So for some reason every single time I read through this I find more typos. It makes me nervous that I haven't found them all, so I'm really sorry if some still persist.

...

He finds her at the edge of Golden Gate Park, sitting on a bench looking out at the ocean, digging the toe of her boot into the ground beneath her, hopelessly ruining the shine she had worked so hard on that morning.

She tucks her chin down before he can look at her too closely.

"Your comm is turned off."

"Yeah."

He sits beside her, all stillness and grace, and she wants to hate him for a moment, the image of Kirk – who she doesn't even like – slumped in the command chair, the echo of Klingon torpedoes and warning klaxons ringing dully in her ears.

She clears her head by resuming staring at the stars, her eyes fixed on the bright point of Spacedock, where the Enterprise is, under going its next phase of construction. She thinks every cadet at the Academy can find that prick of light, and when she glances over, Spock is watching it as well, his eyes dark and his profile serene with a calmness she wished she felt.

"You programmed that test." It's not a question.

"For many years, yes."

"It's horrible."

"You performed admirably."

"I mistranslated a-"

"You pulled Kirk out of a bar before he caused any further… trouble for the evening."

"Oh." She fiddles with the hem of her skirt for a long moment. "Yeah, I did that."

"The Kobayashi Maru is much more than a measure of your aptitude during the simulation."

She blinks, looking over the lines of familiar constellations up above them, remembering the hot crush of the bar, Kirk's eyes dead and dull over his empty shot glasses, his jaw already bruised from what had to be a scuffle earlier in the evening. She couldn't just leave him there, not looking so broken, so different from the golden image he tried to project each day on campus.

"Is that going in my file?" she asks. She really, really, wants to be mad at Spock for programming that damn simulation, something so illogical that it might just feel good, might still the rolling terror that the memory of the test conjures, but she mostly wants to put her head on his chest.

"Yes."

"Then I want it on the record that no matter what I'll do for him as a classmate, he's completely insufferable," she says. "And that McCoy helped. Put that down too."

"Who?"

"His doctor friend. I think they have a symbiotic relationship."

The corner of Spock's mouth pulls up and she blinks, looking away before he notices her watching him.

"Cadets have been known to react in a myriad of different ways to their first course of training simulations."

"You don't say. I could have lived without watching Kirk vomit in an alley. He had some choice words for you, by the way. Not you, but the ostensible programmer."

"You could have chosen to leave him there. Or not have tried to find him in the first place. Your actions were laudable, something the assessment committee took note of."

She crosses her arms against the growing chill, her shoulder just barely grazing his as she shifts. She watches the bright point of Spacedock, imagining the Enterprise above them, waiting for construction to be complete. She wants it so bad it hurts, sometimes. She wants him so bad it hurts, all the time.

"It seems so far away."

When she looks down again, he's watching her.

"I do not think so." He pauses and presses his fingers, briefly, against the back of her hand.

"Am I going to spend the rest of my evenings at the Academy dragging Kirk home before he can besmirch the good name of Starfleet in a series of seedy bars?"

"I would not wish you to spend your time in such a way. I can think of other more worthwhile pursuits," he says, one of those statements from him that makes her heart flop around in her chest. "While your commitment to your classmates, whom you have little to no personal relationship with but still display compassion and empathy for, is admirable and has not, nor will ever, go unnoticed by those considering the future of your career, Pike believes Cadet Kirk will adapt to the new challenges of leadership in a more… positive way. Most likely as a result of the social support he is able to cultivate despite the aforementioned insufferability."

"Does it get easier?"

"With time and experience, yes."

"It's hard."

"Yes." he asks softly, his hand coming to rest on her arm. She can feel the heat through her uniform.

"I'm fine."

"Nyota, I spent many years without someone to talk to after such training simulations."

She blinks, her eyes stinging. "Spock…"

"Please, let me help you," he adds quickly, before she can say anything else.

She wraps her arms tighter around herself so she won't lean over and kiss him. That might be what she wants, but it isn't what she needs. Talking about her career and his obvious influence over it counters the gentle sounds of the beach and the starlight, soft on his skin, the jump in her stomach whenever he's this close, touching her.

She could lean closer to him, meet his slightly parted lips with her own, kiss him until he kisses her back and she can imagine it as she has a hundred times over, his hands in her hair and her fingers tracing his face, his neck, over the defined shape of his shoulders, her hands twisting in the fabric of his uniform as she pulls him closer. She could forget everything about that day, his touch wiping her mind hot and blank.

He would kiss her back, she thinks. She knows.

He speaks, thankfully, before she can talk herself out of appropriate personal and professional boundaries, and the gray area that exists in between, the warmth of his hand on her arm muddling her brain until leaning into him seems like a better and better idea.

"Would you like to discuss the test?"

"Not right now," she says. "Maybe some other time."

He nods, looking contemplative.

"While I find eating sweetened, frozen dairy as a method of coping with negative emotions illogical, I am willing to partake in the custom for your sake."

She bursts out laughing, a floodgate releasing somewhere inside of her. "What a sacrifice. Thanks."

His mouth twitches. "It is of no consequence."

"Spock, you love ice cream."

"I certainly do not."

"It's like your darkest secret," she says, smiling. "Your deep, abiding, attachment to the stuff."

"That is inaccurate."

"I've seen you eat whole container of it at a time."

"I believe you finished the majority of that carton."

"Vulcans don't lie," she reminds him lightly, jostling her shoulder against his.

"I am well aware."

"You're smiling."

"I am not."

"Now you're just laughing at me."

"I am doing no such thing."

She brushes her fingers lightly over his, the heat that flares making her breath catch. His too, she thinks, watching his chest quickly rise.

"Thank you," she says softly, "for coming to get me."

"Always."

…

She knows she is not getting better at chess. She knows this as inherently and intrinsically as she knows he is getting worse as their conversations grow ever more personal.

He loses both his knights and bishop one night when she complains about an ex boyfriend, another student at the Academy she refuses to name even though he tries not to be obvious about prying. He is, though, and she points his rook at him.

"You're being over protective. And kind of jealous."

"That would be illogical."

"That's not an answer."

"It was not a question," he says, then walks into the kitchen to make tea, even though their game isn't over and they have half full mugs in front of them.

She finds him there, his hands spread on the counter.

"Sorry," she says, drawing her fingers down his arm so that he starts. "He was a jerk. I don't want to talk about him."

"I did not mean to be overly inquisitive."

"I know." She smoothes her hand over his shoulder, his back still towards her. "You have nothing to worry about."

"I am not worried."

She smiles. "Naturally."

"Worrying is illogical."

"I'm sure."

"It is an emotional response."

"Of course," she says, squeezing his shoulder before stepping back. "What kind of tea would you like?"

…

"I just want to say that if you ever show any favoritism in my career, due to any relationship between us, I'll kick your ass," she says one night, watching him pause with his queen in mid air, between the second and third tiers.

He nods and glances over her in a way that makes her flush, hot, his eyes still on her as he moves his queen in front of her rook. "I believe I will have to take my chances."

She takes his queen, adding it neatly to her collection, as she feels herself start to smile. "I'm not kidding."

"Indubitably."

"It won't be pretty."

"I would expect nothing less," he says, looking at his queen sitting in front of her.

…

He tells her about his former bondmate, something she could never bring herself to ask about, despite the knowledge that most Vulcans are bonded as children. The thought of him saying that he has a… fiancée waiting for him, makes her nauseous and irascible. Hearing that he is no longer bonded, that she chose a Vulcan life when he didn't, the pain of rejection coloring his words, is almost worse.

But he chose Starfleet, and she did too, and they're choosing to be here together, now, she thinks, even as he stares into some middle distance, losing half his pieces to her before she reaches out to touch his wrist, through his shirt.

"I'm glad you made the decision you did," she says, and he swallows, and nods.

"I am as well." He finally captures her queen, which has been sitting, vulnerable, for three moves now. "When I left my home, I did so on the presumption of a better life for myself. It was… an emotional choice."

"Oh, I don't think so," she says lightly, squeezing his arm once more before drawing her hand back. "Personal happiness has to be logical."

"I do not think Vulcans perceive it as such, not always."

"I, for one, am delighted you're half human. Wouldn't want you any other way."

He opens his mouth twice to speak before he is able to.

"Thank you," he says finally, softly.

He beats her that night, but it's a near thing.

…

She is at the top of her class. Gaila takes her out for drinks, as an ostensible break from homework, and a precursor to a killer headache the next morning. Her sister calls and congratulates her, then tells her about her boyfriend for the better part of an hour. Her brother sends a message from near the Neutral Zone, his words quick and light, his language sounding of home, even with the blackness of space stretching across the window behind him. Her father sends her a card, a small piece of paper folded inside with a drawing she did of an Andorian and a Klingon when she was five.

"Perhaps not completely anatomically accurate," Spock says, when she shows him, handing it across his chessboard.

She laughs and leans over to smack him lightly on the arm, her hand briefly connecting with the hard, firm, line of his bicep.

"I'm just glad drawing and chess aren't part of the Academy curriculum."

"I am quite certain you would find a way to excel, regardless."

"I'm going to lose this game," she sighs, though she captured both his rooks and a knight while she recounted the celebration Gaila took her on, a myriad of bars and dancing across campus.

"Pongezi," he says when she stands by his door, her padd and comm clutched tight in her hand as she hears the Swahili word. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," she says. "I don't think I would have done so well without you."

She swallows, rises on her toes, and kisses his cheek, softly. She hears him inhale, feels him lean into her, slightly.

"I do not believe so," he says evenly as she steps back, watching him watch her. He shakes his head, as if clearing it. "I meant, you would have done so regardless." He frowns. "I do not believe you require any assistance in respect to your academic achievement."

She laughs, softly, before shrugging her coat on and reaching for the door control. He beats her to it, all his normal coolness and composure intact, even if he doesn't move as far back as he normally does when she steps past him, her shoulder brushing against his chest in a wave of heat she feels all the way home.

…

"Construction on the Enterprise has been sped up to coincide with your classes' graduation," he tells her as they order lunch from one of their favorite delis.

"And for you?" the teenager asks from behind the counter, snapping his gum.

"Oh," she says. "That's great."

His hand brushes over her back, redirecting her attention to the cashier. She tells him what she wants, looking quickly back at Spock.

"Are you still planning on staying at Academy until then?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Captain Pike asked for the top of your class' resumes and transcripts as he begins to fill postings. He asked for yours specifically."

"Wow. Really?"

"Indeed."

She watches the teenager write down her order.

"There is a high likelihood that you will receive a posting on board, if that is your wish."

"With you."

She feels his fingers on her back again, light on her shoulder. "Yes."

"What would you like?" the teenager asks Spock, snapping his gum again.

"You're sure?"

"While postings are never entirely certain, I believe that in all probability we will serve together on the Enterprise."

She stares at the counter in front of her for a long moment, everything she's wanted hanging before her, bright, incandescent.

"What does your boyfriend want?" the cashier asks, tapping his stylus on the counter.

"Graduation seems so far away," she says, quietly.

"An interminable wait."

"Seriously, I need your order."

She leans into him, slightly, her fingers briefly tangling with his.

"Guess we'll have to do something to distract ourselves." Her stomach jumps a bit before he replies, or maybe that's his stomach, and she doesn't think she's imagining the flush on his cheeks, the way her fingers on his positively tingle.

"That is an excellent strategy," he says, and she grins.

"I can think of a few diversions," she quips, enjoying the shade of green he is turning.

"I'm going to give you the same thing she ordered," the cashier huffs, snapping his gum again.

It's as animated as she's ever seen him, his equanimity intact for only as long as it takes him to hand his credit chip over and for them to get their food, before they sit in the rare San Francisco sunshine, talking about their futures after the Academy as they eat. Whenever their fingers brush, accidentally and then not, she feels his excitement, as clear and bright as hers, and under it a hot, shared, anticipation.

…

They walk across the quad towards her dorm, slowly, after a dinner at a new restaurant, a nice one, far away from campus.

He tells her about listening to his parents argue about his mother's tomatoes when he was young.

"And your father pulled out all of them?"

"He claimed they bore a great resemblance to a d'mallu plant."

"Isn't that the omnivorous vine?"

"Indeed. He argued it was logical to remove any such vegetation from the garden as it bore such a close proximity to the house."

"I bet your mom loved that."

"She was most displeased. He soon found excuses to partake in household activities other than gardening."

"How logical," she says, and when he slips two fingers against hers as she laughs, she can feel his amusement. She wraps her hand around his and pauses at the entrance to her dorm, looking up to see a small smile tugging at his mouth.

"I'd love to see Vulcan someday," she says. "With you."

"I would enjoy that." His voice is quiet, low, as he steps closer to her.

"Me too," she whispers, reaching out to touch his forearm. His mouth is slightly parted, his eyes dark. She watches her hand slide up his arm to his shoulder, smoothing around the back of his neck as she steps into him.

"Nyota…" he breathes, his voice trailing off as he touches two fingers to her chin, leaning down to rest his forehead on hers. She traces her nails over the nape of his neck, feeling him shiver, feeling him start to raise her face to his.

"Oh, wow," she hears Gaila say. Spock drops his hand from her as if burned, stepping back so quickly she hears his boot scuff against the pavement. "Don't stop on my account."

"Where did you even come from? Please go away," Nyota groans, covering her face with her hands.

"Guess that moment's over. Totally wrecked," Gaila says cheerfully. "Sorry."

"I swear, Gaila, you are ruining my life."

"You don't mean that," she says with a huge smile. Spock is standing well away, his hands behind his back, staring somewhere far above her and Gaila's heads.

"I absolutely do."

"An accurate sentiment," Spock adds.

"The two of you. Really. Way to go for it on the quad, right in front of our dorm. All of those lectures about appropriate-"

"Can you please leave? Now?"

"Nope. I want to hear all about your big date. And anyway, the Commander looks like he's about to die of awkwardness."

"Oh my god, stop." She mouths sorry at Spock, who is backing away quickly.

"You're all dressed up. New skirt? Go shopping for the big night?"

"Stop."

"You look pretty, Ny. Doesn't she, Commander?"

"Please. Stop."

"Now you're both blushing. This is fun."

"I hate you."

"Teasing is a sign of Orion affection."

"Don't I know it."

"We have like eighty words for it."

"Eighty three," Spock offers.

"Eighty two," Nyota corrects. "Uiiopa was mistranslated."

"Fascinating. I did not know that."

"The two of you make me want to vomit. In a completely respectful way," Gaila says, dragging Nyota towards their dorm. "Sir."

Gaila, to her credit, actually washes and puts away her mountain of laundry as a peace offering, and manages to corral most of her belongings to her side of the room.

…

"I have to leave tonight," is the first thing he says when he opens his door.

"Oh. Ok." She blinks. "Wait. What?"

He steps aside to let her in and she takes in the Starfleet duffle bag by the door, the fact he's wearing his science blues, which are distracting enough on him, without the way he's looking at her.

"The equipment for the geology labs was delivered this afternoon, ahead of schedule," he says, and she nods, putting her padd and comm on his table, her fingers numb.

"You must be excited," she hears herself say.

"Pike wants it installed immediately."

"Of course."

"I made dinner," he adds, softly. "And I am available for the next several hours."

It is unlike him to be so imprecise, and it is unlike her to have to blink rapidly and swallow before she can answer.

"That's great," she says.

They eat in silence until she forces herself to ask questions about the labs, which she can tell he is excited about, his words coming quicker and surer the more he talks about it. She washes the dishes while he finishes packing, and when he stacks padds of schematics next to his bag, she wonders if he needs her to leave. Instead, he gets out his chess set, which is a compromise, she supposes, between walking home so soon and pushing him into his bedroom. Which would be a bad idea, she knows, not wanting to imagine getting dressed quickly, heading home to her dorm and not knowing when she'd see him again.

She has to repeat it to herself, twice, as she watches him make tea, the blue fabric of his uniform pulling against his trim waist, and as she watches him set up the board with those long, graceful fingers that she can viscerally imagine on her skin.

"It's not like you're going to the Neutral Zone," she says, trying to break the tension as they begin to play, trying to stop staring at his hands, his mouth.

"No."

"It's probably not even that long a trip."

"I believe not."

"We can still talk all the time."

"Yes."

"And you'll be busy with your work."

"Naturally."

"And I have plenty of exams and papers."

"Of course."

They fall silent, her rationalizations inadequate to dissolve the lump in her throat.

"I hope you're not gone too long," she finally says.

He swallows and looks away for a long moment, taking a deep breath, before looking at the board again, moving his knight.

"That was a bad move," she murmurs, for something to say, taking his knight with a pawn.

"That is quite apparent." He moves a bishop, his features arranged in what she recognizes as a studied calm, and she captures that piece as well.

He focuses on the board for a long moment, silent, glancing between the pieces she's captured from him and his diminishing ones on the board, before taking one of her pawns with one of his.

"I'm going to miss you."

He takes another deep breath, his brow furrowed as he stares at the knight in his hand, before moving it to the second tier.

"Likewise," he says, so quietly that if she hadn't been watching him, she probably wouldn't have noticed.

She slowly adds his pieces to her growing collection, as he alternates between seeming surprised he is not doing better at the game, and staring, blank, at the table. Probably, she thinks, as regretful as she is about Starfleet's damn timing.

"Spock," she says carefully, as he places one of his few remaining pieces on the bottom tier.

She takes it with her queen and rolls it between her fingers for a moment.

"I, um, care about you. A lot."

He nods as he moves his king to the second level, where she has four pieces.

"You're really important to me," she tries again, then stops and summons her courage. "I mean," she says, pausing as she moves a bishop, he moves his last pawn, and she moves her knight. "I love you. Very much. For a long time now, I think."

He looks at her, then at the board, and then back at her again, the reply that he obviously can't bring himself to say written on his face.

"Spock," she says again, and he shakes his head, schooling his features back into that studied calm she knows too well and it twists something deep inside her.

"You don't have to do that," she says quickly, her heart hammering. He stares at some point over her shoulder. "You do that with everyone else in your life. Please don't feel like you have to have that same restraint. With me, I mean. And you certainly don't have to say anything back, if you don't want to."

"Nyota, I-" He shakes his head, silent, his mouth pressed into a firm line, but reaches for her, as he has so often lately.

It is so different this time, a floodgate breaking. His hand is hot and dry when she closes her fingers over his and it's a rushing twist of emotions, a maelstrom that doesn't show on his face but which swirls through their hands. She can feel it in her fingers and up her arm, a warmth spreading through her whole body like sitting in the delicious heat of the sun. It's an outpouring, a surge of emotion, and does he ever feel, she thinks, as he blinks and pulls his hand back.

Something bursts lose inside her chest and she knows she is smiling, can't not smile, even if he isn't doing anything other than taking a deep breath, then another one. She waits, watching him regain some amount of calm, and she would think he was as composed as ever if his hand didn't shake as he reaches for his last pawn.

In the time it takes him to breath evenly again, she checkmates him, but neither of them are looking at the board.

"Fascinating," he says.

"Come here." She stands and pulls him to his feet.

"I find I would prefer to not be leaving this evening."

"Yeah." She twines her fingers through his and he's calmer now, his thoughts simmering below what she can feel through the light, tenuous connection. "I should probably go. Let you finish up here."

"That would be wise," he says, his free hand brushing her hair back over her shoulder, gentle on her cheek, her chin. She thumbs his jaw, draws her fingers along the line of his collar, his skin soft and smooth as his breath stutters, before wrapping her hand around the back of his neck and tugging him to her.

His kiss is like so much else about him, thorough and careful and methodical. His arm wraps around her waist, holding her against him with everything that is gentle and tender as he meticulously kisses her, slow and deep, until she has forgotten everything except the movement of his mouth against hers and the small sound he makes when she presses into his hard, warm body.

His hand moves to her jaw, gently, and she can feel a wash of affection and yearning, and a deeper draught of desire, hot and twisting, tug at the back of her mind and he pulls back as it starts to echo between them, growing and burning. His forehead is warm against hers and they are both breathing heavily, which is a thrill and a rush and he kisses her again, rougher and less polite, his hand sliding into her hair, tipping her face up further. His other hand moves over the curve of her hips as she twists her fingers in his hair and steps as close to him as she can.

All too soon he's moving back, flushed slightly green, and she can feel the heat in her own face and body. He does not lean towards her again, but touches two of his fingers to hers as he says goodnight in such an uneven, low voice that she is quite sure if she doesn't leave right then… He flushes deeper and nods at their fingers, still joined together, and she's laughing a little because it's just so perfect in such an overwhelming way. He raises an eyebrow but he's nodding as if he agrees with her and she doesn't really want to go, and she doesn't think he really wants her to go, but she does anyway, his hand not dropping hers until the last possible moment as she steps out his door. She doesn't remember much of the walk home, staring at the stars above her and smiling.

…

It's sitting on her desk when she gets to the office the next day. She picks up the king and traces her fingers over it, imagining him leaving the chess piece before he headed to campus transporter station last night.

There's no note, not that she expected one, but she notices a padd sitting on her desk, one she doesn't recognize. When she turns it on, she recognizes the subspace frequency assigned to it as the Enterprise's Spacedock receiver, and finds a chessboard, not so different than the one they played on ages ago, sitting in the police station, sitting on the couch right next to her. She sinks onto that couch now, glad she got to the office early that morning, as she moves her queen's pawn two spaces forward. Somewhere, high above her, he moves his knight and she smiles until it hurts.

…

Dorks, I tell you. Dorks in love.

I don't know who I'm torturing, them as characters, you as readers, or me as a writer, as I drag this out. One more chapter to go, and then that, actually, is it. But, really, how horrible can it be if it's full of more smooching? On a related note, there is a high review to kissing correlation.

Also won't be as long before the next update, since I've completed most of it. Sorry about the massive delay on this one.