A/N: Again, big thanks to mrstater for her beta-read. As to The Beatles reference; I wouldn't have included it if Alan Dean Foster hadn't written it in his novelization. Apparently, the Vulcan Learning Center did test Spock on the work of Lennon and McCartney… in the book at least. And Admiral Richard Barnett was Tyler Perry's character in the movie. I've started a McCoy/Chapel fic, that you can find here: "Before, During, and After" at www dot fanfiction dot net/s/5337379/1/Before_During_and_After. Thank you to everyone who's put this on alerts and favorites and who have reviewed. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the support!

I may be taking a different route with Janice Rand than canon suggests, but this story's set in the movieverse. I'll be adding to her character too. In my experience, every girl has a friend like Janice, and I was no exception ;-)


Part Eight: Trouble in Paradise

Admiral Richard Barnett's office is clean, although the walls are filled with plaques and awards and certificates. She sees several pictures of his two children and his wife, some taken at the family's house in Brooklyn. His wife, of course, is the lauded Admiral Olivia Barnett, the first African-American female captain in Starfleet, currently stationed at Starbase 20. The bookshelves are filled with a mix of antique books and items from the admiral's travels, including copies of The Art of War, translated in both Andorian Prime and Vulcan Prime. On the top of the bookshelf, on a dark base, are two holographic representations, one of Cape Town and the other of Table Mountain.

Nyota does not feel comforted. This is her first meeting with the admiral — indeed, any admiral — and they will be discussing some inconveniently private matters.

The chair next to her is occupied by a familiar, tall, black-haired man with pointed ears. She does not smile. She keeps her face as straight as possible. This meeting will affect their futures at the Academy, and if one thing goes wrong, that could be the end of their careers altogether. The best thing for both of them is to maintain professionalism, despite the fact that they will be discussing their relationship.

Spock remains focused on the superior officer as Admiral Barnett takes his seat. For the briefest moment, the dark centers of his eyes flicker to meet hers, and in the moment that passes, she feels her anxiety lessen. There is that connection; they are in this together, whatever may occur.

Barnett leans back in his office chair. "Cadet Uhura, given the nature of this meeting, I want to assure you that, for the moment, everything we say in here is confidential."

"I appreciate that, sir."

He gets right to business. "Commander Spock has already approached me with the main problem. According to him, you have both mutually agreed to enter into a personal relationship, a de facto violation of Starfleet's Code of Ethical Conduct regulation fifteen three-five." Barnett peers unnervingly at Nyota. "Since I have nothing but full faith in Commander Spock's integrity and see no reason as to why he would fabricate something like this, I assume he's telling the truth."

She looks at Spock. He does nothing, only appears to wait for her to acknowledge their relationship. Barnett waits for her reply as well. She nods twice, very slowly, feeling her stomach roil nervously. "Yes, sir. I am — I mean we, Commander Spock and I — are seeing each other. We have been for almost four weeks now." She thanks the stars that she is not standing, lest her legs turn to jelly and she pass out.

"Three-point-two-nine weeks, to be precise."

She whips her head around. "Precisely? Really?"

"That detail may assist in determining whether any rules have been irreparably contravened, and whether the Academy requires disciplinary proceedings."

He is not being unreasonable, but Nyota is nervous, and she tends to snap when she is nervous. "Yes, but isn't the only thing that's important is that we began this after I started working for Commander Kyle? That was four-and-a-half weeks ago."

"The correlation of facts is certainly necessary, but the admiral will appreciate any specifics—"

A cough interrupts Spock. They turn and face Barnett.

"If it wasn't apparent that you two were in a relationship before, it's pretty clear now," the superior officer deadpans. He taps his fingers on the top of his desk. "Mr. Spock, of all the officers currently teaching at the Academy, I would never have pegged you capable of such an action."

She notices the corners of Spock's jaw tighten slightly. "Admiral, I am aware that my behavior is, at least according to Vulcan standards, illogical. Certainly, the elders on my home world would frown upon it, as would the Academy council. However, the circumstances regarding our relationship suggest that we did not violate any rules and it will not affect our work. Therefore, I wish to appeal on my own behalf and, if allowed, the cadet's as well."

Barnett's eyebrow flies up. Nyota notices the corner of the admiral's mouth tweaking. He is trying to stop himself from grinning.

"I'd be more than happy to hear anything you'd want to say," the admiral offers.

She wants to stop Spock; she is not sure if Barnett is looking to ridicule him or if this entire affair is merely for show and the admiral does not actually have any problems with their relationship. But before she can say anything, she feels a gentle but firm pressure surround her wrist. It is Spock's hand, encircling her arm. And feelings of calmness, of certainty envelop her.

"It will be all right," Spock says. "I do know what I am doing."

She gives him a very small, but no less meaningful, wink. "At least you have that going for you."

Spock turns back to Barnett. "Cadet Uhura began working as my aide in February of this year. She was awarded the position when she became the sole candidate to correctly identify and bring to my attention an error that had been planted in a paper. This was part of the selection process, approved in advance by Commander Patel." He bows his head at a shallow angle. "It was, perhaps, logical that Cadet Uhura was the only applicant who successfully performed the exercise. Her talent with xenolinguistics and her exceptional aural sensitivity are well known among the instructors in the department. As is her willingness to contribute verbally during lectures. She has never shown any unease with offering her insights, even if her conclusions were not entirely accurate."

She cannot help it. She knows she needs to be professional, but she gapes at him. "'If my conclusions were not entirely accurate?' When have I ever been inaccurate?"

"I refer to your first semester's work in constructive verbalization. While your first attempts at identification and production of the sound structures were admirable, your work suffered from an inexperienced ear. This was logical as you were working with language systems previously unfamiliar to you. According to Commander O'Leary, you did make mistakes during your examinations."

She narrows her eyes. "I received a silver rating in constructive verbalization in my second invitational. And the gold in my last competition!"

"Indeed. But did those honors not follow the work you accomplished during your first semester?"

"Yes, but—"

"And your scores increased in Advanced Constructive Verbalization your second year in the program. Objectively, this is a clear indication that your work did improve, is it not?"

She presses her mouth tightly; she knows he is accurate, remembering how much she struggled with click and whistle theory in Antarean and Bajoran Prime when she first began the program. "I… can't argue with that," she finally says through clenched teeth. Spock looks neither satisfied nor upset at her words.

Barnett holds his hand up. "I don't need to hear anymore. Mr. Spock, you've already explained your history with Cadet Uhura to me prior to her joining us today; I believe I have a full and accurate account of your professional relationship with her as her instructor and mentor.

"Cadet," he says, addressing Nyota, "you're working with Commander Kyle now. And my understanding of the facts suggest that this relationship began after you quit working for Mr. Spock." Barnett audibly exhales and leans back in his chair. He props his head on his hand, his arm bent on his chair's armrest.

"Here's what I believe. I believe Mr. Spock selected you to be his assistant based on your skills. I also believe that Commander Kyle selected you based on your credentials. Douglas Kyle, despite whatever might be said about the man, makes his own decisions. It wouldn't matter if Mr. Spock himself applied to be his assistant — if the commander didn't want Mr. Spock to be his assistant, Mr. Spock would not be his assistant.

"After reviewing your records, Cadet, and after observing your interactions together, I conclude that your relationship does not warrant any disciplinary measures. End of story." Barnett finally allows the smirk that he had been struggling with to finally appear. Nyota closes her eyes for two seconds, allowing herself to feel a little release of tension, broken only by Spock's calm voice.

"Admiral, in regards to the disclosure, how will you proceed?"

Barnett stands up and walks to the entrance to his office. He punches a key and the door slides open. "I'll handle this internally. My only request is that you exercise discretion for the remainder of your time at the Academy. Both of you. Cadet Uhura, if you have told anyone about this, please emphasize the need to keep your relationship discreet. You only have a few more months to go before graduation. I don't want to hear about any impropriety, or else we may need to hold disciplinary proceedings."

Nyota and Spock both stand at attention. "Thank you, Admiral," Nyota says, feeling a sense of cautious relief. "I assure you that discretion will be our top priority."

"Your assistance in this matter is much appreciated, sir." Spock says, his posture like a steel rod. He bows his head in salute.

Barnett lets his smirk broaden into a smile. Nyota notes that there was no cynical edge to it; it is, if anything, understanding. "Well, Mr. Spock, I will say that your decision to come forward about this sensitive matter showed good judgment on your part. You are excused."

Spock gestures for Nyota to exit first, which she does, giving a salutary nod to Barnett. Just as he passes through the entrance, Spock turns to the admiral. "Please send Admiral Barnett my regards the next time you converse with her."

The admiral, still with a smile on his face, nods once. "She'll be very appreciative of that." The entrance slides shut between the men.

Nyota and Spock start walking through the hall of the Sagan Center, the primary location for the council's offices. The interior is pretty, richer in tone than the Xenolinguistics Department's greys and blacks and silvers. The floors are a vibrant red and pieces of art from around Earth and other planets line the corridors. However, Nyota ignores the pleasing aesthetic atmosphere surrounding them because she has to get something off her chest.

"Was all that really necessary? The weaknesses in my constructive verbalization?"

Spock walks with his hands behind his back. "I did not intend for you to react in the manner that you did. However, it appeared to convince the admiral that our relationship has not and will not interfere with our professional duties."

She purses her lips together. "Yes, apparently it did. But why, exactly, did you choose to talk to Admiral Barnett first before approaching the rest of the council?"

"You are unaware that the admiral met his wife at the Academy."

"I don't see why that's important."

Spock's face remains perfectly calm, but there is a slight uplift of his mouth — a subtle grin. "He met her because she was his instructor in Level III Advanced Tactical Analysis, in his third year. Their relationship commenced one year before he graduated."

Nyota falters in her step and her mouth drops wide open. "Oh!" She laughs. "Well played, Commander. Well played."

Spock tips his head. "I must return to the language lab to begin work on the most recent transmissions from Sector 30. Are you heading that direction yourself?"

She nods and turns down another corridor toward the entrance. "I need to work on the calibration machines and our amplifiers. Commander Kyle is expecting me in about thirty minutes. However," she says, her voice considerably softer, "I will be free this evening. If you're available—"

"I have no preexisting obligations."

She stops walking, as does the commander. "I don't want to impose on you, Spock. I would like to spend time with you. But if you feel, given this meeting with Barnett, that we should take a break tonight, that would be perfectly fine as well."

There are no other cadets around. The campus is practically bare, save for the weekend staff and maintenance. A few officers have their entrances open, and they sit at their desks, returning messages or otherwise working. Spock and Nyota are in an area free of others. They maintain about a foot-and-a-half space between their persons. Nyota is certain no one would think they are discussing anything not quite professional.

Spock shifts his upper body a couple of degrees toward her. "Perhaps, I can give you a demonstration of the Vulcan lute. We can also dine together. If you feel inclined to do so, that is."

Nyota watches his lips and his eyes. She keeps her smile small, but her she knows, despite his coolness, his lack of open demonstration of his feelings, her own are growing. She is resolved to maintain professionalism, but she also recognizes that it will be difficult. "I do feel inclined, Commander."


A few days later, Nyota walks to a set of apartments near the Academy campus. Gaila squeals. Nyota cringes and covers her ears, lest she go deaf at the Orion's high-pitched caterwauling.

"Girl's night out! Girl's night out! Girl's night out!" Gaila shouts and claps. She does not care that the other cadets, and probably a few instructors, look at her funny. Or that the personnel might be frowning at Gaila's choice of garb, a clingy, sparkly crimson dress with the bottom hem cut so high and the neckline cut so low, they practically meet in the middle.

Nyota can only shake her head. "Excited much?"

"Oh, Nyota!" Gaila links her arm through hers and pulls her along in quick strides. "Do you realize that, the last time we had a real girl's night out, at a bar and a club, it was, like, a million centuries ago?"

"Or two weeks ago? Are you, by chance, going by the Orion calendar?"

Her roommate waves dismissively at her snarky comment. "I'm just glad that I didn't have to knock you out and drag you from Kyle's lab like I threatened to." Gaila bounds over to the building in front of them and presses a few keys.

"Now, even though your dressed like you're retired or something—"

"I beg your pardon!" Nyota's outfit is decidedly more regulation, as she wears a practical black skirt, boots and a sleeveless top with thick straps. "I look fine. Actually, better than fine!"

"You look like you're going to a funeral, Nyota."

"Well then, I'll just go get my hearse and head back to the lab—"

"No, no, no!" Gaila grabs her arm and pulls her next to her. "It's on tonight!" she continues excitedly. "Rand and I are single again. You and Chapel—"

"Can be your babysitters?"

"No," Gaila says, with a trace of hesitation, "You and Chapel can watch the masters at work, and learn how to have fun. F–U–N. FUN!" She curtseys in a very exaggerated manner, making Nyota both laugh and snort loudly.

A sharp buzz cuts through the air. It should be a message from the apartment Janice Rand and Christine Chapel share together. Gaila touches the screen, and promptly shouts into the flat microphone: "CHAPEL! RAND! GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE NOW!" She pauses. "STAT!" she adds, mostly for Christine's benefit.

Nyota does not waste her breath to chastise her. Instead, Christine Chapel's mild voice comes out of the speakers. "Gaila, what did we tell you about swearing on the comm?"

Gaila touches the button again. "Chapel, you'd better wear something that shows off the girls, or I swear I'll—"

The door slides open. "Or, you'll what?"

Gaila squeals again and throws her arms around Christine Chapel's long neck. The nursing cadet manages to keep her balance, even though she's being squeezed to death, laughing at the overly dramatic humanoid.

"Oh Nyota, I'm so glad you're coming," Christine sighs in her soft voice. She smirks at the Orion who keeps pressing the button to urge Janice Rand outside. "I don't think I can handle the two of them by myself."

Nyota hugs her friend. "No kidding. Chris, you look great."

"I look like a grandmother compared to you two. You haven't seen the insanity Janice is wearing."

Christine, with her dark jeans and light sweater, is dressed far more conservatively than the other two women. No one can accuse Christine Chapel of not being pretty, though. She is very much so, even if she looks rather naïve, innocent. She has lovely long blond hair, which she wears down tonight in big waves instead of her trademark bun. Her morning jogs keep her in good shape. And she has bright blue eyes that are large and inquisitive, giving her a youthful quality. It surprises people, particularly her instructors, who do not expect the keen intellect and world-weariness beneath the girlish exterior. It is a toughness born from her work as an emergency room nurse at Chicago General, as well as a personal tragedy that she remembers by wearing her fiancée's ring attached to a necklace.

Chapel swats Gaila's hand from the touch screen. "Sweetie, you're going to break that. And be patient. She's coming down right—"

The entrance flies open. Janice Rand stands before them, striking a pose, wearing something that is decidedly not regulation. It is probably expensive, because Janice does have exquisite taste in clothing as she does with men, and it definitely shows way too much skin.

"I'm HE-ERE!" she announces, although it is not necessary. "Admit it, I look awesome as hell."

Christine's head falls into her hands as she sighs exasperatedly. Nyota goggles at how much skin her friend decided to bare tonight.

"Janice! You're barely wearing anything."

"I know, I know. It's something I snagged on my last trip to Betazed. Seriously, half of their ceremonies involve nudity of some sort. It's crazy! But, I do look damn good, right?" she asks, smirking. It is more of a rhetorical question. Of course, Janice knows she looks amazing, because she is probably among the hottest female cadets at Starfleet. She is quite smart too, as she is Engineering-track. But out of the four of them, Janice is by far the laziest. She much prefers partying to studies and extra credit, coasting throughout the term and scoring just high enough on the tests to get a good, occasionally, an excellent grade. As the daughter of two Federation ambassadors, she is more than a little well connected. She will have her pick of ships after graduation.

Gaila stares at Janice. "You look damn good." She squeals a third time and wraps Janice up in an embrace, making the stunning blond grin broadly. With her arm still around Janice's shoulders, she grins triumphantly at their other two friends.

"Ladies, it's time to show San Francisco who the hot girls are!"

Nyota and Christine simply stare at each other. "Oh no!" they exclaim in perfect unison.


Christine brings the bottle of Budweiser Classic to her lips, shaking her head at her roommate and the Orion at the bar. "We aren't making it to the club, are we?"

Nyota chuckles, taking another sip of her Slusho Mix. "Why do we need to dance, when all the men here have heeded their mating call?" She gestures to the bar, where Gaila and Janice are standing side-by-side, in garments that barely qualify as clothing, Around them, the men swarm like bees around blossoms — or hyenas around pieces of meat.

"You know," Christine starts, "when I signed up for the Academy, I don't remember checking the box that asked, 'Would you be willing to be a surrogate mother for wayward cadets who love showing off their bodies and getting laid'?" Nyota laughs as Christine takes another drink. "I know I'm too old for this."

"You and me both, Chris."

"Nyota, you're almost 23. I'm 35!"

"And you don't look a day over 25."

They tip their glasses against each other.

"So," Christine says, "what's going on with you, and why are you over here with this old fuddy-duddy and not up there getting free drinks?"

She forces out a sigh as her mind turns to Spock. She has absolutely no problems going out for a drink and a dance with the girls, but she knows perfectly well that the majority of men, or male humanoids, only have one thing on their minds. She'll talk with them, fine, and make friendly conversation. But, of course she will stop short of flirting.

"I've been fine. Not much going on, you know." She forces nonchalance into her voice; she hates not telling people about her and Spock, but she needs to keep the information limited as much as possible. "I'm not much in the mood for socializing like Gaila and Rand are. I just needed to get out of Kyle's lab and the apartment. And it's been too long since we all got together."

Christine hums contemplatively. "It wouldn't have anything to do with Commander Spock now, would it?"

"You really should learn not to listen to Gaila—"

"On the contrary," she replies in her soft voice, her large eyes turning to Nyota, an enigmatic smile playing across her face, "Gaila's gone oddly quiet about you and your Commander. Just like that." She snaps her fingers. "And we know that Gaila never shuts up about anything."

Nyota lets her head fall backward. "I really can't—" She feels a hand gently pat her knee.

"Don't worry, I won't say a word to anyone." Christine gives her a wink. "I guessed about you two on my own, but I definitely don't want you to get into trouble, okay? I won't even tell Janice, and if she guesses too, I won't encourage it."

"Thank you," she whispers with sincerity. "We've told the council, and we're supposed to be discreet. So if you didn't tell anyone, I — we — would really appreciate it."

"Besides," the blond-haired cadet says, refocusing on their friends at the bar and making sure they are all right, "if the Academy kicks you out, how in the world am I supposed to handle those two on my own without your help?"

Nyota snorts — and then she groans. For into the bar walks James T. Kirk, followed closely by Leonard McCoy.

"Oh hell!"

"What?"

Nyota nods at the two new customers, who are looking around them. "In walked trouble."

"Who? McCoy?" Christine asks, a smile on her face. She laughs, a light tinkling sound that is pleasant to hear.

"No, not him. Kirk!" She points at the younger man, already gravitating to a couple of girls at the bar. "McCoy's fine."

Christine bobs her head in agreement. "Yes he is. He's not trouble at all. In fact, he's very skilled. Talented."

"He's also a bit — is colorful the right word?"

"How about 'fluent in provocative communication.' But he's quite handsome."

"Christine!"

"Well, he is, Nyota. You should see him in scrubs."

"Chapel? Uhura?" asks a gruff, Southern accented voice. The two women look up, Christine spluttering in her beer. In front of them stands Leonard McCoy, smiling with a hint of awkward surprise. His eyes seem to linger mostly on the blond nursing cadet. "Good to see you two out tonight."

Christine wipes her mouth and grins at the doctor. "Leonard, it's nice to see you outside of class."

"Now how many times do I have to tell ya — my friends call me Bones, Chapel?" He puts his hands on his hips with mock indignation, but he is clearly amused, giving her a lopsided grin.

"Well, perhaps I want to stand out from everyone else. And do I need to remind you that it's Christine, Leonard?"

Nyota can barely contain her shocked, but gleeful surprise; seeing Christine flirt with Bones so openly is quite amusing. "Please," she says, holding her hand out, "join us."

"Don't mind if I do. Jim!" McCoy gestures for his friend to join then, and Nyota stifles the Klingon swearword that is about to escape her lips, the thought of Kirk joining them annoying her to no end. But Bones flaps his hand and flattens his mouth. "He's busy, apparently." He sits in the seat held out for him and falls into easy — and welcome — conversation with Christine.

Nyota looks behind her, and rolls her eyes. Jim is chatting with a couple of girls, holding two longnecks in one hand. Gaila and Janice, thankfully, are in a corner farther away, chatting with a couple of other guys.

Stealing a glance at Christine and McCoy, who are no doubt sharing tales about Advanced Xenopathology, she leaves them be and approaches Kirk. She taps on the cadet's shoulder.

"Wha–? Hey! Uhura." He flashes her a huge smile and whispers something to the two giggly, busty girls that are with him. They nod and depart, although Jim's eyes remain permanently planted on their backsides. Finally, he turns his attention back to Nyota. "What's up? Whoa — is that an Orion over there?"

She pulls him to a corner of the bar, drawing his attention back to her and away from her roommate, who has, thankfully, not spotted Kirk. "I wanted to see how you're doing, but it looks like you're better."

That arrogant smirk makes its appearance again, and Kirk sets his bottle of beer down on the countertop of the bar. "So you do get worried about me, huh?"

She remains serious, folding her arms together. She hopes her body language will deter him from making any unwanted and vulgar comments. "I was, because I saw that you almost strangled a librarian over a dissertation, which you could've gotten easily through the database."

He winces. "Yeah… I sort of remembered that after snapping in the library. Bones took great pains to remind me."

She snorts. "Also you looked like hell."

"As you can see, Cadet Beautiful, I clean up well!" He does. There are no fresh scars on his face and no bags under his eyes. Her lips twitch and she spins around to head back to her table.

"Whoa! Whoa there, Uhura." Kirk grabs her arm.

"Yes?"

"I know I was acting like a maniac that day you saw me in the library. There were a couple of weeks there when I wasn't myself at all. I just wanted to thank you for helping McCoy get me back to our apartment."

She looks at him suspiciously. Kirk sounds somewhat nice and humble, but she expects that he will add something that will ruin the moment. However, thankfully, he does not.

"You're welcome," she replies cautiously.

"You sound like you don't believe me."

"I half-expect that whatever comes out of your mouth will be something rude, arrogant, or sexual in nature."

"Ah! Well, far be it from me to disappoint you—"

Nyota groans and holds her hand up as she turns around again. "Forget it."

"Okay! All right, I won't, I won't. But I do need to ask you something."

Nyota pivots. She will probably be very dizzy before this evening ends. "Ask."

"If — if — I were to take the Kobayashi Maru again, would you, Cadet Still-Refuses-To-Tell-Me-Your-First-Name Uhura, be my communications officer? Again?"

She opens her mouth to say no—

"And before you say no, this time I'll be more professional and less cocky. Promise."

Nyota cannot stop her mouth. "Is that even possible?"

Kirk looks at her, annoyed. "Don't you believe in second chances? Plus, if you aren't there to help keep me in line, I could very well go full batshit on the administrators. C'mon, Uhura." He flaps his hand, making a beckoning motion. C'mon – c'mon – c'mon – c'mon—"

"Alright, alright! If you take the Kobayashi Maru again, I'll be your communications officer."

"Naked?"

"Don't push it, Kirk!"


Her hands caress it gently, the sensation of such intimate contact warming the tips of her fingers.

Nyota hums. She smiles and looks into Spock's eyes. "It's beautiful."

"You handle my instrument well, Nyota. If I did not know better, I would say that you are an expert."

"I know I've got a lot of things to learn about playing your instrument, Spock." She shuts her eyes and continues stroking it. "But I could play it all day long."

"And I would not stop you."

"You wouldn't, hm?" She opens her eyes and looks at him.

"I would never pass on the opportunity to listen to the Vulcan lute." He gestures to the object Nyota holds against her body. "The tones it produces stimulate the portions of the Vulcan brain that are affected by our mediation. Our music, therefore, relaxes us, helps refocus and center our minds, our emotional impulses."

She looks at the smooth wood, at the curve of the handle, and she gives the strings one last pluck. "It's so lovely."

This is the second time she has worked with the lute, and Spock admires how much her finger work has improved. Indeed, with music, as with languages, she learns very quickly. As she is about to place it back on the glass coffee table in Spock's sparsely decorated, simply furnished apartment, the Vulcan touches her hand, halting her.

"If you would allow me, I will teach you a song." She nods and Spock moves her so that she faces away from him, her back pressed against his chest.

"What are you—?" She stops talking.

His arms circle her body. His hands rest on top of hers. She stills. This feels good.

Truly, this feels amazing.

"Mimic the placement of my fingers on the neck," he says, his mouth close to her ear, his breath dancing on her skin. She complies, and she lets Spock guide her hand.

The melody, at once haunting and familiar, wafts through the air. The song is melancholy in sound, thanks to the harp. The style is different from the original version, but Nyota knows it. Her ear tweaks at the notes and she hums each note, reaching into the back of her mind for a memory—

She can hardly believe it.

"The Beatles," she says breathlessly. She turns and faces Spock, whose face is so very close. "This is She Loves You."

"Your tone indicates surprise."

Their fingers are laced, but still they move across the neck, producing the now different, but still recognizable melody. "It's just… you know The Beatles?"

"I was tested on various areas of Earth culture in our learning center. There was a unit on the master composers of the twentieth century. Among them was the catalog of John Lennon and Paul McCartney."

She shivers with pleasure at the silky tone of his voice. It is his private voice, the one he saves only for her. That soft sound, the music of the lute, his body wrapped around hers... damn if the room does not suddenly feel hotter.

They finish playing the final chords. She turns her head toward his, smiling when she faces him fully. "You learned about The Beatles on Vulcan? Your world amazes me."

His chin practically touches her shoulder, which is partially bare thanks to another sleeveless top that she borrowed from Gaila. Her skin tingles as it anticipates contact with the Vulcan… if he decided to kiss me there

She can feel his chest rise against the small of her back. It surprises her, sometimes, the location of the Vulcan heart. But it beats, and it beats fast. Although the speed is normal for a Vulcan, she would like to think that perhaps, just perhaps, she has an affect on him.

Spock takes the instrument from her grasp and places it gently on the table in front of his couch. Nyota closes her eyes as he touches her hair. He holds the strands in his hand, feeling the tendrils in his palm.

"There are advantages to this particular style." With a finger, he sweeps a lock from her forehead.

"You like my hair down?" She brings her hand to his cheek, rubbing circles with her thumb.

"It is not regulation, but it is pleasing to the visual and tactile senses."

"Is it pleasing to your senses?"

She can feel, even hear, the slightest shift in his breathing.

Maybe I do affect him?

It does not last long, and he regains control easily. Neither wait for the other to answer, and they kiss.

Nyota's hand remains on his face, that same wonderful warmth spreading through her. It is more powerful this time, more intense. It takes hold in her chest and envelops her from the inside out, bursting, retreating, and bursting again. The sensation compels her other hand to snake around his waist.

Spock's arms surround her, drawing her to him. His palm spreads flat against her back and another hand cups the nape of her neck. She feels his long fingers weaving through her hair.

Their lips part; Nyota regains her breath, her forehead touching his. She runs her tongue over her lips. "I want you."

"Nyota?"

She meets his dark eyes; although his own breathing is steady and nowhere near as labored as hers, his eyes, heavy-lidded and smoky, tell a far different story.

"Spock, I want you. And I'm pretty sure that you're feeling the same way."

He takes a couple of breaths through his nose, blinking as he does so. "You should not doubt the depth of my—" He stops, searching for the right words. "My desire for you. Physically," he says softly as he touches her hair, "intellectually. On many levels."

She does not waste any more time talking. She brings her lips to his, and they kiss with a greater intensity than before.

That is, before a beep echoes in the room. Spock pulls away and Nyota's hands fall from his face.

"Incoming message. Location: Vulcan. Now receiving: Grayson, Amanda."

Spock pulls away from Nyota. If the announcement affects him, he does not show it. "Computer, please relay the message to my office. Nyota, you will excuse me." He gets up from his couch, and leaves the room.

Deciding to freshen up, Nyota slowly walks away from the living room of the apartment and around the corner. The apartment contains various shades of browns and tans. Any ornamentation inside serves a purpose, saying something of Spock's home world. A couple of Vulcan daggers hang on the wall. A Vulcan flute sits on a shelf. She touches a small, metallic teapot resting next to a cluster of pots containing plants he uses in meditation. Each piece reveals something about him, about his home world. It makes her smile.

As she turns toward the hallway, in her search for the bathroom, her ears perk up at the sound of a conversation being spoken entirely in Vulcan Prime. She can hear Spock's voice, dispassionate in tone. Replying to him was a female voice possessing a warm quality.

A very human quality.

"...A mother's prerogative, Spock."

"Indeed. However, I am not in distress nor am I in need of monitoring at the present moment."

"When a mother misses her child, it is normal to contact them." There is a gentle laugh. "Apparently, I miss you. A great deal."

Nyota does not mean to eavesdrop, but the shock of the laughter, the realization that this is Spock's mother, overcoming her sense of propriety.

"I wanted to tell you, Spock: T'Pring has asked the elders that she would prefer to relinquish her bond."

Nyota peeks past the entrance. She sees Spock, sitting in a chair, his attention given wholly to the illuminated screen in front of him. She cannot see his mother from her angle, but she can hear her perfectly.

And she finds herself intrigued by this T'Pring person.

"I thought that impossible without undergoing the proper rituals."

"Traditionally, it is. But the elders are searching to see if there's an acceptable solution to her request. Your father does not wish the bond to be severed, but he is working with the elders on the task. They have asked for his assistance."

"They are unlikely to find an answer. If there were a simpler solution other than the Kali-if-fee, it would have been utilized. It is an exercise in futility."

"They're still looking, dear. But enough of that unpleasant business. I want to know how you're doing. I feel as though I haven't spoken to you in ages."

"It has been one month and fifteen days, according to the Earth calendar, Mother. That is not the standard definition of 'ages.'"

"Yes, but for me, going a month without speaking to you is far too long."

Nyota cannot stop a bubble of laughter from bursting out; knowing Spock's mother was human is one thing, but listening to the commander conversing with his mother is unexpected. Spock, who values logic and cool reasoning above all emotion, can still be ruffled by his parents.

Some things simply do not change from species to species.

Spock looks up in her direction.

"Nyota?" He talks at the same time his mother also asks — in English — "Spock, you didn't tell me you have company."

Nyota really wants to kick herself; she cannot believe she can be so rude — or so conspicuous. "Sorry," she whispers. Spock bows his head and turns back to the monitor.

"Mother," Spock replies, "I do have company this evening. I was under the impression that our conversation would not last long, so I did not tell you that she was here."

"She? Why son, is this the girl you told me about—"

Before she can continue, Spock clears his throat and stands. "Nyota, you may enter." He speaks slightly louder and more rapidly than normal, cutting his mother off before she can finish her statement.

Apparently, Spock has discussed her with his mother prior to their relationship. And furthermore, his mother has the ability to embarrass him. This could be very entertaining.

Slowly, she approaches the desk and stands next to the Vulcan. The woman on the screen has brown eyes, shaped like Spock's, but bigger. Her face is slightly lined, mature but far from old. She smiles, and Nyota wonders if this is what Spock might look like if he ever allowed himself such an indulgence as an expression of happiness or joy.

"Mother, this is Cadet Nyota Uhura. She is a former student of mine."

"Oh, this is Cadet Uhura?" Mrs. Grayson — or is it Mrs. Sarek? — looks at her with obvious, but controlled excitement. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Please call me Nyota," she replies with a gentle voice and a smile. "Uh, Mrs.—?"

"Amanda, dear. Please, I insist." Her eyes move to her son, and she speaks in Vulcan Prime again. "Son, you provided a very complimentary description of her, but it didn't do her justice. She's beautiful!"

Nyota chuckles; she looks at Spock, whose face has darkened slightly and whose jaw has tightened a minute amount. "Mother, I did tell you that Cadet… Nyota is fluent in Vulcan."

"Oh? She is?"

"Yes. We have had more than one conversation about that topic."

Amanda presses her fingers to her mouth. "Ah! Yes, now I remember. I apologize for my memory lapse," she responds, returning to English. Nyota grins, and in a surprising moment, Amanda gives her a wink.

"Spock, I'll let you two return to your evening."

"Thank you."

Amanda gives her son the Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper, dear."

He returns the gesture. "Live long and prosper, Mother."

"It was nice to meet you, Nyota."

"Same here, Amanda."

The older woman bows her head and the screen goes black, save for the symbol of the Federation.

"I apologize. At times, my mother can be indulgent."

Nyota laughs. "She's a mom. That's what they do."

His expression is flat, except for his nostrils, which expand slightly due to a sharp intake of air, connoting slight annoyance. "It can be vexing."

"She wouldn't be a mother if she wasn't."

He faces Nyota as they continue to stand in his office. "I will understand if the interruption has altered the mood of the evening and you wish to resume this at a later date."

"Not quite," she says, touching his chest. Certainly a part of her wants to proceed where they left off, which was the possibility of seeing him without his clothing. However, another part of her wants to know about something she overheard.

"Spock, I want to ask you a question."

"You may ask."

"Who is T'Pring? And what is this bond T'Pring has that she wants to sever? And what in the world does it have to do with you?"

Spock avoids looking at her directly. His eyes sweep to a point behind her head, and she watches him swallow.

"Okay, so I wanted to ask you three questions." She tries to keep this light, but something in his reaction, in his avoidance, gnaws at her, and suspicion creeps into her words.

He meets her eyes. "Apparently, the time has come to have this discussion. Before we proceed any further in our relationship."