He is fully aware of the names they call him.

Commander Know-it-all. Commander Cold Blood. Ice Prince. Green-blooded, pointy-eared bastard. Vulcan-lite. Half-breed.

Nyota (because in his mind she is always Nyota, even if he must recognize the necessary titles of Cadet and Commander when they are in public) thinks that she is capable of keeping them from him, somehow shielding him from the worst of the names. He appreciates her effort, recognizing it as a human desire to protect him, but he doesn't need it. He's heard it all his life. So he humors her, let's her think that he doesn't hear the names they mutter when they see their lab grades. But he knows. He also knows that he's better than these cadets who think their infantile insults can hurt him. These are merely children under the impression that knowing a few words in Vulcan will get them somewhere in the universe.

Nyota tells him that human men have too much pride and that's why they use names. They dislike having their mistakes being brought to light, which confuses him. Had he made a mistake, he would want someone to correct him.

Nyota laughs and reminds him of the time she found a mistake in his Klingon translation.

"That was a different circumstance," he tells her.

She raises her eyebrow. He smiles, reminded of himself. It pleases him, though it shouldn't, that she's picked up his mannerisms.

"I am an expert in xenolinguistics," he offers her as an explanation. "I do not make mistakes. It was a challenge to see if the students were paying close attention to the words, as needed in communications officers."

"You lied."

"I did not. The purpose of the exercise was to test your abilities."

"I think you made a mistake, Spock."

He's not sure if she's teasing him or not, and he frowns, not quite understanding the intricacies of English, not quite yet.

She smiles again and he reminds himself of Regulation 456, the one that reminds him that it would not be advisable to kiss Nyota right then and there.

"The students will come around, Spock," she tells him. "Don't listen to them."

He still doesn't understand them.

It is getting harder and harder to ignore Nyota and her effect on him.

He smiles grimly at his double entendre, wishing that it wasn't so true. It has interrupted his meditation. He picked jasmine for his incense, before realizing the true reason he chose it. Nyota had smelled like jasmine in the language lab that day. His reasoning of jasmine's calming properties were merely a ruse to himself, denial, he believes it's called. His room smells like her now, which will simply not do if he wants to sleep for the few hours that he needs. He walks the grounds, hoping that the night air will calm his mind, his heart and remind him of himself.

"Come on, baby, that language lab ain't going to keep you warm at night," he hears a cadet drunkenly slur. He abhors drink and it is against regulation for cadets to be drinking. He steps closer to the couple.

"And maybe for the forty-seventh time you'll understand that no means no, Williams," he hears Nyota snarl.

He smiles grimly in spite of himself. He has been the object of her ire enough times to realize that it is not a good place to be. Still, the cadet could easily harm her, could do unspeakable things to her. He needs to stay.

"Why? Because you're hung up on that freak professor of yours? I kind of figured you'd be kinky, Uhura."

Spock's eyes widen at her use of a few curses definitely not taught in his advanced Vulcan dialects class. Nyota knees him in the groin, making the cadet double over, groaning.

"You'll pay for that, bitch," he snarls at her.

"You will do nothing to her," Spock informs him, quickly walking over to Nyota and the cadet.

"Well look who it is, Uhura, it's your half-breed white knight, come to rescue you from the big bad human."

"You will remember yourself, cadet. Go to your dormitory. I will inform the Board of this tonight."

"Fuck off, half-breed. You remember who you are and stop mixing with humans," the cadet spat.

Nyota gasped. The cadet turned to her and smiled.

"See, honey? You need a real man-not this pathetic half-Vulcan, half-human. Who even would want to create such a thing, anyw-"

Spock heard a satisfying crack of the cadet's jaw as he punched him. He had lost control of his emotions only a few times, just enough to realize how terrible it could be, yet never before had he literally seen red, had felt the rage course through his veins. He punched the cadet a few more times before the cadet came back in full force, calling upon his close-combat training, delivering a punch to Spock's nose.

"Spock!" Nyota cried.

Spock choked the cadet, not caring if he killed him or not. He hoped he did. He wanted to eradicate the evil, the hatred that he had to hear over the years. He wanted to make sure this piece of filth suffered, just as he did. He wanted to make sure there were bruises, marks so when the cadet faced himself, he would have to remember the time he was beaten to a pulp by a half breed. It was not the justice taught on Vulcan, nor was it in the teachings of his mother. Still, this justice felt good.

"Spock, stop it! He's not worth it! Spock!"

Spock turned and faced Nyota.

She looked scared. He had never seen her scared before. She was...confident, fearless, beautiful. But she was never scared. Yet she looked at him with tears in her eyes, her pupils dilated and her heart rate severely accelerated.

He stopped. He couldn't do this, couldn't bear the thought of Nyota thinking of him as a monster.

He let go of the hapless cadet who crumpled into a heap onto the ground.

"He'll live," he said flatly.

She looks down at the cadet. "I'm not sure if I care."

He frowns. "You asked me to stop. Did you not ask me to stop because of the cadet?"

"No, I asked you to stop because I know you and you wouldn't, couldn't kill the cadet. Even if he deserves it."

She steps closer to him, placing her hand on his cheek. "You're bleeding."

He touches the blood, which glistens emerald in the moonlight. "So I am. Does it frighten you?"

Her answer is important. He doesn't know how she'll answer, yet he finds himself waiting for her answer, the very meaning of their relationship hangs on her answer.

She looks confused. "Why would it? It's only blood."

He smiles grimly. The answer should placate him, he knows this. Logically, this is the answer he wanted and he received it. He should be happy. But his mind is in a tempest.

"It is green, Cadet Uhura, if you haven't noticed. I am half-Vulcan. My father is Vulcan, my mother human, making me a half-breed, one of few, if any. I am not accepted on my own planet nor am I truly accepted here. The academy admires my accomplishments and thus tolerates my heritage, yet it does not make a secret of its bigotry. I have human eyes and Vulcan ears, a logical conclusion of genetics. Humans find the ears quaint while Vulcans find my eyes to be a curiosity, an unsightly reminder of my impure blood."

"Stop it," Nyota whispers. "This isn't you."

"Do you really think you know me, Cadet Uhura? Did you really think that you, individually, could quell every single whisper of a name they call me? Did you really think that you could stop them? It is not very logical of you, Cadet."

He's making her cry and he hates himself because of it. He knows he needs to make it stop, that he needs to go away from her and clear his mind. This has been enough of a demonstration of his emotions. He has taken it too far, now.

The expression on her face changes, becomes one of resolve.

"If you are done with your pity party, Spock, then we should clean up your nose."

"I think it would be best if you were to go to your quarters, Cadet."

"It's Nyota," she tells him softly.

"It is after curfew."

"Yeah, well, you've already beaten a cadet within an inch of his life, how much more trouble can we be in?"

"That is..."

"Logical," she finishes for him, and takes his hand. "Come on. Your nose is still bleeding."

They walk together in silence. The campus is empty, given curfew, save a few stumbling students breaking curfew. Nyota swipes her key card, letting them in.

"Sit," she commands him.

"Where is your roommate?"

"Oh, probably with a guy. It wouldn't be the first time."

"That is against-"

"I know."

"Yet you say nothing."

Nyota shrugs. "Sometimes people need to let off steam, Spock. She says nothing if I ever come back after curfew working late in the lab, I say nothing if she just happens to not be in our dorm a night or so a month."

"A deal, then."

"Yes, it is."

She takes a washcloth and cleans away the blood, careful not to hurt him. He is touched by the care she takes and is all too comfortable with the compromising position they are in. Her roommate could walk in right now. He shouldn't be in her dormitory, after curfew, extremely after curfew, her teacher, while having thoughts about the woman kneeling in front of him.

"Your nose is broken."

"I assumed as much."

"I'll need to set it."

He took a deep breath. "Do as you must."

She had set noses before, had even set arms before. She had taken first-aide, even intermediate first-aide, serving as a competent medical hand, should the occasion ever arraise.

Spock lets out a curse. "My apologies, Cadet. You should not have heard an instructor speak in such a manner."

She laughs. "I believe you heard me say worse to the bastard back there."

"You were under duress."

"As were you."

He acknowledges the impasse with a nod. "Thank you, Cadet."

"Spock, what did I tell you?"

He realizes that she is way too close, that the air suddenly smells like jasmine and it seems that he has no choice, not anymore. Nor is he sure he ever did.

"Nyota," he whispers, his lips on hers.

He's thought about this more than he cares to admit, yet it exceeds his expectations, an occurrence that rarely happens. He didn't expect her to taste so good, yet he can't quite identify it. He decides to instead just to call it Nyota and leave it at that. She whimpers as he skims his hands up the sides of her body, amazed by the sine curves she possesses.

"Nyota," he whispers again, and suddenly he is no longer sitting by rather lying on her bed, she on top of him, struggling with her top.

"Allow me," he tells her, pulling it off of her.

She is beautiful. There is no other word for it. He struggles with her bra, abhorring the thought of anything between them anymore, muttering about how unnecessary it is to have the stupid thing in the first place, in Vulcan.

Of course, she understands every word he says and laughs. She helps him and the damned thing is finally gone, meeting the same fate as her shirt.

He kisses her again simply because he can, because he has denied himself to long and she is intoxicating him. His human side has taken over tonight, he observes wryly.

She traces the shape of his musculature and he is momentarily transfixed by the contrast between her skin and his. She divests him of his shirt, sighing when her skin meets his and he just holds her for a while, marveling that he finally has what he has always secretly wanted.

She kisses him again and the pressure builds. She touches him-his arms, his face, his torso and suddenly it's more than he can bear.

"Are you sure?" he asks her hoarsely.

She nods frantically. "Spock, if you don't make love to me right now, I might re-break your nose."

He raises his eyebrow. "A threat of violence if your terms are not met? That does not seem like the wisest course of action." His hand makes its own course to her center.

Nyota gasps. "Oh-"

"I find that diplomacy and persuasion are almost always preferable. Granted, it is not as immediate as violence. Diplomacy often takes hours of discussion."

"I..."

"Yes?"

His fingers made her forget what she was about to say.

"So what course will you choose, Nyota?" he whispered in her ear.

She gathered her wits long enough to concentrate on his words. "I believe diplomacy has its merits and thus it would only be logical to explore the wisest course of action." She grinned, suddenly gaining the upper hand, if his face was any indication. "However long it may take."

Diplomacy, Nyota found out, could take quite a while.

She was curled up against him when he saw the sun rise out of her window. He felt peaceful, lying with her. He had never been with a woman before, never wanting nor needing to. He hadn't told Nyota this, though he had a feeling that she knew, already.

This was illogical. A cadet and commander could not be in a romantic relationship. It was forbidden, a breach of academic trust. If anyone should find out...

"Spock," she murmured, halfway between sleep and consciousness.

He kissed the top of her head. "I should leave, before your roommate returns."

"Stay, just a little bit longer."

She kissed the line of his jaw, slipping a leg between his.

"Just a while," he promised her.

She was asleep when he left. He felt uncouth, leaving her when she slept, yet he needed to get back to his office before anyone realized that he wasn't there, before they started to suspect.

He murmurs an endearment in Vulcan before he leaves, unable to stop himself.

He doesn't hear her reply with "I love you, too."

On the way back to his office he overhears students mutter about the last lab he assigned them, complaining about his supposed inability to feel. Can he not understand they have other assignments, too? Figures the Vulcan would try to bury them with classwork.

He smiles, though he is more than certain that there are only two humans in the universe that would be able to tell-Nyota and his mother. He walks pasts the students as they complain and the shock on their faces tells him that they didn't expect to see him.

"Live long and prosper," he tells them.

The smile is still on his face when Nyota meets him in his office.