Author's Note: I've read so many wonderful, beautifully written fics about Spock and Uhura's platonic relationship in the original series (and what it could mean to the respective alternate timeline characters) that, honestly speaking, it was a bit daunting to write my own version of it. Still, I did anyway. And while this story may not be quite original as content themes do tend to become typical and cliche in fanfiction, I hope you enjoy it.

Whom She Loves

There were nights when he would jolt to consciousness with his heartbeat abnormally elevated, his chest heaving as a result, and a sheen of cold sweat all over his body.

With a disoriented murmur, he would command lights at 5% and find solace in the diminished darkness.

Spock had learned early on that dreaming—the human term for the phenomenon of experiencing emotions, images, and a false reality brought about by unconscious brain activity—was not a common occurrence for Vulcan children. Furthermore, if the Vulcan chooses a life purged of emotion, as would be the result of achieving Kolinahr, such an occurrence would be impossible into adulthood.

As a child of two worlds, Spock dreamt significantly less than a normal human child—sparing him from the terror of nightmares Nyota would sometimes share with him in the middle of the night. But he dreamt more than Vulcans did and the occurrence has multiplied unnaturally in the past year . . . since he had lost his mother and his home and watched with his own eyes the obliteration of a planet that contained billions of souls.

He dreamt of her tonight, his mother as she was from his childhood. Her hairs were not yet gray and she moved with the brisk efficiency humans, on occasion, are capable of, as she paced back and forth between the kitchen and the dining table. The smell of his favorite plomeek soup and his mother's favorite terran comfort food—pumpkin pie—wafted into the dining room. He was a child not yet eight years old, waiting for the delights of his mother's choice of nourishment.

It was fascinating how his senses could be so utterly deceived in sleep.

It smelt real. It felt real: the excitement and anticipation for his mother's home-cooked meal and the absolute fear and panic that gripped his chest when his mother did not return to the table. She had vanished behind the white curtains that shielded the kitchen from his view. And he knew, as he knew now in consciousness, that he would never see her again.

The rustling sound of sheets against body drew his attention from the ceiling to the sleeping figure beside him. He watched as stray hairs slipped from its place behind her ear to her face and, in a motion that was more instinct that effort, he tucked the rebellious strands back in place.

It brought him tranquility to watch her and in a few minutes, his normal pulse rate was restored. His mind was swept clean of the nightmare, but only to be replaced with a different memory.

His encounter with the older Spock, now referred to as Selek, a few days ago inevitably left a deep impression. It was not their first encounter. Selek has already commenced in the plan to rebuild the Vulcan colony. The line of such engagement required the Ambassador frequent interstellar travels for optimized clarity in coordination, and it was only recently that the older Vulcan experienced the toll of the severe physical demands during a supposed brief visit to Earth.

As he and Nyota were on leave in between short exploration missions, they thought it considerate and necessary to visit him in the hospital where he was confined for mandatory bed rest. The lieutenant had only a brief meeting with Selek in the immediate aftermath of the Narada's destruction and still thought the present reality odd.

"If it gives you discomfort, I can go alone, Nyota," he offered, only to see her shake her head.

"No, I want to come. It's always going to be weird considering that he is . . . you, but it feels right for me to go. I'm concerned too, and besides, I'm not sure I trust you with this." She smiled impishly and held up the food container that held a generous supply of his "favorite" Vulcan broth.

"I have no comment on that . . . severe accusation."

Spock knocked on the door in calculated courtesy and on his third knock, the doopr opened. "Ambassador, are you fit to accommodate company?"

"According to the doctor, yes, I am in adequate health to receive guests. Please enter."

He entered with Nyota trailing behind him. Spock noted the split-second surprise that registered on the older Vulcan's face.

The atmosphere felt customarily formal, but as always, Nyota knew how to inject warmth into the situation, starting with a sunny smile. "Good afternoon, Ambassador. I hope you're feeling better?"

"Far better now in the presence of such radiant company."

Nyota burst out laughing and, with quick eye contact, mentally told Spock something along the lines of: he many be an older version of you, but his old Vulcan charm hasn't dulled one bit.

"I have a feeling Terran hospital food wouldn't be much to your liking so I brought you plomeek soup, fresh from the stove and excellent for the soul."

At this the Ambassador lit up. "I believe one spoonful of plomeek soup will be exceedingly more beneficial to my health than any drug, especially as I have not ingested it for a considerable time now. My deepest gratitude, Miss Uhura."

"You're welcome. And please call me Nyota. It's quite strange for me if you call me otherwise." She shared a look with Spock before continuing. "You know what, I'll . . . go interrogate the doctors right now and win more comforts for you, Ambassador. I'll leave you two alone for now to talk."

She grinned when both Vulcans nodded simultaneously—the same reserved tilting of their chins— and took her exit.

Spock observed in silence as Selek opened the container. The scent of the broth welcomingly overwhelmed the standard antiseptic smell of the ward, and he felt his insides warm at the deluge of nostalgia. He counted it as one of his life's greatest blessings that Nyota was able to cook the dish with a skill that rivaled his mother's. He was along this trail of thought when the older Vulcan's voice pierced the silence between them.

"Am I to assume, drawing from my observation between yourself and Lieutenant Uhura, that you are both engaged in an intimate relationship?"

The question brought back to mind the surprise Spock saw clearly on the Ambassador's features upon their entrance.

"Am I to assume, judging from your inquiry and appearance of surprise, that you and the Lieutenant were not?"

Selek took in a deep breath, as if hesitating to proceed. "No, we were not," he finally informed. "We were . . . colleagues and good friends for many years. Nothing more."

His stomach churned at the implication of Selek's revelation—a reaction he could not logically account for.

"How is the settlement of the colony on New Vulcan? It is only reasonable that I offer my assistance to ease you of the burden so you can channel your priority towards full recuperation."

Selek raised his brows. "I acknowledge your concern for the colony; however, I sense that you are bothered by what I had just revealed regarding the state of my relationship with the lieutenant.."

Spock considered his words for a moment before confessing. "It is not what I . . . expected."

"Circumstances were different in my time, Spock. I rejected most forms of emotions like weaknesses to be purged from myself immediately and without question. Not too long ago, I attempted to achieve Kolinahr and dedicate myself to living the Vulcan way. But you . . . " Spock followed the elder's gaze which was aimed at the slim, straight-postured figure visible from the ward's wide window. She had her back to them as she engaged a rather harassed looking doctor in a serious discussion. "It has become clear to me that yours will be a different path."

"If I may be so bold as to ask, Ambassador, what became of Lieutenant Uhura in your timeline?"

"While I do not wish to encourage such inquiries about what has already come to pass in my time and what is yet to come for you, I believe my answer will not present much harm as I do not have the knowledge you seek. Lieutenant Uhura and I parted ways after our tenure aboard the Enterprise. The last I heard, the lieutenant opted for a career in the academe and became very renowned in her field as her skill in identifying sonic anomalies in subspace transmissions is—"

"Unparalleled" "Second to none." They said in unison.

They shared in the silence for a few seconds as Selek took a mouthful of Nyota's broth. The sigh that escaped the older Vulcan's lips sounded almost like a moan of pleasure. When he was ready to resume conversation, Selek looked significantly restored.

They discussed the progress in New Vulcan and the many plans and projects that have yet to be completed. When both parties were satisfied with the scope of their exchange on the topic, Spock took to silence while Selek consumed the remaining broth.

"I remember the quiet strength she had," the older Vulcan informed in a tone that suggested nostalgia, and Spock understood at once which she he was referring to. "She wasn't the kind of person to give way to fear, and I observed that she was not in the least intimidated by me. On more than one occasion, she even took to teasing. There was one particular instance when I informed her of an error in her frequencies, and quoting her response, she asked: Why don't you tell me I'm an attractive young lady, or ask me if I've ever been in love?"

Spock's lips quivered at the playful audacity he knew Nyota to be capable of.

"As you can understand, I was not capable of reciprocating much less initiating such kinds of emotional banter. But now I've come to understand that I was wrong," Selek explained, snapping the empty food container close and setting it on the table beside his bed. "Affirming the truth is logical; therefore, I ought to have concurred with her first statement in reference to her pleasing aesthetics. My only chance for absolution is for you to rectify the error in my stead."

Spock nodded and clasped both hands behind his back. "Understood. I shall take it upon myself to inform Nyota of your—my—admiration."

There were two raps on the door before a doctor strode in with Nyota three steps behind. The slump in the medic's shoulders was indicative of being a recipient of the lieutenant's stern commands.

"Hello, Ambassador Selek, I trust that you are recovering well?" The doctor took the PADD hanging at the edge of the bed and skimmed through the information.

"Certainly, Doctor Hengel."

"I've arranged for your meals to be prepared with Vulcan spices as it was brought to my attention that such would boost you to good health in no time. I find this in line with my goals. Also, I've requested for the technicians to increase temperature levels to imitate warmer Vulcan climate for maximum comfort."

Nyota nodded and inspected her nails. "And the pillows?"

"Will be changed to memory foam as to your preferences," the doctor finished with a resigned sigh.

"That would indeed be optimum for my physiological needs, doctor." And while he was still addressing the doctor, Selek slid his glance towards the lieutenant. "You have my gratitude."

"Rest well, Ambassador," Nyota said cheerily after her hands sought out the crook of Spock's elbow. "I'll bring you more plomeek soup tomorrow," she added with a wink to which Spock raised a brow at before turning back to Selek, stone faced and reverent.

"We shall take our leave then, Ambassador. Rest well." He offered the Vulcan salute, which Selek reciprocated.

"I hope you do not dwell much on it, Spock. You have something wonderful now. It is only logical to make the most out of it."

When Nyota later inquired the meaning behind those words, he opted avoidance, answered vaguely and maneuvered the conversation to other matters.

The notion of alternate realities is confounding even to most rational scientist. To think of an explanation, to attempt to follow the possible shifts in a reality that is more fragile than previously believed is possible. Therefore, the only logical course is to accept it as it is and have faith.

Lying on his bed, Spock could make out the small smile on Nyota's lips. A good dream, perhaps.

Why don't you ask me if I've ever been in love?

The words had been tugging at the corner of his mind, even when he knew it would not be beneficial to dwell on it and, therefore, illogical. But tonight he found himself unable to resist picking on the train of thought, to explore with his mind what has already happened, in a different timeline.

With practiced caution, he removed himself from the bed and put on the trousers that had been neatly folded over the chair. As there was a possibility of waking Nyota with the scent of his asenoi, he opted to disregard it and contented himself to sit on his meditation mat with his back perfectly upright, legs crossed, and eyes closed.

He was certain, gauging the probability at 95%, that the Nyota Uhura of Selek's universe had fallen in love. Perhaps even more than once.

It was one of the most perplexing aspects of the human race—to be capable of wholly loving more than one mate. He had witnessed this ability during his time within the academy. The rate of couples breaking up happened with surprising frequency and while some are reunited after a brief time apart, others moved on to another and exhibited almost the same pattern of intimate behavior with the new lover.

He was fairly certain that Nyota would have found someone who loved her and whom she loved in return. There would be someone else who would lie beside her on chilly evenings and listen to her excited jabbers explaining the highlight on her day. Someone else would hold her hand and hold her close when she's upset. Someone else would receive the tender affection in her eyes, the one she would cast when she thinks he isn't looking.

Spock felt his brows knot and took deeper breaths to maintain the rational integrity of his assessment.

It is only logical, he thought, disregarding the constricting sensation in his abdomen, close to his heart.

Considering the lieutenant's intelligence, inspiring work ethic, competent skill-sets, the sheer diversity of her talents, her pleasing personality and undeniably above-average aesthetics, finding another lover—or lovers—might not even prove challenging.

He remembered noting one time, during his term as an instructor, the number of males who would stare a few seconds longer or who would conspicuously take a second glance when Cadet Uhura passed them by. He found that the number almost equaled his ten fingers and it was only after significant after thought that he added another finger to include himself.

Having grown up in a planet where a majority of bonded mates stay bonded for the span of a lifetime, the significantly shorter life cycle of human relationships intrigued him. Much more so when it is considered against the popular romantic cliché of soul mates—the idea that only one person in the vastness of the universe is destined for you.

The idea of belonging to only one person is highly unlikely. It does not make sense and is emotional in its core. Multiple persons are generally compatible (though never quite in the same way) with multiple persons, and it is but a question of who, out of all the possible compatible persons strewn across the universe, one connects with first both emotionally and physically.

As such, to even desire to have an exclusive claim on Nyota was illogical; yet despite this, he desired it with every fiber of his being.

Selek had stated that the lieutenant took up post in the academe and had gained fair recognition in her chosen field. Perhaps it was in that time that Nyota had found a mate—someone with the same passion for intellectual conversations. Also taking into consideration the value Nyota has always placed on family, she would have eventually married and would have birthed children.

I'd want two or maybe three, he heard her say before in her cheerful and feather-light tone while she lounged on the couch and made use of his lap as a makeshift pillow.

The mere thought of it was . . . painful. He felt the force of his emotions threatening to burst beyond the well-constructed boundaries of reason and control. Jealousy. Irritation. Anger. It seeped out like tendrils invading the structured ecosystem of his mind and leaving destruction, confusion, and frustration in its wake.

The sound of movement followed by a drowsy murmur broke his trance in almost the same manner as when he was startled into consciousness and released from the grips of his nightmare.

"Spock?"

He trained his eyes on the figure of the woman now 67% encroaching on his empty side of the mattress.

"Yes, Nyota?" His voice sounded strangled to his own ears.

It was maddening to think how, in a different time, it would have been another name that left her lips. The existence of that possibility alone vexed him beyond reason. In the dim light, he saw the beautiful curves of her body covered in parts with a thin sheet and the raw need to just hold her close rammed against his abdomen, with every beat of his heart.

"What are you doing?"

When he didn't speak, Nyota half-opened her eyes and mumbled, "Come back to bed."

He obeyed without protest and padded back to the bed.

"What time is it?"

"05:13," Spock replied, depositing himself beside her. He felt exhausted, defeated and shamed.

Her scent surrounded him when he drew closer to her, and he greedily filled his lungs with it. Spock savored the feel of her skin against his when she adjusted her body to mold to his and draped her arm across his abdomen. She held her palm at the precise position above his heart and he wondered if she felt the wildness of his heartbeat.

"Something's bothering you."

It wasn't a question.

He met her gaze and realized, for the first time, that she has been aware of his mood for a while now. Concern and wonder were in her eyes.

"Is it another nightmare? Do you want to talk about it?"

He opened his mouth only to close it again. It was unclear to him how Selek's information would affect her should he choose to impart it to her.

"Nyota, do you believe in soul mates?"

In swift reaction, she propped herself up on an elbow and shot him an expression that was both amused and a bit incredulous.

"Soul mates? That's what you've been brooding on at 5 in the morning?"

"To put it mildly, yes," he responded, face passive. "It is a popular concept among humans I believe and means—"

"I know what it means, I just . . ." Upon reading that he was actually serious, Nyota exhaled and challenged her mind to tackle the question with equal sobriety. "Okay, hold on, give me a few minutes to process this." She rested her head back on his chest in deep thought.

Spock was beginning to feel the tinges of regret and embarrassment in proposing such an illogical topic for discussion when, finally, she spoke.

"No, I don't think I do. Or maybe I believe in it to an extent . . ." When her thoughts seemed to have trailed off, Nyota pushed herself back to sitting position and angled her body to face him. He could tell, given the wrinkle in her brows and the telltale chewing of lip, that she was giving the question full deliberation. Everything else faded to non-importance when she was in this mood, including the haphazard way the sheets were wrapped across her body, barely passable as decent covering.

"It's a really nice thought," she said with mild breathlessness that spoke of confession. "Just the thought of being destined to be with somebody, you know, the thought that there is one person out there made for you, of being bonded by the will of the universe and not just by feelings—feelings that can be so whimsical and fleeting . . . It's a really nice and comforting thought."

"And to an extent, I get it. I think I understand why people centuries ago came up with this word. It adds an element of mystery and divinity, doesn't it? The incredible luck over finding someone so in sync with you can be so overwhelming that, in the end, nothing short of divine intervention could express it. It becomes not just a meeting but an orchestration of fate, god, cupid—a realization of prophecy—whatever."

He could hear the swelling of her excitement in her voice when, at last, she seemed to have grasped the elusive nature of her thoughts on the matter. She always spoke passionately when she does, and it kept him in a trance. Spock hung onto her every word and found himself holding his breath in anticipation when she paused.

"Take you and I, for example. If I had chosen not to attend Star Fleet Academy or if I had gotten into an accident when I was a child—and trust me there were lots of close calls—and I died as a result, I would not be here tonight. With you. I would never have met you. If I had chosen not to take your class because 90% of the juniors swore it would only drag my grades down and potentially kick me out of the scholarship program . . . when I think about it in that way, it feels like I was just one hold-your-breath decision away from never having—" she emphatically extended her arms—"this. Any of this. With you. The accumulation of our choices led us to each other, Spock, and it's the same accumulation of choices that leads other people to somebody else."

Spock nodded. "I agree on all points raised."

"And I suppose when you're so in love with somebody," Nyota continued, "the thought that someone else can be equally compatible and can match the pure euphoria you feel is . . . so ridiculously anti-climatic, don't you think so? And perhaps a bit unfaithful?" She palmed her chin and looked questioningly at him.

"Your statement infers that the concept of soul mates also serves a social necessity that is to stabilize exclusive relationships as well as defend the various rituals and customs surrounding it such as the institution of marriage. It also, therefore, reinforces the family structure that in turn benefits society . . . Fascinating."

Nyota grinned at his explanation. "In other words, when you eliminate the possibility of relationship bliss and compatibility with another person, it forces you to stick with your current flame through thick and thin."

Spock frowned at her unusual usage of the natural element.

"But there's a danger in believing in soul mates too," she said with thoughtful slowness.

"Explain," he encouraged. The surge of emotions that almost overwhelmed him minutes ago was once again safely contained, and he derived great pleasure in their discussion. He felt at ease to engage with her such form of intellectual back and forth.

"In its focus on divine orchestration, it essentially negates the importance of choice. We become reduced to a puppet show, and that is . . . unacceptable for me. In the context of romantic relationships, I believe that as much as it is the accumulation of choices that brings people together, it is also choice that breaks relationships. Choices of behavior. Choices of speech. Choices of actions. It's comforting to settle for the idea that there are some things are and are not meant to be, but at the same time, it's a sloppy way of thinking. For me, life is more fluid than that and infinitely more unpredictable. I guess in this sense it boils down to personal mindset."

"But by eliminating destiny from the equation, we are left with a reality that is all too fragile."

"Yes. That's exactly it," Nyota mused, taking his hand and giving it a quick squeeze. "And it's uncomfortable, isn't it? It makes whatever it is that we have so vulnerable and weak and uncertain."

Spock decided to build on that thought. "Vulnerability is a feeling humans have, over the course of their history, logically desired to eliminate. Humans advocated for religion and created various structures of beliefs that allow them a share in the omnipotence, one certainty over the multitude of uncertainties, and a stable foothold in the ocean of the unknown. Hence, in this manner of speaking, the notion of soul mates is spiritual as it is romantic." He watched the nodding movement of her head and considered his next words with care.

"But what is your response to the general discomfort such a vulnerability creates, Nyota?"

"I . . . I do my best to embrace it, Spock."

Nyota retreated to her thoughts for a few seconds before resuming. "That's reality. Everything about life is delicate, and as tempting—like really tempting—as it is, I don't want to look at our relationship and think it an invincible bond. We are both officers of Star Fleet. The odds of one of us getting killed in the line of duty aren't even that small. And there are other things too . . . like a change of priorities, a change of heart . . . I just have to accept the reality—even if it's hard and even if it would hurt so badly—that maybe one day we could face a challenge that is beyond our feelings."

He stared at her and only had to see the honesty in her eyes to understand the undercurrent of meaning in her words. They have not confronted the issue yet, but he now realized that she had already given it much consideration: that should he choose his duty to Vulcan, she would not stand in his way. It stirred in him a deep emotion that was impossible to express.

"I'm not being very romantic, am I." He knew she meant it to tease, but, while she gave him a small smile, he also sensed sadness.

"No, you are being rational, Nyota. And I appreciate your honesty. However," Spock maneuvered his hand to intertwine their fingers together, and with a hesitation that was evident in his brief pause, he opted to bare his thoughts to her, "I have to add a point of paramount importance, that is: the acceptance of the inherent fragility in our bond is what makes—as you say it—whatever we have infinitely more precious."

At this, a genuine smile broke out of her lips and subsequently he quirked his own and continued. "Perhaps in this we ought to adapt the other popular human notion—the captain's favorite, I suspect—of living in the moment," he suggested. "To live in this moment wherein we are mutually choosing to be with each other."

Nyota pursed her lips to hold back a grin. The air between them, heavy only seconds ago, had lightened. "Why, Spock, how dependably logical of you."

When she was certain that the pensive mood that hung over Spock like a dark cloud at the beginning of their conversation no longer required further intervention, she nestled back beside him and pressed her forehead against his jaw.

"I apologize for disrupting your sleep."

"Oh stop it. When can anyone ever claim they woke up in the godforsaken hours of the morning only to have an enlightening conversation with their boyfriend on the subject of soul mates?" And as an afterthought added, "But if you feel bad, you can redeem yourself by staying in bed with me like this till morning."

Spock felt her hold tighten around his waist pleasingly. "An acceptable penance."

"I love you, Spock," she murmured and her emphasis on the pronoun didn't escape him.

He basked in her words and felt it soothe every tension in his mind and body, succeeding where meditation did not.

"And I love you, Nyota," he returned, even when he found the three words grossly inadequate to express his sentiment.

Having her always by his side is a fragile reality, and beneath the jealousy and the irritation this truth reaped was fear. Just as he felt fear at the prospect of death inside the volcano, he feltthe fearof losing yet another loved one. He desired assurance and certainty—and the very futility of his desire resulted in an internally violent discontent.

But there was wisdom and logic in Nyota's attitude towards such dilemma: to accept what cannot be changed; to accept the ever-present uncertainty woven with time itself. And as Selek recommended: to recognize the wonder of the present, take it as it is, and derive the most pleasure and satisfaction from it as the most logical course of action.

Whoever else she loved in the other alternate universes is irrelevant, he realized with pristine clarity. The only valid equation is that he is whom she chooses to love now, and she is whom he chooses to love now. And should Nyota one day choose otherwise or should circumstances between them urge them to part ways . . . it does not reduce what they had. It does not negate the love that was already shared. Perhaps this was to be his sole consolation.

The breathing of the woman in his arms was beginning to slow to a deep, even rhythm when he remembered a pledge he made with every intention of fulfilling.

"Nyota?"

"Hmm?"

"Before you return to slumber, I think it best to inform you that attractive does not properly serve you justice. I would rather utilize other more apt adjectives such as exquisite."

He felt her throaty chuckle against his rib. "Spock, is that your way of asking me for sex at 5 in the morning?"

"That is not my original intention; however, I believe my intention is still amendable."