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“Lieutenant Commander Uhura,” Spock says with an air of surprise and a slightly raised eyebrow. Nyota stands in the open doorway to his quarters, her hair falling down her shoulders and her relaxed figure featuring floral civilian attire. It has been two days since Jim’s birthday festivities and, similarly, two days since he has last seen Nyota.
A small smirk breaks out across her face. “Is that your way of congratulating me on my promotion, Spock?”
“That was not my intention. Though, as I have not yet expressed my congratulations, I shall offer them now.” Placing both hands neatly behind his back, Spock allows the corners of his lips to lift into a smile. “Congratulations, Nyota. Your promotion is well-deserved.”
Her smile broadens and her eyes glisten with happiness. “How did you find out about it, anyway? I wasn’t aware that it’d been publicly announced.”
He briefly recalls the moment two nights ago. “It has not. I regarded the updated title on your confidential Starfleet profile,” he describes simply.
“And why were you ‘regarding’ my Starfleet profile?” she asks, her eyes wide with amusement and a hand running through her loose hair.
He understands that she is teasing him. Throughout the many years of their relationship, through whatever form it may have existed as at any point in time, he has grown accustomed to her appreciation for Terran humour and her jovial interest in mockery as a means of ‘lightening the mood’. Not only has he become moderately proficient at understanding her nonverbal cues, but he has also come to expect and anticipate her reactions, especially the soothing sounds of her musical laughter.
Despite her mimicry, or perhaps in spite of it, he answers her question honesty. “I was reviewing the details of my mission report.”
She looks down briefly and Spock takes the moment to appreciate being in such proximity to her, specifically in the notable absence of anyone else. ‘Where they stand’, as Nyota had phrased it not a week ago, he was still unsure. He is absolutely certain he loves her. And, ever since their crew’s disastrous voyage to Altamid, he is certain of one further thing: a life without Nyota is simply not one he desires to fulfil.
His mind is torn once again. The emotional persuasion of his human side and the logical rationale of his Vulcan side tug at war with one another, as has been the case for many decades. As ineffectual as his love for Nyota may be to the logic of the situation, the truth remains that his human desire for companionship has, in recent years, superseded his Vulcan satisfaction with isolation or, as he has come to think of it, loneliness.
If his being romantically involved with Nyota did not conflict so specifically with his moral obligations to his people, his decision would be as simple as that of his father’s when Sarek had chosen to marry Spock’s mother. Except, it does. His being with Nyota precludes his ability to aid his people. Nevertheless, in recent days, Spock has found himself knowing the answer - the winner - of his internal warfare. And, as Nyota stands before him, her gaze finally meeting his, he does not doubt that it will never change.
The urge to lean forward and press his lips against hers is not unfamiliar, though presently unwelcome. Should they have been in similar physical proximity one fortnight prior, a second thought would never have crossed his mind as he’d express his love for her in the clearest way he knows how. He would have pulled her body flush against his and run his sensitive hands across her skin. They would share thoughts and emotions and memories through the easy touch of their fingers, with his mind pressed against hers. Their tongues would dance a crude waltz as her hands would explore his unexposed skin and play through the hairs that coated his body.
“Spock…” Nyota begins quietly. And, although her interruption of his reverie was unintentional, he is abruptly reminded that their intimacy was then and this - however one might describe the present air of caution between them - is now.
Her eyes flash to the room behind him. Without turning, he knows that the sheets of his bed are uncharacteristically unmade and the blinds, unopened. He is also aware that his ka’athyra sits in an unobstructed view from the door, another reminder of moments that would have been simple to seize not one month earlier. Her tuneful voice echoes in the back of his mind as he briefly revisits the memories that he so treasures.
“Spock, why have you been avoiding me?” she asks finally, her front teeth catching lightly on her bottom lip.
The question catches Spock momentarily off guard. Truthfully, he hasn’t been avoiding her, he just also hasn’t been actively seeking her out. “I was under the impression that, as of late, you do not welcome my company.”
Her body straightens at his words, arms closing around her chest. “And what gave you that impression?” she mumbles quietly.
She’s being defensive. He knows as much. He’s spent long enough in her company to comprehend the quickened, seemingly passive-aggressive, sighs and the rigidity of her posture as discomfort with something he’s said. Only, he’s not certain why she’s defensive. Were they only mere acquaintances, he would pass off the aggression as the illogic of human emotion. Except, Nyota’s not a mere acquaintance. She’s so much more than that. She’s his source of happiness, his confidant, his memory of his mother and his emotional compass. She’s his everything.
He raises his eyebrow and tilts his head, in an action she often perceives as confusion. Her arms loosen their grip and fall by her sides. “Just because… Just- I don’t want to not see you, Spock! We’re still…”
The momentary hope Spock feels is entirely unprecedented, he knows. She was explicitly clear when she’d explained to him that, if he was to mate with another Vulcan and refocus his efforts to repopulating the Vulcan race, she would have no part of it. And, at the time of their ‘break-up’, that had been his intention. Even so, his heart rate quickens, his finger twitches and a roseate feeling settles in his lower abdomen.
Just as with his hope, the dejection he feels as she finishes her sentence is equally illogical. “...friends.”
His gaze drops to the floor and the grip between his clasped hands tightens. “I am sorry, Nyota. I was not aware.” His eyes find hers once again. “It was my understanding that, following the parting of two individuals, their inevitable separation was preferably immediate. I believe the idiom reads ‘ripping off the bandaid’.”
A resident of nearby quarters steps out of their room and eyes the pair before walking steadily on. Spock’s sight follows the Trill as he feels Nyota’s stare boring into his chest. He hears her quiet sobs before he sees them, only then returning his gaze to her. The urge to comfort her overwhelms him. He wants nothing more than to hold her and be her ‘safe space’, as she used to put it.
He reaches a hand forward but she waves him off before he even touches her. After a long moment descends between them, her sobs finally subside. Her trained eyes don’t leave his chest as her broken voice fills the silence between them. “So, I guess this is goodbye, then. You’ve decided to…” He watches carefully as she steels her gaze and looks up at him. “...procreate with another Vulcan?”
Immediately after the words leave her mouth, she turns on her heel and begins to stride away from him. Although Spock has never appreciated the ludicrousness that is claiming time can slow, he is faced with the phenomenon for the second time in his life. The first instance came as his mother stepped - or fell, rather - out of his life forever. And, this second instance occurs as Nyota takes step after step away from him.
She doesn’t turn back - at least, she hasn’t yet - and Spock finds himself on the precipice of his future. His very next decision may determine the entire course of his life. If she walks away now, he is certain he has lost her. The notion should provide him with much-needed closure. She’s chosen for him. She’s the one who’s walking away. She’s allowing him to choose logic over love, as any rational Vulcan would. Except, he doesn’t want her to.
His feet are carrying him toward her and he’s called out her name before he even realises he’s made a decision. Only, he made the decision days ago. Searching for her on Altamid, not knowing whether she was dead or alive, free or held captive--he cannot lose her. He cannot leave her. And, he certainly cannot let her leave him.
It’s only when he’s noticed that she’s stopped moving and that he’s stood right before her that he comes back to himself. He lifts his hand to her shoulder and runs his fingers gently down her arm. Raising their hands between them, he presses the pads of his middle and forefinger against hers.
Her emotions shoot straight through him. Anger, disappointment, frustration, betrayal but also, hope and love. It eerily reminds him of the many ways in which his mother used to react when he misbehaved. Or when he’d refuse to acknowledge the human side of him.
At first, she’d feel the immediate reaction of anger. He knew that she never meant it as an insult to him. And, deep down, the anger she felt wasn’t directed toward him but, rather, the reality of having a child struggling through a sense of alienation. Secondly, would come the inevitable disappointment of his reaction crushing the hope she felt that, one day, he may react the human way. Thirdly, the ultimate frustration and betrayal from her tireless efforts as his mother. She had given up so much to be his mother, to live the Vulcan way, to marry his father. But, no matter how hard she tried to instil an ounce of humanity in him, he always returned as the fully-fledged Vulcan he was determined to become. Nevertheless, her undying hope and love for him prevailed and he can’t help but imagine her exuberant reaction to his emotional feat of chasing after Nyota as she was walking away.
The image his mind had conjured must’ve transferred to Nyota’s mind because her angelic laugh cuts through the silence. He takes the moment to admire her happiness, treasuring it as though this may be the last time it is ever gifted to him.
When her body stills and her other hand finds his chest, she tilts her head up to his. He can feel her confusion grow through their link, as well as her hope growing as he meets her gaze. “What does this mean, Spock?” she asks. Her voice is barely a whisper.
The glisten in her gaze urges him on and, irrational as the compulsion may be, he is determined to hear her laugh once more. With the hope that she can recall their discussion on the matter not two years prior, he recites, “in vain, I have struggled. It will not do-”
Her laughter ripples between them and she presses her hand more firmly into his chest as her head falls onto his shoulder. He pulls her closer to him, grateful to be able to hold her once again, as he continues, “my feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
He feels her arms tighten around his body and she burrows her face in the crook of his neck. “Thank you,” she breathes, her voice heard solely as comforting vibrations against his skin. They stay there a while longer, neither wanting to break the bubble that has arisen around them. Spock relishes the comforting echo of her heartbeat as it reverberates through his chest and the steady rhythm of her breathing.
Too soon, she pulls away, resting her forehead against his and sliding her hands to the sides of his face. He spends the time observing her features, contemplating the upturned corners of her mouth and the delicate brown of her irises. Her eyes are reddened and the subtle dampness of her cheeks sparkles in the fluorescent lights of the hallway. “Nyota, why are you crying?”
She exhales slowly, smiling wider as she does. “To put it frankly, Spock, I am just extremely happy that you no longer want to go and fuck a bunch of Vulcans.”
Stunned into momentary silence, he takes a moment to comprehend what was just said. He has never desired to ‘fuck’, as Nyota so crudely worded it, any Vulcan. He had never understood the pleasurable merit of sex until he and Nyota began, in more graceful vernacular, ‘making love’. He had only ever valued sexual intercourse as a means of efficient stress relief, as it was occasionally more speedily effective than meditation. “It was never in my interest-”
“I know, Spock. I know,” she repeats quietly. “But, even so. Jealously is, unfortunately, a prominent trait of human emotion.”
Before he can stop himself, he remarks, “it is not limited to human emotion.”
He can feel her eyes training on his expression. “Why are you choosing to stay now?”
“I believe that, given the circumstances, it is the most… preferable course of action?”
Her hands move to his arms before sliding up and down in an action she has done many times before. “What changed?”
Answering honestly, he recalls, “although emotional satisfaction with life contributes no logical factors to a long prosperous life, it is preferable.”
“Do I give you emotional satisfaction?” she teases lightly.
She is engaging in, what he would call, ‘fishing’. But, given the displeasing nature of the last few days, he finds himself unable to deny her prevailment. “Indeed, Nyota. I fear, a life without you may never prove itself emotionally satisfactory. I have also learnt that the prospect of your absence is most disagreeable.”
“You’ve missed me,” she states, her tone uplifted with surprise.
He runs his hand through her loose hair, admiring its silkiness between his fingers. “Although these last two days have been somewhat unpleasant, I was referring specifically to the… discomfort I felt upon learning that your presence on Altamid was unaccounted for.”
She nods slowly. “I- Yeah, that was bad,” she comments as she meets his gaze haltingly. “I’m glad you are alive, Spock,” she declares before raising herself and pressing her lips confidently against his. Her hands slide behind his head and run through his hair. “I love you,” she whispers against his mouth.
Despite the very public nature of their affection, Spock returns her kiss. He slides his arms around her waist, lifting her closer to his height. His hands aren’t as exploratory as they usually are, but he does remove one of her hands from around his neck and engages in the ozh’esta.
The publicity of their tenderness dooms them as someone behind Spock clears their throat. Pulling away immediately, he untangles himself from Nyota’s embrace, moving to stand beside her. Just as he notices that her expression is one of amusement, rather than mortification, he sees Leonard standing before them. “Greetings, Leonard,” he says politely as a subtle green flush spreads across his face.
McCoy simply smirks and announces, “well, I’m glad to see that our favourite lovesick half-Vulcan has finally got his shit together.”
Spock chooses to remain silent, hoping to prevent further embarrassment. Although, to his dismay, Nyota doesn’t. “How many people-” She pauses abruptly and turns her scrutiny onto him. “How many did you tell that we broke up?”
‘No-one’ would be the technically correct response, only, “the Doctor inferred the occurrence following the instance in which you attempted to return your Vokaya necklace.”
“And Kirk?” she asks, eyeing him.
He cannot recall any instance in which he may have told Jim. “I do not believe I have spoken to Jim regarding the nature of our relationship in over seven months.”
Her arms cross around her chest and she turns her entire body to face him. “How many times have you and he discussed our relationship.”
“I believe there have been nine distinct instances, mostly during which he inquired as to whether we were, to use his terminology, ‘still going strong’.” He tilts his head as Nyota laughs. He had not intended for his comment to be amusing.
“And, how much do you know about our relationship?” she asks, this time pointedly at Leonard.
The Doctor scoffs sauvely. “Look, Uhura. All I know is that this idiot-” Spock follows McCoy’s hand as it comes into contact with his arm. “-made a grave mistake and, as we faced death… Well, let’s just say, he saw the light and deeply regretted his past decisions.” Straightening up, Leonard continues, “anyway. It’s amazing to see that our supposedly intellectual superior is doing the logical thing for once but, I do have to run. I’ll see you two around--hopefully not when you’re… you know. Take it easy.” The Doctor provides a brief smile before walking away from the pair.
Spock notices Nyota wave from the corner of his eye and he watches Leonard hasty exit. He turns back to face Nyota and raises two of his fingers between them. “I believe that it may be wise to limit our public displays of affection to this,” he considers aloud as she presses her fingers to his.
“Oh, but I do love kissing you, Spock,” she says happily, smiling as she does. He can feel their mutual contentment resonate between their minds.
“May I suggest that we enter my quarters for such endeavours?” he proposes with a raised eyebrow.
As excitement grows between them, so does their shared anticipation for what’s to come. And, as she begins to walk toward his door, he takes a moment to appreciate choosing his human side. As illogical as the notion is, his mother would be proud. He’s happy, Nyota’s happy and, right now, that is all that matters to him.