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"Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time. That is the life of men."
— Zora Neale Hurston (1901?-60)
Ships at a Distance
Tap, tap, tap.
The sound of fingers striking the padded arm of the command chair was almost inaudible to human ears but the effect on the bridge crew was evident—their concern for their captain flowed from them, warming the air, slowing their reflexes. Even though the captain had spent the last eight point one days reassuring them, it did not alter the fact that their emotions remained unusually elevated.
Understandable, Spock decided. He turned back to his station with a concealed sigh—the past few days had proven difficult for them all.
It had not passed his notice that the captain's preoccupation with his crew had kept him separated from his first officer for most of the journey to Starbase 2, outside of their normal bridge duty interactions; after the disruption caused by Dr. Lester's appropriation of his body, the captain had no doubt felt a need to restore his status among the Enterprise staff. Spock had expected no less—and their lack of any private communication had granted him much needed time to assess his discovery, to meditate upon its meaning and categorize its impact upon him.
But as usual, where James Kirk was concerned, meditation had been an unqualified failure.
Even now, as the captain's fingertips drilled their nearly silent tattoo, Spock felt the weight of his newfound revelation press on him, a weight he bore most unwillingly. Unlooked for, unwanted, despite his efforts to the contrary, Kirk's memories now reverberated inside him, memories of the most intimate kind. But even as he wrestled with the haunting images, Spock attended his station as meticulously as ever. There could be no indication that a portion of his attention was lost in a past not his own, but that of his captain—and friend.
And understanding his friend so well, he was certain of one thing—the captain would be mortified if he realized what had been shared in that brief moment of joining. Knowing that, Spock vowed to do all in his power to assure his captain's well-being, even if it meant suppressing this now irrefutably seductive truth.
It had always been a comfort for Spock to believe that Kirk was not interested in anything other than the female form. That bedrock certainty had been Spock's refuge for years and though it was a constant source of regret, his devotion and loyalty to James Kirk would not be swayed by emotions that he could not indulge anymore than he could ignore. He bore them always, willingly, one more layer of protection cocooning them both and maintaining the relationship they shared. The idea of transferring to another vessel never crossed his mind.
They were twelve hours out from Starbase 2 as he reviewed the shore leave roster. The captain had placed his name on the first shift, thereby saving both his first officer and chief medical officer the trouble of doing it themselves. He also noted with a flare of amusement that his own name was listed as well, despite his constant assertions that shore leave was nothing more than an excuse for his shipmates to consume too many inappropriate comestibles. He briefly toyed with the idea of removing his name, but a confrontation with the captain was something he wished to avoid; the captain had not specifically requested his company as he had on other occasions, but would notice his absence nonetheless.
A quick review of rosters of other ships docked in the area revealed several officers that Kirk had either commanded or served with whom he now called friend, including one female JAG officer with whom he'd shared personal contact in the past. Perhaps it was a renewal of that association that would distract the captain from recent events, including a mind meld that had been necessary, but disturbing—at least for Spock. The captain seemed singularly unaffected.
It was inevitable that non-empathic species did not count the cost of each meld; they did not realize that echoes of their essence resounded inside the mind long after the connection had ceased.
Spock had touched madness in the line of duty and would do so again if asked. He'd also experienced the refreshingly uncluttered mind of the Horta and the elegant, corrupted circuitry of Nomad. Those experiences were easily categorized and filed away, having little or no effect other than the temporary slaking of Spock's limitless curiosity.
But with Kirk—Jim—the warm imprint from each of their melds was something he let go of reluctantly, even as his own discipline required it. There was something ineluctably pleasing about the captain's mind despite the often chaotic emotions that ruled it, and with each successive bond, Spock felt the bindings of attraction grow stronger—and his despair increase.
A familiar change in the bridge's air current brought Spock out of his reverie. Without turning his head, he traced each step the captain took to his side, strong legs covering the distance today slightly quicker than usual.
"Report, Mr. Spock."
Spock looked up into intelligent eyes colored pale green by a deception of the bridge lighting. He was granted a brief smile before the captain settled his hips against the science station, arms held loosely across his chest, feet crossed at the ankles.
"All stations report normal, Captain. The Potemkin has advised Starfleet Command that their mission has been accomplished with minimal delay."
"Very good." A restful silence fell between them—Spock with his eyes on his console, the captain's gaze resting briefly on each command station. It was remarkably normal, yet Spock was keenly aware that the captain's hip was no more than eight centimeters from the edge of his left hand. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, letting his hands fall onto his knees.
"Spock—"
"Captain—"
Spock inclined his head, indicating his willingness to wait.
"I assume you've noticed that I put your name down for shore leave?"
His eyebrow flew upward at Kirk's tone; it was low and playful, signaling a full return to the captain's normally even temperament.
"I have. It is unnecessary, of course, but I believe we have had this discussion before."
"Yes, and you've lost that argument every time. C'mon, Spock, we're deep in friendly space here. There's no need for both of us to stay ship-bound. And I happen to know there's a collection of artifacts on loan from the Tellarites that you'd be interested in viewing, right?" Kirk shook his head and grinned. "Although why anyone would be interested in a room full of forks is beyond me."
"The ritualistic eating patterns of the ancient Tellarites play a significant role in their history. No doubt the Tellarites feel the same about exhibitions of, say, art work depicting some of the more colorful despots in your Earth's history."
Kirk leaned toward him, eyes alight. "So you're saying you do want to see the display?"
Spock paused before replying, having the distinct impression he'd been led down a path of the captain's own choosing. While he was certain that the captain had no interest in Tellarite pre-history, he seemed inordinately interested in Spock's intentions for spending his leisure time there. It was on Spock's tongue to deny that the exhibition held any appeal for him, but dismissed the thought immediately. He was fully aware that there was something inherently comforting for this captain to know where his first officer was even when off duty, more often than not even requesting his company. Surely this was not the case here—Starbase 2 had a multitude of distractions that would tempt the captain far more than anything the Tellarites had to offer. Diplomat though he had to be at times, the captain was not particularly enamored of that race.
"Yes," he answered slowly, wondering if the captain would now offer to join him, despite his lack of enthusiasm. "I would."
Kirk looked down on him, his expression suddenly unreadable. Spock gazed back, both dreading and anticipating Kirk's next words. While the captain's company was desirable above all things, right now Spock wasn't sure it was the wisest course that they be together. Not so long ago, Kirk had let slip something Spock had yet to fully savor—a belief Spock had secretly shared but was gratified to hear said aloud instead of inferred or found within the journey of the meld. He was prepared to acquiesce to the captain's request for his attendance during shore leave when Kirk slapped his thighs and straightened up.
"See?" he said with a grin Spock immediately knew to be forced. "I knew it. Have a good time."
Spock watched the captain retreat to his chair, once again convinced that no matter how often he visited that brilliant mind, he would never understand how it worked.
***
The presentation was a disappointment; to Spock's discerning eye, the Tellarites had a distinct lack of aesthetic talent. But as with all things, he assimilated the information and filed it away, perhaps some day to be called upon amidst some diplomatic mission with the Tellarites, a society known for its easily wounded pride.
As he exited the exhibition rooms into the strong, artificial daylight of the terraformed base, he contemplated his next action. He was not due back on the ship for several hours and though he was briefly tempted to return early, the thought was unappealing. Starbase 2 was a city unto itself, one of Starfleet's more well-established facilities, serving both as a military base and a hub for intergalactic travel and commerce. Small communities of expatriates existed within its walls, including one consisting of Vulcans, but Spock had no desire for company. His own thoughts and memories required his full attention and would be sufficient companions, for only in understanding them could he begin to find ways to protect himself against an all too painful reality.
You are closer to the captain than anyone in the universe. You know his thoughts.
This was the truth he carried, Kirk's own words, spoken in desperation. After the captain had regained his body and Dr. Lester had been subdued, the words came back to Spock, alternately comforting him for the truth they represented and mocking him for the hope they nurtured. He was closer to the captain than anyone—and not close enough.
Always touching. Never touched.
***
He let his familiarity with the Starbase guide him to a pocket garden located on the outskirts of the city, a space he'd found pleasing before. Carved out of the granite that formed the foundation of the base, it was a garden of rock and water, made even more soothing by its subtle palette of grays and greens. It was his hope that his choice of destination wasn't crowded—if he was to deal with the knowledge that he'd gleaned from his captain's memories, now would be an opportune time. With that in mind, he approached the garden with his head lowered, already beginning to search for the words of meditation that would help him in his quest.
"Took you long enough, Mr. Spock. I'd no idea the Tellarites could be so—engrossing."
The light baritone voice floated to him, breaking his concentration as he entered through the stone gate leading into the garden. He looked up to see his captain before him, leaning one shoulder against a large granite pillar.
"Sir?" He stopped in his tracks with the realization that Kirk had come looking for him, had in fact known exactly where he would be. "Is there something you require?"
Kirk smiled slightly, a wistful, transitory thing. "Yes. Conversation. With you. Alone."
Spock paused—the captain's demeanor suggested more than just a casual discussion. "I see." His eyes flicked over the landscape as he extended his hearing to encompass the environs of the small park. "There is a small alcove twenty meters down the path to your left. It appears to be empty at the moment. Will that suffice?"
Kirk nodded at set off down the trail without a word. Spock followed more sedately, his mind searching for any reason for the captain to approach him in this manner. By the time he reached the alcove, Kirk was motionless at the rim of a shallow pool, facing away so that Spock couldn't read his expression. Spock's curiosity took on an edge of apprehension as he stopped several meters behind his captain, hands clasped loosely behind his back.
The park was very quiet; no other voices reached them, and only the sound of water gently splashing against smooth stone marred the stillness. They remained there, locked in poses that Spock recognized as defining their professional relationship—Kirk at the edge, seeking, wondering, forever the explorer; Spock at his back, ready to serve, to inquire, to protect.
But here, in this calm space, he felt their roles slip silently away as Kirk turned and faced him. Here there would be no rank, only what they were to each other in the privacy of their thoughts. The gilt-edged hazel gaze caught at Spock and pinned him as securely as a specimen in a xenobotanist's lab—he could not have looked away if he'd tried. Kirk opened his mouth to speak, then paused as another pensive smile crossed his features. Spock took an involuntary step forward, but was stopped by a shake of Kirk's head.
When the captain finally spoke, it was in a tone of soft melancholy, eased only by the self-deprecating humor that often shaded his voice.
"I owe you an explanation."
***
Forever On the Horizon
Things were different now. He could feel it in the brief moment when Spock's gaze remained on him after their conversation has ceased. He could sense it in the stalwart presence behind him on the bridge—no nearer to him, no farther away than usual. Simply—different, as if the air between them carried a new scent.
He could also see it in the eyes he'd once mistaken as expressionless, so many years ago. Unremarkable and impassive above a dull gold tunic, accompanied by upswept ears and an attitude equal parts arrogance and social ineptitude—that was his first impression of this inherited and unwanted first officer. He remembered thinking that there was no way this was going to work and the sooner he could shed himself of the Vulcan, the sooner he could replace him with a hand-picked Exec—and Gary Mitchell was at the top of that list. But Kirk hadn't made captain at a remarkably early age for nothing; although he'd been caught up in the heady sensations of his first starship command, it hadn't taken him long to see that Gary Mitchell, for all his wit and intelligence, wasn't cut out for command. He'd spent a few sleepless nights over that one, wondering how he was going to let Gary down—and then Gary had died, a martyr to space exploration and a victim of his own human weaknesses.
But by then Kirk had already come to the conclusion that despite his odd behavior—odd to a human, anyway—Spock was an excellent Exec. Fast upon that realization had come others, one of them the astonishing fact that he actually liked the Vulcan, even enjoyed his company off-shift. Upon that foundation, in a remarkably short amount of time, a limitless trust was built. But Kirk had to hear the words from McCoy before he could admit that admiration and trust had deepened to something much more rare.
Affection, McCoy had called it on that terrible, terrible day. It was a term Kirk could live with, even though it hardly described his feelings now.
Of course, he'd known for some time that this day would come. Their minds had touched too many times for him not to realize he lacked the discipline to shield Spock completely. This time, their contact had been too quick, too raw, as the body-that-was-not-his strove to make the connection only Spock could make. It was somewhere in that connection that Kirk believed something had been revealed, something he'd learned to keep hidden at all costs. But almost since the moment he'd regained his own body, he'd felt a shift in the one relationship he prized above any others—and to his sorrow, he knew the consequences of that change could be disastrous.
He had to try very hard to remember that he'd once loved Janice Lester.
But in the meantime, there was his ship—and his crew. McCoy had filled him in on Janice's antics after he'd been thrown in the brig; even though he knew the crew absolved him of the inappropriate behavior, it had still worn his face, used his voice. They'd been through worse and followed him unquestioningly, but this time, the fabric of command had been stretched too thin. It was his job to reweave it.
He made a conscious effort to walk the decks over the course of several shifts, keeping his voice low and even, radiating control as he talked to everyone he could, from the lowest midshipman to a long discussion with Scotty as they sipped Scotch in his quarters late one night. Finally, only one conversation remained—the one he could not face. If it made him a coward, so be it. He was just selfish enough to pray that the delicate change between them would be the only consequence to the revelation of his most closely kept secret.
Shore leave seemed like a good delaying tactic; he figured Bones would put his name at the top of the list after what he'd been through. He saved himself a lecture from his CMO and put his name on the roster, although he did so with little enthusiasm—there was no one on base he wanted to see and none of the other ships in dock interested him, either. There was, in fact, only one person with whom he wanted to spend his time, but the betrayal of his own mind had taken that away, possibly forever. It was that painful thought that had Kirk altering the shore leave roster; maybe if they could spend some time together, he'd be able to convince himself that they were still friends, even as his hope that they'd be more to each other some day died a quiet death.
In the end, he found it didn't matter. He could no more stay away from Spock's side than he could cease to breathe.
"I owe you an explanation."
Immediate understanding flared Spock's eyes; not surprisingly, they also remained devoid of condemnation.
"You do not," came the calm reply. "The circumstances were—unusual."
Kirk glanced away, feeling vaguely cheated. He wanted to tell Spock it was all right, that it was his problem, his responsibility, and Spock need not worry—but he also wanted some kind of sign that Spock had somehow been as affected as he by their meld. As he looked at Spock, standing easily before him, head tilted in its familiar, beloved cant, he sighed.
Damn Vulcan never did make things easy.
"All right," he said mildly, one corner of his mouth rising. "Maybe it's not an explanation I owe you. Maybe it's an apology."
"Sir?" That brought a frown into the dark eyes. "An apology? I don't—"
Kirk lifted his palm, stopping him. "It's okay, Spock. I know that this was—is—difficult for you and if there'd been any way to avoid it, you know I would've tried."
Sharp brows drew together, deepening the frown. "Sir, the situation required a rapid response. It was my failure to adequately govern the meld that resulted in the invasion of your privacy."
"I see." Kirk felt a twinge of frustration between his shoulder blades. "Was that all it was then, an invasion of my privacy?"
Spock remained silent as he contemplated Kirk's question, but a twitch of long fingers revealed his agitation to Kirk's discerning eyes. Spock must have realized the tiny movement gave him away as the hands quickly disappeared behind the ramrod straight back. Kirk felt his frustration give way to a familiar wave of longing but held himself in check, moving his hands to mirror Spock's posture as the Vulcan began to speak quietly.
"No doubt you are aware that this meld was different than those we've shared in the past. With no time to prepare, I was forced to invade parts of your mind that, under normal conditions, I would have been able to avoid. I regret that certain—revelations—were made during the course of our joining."
Kirk stepped closer. "Revelations that made you uncomfortable?"
Spock shook his head. "No, sir. There was no discomfort involved. Although the transfer of affection to a subject previously considered unsuitable is not uncommon among humans, I have found that the emotions surrounding the event are often complex."
"Unsuit—Spock, I understand you may be unfamiliar with the concept but don't you think 'unsuitable' is a bit—harsh?"
"Perhaps I have used an inappropriate phrase." He stared at Kirk's boots for a moment before continuing. "Our meld, coming as it did when your body was not your own, your memories were not safeguarded. It is in fact my place to apologize to you for the clumsiness in which the meld was conducted."
It was quietly devastating to hear Spock's casual dismissal of the situation. Kirk forced a smile to his lips. "Well, I must say, Mr. Spock—you're taking this with a great deal more equanimity than I'd expected."
"Really?" There was genuine surprise in Spock's voice. "Surely one's choice of a bedmate is no cause for concern for anyone other than the participants. I fail to see any reason to become emotional about it."
Something in the almost naïve phrasing of Spock's reply grabbed Kirk's attention.
"Spock," he asked carefully, "what exactly did you see when we melded?"
"Sir—"
"That's not an order, by the way, but I hope you'll tell me anyway."
Again Spock hesitated. "Alongside discovering the essence that convinced me that a transference had indeed occurred, I experienced brief images of your memories."
"Is that all?" Kirk pressed. His instincts were telling him that despite his words to the contrary, there was something bothering Spock. "None of the feelings associated with those memories? Yes, I know, you choose not express them but let's not pretend you don't recognize them." He spread his hands and appealed to one of Spock's own weaknesses. "Can't fault a man for being curious."
Kirk was rewarded with a brief gleam of amused acknowledgment before Spock sobered. "There was confusion, certainly. Your mind and the body it inhabited were not synchronized, leaving you vulnerable to sudden shifts of perspective."
"You can say that again," Kirk mumbled, reaching up to rub at the tense muscles bunching at the base of his neck.
"Sir?"
Kirk grinned, knowing Spock had heard every word. "Never mind." He dropped his hand and resettled his shoulders. "All right, what else? What other emotions were lurking in my subconscious?"
"Anger. Frustration. Some concern that the transference could not be reversed." Spock's voice dropped, deepening to a soft rumble. "And—fear."
Kirk felt his breath catch in his throat. "Fear? Fear of what?"
"Fear that I would not find you."
Kirk swallowed, remembering the terror of that moment. If Spock had not been able to reach him—
He felt the weight of Spock's compassionate gaze fall over him like a soft cloak and he let himself settle into its familiar warmth. "And?" he asked quietly.
"And—sorrow that Dr. Lester had become so unbalanced that she perpetrated this act of violence upon you."
Kirk nodded; he would always feel pity for what Janice had done, despite the terrible personal cost.
"Yes. What else?"
Spock's gaze fell somewhere above Kirk's right ear. "Affection."
Now we're getting somewhere. "Affection? For Janice?"
"Sir, this conversation—"
"Indulge me, Spock. As you have pointed out, the meld was done so quickly, it was over before I knew it." He took another step closer. "Affection, you say?"
"Yes, sir."
"For?"
Spock inhaled and shifted his gaze back to Kirk's. "Considering the amount of partners you've had, you have held a remarkable amount of feeling each of them, most of that translating into what humans would describe as affection. That is what I experienced."
Kirk felt buffeted by disappointment and he had to take a step backward, giving up some the ground he'd gained.
"Well, you did say the past, didn't you," he murmured to himself.
"Captain—"
"Go on, Mr. Spock. Of that long list, apparently someone among them struck you as 'unsuitable?'"
"Again, I apologize for my terminology. Put simply, you have a well established predilection for females. My assumption is that knowledge of a liaison outside of your normal pattern would cause you some embarrassment."
He doesn't know.
Comprehension burst inside Kirk like an exploding star, obliterating his fear—and his hope—that Spock had discovered the truth. Spock had not touched that which Kirk held so dearly—he'd only stumbled across liaisons from Kirk's past and found—what? That his tastes weren't as defined as legend would have it? It would have been funny—if his eyes weren't blurring. He rocked back another step and turned away to stare at a pile of stones, blinking hard to clear his vision.
"Jim."
His mouth lifted at the sound of his name, spoken softly near his shoulder. His freefall into misery had been so complete, he hadn't even known Spock had moved. Eyes still fixed on the rocks, he tilted his head slightly in his companion's direction.
"Yes, Spock?"
"You must realize that I would never knowingly say or do anything that would cause you unease. As you would say, your secret is safe with me."
He didn't see it.
"Not exactly, Mr. Spock," he said. His next words were spoken involuntarily, a small barrier erected against the growing tide of his pain. "It would seem my secret is safe from you, as well."
"I do not—"
"It's okay, Spock. Don't worry. You know I trust you to keep all my—secrets—safe." He turned and allowed himself the pleasure of resting his hand on Spock's forearm. "Well, my guess is that you came here for some solitude—and I've intruded. I'm going to head back to the ship and get some dinner."
Troubled eyes looked down on him. "Would you care for company?"
It would have been so easy to say yes—but Kirk hadn't been prepared for this. Not this gnawing regret that despite his fear of what would have been an assuredly gentle rejection, he'd wanted Spock to know. But that hope was gone and loneliness washed through him on a bittersweet tide, because now that he knew Spock was still in the dark, and it was his duty—as his captain and his friend—to keep him that way.
He gave the arm beneath his hand a squeeze before moving away. "Not tonight, thanks." He pulled out his communicator and flipped it open. "Kirk to Enterprise. One to beam up."
Just as the transporter's beam seized him, he glanced once more at Spock. The Vulcan still looked worried, but as their eyes met, Kirk inhaled sharply. Spock's lips were slightly parted, his palm resting lightly on his own arm, precisely where Kirk's fingers had lain. Upon his face were emotions written plainly, beyond curiosity, beyond even concern. Kirk recognized them instantly—they'd been his companions for years.
Longing. Sorrow. Hope.
My God, Spock—
The world dissolved and immediately remade itself into the bland confines of the transporter room. The lieutenant on duty offered him a greeting as he walked off the platform that he returned, although he had no recollection of what he said. The walk to his quarters was also never remembered—all Kirk could see was Spock's face, the expression in his eyes nothing less than a raw reflection of Kirk's own feelings.
But—did he see only his own feelings mirrored or had Spock let his guard drop, letting slip something Kirk had suspected—desired—but had not dared hope for?
There was only one way to find out. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it on the bed before reaching for the comm switch on his desk.
"Kirk to bridge."
"Bridge, Uhura here."
"Get me Mr. Spock. I believe he's still on base."
"Aye, sir. Stand by." The wait seemed interminable, but he knew only seconds had passed before Uhura signaled him. "I have Mr. Spock, sir. Patching him through now."
"Spock here."
Kirk smiled at the brisk tone, beginning to understand how much it hid.
"Mr. Spock, I've changed my mind. Would you care to join me for dinner?"