Disclaimer: Does anyone even believe I own this? Seriously you guys. You guys seriously.

A/N: Inspired/based on a prompt on the LJ kink meme in which Spock is the motorcycle-riding repeat-offender genius with the hots for Uhura, and Kirk is her instructor. So basically this is an AU fic about what would happen if it was Spock who met Uhura in the bar. I may continue this but I'm still undecided. (Although Spock and McCoy as roomies? Smart!Kirk seducing Assistant!Uhura? Hell yeah!) For now, enjoy this for what it is. A little re-imagining if you will. BTW, go and look at the pictures of Zachary Quinto on the motorbike, and you'll get the idea.

The only thing Uhura wants as she walks into the bar is a stiff drink, and one last night of freedom before she's chained to the Academy for another three years. It's not that she hasn't enjoyed this little recruitment drive Pike arranged; the bare bones of the Enterprise – her ship – stand in the shipyard a mile away. Seeing them in person, the shell that will soon be the flagship of Starfleet, has only convinced her that her first assessment was correct: this is where she is supposed to be. She doesn't even mind the constant barrage of questions she's been subjected to, all kinds of people querying her on just what xeno-linguistics entails. But after eight days of this, eight days of trekking around the country, she's more than happy to be returning to San Francisco.

Fate, it seems, has other plans.

"That is a lot of drinks for one woman."

Uhura doesn't even look up at the man who speaks. She's tired, dusty and more than willing to kick some serious ass. So getting hit on by farm boys is not her idea of a good night. It takes most of her willpower not to indulge the urge to laugh; what kind of opening line was that? Insulting her ability to handle her drink? Please.

She leans further across the bar, catching the eye of the bartender. "And a shot of Jack, straight up."

Farm-boy doesn't get the hint and chimes in, "make that two, her shot is on me." With a roll of her eyes she finally turns to face him and finds herself practically face to face with a Vulcan. A Vulcan. Here. In Iowa. In a bar. If she wasn't absolutely sure she was awake, Uhura would have believed she was dreaming. But no, she's not. She can see the pointed tops of his ears, notes the way he raises a curious brow at her reaction. He looks, for all intents and purposes, like the perfect Vulcan. The only thing giving him away is the messy hair and bright smirk he's throwing at her.

"Her shots on her." she manages to choke out through her surprise, fixing the bar tender with a stern look to make sure he gets it right. "Thanks but no thanks." Vulcan or not, she's not in the mood for cheap lines and even cheaper drinks. As fascinating (and she's really, really fascinated) as she finds him, clearly he assumes she's an easy thing. He's looking at her with a kind of feral looking grin now, like a hunter does its prey, the tip of his tongue coming out to wet his lips.

Think again buddy, she thinks to herself, straightening up. This is not your lucky night. If he is a Vulcan and he's this far out, smiling at her, clearly he's on some kind of mental trip and she's not really interested in that kind of emotional baggage right now. She has enough of that back at the Academy, thank you very much.

And assumptions really, really piss her off.

But Vulcan farm-boy is not getting the hint any time soon, and within seconds he's positioned himself between her and the alien previously blocking them. Now it's her turn to raise an eyebrow as she tilts her body away from him, snatching her hand away from his lingering fingers. Now that was interesting. Uhura knows almost everything there is to know about Vulcans, she soaks up the knowledge from books like a dying man in the desert, and she knows for a fact that they rarely initiate skin to skin contact with species that have no telepathic control. Yet here this one is, about to reach for her hand like an amorous Frenchman. Still, his earlier assumption has ruffled her proverbial feathers because the thing she hates the most is men thinking she is easy, like she doesn't have a brain just because she has a nice pair of legs. So she swallows down any curiosity about this smiling Vulcan and turns away.

"Do you not even wish to know my name before you reject me?" His voice is awfully close to her ear, and Uhura risks the smallest tilt of her head to see that yes, her estimations are correct and he's back in her personal space.

"I'm fine without it."

"You are fine without it. But it is Spock." There's a long pause which she assumes is a cue for her to give up her name, but she's not biting so he continues, heaving a dramatic sigh. "You know, if you do not tell me your name I will have to assign you one." He leans back in, voice hot and heavy against her ear. His smirk sends and involuntary shiver down her spine and she fights to remind herself that this is not a typical Vulcan, and remind her traitorous body to cut it out. "And I have many fascinating names for you."

She's know even sure why – maybe it's the smooth baritone of his voice, his succinct way of pronouncing every syllable and sounding undeniably Vulcan despite the emotional inflection in his voice. She's never met one that seems so open about their emotions, they're all usually so repressed. But this one – Spock – is a delicious mix of both Human and Vulcan, and her intellectual mind is desperately fighting with her pride on this one. So she gives her name.

"It's Uhura."

"Uhura." The way he says it, all low and seductive against her ear, sends another one of those annoying shivers all the way through her. "Taken from the Swahili word uhuru, meaning freedom." A finger comes up and he brushes back a strand of hair that's fallen out of place and in front of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. "How... fitting. Uhura..."

"Just Uhura."

"Do they not have last names in your world?"

"Uhura is my last name." She shifts awkwardly away from him, as far as she can in this cramped bar and thinks why the hell is this happening to her? What are the odds she would be getting seduced in a bar by a goddamn Vulcan? No, she thinks to herself, not seduced, just attempted seduction.

"I assume they have first names in the United States of Africa."

Okay, that is just plain creepy. She glances down at her hand where he touched it minutes ago, wondering if he gleamed that from the brief touch. His eyes – those dark human eyes – follow her down, and he once again shoots her a smirk. She's not sure if it's unnerving or hot as hell, but she knows he won't get the pleasure of finding out.

When she says nothing else, simply waits for her drink order, he continues. "So you are a Cadet, studying at the Academy. What is your focus?"

The bar tender lays out her shot on the counter which Uhura eagerly throws back, reaching next for the slusho mix. "Xeno-linguistics." she says after a moment, eyeing him carefully. Now it's her turn to smirk, as she switches from the Standard they have been conversing in to the lower eastern dialect of Romulan. She knows for a fact she's one of only ten people who speak it in the Academy, so she knows this Vulcan farm-boy won't have a clue what she says. "Clearly you have no idea what that entails."

She almost drops out of her seat when he replies with a perfect pronunciation of the same language.

"The study of alien language; morphology, phonology, syntax." That wet tongue comes out once more and he runs it across his bottom lip, knowing that her eyes are watching every second of it. "It means you have a talented tongue."

Her eyebrow raises once more, and she wonders when she turned into the Vulcan. "I'm impressed. For a moment there I thought you were just an uptight Vulcan with a stick up your ass."

"I assure you, Uhura," and the way he says her name is so deliciously smooth that she almost leans closer, her body acting out against her better judgement. "I have never had anything up my ass. Yet."

The image of a Vulcan saying that is too much, and Uhura gives in to her desire to laugh. This seems to please him, for his smile grows even wider and it's as charming as it is creepy. It occurs to her that this is dangerous territory, that she's not exactly rebuffing his advances like she meant to, so she turns back around to the bar to pay for her drinks. All she wants to do is go back to her friends and not get hit on by half drunk locals. Even if they were Vulcan and gorgeous. She risks a sideways look at him. Yes, still gorgeous in his leather jacket, all tall, dark and delectably radiating 'I'm a very bad boy who needs to be punished'.

One of the guys from her group comes up beside her, laying a protective hand on her shoulder. "This townie bothering you?" Clearly he's not looking hard enough and doesn't notice the pointed tips of Spock's ears beneath his mussed hair, or he might think twice about stepping in to protect her. Not that she needs it.

She rolls her eyes and shrugs off his hand. "Oh beyond belief, but it's nothing I can't handle."

"You could handle me. That's an invitation." He's speaking Vulcan to her now, and that just pisses the guys off even more.

"Hey. Hob-goblin." Oh, so he noticed the ears. "In case you haven't noticed, there's four of us and one of you." Uhura looks up and sees it's true; four men are all lined up to protect her honor. It might be touching if she didn't feel pissed off at their assumption she couldn't handle one guy by herself. Alright, he's a Vulcan, but they had no idea when they decided to stroll in and act like heroes. For all they knew, he could have been a regular joe and they think that she can't handle it?

"Guys. Stop." she says, just as Spock tells them to go and get four more so he'll have an even fight. She heaves another exasperated sigh. So much for her quiet night of relaxation. "Seriously."

They don't listen to her of course, so she ends up losing most of her drinks and the Vulcan ends up copping a feel before Captain Pike breaks it up and ushers them out of the bar.

Shooting Spock a disapproving look as she passes the table he's currently sprawled out on, Uhura almost jumps out of her skin when she feels him grab her hand. For a moment she falters, coming to a stand still by his side. His fingers slide softly over her knuckles, his thumb pressing soft circles into her palm. She presses her lips together, unable to trust herself to do anything else.

"It was a pleasure, Uhura." he murmurs quietly in a lesser spoken dialect of Vulcan, one that is so natural on his lips that she guesses it's where he's originally from.

Maybe it's the combination of the shot of Jack (even though she's no lightweight) and the exhilaration from the bar fight. Or maybe he's doing some crazy voodoo on her hand. But as she withdraws her hand, she leans down and whispers, "it's Nyota" into his ear before she departs.

When she looks up in the shuttle the next morning and sees a pair of chocolate eyes staring back at her, she thinks it's going to be a very interesting three years.