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The captain of the Enterprise stood silently in what he guessed to be the kitchen area of Aaron Stemple’s log cabin. Three days had passed since he and his crew had located Mr. Spock and taken Stemple aboard the starship for treatment of the wounds he’d suffered from a Klingon disrupter. He watched without comment while Spock arranged the unconscious frontiersman on the down comforter and then initiated a mind meld that would heighten his memory of his nephew, Ishmael, while at the same time blur his memories of the technology that he had encountered during the brief periods while he’d been conscious in sickbay. Watching Spock and the man who knew him only as Ishmael and had accepted him as kin, Jim Kirk was struck anew by the tenderness that Spock had shown when carrying his benefactor to the transporter room; the stoic Vulcan had uncharacteristically refused the use of the gurney and insisted on conveying their passenger himself.
Jim sighed and began to pace. Although they had scanned the surrounding woods for life forms before beaming down, he had posted Lt. Sulu as sentinel approximately ten kilometers from the cabin. While Spock had assured him that several of the townspeople knew of his alien ancestry, he didn’t want to run the risk of being interrupted by Stemple’s well-wishing friends.
Jim jumped as the communicator signaled. Glancing over where Spock and Stemple were still joined, he frowned. “Kirk here.”
“Captain,” Sulu’s voice sounded softy in the primitive cabin.
“What have you got, Lieutenant?”
“A small party of humans are approaching the cabin; they are approximately fifty meters from my location.”
“Go ahead and beam up, and then tell Scotty to lock onto our location and wait for my signal. Kirk out.”
Jim took a step towards the sleeping area to interrupt, but Spock had already broken the meld. Feeling like an intruder, Jim looked down at the inert communications device laying open in the palm of his hand before meeting the Vulcan’s gaze.
“Did you get that, Mr. Spock?”
“Yes, Captain. I am done here.”
“Spock—?“ Jim began questioningly, but then, seeing the pain in his friend’s eyes, forced himself to stop and redirect. “So, he’ll remember you and not the ship?”
“Affirmative.”
Jim watched as the Vulcan took one step away from the man sleeping comfortably on the bed and then stopped abruptly. He watched, silently, as his first officer hesitated, turned, bent, and brushed the older man’s forehead with his lips.
“Goodbye, Aaron.”
With his heart somewhere between his throat and his chest, Jim signaled the Enterprise, and, for once, he welcomed the familiar sensation of falling.
Inside the transporter room, Jim was immediately aware of the tension that had become his and Spock’s constant companion. He had been aware of its presence the moment that Spock had returned to the Enterprise after they had found him in Earth's past. In some instances, now for example, it was so palpable that it seemed like a physical manifestation that hung in the air between them. In his musings, he would simply pluck it out of the air and present it to his friend, who would examine it with his elegant fingers and easily dismiss it. But in reality, it hung silently between them. No matter how he tried to see past it and to actually approach the Vulcan, all of his overtures had fallen flat.
He had been so thrilled to get Spock back. The joy that he had experienced in actually seeing the familiar figure slumped over Stemple’s table, he’d thought, had been mirrored in his friend’s eyes. He could still feel the warmth of Spock’s stronger-than-human hands as the Vulcan clutched desperately at his wrist with an intensity that left marks. But despite what had looked like an auspicious beginning, Jim somehow just hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell his first officer how bad it had been during those four months that he had been lost and presumed dead. Nor could he bring himself to tell the Vulcan how much it really meant that he’d come back.
Although Jim had assumed that he and Spock would immediately resume their comfortable schedule of shared meals, workouts, and lingering chess games, he instead found himself accompanying his first officer to sickbay where the Vulcan would sit in silent vigil over his recovering benefactor. On the occasions that Stemple was awake, Jim would sit silently and listen as his first officer and his ‘uncle’ reminisced about a town and a life of which he had no knowledge. He knew that he shouldn’t be surprised that Spock would spend all of his free time with the frontiersman, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed – and hurt.
Because he and Spock hadn’t really talked, it was through his conversation with Stemple that Jim learned about the Vulcan’s life in Seattle. Not only did he learn more about the names that he and Bones had found on the land records, but he also learned about Spock’s relationships with Jason Bolt, whom Aaron said Jim reminded him of; his younger, quieter, brother, Joshua; and Aaron’s soon-to-be wife, Biddy. Sitting slightly apart from the bio-bed, he learned that Spock – nee, Ishmael, unknowingly exhibited his inhuman hearing ability in such a way that resulted in saving two lives. Also, he learned about the Sundays that his friend spent in the dormitory surrounded by displaced young women in need of husbands, and the shock that Stemple had experienced as Spock had joined in on a verse of an Irish folk ballad – despite the fact that the alien, himself, seemed unsure as to how it was that he knew the words. He also learned that his first officer apparently made a fine figure dancing with the New Bedford girls that last night at someone named Candy’s wedding, and that more than one of the girls would have been happy to wed Stemple’s mysterious nephew.
Although Spock had not given him any verbal indication of it, his time on earth had obviously changed him. Jim had seen it in every word and every touch that the Vulcan had bestowed on Biddy Cloom the night that she had stumbled upon the three of them in Stemple’s cabin, and he could see it now in those that he bestowed upon Stemple. While the Vulcan remained as cool and aloof as ever while on duty or in his dealings with his shipmates, his interactions with the frontiersman reflected a much more intricate understanding of human emotion than previously exhibited. Indeed, Jim continued to be surprised, visit after visit, at the ease with which Spock touched the other man’s hand, mopped his brow, and laid his hand on his arm reassuringly. On some visits he would watch in quiet amazement and in awe at the gentleness his friend would exhibit, but on others, what Spock had repeatedly explained about what Vulcans do and don’t do rang mockingly in his ears.
Shaking himself out of the long reverie, Jim hesitated as he and his first officer crossed the threshold from the transporter room into the corridor. “Walk with me.”
Spock started. “Captain?”
“Walk with me, Spock.” Jim jerked his head slightly and added just enough of a lilt to make the command seem like an invitation.
“Certainly, Captain.”
The two men walked silently through the ship. Jim was aware of how the eyes of the crew followed them as they made their way through the halls, the recreation rooms, and even the gym. Jim attributed the crew’s overt attention to the widespread relief that Mr. Spock was back among them. He had no way of knowing what Spock assumed, or if he was even aware of the looks they received as they passed. As they approached the main observation deck, Jim slowed and allowed himself to look, once again, at the man beside him. He wondered what the Vulcan was thinking, and noted, sadly, that there had been a time when he would have known.
He hoped that now that Stemple had been returned to his proper place and they were headed back to their own time he and Spock would be able to recapture the rapport that they had obviously lost.
“Care to look at the stars, Mr. Spock?” he asked and, even to his own ears, his voice sounded curiously devoid of emotion.
“Affirmative, Captain. When I was lost, they were my constant companions,” Spock answered enigmatically.
In perfect unison, they turned, and silently walked into the observation deck. Jim quickly scanned the room to see if they were alone, and he was relieved to see that the observation deck was otherwise deserted. He ignored a sudden flash of foreboding or was it nervousness? He’d been waiting to talk to the Vulcan for a while now; this might be his best opportunity.
He turned to address Spock, but was struck silent. The Vulcan was staring at the stars not as a scientist would, but as a dreamer might. Though Spock’s features were absolutely expressionless, his eyes reflected an emotion that Jim could not ignore. Jim’s first reaction was to say something, to offer his some sort of comfort, but for some reason the words stuck in his throat.
“What’s the matter, Spock?” he asked, keeping his voice light. “You look like a man who’s just lost his best friend.”
Spock closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he looked puzzled.
“Are you making a figurative or a literal observation, Jim?”
“Both,” Jim answered honestly.
“Then you are referring to the loss of my unc – of Aaron?”
Jim smiled tightly and then turned away. “So, he really became family to you, didn’t he?”
“He was family,” Spock stated softly.
Jim knew that Spock was referring to the fact that Aaron Stemple and Biddy Cloom were his mother’s ever-so-great grandparents – a fact that Kirk had discovered on his own, using the records available in the ship’s computers. When he had asked Spock about it the next day, the Vulcan had confirmed his finding, but otherwise did not elaborate.
“But he wasn’t your uncle,” Jim countered, his voice hard; he looked away.
“No, he was not,” Spock conceded with something in his voice that Jim couldn’t define.
“But he was not my best friend, either. I believe that I have just been returned to my best friend.” He hesitated. “To you.”
Jim looked up sharply. He pursed his lips in an attempt to regulate the emotions that he was afraid would be all too visible to this stranger before him. “I’d like to think that, too, Spock. That I'm your best friend.” Jim’s voice was low. “But I thought that I had lost you. I thought you were dead, you know.”
Jim’s breath caught as Spock started to reach out and pull him close, just as he had pulled Biddy close that night in Aaron’s, but at the last moment, the Vulcan stopped himself. Jim felt the object between them spin and turn.
“Jim, I—”
“No, don’t do it. Don’t make any excuses, Spock. Don’t explain.” Jim balled up a fist and buried it in his other hand. “Just tell me one thing. Is there something here that I can’t see that prevents you from reaching out to me? And don’t give me any of that ‘I can’t,’ because for days now, I have watched you – no, someone who looks like you…” Jim covered his mouth and breathed out slowly. “I swore I wouldn’t do this,” he admitted, more to himself than to his first officer. “But can you just explain to me why it is that you must always be over there and never over here? Can you explain to me, if I am your best friend, how those people down there got past in four short months what I have been trying to get past for four long years?”
“You are jealous.” Spock stated baldly, the surprise in his voice evident.
“Yes, Mr. Spock,” Jim snapped as he dropped his arms abruptly to his sides, “I suppose that I am.”
“You need not be, Jim.” Spock took a small step forward, but then clasped his hands behind his back. “You must realize that it was easier for them, for I did not know who I was, or what I was. I did not know that I was Vulcan. While I was not overly emotional, that ignorance of my Vulcan heritage, and all that entailed, enabled me to relate to them on a more emotional and,” his voice cracked ever so slightly, “physical level.”
Jim met Spock’s eyes squarely. “So you’re telling me that you accepted your human half?”
“But I did not recognize it as such,” Spock amended quietly. “I assumed, quite simply, that those reactions were normal for me.”
Jim started forward ever so slightly. “But that is who you are, Mr. Spock – if you look past all the 'supposed tos,' all the customs, all the mores, all the taboos. That is who you are.”
Spock was silent
“Are you just going to let that part of you die, Spock?” Jim demanded, suddenly angry. A sense of loss cascaded over him. “Are you going to stuff him back into a box of social constrictions; you loved that man down there—”
“Yes,” Spock interrupted evenly, as he turned once again to meet Jim's gaze, “just as I love this man up here.” Jim couldn’t help his eyes from widening ever so slightly; Spock looked down at the floor.
“I have done so in the past as a Vulcan,” he continued, in the wake of Jim’s silence.
“And I do so now. How I choose to live my life, Jim – human or Vulcan – does not change what I am, or what I feel. I do realize that much.”
It was Jim who turned away then; suddenly the room seemed claustrophobic.
“Computer, identify all occupants in Observation Area One.” He cursed the tremor in his voice and forced himself to take a long breath.
The computer beeped. “Captain Kirk and Commander Spock are the only occupants of Observation Area One.”
“Seal Observation Area One to my voice command, Kirk Alpha One.”
“Observation Area One sealed.”
“Kirk out.” Jim clenched his fists and then started to pace, no longer sure what to say.
“You would prefer that we are not disturbed?” Spock asked slowly.
“I don’t want you running away.” Jim heard himself snap. His desire to believe his friend warred desperately with his doubt. He wanted to grab Spock and shake him. He wanted to grab him and do a number of things that, given Spock’s inability offer any sort of comfort just a moment earlier, he doubted would be welcome.
“You love me?” Jim asked as he turned to face his friend. “How can you, Spock of Vulcan, just stand there and say that to me?”
“Captain, to deny the truth at this point would be illogical.”
“Yes, of course.” Jim pursed his lips, and then took another shallow breath. “And just how long have you known about this?”
Spock tilted his head, “Known or acknowledged? I think I have known since the first day we met, but I did not allow myself to acknowledge what that might mean. I, of course, did not remember you in Seattle – the Klingons and my self-induced amnesia saw to that. However, as I said, once I realized the truth of my identity, I had despaired of your coming. I had despaired of having failed and allowed the death of my benefactor. I had despaired of sealing earth into a fate that was not intended, but most of all, I despaired at being lost in time – in a time in which we would have never meet. Just hours before your coming, I knew. In the moment that your eyes met mine, I acknowledged.”
Kirk stood absolutely still. He didn’t trust himself to speak, let alone to move. Whatever logical explanation he’d been expecting the Vulcan to provide, that wasn’t it. He searched Spock’s face with his eyes, making no attempt as he did so to hide the emotions that he knew must be chasing across his own face in rapid succession – surprise, joy, disbelief, and confusion. Part of him was amused to see Spock brace himself for the onslaught of those emotions, but somehow Jim couldn’t make them come. He opened his mouth and started to speak, but he had no idea what to say. Without saying a word, he closed his mouth resolutely and resumed his pacing.
Jim could feel the seconds ticking by. The silence was deafening, but he wasn’t sure what to say. What could he trust himself to say? Spock loved him? What did that even mean?
Jim forced himself to come to a halt and when he spoke, he kept his voice low. “I told you once a long time ago, Spock, that this ship was a jealous lover, and that she would allow nobody in my life but her. I mentioned Rand, and how I could look but I couldn’t touch.”
Spock remained silent.
“Always in the past, when I thought about the people in my life, I could never get past the ship. I didn’t want to get past her. But these last four months, Spock, when you were gone, all I could think about was you. Nothing mattered but getting you back – not her, not me – hell, the Klingons didn’t even matter. Nothing else mattered. Damn it, Spock,” he hesitated, and then turned suddenly “you have become that beach. You. Are. That. Beach.” He ground out each word. “I can look, but I can’t touch? You can love me, but you can’t touch me? I’m sorry, Spock, it doesn’t work that way. I don’t work that way. You can’t even touch me; I can barely touch you without you flinching.”
Spock extended his hand in invitation, his eyes uncharacteristically bright. “You need not have locked the door, Jim. I would not have run away and I will not flinch.”
Jim Kirk, feared by Klingons and enemy of the Romulan Empire, stood speechless; he was afraid.
Spock closed the distance between them and pulled Jim close; Jim could feel the echo of the Vulcan’s heart deep within the walls of his chest.
“You are my family, Spock.” Jim murmured into the Vulcan's shoulder, allowing himself, for just a moment, to surrender himself to the warmth and the strength of the other man’s body. “I missed you. More than you could ever know.”
Jim held his breath. Spock reached up and tentatively brushed Jim's hair off his forehead and then leaned down to touch warmer-than-human lips hesitantly to his skin. Jim closed his eyes. Spock’s fingers were softer than he had imagined and so were his lips. Taking a deep breath, Jim raised his head and softly, tenderly claimed the Vulcan’s lips with his own.
Spock’s breath caught in surprise, and Jim almost pulled back, but he forced himself to go forward. Using his tongue, he carefully laved the Vulcan’s lower lip, just as he used his hands to knead Spock's spine and lower back. Jim could feel something give way in his friend, like an ancient oak caught in a storm, and when the kiss was finally deepened, it was Spock who deepened it. When the Vulcan’s lips parted, Jim moaned in ecstasy.
After a long kiss, Spock released his mouth and moved his lips down Jim's throat, burning a trail across his softer skin. "Jim?" Spock whispered, his lips grazing Jim’s neck.
“Hmm,” Jim asked softly, not wanting the moment to end.
“Perhaps we should go,” Spock suggested, his voice gentle.
Jim pulled back so that he could see the Vulcan’s eyes, which, to his dismay, were utterly inscrutable.
“Go?” Jim asked cautiously, as he stroked Spock’s fingers with his own. He watched with satisfaction as Spock paled and closed his eyes; the Vulcan’s breathing suddenly became uneven. “You know, Spock,” Jim warned, his voice silky, “there are only two places on this ship where I would be willing to go if it means that I have to take my hands off of you to get there.”
“You are referring, I assume, to either one of our quarters?” Spock asked, his voice just as calm as if they were on the bridge and the captain was asking for a course change.
“I would say that that’s a pretty a fair assumption, Mr. Spock.” Jim squared his shoulders defensively, but he forced himself to ask – he needed to be sure. “Did you have somewhere else in mind?”
Spock opened his eyes and smiled his characteristic half-smile as he caught two of Jim’s fingers in what Jim believed to be the Vulcan equivalent of a kiss. “No, Jim, I did not.” He was silent a moment. “I am glad that you came for me, Jim. In truth, I had lost all hope. Once I regained the knowledge of why I was there, the loss of what I had left behind, here, was quite unbearable.”
Jim met his eyes levelly. “I could not not come for you.” He leaned forward and kissed the Vulcan lightly again. “Are you ready?”
Spock merely nodded before they turned towards the door together.