A/N: Overwhelming consensus that Spock was there as an excuse to talk to Nyota. Smooth move, Spock.

Just wanted to say that this story is not really based off the comics in any serious way, only the few bits that revolve around them playing chess. Sorry if you guys want a story that fills in the rest of it, but this isn't that.

He is not always easy to talk to, and often not easy to be around. She knows he's Vulcan, and knows his culture is so, so different than her own, and knows that despite either of their best efforts at interspecies understanding, a vast gulf exists in their concepts of appropriate social interaction.

She tells herself it's an opportunity, and she came to the Academy and Starfleet for opportunities, and they're not all perfect, or desirable, but suffering through hours in his office each week will pay off. Eventually. She's sure. She thinks she's sure. She thinks she's pretty sure that she's sure.

She thinks even if she's not sure, she got herself into this because it seemed like a good idea at the time, and it's only a semester with him, not her whole life.

…

She has had better bosses.

The workload is enormous. She did not expect differently, and did not expect him to think she could do anything but keep up. She can. It's hard. She does it anyway.

The hours are long, longer than her work the previous semester in the acoustics lab, and they share an office. She is constantly aware of not tapping her stylus, her foot, shifting in her chair too much, and certainly not sighing or stretching as time wears on.

His expectations are high, and his own work impeccable. She occasionally wonders if the department requires him to have an assistant, since she feels superfluous and unneeded under his own efficiency and competence. She does not like feeling unnecessary, or useless, so she works harder, and when he doesn't seem to notice, works harder still.

…

He is, in his own way, not the worst boss she's ever had.

He is specific and articulate as to what he wants her to accomplish, and his feedback is direct and succinct.

He listens to her ideas attentively, focusing on her words in a way that leaves her a bit unnerved, if only because she is used to Gaila doing five things at once while they talk, not dark eyes catching hers as she speaks.

He explains new tasks she's never done before, and takes extra time to explain a new translation program, or how he wants quizzes and papers graded. He seems to not mind her many questions and stays late more than once to ensure she's confident in her assignment.

He thankfully does not ask her to keep his schedule and seems to prefer taking his own calls. She would not mind answering his comm occasionally if Captain Pike was on the other end, since that couldn't hurt her career, but she didn't come to Starfleet to answer phones and he never asks her to.

…

Work aside, she's not always sure she likes him.

He is often brusque and curt, and sometimes the office feels cramped and hot when he gives her a short, bordering on harsh, response and turns back to his work. She tells herself it's his way of speaking, of interacting, and that it shouldn't matter to her, though it still does.

He informs her that she is, on average, 2.3 minutes late to work and just raises an eyebrow when she points out she has class clear across the Academy the block before she's scheduled to be in his office. She's not late again.

She has to return an enormous stack of filmplasts to the library, and as she gathers them, he advises her it is illogical to try to carry so many at once.

"Of course, sir," she says, picks them up anyways because she doesn't like being told she can't succeed at something, and leaves without a backwards glance.

…

She's not sure she doesn't like him, and sometimes thinks he tries harder than she does to not sit in silence all day in the office.

He says good morning as if he's been practicing being courteous to humans, and seems to remind himself to ask after her other classes, how her tests and papers are going.

He takes down a Vulcan wall hanging to show her after he sees her looking at it, and tells her about the painter and, when she asks, briefly about its age and it's relation to pre-Surakian pieces.

He gets himself tea from the break room and begins asking if she would like any. It's too strange to have a Commander bring her a drink, and she doesn't particularly like anyone bringing her drinks, so she says yes infrequently.

He asks if she is 'quite alright walking home' one night when it's torrentially raining, and she sees him eyeing the water pounding on the window. She thinks of the red sands of Vulcan she's seen from pictures, and the desert and heat of her home, and thanks him for his concern as she zips up her raincoat.

…

She complains about him to Gaila, all the time.

"He's just so-"

"Doable?"

"-Perfect, you know? Like he's never made a mistake in his life."

"That's like an inanimate object saying that a similarly shaped inanimate object is the same color as itself, despite their respective inability to form thoughts, let along communicate."

"Pot calling the kettle black," she corrects quickly.

Gaila crosses her arms. "Maybe he doesn't like you. Though obviously I can't imagine why."

"I don't think he likes anyone," Nyota gripes, sitting heavily on her bed. "I don't know why I agreed to work for him."

"He was impressed by your work, you were impressed by his supreme irresistibility, plus all that crap about your resume, future research opportunities, he's smoking hot, great for networking," Gaila cheerfully ticks off on her fingers. "His ass, his connections to Pike, who also has a nice ass, he's a fellow language dork, the fact he's probably a great lay, since the quiet ones always are, his hands, touch telepathy, Nyota, just think about that, and I've been with plenty of telepaths, but when you add in his shoulders, and those abs, and that chest-"

"Gaila…"

"-That instructors uniform, so help me, I could just lick it." Gaila flops back on her bunk, staring at the ceiling, and sighs.

"Please don't talk about licking professors," Nyota sighs. "It's so…"

"Completely within regulations? Everyone does it."

"I don't."

"Your loss," Gaila says airily. "But I'll keep Captain Pike's ass all to myself, thank you very much."

"Gaila!" Nyota shakes her head. She's still thinking back to the Commander's comment on her inaccurate pronunciation of a Klingon verb, and finds she just can't let it go. "He's just so…"

"Are we going through this again? Because it was one word, one word, that you messed up, and this is the third time this week you won't stop talking about him."

Nyota ignores her. "He's so…"

"Gorgeous. Breathtaking. Stunning."

"He's so taciturn."

"Striking."

"Reticent."

"Sexy."

"Diffident."

"Tempting."

"Supercilious."

"Statuesque."

"Chary."

"That's not a word."

"It is, it means-"

"Don't! It's a word, it's a word," Gaila says and claps her hands over her ears. "You should try to get to know him better, if only so you have someone to use your big, fancy, splendid vocabulary with."

"No way, not interested."

"Fine," Gaila says, and starts smiling in that way that always makes Nyota very, very nervous.

…

In the end, she's not surprised to see him at the police station.

She's halfway through her translation, sitting on the cold, metal bench, when she hears crisp footsteps, and looks up to see him in his perfectly pressed uniform, despite the fact it's 0837 on Sunday morning and she's in her sandals and jeans.

She is suddenly self conscious of her hair hanging in a loose braid over her shoulder, and the fact she's wearing an old shirt that says 'Free the Bound Morphemes.'

"Commander, sir," she says as he approaches, and he glances at her, then at the small duffel near her feet, then at her shirt, raising an eyebrow. There's only the one bench, and she has three texts spread across it, which she quickly reaches for and stacks so that she doesn't have to speak again, and so that he'll stop looking at her.

"Thank you, Cadet," he says, sitting gracefully as far from her as he can.

She takes a sip of her coffee, balancing her padd on her knees and swallowing slowly so she doesn't have to think of something else to say, when he speaks.

"Are you here for Cadet Unbe'hait?"

"She's my roommate," she says by way of explanation. "I'm assuming you are as well?"

"Yes, the San Fracisco Police Department contacted Starfleet since this is her second arrest this semester. I was asked to… act as a liaison. I was not aware you would be here as well."

"Yeah, I, um, found it's easier to bring her clothes," she says, gesturing towards the bag she packed that morning after Gaila's call woke her up. "It prevents problems when she leaves."

"That is quite solicitous."

"Self preservation, really. I can't sit around all day when she gets arrested again because she won't wear whatever they give her."

He is silent for a moment and she wonders if she can safely look at her padd again.

"I see you came prepared with coursework as well," he says, nodding towards her pile of texts.

"Oh, it's just a thing I'm doing. It's not for class."

She turns her padd towards him slightly, so he can see the lines of Vulcan script she's been painstakingly drawing with her stylus. She knows it's not perfect, since it's a hard alphabet and she's only been practicing for a few months, and tries to pull her padd back before he can inspect it any closer.

She finds his hand stopping her from moving it away, and she lets him take it from her, drumming her stylus against her coffee cup as he carefully examines her work, before making herself stop and placing the stylus on the bench next to her. She starts tapping her foot, then makes herself stop that too, sitting perfectly still like he is.

"It is not common for off worlders to study Vulcan script," he finally says.

She knows this, of course. Vulcans and humans have used the Standard alphabet since they first learned each other's languages. She thinks the script is pretty, with its neat rows and loops that always look organized and tidy across a page. She thinks Vulcan is pretty too, with its impeccable locution and rapid, rolling pronunciation that sounds a bit like music when spoken well. She does not tell him any of this.

"There is an error in your third line," he says, handing it back.

"I know," she says quickly, even though she didn't. She blushes, shuts the padd off, and slips it into her bag before he can make any other comments. She feels him watch her for a long time and she starts counting the tiles on the floor. She gets to 26 before he speaks.

"I did not intend to cause offense, Cadet," he says, carefully, like he's rehearsed it in his head. "I apologize."

"There is no offense where none is taken," she replies automatically in Vulcan and counts to 57 before he shifts slightly and turns on his own padd.

She starts thumbing through the texts on her comm, wondering if Gaila has hers back yet, and how long she has to sit next to the Commander before she's released. She finishes her coffee, stands to throw out the cup, checks her chronometer, texts Gaila again, and finally reaches for a textbook. He sits unmoving on the bench beside her and she can't help but glance at his padd, expecting to find his message inbox, or the lines of programming that she frequently see on his monitor in the office.

The fact she can't imagine him relaxing by playing two dimensional digital chess against the computer is no stranger than the thought of him relaxing at all, so she just looks away again, focusing on her reading.

It's not so different than being near him at work, she thinks, his attention unwavering and slightly unnerving even when the occasional police officer walks by and he doesn't look up. She finishes her chapter and starts another one, skimming through the theory on Romulan allomorphs and running the end of her braid through her fingers as she reads.

She only brought so much class work, though, and is completely unwilling to take out her Vulcan script again with him there, and soon finds herself looking at the tiles again, contemplating ways Gaila is going to pay her back for waiting so long, in a police station, next to her boss, on a Sunday, when the air was warm and the sun was shining through the fog when she woke up.

Spock shifts, moving his padd to his other hand and when he glances up, she realizes she's been staring at him.

"Would you-"

"I didn't mean-"

They both pause and she studies the floor.

"Sorry, sir, go ahead. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Would you like to play a match?" he asks, gesturing towards his padd. "Although I would not want to keep you from your work."

She can't imagine him really wanting to play with her, but perhaps it's logical, or he's just as bored as she is.

"It's really not my strength, sir."

"Some skills require more practice than others," he says, and she thinks that his tone sounds gentle.

He looks at her intently when he speaks, and she just nods and he quickly drops his gaze to his padd and resets the board. He hands it to her and she keeps her fingers well away from his as she takes it. She respects him, sometimes almost likes him when he's not telling her she's done something wrong that he's proficient at, and is completely capable of playing a game of chess with him. She's never backed down from a difficult task, and she's not going to start now even if she's sitting in a police station with her boss, waiting for her naked roommate to be released.

They play in silence for a long time, she rapidly losing pieces and getting the increasing feeling she is not only a boring competitor, but that he is rather entertained by her growing frustration.

He takes her pawns in quick succession and she frowns at the three pieces she has left. She's pretty sure he could have won a dozen turns before, and doesn't know if it's insulting to have her demise dragged out like this, or if he just wants to keep her engaged, and tells herself to be thankful he isn't correcting her every move.

"I did not intend to cast aspirations on your work when I spoke earlier," he says suddenly, in that same carefully modulated tone he used before, and she looks up at him. "I am quite interested in the fact that you are choosing to teach yourself t'snovekh."

"It's fine, sir, I'm sure there are plenty of mistakes in it."

"It is an admirable undertaking, Cadet," he says. "And you seem proficient despite having no formal education."

He pauses, watching her move her rook, before he says quietly, "There were, perhaps, fewer mistakes than could have been anticipated."

"Thanks," she says. He looks like he wants to say something else, but is instead silent for a long moment, and she wonders how many people in his life ever get apologies from him.

"If you would ever like any assistance, I would be happy to provide it."

"Thank you, sir," she says and she means it, because he seems to.

She is left with her king when he takes her last rook and sighs.

"Guess that's that," she says and he takes the padd from her and resets the board. She didn't think he would want to play her again, but thinks of him playing alone, and reaches out to take padd from him when he hands it to her.

"I wouldn't think you played two dimensional chess," she said after a long moment during which she loses two of her pieces. "It's kind of old fashioned."

"It is quite a different challenge than the more contemporary game. And more easily played when one does not have a physical board to use."

"I've never play three dimensional chess."

"I would be happy to teach you. I have a set in my quarters." He pauses, frowns slightly. "I am aware of the human proclivity to assume that an invitation of this nature would stem from a sexual or romantic impetus. I assure you that this is not the case."

It is the most awkward and respectful thing anyone has ever said to her.

"Thank you, sir," she says, smiling. "That would be great."

…

Gaila at least waits until he turns the corner, dressed in the clothes Nyota brought her and a court dismissal signed by Spock in her hand, before crossing her arms with a wide, slow smile spreading on her face.

"So what did you guys talk about?"

"Gaila, I can't believe-"

"I mean you're both linguists, I'm sure you had lots to talk about outside of work. And he's very-"

"Don't!"

"Cunning, so…"

"Gaila, I swear-"

"I can get arrested three more times this semester. SFPD gives off world cadets a lot chances."

"Gaila, that doesn't-"

"I'll avoid midterms, don't worry. Wouldn't want you stressed and cranky around the Commander."

"Gaila, I really-"

"You're most welcome. I'm sure you were about to thank me."