The corridors of Deck Five had never seemed ominous to Nyota before. Though her own quarters were located elsewhere, she had always felt comfortable in the passageways leading to Spock's cabin — hence the Captain finding her wandering those same halls in her pajamas the day before. Now, though, even in full uniform right after Alpha shift, when the ship's traffic was at its busiest, she found herself approaching the familiar door with trepidation in her step.

Spock was not a violent man — Vulcan…whatever — but she was terrified he'd attack her, something he'd never done before. It wasn't logical; it wasn't in his nature to harm her, because no matter how 'illogical' it may have been, Spock was always a caring, gentle soul behind the impassive exterior. Traumatizing that Ensign yesterday, coupled with striking McCoy, indicated that something was terribly wrong with her boyfriend.

Remembering her last attempt to help him and how poorly that had gone — she still had no idea why he was so angry with her — made her so uneasy that she almost turned around and left instead of approaching his door.

No. He was Spock, her boyfriend, her friend, her superior officer — and she loved him. She was determined to help him, even if he didn't want it, or just didn't want it from her.

Courage gathered, she knocked on the door softly, foregoing the buzz-pad on the side. It was entirely too loud, if one was inside the room trying to rest, and she didn't want to disturb Spock if he was meditating or sleeping.

"Enter," his voice came through the door quietly. The calmness of his tone gave her courage and she stepped into the room, her heart kicking up a beat as the door slid closed behind her, leaving her in a dark, hot room with potentially the most dangerous individual on the ship.

She'd never been afraid of Spock before, but now, below the infernally too-short skirt of her uniform, she swore her knees were knocking.

"Nyota…" He spoke from just beside her, making her jump; she hadn't realized he was so close. His hand stretched out to touch her cheek and she flinched before she could stop herself. A slight frown creased his brow and she flushed, but he didn't move away, instead gently resting his long fingers on her face. Where once the touch would have thrilled her, it now sent icy shudders down her spine. "I am…sorry, Nyota," Spock continued, a trace of sadness flickering in his dark eyes. She smiled hesitantly, for though this was Spock, somehow it also wasn't Spock.

"It's okay," she soothed. "It's okay, just…tell me what happened? What's wrong?" She shifted, thinking to bring her hands up to his cheeks, but hesitating at touching the oh-so expressive face before her. Her fingers trembled, and she reverted to the one question she was certain he could answer. "What do you need?"

He stepped closer, fully occupying her space, something that before would have brought her joy, but now felt uncomfortable and threatening.

"What do I need…" the words trailed off in a murmur, as though he were translating the phrase, deciphering it. "What is it that I need?" Speaking more to himself than to her, his fingers slid down her cheek, shifting into a gesture that she recognized, but had never felt.

"Spock?" The thought of melding with him filled her with longing, desire, fear, and shame. She'd wanted this, wanted that kind of bond with him for a long time, but it was not something the half-Vulcan shared easily. He was more reserved regarding his mind than most Vulcans, and that was saying something. She both longed for the touch, and hated that it had taken his current…illness, for lack of a better word, to bring him to offer it.

"It is…illogical…to try and be other than what we are, yes, Nyota?" he asked, finally looking directly at her. His gaze was raw, bleeding, and it made her ache as though all the organs inside her had been taken away.

"I suppose so," she gasped. "Why?"

"Logic is rooted in desire, is it not? It is dependent on goals; a wolf's logic is madness to the goose."

"Um…" Nyota was not an individual often reduced to the use of monosyllabic vocalizations of confusion; 'um' was a word in her vocabulary mainly because of the annoying overuse of it by others. "Spock, what's with you?" The fingers on her face pressed harder and she shifted back a step, finding herself pressed to the door which alarmingly did not open in response to her close proximity.

"Nyota…Nyota Uhura. Star of Freedom. Of course you know the meaning of your name? Such a beautiful name…you are my star. My Star. I feel free with you, my Star. You make me feel free…" Spock's other hand found her upper arm and squeezed, the bruising pressure of it less frightening than the liberal expression of emotion pouring from her boyfriend in visage, action, and word.

She gasped, and the sound seemed to trigger something in the half-Vulcan, who suddenly released her and took several steps backward.

"Nyota," he said as though surprised to find her there.

"Yes, Spock. Are you…are you okay?"

"I am…unwell."

"I noticed," she said, expecting a disparaging reply gently reprimanding her for asking a question to which she had already observed the answer. None came. "Can I get you anything?" she asked to fill the silence.

Spock's mouth worked in reply as though fighting not to say something, and the thought nothing you can give flitted across the back of her mind.

"Perhaps…if you would not mind…" she stepped closer to him, smiling at him in concern, trying to reassure him — trying to hide her fear.

"Whatever you need, just ask." If anyone had ever thought she didn't trust Spock implicitly, being a fly on the wall just then would have cured them of that delusion. Nyota had no idea what kind of reply Spock would give her, but she offered, banking on what she knew of him, believing that he wouldn't force anything from her.

And he didn't.

"If you would make me more Plomeek soup, I would find that most agreeable," he said simply, almost plaintively. The lost-little-boy look hiding behind his eyes almost undid her, and this time Nyota found her mouth working soundlessly, not having expected such a tiny request.

"All right…" she turned away, and this time when she approached it the door opened to let her pass. She'd have to ask him about that — when he was feeling better. "I'll be back soon.

Uhura left, feeling both a little lighter and a little heavier, for though Spock was no longer raging, he certainly wasn't himself. Though she was proud of herself for accomplishing something, for reaching out to him and having it pay off, she still worried that there was something more he needed, some kind of help that she wasn't able to offer.

Spock just stood there, hands at his sides, brow furrowed in a very un-Vulcan expression of happiness. His fingers trembled, the minuscule quakes traveling through his whole body until he vibrated with repressed grief — for what he truly wanted of Nyota, he knew she simply could not give.

—

TO BE CONTINUED (Also, not mine).

SO, thanks everybody for hanging in there through my dry spell of updates. I got busy with the BF's family, then my family, then my computer died (I'm borrowing one). I'm 'back,' though I'll start working a second job in two weeks, so I may post more sporadically come then.

As always, thanks to everyone who reads and reviews. I really want to know what you think about my stories, and your feedback influences the content immensely. Tell me what you like, what you don't like, what you want to see happen, any ideas you have. Throw plot tribbles at my head!

And be very, VERY grateful to my new beta DLB48. She is wonderful and lovely and probably doubled the word-count of this chapter while giving it much more oomph and an extra dose of clarity.

Anyway, enjoy!