A/N: Here we are! Sorry it took so long. Something about moving, new job, blah blah. I upped the rating because there is reference to sex in this chapter. Reference, mind, nothing even approaching explicit. Just warning you.
Beta love: mhgood rocks my socks.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything, I'm only playing.
They first made love the same day that a cadet named Kirk first failed the Kobayashi Maru.
Nyota, who was acquainted with Kirk, despite having entered the Academy a year before him, had somehow been contrived to participate in the simulation as communications officer. When Spock had asked her why her more junior classmate had requested her specifically, she had simply rolled her eyes and said "Please. Can we talk about...anything...else?" Spock had never met Kirk before, as the cadet majored in neither computer science nor linguistics, but his reputation, both intellectual and otherwise, preceded him. His name had been used between the faculty, sometimes in awe, often in exasperation. Even the custodial engineering supervisor, upon seeing who was undergoing the exam that morning, interrupted his reprogramming of the simulation supervision room's cleaning bot, stood from his work, stepped to the observation window, and said "Now this I want to see..."
Spock watched the cadet enter the room in a manner that could only be described as swaggering, but turned back to his console on the start of the simulation. He had spent the days leading up to Kirk's examination adjusting the artificial intelligence of the simulated Klingon Warbirds. He calculated a low probability that Kirk would bring a new approach to bear on the problem, but, when time is abundant and reputational stakes are high, it is often advisable to take additional precautions. Cadet Kirk was particularly intelligent, despite what his behavioral record might indicate. Spock wanted to guarantee that the model would respond adequately in the event that Kirk did anything unexpected over the course of the simulation.
His preventative measures proved unnecessary. Cadet Kirk set a record for the shortest time spent in simulation --3 minutes, 34 seconds-- before the Klingons destroyed the civilian ship and turned their carefully programmed guns on the simulation vessel. Spock only quickly caught the look on the Cadet's face before turning to initiate the program's shut down sequence. He looked pensive.
Spock, on the other hand, welcomed the reprieve. There were cadets who stood off with the Klingons for hours, continuing well into the evening, engaging in time-consuming evasive maneuvers. A pilot-in-training by the name of Hikaru Sulu had persevered for eight hours before finally, and correctly, concluding that the situation was unwinnable and refusing point-blank to cross into the neutral zone. Such durations were to be expected across the normal distribution (a conclusion predicated on the hypothesis that test-taking followed a normal distribution; his sample size, at this point, allowed him to make this assumption with reasonably high confidence) but still made for rather less interesting uses of Spock's time. Long simulations could be informative, and often suggested additional improvements to his model. However, they also decreased the amount of evening time he could devote to leisure, of which he was not typically granted an overabundance. Today was a good day; he valued the gift that Kirk had unwittingly bestowed.
In his quarters, he anticipated her arrival. When they were around others, in class, preparing for lectures, passing in the hall, they deliberately betrayed little knowledge of one another. He had spoken to her in public that morning, in fact, before proctoring Kirk's exam, as she handed him the graded assignments for his phonology class with a respectful "Sir," and a nod.
"Cadet Uhura. You have finished this grading earlier than I had anticipated." This was for the benefit of the professor of xeno-religio classic texts, who was exiting the lecture hall before Advanced High Vulcan Phonemes.
"Yes, sir. I felt that a timely return of the assignment would assist the students in preparing for next week's exam."
"Your timeliness is evidence of your work ethic." This was a compliment from him, though humans did not always recognize it as such. "I will return these after class. Dismissed."
She turned on her heel and returned to her seat at the rear of the auditorium. He did not watch her go. It occurred to him, as he turned to the lectern to prepare the holos of the glottal configurations they were to cover that day, that an astute observer would have unequivocally noticed a change in their behavior since their conversation on the edge of the Bay, five months previous. Prior to the establishment of their formal relationship, a simple exchange such as the one in which they had just engaged (which had taken, by his estimate, 12.7 seconds) would have taken quite a bit more time (35 seconds, perhaps?). She would have lingered, he may have made a more extensive comment on her time management, sleep habits, teased. Their hands may have brushed over the assignments. It was only once they were involved romantically that such additional interactions ceased altogether. She was considerably less demonstrative now that they were involved, and he similarly dampened his (considerably less apparent) reactions to her. It was as though she were a different person entirely in public; they kept their two halves carefully separated.
The private half of Nyota Uhura now smiled on entering his quarters, broadly, approached his position at the table, laid her hands gently on his shoulders, from behind, and kissed the top of his head. A mild tension in his shoulders loosened; his posture relaxed imperceptibly. "I picked up some dinner. I hope you don't mind, I wanted to stay in tonight and was too lazy to get proper groceries."
"I will eat whatever pleases you."
"You always say that."
"I have never said it when it was not true."
She laughed, then, took her hands from his back, and pulled out the seat next to him at the table. "How was your day? It's nice to see you."
"I believe you observed the activities that occupied the majority of my day."
"Yes, but I imagine the view is different from where you sat; I had to spend most of it keeping my cleavage from the view of Cadet Jones."
"The Cadet assigned to the flight control simulator?"
"The very one. You wouldn't happen to have the power to expel him, would you?"
"As I have mentioned several times, in times of peace, 'Instructor' does not connote any powers not typically invested in the average civilian professor, even with an officer title attached."
Their banter was easy. Her company was easy. There was much about human relations, human affection, human romance, human intimacy (much about intimacy) that still eluded his understanding, but when she stood in the room and rested her hands against him and teased him about his day, he thought that there was nothing simpler in the world than committing himself to spending every moment in her company.
They settled down to dinner in a manner that was becoming habitual. They did not dine together every evening--neither of their schedules permitted it--but they found time several days a week. He watched her twirl her noodles as he speared his vegetables. She looked tired; her semester schedule was aggressive. He had raised an eyebrow when she first proposed this particular courseload, but he knew her well enough to understand that, with high probability, she would not heed his warnings about the limits of human endurance.
Their conversation continued.
"It is unfortunate that the simulation pilot behaved inappropriately towards you. I hope that you did not feel uncomfortable."
"Well, I am particular about my sources of inappropriate attention. I just set my sights a little higher..."
At this he just about smiled.
"Besides, he's a sight better than Kirk."
"Yes, the failing Cadet himself. You are acquainted with him."
At this, she did smile, and shook her head, customary ponytail shimmering behind her. "Yes. Yes, I am acquainted with Cadet Kirk. You know, I met him in Iowa, of all places?"
He had been to Iowa once, before, at the conclusion of his first tour, to consult on the computer systems for the new flagship. The Enterprise. The visit had been brief, however; he remembered only broad expanses, sunlight, dust.
"I have been to Iowa."
"I was out on a recruiting run at the end of first year. We went to that bar down by the dock, where Starfleet always goes, you know?"
"I am not familiar with that particular place of business, but I understand which type of establishment you are referencing." He paused, considering, calculating. "You were in Iowa at the time that the outer hull of the Enterprise was fully consolidated."
At this, her smile turned more inward, though she did not immediately respond. He paused for a courteous moment before continuing.
"I visited a year or so before, to consult on the computer systems. I subsequently received my posting to the Academy."
"...you didn't plan to teach?"
"I am assigned to the Enterprise, but given the now 52-month delay in construction on the new fleet, it was thought that I required a more permanent interim posting. I suggested an assignment to the Academy. I enjoy teaching. It exposes one to an unremitting flow of of novel ideas and insights."
She spoke earnestly, now "There is nothing, nothing in the universe that I want more than a posting to the Enterprise."
She paused. She shone.
"Seriously. Nothing. I dream of the Enterprise. I fantasize about the Enterprise. I sing about the Enterprise. I..."
She trailed off here, looking a little sheepish at her sudden declaration of love for an unfinished, and, despite his considerable expertise, inanimate starship.
They had discussed professional goals in the abstract over previous dinners. Unlike him, she had planned to join Starfleet from an early age. She hoped for a long-term deep-space research assignment upon graduation, but she had never yet declared with such fervor a preference for a particular ship. He knew that humans were given to particular emotional attachments, but had yet to fully analyze or predict their origins. He enjoyed, for a brief instant, the way this inexplicable emotion made her eyes sparkle.
"You have demonstrated exceptional aural sensitivity and an unparalleled ability to identify sonic anomalies in subspace transmission tests. It is likely you will receive a posting to whichever ship you desire. What about the Enterprise inspires such strong sentiments?"
"It should be finished right as I graduate..."
She launched into an account of the particulars of the Enterprise's state-of-the-art sounding board and communications matrix, and the resolution with which the new equipment might render aural subspace transmissions. He was familiar with these details, but she spoke of them with such animation that he did not interrupt; rather, he enjoyed the sight and sounds of her excitement. Focusing properly on her hands as they emphasized and articulated admitted a mental state that was almost meditative. She referenced the additional distances the Enterprise could reach as compared to its predecessors in exploratory spacecraft. She alluded to, perhaps rather more briefly than she might have, the prestige associated with such a posting.
He himself did not especially feel a desire to serve aboard one ship or the other; all starships found utility in a science officer skilled in computational software; all starships had systems that presented interesting challenges, and most were on missions that presented new challenges and new civilizations. New planets. It was a mark of distinction to be assigned to the flagship, as he was, a testament to his skill, and he understood and acknowledged the honor. He did not, as she did, long for either recognition or adventure, merely new and interesting puzzles and a good use for his unique cross-species insights. He realized, however, that her passion was an unmistakable part of her humanity and her personality. It was an aspect of her personality that he appreciated, even though he would never himself express a desire of any variety with such fervor.
Not that he did not, himself, feel such desires, but it was not in his nature to express them as such. He studied her across the table, the way the lights hit the structure of her face and lit up her eyes, so much more expressive than those of his people. The way her smile made the air between them warm. She was a very attractive woman, he would often admit to himself, and moved in ways that were lithe and efficient and utterly distracting.
They had not yet engaged in physical intercourse in the manner of a traditional romantic human relationship. The idea of desire, and of committing to it, was quite foreign to him. He had found his first week on Earth less disorienting than his first week with her. But he could not deny that she was attractive, beautiful. He had accepted that physicality would be a component of their affections for one another, as was standard in any human (and even Vulcan, if less obviously so) relationships, but he had not yet charted his own course through the complicated matrix of emotions surrounding his attraction to her. He had yet to establish the most appropriate mechanism for acting on them. He was not sure he could do so and maintain his fragile grip on his sanity.
She broke into his thoughts. "I'm sorry, I'm telling you things you already know."
He followed her to the couch. She sank gracefully, wine glass in hand, as she did almost every evening they spent together, so they could continue their conversations in a more comfortable setting. Here, at his simple living room table, they might play tri-dimensional chess, or listen to a recording she had brought, or simply talk about the divergent nature of the two dialects of the Naran-gi of Tromula 9, or about her childhood in Nairobi, or the climatic similarities between her homeworld and his. Here, he allowed himself to indulge his affection for and attraction to her, and she had learned, slowly, that she was permitted to lean against him, that if she put her head there, he might be convinced to lay his arm across hers. That she could play with his fingers, and though he said nothing, the contented tone of his voice would indicate that he enjoyed it.
Touch was uncommon on Vulcan; Vulcans, even in their emotional state, do not crave it as humans do. He had not realized how comforting it could be.
And often, when she turned to him, he might graze his hands along her jaw and lean in to kiss her, as he was now allowed to do, and savor the sensation, and wonder that humans did not spend all their time so engaged.
Today he kissed her in his way, controlled, exploring, reminding himself that, half-human or no, restraint is an admirable quality and his that emotions, indulging them though he may be, required regulation.
They had concluded their discussion of the proper introductory curriculum for cadets potentially interested in communications -- she believed that the current approach contained insufficient breadth -- when he thought back to their dinner conversation.
"Why did you go to a bar whilst in Iowa on a recruiting tour? Were you not on duty?"
"We were, yes...Pike let us go, though in the end he regretted it, what with the multi-man fight Kirk managed to start."
"You went to a bar. To what purpose?"
"You've never been?"
"Such establishments do not exist on Vulcan; I never felt the compulsion as a student. Socializing with humans outside of such environments is sufficiently fascinating."
Perhaps it was an oversight, in retrospect. Coming to Earth had been an explosion of sensations, of people, of experiences.
"Well, you know, you go, you dance."
He imagined her in such a place, hips moving, as human hips do. Smiling, laughing. Talking over loud music, with new friends.
"There is music?"
"It's loud and Terran, you wouldn't like it."
He protested, though the tone of his voice did not change. "There are a number of Terran musical styles I enjoy."
She continued, as she often did, with a look he had come to recognize as teasing. "You get some drinks, you talk with people. You know, let your hair down."
Something about her phrasing struck him. Her hair was always pulled back in some way or another. It was likely several centimeters longer than was within regulation; she kept it out of the way to perform her duties. However, she did not often adopt the top knot so commonly adopted by on-duty female members of Starfleet. He made a mental note to ask why, if the appropriate conversational moment arose.
"'Let your hair down'?"
"How many years have you been on this planet, and you still don't know all of our figures of speech?"
This was phrased, as he had learned over several months in her company, in a manner that was considered flirtatious.
"I am familiar with the turn of phrase. I do not believe I have ever heard it used in context. I am struck by its similarity to the Vulcan phrase--isachya sharush ask'ric--meaning, roughly, to uncover one's hair--"
This definition was tragically inexact, missing the implications of the verb sharush, which connoted the emotional opening up of one being to another, but the idea of her hair being uncovered combined with his belief that her own knowledge of his paternal tongue would render its poetics more adequately than his translation caused him to overlook his own imprecision.
He continued, "-- a parallel I did not recognize when studying it in its textbook form."
"That's what I get for teasing you. I've never heard that one."
"Vulcan does not have bars. The phrase is typically employed in more intimate contexts, always in the second-person feminine singular."
"I see." Her voice had gone more contemplative. She seemed to have discerned his meaning. Humans were more emotional than Vulcans, to be true, but they periodically possessed an understanding of nuance that would give pause to even the most exacting practitioners of Vulcan etiquette. He wondered how they had arrived on this subject, entirely without planning. He suspected that the weight of her against his chest had had unpredictable effects upon his train of thought.
She sat up and looked at him; he resisted to urge to pull her back down against him, to feel her weight. "Hair is be'pulva in Vulcan, yes?" She used the morphologically correct term for intimate aspect. Her voice had dropped a register.
"Yes."
"There are Terran cultures where the female's hair must always be covered, as a barrier to temptation, or as a supplication to God."
"Modesty is valued on Vulcan, though the female head coverings is considered more symbolic than ritualistically necessary, as in the cultures you reference."
She trailed her fingers against his forearm, seeming not to think about it, and his eyes closed very slightly in response.
"So, 'letting your hair down on Vulcan' is...sexual."
He swallowed, hard, at the look she was quite suddenly giving him, straight and brazen.
"Yes."
"Wouldn't Kirk have liked that, huh?" She was almost talking to herself. She reached up with her other hand, not the one that was trailing circles over his arm, and grabbed hold of the elastic that held her ponytail in place. The moment in which she pulled the elastic from her hair seemed to last for generations, though he knew, logically, that time passed as normal. One human woman did not have the power to move quickly enough to warp or slow the speed of time.
Her hair came out, tumultuous, its natural wave manifesting over her shoulders, an ocean, and surrounded her face with a softness he had yet to see in her.
She seemed to sense that he was at a loss for words--perhaps the part of her personality he appreciated the most was her understated understanding of his limitations--but he reached for her jaw and the hem of her shirt and she seemed to understand, standing up after he kissed her and taking his hand.
There was much about her that he was finding comfortable. Routine, even. Enjoyable but not overwhelming. Their relationship, though not logical from the start, had become so, in that she fit into the sense of his day and his life, and in doing so allowed him some measure of control over his feelings for her. Here, he was once again on unfamiliar ground. What would she like? What did one customarily say in this situation? Was it logical to give in to a desire for physical pleasure? Over the course of their relationship, he had attempted to temper this sentiment in the same way that he attempted to temper all sentiments. To like her without being overwhelmed. To want her without being overcome.
Was it logical to give in to a desire for her company in the first place? He had known, after all, what a relationship with a human woman entailed. Here she was. And he wanted her. And she appeared to share the sentiment.
However, it was necessary in human society to verify that she felt the same way, that she was amenable to further physical contact, before it was initiated. He wondered how she so repeatedly led him into such unfamiliar situations. He pulled away, looked her in the eyes, and asked, in a way he would himself condemn under normal circumstances--spending so much time with her made him behave more like a human, much as he was loathe to admit it--"Nyota?"
She smiled, shushed him, tugged him from the couch towards his bedroom, showed him the way.
A/N: I will allow your imaginations to fill in the blanks.