? By putting that image in my head?"

Gaila flaps her hand blithely. "Please! You getting over your green-blooded sex god anytime soon — or ever — is about as likely as me going celibate for a month."

"Or a week," Nyota mumbles.

"Either way," Gaila continues, ignoring the comment, "that's not happening. Especially as T-minus-zero hour approaches for your date with him." She arches her eyebrow just as Nyota is about to protest the nature of her dinner with Spock on Saturday. Instead, she lets it go, her thoughts turning to the possibilities, to the whatifs of the evening. She has been thinking about it during her free time, and she has even pondered scenarios with Gaila — what to wear, what is the proper way to consider this dinner, if this particular activity in any way violates Starfleet's Code of Ethical Conduct…

"Let's make a deal," Gaila says, interrupting Nyota's musings, "we work on the pesky issue about what you're going to wear on your 'not date', and then I get to tell you about my crazy day — starting with me breaking up ever-so-dramatically with Berkeley!"

This gets Nyota's attention. She gapes at her. "You didn't?"

Gaila nods, slowly, exaggeratedly. "Uh-huh! But first thing's first." Gaila scrambles off the bed, and heads over to her closet, flinging the doors open. She tosses a bottle to Nyota, who nearly rolls off of her bed trying to catch it.

"What's… Oh yes! Bajoran Springwine. Perfect."

Nyota takes the glass that Gaila offers her and reaches for an opener.

"If we're going to do this whole 'girly' thing, we're going to do it right." Gaila winks at her as Nyota fills both their cups and she starts throwing out dress after dress, skirt after skirt, and top after top, trying to find the perfect outfit for her friend for the long-awaited dinner.


They have shared dinners before. But Nyota knows this is different.

She approaches their scheduled meeting spot. Tonight, they will dine at the same restaurant — Furaha — where Spock shared with her the story of his childhood.

That was a few weeks ago. This is now.

Nyota takes the opportunity to adjust her wrap around her shoulders, mentally thanking Gaila for suggesting that she dare to bare a bit of skin. Not that her outfit is at all inappropriate. A simple black cocktail dress, the most conservative article of clothing Gaila owns, is certainly nothing the Academy could complain about.

Of course, the Academy may frown upon the slit on the skirt of the dress, one that affords quite a provocative view of Nyota's whole left leg. "No guts, no glory! Carpe diem! Actually, Carpe Spock!" Gaila winked when she shoved Nyota out of their apartment.

Any doubts as to her choice of evening wear was put to rest the moment Nyota meets Spock in front of the restaurant. They make eye contact for three seconds; she keeps time in her head.

And then his gaze falls. After three seconds of silence, she continues counting as his eyes…

She can feel blood rush to her head, but she stands perfectly still, waiting to see if he will say something. There is no talking at first; she inhales deeply through her nose. Six seconds pass, and still his gaze lingers on her. She smiles, biting her lip. For a human, certainly such observation would be normal; a man would take his time admiring her.

Eight-point-five seconds.

For a Vulcan, this is uncharacteristic. Nyota feels little doubt that it is Gaila's dress that must have caught the commander's attention—

"Your dress is not regulation."

She barely registers that he has spoken. His voice is deep, and yet possesses a soft quality. The gentle breeze catches his words, making them sound even softer as if they are about to drift away. But as Nyota has resolved not to let her mouth run unchecked from her, she tries to formulate a smart reply that is a dash flirtatious in tone.

"Is there a problem with it? Should it be regulation?"

Spock looks at her, betraying no emotion. "It was merely an observation."

She grins, favoring the right side of her face. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"I only arrived five-and-a-half minutes ago. I happened to arrive early, in order to confirm that there would be a table waiting for us."

Nyota looks at him, partially surprised, slightly bemused. "You… reserved a table for us?"

"It is my understanding that this is common practice among humans. Planning in advance to ensure that the selected dining location would be able to accommodate us." She laughs, but it is a pleasant and easy sound.

"I don't know why I'm even questioning your thoroughness, Spock. You really do think of everything."

He regards her again, his face showing no emotion. But she notices there is smoothness to his expression, as if he is free from tension or stress. Perhaps there is something to this, that he actually does enjoy being in her company.

"Are you ready to enter the restaurant, Nyota?"

She nods and proceeds past him, smiling from the butterflies erupt in her tummy as he holds the door open for her.


Nyota takes a sip of her Riesling, her face pulling upward into a coy grin as she sets down her glass. Their conversation this evening has flowed effortlessly.

She licks her lips. "I swear though, if heard one more student say, 'Ng-tlh', rather than 'Ngetlh', I was going to scream." Nyota, making sure to jut her chin forward to facilitate the correct pronunciation of one of the Klingon words for 'home'.

"It is a common mistake. Indeed, I have seen several xenolinguists ranked as officers who made similar errors."

Nyota shakes her head in disgust. "But when dealing with an alien species that's both hostile and suspicious of the Federation's motives, all trained Federation xenolinguists should make it their priority to know their language as if they've spoken it their entire life!" She speaks rapidly and with no pause, stopping only once to allow herself a single breath. "Familiarity with Klingon dialects and customs would certainly garner respect from the empire. It could even help shift the Klingon-Federation relationship into a peaceful one rather than this stalemate that you know won't last." She does not mean to become so impassioned, but they are discussing xenolinguistics, and if there is one thing that can rile Nyota up, it is a lack of intellectual curiosity about alien languages.

"Your observations and reasoning are logical, Nyota. We do our best as instructors, but, sometimes, we find the quality of the cadets to be less than satisfactory."

She places her wine glass down again and dabs at her lips. "Present company excluded?" Spock tips his head forward. The gesture is minimal but elegant, and it pleases Nyota to see him like this. Smiling, she looks down at his plate.

"I hope you're enjoying the food here."

Spock places his fork on the plate and brings his napkin to his mouth. He finishes eating his bite as he folds his hands in front of him. "I find myself curious about the food indigenous to your culture."

"Our cuisine intrigues you?"

He nods once. "There are certain similarities to the Vulcan diet."

She folds her hands together and rests her chin on them. "Do you mean the emphasis on vegetables and grains over meat? Cooking with aromatics, using spices with strong heat and flavor profiles?"

"That is precisely what I mean."

Nyota smiles. "Well, we love our greens. I will say that we do mean roasted pig, though. Perhaps we could try it someday."

"Although I would not normally be inclined to consume animal flesh or skin, given the opportunity, an exception could be made."

"Is that a 'yes'?" The words roll off of her tongue, but despite her flirtatious tone, she does not flinch as she looks at him. Nyota blames the wine… partially. She also blames the fact that she is no longer his aide, and this entire situation — the low light of the restaurant, the candle flickering between them, and the graceful chorus of voices singing softly in Zulu piping through the restaurant—

It feels more and more like an actual date.

"Yes, that is an acceptance of your invitation."

She smiles so big, so wide, her face feels as if it might burst. It is the dawn of a new day between them. She knows it. And, deep down, Nyota feels Spock knows it too.

He studies her for five seconds; Nyota can see the light of the candle cast shadows that appear to tickle his otherwise pale skin. He breaks the trance. "Might I make a personal query of you, Nyota?"

She sits straight up, her hands falling on either side of their small table. She notices how close they are to his. "Sure. Go ahead."

Spock tilts his head slightly to the right. "As a young child, did you go out into nature?"

"Oh, I did! Plenty of times," she says, leaning forward on the table and lowering her voice. "I even got to spear an automated lion when I turned sixteen." She punctuates her revelation with a teasing grin.

Spock arches his eyebrow. "Fascinating. This is similar to what I endured during my kahs-wan test."

"Well, I didn't have to survive on my own for ten days in the harshest natural conditions like you did, but I will say that fighting a machine that is smarter than any real lion and can critically injure you can give a girl a rush."

"Indeed."

Nyota leans against her chair, and swirls her wineglass in her hand. As Spock does not speak right away, she continues with her memories. "I do love nature. Both my mother and father were avid gardeners."

Spock looks at her, acknowledging the new bit of information, but he says nothing, allowing her to elaborate further.

"They thought it was a good way to relax away from their jobs. They even managed to grow a small private orchard of orange trees, about fifteen trees or so, right on our land." She laughed softly. "I loved helping them. Loved it. When I went to school, everyone said I smelled like oranges and grass. Honestly, I probably still do."

Spock listens to her, his back straight, his eyes watching her the entire time.

"My mother still worked in the garden even after my father..." Nyota coughs, suddenly getting choked up. She takes a sip of her wine and takes a moment to compose herself. Spock says nothing, only waits for her to continue.

It is something she tries to not think about, instead focusing all of her energies on her mother whenever possible. After all, dwelling on her father's inexplicable disappearance six years ago still hurt, still shakes her to her core.

But in those rare moments when she remembers she is, for all intents and purposes, fatherless, Nyota allows herself to feel whatever it is she feels for five seconds. Then she remembers that she let herself mourn for two years and she has moved on, focusing all of her energy onto Starfleet Academy. She has created a life now separate from her past and she has learned to continue living.

"Sorry." She flashes him a small smile, one that she does not feel is truly genuine.

"Nyota, it was not my intention to have said anything that would make you uncomfortable or bring forward unpleasant thoughts."

She holds her hand up. "No. It's not you, Spock. Sometimes, it hits me funny when my father comes up in conversation. That's all."

"You may talk about something else if that will help."

"Er, thanks," she says quietly. Nyota clears her throat and takes another drink. She is about to say something else, but suddenly thinks the better of it. She searches her mind for anything else that they could talk about, anything at all to remove this ever-increasing awkward silence. The quiet stretches painfully between them, and a whole minute passes with no further conversation.

As she sits still, her hands fidgeting in her lap, the choral music still playing in the background, Nyota feels more uncomfortable than she ever has before. They were having such a brilliant time, talking, eating, and reminiscing. If only her emotions had not gotten the better of her…

Maybe, she thinks, Vulcans do have it right, after all.

"If you are finished, we may leave." Spock glances over at a window to his left. "The weather is adequate for a walk, if that is acceptable for you."

Despite the sudden shift in her emotions, Nyota feels her chest give a pleasant lurch. "A walk would be great."

After settling the credits and exiting the restaurant, Nyota takes a moment to breathe in the fresh air, the tang of the salty sea wafting into her nose, comforting her. She loves nights like these, when she can see the stars and smell the water in the air. Gulls fly above them and she can hear their calls mingling with the breeze, mixing with the sounds of the city around them.

They begin walking along the sidewalk, illuminated by old-fashioned street lamps that are probably over two hundred years old. They receive little in the way of stares or gossipy whispers from other couples and pedestrians; Nyota thanks the stars that they chose to dine at a good distance from the Academy, and a place that not many of the other cadets knew of.

Once she has wrangled her emotions and thoughts under control, she chances a question of the commander. "Well, it's my turn to ask a query of you."

"You may proceed."

She holds her small purse in front of her, her steps matching his, slow and steady and even. "Why did you ask me if I went out into nature when I was younger?"

He turns to face her. "We do not have to talk about this if the subject is one that will elicit a negative emotional response from you."

She spins around and faces him. "Spock." Her voice is gentle, but with a slight chiding tone. He stops walking. "I'm fine. I'm just curious about why you would ask me something so specific. About me liking nature."

"It is something I have been thinking about recently. On Vulcan, I would climb mountains and walk through deserts. I would swim in Lake Yuron and hunt in the Vulcan Forge."

She looks at him contemplatively. "You miss Vulcan, don't you?"

His brow barely creases. "I possess many memories of Vulcan. A legion of positive remembrances from my childhood, and several that were not so kind. Of the positive memories, I find that many of them center on my excursions onto the planet proper."

"Is there no way for you to return, even briefly?"

"That would be impossible, given my duties for the upcoming months. I must confer with Captain Pike about the crew selection of the USS Enterprise—"

Nyota says nothing at this, only feeling her chest leap at the possibility of serving on the vessel.

"—And given the reactions of the elders to my decision to join Starfleet Academy, it would be logical to assume my return would be…" He stops talking and his eyes shift slightly downward, as if searching for the right sentiments. "My return would be unwelcome."

Nyota does not know what to say at first. She chooses to turn the conversation to a more positive track. "What about the other happier memories of your world?"

The street light that they pass catches the slight flexion in his jaw right before he speaks. "They would be of my parents. My mother, in particular." There is a beat where neither of them speak.

"This is not an appropriate conversation one would have with a peer, especially on Vulcan."

Nyota frames her thoughts carefully. "With all due respect to your world and culture, you haven't said anything that I thought was inappropriate. But you don't have to continue if you feel uncomfortable."

"It is not a question of whether or not I feel anything. Feelings are illogical. I only refer to what is considered proper on Vulcan." He looks at the sidewalk ahead of them. Nyota says nothing, wanting not to push him to talk when he is already reluctant to speak.

However, she does not have to wait long.

"My mother provided a different style of parenting, a style not commonly found among other Vulcan families." He makes eye contact with her, his face expressing nothing. "She and I would converse together. Openly and freely."

"Vulcan families don't normally talk?"

Spock's voice is calm as he clarifies. "It was the subject of our discussions that was different from other Vulcans. We discussed emotions and feelings. I would speak about matters that troubled me, and she would provide a human perspective to my experiences."

"Oh," she says softly. He walks further, albeit slowly. She keeps pace with him, her eyes fixed on his profile. "Did it help you?"

"There were times that the conversations with my mother aided me in ways the Vulcan methods could not. Although I frequently turned to the ways of my father's people to deal with situations that troubled me, the talks with my mother afforded a different kind of satisfaction."

She hums. "My family talks. A lot." She smiles, chuckling behind her closed lips when he looks at her. "One could say that they didn't know a thing about boundaries. My mother and my aunt knew exactly when something bothered me, and they'd always try to get me to talk. Which… I didn't always do. Occasionally, when someone tells me to do one thing, I'm compelled to do the opposite."

Spock's brow furrows. "Such a response is illogical. It would also lead to potential conflicts between yourself and your commanding officers."

She laughs. "I don't make a practice out of it. I've learned to control that side of me professionally. It still pops up when I'm with friends and family…" Her voice trails off; of course it is natural to think about her father, as the conversation at dinner had turned to him briefly. But Nyota knows she is now composed enough to speak again.

"When my father disappeared, I stopped being so obstinate. Our family was dealing with a lot, and I didn't want to add to the turmoil. But," she says with a rueful smile, "when I got to Starfleet, a little of it came back. I do know when to use it and when not to. So, if I were to… oh, let's say work with Captain Pike on the USS Enterprise—"

Spock stops walking. He looks at her with a raised eyebrow. She meets his expression with a serious one, but her lips twitched.

"If I were to work with Captain Pike on his ship, I would most certainly follow his instructions to the letter, while offering my expertise on whatever he needed."

"Am I correct in assuming that you are attempting to give me a hint as to your qualifications to work on the Enterprise?"

This time, she cocks her eyebrow sharply. "I thought my qualifications and my talents were already well known to you."

"Yes, that is not being disputed—"

"I'm only making sure you remember I still hope to be considered for her."

"As you are one of the Academy's finest students, your qualifications will certainly be reviewed, along with your peers'. However, from a logical perspective, it would not benefit the Federation to have all of our top graduates onboard one vessel."

She takes a deep breath through her nose, feeling her nostrils expand. For a being gifted with such intelligence, such skills of observation, sometimes Spock could be completely obtuse. Nyota chances a step forward, closing the gap between them by half a foot. The night's breeze swirls around them, gently smoothing her checks. She can see Spock's black hair, always perfectly combed and cut, blow ever so slightly in the light wind.

"Do you yourself have any issues about me serving on the Enterprise with you?"

The skin of his forehead creases ever so subtly, and his head tilts just to the left. "Any issues, if they were to exist, would be irrelevant to your assignment on any vessel, if that vessel was deemed to be the most appropriate assignment for you."

A warning, brief and quick, fills her head. Only for a second. She pushes it away, determined to do something about this Spock situation. Tonight has felt far too much like an actual date, and perhaps that is not a wholly inaccurate read of their dynamic.

"What I mean is, is there anything at all that might make you have doubts of us serving together on the Enterprise?" Nyota takes one more step; she cannot be any less than six inches from him. His eyes shift up and scan the surrounding area around them. They are next to a park, and while people walk close to where they stand, they are not recognized.

"Looking for someone?"

Spock's eyes lower to meet hers. He does not back away. "I was merely ascertaining whether there are other Academy personnel in the vicinity." His voice is soft, softer than she has ever heard him.

"Why would you do that?" She leans even closer.

"Because it would not be wise for our conversation to be overheard." His voice has a definite mellow quality to it, one that it does not normally have.

Nyota refuses to let up. She rubs her hands together, knowing that she shakes from her nerves. "We aren't discussing anything that's improper, Spock."

"But that does not mean that we will not. I sense that, due to the tone of our conversation, as well as our physical proximity to each other—"

She raises her eyebrow at him, a gesture which throws him for a split second.

"Quite possibly, this may lead to—"

"Spock," Nyota interrupts, "I apologize for interrupting, but can I ask you something?"

Spock blinks and nods. "Yes, you may."

She looks at her hands, flexing them, thinking through what she wants to say. Slowly, she brings her right hand up, her left still clutching her purse tight. She holds it up between them. "What would happen if you touched my hand?"

He blinks again, but his face remains otherwise calm. "Vulcans possess telepathic abilities. Tactile contact is the best medium through which our telepathy may be utilized. Should there be any physical contact between the two of us, it would create a brief, but mutual empathic exchange."

"An empathic exchange?"

Spock bows his head. "It would not be as strong as a true mind meld, but the experience would be shared."

Swallowing, Nyota looks at her hand, and then up at Spock's face. He is closer to her than he has ever been. Her heart races, threatening to burst through her chest. She can hear each beat, the pulse of her blood rushing to her head.

She looks right into his eyes, at his calm, collected expression. It is not fair that he can stand before her so still and impassive and not betray a single emotion. It is not fair that she cannot be around him without losing her breath. Her mind screams out at her to do it, to gird herself and seize the day.

Before she can stop herself, her hand reaches up to his face. Nyota readies herself for whatever may happen. She touches his cheek, the shock of making contact almost, almost stopping her.

But the sensation, the warmth that envelops her when her hands meet his skin only makes this easier. As does his mouth parting a millimeter, allowing a single breath to escape—

She presses her lips against his.

An odd, but pleasant sensation envelops Nyota. She cannot surmise what this feeling is at first, because the only thought that fills her mind is that she, Nyota Upenda Uhura, is kissing Commander Spock. His lips are surprisingly soft and he still smells of the spices from the restaurant and his own Vulcan tuber. Her hand lingers on his face as she continues to kiss his lips; he does not reach for her hand or embrace her, but there is this feeling, indescribable, undefined. She cannot identify it at first… but suddenly it hits her.

He is kissing her back. And the feeling, the mysterious, warm feeling that surrounded her the moment her skin touched his, swells within Nyota. She knows what it is.

Desire. And it is, most definitely, reciprocal.

The kiss does not last long. Nyota breaks the contact and she stands back, opening her eyes, her right hand still cupping his cheek. She withdraws it quickly, not knowing what to say. Spock meets her eyes, his face revealing nothing. But she notices that his eyes are wider, minutely so, than usual.

She should say something. She wants to say something. Does she speak as if nothing happened between them? Does she apologize for her inappropriate actions? Does she force him to address it, or does she…?

Before she can talk, she watches the corner of Spock's mouth slowly draw upward. His face relaxes, and it gives him a hint of amusement to his features. His expression is certainly not as overt as a human's, but for Spock, even the smallest changes can reveal so very much.

"Nyota, I do believe we have much to discuss."

She nods and cautiously smiles. "Apparently, we do."