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James T. Kirk is, as always, a constant source of complex frustration in Spock's life. It is… disquieting, to say the least, the situation he finds himself in. The Enterprise is currently docked at New Vulcan on what was initially supposed to be merely a quick cargo run, but extended to a weekend-long shore leave for the crew. And although Spock has no immediate issue with the opportunity to spend a few days catching up with his father, Spock is definitely a little more than slightly concerned about another Vulcan down on the planet's surface. And Jim… Spock's eyes slide to his immediate left, where Jim is bent over Nyota's communication station and whispering fervently to her.
Captain Kirk is, for lack of a more appropriate word, ecstatic. He has, in fact, been what Nyota calls 'happy as a clam' since the Enterprise learned of its impending mission to the colony six point six days prior. Jim had taken all necessary vaccines and nutritive supplements in record time, submitted all outstanding captain's logs, and even fulfilled Doctor McCoy's admittedly grueling new exercise regimen all before pulling into orbit at 0600.
To be frank, it makes Spock uncomfortable.
"Three days," Jim says dreamily then, at a more normal, Human decibel. "When's the last time the crew had shore leave on anything better than a floating tuna can in space?"
"Because I'm sure the scenery is what you're excited to see," Uhura teases with a light smack to Jim's shoulder.
Jim snorts and crosses his arms, propping one hip against the edge of the control panel. "Well, I'm not saying the company won't be pretty good," he says, grinning cheekily at Uhura. He bats his lashes. "You comin' down planetside?"
She laughs, brightly. "Like you're even going to have eyes for anyone else the second we hit land‒"
"Lieutenant Uhura," Spock says suddenly. They halt in their conversation to look back at Spock, their reactions not unlike those of small, startled animals.
"Right," Jim says with a clap to the back of Uhura's chair. "I gotta go check on a few last minute things with Scotty anyway. Comm me if you want to have dinner one night, okay?"
"Sure thing," Uhura says, a small smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. Once the captain has left the bridge, her smile drops and she shoots a questioning look at Spock.
Spock is beginning to wish they had never been assigned this mission.
***
Captain Kirk, Spock, and Nyota are among the last to depart.
"Are you sure you don't mind staying up here all three days?" Jim asks Lieutenant Sulu again. "Because I can totally pop back up here if you need a break, or Scotty can even take over for you for an evening‒"
"It's really fine," Sulu says with a smile. "Scotty's got his engines to work on, and between you and me, I'm still a little desert-ed out from the last time we visited the dunes."
A line of tension seems to leak out of Jim's shoulders, and he grabs the other man's shoulder and gives it a friendly squeeze. "You're the best, Sulu," Jim tells him firmly.
"Just remember that come eval' time," Sulu says with a grin. Jim laughs and the lieutenant heads off with a quick salute.
The shuttle arrives, what is left of the crew wishing to head down for shore leave crams in, and the pilot smoothly pulls the shuttle into the planet's atmosphere.
"Captain," she greets when Jim finally unglues himself from the window to his appointed seat.
"Ma'am," he says, grinning.
The pilot shoots him a look out of the corner of her eye, questioning, before turning her attention back to the viewscreen in front of her. Once they are in range of communications, she flicks a switch and says calmly into her microphone, "This is shuttlecraft Xirahnah requesting permission to land on landing pad A." Crackles meet them on the other end and Jim's eyebrows crinkle in concern. Her eyes slide back to Jim and she says, "It is not an uncommon phenomenon ‒ do not worry, Captain."
"Oh no, I wasn't worried," Jim says with a weak laugh.
She inclines her head softly. "You will still make your arranged meeting time," the pilot tells him, and Jim starts. Her cheeks color slightly. "Forgive me," she coughs. "I merely glanced over the visitors manifest."
A deep flush crawls up Jim's neck and into his face, but he doesn't sputter or make excuses ‒ if anything, he looks a little pleased, with his lids half-lowered as he looks almost shyly at his feet. "It's fine," he whispers, one corner of his mouth quirking up.
Spock looks away.
***
"Relax," Uhura says. "You heard the pilot: comms go out on the colony all the time. We're cleared for landing, we just have to wait for the go ahead before we can debark."
"This is the all-clear," a tinny voice suddenly says from the console. "Passengers are now free to exit single file through the port side entrance."
Jim is out of his seat almost before ground control has finished authorizing their disembarkation, duffel bag swung over one shoulder. When they reach the shuttlecraft terminal, Spock watches Jim covertly scanning the crowd, and he can pinpoint the exact moment the captain makes eye contact with his intended target.
His elder counterpart, standing stoically in the midst of milling Starfleet personnel, slowly unclasps his hands from behind his back and raises the ta'al to Jim. Jim mirrors the gesture confidently, and when the old Vulcan opens his arms ever so subtly, Jim very nearly runs to him, throwing one arm over the back of his neck jovially. The Vulcan's hesitation is barely half a breath and then he is hugging Jim back, unheeding of the occasional curious stares of those around them.
"They're cute," Uhura says fondly, sweetly, but when Spock catches her eye her focus is locked on Spock, sharp and assessing.
Spock resists the urge to squirm. He knows that look all too well. "My father is meeting us in the aircar outside," he simply says, and places one hand at the base of her spine as he leads her towards the exit.
***
"You okay?" Jim asks quietly, and when Spock meets his eyes the younger man is looking up at him tentatively, with a half smile that's slowly fading from his lips.
Spock clears his throat again and nods, reaching down to grab Jim's bag before he can protest. "I am‒ exceptional," Spock manages after a moment, and grabs Jim's hand to press a kiss against the back of his knuckles. A burst of bliss shoots through their connected hands and Jim starts, looking down at their joined hands. Spock smiles, very faintly. "How is your mind?"
"It's good," Jim admits with a little shrug. "Though I gotta be honest, most of the time I don't feel any different than normal ‒ it's just when we touch. Is that because I'm Human?"
Spock inclines his head and turns to give Jim a tour of the house. "That is partially the case. It is not unlike the engagement bond adolescent Vulcans share ‒ though, ours is admittedly more like that of close friends."
"Close friends, huh?" Jim says, lips spreading back in a grin, and Spock feels a spot of color rising in his cheeks. Jim's grin widens, flashing teeth, before he steps back to peel his off-duty pullover over his head. His undershirt rides up at bit at the movement, and when Jim catches Spock staring, the grin comes back. "See something you like?" he whispers, batting impossibly dark lashes.
Spock is most definitely green now. "If you are uncomfortable‒" he starts in an effort to avoid this line of questioning.
"Nah, I'm fine," Jim says with a laugh. "Uhura told me that older Vulcans have a harder time regulating body temperature, so I figure I'd meet you halfway."
"Regardless," Spock says as they move through the living area, "I adjusted the environmental controls in the guest room if you find you need a respite from the heat."
Jim hooks a finger in the collar of Spock's robes. "Just as long as you don't expect me to stay in the guest room this weekend."
Spock allows himself to be led. "I had no such illusions," he confesses as he follows a man he has been blessed to love twice over into the bedroom.
***
"Hey," Jim murmurs, as if he'd heard Spock approach (Improbable. Spock has near-silent footsteps). He turns to smile at Spock, bright blue eyes glistening in the starlight ("So poetic in your old age," Jim teases), and scoots his knees on the chair; Jim cushions his cheek on his kneecap and asks, "I didn't wake you, did I?"
Spock shakes his head. "I sometimes wake in the middle of the night: it is of no consequence."
Jim lets a little puff of air escape his lips. "Sorry," he mumbles. "'Still trying to get used to the time change. You're not cold, are you?"
Though he suspects it is not quite the case, Spock lets the subject drop, taking the chair beside him and staring out at the quiet landscape before him. Eventually the clouds part and New Vulcans two moons glitter out at them, a bright light against the cold blackness below him.
"Hey," Jim says suddenly; he turns towards Spock. "How long 'till sunrise?"
Spock calculates. "We have a little over one point five hours remaining," he says, rounding.
Jim pops up and stretches his arms high above him. "Awesome. You still have the aircar right?"
"I do…" Spock starts slowly; Jim beams and grabs his hand.
"Great," he says, "grab your cloak."
Spock is not quite worried, he tells himself, but there is still a jitter in his bones when he follows Jim out the door.
***
Jim's eyes are alight with… something Spock cannot quite identify, and he lets out a beaming whoop as he presses down on the gas, the wind whipping his hair in every direction. Spock does not even want to imagine the state of his own hair, and he is certain his nose and cheeks have taken on a green-flushed hue.
They drive until Spock's ears go numb (approximately sixty eight minutes, give or take) and his head is buzzing with endorphins. When Jim turns to grin at Spock, he finds himself physically returning the gesture, and Jim immediately leans forward and catches him in a Human kiss.
It is absolutely dizzying.
Jim pushes the button for the emergency brake and very nearly jumps out of the car, jogging over to help Spock's jittery, adrenaline-rushed limbs out of the car. He takes great care in smoothing Spock's thick spring robe, pulling and tugging at various wrinkles, smoothing the collar. Then he grabs a pack from the back and interlaces his fingers with Spock's and begins to lead him away.
Spock will follow this man anywhere.
They walk in an indeterminate direction for a short while, until Jim sees an overhanging rock structure beside a sudden drop in the earth. Spock eyes the canyon below them suspiciously, but Jim waves him off, pulling a thick, inflatable sleeping bag from his pack. When it's nice and fluffy, Jim sits Spock down, makes sure he's comfortable, then flops down beside him, sliding around until his feet are hanging off the edge.
"Jim‒" Spock starts, the worrier that he is.
Jim lays a hand on Spock's wrist. "Relax," he murmurs. "I checked the tricorder when we pulled up ‒ this rock's secure as anything." He inhales deeply and smiles. "Did I ever tell you I drove a car off a cliff once?"
Spock's jaw very nearly drops. "You did not."
"Ooo careful Spock," Jim teases, "you almost sounded grumpy there." He grabs Spock's hand again, and his grip is warm, secure. "Hey," he whispers. "I'm not going anywhere."
Spock huffs something uncharitable under his breath, but Jim just chuckles, their fingers intertwined, and continues to lie there, his breath soft and quiet in the predawn light. Eventually, Jim sits up, his head pillowed against Spock's shoulder, and they watch together as the sun slowly crawls up over the horizon.
Spock leans to rest his cheek atop Jim's head, who sighs sweetly and burrows his face in the crook of Spock's neck. When Jim finally does manages to doze off, Spock picks him up, deflates the cushion beneath them, and carries them both back to the car.
***
"You don't look so bad yourself," Jim mumbles sleepily, a small smile curling over his lips. Spock holds back a snort and lets his head fall back against the pillow, inhaling the clean scent of sun-soaked fabric. "Hey," Jim says suddenly, and rolls on his side so that he and Spock are facing each other. "Are we just 'close friends'?" he asks.
"I would not have invited you here if that were the case," Spock divulges, and raises his hand to resume its earlier ministrations.
Jim sighs in contentment. "Good," he says. A few more minutes pass, and then Jim asks, "I'm not just a replacement for your Kirk, am I?"
A beat, and then: "It is complicated," Spock admits, fingers slowing in their course up and down Jim's beautiful, remarkably firm (when his is so old and thin) skin.
Jim snorts. "Tell me about it," he mutters, but does not say anything else, still waiting for Spock to answer his question.
Spock stops then, then slowly removes his fingers from Jim's skin. He steels himself, then whispers (not the least bit shakily), "James Kirk holds only the dearest place in my heart." Jim pinches his lips together, but otherwise does not react. Spock looks out the window, his gaze slightly unfocused, lost in a memory. It is the greatest of shames, Spock thinks to himself, that Jim could not have met his counterpart, even once. It is another shame entirely that that man will never be able to see the beauties the universe holds, to change the lives he once changed so meaningfully. But perhaps this man will be able to chart the stars magnificently as well, and change the fates of others more.
Spock is eventually able to continue, his words a little ragged around the edges: "It would be a lie to say I do not still love that man, very deeply. Knowing him shaped me in a way you could not imagine." And though Spock is not alone, in this moment he feels so very empty, as if Jim were a million light years away instead of merely a few centimeters. In a lot of ways, Spock is still grieving. Even now, just the mention of his husband sends razor blades dancing through Spock's insides. Jim is looking at him with wide eyes, and yet it is another handful of minutes before Spock can speak again.
"In many ways," Spock eventually whispers, "both you and your counterpart are… unbelievably similar. In many more, you are the same." The way Spock's name falls from his lips, how he takes his favorite tea, even the way Jim smells ‒ it's all the same. He finally forces himself to look back, dragging a thumb along the underside of Jim's jaw. "But just as his experiences shaped him into the man he was, so have your experiences shaped you. You have grown into… someone extraordinary," Spock admits. He looks down at the young man gazing up at him with eyes full of undisguised adoration, and begins to suspect that, rather than growing outwards, as a flower does to the sun, Jim is growing into him, instead.
Spock has not yet decided if this is a good or bad thing. He's also not sure that he really cares. Spock shakes his head and wraps Jim up in his arms. Let him be selfish; let him be consumed with love one more time. "Jim once told me, in a holopendant, that my destiny was to be by his side."
Spock is full of confessions today.
"He was not wrong," Spock says after a moment, just on this side of sanity, "but perhaps he was not entirely accurate. He is, and forever shall be my Jim, but…" perhaps you will be, as well, Spock thinks desperately.
"It's complicated," Jim repeats, pressing their foreheads together.
"You and Jim are one, but not the same," Spock whispers, lips capturing Jim's in a Human kiss. "You are each your separate entity ‒ I recognize this. You are not a replacement for Jim because there can be no replacement for him ‒ just as there can be no replacement for you." Spock sighs softly, and buries his nose in in the crook of Jim's neck. "Does that make sense? Have I explained myself in a satisfactory manner?"
Jim runs a hand through Spock's tousled hair. "Yeah," he says eventually. "Yeah, you did." Another pregnant pause fills the air, and then: "Do you think you'll love me that way one day?" he whispers into Spock's skin.
Spock is well on his way.
***
Spock's lips twitch, and he says, "You often mention Lieutenant Uhura's penchant for xenolinguistics, as well as an interest in the more… rustic Klingon dialects." ("It's slang, Spock," Jim says with a snort. "You can call it Klingon slang.") "It is a small convention," Spock continues, "however there are a number of panels later this evening I took the liberty of signing us up for. There is a panel on conversational Klingon and Romulan, as well as introductory Andorian and‒" Spock's gaze shifts off to the side and he pauses to clear his throat. "...iambic Vulcan poetry," he finishes at last, almost shyly.
"No way, really?" Jim asks with a bright, beaming grin. He looks up at Spock, eyes practically glittering, and leans forward to press a Human kiss to Spock's lips. "That's awesome ‒ thanks, Spock," he says warmly, brushing a thumb across Spock's jaw before sitting back down.
Spock feels his cheeks warm, and turns back to his soup. "It was my pleasure," he murmurs.
***
Though there are many Vulcans present to listen to the speaker ramble on about conversational Klingon, most of them are in the front handful of rows, attention thoroughly engaged in the discussion of urban versus rural dialects. It is… inappropriate (to say the least) to engage in such practices in a majority-Vulcan setting, where a meter's distance apart is considered fairly intimate by Vulcan standards. Spock has spent his entire life attempting to maintain such an air of propriety (in public, at least).
Spock lays his hand palm up between them.
Jim's eyes flicker between the podium and Spock's hand then, very slowly, pulls his hand out of pocket and interlaces their fingers. Immediately, Spock feels a rush a warm happiness circulate between them. The corners of Jim's lips curl.
"Qapla'," he murmurs fondly.
Spock rolls his eyes.
***
Spock… cannot find a reason, per se, to say no. He nods. "Very well," he acquiesces, and Uhura is already rushing off, one hand raised in a wave.
"Kirk!" she calls lightly, and Jim lights up, raising a hand to answer her wave.
"Hey!" he answers easily, once they've made their way across the wide room to each other. Jim looks‒ remarkably more at ease than he had when they were on the Enterprise. "'You guys headin' over to the Vulcan poetry panel?"
"We were, actually," Uhura says, her smile just barely crinkling the corners of her eyes. "Did you wanna get seats together?"
"Yeah, that's fine with me," Jim says; he turns to his Spock and asks, "Is that cool with you?"
"It would be my pleasure," he answers with a faint incline of his head. He turns to his younger counterpart. "Would it be a terrible inconvenience to join the two of you tonight?"
Spock is trying very, very hard not to stare at their entwined fingers. "Of course not," Spock answers, smoothly as he can muster, and clasps his hands behind his back. "Nyota?" he prompts, and the four of them begin to shuffle towards the assigned lecture hall.
Uhura, however, does not seem to share Spock's desire for indiscretion. "That's awful ballsy of you, Kirk," she teases, bumping her arm playfully against Jim's.
Jim flushes a pleasant shade of pink. "I asked," he mumbles under his breath. At his side, Spock's amusement only seems to increase, for he swipes a thumb across the back of Jim's knuckles.
"There is ‒ approximately," Spock starts conversationally, eyes glittering, "seventy-five percent Human DNA between the two of us. I'm sure we can be excused, just this once, for our Human display of affection."
"You both are gross," Uhura says with a laugh; nevertheless, she reaches over and claps Kirk on the back. "But it suits you," she tells him, a hint of affection warming her voice.
Spock stares down at Uhura's hands swinging beside her, beautiful and brown and soft from the sweet-scented moisturizer she uses. Spock has touched them hundreds of times, but always privately, never amongst the crew, and never in front of another Vulcan, let alone a convention center full of them. Spock would sooner die from mortification. And yet he sees his captain and his counterpart, so freely (so brazenly) touching one another in such a manner Spock can never find the courage to.
Spock hates them in this instant. Spock hates himself more.
"'You okay, Spock?" Uhura asks quietly, folding her hands behind her back to match.
Spock nods, softens his gaze, and raises an eyebrow at Uhura. She twists her lips in a semi-smirk and rolls her eyes. They take their seats (both Spocks on either end, Uhura and Jim between them). Uhura crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap, wiggling once to get comfortable.
Does Nyota think he is ashamed of her? Does she wonder why he does not participate in the more Human displays of affection? Spock drags his eyes away from her, his throat burning with unease, and looks to Jim.
Jim notices the scrutiny almost immediately. Spock did not think there was any indication of his mental and emotional state on his face, but apparently Jim sees something Nyota hadn't, for he slips his hand from Spock's and laces his fingers behind his head, sprawling lazily out in his chair.
Spock wonders if his captain's hands are as soft as Nyota's.
***
"The weather is less than ideal," Sarek admits, fingers curled loosely around an earthenware cup, "but things are progressing in an efficient enough manner ‒ Ambassador Spock tells me the cultural center will be nearing completion within the fortnight."
"It wasn't so bad," Uhura pipes up from her seat. "Half of the convention hall was blocked off, but the environmental and light controls worked well enough, and the chairs were pretty comfortable ‒ for Vulcan standards, that is," she finishes with a little joke in her voice. "Ambassador Spock and Kirk said to tell you 'hi', by the way."
Spock must not fully hide his discomfort, because his father pauses after his thanks, then says, "I understand that you are doing a survey on white dwarf stars?"
Spock nods, feeling slightly less off-kilter at the change of subject. He hears Nyota sigh (something that is becoming more and more common) and put her book down. "We do not encounter many along our various mission routes, but I record data from every one we pass."
As Nyota disappears into another room, Spock struggles to keep his focus on his father and not on the fact that he is essentially forcing everyone to walk on eggshells around him. Is that so egregious, though? His friend and captain is sleeping with (dating?), for all intents and purposes, an alternate version of himself. It leaves him constantly unsettled, the way that Jim will say something to him about a Spock that is both him and not him, and how Jim seems to know him intimately and yet not at all. It would concern anyone.
Wouldn't it?
There is a rustle from the other side of the room, and Nyota passes by with one of her small colorful day bags slung over her shoulder. "I'm going to head down to the pier and go for a swim before it cools off too much. Wanna come along?" she asks, ponytail swinging behind her as a breeze sweeps through the room via an open window.
She is absolutely stunning.
"I will accompany you part of the way, if it is not inconvenient to you," Sarek says, moving to stand. He grabs one of his own bags hanging on a hook on the wall. "I have a set of zoning files I must deliver to the Ambassador."
"Of course, Ambassador," Uhura sweetly replies, smiling up to her eyes. Then she looks at Spock again. "Spock?" she prompts.
Spock does not sigh, though he honestly wants to. "Of course," he says. "Allow me to change first; then we can be on our way."
The universe is out to get him, it would seem.
***
"It is a habit of mine," Spock says mysteriously, lips twisting in what Jim perceives to be amusement. "Though only a few are from my original collection, you may choose any of them if you wish to read one."
Jim cracks a grin. "So I come to New Vulcan to see you in person for the first time in like, a year, and you try and pawn me off to the nearest novel ‒ thanks, Spock."
Spock's eyes are definitely twinkling now. "I never said that I would allow you to read it here." Jim wheels back around to face Spock, and his smile melts into something dirtier, one that makes Spock's toes curl. "My offer was sincere, however; if you would like to take a… memento of this visit, you are more than welcome to borrow one to read in your off-duty hours."
Jim's chest gives a little flutter and he ducks his head, turning back to the shelf. He slides a fingertip down the spine of one book before pulling it out and letting it fall open again. Jim runs his finger down the page. "It was the best of times," he recites, a small smile on his face, "it was the worst of times." On the other side of the room, Spock's breath stops. "It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness. it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before, we were all going directly to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way." Jim looks up then and sees Spock still as stone. "What?" he asks with a little, embarrassed laugh. "Should I not have read it aloud?"
Spock breaks out of his stupor then. "Not at all," he replies, eyes crinkling at the corners. "You just remind me what it is to be young again." He stands, crosses the room, and captures Jim in both a Human and Vulcan kiss, two fingertips slowly sliding down Jim's face. Jim sighs, carefully cradling the well-worn book against his chest. When Spock pulls back, he makes the first move, taking the book from Jim's hands, setting it on the small desk beside them. He slides his hands up Jim's thin cotton shirt and just lets them rest there, cool Vulcan to hot Human.
"Let me make you happy," Spock says into his skin.
***
"My father prefers to walk," Spock simply says; he does not say that his father and mother used to walk together in the evening times when the climate was much more bearable, when her feeble Human lungs were better able to draw in breath through the thick Vulcan heat. He does not mention the way they walked nearly everywhere together, and how his father would justify his actions by saying it was so 'Amanda could acclimate to the weather better'. Spock cannot say any of these things. Even now, two years after her passing, the pain of her memory is like nails scratching along a raw nerve.
"Oh," Nyota flatly says; she twists her grip so that the handle of her bag is more firmly settled in her hand and quickens her pace a little.
Spock hesitates. "Nyota‒" he starts.
"What?" she asks with a weary sigh. She stops again, in the middle of the dusty desert road, and throws her arms wide out to either side. "What is it that you want me to say? I'm trying to give you space, and I'm trying not to push you, but I'm only Human." She looks up at him helplessly and gives a little shrug. "I need some kind of feedback here, Spock, because I'm tired of tiptoeing around you on the off-chance I'm about to say something you don't agree with." A gust of seabreeze flits past them, tossing frizzy flyaways into her face. Uhura sighs again and casts her face downwards, letting her eyes slide shut.
She looks so very, very tired.
"Just give me something to work with," Nyota whispers, "even if it's just to tell me to leave you alone."
Spock reaches out and takes her hand, in startlingly Human fashion. She smells like cocoa butter and sunscreen, and the special conditioner she uses for her hair. Her palm is soft and warm, her fingertips loose, but still curling around Spock's own. He tries to say something to her, tries to open his mouth, but nothing comes out.
Why can't Spock say anything?
Nyota looks up at him expectantly, but he can no easier articulate his current emotional state than he could eight months ago, staring at the face of a dying man through what may as well have been light years of transparent aluminum, for all that he could do to help ease his suffering. Nyota seems to give up waiting, for she simply tugs on his hand and begins to lead him towards the beach.
Unsaid words burn the back of Spock's throat, stinging like the bitter aftertaste of ash, metal, and the farthest memories of home.
***
Sarek nods as he steps inside. "Ambassador," he replies, mirroring the gesture. "You are, of course, still welcome to call me 'father'."
The corners of Spock's mouth lift ever-so-slightly, and Spock nods his head in acquiescence. He leads Sarek to the living area and offers him a seat, taking the one opposite from him. Spock hesitates, then says, a bit awkwardly, "You are also welcome to call me 'Spock' ‒ if that is not too confusing for you."
"My thanks, Spock," Sarek says to test the waters, near-tripping over the words in his hesitance. And though the name 'Spock' has left his lips a thousand times, it was never in this context, never to this old Vulcan's face. It makes Spock's heart ache for his father ‒ his father, the one from his timeline whom he had spent decades upon decades of his life with (but it was not enough, it had never been enough‒).
Spock blinks, drags himself back to the present.
The atmosphere is sufficiently strained; Spock and Sarek do not often converse outside of official channels, Spock not wanting to put his currently-younger-than/alternate-timeline father in a strange position. And yet, here Sarek is, attempting ever so clumsily to make honest conversation with a son who is, and yet not, his own.
The effort is… unbelievably touching.
"You guys must be fun at parties," Jim quips with a grin, popping out from around the corner. He lifts his hand in the ta'al to Sarek before fidgeting and letting it drop at his side awkwardly. Jim flops down on the couch, clears his throat, and tugs at his collar. "Sir," he says then. "How are you today?"
"Captain," Sarek greets, his eyes searching for something in Jim's face. Jim doesn't quite know what he finds, but he seems satisfied, because he says quite conversationally, "I am quite well. How are you enjoying your shore leave so far?"
"It's nice," Jim replies; he drums his fingers against the armrest in an attempt to quell his nasty case of the jitters. "I've got tri-ox compounds if I need 'em and about fifty different other medications on the off-chance I'm allergic to anything and/or on the verge of death." Sarek blinks down at him slowly, a look of wary concern growing on his face, and Jim blurts, "A joke ‒ that was a joke. Sort of." Though Bones had gone a little overboard with the hypos.
Sarek purses his lips, then turns back to Spock. "I have brought the zoning files you requested," he says, pulling a thin case out of his sleeve and handing it over. "The passcode is the same as before."
"Thank you," Spock says kindly, moving to secure the case of files in a safe at the bottom of the bookshelf. When he returns, he takes the spot beside Jim and Sarek accepts it without so much as an extra blink. "We were actually about to head out to dinner," Spock continues then, with a growing confidence that surprises even him. "Would you care to join us?"
"We were?" Jim asks, perking up at the mention of food.
Spock's eyes crinkle. "Indeed. I am afraid most of the restaurants that serve non-replicated food have only standard Vulcan cuisine‒" he starts.
Jim grins, flashing teeth. "Hey, no worries: Scotty's made it his personal mission to rewire the replicators into giving us moderately more edible food, so Uhura and I have been needling him into adding some Vulcan foods to the menu."
"Fascinating," Spock says, partly because it is (his Enterprise had stocked a few Vulcan staples, but Spock had been content with regular, Federation food most of the time), but mostly to amuse Jim. Indeed, the word pulls a sparkling smile out of the blond. "The two of you must care for Spock a great deal," Spock says then. Jim snorts, waving one hand in the air dismissively, and Spock lays one hand lightly on his sleeve. "Jim," he whispers indulgently, arching one fine grey eyebrow. Jim caves, and his sweet sunshine smile returns.
A beat passes, and Jim breaks eye contact. "Okay, so dinner," he says as his cheeks take on a healthy, rose-colored hue. "I'm fine with Vulcan food."
"Of course," Spock says smoothly. "Forgive me, Father ‒ it was not my intention to stray so far off topic."
"There is no offense where none is taken," Sarek replies with a small nod; if anything, Jim thinks he can see flashes of subtle amusement in that stoic Vulcan demeanor. "We would be honored to join the both of you for dinner tonight."
"I'm not," Jim starts uneasily; the two Vulcans turn to look at him and Jim swallows a hard knot in his throat, "entirely sure that would be a good idea," Jim finishes lamely.
"I was under the impression that my son thought highly of you, Captain," Sarek says. "Is this not the case?"
"It's not‒" Jim falters again and sighs, chewing on his lip before saying, "It's not that he doesn't like me: it's that he doesn't like," and Jim turns to Spock, brows knitting together sympathetically, "us. I don't think he likes the idea of us being... together."
Spock does not say anything, does not so much twitch a muscle in his face, but Jim can still feel a bubble of shame burning through Spock's chest. Jim moves as if to rests a hand on Spock's, but thinks better of it, and whispers, "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to worry about it."
"It is fine," Spock whispers back. Of course it is fine. If nothing else, Spock should have anticipated this, should have expected friction to build up between Jim and his first officer. He is so foolish, letting himself spiral headfirst into his own emotions, allowing himself to meddle in a galaxy he had no business taking part in. He should have left at the earliest opportunity, should have sent Jim away that first night, should have‒
"Captain," Sarek says, pauses, then corrects himself: "James," he tries again. "You are aware of my title, are you not?"
"Your title?" Jim echoes, one eyebrow raising. "You're an ambassador of the Federation, right?"
"That is correct," Sarek confirms. "And Spock," he gestures the Vulcan beside Jim, "what is his official title?"
Jim, Spock can tell, is growing more and more confused by the second. Spock has his own suspicions of what his father is up to, but wisely stays silent.
"Spock is also an Ambassador," Jim says slowly, "but technically not for this Federation."
"That is also correct." There is… a spark, of something almost mischievous growing in Sarek's eyes. Sarek laces his fingers, both pointer fingers pressed against his mouth, and props his elbows on his knees.
Jim is, at once, struck by the familiarity of the gesture, and his heart flutters.
"Captain Kirk, what are the duties of an ambassador at their simplest, most basic levels?" Jim flounders, and Sarek's eyes soften. He says, taking pity upon him, "It is not a trick question. An ambassador's function, first and foremost, is to manage international, -planetary, and -galactic relations. Kirk, you were fairly active in New Vulcan's initial setup. Is it of your personal or professional opinion that my ambassadorial skills are inadequate? Are Spock's?"
"What? No!" Jim blurts, slightly mortified.
Spock suddenly knows, with startling clarity, what is unfolding before his eyes. He does not know if he should be amused or afraid.
Spock is also not quite sure that 'both' is not an entirely unacceptable answer.
"In that case," Sarek continues with a nod, "you should have no issues with our abilities to mediate tonight at dinner."
Jim blinks, a look of raw horror slowly blooming on his face. "Of course," he say numbly. Spock hides a snort of laughter behind a polite cough, and Sarek meets his eyes with just the barest hint of glee on his face.
His father is, to borrow from Jim's... colorful vocabulary, such a manipulative little shit.
Sarek nods, stands. "It is settled. Come then ‒ the walk to my house is not far, and my car is more than large enough to fit the five of us."
Jim and Spock rise together, and Spock hesitates, turns to Jim. "If you are uncomfortable," Spock whispers, "we need not go."
"I should be the one asking you that," Jim murmurs back. He sighs, "Spock‒"
"Jim." Spock lays a hand on his lower back. "I will be fine."
"Captain Kirk," Sarek starts once more. Jim looks back over at the other Vulcan, who says, "Part of growing into an adult is learning to do things we do not wish to do, and to accept things we cannot change. My son cannot change whom his captain chooses to associate with, romantically or otherwise. This is an instance where he will have to, as you Humans say, 'deal with it'."
Spock sucks in a tight breath, barely audible, but Sarek turns to Spock with soft, kind eyes. "You are my son, as well," Sarek simply says. "I see‒ much of Amanda in you."
Spock's rattling old bones are going to crumble to dust. His eyebrows knit together and his eyes burn, knowing full well the significance of his father's words. "Thank you," Spock says.
"Your thanks are unnecessary," Sarek says, a bit of gravel and gruff entering the Vulcan's voice, "for I only acted in the logical manner. One does not thank logic."
Spock nods, a little shakily, the bitter twist of nostalgia stinging in his side. His father is so different in this timeline (and in other ways, so completely the same), and it does not take much thought to discover why. It's disorienting to Spock, and so very, very heartbreaking. Sarek seems to notice his internal turmoil, for he lifts his hand to Spock's in the el'ru'esta.
"Time is a path from the past to the future and back again," Sarek tells him. "The present‒"
"‒is the crossroads of both," Spock finishes, eyes fluttering shut. Yes, Spock thinks in awe. Confusion is to be expected. Perhaps they are, all of them, placing too much emphasis on attempting to reconcile the differences of his old timeline, and not enough on merely living in this new one. Let them, for just a little while, simply exist in the moment.
Perhaps there is hope for this night yet.
***
It doesn't take a genius in Vulcan mannerisms to figure that out (though everyone at their table actually is), for all the courtesy the younger Vulcan has shown them since Sarek arrived back home, Jim and Spock in tow. Spock is, in fact, currently trying to pretend no one else at the table exists.
Nyota is so very close to jamming her fork into Spock's skin.
"Come on Spock, give me something," Jim needles, pointing his own utensil ("Kirk, don't be rude," Uhura says smartly; Jim sticks his tongue out at her) at the Vulcan. "One story ‒ the tiniest story."
"Kirk, he can't be that bad," Uhura says with a laugh; she stirs at her vegetable dish and sneaks a peek at her still silent boyfriend.
Nothing. What is with him tonight? He'd been fine with them yesterday.
"No, you don't understand, Uhura," Jim tells her. "I asked him to tell me about himself once and I got, to quote: 'I spent a great deal of time in space'."
Spock's eyes are glittering down at Jim, the corners of his mouth tilting ever so slightly. "I am certain I did not phrase my answer quite like that, Jim," he murmurs. Beside Uhura, Spock's grip tightens on his fork ever-so-slightly.
"Yeah? Well, I've got a saved comm message on the Enterprise that says otherwise, buster," Jim says, smirking.
"I merely do not wish to divulge any important information regarding your timeline‒" Spock starts.
"Spock, even I don't have so much of an ego that I think every aspect of my life is dimension-altering," Jim laughs. Uhura hides a snort behind her napkin, her shoulders shaking. "I mean," Jim starts again, "don't get me wrong: you're awesome and probably one of the most important people from your timeline‒"
Spock inclines his head diplomatically. "You flatter me. Very well," Spock says with the smallest, most indulgent of sighs. "When I was young, I... owned a pet sehlat."
"A sehlat?" Jim perks up, setting aside his utensils altogether and turning his chair towards Spock. When he props his elbows on the table to lean even closer, Uhura halfheartedly smacks at it, to which Jim laughs and nudges it back against her. "What's a sehlat?" Jim asks then.
"It is… not unlike a large teddy bear," Spock says. He is definitely smiling now; Jim can tell, "with six-inch fangs."
"That," Jim whispers, "is probably the coolest thing I've ever heard." Jim has, by now, given up all pretences of participating in conversation with the rest of the table, his gaze glued solely to Spock. He leans in close, chin propped up on his hand, and asks in rapid succession, "What do sehlats eat? Are they friendly? What was your sehlat's name? Are there pictures? Can I see?"
"Sehlats are mainly carnivores and can be very aggressive," Spock answers dutifully, hands placed and folded in front of him, "but I-Chaya and I had a special bond. I, unfortunately, do not have pictures of I-Chaya specifically; however‒"
"Please excuse the interruption," Sarek smoothly says. "I have a small collection of images of my son and his I-Chaya on my personal hard drive ‒ I could share them with you if you so desire."
Spock's attention finally snaps up, soft and slightly wide eyes looking over at his father. "I was not aware of that," he says quietly.
Sarek clears his throat. "Truthfully, I did not know until earlier today, when I received word from a former assistant. Communications between New Vulcan and Earth have never been very stable, and ‒ to be frank ‒ family photographs do not rank high in terms of importance with an entire civilization to rebuild." Spock, his eyes still full of quiet wonder, continues to stare at Sarek, who inclines his head and continues, "I had been planning to show you the albums later tonight, but‒" Sarek looks to the side momentarily. "Surprises have never been something I was proficient with: they were more suited to your mother's abilities than mine." A beat, then Sarek says, "There are quite a few collections featuring her."
Silence reigns over the table. Silently, Jim reaches over to grab his Spock's hand, who returns the gesture almost painfully. Jim just holds on tight.
Finally, Spock says, in a very small voice, "I would very much like to see them, Father."
Sarek nods once. "It would be an honor to view them with you."
"Speaking of albums," Jim starts then, almost shyly; he bumps an elbow to his Spock's, "my mother sent over some of my baby/kid holos the other day. 'Said something about needing to clean out her internal hard drives, but I have a feeling she just wanted an excuse to embarrass me with fifty different shots of my butt."
"Fascinating," Spock murmurs. "I would be honored to see your embarrassing childhood holos."
"That is," Jim says with a laugh, cheeks burning," not what I meant."
Spock raises a fine, grey eyebrow. "Oh?" he says almost indulgently. "What other reason would prompt you to share this information with me?"
"Captain I must admit ‒ were I capable of the emotion ‒ I would be terrified to imagine the terrors a young James Kirk would have unleashed upon the Earth," the younger Spock pipes up. Uhura, delighted at Spock taking part in the dinner conversation, beams at her boyfriend. Spock almost returns the gesture, but settles for an amused quirk of his eyebrow.
"Hey!" Jim sputters.
"If I recall correctly," Spock says then, a hint of a smile on his face, "the two of us were not much better. I myself had my share of altercations with other Vulcan children and adults alike throughout the years."
Spock pauses, and then the tips of his ears tint a bit green. "Yes," he replies eventually. "I suppose I was a bit of a… what is the appropriate term, Nyota?" Spock asks, turning to the woman beside him.
"A menace," Sarek pipes up, immediately followed by stuffing a plantain-like vegetable into his mouth.
All at once, it seems as though a sigh of relief sweeps across the table, tensions melting like butter in the hot New Vulcan sun. Uhura smiles at her Spock again, gives his shoulder a little bump with her own, and Jim beams at his own Vulcan, smoothing a thumb over the man's hand before returning to his dinner.
It is precisely at this moment that Nyota's guard drops, and she says, a little of a joke in her voice, "It's about time."
"Right?" Jim says with a barely-bitten-back laugh. "What is up with our stubborn Vulcan boyfriends?"
The elder Spock merely rolls his eyes, but the younger one bristles, and something in him must crack, for he says thinly, "You will forgive me if I do not exactly approve of you attempting to find a romantic replacement for me with him."
"Woah," Jim suddenly says, staring over at his XO incredulously.
Uhura's jaw drops. The carefully crafted ease at the table splinters, shatters, leaving behind a tense, strained atmosphere. Sarek and the elder Spock fold their hands in front of them, and Jim places his hands firmly on the table. When it is apparent no one else at the table is going to say anything, Jim says, quite evenly, "Care to repeat that?" Spock raises one eyebrow at him, and Jim asks, "Is there something you need to say to me, Commander?"
"Son‒" Sarek starts, eager to stop this before it really starts.
"It is interesting, Captain, how you bring rank into a non-military manner." Spock lifts his chin defiantly. As though a dam has burst within him, Spock finds the words flowing out like a waterfall, each pettier and more vicious than the last. "Perhaps you lack confidence in your ability to command leadership in our off-duty hours. Or are you going to deploy another disparaging comment about my mother in an attempt to offset my emotional integrity?"
Spock," Uhura hisses viciously. Ambassador Spock is as still as stone beside Jim. Sarek's eyes are sharp and calculating as he slides his gaze across the table.
Jim breathes hotly through his nose, jaw tight in an attempt to control himself. "I thought as much," he finally says. "Good to know your personal feelings, Commander. You are, of course, more than welcome to apply for a transfer to another ship ‒ I have no intention of creating a hostile work environment. Excuse me." Jim stands, his chair scraping loudly across the stone floor.
"No," Spock says stonily. He stares at his younger counterpart, eyes sharper and colder than Jim's ever seen them, and Spock says to Jim, "Sit. I will not allow a lower-ranking officer to speak to his captain in this manner."
"We are off-duty," Spock reminds his elder counterpart.
"He is your superior," Spock snaps, and Jim gets the feeling he's not just talking about rank. "You are angry that the universe has treated you unfairly ‒ and, under any other circumstance, I would be more than willing to empathize with your situation, more than willing to take the blame. But you will not ‒ you will not ‒ place the blame on this exceptional young man beside me. Your emotional outbursts shame both this fine young woman before us and your Vulcan heritage."
"Spock," Jim says to his partner, "Relax. I don't need you to defend me." He turns to the younger Vulcan, teeth grinding almost audibly in an effort to restrain himself, and prompts, "Spock?"
"This is not the place to have this argument," Sarek says evenly. He swipes his credit information over the bill beside him on the table. "Let us go somewhere else for this discussion."
Spock's throat burns with a dozen different emotion, each threatening to take hold. How dare this man talk of shame? Spock wonders irritably. How dare this old Vulcan speak to him in such a trivializing manner when it was he himself who spoke of destiny ‒ a destiny between he and Jim, a destiny meant to change both their lives, a destiny this old interloper was now taking?
"Spock," Nyota whispers with wide and wet eyes.
Spock returns to himself to realize he is shaking. There is a dent in the table from where he had been grasping it. He stands abruptly.
"I‒ Forgive me," he says in a rush. He turns on his heel and heads towards the public restroom area.
Nyota catches up with him halfway down the hall. "Spock!" she calls through gritted teeth. She doesn't quite grab for him but she nearly does, crossing her arms over her chest stiffly to stifle the urge. "Spock," she says again, her frown creasing the plane of her beautiful brown forehead. "Why are you acting like this?" And it isn't accusing at all ‒ her tone is actually quite level ‒ but Spock can still feel it anyway, the implication of this is his fault beating at the barriers of his mind.
"He does not know me," Spock says then. "He should not speak to me as if he does." Spock is attempting to regulate his breathing, to meditate, to calm himself in every way he knows how, but none of it seems to work ‒ if anything, his attempts to compose himself only seem to make him angrier. "He is the one who wanted me to stay in Starfleet instead of tending to my duty as one of the few Vulcans left in this galaxy and now he says I am undeserving of my rank? I shame Vulcan by following his commands?" He takes a steadying breath in through his nose and begins to pace the line of the hall. "The captain speaks to me as if he intimately knows me ‒ he knows things about me that I have not even spoken to you‒" And oh, but doesn't that just burn all the way down Spock's esophagus? Words Spock has not found the courage to even say to Nyota, Jim already knows and understands like they have this special bond that is nothing but a lie‒
"Spock," Uhura says quietly after a minute of stilted silence, her eyes steady and locked straight to his. "Are you upset because you think Kirk is in love with you, or because you wish he was?"
"Uhura," Jim calls from the other end of the hall.
Spock is horrified to discover he is shaking.
"We're just gonna head out," he continues, giving the lieutenant a little wave. "Sorry about all this ‒ we'll catch up when we get back to the ship, alright?"
"That sounds great, Kirk," Uhura says with a wave of her own.
"Captain," Spock forces out as Jim is turning to leave; he freezes, then slowly turns back to face him, eyes ice cold. "Captain, I‒ Jim," he corrects.
Spock is still trembling.
"Forgive me," he finally musters, bowing his head in shame. "I will… file the necessary paperwork at once."
Jim deflates, and his eyes are so very sad. "You don't have to leave if you don't want to, Spock," he whispers, "but I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I'm sorry."
Spock shakes his head. "The fault is mine. Forgive me," he says again, forcing himself to attention, clasping his hands tightly behind his back. Forgive me, he thinks again.
Jim manages a tight smile. "We'll talk later. 'See you both in a few days, guys."
"Bye, Kirk," Uhura calls; she looks back to Spock.
Spock cannot say a thing.
***
Spock, wisely, remains silent. He will not apologize for his actions, and he knows Jim is trying to say something important to him.
"I get what you mean," Jim repeats after a minute, more confidently. "Sometimes I forget I'm talking to Spock; sometimes I feel like I'm really talking to you." And Jim rubs a tired hand over his eyes, letting his body sink bone deep into the mattress. "Sometimes I feel like I'm talking to him instead of you." Jim lets out a low growl of frustration. "Why the fuck did he say those things to me? It was‒" Jim takes a deep breath. "It was such a shitty thing for him to do." Jim groans again, and the sound is sharp, unpleasant. "He's such an asshole." Jim pauses for a beat, then whispers, "I don't want him to leave."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Spock asks quietly. Jim shakes his head.
"I'd rather not," he murmurs. "I just... want things to be okay between us again."
Spock is very, very still by the closet door, but Jim finally rolls over, looks and him, and murmurs, reaching one hand out, "I'm sorry I said those things to you earlier. About me being a replacement. About you not loving me the way you loved him. It wasn't fair to you."
Spock strides across the room, his robe swirling around him almost hypnotically, and takes Jim's hand firmly. He brushes his lips across Jim's knuckles, and the tips of his ears turn green. "Do not apologize for feeling insecure, Jim, and especially not for coming to me with regards to your emotional well-being. It is a natural emotion and I... admit, I have been very forthcoming about my feelings regarding Jim. If anything, I should have tempered my topic of conversation more."
"No ‒ I don't want you to do that," Jim says stubbornly; he takes the opportunity to pull Spock closer onto the bed, wrapping the old Vulcan up and pressing his nose to the salt and pepper hair. He breathes in, smells a striking spice that can only be described as Spock. "It's okay," he says. "Jim was ‒ is important to you, and me being here isn't going to change that."
Spock shivers lightly and Jim reaches down to pull the blankets up and over him; Spock snuggles in deep. "I am one lucky Vulcan, indeed," he murmurs into Jim's collarbone.
A small, fond smile curls over Jim's lips. "Hell yeah you are," he murmurs, running a hand down the back of Spock's scalp. "I wish I could've met him," Jim whispers after a long, silent pause between them. "Do you think he would've liked me?" Do you think he would've approved? is left unsaid.
Spock hears it anyway. "I am… more than certain he would have loved you," Spock says roughly, a smile of his own appearing in the crook of Jim's neck. "Jim had so much love to give," Spock whispers.
If he's anything like I'm thinking he was… Jim thinks to himself.
Yes, comes the resounding answer. That, and so very much more.
There's another, shorter silence; eventually Jim says, "Yeah. I think I would'a loved him, too."
Spock's old and rusty Vulcan heart does not deserve this kind of devotion.
***
Spock looks up from his meditations; Sarek takes a seat before him, his posture perfect as ever, and meets his son's gaze firmly. Spock is no longer shaking, but he still feels the aftereffects, that jittery sense of unease one feels after an excessive bout of emotion. For one terrifying moment, Spock thinks that his father is going to ask to talk, but Sarek merely extends one hand, slips his fingers over Spock's meld points.
"Shall we meld?" he asks quietly, and Spock nearly sobs from relief. He nods in two successive jerks of his head and Sarek whispers, "My mind to your mind."
"My thoughts to your thoughts," Spock answers readily.
His father can see everything.
You were unfair tonight. Your words were needlessly cruel.
I know.
Humans are different. You cannot expect them to automatically know your motivations. How can you expect to be understood unless you put forth the proper effort?
I know.
Your mother was the same way.
Spock takes in a deep, shuddering breath. I don't know what todo, he thinks desperately.
"I cannot tell you how to live your life," Sarek says aloud. "However ‒ perhaps it would be wise to spend the rest of the evening in meditation," he continues, and Spock nods. It is a good idea, and Spock could use the grounding. Eventually, he slowly retreats from the meld, and Spock already feels the better for it. They sit together in silence for long time, until Sarek says, "I find I am quite fond of the young Lieutenant. Do not hurt her needlessly with your indecision."
Spock bites back a grimace and nods. "Yes, Father."
Sarek stands, turns to leave, pauses. He looks back at his son, opens his mouth, and says gruffly. "I did not say this enough when you were younger ‒ I love you, my Son."
Spock blinks, stares wide-eyed up at the father who had been‒ so furious, so cold to him the day he said he would be joining Starfleet, who had not deigned to visit or even speak to him until he beamed in amidst the crumbling wreckage of their home. When he looks into his father's eyes now, he sees discomfort, but only in a way that suggests he is unused to expressing any type of emotion.
Spock regrets, so deeply, that it took the destruction of their home planet (the death of Spock's mother) for them to reach this moment.
"I love you, my Father," Spock answers.
***
"What happened to him? Your Kirk, I mean." Spock looks over at him, fingers tightly wrapped around his cup of tea, and Jim nearly takes them back, thinking Stupid, stupid, stupid. But Jim was never one for tiptoeing around an issue, and in a morbid, masochistic kind of way, he really does want to know. If he doesn't hear it from Spock, it's going to eat at him until he does.
They're breaking out all the awkward conversation topics this weekend, apparently.
"He died," Spock says simply. His brows knit together, painfully, and Jim's heart twists.
"Were you with him?" Jim asks in a whisper.
Spock shakes his head. "We were never able to be with one another at our deaths."
Jim's eyes widen. "You died?" he asks, slightly horrified.
Spock finally looks at him again, and there is almost a smile now, though it is swimming in agony. "In my timeline, things ended very differently from our interactions with Khan Noonien Singh."
Something unidentifiable is crushing Jim's windpipe. "Can I hug you?" he asks, and when Spock nods, Jim practically leaps out of his seat and onto the couch with Spock, all awkward limbs and trembling hands. "Did you have nightmares? After?" he whispers in a hushed confessor's voice, jaw shaking with tension.
Spock, in return, only wraps his arms around Jim all the tighter. "They will pass. Eventually," Spock confides, voice tight with emotion. They are, the two of them, a mess of cracked and broken feelings, pasted back together with the glue of men whom they can no longer have.
They are absolutely perfect for each other.
***
He doesn't care if they are in public, surrounded by hordes of stuffy Vulcans and judgmental Humans, he wants to hold Spock, and damn it he's going to.
"Jim," Spock eventually murmurs, smoothing a hand over Jim's hair.
"I know," Jim mumbles back, but he just holds on tighter. "I'll miss you."
"I am always just a comm away," Spock says fondly, trailing two fingertips lightly across his cheek.
"'S not the same," Jim mutters petulantly, and Spock smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He sighs, and finally pulls back, shifting the bag on his shoulder. He sighs, "Long distance relationships suck."
"They do indeed‒" Spock smiles again, "‒suck." Jim snorts, and Spock considers that a win, sliding his hands back into his robe before he can do something foolish like grabbing Jim again and never letting go. He puts a few more paces of space between them. "There will be other shore leaves," he says, wiser than he feels.
"Yeah," Jim says with a nod, eyes wide and just a little wet.
They are all too aware of their own mortality.
In a rush of daring, Spock surges forward and drops a soft kiss to Jim's lips. "Taluhk nash-veh k'dular, ashayam."
Jim stutters, blushes from his ears down to his chest. "T-taluhk nash-veh k'dular," he repeats clumsily, blinking faster than he'd like up at the old, smiling Vulcan. "Live long and prosper, Spock," he says hoarsely.
Across the terminal, Spock catches his older counterpart's gaze. Schooling his expression as best as he is able, lifts the ta'al to the older Vulcan, who returns the gesture almost immediately. Spock nods, takes Uhura's bags, and disappears into the departure lounge.
"Peace," Spock whispers to Jim, "and the very longest of lives, my Jim."
Jim's smile is watery, but he clears his throat and nods, snaps off a quick salute, and rushes across the room after Spock and Uhura.
"Captain," Spock says stiffly when they meet. "I trust the remainder of your evening was enjoyable?"
"Yeah," Jim says with a little nod. He purses his lips, exhales through his nose. "It was alright. Yours?"
Spock nods. "Satisfactory."
Uhura smiles at Jim as they walk, but he can see it straining around the edges, as if she hadn't slept in a week. They're still off-duty, so Jim reaches over, wraps an arm around her shoulders, and gives her a warm, firm hug. She sighs and melts into the contact, letting her head drop to his shoulder momentarily before standing back to attention.
Spock does not say a word.
One by one, they shuffle back into the Xirahnah, take their seats, wait for the little ship to break the planet's atmosphere. The weather is clearer today, and Jim can see the dusty red earth beneath them, the dark deep green of the ocean, and the airport below. It's foolish, but Jim thinks if he strains he can almost see Spock, standing at the window watching their departure.
Staring at the sky above him, Spock watches, whispers, "Goodbye, my love."
