A/N: This chapter is long on exposition. I spent a lot of time in Uhura's (and then Kirk's) head –

so not a lot in the way of action or dialogue, but I hope, still interesting.

Chapter Five

Stepping into her own quarters a short while later, Nyota stripped out of her clothes. Laying them neatly over a chair tucked into the corner of the sleeping area, she pulled a faded, red t-shirt from a shelf in the closet. Tugging on the oversized shirt, she padded barefoot into the bathroom to wash her face.

Returning to the other room, she sat on the narrow bed and curled her legs beneath her. Reaching for a brush from the nearby nightstand, she pulled at the elastic band securing her ponytail and with a little shake of her head, allowed the mass of dark hair to fall past her shoulders. Lulled into a hypnotic state by the rhythmic pull of the brush, she closed her eyes and imagined that it was Kirk's hands in her hair. She thought of the absent manner in which he allowed the silken strands to slither through his fingers as they relaxed in his quarters at the end of a long day; shivered at the image of the rope of her ponytail wrapped possessively around his fist to hold her captive while his mouth moved demandingly over hers; smiled at the recollection of the gentleness of his fingers combing through the dark mane spread over his pillows, of his face buried in the fragrant locks as he moved deeply within her. And her cheeks heated as she realized that Christine had indeed caught a glimpse of such intimacies earlier that day.

Christine had teasingly asked what he was like behind closed doors and Nyota had offered innocuous breadcrumbs without giving specific detail. His easy command style reflected both his youth and personality and as a result, interaction between crew and commander was markedly more relaxed on the Enterprise than one would find anywhere else in Starfleet.

But she was coming to learn that his ready smile and the surface openness of his public persona were a shield protecting his private self from all but the few he allowed behind the defenses he had erected. She was acutely aware that while she enjoyed a personal and intimate relationship with him, he was first and foremost – and always – the captain and that for all his inexperience, he had somehow intuitively struck a chord which allowed him to enjoy a fierce personal loyalty from the crew while still commanding the respect due his rank.

Leaning back into the pillows she admitted that she liked knowing that she was one of the few to enjoy being in his confidence and she guarded the private side of the man – as well as their relationship – with care

She sighed and slid her legs under the covers. It seemed her conversation with Christine had made her contemplative. Nyota kicked her feet in mild irritation. Up until now, she had been content simply to enjoy the time she had been spending with him without giving it any kind of deep analysis. But now it seemed she could do little else.

At one point, Christine had asked her to use one word to describe him and instinctively she had chosen 'complex' and then refused to expand on her answer, choosing instead to change the subject. She had avoided going into detail but there were so many things she could have told her friend – all the ways in which she was coming to know him better.

Little things.

Like the fact that she knew now that he was most relaxed when surrounded by some kind of ambient noise – whether it was music playing or the sound of the voices of announcers calling the play-by-play of some sporting event droning quietly in the background while he worked or read during his off-duty hours.

And big.

Such as the realization that the crude and callow image he liked to project was a sham. She had angrily called him on it once after watching him feign ignorance during a meeting with an arrogant director of a Starfleet outpost near the Klingon border. He had smiled serenely and silently as she chastised him for pretending not to be up to speed on reports of the director's foolish mismanagement of the outpost which left it vulnerable to attack when she knew well that he had stayed up late into the night prior to the meeting intently studying the director's file. It wasn't until the second meeting that she realized his feigned ineptitude was a weapon he had wielded to lull the director into a false sense of superiority. The man had been stunned by Kirk's gradual transformation from slow-witted, youthful ignorance to razor sharp intelligence. Caught off-guard, the man had tripped over his answers and sealed his own fate.

She could have pointed out that the easy-going, devil may care, sometimes reckless attitude he so often displayed was in fact a persona he cultivated to hide the worries and demons which drove him. That the lingering effects of George Kirk's heroic actions a quarter century earlier were both a burden and blessing to the son who had never met his father.

She knew the concerns that gnawed at him in the quiet hours, primary of which was the idea that he had not earned his rank. That the decision to grant to him command of the Fleet's flagship was rooted more in the fascination in which the public held him and the need to not only boost the morale of the rank and file in the wake of so much destruction, but also recruitment to replenish the ranks of those lost, than it was in his ability to lead. There was a certain dramatic poetry in elevating the dashing son of a beloved Federation hero to such dizzying heights. She knew that he understood that he had been rewarded light years beyond his experience and that despite their decision to bestow medals and commendations on him, the admiralty believed the same.

And though he had never given voice to it, she knew that he regretted having no true peer to whom he could turn for counsel. Never before in the history of the Federation had a Starfleet officer made the leap from cadet directly to captain. There was not a soul alive who could advise him on how to handle his unprecedented vault through the ranks. In the normal course of events his education would not have halted at the doors of the Academy but would have continued as he became proficient in the operation and administration of a starship with a steady progression through the ranks from junior officer to captain. Instead he made do by spending many of his on and off-duty hours working in and studying every part of the ship, picking the brains of the various department heads as well as devouring the archived transcripts of logs maintained by captains who had preceded him.

Ordering the lights out, Nyota nestled her cheek into the soft coolness of a pillow and smiled. For all his worry, she knew that he absolutely thrived on the challenges presented by his meteoric rise. She suspected that had tragedy not propelled him to his current position, he would have spent the ensuing years badly concealing his impatience as he worked his way up the chain of command, struggling to curtail his restlessness and surely would have driven his superior officers insane in their efforts to rein him in without extinguishing the spark that made him stand out from his peers. As it was, she knew there were those at Starfleet Command who regularly rebuked him for flaunting the rules, but who were forced to stifle – for the most part – their outrage when his methods had proven thus far to be effective, if not conventional.

But as driven as he was to earn his rank and prove that Starfleet had not made a mistake promoting him so rapidly, he was also supremely confident in his decisions. He put immense faith in the counsel of his senior officers, the ability of his crew to do their jobs and finally in his own judgment. And when something went wrong, he locked himself away, studying his staff's reports as well as his own logs - both personal and official – to learn what he should have or could have done differently.

He was far from perfect. Arrogance and the possession of a mercurial temper were chief among his faults. And yet there was something undeniably compelling about him.

He made her laugh. His humor ran the gamut from sly wit to biting sarcasm and boyish pranks depending on the situation.

He made her think. Surrounded as she was by some of the best young minds in the Fleet, he stood out as having an unmatched inquisitiveness. He enjoyed sparring with Spock over quantum chemistry or discussing transporter theory with Chekov during the sometimes long, dull hours of a quiet shift and happily droned on about tactical analysis with anyone who would listen. He honed his accent and linguistic skills with her over meals, grinning as he translated dirty limericks or song lyrics into Klingon. He laughingly insisted that the most important class he had taken at the Academy had been creative writing, grinning whenever McCoy dryly pointed out that it was certainly the part of his education he employed most often – such as when drafting mission reports for Starfleet.

He had utter confidence in her ability to do her job and treated her with the same respect and sense of camaraderie as he did the rest of the crew and did not hesitate to seek her counsel both on duty and off when he was grappling with a problem.

And he was mindful of keeping rank from playing a role in their personal lives. Leveling the playing field between them by removing the outward symbols of his rank, he stripped out of his uniform tunic the moment they were behind closed doors. On or off duty, when they were around others, he addressed her by her rank or last name and she called him 'captain' or 'sir'. But never in the privacy of his quarters.

Well, she thought, hugging the pillow to her chest, except for one evening a few weeks earlier when her whispered confession of a secret fantasy had led to a particularly inventive bit of role-playing. A shudder rippled through her as the memories played in her mind's eye – powerful hands shoving the hem of her uniform skirt over her hips; calloused fingertips dancing over delicate flesh. A leanly muscled chest pressing into the arched curve of her spine; breath hot against her ear, a roughly growling voice demanding she obey his commands…

Her pulse tripped and she closed her eyes as the soft whisper of a shaky 'yes, Sir' echoed in her head.

She buried her face in the pillow and let out a muffled gasp. She had deliberately chosen to return to her own quarters that evening rather than joining him in his, as had become her routine. Feeling protective of her independence after her conversation with Christine, she had left her friend determined that it would be good for her to have more time apart from him.

Instead she had spent the entire evening talking and thinking about him.

And… oh God! Suddenly, it became clear that she was on the precipice of falling for him and she didn't care one whit for the sense of being off balance. It was so easy for him, she thought with a snarl. He was used to people turning to him like plants to the sun. The sneaky bastard had somehow gotten past her defenses.

Well, she'd be damned if she'd be one of the masses, she huffed, working herself into a state.

She cautioned herself not to panic. She had willpower didn't she? She hadn't taken the final plunge. She could step back from the brink. End things between them while they were still just friends.

But the truth was that their friendship had only been in its infancy when it had turned to romance. She did not know how long it would take to get back to that point, if ever, and could not bear to think of the impact it would have on their ability to work smoothly together. It had been different with Spock. The idea of allowing hurt feelings to come between them had been so illogical to him that it had been easy for them to fall into a pattern of enjoying a comfortable camaraderie.

She suspected it would not be the same with Kirk.

She kicked away the covers and sat up. Gnawed on one fingernail and blew out a shaky breath. This was exactly why she had shied away from the idea of a romantic entanglement with him. But she had been so charmed by him. She had wanted him and had convinced herself that a love affair with the very sexy Jim Kirk need be nothing more than a fun interlude. She hadn't counted on developing real feelings for him and she was terrified at the thought of not being in control.

Damn it. She did not want to be the one to fall first. What if she opened herself up and he didn't return her feelings? Agitated, she twisted a lock of hair around her finger and forced herself to slow down and think rationally. Maybe she wasn't alone in this. After all, he had told her once that she was the only woman who had ever made him think of forever.

But at her insistence, they had kept things between them easy and simple. And as a result, there had been no more talk of tomorrows. Maybe he had had changed his mind. Maybe he was absolutely content with the uncomplicated path she had set them on.

Maybe she was the only one risking her heart.

Then again, Christine had been adamant that she had seen something in his expression…

He wasn't a perfect man though it seemed suddenly that he might be the perfect man for her.

But to paraphrase him, if she was going down, she wasn't going down alone. If she decided she wanted him, she'd have him. But since she wanted him to say it first, she'd have to make him think it was his idea.

Perhaps she'd start putting her plan into motion by allowing him to miss her a little.

She flopped back onto the bed and drew the covers up to her shoulders. Punched the pillows into shape. Rolled from one side to the other in search of a comfortable position. Tried to shut her brain off long enough to fall asleep.

Ten minutes later she sat up, frustration pumping off her in almost visible waves. She was being silly. Why was she lying here alone when what she wanted was two decks below? It wouldn't be a sign of weakness on her part if she went to see him. She rose from the bed and tugged soft, stretchy leggings over her hips.

After all, his quarters were more comfortable than hers, she reasoned as she stuffed her feet into a pair of shoes and shoved her arms into the sleeves of a bulky cardigan, ignoring the sly sound of her own voice whispering that the true appeal wasn't the generous comfort of more spacious quarters which drew her, but the man who lived in them.

xxxxxxx

Kirk looked up at the sound of the door chime and engaged the view screen to see Uhura standing in the corridor. He frowned, mildly annoyed and wondered what it would take for her to feel comfortable enough to just let herself in when she came to his quarters. He had given her the passcode as soon as it seemed that theirs was not to be simply a one night stand. He called out the command to open the door and the tiny niggle of irritation melted away under the warmth of her smile.

"Hey," he returned her smile. "Did you and Christine have a good time?"

Uhura crossed to where he was sitting at one end of the small sofa in the living space of his quarters.

"We did." She toed off her shoes. "How was your dinner meeting?"

"Long," he moaned. "I'm pretty sure my brain started to bleed after listening to Scotty and Keenser drone on about deflector arrays for more than forty-five minutes."

"You don't fool me," she laughed. "I know you enjoy your reputation for being cooler than the rest of us, but your secret is out," she told him. "You're as big a geek as everyone else on this ship and the entire crew knows how much you love discussing the minutia of hull plating and inertial dampeners and so on with Scotty and that you'll happily do so for hours.

"I know!" He tipped his head back to look up at her. "So the fact that I couldn't wait to get to my quarters to deal with all of this–" He waved a hand over the haphazard pile of PADD's scattered around him "-should tell you just how boring a meeting it actually was."

"Poor baby." She leaned over his shoulder to drop an upside down kiss on his sulky mouth and scrubbed sympathetic fingers through his hair. Pulling off her sweater, she settled at the other end of the sofa.

"You know," he frowned. "I've been looking for that shirt for at least a month."

"What? This?" She turned wide, innocent eyes on him and brushed a suggestive hand over the faded baseball logo covering her breasts. "Do you want it back?" She looked at him sadly. "I know it's yours, but it's just so comfortable…"

He eyed with obvious interest the way the soft, well-washed fabric of the t-shirt molded itself to her curves and grinned. "Keep it."

"Thanks." Her pout replaced with a triumphant smile, she swung her legs up onto the cushions and pressed her bare feet against his thigh. Reaching out, she grabbed her own personal PADD from a nearby table and settled into the cushions with a contented sigh.

A comfortable silence fell between them as she read and he worked. At one point, he tilted his head back and rubbed a hand over eyes tired from the strain of reading countless reports. He opened his eyes and let his gaze rest on her. He loved these quiet moments with her at the end of a long day.

He drew one of her feet onto his lap. She peeked up and gave him a small smile before returning her attention to her book, leaving him free to study her. Whether she was the sleek professional with carefully applied makeup and jaunty ponytail while on duty or the exotic beauty with an elaborate hairstyle and dramatic eyes at diplomatic banquets, he thought her always stunning.

But she was never lovelier to his eyes than she was now – hair tumbling messily around her shoulders, her freshly scrubbed face revealing a faint dusting of freckles over high cheekbones.

Here, she was the girl next door and more attainable than the cool professional or exotic beauty could ever be.

He idly noted the narrow, fine-boned elegance of her feet, the fragile skin stretched over the strength of muscle and bone, the splash of color on the nails and he had the fleeting thought that her foot encapsulated every aspect of her character.

His lips tipped upward in a private smile for he was not often prone to flights of such fanciful thought and yet he could not shake the notion, for he had come to know her as an intriguing combination of strength and softness.

Skillful and sure on the job, she was a woman who fit easily and comfortably in an environment still mostly dominated by men. She carried herself with grace and elegance but had a wicked sense of humor. He stifled a grin in remembrance of the times she had clapped a hand over her mouth in wide-eyed embarrassment as all eyes turned toward the sound of the bawdy laughter which had escaped her.

Small-boned and petite, her delicate beauty masked an underlying strength of body and mind.

Huge, dark eyes burned with intelligence and curiosity. He had seen her draw a weapon in defense of her crewmates and had been privileged to enjoy the same quietly ferocious support on more than one occasion when his unorthodox command decisions had been called into question. And he had known her to censure a subordinate for reporting unprepared for duty with the same restrained intensity in which she had defended the performance of another from what she deemed an unfair allegation.

He had realized from the moment of their first meeting that Uhura was fiercely intelligent, decisive and strong. Now, as she grew increasingly comfortable with him, she had begun to allow him to know the inner softness and warmth of Nyota.

His fingers ghosted over the network of veins running beneath her skin, felt the steady throb of her pulse beating in her ankle. The green paint slicked over her nails reminded him of an Iowan field. The softness of that shade – the color of spring grass – spoke to him of the tender and whimsical side of her nature which she kept hidden from others.

He saw her head loll to one side as she drifted into sleep under the gentle caress of his stroking fingers. He leaned forward to catch the PADD before it dropped from her lax grip. Easing her foot from his lap, he rose to his feet. Slipping his arms carefully beneath her, he lifted her into his arms.

She startled awake.

"Shh," he soothed.

"I fell asleep."

He smiled at the obviousness of her statement and felt her arms lift to curl around his neck as he carried her to the bed.

"Hold on," he murmured and she tightened her grip as he reached out with one hand to tug back the covers. He eased her onto the bed and helped her wriggle out of the stretchy leggings before she slipped under the blanket. He stripped out of his own clothes and lowered himself into the welcoming embrace of her outstretched arms.

He buried his face in the fragrant warmth of her throat and pressed a kiss against the lazily beating pulse he found there before shifting onto his side.

"I didn't think I'd see you tonight," he admitted. He smoothed a lock of dark hair between his thumb and forefinger, his knuckles brushing against her jaw. He wondered briefly as to the meaning of the tiny, pleased smile that crossed her lips as he played with her hair.

"I almost didn't come," she admitted. "I know it was late. You don't mind, do you?"

Mind? A rueful laugh echoed in his head. Far from it. He wondered what she'd think if she knew that he sometimes imagined what it would be like if she moved in permanently. Wondered how she would react if she knew that he was mad for her; if she had any idea that he falling in love with her. He imagined that admitting his feelings would send her racing in the other direction.

So he kept his feelings buried and forced a smile onto his lips.

"Mind?" he asked in an easy voice. He worked up a wolfish leer and rewarded with her sleepy giggle in response. He ordered the lights off and she snuggled close, her nose pressing against his shoulder, her hand coming to rest on his stomach. Moments later, he felt her body relax against his as she slid back into sleep.

She had come to him, again, and he didn't think she was aware of how much of herself she left behind each time. But he knew each item of her clothing nestled alongside his in the confined space of his closet, her soap and shampoo crowded with his in the small bathroom, the small gold earrings tossed carelessly atop his bureau.

His plan – though admittedly not up to his usual tactical prowess – was simply to keep his silence and allow each personal item of hers pile up with the hope that by the time she realized that she had all but moved in with him, she'd also understand that she was precisely where she was meant to be.

TBC