Part 3 of 3.

Spock was not exactly oblivious, but his normal acuity was affected by the events of the day. He had made it back to the ship, against odds which even he had not taken the time to calculate precisely because they were so obviously, deeply bad.

He—and the people he commanded—had been seconds from death when they were gathered by the transporter beam. To their credit, most of them behaved and performed admirably, neither blaming him nor weeping with fear or relief. But it had been a desperate and wrenching time for them, and he could feel the energy of crackling Human emotion. It was disorienting.

He was pleased to return to the bridge and attempt to restore normalcy.

Yet, even on the bridge, his most natural and comfortable place, there was something different. Ms. Uhura was leaning toward him strangely, as though she could not quite control her body. She was slopped over the back of her chair as he passed, and her eyes followed him intensely.

He was, truth be told, relieved to have made it home. The Captain's teasing notwithstanding, being alive was preferable to oblivion. And so he recognized that Uhura's energy was likely comprised of relief. But relief that he was home? What was he to her? They were indeed friends and colleagues. And though he was loath to admit it, he had fantasized about her quite explicitly over the past two weeks and one day, since encountering her on the shore leave planet. He had tried to expunge those memories and desires, opting for professionalism and attempting control. But then she had placed her palm against his body early that morning, in a gesture that, he had to admit, excited something deep and primal that had to be rapidly contained.

In the midst of crisis, he had forgotten about that small hand against his chest. But as her brown eyes focused on his on the bridge, and her mouth widened into a radiant smile, he remembered it like one might remember being hit by an anvil. Yes, she had touched him, not lightly or accidentally, but firmly and with what seemed like sweet and devious intent. The recollection flustered him. Suddenly it seemed impossible to reach his station.

"You're not going to admit that for the first time in your life, you committed a purely human emotional act?"

The memory of her hand had become everything, and he could give only the most fundamental answers. "No, sir."

They laughed at him. Ms. Uhura, too, laughed at him. But her eyes sparkled and caught his strangely.

He remained distracted throughout the shift.

Finally, they completed their work and left the bridge at the same time. She walked next to him and glanced up as they proceeded, and again her eyes were searching and strange. When he looked down at her, she smiled slyly and her eyelashes brushed against her cheeks. He noticed that her earrings swung gently against her neck as she proceeded down the corridor, and in a flash an image of her in a sparkling green outfit, smiling in the grotto on the fantasy planet filled his mind. His eyes moved from those earrings to follow the slope of her throat and shoulder, and as his eyes dropped lower he found he could see where her breasts came together just below the neckline of her uniform.

"Mr. Spock." He was jolted awake by her silvery voice. She had been speaking to him.

He cleared his throat. "Ms. Uhura."

"I asked if you would join me in my quarters for a private conversation."

They were, strangely enough, directly in front of her door.

He could feel himself being awkward, and yet could do nothing to change it, and so he simply adjusted his shoulders and looked at her with a blank countenance. "Is there something you must say that you cannot relate to me here in the corridor?"

"Seriously?"

His eyebrows met in surprise. He was, perhaps most of all, surprised not by her question but by his own behavior. He wanted her. Immediately. His body was so ready to take hers he could barely breathe, and she was inviting him into her quarters. As he thought about her hair and the skin on the back of her neck, his breath became soft and shallow and his eyes started to close.

Again her voice—this time not so silver sweet—woke him with a start.

"You almost died today. I am not going to let you get away with any more vague bullshit."

He opened his eyes fully to stare.

"Spock," she shook her head. "There is a lot that I would like to say to you that I cannot, and would not, ever, say here in the hallway."

He stared some more.

"Step into my quarters, Mister."

She turned on her heel and her door swished open. One of his eyebrows rose, and he followed her into her room. Her skirt was, he was almost certain, at least two centimeters shorter than usual, and when she turned to face him it strained against her thighs.

He placed his hands behind his back and attempted to raise his eyes to her face, but it was difficult to let go of the vision of her thighs. He endeavored to stand up properly straight, but he found himself folding in toward her, drawn to her.

They were alone and in the quiet. Truly alone, not on a fantasy planet, not in a recreation room, not in their minds and hearts and dreams, but together in the warm, almost-dark of Nyota's quarters. And while the Human phrase "now or never" came to mind, Spock was unable to act. He swallowed hard. Her eyes were on fire, and the memory of the fantasy planet begin to bloom again in his consciousness. He drove it back. Because she, Nyota, stood before him. Now he could know the true woman, if he were to just reach and touch.

For the first time that day, he was afraid.

And then she touched him. In the exact same place as she had that morning in the recreation room. She laid her palm on his chest, and this time they both breathed deeply at the contact. He shifted his weight very slightly toward her, into her hand, and she pressed back and the connection between them was staggering and hot. She looked at her hand, then up at him, as she spoke. "Spock, you are a stubborn man."

He wanted to speak, to tell her he was not stubborn, really, just an awkward boy looking at a woman and wanting her so much, but instead he watched silently, watched as her lips opened ever so slightly and she raised her free hand to touch two fingers to her own mouth. "Put your lips here."

He watched her eyelids descend. And finally he bowed his head to do so, and she tipped her head back to receive his lips and give him hers. It was pure fire and deep, searching breath and touch. He felt her strong arms come up behind him, felt one of her hands on the small of his back, and he was maddened by that simple touch and again made an animal sound, growling into their kiss. His arms also came up around her and enclosed her in his heat, and he pressed the length of his body into hers. His real body, and her real body, together and solid and ready to know.

the end