FIC: Like the Stars, Like Your Destiny (4/5)
Like the Stars, Like Your Destiny
Part 4 of 5
Title: Like the Stars, Like Your Destiny
Author: anodyna
Characters/Pairings: Nyota Uhura, Spock/Uhura, Gaila, Spock Prime & ensemble
Rating: R for sensuality and Vulcan poetry references
Warnings: Vulcan poetry references!
Summary: Nyota Uhura has always been drawn to things that resist her understanding. Finding out she's lived her entire life in an alternate reality is a mystery she's not sure she can solve. Sleeplessness and self-examination ensue.
They make love for the first time in a small hotel, in a clean white room with tall windows overlooking the ocean. It's a place they choose together, almost without discussion--just a few taps of a PADD over lunch in the dining room one day, with others oblivious all around them--and it's decided, and done.
They do not say out loud what they intend, not even to each other. To find the right words would be difficult, and in any case it's unnecessary.
Their purpose is not to be secret. They do not feel illicit, no matter what Gaila says. This is something they want just for themselves: one night free from uniforms and hierarchies, from the rituals that form the normal boundaries of their existence together. To be only Nyota and Spock, and nothing else.
It's a journey of less than fifty miles. They meet at the Academy gate, and to the casual bystander there's little about them to attract notice. The more observant might remark that the commander wears black even when he's out of uniform, or that the violet blue of the cadet's dress is beautiful against her soft brown skin. They might even catch the small exchange of gestures when the two meet: She touches the collar of his jacket, straightening what's already perfectly straight; he brushes back a strand of her long hair that's slipped free of the rest and curled over her shoulder.
Only someone looking for it would detect the way their fingers find each other's as they walk--touching and separating, touching and separating, as if renewing the pleasure of the contact with each repetition. They walk to the transport hub together, and choose one going north. They watch the city slip by below, until the grid breaks up and dissolves into trees. After a time it changes again, becoming coastline and ocean. They have arrived.
It's late afternoon and the sun is low in the sky, filling the white room with golden light. Nyota steps inside and stands with her eyes closed, waiting to hear the swish of the door sliding closed, the soft chime of the lock setting itself. Then she opens her eyes, takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.
Spock stands beside her, quietly taking in the room; he seems to be waiting to see what she does. The seriousness of what they're doing--how big a step it is just to be here--strikes her anew, and she feels the need for reassurance. She turns to him just as he's turning to her, and he kisses her gently, as if he's read her thoughts.
It works--she feels calm and tranquil again. She smiles at him.
"Now," she says, "tell me everything."
They sit on the balcony overlooking the water, their backs against the stone wall. Nyota has brought a gift from Gaila: a delicate Orion lantern, made of pierced metal in a pattern of waves and stars. Its small flame flickers and glows, casting moving shadows on the stones. Spock had made them tea, steaming cups that warm their fingers as the sun begins to set and the breeze turns cooler.
They talk.
They tell each other about their lives before they met, about their childhoods, about how they came to Starfleet. He tells her about Vulcan--about growing up there, about what it was like to be the only child with a human mother, about the difficulty of knowing who and what he was. He describes the day he declined his admission to the Vulcan Science Academy, and how the rift with his father is still not mended.
She tells him about her family, about their house filled with visitors and the fascination it gave her for other languages and other worlds. How her mother opposed her decision to join Starfleet, and how hard she had to work to earn the right to make her own choice. She tells him about the holovid library, and the day she found the recordings of the Kelvin disaster.
"That is when you began your study of Romulan." He looks to her for confirmation.
"Yes," she says, surprised. "How did you know?"
"I did not know, until now. I have sometimes wondered why a young person who had lived an entirely Terran existence would be drawn to such an obscure and complex language as Romulan. Even at the Academy it is rarely studied before the second year. Your near fluency as a third year student suggested to me that you had begun your studies much earlier--perhaps six or seven years before."
"My mother would be horrified if she knew how I got interested. She thought I chose Romulan because it meant I could take classes at the university."
"I am not surprised the story of the Kelvin made a strong impression on you. The captain's actions showed great courage in the face of a situation in which there was no survivable option. I have often thought of it, as I have worked on simulations for the command-track cadets." After a pause he adds, "As you are acquainted with James Kirk, you must be aware that the captain of the Kelvin was his father. One of the lives saved in that incident was Cadet Kirk's."
Nyota nods. "I think he was a second year before I heard it. I almost didn't believe it at first. Kirk never talks about it, either."
"You and Kirk have known each other for some time. You were present at the incident in Iowa where he came to the attention of Captain Pike."
Nyota glances at him in surprise. "I was. How did that come up?"
"It is often cited as an example of Captain Pike's effectiveness as a recruiter. It was some time before I understood the female cadet involved to be you. Although once I did, I felt I comprehended perfectly how events must have unfolded."
"I hope by that you mean, you can tell I shot Kirk down for being an ass."
"That you did not succumb to his charms at the time is evident from the report. But I have wondered if--since you have known him--perhaps you have felt differently--"
"Spock, are you asking me if I ever did anything with Jim Kirk?"
He doesn't answer at first, just takes a sip of tea, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Finally he says, "It is possible."
Nyota laughs. "I can't believe you're jealous! And of Jim Kirk, of all people."
"I am not jealous. Jealousy is illogical. I am simply curious. James Kirk is reputed to have qualities that are attractive to many women--although I am unable to determine what they are."
Nyota touches his face and he turns to look at her, his eyes dark. She leans over and kisses him, enjoying the way his breath catches in response, the way his eyes close and stay that way.
"My answer to Jim at the bar was my final answer," she says. "He's not my type."
Spock opens his eyes, raises an eyebrow. "You have a type."
"Yes. My type is handsome scientists, very brilliant, with excellent linguistic abilities and an illogical tendency to be jealous."
"Thank you, that is encouraging." Their hands have found each other, and he links two fingers with hers--a simple gesture, but it fills her with a spreading warmth.
The sun has set, and the moon glows softly above the horizon. Against the deepening blue of the sky Gaila's lantern is a small beacon of flickering orange light. The coastline here is rugged, and the waves of the incoming tide sound a distant, steady rhythm against the rocks below. The air grows cooler as it comes in off the ocean, but neither one of them moves to go inside.
Nyota looks at Spock, taking in the lines of his profile. She reaches up to trace the shape of his ear, and he responds by closing his eyes. "Tell me what it was like for you," she says.
He takes a deep breath, lets it out. He glances at her, a quick sidelong look, and she sees his almost-smile. "I imagine our experiences were similar. I had my thoughts about you, but I could not let them interfere with our work. I wondered what you felt, but did not have any particular expectations. It seemed the only thing to do was to continue as we were."
She nods. "I dreamed about you, all the time."
His tiny exhalation is as close as he comes to a laugh. "Vulcans dream very rarely. Perhaps I should be grateful to have been spared that additional source of torment."
"It had its good parts."
"So I imagine." He looks at her again, more seriously. "It is not accurate to say I had no expectations. Certain future events, I thought, might bring about change. With your outstanding academic record you are almost certain to be assigned to the Enterprise. I reasoned that, as colleagues on the same starship, we might develop a more complete understanding of each other. And I knew--I had cause to believe that there was no one else. That you had not formed any other attachment that would make such a future development impossible."
Once again he has surprised her. "Was there anything about me you managed not to know?"
"It was not something I went out of my way to learn. You and I spent a great deal of time together, which gave me some idea of how little time you had to devote to anything else. However it was others who brought it fully to my notice. It was remarked upon among my colleagues that Cadet Uhura had disappointed many other cadets by her steadfast refusal of their advances."
"The faculty talked about me. I know I shouldn't be surprised, but--what?"
"Students do not realize how much interest their instructors take in their activities. As one of the most accomplished cadets, one so beautiful and well-regarded, your lack of apparent romantic interests attracted some curiosity. I believe it fueled some of the conjecture regarding the nature of our relationship."
"I can't believe there's so much gossip. Does anyone have their own life to worry about?"
"A reasonable question. However given where we are it is late to begin taking offense at speculation about our private conduct."
Nyota laughs, and presses a kiss against his neck. He turns his head toward her, finds her mouth with his and kisses her back--a strong, open kiss, definite and unreserved. With his free hand he brushes her hair back, and the tiny contact of his fingers with her exposed skin makes her shiver. She opens her eyes to find him looking at her, his eyes so dark, so expressive and human. She wonders if her look reveals as much to him as his does to her.
"You knew all that," she says. "But you never guessed I felt the same way you did."
He leans back against the wall, shifting his gaze to the darkening horizon. "There were times I thought I perceived something--you would look at me a particular way, or I would think I heard something unspoken behind your words--but I could not be certain. Human interactions are complex, and it is difficult for me to distinguish between what is significant and what is accidental. I did not wish to take the risk of being wrong. I was aware there was no other faculty member who could take my place as your advisor, if you felt you could no longer work with me."
She nods. "I thought about that, too, what would happen if you knew I had feelings for you. I didn't want to do anything that would damage our work together, or our friendship. It seemed safer if you didn't know."
"You are aware that the risks of entering into a more intimate relationship still apply. It is not too late, if you wish to change your mind."
"I think it is, actually. But I wouldn't have come here if I wasn't completely sure."
He smiles. "It was not as simple as I have made it sound for me to maintain control of my emotions. One night I nearly failed entirely. I was meditating on my desire for you, attempting with little success to bring it under regulation, when you appeared at my door. It was as if you were sent by Surak himself to test me. I do not know how I was able to speak to you. In that moment I wished nothing more than to act--to end to my suspense and know, once and for all, whether you desired me as I did you."
Nyota blinks. "I remember."
"Nor am I likely to forget. Vulcan passions are extremely strong, Nyota. This is difficult for others to realize. They do not understand that our mental discipline is necessary to keep in check that which would otherwise be uncontrollable. They believe us cold and unfeeling, when the opposite is true." He looks down at their hands, their fingers still linked together. "For me it is more complex, because I am both human and Vulcan. My emotional control is imperfect, making me too human in the eyes of other Vulcans. Yet to humans I appear overly contained, without emotion."
"Not to me."
"No, he says, looking at her. "Not to you."
The sky is fully dark now. Here where land and ocean meet the stars are visible all the way to the horizon. Nyota looks up into the infinite space, at worlds so distant their light will never reach her. Some great destiny waits for her there, she knows it like she knows herself.
Great destiny is for tomorrow. Tonight there is only this room, and him, and he is all she wants.
She turns to him, and in his eyes she sees her own thoughts reflected.
"Come inside," she says. "Come and show me."
They take their time undressing, watching each other in the half light.
He undoes the hooks at the back of her dress, and she slips it from her shoulders and drapes it on the chair. She turns to look at him, following his movements with her eyes as he peels off each layer. He is so pale, his body lean and muscular, more defined than she guessed when she could only see him in his stiff Academy uniform. She feels a thrill at the sight of him, standing there in the glow of the lamp, as if waiting for her approval.
"You are beautiful," she says in Vulcan. She's never said this phrase aloud before, and the words come out flawed, the vowels tinged with Romulan.
He smiles. "You are beautiful also." His Vulcan is perfect, classical and precise; though for him, too, the words are unfamiliar.
He comes to her, where she sits on the edge of the bed. For the first time she feels how nervous she is, like something is happening that's too important for mistakes. She doesn't know how they begin, now that they're here.
Fortunately, he does. He threads his fingers through her hair and draws her to him, kissing her with a heated tenderness that blanks her thoughts for a moment. She reaches for him in return, her hands finding his sides, and she feels a tremor go through him at her touch. His response intrigues her; she touches him again and this time he makes a sound, a shuddering inhalation so senselessly erotic it's like something out of one of her dreams.
The next time she moves, he captures her hands and holds them. "Nyota," he breathes, "stop testing me." His lips are still almost touching hers, their foreheads close together.
"I can't help it," she answers, equally breathless, "I want to know what you're like. You're fascinating."
She feels him smile. "I will continue to be fascinating for as long as you require, but can you wait? I find I cannot appreciate you as I want to and be the object of your fascination at the same time."
She nods, not trusting her voice. There's something slightly hypnotic about his mild tone, and the way he gently moves her, lowering her onto the soft white expanse of the bed, still holding her hands carefully away. Their bodies are touching in so many places now, it's difficult for her to stay still. Only her intense desire to know what he'll do, and a corresponding wish not to distract him, keep her from reaching for him again; and then he is touching her and there is only the heat of his hands, the insistent pressure of his mouth against her skin. He explores her body with a scientist's care, mapping each curve and hollow, until every part of her is taut and trembling. She bears it as long as she can, but when he coaxes her legs apart and his tongue finds the wetness there, it's too much. She comes, her body arcing against him, her breath caught in a soundless cry.
He holds her as she recovers her breath and comes back to herself. When she opens her eyes he is studying her. There are tears on her lashes, and he touches them lightly. "It is an emotional, as well as a physical response," he says. "Fascinating."
She laughs, sending a tear spilling. He brushes it away, captures her mouth and kisses her, pulling a sound from her that's pure, unabashed sex. She feels her whole body reaching out to him, desire like a physical ache, like something insatiable. It has its own momentum and she feels it accelerating--now his mouth is on her throat, pressing burning kisses against the throb of her pulse; her legs tangle in his, their bodies aligned, their nakedness so natural and fitting and inevitable--
Somehow, she remembers she has a question. Over the pounding of her heart she hears it in her mind, and though she has no idea how to ask it, it's there and she needs to know. She pulls in a breath, attempts focus, and takes a stab at forming words:
"Have you ever done this before?"
He lifts his head and looks at her, a little surprised, but seemingly unperturbed by the sudden change of direction. "What--aspect, in particular?"
"This one." She gestures at them, a little vaguely, but he catches her meaning.
"Physical intimacy. Nyota, you do recall it was not long ago I was a Starfleet Academy cadet, like yourself."
"I do, but--wait, is that your answer?"
His expression is a mixture of amusement and perplexity. "Since you require more directness--yes. I participated in the normal rites of passage, including those of physical intimacy, during my early years at the Academy. It seemed necessary to my understanding of my human side, at a time when I was newly surrounded by human influences."
"Your early years at the Academy. That was--a while ago."
"I discontinued my experiments, as they did not seem to be leading to useful discovery. Something was lacking, perhaps some--emotional component. And as you know, my interests have been engaged elsewhere for some time."
Nyota knows this is the time to ask her real question. She gropes in her mind for the right words. "I thought that--it's different for Vulcans. That intimacy is different. That it's--I don't know, all I know is 'different.' Is it?"
He smiles--at least he's not offended. "Your question is understandable. It is not the custom of Vulcans to speak about such things, making information difficult to obtain. It is true that there are types of intimacy among Vulcans that are different from humans. Our telepathic ability allows us to create a mental link, to share another's thoughts and emotions. In the case of bonded mates and close relatives, the link can be permanent. Most of the time it is temporary."
"Did you ever--do that, with someone?" Nyota knows she's pushing into private things, things that are not fair to ask. But if he feels she's prying, he doesn't seem bothered. His hand on her stomach traces absent-minded circles, gentle passes of his fingers that are both erotic and soothing.
"I share familial links with my parents. Beyond that I have had only a little adolescent experimentation; nothing of real significance. The majority of my experiences have been accidental. It took some time living among humans before I learned to effectively shield my mind against unexpected physical contact."
"Is it something you want to do with me?"
Her question hangs in the air. He is careful not to change expression, but a tiny hesitation in the movement of his hand betrays his emotion.
"It is very intimate, Nyota," he says.
She raises her eyebrows, indicates their nudity--another vague gesture but again understood.
"More intimate than this. More intimate than any physical act or exchange of words can be. It is one's thoughts and emotions made visible to another. I would not--" He pauses, and his hand stills, too. "I would not have you wish it undone."
He looks at her, and she can see in his eyes what he could not keep out of his voice: mingled with desire, affection, honesty, a trace of fear. Fear that he will be too alien for her, that she will find him strange. It's unexpected, and it touches her. "Spock," she says softly, "I want to know you. Whatever you are, whatever you can do, those things are part of you. Anything you want to share with me, I want it."
He smiles, that minute expression that's invisible to most people but everything to her. He touches her face, his fingertips light against her temple. "Close your eyes."
She does, and for a moment there is just swirling darkness. Then she hears his heartbeat--loud and strong, unfamiliar--and her own, fainter but still more audible than she is used to. She feels the air of the room against her skin, all her own sensations but now his as well--his excitement, the coolness of her body against him, the way each brush of their skin together increases his desire for her. She moves experimentally and sees the bright flash, the split second when he is already imagining being inside her.
Then there is a change and she sees herself, walking toward him in her violet dress, coming to meet him at the gate with her eyes shining--and before, a day she almost doesn't recognize. It is last year; she had been away for her sister's wedding, and the day she returned he came to his office and she was there. She sees herself sitting by the window, she looks up at him, and the echo of what he felt reverberates through her. He is showing her the moment he knew he loved her.
More images flash by, and another comes into focus. She enters the lecture hall on the first day of class. As she passes him she greets him in Vulcan, just a few simple words, traditional and ordinary. But she feels, now, how at the sound of her voice something ignited within him. It was primal, inappropriate, quickly suppressed--but he could not forget.
She knows this is only the smallest part. She can sense the surging energy of his mind, the tumult of his thoughts and emotions, but they are separate from her, like something heard through a closed door. He is so careful, so gentle; controlled even now, when she can feel how he wants her with every part of himself; how he is waiting, with infinite patience, until her need to understand is satisfied.
It feels like waking from a dream when she opens her eyes. He removes his hand, breaking the last traces of the link, and studies her face for a reaction. "That's amazing," she says, her voice still a little dreamy. "I could see your thoughts. Could you see mine?"
"I felt your emotions, that is all. I did not want to do too much, in case you disliked it."
"No, I liked it. Thank you for sharing it with me." An impression from his mind resurfaces in hers and she smiles, reaches out to trace the point of his ear with her fingers. "It turns you on when I speak to you in Vulcan. You find it exciting."
He raises an eyebrow. "If you perceived it in my thoughts, it must be true."
"How do you say in Vulcan, 'If I don't have you soon, I feel like I might die?'"
He blinks a few times--whether he is thinking or mastering some emotion, she can't tell. "It is not a phrase in common use," he says, and his voice is mild but she can hear the sound that lies beneath, that pulls at her like the tide of the ocean. "However there is an ancient Vulcan poem that expresses a similar sentiment." He takes her hands and draws them up over her head, a slow, deliberate act that starts her heart racing. His hands are gentle as he touches her body here and there--coaxing her knees alongside his hips, drawing back her hair where it's tumbled over her breasts, touching her cheek so she looks up at him. They're so close now, fractions of inches separating them. Their eyes meet and he sees his slow smile. "The language of the poem is archaic, but if you like, Nyota, I will translate it for you."
She answers him with a smile of her own--it would be a laugh, except her throat is suddenly tight with emotion. "Yes," she says, "I'd like that." He kisses her, a kiss of impossible gentleness; then he is moving forward. He enters her in one breathless motion, the words of the poem caught before he can speak them, and they stare at each other for a moment, as if astonished. Then he moves again, she reaches for him with both hands; and the tide takes them, and they're gone.
Nyota has always believed in destiny, in the working hands of fate. She sees it in the stars, in each step she takes, each success that brings her closer to where she wants to be.
Destiny to her has always meant something big, something on a scale much larger than herself. She thinks now maybe she's been wrong. That the touch of destiny can be as small as two hands clasped together, two bodies sharing one breath; that one small room can contain everything in the universe.
It's beautiful, the way he fits her; the way he moves with her like they were made for each other. They make love in a kind of reverent silence, broken only by sighs and whispers; by breath caught, held, and released. Still they speak to each other, volumes exchanged in every look and touch. She's been learning this language for years, longer than she ever knew. To use it, finally, and be understood feels strange and joyful.
She watches him through her lashes, eager for the sight of him, for what has always been hidden from her: his eyes closed in pleasure, his lips unconsciously parted, the muscles of his arms and shoulders flexing under her hands as he moves above and beneath her. He is careful with her, cautious with his strength. When he comes, his restraint is beautiful to her, more erotic and moving than total abandon could be.
Only once does his careful control slip, and allow something he doesn't intend. One moment she's almost there, on the edge of letting go, and he's whispering her name in a voice heated with the effort of holding himself back for her. It's that note in his voice that pushes her over, pinpoints her focus on him, and she grabs for his hand to anchor herself--
The world opens inside her mind.
It's not an invasion, not forced. It's something they do by accident, like the wind blowing open a door not perfectly closed. Her mind is filled with the sound of Vulcan words--ancient words, words she's never heard--but she knows their meaning now because this is his mind, and Vulcan is the language of his thoughts. She feels the rushing pull, the door opening wide and all the sensations of his body flooding into hers. She opens her eyes, startled, to see him do the same--and to begin to retreat, pulling back and away from her.
No, don't go, she hears herself say, not out loud but in her mind, and he hears her, she knows he hears her. Their eyes meet and she sees his struggle, the war between desire and caution. She feels it, too--how much he wants this, how he burns for her, and yet how carefully he tries to hold it back. Any second she expects him to break the link, to close his mind to her. But he doesn't. All around her, through her, his thoughts keep flowing, the Vulcan words repeating like a poem, or a prayer.
Neither one of them has moved; they are still, hardly breathing, as if waiting for something. Then, from far away, she feels it: the dominoes of his control have begun to fall. She senses it coming and so does he, and their mouths come together in a hard, desperate kiss. "Nyota," he says, "I cannot--"
"I know," she answers, pressing her cool hands to his face, his neck. From out of the rushing current of his thoughts she plucks a fragment and speaks it, her lips soft against the tender curve of his ear: "Beloved, I am yours; soul of my soul, be one with me."
He can withstand no more. His mind goes blinding white, and for an instant there is perfect silence--then it comes roaring back, louder than before. She feels all of him: his mind and his body, his raging emotions and burning desire; she feels what he feels and it's overwhelming. "Nyota--" he gasps, but he's past warning her, he's past everything. His surrender is intense and beautiful, the pleasure that floods her senses unlike anything she's ever felt. It pushes her over, too, and then there is only him--his arms strong around her, his voice in her ear murmuring promises of devotion. His body like an offering, given only to her.
Much later, he will tell her the words to the poem. It's more beautiful than she ever imagined.
****
Continue to Part 5
Part 4 of 5
Title: Like the Stars, Like Your Destiny
Author: anodyna
Characters/Pairings: Nyota Uhura, Spock/Uhura, Gaila, Spock Prime & ensemble
Rating: R for sensuality and Vulcan poetry references
Warnings: Vulcan poetry references!
Summary: Nyota Uhura has always been drawn to things that resist her understanding. Finding out she's lived her entire life in an alternate reality is a mystery she's not sure she can solve. Sleeplessness and self-examination ensue.
They make love for the first time in a small hotel, in a clean white room with tall windows overlooking the ocean. It's a place they choose together, almost without discussion--just a few taps of a PADD over lunch in the dining room one day, with others oblivious all around them--and it's decided, and done.
They do not say out loud what they intend, not even to each other. To find the right words would be difficult, and in any case it's unnecessary.
Their purpose is not to be secret. They do not feel illicit, no matter what Gaila says. This is something they want just for themselves: one night free from uniforms and hierarchies, from the rituals that form the normal boundaries of their existence together. To be only Nyota and Spock, and nothing else.
It's a journey of less than fifty miles. They meet at the Academy gate, and to the casual bystander there's little about them to attract notice. The more observant might remark that the commander wears black even when he's out of uniform, or that the violet blue of the cadet's dress is beautiful against her soft brown skin. They might even catch the small exchange of gestures when the two meet: She touches the collar of his jacket, straightening what's already perfectly straight; he brushes back a strand of her long hair that's slipped free of the rest and curled over her shoulder.
Only someone looking for it would detect the way their fingers find each other's as they walk--touching and separating, touching and separating, as if renewing the pleasure of the contact with each repetition. They walk to the transport hub together, and choose one going north. They watch the city slip by below, until the grid breaks up and dissolves into trees. After a time it changes again, becoming coastline and ocean. They have arrived.
It's late afternoon and the sun is low in the sky, filling the white room with golden light. Nyota steps inside and stands with her eyes closed, waiting to hear the swish of the door sliding closed, the soft chime of the lock setting itself. Then she opens her eyes, takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.
Spock stands beside her, quietly taking in the room; he seems to be waiting to see what she does. The seriousness of what they're doing--how big a step it is just to be here--strikes her anew, and she feels the need for reassurance. She turns to him just as he's turning to her, and he kisses her gently, as if he's read her thoughts.
It works--she feels calm and tranquil again. She smiles at him.
"Now," she says, "tell me everything."
They sit on the balcony overlooking the water, their backs against the stone wall. Nyota has brought a gift from Gaila: a delicate Orion lantern, made of pierced metal in a pattern of waves and stars. Its small flame flickers and glows, casting moving shadows on the stones. Spock had made them tea, steaming cups that warm their fingers as the sun begins to set and the breeze turns cooler.
They talk.
They tell each other about their lives before they met, about their childhoods, about how they came to Starfleet. He tells her about Vulcan--about growing up there, about what it was like to be the only child with a human mother, about the difficulty of knowing who and what he was. He describes the day he declined his admission to the Vulcan Science Academy, and how the rift with his father is still not mended.
She tells him about her family, about their house filled with visitors and the fascination it gave her for other languages and other worlds. How her mother opposed her decision to join Starfleet, and how hard she had to work to earn the right to make her own choice. She tells him about the holovid library, and the day she found the recordings of the Kelvin disaster.
"That is when you began your study of Romulan." He looks to her for confirmation.
"Yes," she says, surprised. "How did you know?"
"I did not know, until now. I have sometimes wondered why a young person who had lived an entirely Terran existence would be drawn to such an obscure and complex language as Romulan. Even at the Academy it is rarely studied before the second year. Your near fluency as a third year student suggested to me that you had begun your studies much earlier--perhaps six or seven years before."
"My mother would be horrified if she knew how I got interested. She thought I chose Romulan because it meant I could take classes at the university."
"I am not surprised the story of the Kelvin made a strong impression on you. The captain's actions showed great courage in the face of a situation in which there was no survivable option. I have often thought of it, as I have worked on simulations for the command-track cadets." After a pause he adds, "As you are acquainted with James Kirk, you must be aware that the captain of the Kelvin was his father. One of the lives saved in that incident was Cadet Kirk's."
Nyota nods. "I think he was a second year before I heard it. I almost didn't believe it at first. Kirk never talks about it, either."
"You and Kirk have known each other for some time. You were present at the incident in Iowa where he came to the attention of Captain Pike."
Nyota glances at him in surprise. "I was. How did that come up?"
"It is often cited as an example of Captain Pike's effectiveness as a recruiter. It was some time before I understood the female cadet involved to be you. Although once I did, I felt I comprehended perfectly how events must have unfolded."
"I hope by that you mean, you can tell I shot Kirk down for being an ass."
"That you did not succumb to his charms at the time is evident from the report. But I have wondered if--since you have known him--perhaps you have felt differently--"
"Spock, are you asking me if I ever did anything with Jim Kirk?"
He doesn't answer at first, just takes a sip of tea, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Finally he says, "It is possible."
Nyota laughs. "I can't believe you're jealous! And of Jim Kirk, of all people."
"I am not jealous. Jealousy is illogical. I am simply curious. James Kirk is reputed to have qualities that are attractive to many women--although I am unable to determine what they are."
Nyota touches his face and he turns to look at her, his eyes dark. She leans over and kisses him, enjoying the way his breath catches in response, the way his eyes close and stay that way.
"My answer to Jim at the bar was my final answer," she says. "He's not my type."
Spock opens his eyes, raises an eyebrow. "You have a type."
"Yes. My type is handsome scientists, very brilliant, with excellent linguistic abilities and an illogical tendency to be jealous."
"Thank you, that is encouraging." Their hands have found each other, and he links two fingers with hers--a simple gesture, but it fills her with a spreading warmth.
The sun has set, and the moon glows softly above the horizon. Against the deepening blue of the sky Gaila's lantern is a small beacon of flickering orange light. The coastline here is rugged, and the waves of the incoming tide sound a distant, steady rhythm against the rocks below. The air grows cooler as it comes in off the ocean, but neither one of them moves to go inside.
Nyota looks at Spock, taking in the lines of his profile. She reaches up to trace the shape of his ear, and he responds by closing his eyes. "Tell me what it was like for you," she says.
He takes a deep breath, lets it out. He glances at her, a quick sidelong look, and she sees his almost-smile. "I imagine our experiences were similar. I had my thoughts about you, but I could not let them interfere with our work. I wondered what you felt, but did not have any particular expectations. It seemed the only thing to do was to continue as we were."
She nods. "I dreamed about you, all the time."
His tiny exhalation is as close as he comes to a laugh. "Vulcans dream very rarely. Perhaps I should be grateful to have been spared that additional source of torment."
"It had its good parts."
"So I imagine." He looks at her again, more seriously. "It is not accurate to say I had no expectations. Certain future events, I thought, might bring about change. With your outstanding academic record you are almost certain to be assigned to the Enterprise. I reasoned that, as colleagues on the same starship, we might develop a more complete understanding of each other. And I knew--I had cause to believe that there was no one else. That you had not formed any other attachment that would make such a future development impossible."
Once again he has surprised her. "Was there anything about me you managed not to know?"
"It was not something I went out of my way to learn. You and I spent a great deal of time together, which gave me some idea of how little time you had to devote to anything else. However it was others who brought it fully to my notice. It was remarked upon among my colleagues that Cadet Uhura had disappointed many other cadets by her steadfast refusal of their advances."
"The faculty talked about me. I know I shouldn't be surprised, but--what?"
"Students do not realize how much interest their instructors take in their activities. As one of the most accomplished cadets, one so beautiful and well-regarded, your lack of apparent romantic interests attracted some curiosity. I believe it fueled some of the conjecture regarding the nature of our relationship."
"I can't believe there's so much gossip. Does anyone have their own life to worry about?"
"A reasonable question. However given where we are it is late to begin taking offense at speculation about our private conduct."
Nyota laughs, and presses a kiss against his neck. He turns his head toward her, finds her mouth with his and kisses her back--a strong, open kiss, definite and unreserved. With his free hand he brushes her hair back, and the tiny contact of his fingers with her exposed skin makes her shiver. She opens her eyes to find him looking at her, his eyes so dark, so expressive and human. She wonders if her look reveals as much to him as his does to her.
"You knew all that," she says. "But you never guessed I felt the same way you did."
He leans back against the wall, shifting his gaze to the darkening horizon. "There were times I thought I perceived something--you would look at me a particular way, or I would think I heard something unspoken behind your words--but I could not be certain. Human interactions are complex, and it is difficult for me to distinguish between what is significant and what is accidental. I did not wish to take the risk of being wrong. I was aware there was no other faculty member who could take my place as your advisor, if you felt you could no longer work with me."
She nods. "I thought about that, too, what would happen if you knew I had feelings for you. I didn't want to do anything that would damage our work together, or our friendship. It seemed safer if you didn't know."
"You are aware that the risks of entering into a more intimate relationship still apply. It is not too late, if you wish to change your mind."
"I think it is, actually. But I wouldn't have come here if I wasn't completely sure."
He smiles. "It was not as simple as I have made it sound for me to maintain control of my emotions. One night I nearly failed entirely. I was meditating on my desire for you, attempting with little success to bring it under regulation, when you appeared at my door. It was as if you were sent by Surak himself to test me. I do not know how I was able to speak to you. In that moment I wished nothing more than to act--to end to my suspense and know, once and for all, whether you desired me as I did you."
Nyota blinks. "I remember."
"Nor am I likely to forget. Vulcan passions are extremely strong, Nyota. This is difficult for others to realize. They do not understand that our mental discipline is necessary to keep in check that which would otherwise be uncontrollable. They believe us cold and unfeeling, when the opposite is true." He looks down at their hands, their fingers still linked together. "For me it is more complex, because I am both human and Vulcan. My emotional control is imperfect, making me too human in the eyes of other Vulcans. Yet to humans I appear overly contained, without emotion."
"Not to me."
"No, he says, looking at her. "Not to you."
The sky is fully dark now. Here where land and ocean meet the stars are visible all the way to the horizon. Nyota looks up into the infinite space, at worlds so distant their light will never reach her. Some great destiny waits for her there, she knows it like she knows herself.
Great destiny is for tomorrow. Tonight there is only this room, and him, and he is all she wants.
She turns to him, and in his eyes she sees her own thoughts reflected.
"Come inside," she says. "Come and show me."
They take their time undressing, watching each other in the half light.
He undoes the hooks at the back of her dress, and she slips it from her shoulders and drapes it on the chair. She turns to look at him, following his movements with her eyes as he peels off each layer. He is so pale, his body lean and muscular, more defined than she guessed when she could only see him in his stiff Academy uniform. She feels a thrill at the sight of him, standing there in the glow of the lamp, as if waiting for her approval.
"You are beautiful," she says in Vulcan. She's never said this phrase aloud before, and the words come out flawed, the vowels tinged with Romulan.
He smiles. "You are beautiful also." His Vulcan is perfect, classical and precise; though for him, too, the words are unfamiliar.
He comes to her, where she sits on the edge of the bed. For the first time she feels how nervous she is, like something is happening that's too important for mistakes. She doesn't know how they begin, now that they're here.
Fortunately, he does. He threads his fingers through her hair and draws her to him, kissing her with a heated tenderness that blanks her thoughts for a moment. She reaches for him in return, her hands finding his sides, and she feels a tremor go through him at her touch. His response intrigues her; she touches him again and this time he makes a sound, a shuddering inhalation so senselessly erotic it's like something out of one of her dreams.
The next time she moves, he captures her hands and holds them. "Nyota," he breathes, "stop testing me." His lips are still almost touching hers, their foreheads close together.
"I can't help it," she answers, equally breathless, "I want to know what you're like. You're fascinating."
She feels him smile. "I will continue to be fascinating for as long as you require, but can you wait? I find I cannot appreciate you as I want to and be the object of your fascination at the same time."
She nods, not trusting her voice. There's something slightly hypnotic about his mild tone, and the way he gently moves her, lowering her onto the soft white expanse of the bed, still holding her hands carefully away. Their bodies are touching in so many places now, it's difficult for her to stay still. Only her intense desire to know what he'll do, and a corresponding wish not to distract him, keep her from reaching for him again; and then he is touching her and there is only the heat of his hands, the insistent pressure of his mouth against her skin. He explores her body with a scientist's care, mapping each curve and hollow, until every part of her is taut and trembling. She bears it as long as she can, but when he coaxes her legs apart and his tongue finds the wetness there, it's too much. She comes, her body arcing against him, her breath caught in a soundless cry.
He holds her as she recovers her breath and comes back to herself. When she opens her eyes he is studying her. There are tears on her lashes, and he touches them lightly. "It is an emotional, as well as a physical response," he says. "Fascinating."
She laughs, sending a tear spilling. He brushes it away, captures her mouth and kisses her, pulling a sound from her that's pure, unabashed sex. She feels her whole body reaching out to him, desire like a physical ache, like something insatiable. It has its own momentum and she feels it accelerating--now his mouth is on her throat, pressing burning kisses against the throb of her pulse; her legs tangle in his, their bodies aligned, their nakedness so natural and fitting and inevitable--
Somehow, she remembers she has a question. Over the pounding of her heart she hears it in her mind, and though she has no idea how to ask it, it's there and she needs to know. She pulls in a breath, attempts focus, and takes a stab at forming words:
"Have you ever done this before?"
He lifts his head and looks at her, a little surprised, but seemingly unperturbed by the sudden change of direction. "What--aspect, in particular?"
"This one." She gestures at them, a little vaguely, but he catches her meaning.
"Physical intimacy. Nyota, you do recall it was not long ago I was a Starfleet Academy cadet, like yourself."
"I do, but--wait, is that your answer?"
His expression is a mixture of amusement and perplexity. "Since you require more directness--yes. I participated in the normal rites of passage, including those of physical intimacy, during my early years at the Academy. It seemed necessary to my understanding of my human side, at a time when I was newly surrounded by human influences."
"Your early years at the Academy. That was--a while ago."
"I discontinued my experiments, as they did not seem to be leading to useful discovery. Something was lacking, perhaps some--emotional component. And as you know, my interests have been engaged elsewhere for some time."
Nyota knows this is the time to ask her real question. She gropes in her mind for the right words. "I thought that--it's different for Vulcans. That intimacy is different. That it's--I don't know, all I know is 'different.' Is it?"
He smiles--at least he's not offended. "Your question is understandable. It is not the custom of Vulcans to speak about such things, making information difficult to obtain. It is true that there are types of intimacy among Vulcans that are different from humans. Our telepathic ability allows us to create a mental link, to share another's thoughts and emotions. In the case of bonded mates and close relatives, the link can be permanent. Most of the time it is temporary."
"Did you ever--do that, with someone?" Nyota knows she's pushing into private things, things that are not fair to ask. But if he feels she's prying, he doesn't seem bothered. His hand on her stomach traces absent-minded circles, gentle passes of his fingers that are both erotic and soothing.
"I share familial links with my parents. Beyond that I have had only a little adolescent experimentation; nothing of real significance. The majority of my experiences have been accidental. It took some time living among humans before I learned to effectively shield my mind against unexpected physical contact."
"Is it something you want to do with me?"
Her question hangs in the air. He is careful not to change expression, but a tiny hesitation in the movement of his hand betrays his emotion.
"It is very intimate, Nyota," he says.
She raises her eyebrows, indicates their nudity--another vague gesture but again understood.
"More intimate than this. More intimate than any physical act or exchange of words can be. It is one's thoughts and emotions made visible to another. I would not--" He pauses, and his hand stills, too. "I would not have you wish it undone."
He looks at her, and she can see in his eyes what he could not keep out of his voice: mingled with desire, affection, honesty, a trace of fear. Fear that he will be too alien for her, that she will find him strange. It's unexpected, and it touches her. "Spock," she says softly, "I want to know you. Whatever you are, whatever you can do, those things are part of you. Anything you want to share with me, I want it."
He smiles, that minute expression that's invisible to most people but everything to her. He touches her face, his fingertips light against her temple. "Close your eyes."
She does, and for a moment there is just swirling darkness. Then she hears his heartbeat--loud and strong, unfamiliar--and her own, fainter but still more audible than she is used to. She feels the air of the room against her skin, all her own sensations but now his as well--his excitement, the coolness of her body against him, the way each brush of their skin together increases his desire for her. She moves experimentally and sees the bright flash, the split second when he is already imagining being inside her.
Then there is a change and she sees herself, walking toward him in her violet dress, coming to meet him at the gate with her eyes shining--and before, a day she almost doesn't recognize. It is last year; she had been away for her sister's wedding, and the day she returned he came to his office and she was there. She sees herself sitting by the window, she looks up at him, and the echo of what he felt reverberates through her. He is showing her the moment he knew he loved her.
More images flash by, and another comes into focus. She enters the lecture hall on the first day of class. As she passes him she greets him in Vulcan, just a few simple words, traditional and ordinary. But she feels, now, how at the sound of her voice something ignited within him. It was primal, inappropriate, quickly suppressed--but he could not forget.
She knows this is only the smallest part. She can sense the surging energy of his mind, the tumult of his thoughts and emotions, but they are separate from her, like something heard through a closed door. He is so careful, so gentle; controlled even now, when she can feel how he wants her with every part of himself; how he is waiting, with infinite patience, until her need to understand is satisfied.
It feels like waking from a dream when she opens her eyes. He removes his hand, breaking the last traces of the link, and studies her face for a reaction. "That's amazing," she says, her voice still a little dreamy. "I could see your thoughts. Could you see mine?"
"I felt your emotions, that is all. I did not want to do too much, in case you disliked it."
"No, I liked it. Thank you for sharing it with me." An impression from his mind resurfaces in hers and she smiles, reaches out to trace the point of his ear with her fingers. "It turns you on when I speak to you in Vulcan. You find it exciting."
He raises an eyebrow. "If you perceived it in my thoughts, it must be true."
"How do you say in Vulcan, 'If I don't have you soon, I feel like I might die?'"
He blinks a few times--whether he is thinking or mastering some emotion, she can't tell. "It is not a phrase in common use," he says, and his voice is mild but she can hear the sound that lies beneath, that pulls at her like the tide of the ocean. "However there is an ancient Vulcan poem that expresses a similar sentiment." He takes her hands and draws them up over her head, a slow, deliberate act that starts her heart racing. His hands are gentle as he touches her body here and there--coaxing her knees alongside his hips, drawing back her hair where it's tumbled over her breasts, touching her cheek so she looks up at him. They're so close now, fractions of inches separating them. Their eyes meet and he sees his slow smile. "The language of the poem is archaic, but if you like, Nyota, I will translate it for you."
She answers him with a smile of her own--it would be a laugh, except her throat is suddenly tight with emotion. "Yes," she says, "I'd like that." He kisses her, a kiss of impossible gentleness; then he is moving forward. He enters her in one breathless motion, the words of the poem caught before he can speak them, and they stare at each other for a moment, as if astonished. Then he moves again, she reaches for him with both hands; and the tide takes them, and they're gone.
Nyota has always believed in destiny, in the working hands of fate. She sees it in the stars, in each step she takes, each success that brings her closer to where she wants to be.
Destiny to her has always meant something big, something on a scale much larger than herself. She thinks now maybe she's been wrong. That the touch of destiny can be as small as two hands clasped together, two bodies sharing one breath; that one small room can contain everything in the universe.
It's beautiful, the way he fits her; the way he moves with her like they were made for each other. They make love in a kind of reverent silence, broken only by sighs and whispers; by breath caught, held, and released. Still they speak to each other, volumes exchanged in every look and touch. She's been learning this language for years, longer than she ever knew. To use it, finally, and be understood feels strange and joyful.
She watches him through her lashes, eager for the sight of him, for what has always been hidden from her: his eyes closed in pleasure, his lips unconsciously parted, the muscles of his arms and shoulders flexing under her hands as he moves above and beneath her. He is careful with her, cautious with his strength. When he comes, his restraint is beautiful to her, more erotic and moving than total abandon could be.
Only once does his careful control slip, and allow something he doesn't intend. One moment she's almost there, on the edge of letting go, and he's whispering her name in a voice heated with the effort of holding himself back for her. It's that note in his voice that pushes her over, pinpoints her focus on him, and she grabs for his hand to anchor herself--
The world opens inside her mind.
It's not an invasion, not forced. It's something they do by accident, like the wind blowing open a door not perfectly closed. Her mind is filled with the sound of Vulcan words--ancient words, words she's never heard--but she knows their meaning now because this is his mind, and Vulcan is the language of his thoughts. She feels the rushing pull, the door opening wide and all the sensations of his body flooding into hers. She opens her eyes, startled, to see him do the same--and to begin to retreat, pulling back and away from her.
No, don't go, she hears herself say, not out loud but in her mind, and he hears her, she knows he hears her. Their eyes meet and she sees his struggle, the war between desire and caution. She feels it, too--how much he wants this, how he burns for her, and yet how carefully he tries to hold it back. Any second she expects him to break the link, to close his mind to her. But he doesn't. All around her, through her, his thoughts keep flowing, the Vulcan words repeating like a poem, or a prayer.
Neither one of them has moved; they are still, hardly breathing, as if waiting for something. Then, from far away, she feels it: the dominoes of his control have begun to fall. She senses it coming and so does he, and their mouths come together in a hard, desperate kiss. "Nyota," he says, "I cannot--"
"I know," she answers, pressing her cool hands to his face, his neck. From out of the rushing current of his thoughts she plucks a fragment and speaks it, her lips soft against the tender curve of his ear: "Beloved, I am yours; soul of my soul, be one with me."
He can withstand no more. His mind goes blinding white, and for an instant there is perfect silence--then it comes roaring back, louder than before. She feels all of him: his mind and his body, his raging emotions and burning desire; she feels what he feels and it's overwhelming. "Nyota--" he gasps, but he's past warning her, he's past everything. His surrender is intense and beautiful, the pleasure that floods her senses unlike anything she's ever felt. It pushes her over, too, and then there is only him--his arms strong around her, his voice in her ear murmuring promises of devotion. His body like an offering, given only to her.
Much later, he will tell her the words to the poem. It's more beautiful than she ever imagined.
****
Continue to Part 5