Uhura all but fled to her quarters the minute the shift ended, only pausing long enough to send the captain, helmsman, and navigator a goodbye nod.

She didn’t even bother to look at the first officer.

It had been a week since the Altair VI Inauguration Ball and almost two since their abrupt trip to Vulcan, but Uhura still could barely look or talk to him on duty and didn’t even attempt to try while off. If Kirk hadn’t ordered her to the ball, she would’ve been with Christine in the rec room eating out of a tub of cheesecake-caramel ice cream.

As she’d been doing the two nights prior to it.

It’d been a far more respectable plan than pretending to be unaffected by a Spock whose arms had been around as her they’d danced…a Spock who’d been married? the entire time she’d known him!

When Spock had returned to the ship after the (thankfully?) botched wedding ceremony, Uhura couldn’t look at him. That first night of their ice cream confab, both she and Christine had wondered what the hell that T’Pring chick had been smoking to choose someone else. Half-Vulcan or not, both women had decided Spock was definitely a tough act to follow.

That hadn’t meant both women weren’t mad—although more at themselves than Spock, truth be told. He’d always been intensely private, and he hadn’t invited or encouraged their feelings for him. At the very least, though, the revelation of his marital status had repaired the frayed edges of the women’s friendship. Christine’s unreturned romantic feelings for Spock and Uhura’s friendship with him had forged an underlying uneasy tension that had been bound to snap sooner or later.

“I’d known something was wrong,” Christine had dished. “I’d gone to check on him. One minute, he was snapping my head off, then the next…” Uhura hadn’t thought the blonde woman could’ve stopped the dreamy smile and sigh if she’d tried. “He has the softest fingers, Uhura…so warm…” One of Christine’s hands had crept up to caress a blushing cheek. Uhura had merely grinned awkwardly and hid her face in her Salada Pera de Abacate. She knew.

Uhura had hoped, vainly, desperately, this would be one landing party she wouldn’t have to be part of, but she’d been the only one with conversational knowledge of Altairian. Christine had helped her get ready, giving her advice on how to stand tall in Spock’s presence, and she’d thought herself appropriately armed.

But then Spock had stared at her, donned in his dress uniform, his hands ever-present behind his back, and Uhura had had to sag against McCoy to remain upright.

“You look like a dream,” the doctor had told her, kissing her cheek.

Kirk had cleared his throat, and Uhura’s face had warmed at the blush creeping up his. “Yes, Lieutenant, you look stunning.”

She’d smoothed down the deep-red silk skirt of her strapless evening gown and passed her fingers along the diamond studs in her ears self consciously. “Thank you, Captain.”

No one had asked Spock’s opinion, for he’d already stepped onto the transporter pad to be beamed down.

She’d virtually stayed glued to McCoy’s side all night, taking a few spins on the dance floor with him and even the captain, when Spock had tapped him on the shoulder to tell him Admiral Komack had wanted a word with him.

“Take over for me, Spock,” Kirk had ordered, placing Uhura’s hand in the Vulcan’s before moving off. They’d both stared dumbly at each other before Spock gripped her hand tighter and slid his other about her waist.

It’d been hard to breathe for the duration, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. It felt as if his hand had been burning a hole through her dress, and his eyes were delving into hers, somehow uncovering every hidden thought of her mind. When the music had ended, Spock had dropped his hand from her waist but held tight to her hand, escorting her to where the captain and McCoy had been standing.

“Excuse me, gentleman, it was a bit stifling on the floor. I do believe I need some air,” Uhura had said, managing a smile to give the other two men while ignoring the presence of the third…who’d still held her hand.

“You do seem a little flushed, I’ll check you over,” McCoy had said, giving Spock a pointed look before leading her out the dance hall. And there, in a secluded corner of the corridor, McCoy had held her tenderly as she fought against her tears with her face pressed against his chest.

Bless that man, for he’d said nothing about it after she’d recovered, just touched her cheek and escorted her back to the ball. And Spock had still had yet to utter a word to her, which had been just fine with Uhura. Better to keep quiet than risk saying something that couldn’t be taken back.

But Spock hadn’t been silent…oh, no, he’d communicated very well nonverbally. He suddenly stood closer; his eyes lingered longer; his chair turned toward her even as he did his tasks at his console. And when he did speak, it was more than just to give her orders or to make requests. The pitch of his voice was noticeably different when he spoke to her than when he spoke to their new navigator Chekov. She’d been waving it off, just so she could keep her sanity, but after their brush with “Apollo”, Uhura couldn’t anymore.

I can think of no one better equipped to handle it, Miss Uhura.

Had there really been a reason for him to get on the floor to say that to her? Had there really been a reason for him to get on the floor at all? She’d never see Spock in anything but an upright position, but this was almost as if he’d been humbling himself before her. The heat of him had surprised her so much she’d almost short-circuited a chip, and then his fingers had grazed her hip as he’d left.

Amazed, Uhura had been unable to move for a full minute.

She’d always been aware of Spock before, his presence like soft white noise that soothed as they’d worked side by side; but since Vulcan and especially after that compliment, she’d been hyperaware of him where he was on the bridge. It was as if a tether had sprung between them, relaxing and tightening as he’d come closer or move further away. She’d been so glad her head had been underneath her console for a good portion of the time as he’d worked out a way to break free of the force field, or else she’d never would’ve gotten anything done.

Then again, she could’ve sworn she’d felt him looking at her ass.

Or Chekov.

But she was free now! Free from his heat and his energy and his voice that had to be the sonic equivalent of Thalian chocolate—she wouldn’t have to shield herself from it for the next twelve hours—

Her door buzzed. On bated breath, Uhura granted entrance. Christine. Uhura laughed and asked the head nurse to give her a moment to change.

Tonight’s convening in the rec room was sans ice cream this time, but instead a card game Chekov was teaching them to play.

“Durak!” he said as he dealt. “Object is not to be the last player with cards in your hands. Requires much skill.”

“Uh, doesn’t that mean ‘fool’ in Russian?” Uhura asked as she accepted her cards.

Chekov paused and gave her a small smirk. “Yes, requires much skill not to be a fool!”

He’d gotten much ribbing from the others when he’d ended up being the “fool” of this game, but he’d taken the teasing good-naturedly. He’d even sighed and rested his head on Uhura’s shoulder in an exaggerated whine, and she’d rocked him comically, cooing as if he were a baby.

“Maybe he’s not such a fool after all!” Sulu had said with a quirked eyebrow and grin. And as the table laughed harder, Uhura felt that familiar shimmer of awareness come over her, making her laughter die. She glanced up in time to see Captain Kirk and Spock walk by towards the chessboard, but Spock’s eyes were centered directly on her.

Thirty minutes later, Uhura looked balefully at the cards in her hand that everyone else had already relinquished before her. It wasn’t so funny being the fool, after all.

She begged off another game, citing a headache. Christine offered to walk her down to sickbay, but Uhura convinced her friend to stay.

“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure,” Uhura said with a smile, and squeezing Chekov’s shoulder. She bade them all a good night and left the rec room, completely aware of the eyes that followed her as she left.

She wished she could say she was surprised when the door buzzed not fifteen minutes later. She even wished she could say she was surprised when Spock came in after she granted entrance.

She was none of those things.

In fact, she hadn’t bothered to change out of her lounge pants and long-sleeved MIT T-shirt she wore. Uhura just sighed and put her hands on her cocked-out hip, raising her eyebrow. “May I help you, Mr. Spock?”

His own eyebrow rose while his mouth stretched into a smirk. “Interesting, as I was about to ask you the very thing.”

He came closer, and no matter how badly she wanted to run, this was her room; and if anyone would be leaving with his tail between his legs, it was Spock! So, she crossed her arms at her chest, her hip still poked out, however, and glared.

“I need help?”

“Do you still have a headache?”

She started to ask how he knew, and then remembered his super hearing. Uhura bit her lip. Even if she really hadn’t had one before, a dull ache had started to throb upon his presence in her room. “I’ll stop by sickbay—”

“You do not have to do that. You worked very admirably and ably today on something which you do not normally do, so there is little surprise you could be tense. I can be of assistance. However, if you would rather Dr. McCoy, I shall take you to him.”

Her curiosity made her ask. “You can ‘assist’ me?”

“Yes.”

She looked at his empty hands. “I don’t see a syringe or any pills…”

He leaned in closer. “It is a Vulcan technique.”

“You mean you have to meld—?”

Spock reared back and put his hands behind him. “No. However, it may be considered a personal, if not intimate remedy. Vulcans usually only offer such assistance to those whom they consider close.”

Uhura gave him a skeptical look. “Like Captain Kirk?”

He nodded. “Yes. I have assisted him in such a manner on previous occasions.”

She allowed herself to relax. It must not be some sort of “foreplay” thing if he used it on the captain. “All right. Where should we do this?”

She chose to pretend she didn’t see his eyes skip towards her sleeping alcove before indicating her sofa. She sat down on the cushions, back erect as Spock moved behind her.

“Move to the edge of the seat,” he told her, “and take a deep breath.”

She did as told, and soon those very soft and very warm fingers of his began applying pressure to her neck and shoulders. She couldn’t help her moans or the way her body arched against his ministrations, and she bit her lip again so she didn’t embarrass herself further.

“The captain reacted similarly when I did this the first time,” Spock said lowly.

Uhura allowed a smile. “Did he?”

“Yes. It was awkward, but now he has a more sedate response.”

Uhura took another deep breath. “I am sorry this is awkward, Mr. Spock.”

His fingers stilled, and suddenly his warm breath and lips were at the shell of her ear. “My dear Nyota,” he began, his fingertips grazing her jaw line, “‘awkward’ is not the word I would use.”

He applied the technique for five more minutes before sliding his hands away carefully. Uhura, so relaxed, allowed her head to fall back against the couch. Spock walked around to the front again, his hands behind his back once more.

“Do you feel better?”

Uhura merely grunted.

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you still displeased with me?”

Uhura lifted her head up and glared, not pretending to be obtuse about to what he referred. “You should have told me.”

“And what would that have changed, Nyota?”

That was a very dangerous question, and the answer was even more so. She let her head fall back again, unwilling to look him in the eye. “Christine—”

“Your anger is on Miss Chapel’s behalf?”

Uhura squeezed her eyes shut and pursed her lips. “Partly.”

“The tip of the mighty iceberg of your anger. Do not bring in outside factors that have nothing to do with us—”

“Us?” she cried, snapping her head up.

“Yes. Our relationship. It is based on honesty, is it not? I was not forthcoming with you, but I was not forthcoming with anyone in this matter until I had to be. It is an intensely private affair and…it had nothing to do with you,” Spock said matter-of-factly.

She frowned. “Spock—!”

“I do not mean that offensively, but it did not; and had I forced the matter…I do not wish to think or speak on it any further. The dilemma is done.”

“Dilemma? Your wife was a dilemma?”

Spock’s mouth thinned.

“Fine, whatever,” Uhura muttered, standing up and going to her door. “Thank you very much for your help—”

Spock’s arm shot out and whirled her to face him gently. “I told you I would always endeavor to keep you as my friend, Nyota. Everything I have done has been because of that. I cannot say anymore, but I am sorry for hurting you if I have done so.”

She couldn’t think when he stroked her elbow like that or gazed at her with soft eyes he normally didn’t share with others. “Will you ever be able to tell me?”

His hand tightened and he shook his head. “I am uncertain. It depends on the nature of our relationship.”

Uhura couldn’t help but be saddened. She’d never be as close to him as Captain Kirk or even McCoy was. “I understand.”

This time, his mouth softened and he raised an eyebrow, his thumb stroking her elbow once more. “I do not suspect you do.”

She waited for him to explain further, but it became very apparent he would not. She tried to hide her disappointment by turning away and sliding her arm out his hold, but he grasped her elbows again, his front to her back.

Again, Spock bent his mouth to her ear. “You hold a wealth of meaning to me, Nyota. Do not let my reticence compel you to believe otherwise.”

He squeezed her and then stepped around her, heading for her door.

“Sleep well. I will see you next shift.”

With a final nod, he left. Uhura stood there for a moment, willing her heart to slow, before she took a deep breath and returned to the couch, her hands caressing her elbows.