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Although Spock is usually fazed by frivolous tasks, his current assignment involving a hike across the endless peaks of a whitened Andoria proves to be surprisingly adequate. If it isn’t for the shrill chill of the sodden gale and the daunt of countless arduous precipices ahead, he might say he is comfortable. The tantalising murmur of an absence of society certainly allows for a serene gratification. And, despite his dislike of the crunch beneath his boots from the crisp, taintless, frosted snow, the prospect of the strenuous exercise he is yet to endure more than satisfies his opinions. The pelt of the beams of the planet’s star provides a contrasting warmth to the perpetual climate of Andoria. In spite of this, a silvery vapour illuminates the dominant sapphire of the atmosphere behind it.
The crunch from another pair of boots crescendos as Spock’s calm liberally decreases. He had been told that this was a solitary assignment. He was the commanding officer when Doctor Puri reached his premature demise, after all. It was only fitting that he, and he alone, should notify his friend’s younger brother. When Spock sees that it is Lieutenant Uhura who is approaching him, he doesn’t fight his sudden urge to smile. He raises two fingers to her and she responds in kind, pressing the pads of her own fingers against his. They do not say anything; only walk, allowing their thoughts and emotions to become one with the other's.
Occasionally, Nyota smiles, and Spock squeezes her fingers to express his gratitude. He will be forever grateful for her care and appreciation, but when they embarked on their risky, against-regulations relationship, they were aware that they'd have to be cautious. And cautious, they are, save the regular slip up where Nyota recognises and laughs at Spock's joke or Spock finds himself staring at Nyota for unjustifiable periods of time. It is a healthy relationship. But one built off fleeting glances and stolen kisses. Over the years, Spock has come to understand that Nyota holds a strong affection for him - even with all his emotional turmoil, logic, self-destruction, and identity issues. She loves him, she's said as much before. So when Nyota looks in his direction and smiles broadly, as a wave of that love and affection flows through their connected hands, and as her soft, ghost-like breath teases his chin, Spock leans down and presses the lightest of pecks to her lips. It's the shortest of kisses, almost pressure-less in its strength, but nevertheless, Spock not only feels but sees Nyota's gratitude as she smiles and bumps her body against his. Spock does not suppress the rise of butterflies in his stomach, nor the urge to smile. The corners of his lips quirk up and his lips tighten, albeit ever so slightly. He takes the moment to bask in their shared affection despite their mission.
When they reach the next cliff, Spock hoists Nyota up first. The glaciation on her boots’ soles startles him - the jarring cold shooting along his arm. Once she is atop the crag, he launches himself upwards, the planet’s gravity no match for his Vulcan strength. “You seem quite comfortable, Spohkh,” she begins as he straightens himself into his usual, rigid stance. The sound of her voice, while resonant and sweet, is somewhat disconcerting in the silence. She pronounces his name in its Vulcan form, which elates him. When aboard the starship, they rarely have such opportunities to be so familiar.
“I am content,” Spock responds in a voice softer than that which he would use when speaking with another. When her only response is to look at him more squarely - the pair not having continued on their journey - it occurs to him that he must elaborate. “At this particular moment, I am enjoying the temperature.”
Nyota furrows her eyebrows. “You hate the cold.”
Spock slips his hand into hers and begins in the direction of the city once again. “Perhaps, I am… nostalgic.”
Nyota readily grasps his hand in turn. “You and Puri were roommates. He would leave the climate controls at this temperature?”
“And humidity, yes.” He looks down at their conjoined hands as she begins to swing them back and forth. “What are you doing, Nyota?”
She doesn’t look his way, despite his desire to have her do so. “You know exactly what I am doing.”
“Perhaps, I do not understand your motives for such an action, much less am I able to discern a logical reason for it.”
“Well, perhaps…” she draws out the word, “I am nostalgic for the amount of free time we had when we were back at the academy.” She smiles at him, then. And, an unexplainable warmth overwhelms him once again.
“We hardly shared much ‘free time’,” Spock says, intentionally emphasising the last two words. “If I am not mistaken, we were quite… occupied.” Nyota snorts and Spock has to forcedly suppress his smile.
“Oh, Spohkh.” She squeezes his hand gently and pulls them to a stop. “I love you,” says softly. “I really, really love you.” She looks down and smiles. Her happiness radiates from her expression and her deep, brown eyes glisten with a reflection of the snow.
“Truly?” Spock teases kindly. She doesn’t respond, only leans up to him, balanced on her toes, and captures his lips in hers. It is by no means a short kiss - it, in no way, compares to their previous one in length, but the affection shared between them - both through their intertwined fingers in the ozh-esta and their connected mouths - is as powerful, if not more so. Quite unexpectedly, Spock decides that the feeling of her lips on his never will get old. The way her relaxed expression of emotions penetrates his otherwise unchanging stoicism. The way their mutual devotion allows him to feel as though he’s melting into her embrace. The way her lips suck gently on his and her tongue slides smoothly, yet passionately, along his own. The feeling is extremely satisfactory. No, pleasing. No, delightful. Their kisses are delightful. He truly cherishes the rare moments in the day where their attachment is allowed to run free. He loves it. He loves being in her presence. He loves kissing her. He loves Nyota. The thought that it has taken four years for it to occur to him, shocks him. Never before had he understood or recognised the emotion, yet felt it. He pulls away abruptly and the frown on Nyota’s face unsettles him.
“Spock?” She had reverted back to his human name and it only rattles him more.
“Nyota,” he begins, her name barely a faint breath of air. “I…” He looks at the snow below their feet, unable to meet her eyes.
Spock is rarely one to struggle with words and, evidently, Nyota notices as much. “You don’t have to say it, Spohkh.” He shakes his head - a rare moment of expression. He looks deeply into her eyes so he is certain that she is listening. He musters all of his might and passion and expression into three little words.
“I love you.”