Disclaimer: I own nothing Star Trek.

Thank you to TeaOli and my writer friends for encouragement & assistance.

This story is a sequel to The Surface, the one-shot in which Spock had to go to the shore leave fantasy planet and he gained some intimate knowledge. This story takes place shortly thereafter, during the time of the episode Galileo 7. This is part 1 of 3.

It was an odd time of morning to be in the rec room. The dark contours of its furniture and the fronds of its many alien ferns were lit only by the stars outside the one porthole where crew could observe space. Though the sky was black and the stars shone the same at any time of day or night, the ship's clock said it was 04:43. So early that only those who worked the night shift, or those who were assigned to that day's away mission, were up and dressed and working. Only those people, and Nyota Uhura. She and Commander Spock were alone.

She had something to ask him.

Fifteen days prior, he had touched her. He'd beamed up from the surface of what they termed "the fantasy planet" where they'd taken shore leave. The planet where everyone's dreams came true, where wishes came to literal, physical life.

Spock had returned from that planet and mentioned seeing her there.

He'd come to her work station, approached her from behind, and his dark presence sent a thrill down her spine. There had been moments like that before, simple sparks, like tiny lightning when she met his eyes, static electricity when their bodies were close in the lift, or when he absently brushed her hand during work. But it was always Spock, her colleague, her friend.

And then he'd really touched her, when he returned from the shore leave world, discreetly, with just the tip of his thumb across the back of her neck. He slid his skin against hers, and the pressure and focus were strong and hot. It was a single second, a minor touch, and yet the most erotic thing she'd felt in her life.

He had alluded to seeing her down on the planet. What a pleasure it was. But she had not gone down! She could only guess what form of Nyota he had seen. His fantasy.

And so they stood in the recreation room two weeks and one day later, alone at 04:43, so Uhura could demand an explanation. Because the longer she wondered, the more strange and impossible it seemed, as if she had imagined his touch. And the longer she waited to ask him, the more she fancied catching his eyes watching her. The more she flirted with him and watched him blush. The more she noticed him standing a bit too close. She found a growing tension between them, a delicious one. A startling ignition, then a slow building fire. She had come to expect these new feelings, her heart taking flight when she saw him, her body and mind yearning, until she found herself leaning toward him, getting closer than before, smiling more than ever, beckoning in every unspoken way.

They stood with the stars before them. They were rather close together but still officially apart, and they spoke formalities, until finally it became silent and it was time for her to say what she had to say.

Her voice was almost a whisper.

"I want to know why you did it." She looked up into his brown eyes, and she felt it like a ton of bricks. The yearning was very strong, standing so close, and she was almost knocked off her feet by his nearness. In her mind, she could feel his skin again, the way it had moved across hers, the pressure, the dark and deep intention. She could almost feel what it would be like to lay a hand on his hard chest, right there in front of her face, what it would be like to feel him breathe. "I need to know. Why you touched me like that."

It made her almost shy. And Uhura was never shy.

"I would rather not respond."

If she weren't so intrigued, and so damn drawn to him, she would be pissed. But there was a burning hot thread pulling them together, a powerful magnetism. She could not tear herself away from his gaze, and as they came almost indiscernibly closer her head tipped back ever so slightly. He looked so strong, like a rock, and yet somehow afraid. His eyes were liquid and searching and so, so pretty. How had she not noticed his beauty?

The heat washed over her, and these thoughts made her breathless, and so what would have come out a reprimand was instead a soft flirtation, delivered as she spoke a thousand other volumes with her eyes. "Well you're going to respond, Mister. You touch a woman like that, you explain yourself."

He stood tall and immovable, his hands behind his back, but he radiated some kind of invitation she could not name or prove. "My response would no doubt sound inappropriate."

It was just there, pulling at her.

And so she pulled back. "Then don't tell me."

"But Ms. Uhura, you ju---"

"--Show me."

He raised one eyebrow. "Show you?"

"Commander," she breathed the word, his rank, as though it were a lover's pet name, and talking to him that way felt good and deeply right. She watched what it did to him. She watched a green tinge rise under his skin, watched his eyes intensify even more, focus in even tighter on hers, and she kept at him, with a voice like melted chocolate. "Sometimes the only logical response is an emotional one."

And as she told him this, she did place her hand on his chest, her palm flat against the blue fabric of his uniform. She felt his bones and the heat of his blood, and once she had breached their formal separateness a frank desire crashed through her in waves.

Spock looked frightened. "Lieutenant, I—"

His communicator sounded, and Kirk's voice filled the remaining space between them. The Captain was calling for the away team to assemble immediately.

*