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“No.”
“Captain, the Admiral made it most clear that—”
“I said no.” Jim cut Spock off, injecting as much ‘I am the Captain of the USS Enterprise’ as he could into his tone and crossed his arms in front of him. There was no way he was going to go through with this. He wasn’t comfortable with it, and he was certain that his crew wasn’t either.
“Captain, this is the best way to appeal to the Wuisti culture.” This time, it was Uhura who spoke up from her place down the table. Her eyes were understanding, but her words were firm. “They are considering entrance to the Federation, and they specifically requested a starship captain be present. If you arrived alone, they might suspect that you are not as high-ranking as you claim.”
Jim let out a long sigh, running one hand through his hair. “I understand the gravity of the situation, but I will not allow my crew to be treated as second-class citizens while I am made out to be a king!” He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. Stars, he hated playing diplomat.
They had received a message from Starfleet Command ordering them to alter their course to the planet Wuist. The Federation had been negotiating with the dominant political organization there for the past eight years, and they had finally decided to join the Federation on one condition: the final negotiations had to be carried out by a Starfleet captain.
On its own, the request wasn’t a big deal. Some cultures respected leaders who led from the front lines more than the typical diplomat or politician, and on Wuist, he would be regarded as a conqueror king. While that description wasn’t exactly accurate, it wasn’t all that uncommon either. Jim had played similar roles a handful of times on other planets. No, the problem was how the rest of his crew would be treated.
Jim couldn’t negotiate a treaty on his own. He wasn’t a cultural specialist or a diplomat, and as much as he trusted his gut in making decisions of all kinds, securing entrance to the Federation was a different beast altogether. He needed help, which meant he would have to bring at least a small landing party down to the surface with him. And they wouldn’t be treated as kings or queens. They would be seen as little more than servants, and they were expected to behave as such.
“The Federation was built on equality and understanding,” he said firmly, looking at each member of the table in turn. Uhura, Scotty, Sulu, the lieutenant who headed up the diplomatic division, the head security officer, Bones, and finally Spock. The Vulcan’s expression was carefully neutral, but Jim could see kind understanding swirling in his eyes, and he had to look away, focusing on his words once more.
“I won’t order my own crew to degrade themselves just to please the cultural notions of propriety that the Wuisti hold.”
There was silence for a few moments, and Jim knew that the people sitting around the table—his friends—understood what he was trying to say. None of them wanted to be put into that situation. He also knew that every single one of them would rather it was them than someone else down there. That was why he couldn’t do it. They were his family, and he would not allow them to be disrespected.
Then, he felt a tug in his mind, and feelings that were not his own seeped into his consciousness. Caution, understanding, resignation, and determination. Instantly, Jim’s eyes widened, and he turned to Spock who was looking at him steadily, a promise in his eyes.
“You are dismissed,” he said suddenly, his eyes not leaving Spock’s. “We are still half a day from Wuist, and I’ll make a final decision before then.”
Thankfully, his friends were able to read into his words, and no one protested. Within a minute, the conference room was empty aside from him and Spock. The Vulcan hadn’t moved a muscle, unfazed by Jim’s glare.
As soon as the door hissed shut, Jim exploded. “No! I will not allow you to do that, Spock!”
“I am the most logical option,” he said, calm in the face of Jim’s anger. “As we are engaged in a romantic relationship, it is unlikely that our working relationship will suffer from seeing one another in such a compromising position as it might with others.”
“Spock…”
“Furthermore, as I am a Vulcan, I am able to control any emotional responses that might be incited by the events of the mission,” Spock continued as if Jim hadn’t spoken. “Other members of the crew, while disciplined, might not be able to do so, which would jeopardize the negotiations. And, as I am knowledgeable of the previous negotiations that have occurred, as well as Wuisti culture and language, you would not need to bring any other members of the crew to the planet.”
It was a logical argument, but that didn’t mean that Jim liked it. He hated it, and he knew Spock could feel his hatred through their bond and had already dismissed it. Still, Jim had to try.
“I can’t order you to do this, Spock. I can’t.” He broke eye contact and looked down. “You might be able to control your emotional responses, but I can’t promise that I will be able to. I hate seeing people treat you like you’re worthless. Just thinking about it makes me want to turn the ship around and stay as far away from that planet as we can.”
A strong hand moved to his face, gently gliding over his psi-points before moving to his chin and tilting his face up so that he was eye to eye with Spock once more. The Vulcan’s lips were turned up ever so slightly, but Jim could read a thousand emotions in that small movement.
“You do not have to order me, Ashayam. I am volunteering myself.”
“Please, Spock…” Jim begged, his voice a whispered breath.
“This is the best way, Jim.”
Jim leaned forward, resting his forehead against Spock’s. “I really hate your logic sometimes, you know,” he muttered, his breath ghosting over the Vulcan’s skin.
Spock didn’t reply except to snake his arms around Jim’s torso and pull him closer. Jim surrendered willingly to the embrace, letting Spock’s comforting presence to envelop him and soothe away his worries, even if it was only for a few minutes.
. . .
“It’s not too late to back out, Spock,” Jim declared, stopping suddenly just outside the door to the transporter room.
Spock shook his head. “Queen Shya is expecting you, Jim. It would be unwise to keep her waiting.” As he spoke, he adjusted one of the medals on Jim’s dress uniform, a small smile on his face. “And I would not have another take my place at your side.”
Jim let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. But the instant this becomes too much for you, you let me know. The Federation can find another captain to sign the treaty.”
“Thank you, ashayam, but that will not be necessary.” Spock inclined his head, and Jim gave him one more long look before striding up to the door to the transporter room. The sooner they got this over with, the better.
. . .
The surface of Wuist was dry and cold and bright. They had beamed down to the coordinates that the Wuisti had provided, which turned out to be one end of a large, open-air chamber. It was rectangular in shape, the two long sides framed by tall columns that reminded Jim of ancient Rome back on earth.
There were two platforms, one on each long side, each holding a single throne-like chair. The one on the left was occupied by a humanoid woman with vibrant magenta skin, a startling contrast to her all-white surroundings and dress. Even the sky that could be seen through the columns was a light grey. But what caught Jim’s attention even more than the woman on the throne was the half-dozen figures kneeling on the platform around her. All had bright skin that ranged from bloodred to wine-colored, and all wore simple linen robes. They knelt facing the woman on the throne and did not move when she stood.
“I welcome you to the world of Wuist, traveler,” the woman declared in a high, whistling voice, touching the side of her head with a closed fist. “I am Queen Shya of the Shattered Star.”
Jim took a deep breath and then stepped forward, copying the gesture. “Your majesty honors me with her kind greeting. I am James T. Kirk, Captain of the starship Enterprise and chosen representative of the United Federation of Planets. I have come to finalize negotiations and welcome the great world of Wuist into the Federation. This is my First.” He nodded to Spock who stood a distance away, head bowed and hands clasped behind his back.
There was silence for a moment, and Jim silently prayed that he had said and done everything correctly. Uhura had forced him to practice it a dozen times, but there was always the possibility that he might have screwed something up.
“Take your place, James T. Kirk.”
Jim stepped forward obediently and walked down the center of the large room before he reached the steps leading up to the platform and throne. He ascended and sat in the throne, hating the way the cold of the marble seeped so easily through his uniform. That feeling was quickly overshadowed by the guilt the flooded him when Spock stopped a meter from where he sat and then sank—gracefully because even in humiliation Spock was graceful—to his knees.
Their gazes locked only for a single moment, and then Spock looked down at the ground. Jim shoved away the guilt and anger that bubbled up and threatened to choke him and turned his attention to the woman sitting across the room from him. He had a job to do.
. . .
The negotiations lasted for hours. Every now and then, Jim had to rely on Spock to remember something that he had forgotten, and each time, he was forced to address Spock by nothing more than ‘First’. Spock, of course, played his role perfectly and remembered everything that he asked for without complaint, but that didn’t stop Jim’s self-loathing from growing with every passing minute.
Eventually, the queen stood from her throne and gestured to a few of the servants kneeling at her feet. “Bring dinner for myself and Captain Kirk as well as his servant.” Jim flinched inwardly at the last word. The woman then turned to Jim, who stood as well. “We will continue these discussions tomorrow. I ask that you allow me to demonstrate Wuisti hospitality and spend the night in a room that has already been prepared for you. It is well-suited to Terran preferences.”
Every part of Jim wanted to reject the offer and return to the Enterprise where he could hide Spock away from the Wuisti’s prying eyes, but he knew that doing so would sabotage the negotiations and negate all of the humiliation that Spock had already been through. So instead of declining, Jim plastered a brilliant smile on his face.
“Your majesty honors me. I graciously accept the kind offer,” he said with a deep nod. That response seemed to please the queen, as she smiled.
“Very good. Now, I ask that you put aside thoughts of politics and enjoy dinner with me.” She began to descend the steps, and Jim copied her movements and met her in the center of the room. Spock followed from a distance, as did the queen’s remaining servants.
As they walked down to the far north end of the area where a long table had been set up and was currently being laden with all kinds of foods, the queen looped her arm through Jim’s. He started momentarily before carrying on as if it was completely normal for the monarch of an entire planet to stand so close to him that he could feel her breath tickle his ear. This had not been part of the cultural briefing.
Before long, they reached the table, and the queen extracted herself from his arm to circle around to the other side of the table and sit. Despite the table’s length—it could have easily sat a dozen people—there were only two chairs. Did they really expect Spock to kneel during dinner as well? He had been on his knees for hours already! The Vulcan would never complain, of course, but Jim knew that he had to be hurting.
‘This is ridiculous, Spock. I can’t allow this,’ Jim sent over the threads of their bond. Instead of the warm feeling that always accompanied such communication, however, he was met with a cold wall. Spock was shielding from him.
“Is the feast inadequate?” The queen’s shrill voice shook Jim from his thoughts, and he quickly forced his lips to twist into a smile.
“No, no, I was merely distracted by the variety of foods,” he lied, taking his seat quickly. Spock knelt by his side, his gaze fixed on the white marble floor, and his hands folded elegantly in his lap.
“Ah, yes. The south of Wuist is quite proud of its extensive agricultural crop,” the queen smiled, evidently buying Jim’s lie. “Please, enjoy. The drink is similar to Terran wine and has been curing for over two centuries.”
Jim took a hesitant sip. The liquid did, in fact, taste similar to wine, although he found it difficult to enjoy the taste. Once he swallowed, he set the crystal goblet down and picked out a few items to put on his plate. Then, he glanced down at Spock, and his chest seized.
“Forgive me for my ignorance, my queen, but my knowledge of Wuisti dining customs is not as extensive as I would like. Will my First receive food?” he asked before he could convince himself that doing so was a bad idea.
To his surprise, the queen let out a light laugh. “You may feed him from your plate if you wish. My own servants quite enjoy such attention.” Jim’s stomach turned. The queen wanted him to feed Spock from his plate like some kind of pet? No, the Vulcan had already suffered enough torment. But what other choice did he have? He couldn’t let Spock starve.
Before he could say anything, Spock’s deep voice rumbled up from the place where he knelt. “You need not trouble yourself, Captain,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. Jim tried to reach across the bond to apologize, to say something that would somehow make this better, but he was met with a wall again.
“Your First is very well mannered,” the queen remarked, approval evident in her tone. As if Spock needed the approval of anyone else, as if he were an object rather than a person. “However, I do find it somewhat strange that you chose to travel with a single servant.”
Jim forced himself to stay calm; the Vulcan had already suffered enough, and speaking out now would mean that all of that was pointless. “My First fulfills his duties most admirably. I find that I do not need another at my side,” he stated, doing his best to keep his tone neutral.
The queen nodded slowly as she took a bite of a blue fruit that seemed to radiate a faint glow. “You are lucky to have found one such as him, then.”
“I am.” Usually, he was proud to say those words, but now his stomach was twisted in on itself, and he barely managed to push the phrase from his throat as it constricted.
The conversation turned to other things then, and Jim forced himself to pretend to enjoy it. Queen Shya had a million questions about his duties as a Starfleet Captain, and he did his best to answer them. Eventually, however, the questions became more personal, and Jim had a harder time keeping up the charade.
“Tell me, Captain, do you get lonely up there in the stars?” It might have been Jim’s imagination, but it seemed that the queen leaned forward as she asked, her ebony hair sweeping over one shoulder as she moved.
Jim swallowed. “No more lonely than I imagine a woman of your station might,” he responded, praying that this conversation wasn’t going where he thought it was going. “I keep busy.”
She smiled knowingly. “Ah, but work isn’t everything.”
“No, it isn’t, but I have an excellent partner who helps me to balance my life,” Jim replied, injecting a bit of authority into his tone. He was a taken man, and the last thing he wanted was the advances of this woman.
The queen’s eyes widened slightly, but so did her smile. “Oh, and who is it who has captured the eye of someone as powerful as yourself, Captain? Another Starfleet captain, or a member of your crew?”
“My partner is a private person,” Jim said, and he had to resist the urge to slip from his chair and kneel next to Spock, to hold him and shield him from this woman, from this whole planet. “I would prefer to discuss something else.”
Queen Shya nodded slightly. “Of course, Captain. I apologize if I overstepped.”
“No apology necessary, my queen.” Another lie and another fake smile to go with it.
. . .
They ended up talking for the next hour and a half before Jim yawned a little louder than necessary and managed to get himself and Spock excused for the evening, but not before he requested that some food be brought to him in an hour or so; he wasn’t going to let Spock starve. One of the queen’s servants led them to another building a few hundred meters away and then bowed to Jim, leaving them at the doorstep.
Jim turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. The room inside was large and dominated by a bed at least three times larger than the Starfleet regulation beds on the Enterprise. He barely noticed that, however, because the second the door closed behind them, Jim turned and buried himself in Spock’s arms.
“I’m so sorry, Spock,” he whispered into the fabric that covered the Vulcan’s shoulder. “I never should have let you come down here with me. I know you won’t say it, but being down here is hard for you. You’re shielding from me, and you only do that when you’re upset.” He let go of Spock and turned to the bed. “The food should be here in a few minutes. I’m going to go to sleep.” Without looking back at the Vulcan he climbed onto one side of the bed, pausing only momentarily to kick off his boots. He could tell that Spock wanted to say something, but he stayed silent, and the bond stayed closed.
Jim shoved his head into a pillow and tried in vain to push away the thoughts that pounded around in his head. They didn’t make enough sense for him to categorize or put into words; they were just loud and uncomfortable and wrong. He rolled onto his side and pulled his knees up to his chest under the heavy blanket.
What was he doing? He never should have agreed to stay the night on this planet, no matter how much the Federation wanted Wuist to join. But how much better would it be on the Enterprise? Would Jim be able to look Spock in the eyes after everything that had happened so far? Would he be able to beam back down to the planet in the morning, knowing that it was going to be just as bad?
He stifled a growl and closed his eyes. He needed sleep.
Fifteen minutes later, the door opened, and Jim heard Spock speaking quietly with someone. Then, the door closed again, and he heard the sound of dishes being set on a table or something—had there been a table in the room, Jim couldn’t remember—and metal clinking against crystal.
Spock ate in near silence, and Jim almost fell asleep as he waited. But then he heard the scrape of a chair across the marble floor and was wide awake once again. Instead of coming to bed, however, he heard Spock cross to the other side of the room. Jim strained his memory and realized that the Vulcan intended to sleep, or more likely meditate, in the pillow-covered alcove that occupied the right side of the room. The servant’s alcove.
Jim pushed himself up to his forearms. “Come to bed? Please?”
Their gazes locked for a few moments, and Jim saw a dozen emotions flicker in Spock’s eyes too quickly to identify. Finally, the Vulcan nodded. “Of course, Ashayam.” Jim moved over even further, and Spock slipped under the covers after carefully removing his boots and the black shirt he wore.
The silence between them lasted for several minutes until it had grown so loud that Jim thought for sure that he would go deaf. Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He rolled over, and was met with a pair of brown eyes gazing thoughtfully at him. Spock didn’t blink at his movement, although he did turn his gaze away slightly.
Jim offered his fore and middle fingers of his right hand to Spock in an ozh’esta, eyes pleading. After a few beats that seemed to last a lifetime, Spock copied the gesture, their fingers sliding together slowly, carefully. Jim let his eyes slip closed and tried to focus on the feeling of warmth that radiated from Spock. It was more muted than usual; the Vulcan was still shielding from him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyes still closed.
“You have already apologized, Ashayam,” Spock replied in his deep rumble. “To continue to do so is illogical.”
Jim opened his eyes. “I apologized for the situation, for bringing you down to this planet, but that’s not what I’m apologizing for now.” Spock’s eyebrow quirked upwards. “I’m sorry that you feel like you need to shield from me.” He drew his fingers away from Spock’s. “I don’t know if you’re protecting yourself from my emotions or if you’re shielding so that I don’t see yours, but either way, I’m sorry that I’m not strong enough. We’re partners; you shouldn’t have to hide from me.”
Spock laid a hand on Jim’s face, cupping it gently and turning it so that their eyes met once more. “Jim, you are more than enough. I have been shielding because I did not want my emotions to place any more stress on you, not because I believed you too weak to handle them.”
Jim sighed heavily and leaned into Spock’s touch, his eyes slipping closed once again. “I know that, I do. I just—I guess I worry that you don’t have enough of a choice with me.”
Jim could practically hear Spock frown. “I do not understand.”
“You’re my First Officer, but by all rights, you should be the captain. The brass knows you’re better suited for it; they’d give you a ship in a heartbeat if you would let them. And this mission—I know you volunteered, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was sitting on a stars-forsaken throne while you were forced to kneel on the marble floor.” Jim’s hands clenched into fists against the silken sheets. “I let my First Officer, my partner, suffer while I was treated like a king.”
“Ashayam,” Spock’s voice was troubled, ghosting over his skin in a warm breath. “We had no choice in the matter. The Federation needs Wuist’s strategic position and resources, and this was the only sure way to secure the agreement.”
Jim shook his head, still refusing to open his eyes. “No, you had no choice. That’s the problem, Spock, you never have a choice. I could have refused the mission; I knew you would end up volunteering yourself. I could have avoided all of this.”
Spock was silent for several moments, and Jim began to worry that the Vulcan had finally seen the truth. Jim was a horrible captain and an even worse romantic partner, and he was better off without him. Then, Spock shifted, wrapping his arms around Jim and pulling him close, until Jim’s head was resting against his shoulder.
“This is about more than the mission,” he said quietly, and it was a statement, not a question. Spock had always been able to tell what he was thinking, even before they had been aware of the bond between them.
“Do I give you enough of a choice, Spock? Not just as my First Officer, but as my partner.” Jim asked, and he nearly choked on the words as a lump began to form in his throat.
This fear had been a long time coming, he knew. If he was being honest with himself, it had probably begun the instant he had asked Spock if they could move from friends to something more, and the Vulcan had said yes. He had been so sure that Spock would deny him, that the Vulcan would be disgusted by his audacity and reject him outright. But he hadn’t. Instead, he had accepted readily, and Jim hadn’t been willing to look any further into it, scared of what he would find.
Then, as they had begun dating, and the days turned into weeks turned into months, the words had become harder and harder to say. Spock was always doing things for him, always putting himself in harm’s way, always thinking of Jim first and never sparing a second thought for himself.
Why?
“How could this be what you want? How could I be what you want? I’m loud and I’m emotional and I’m demanding.” He let out a long sigh. “I guess this mission is just reminding me of how horrible of a partner I’ve been. You deserve so much better than me.”
He should pull away. Stars, he should go sleep in the servant’s alcove! But he couldn’t bring himself to struggle out of Spock’s gentle grasp. It was too kind, too warm, too Spock, and he was too much of a coward.
One of Spock’s arms unwound itself from his waist, and Jim felt his heart seize in his chest. This was it. Now Jim was going to go back to being alone. It was what he deserved. He had no right to feel as if his heart was cracking into a million shards, working their way deeper into his chest and—
“Jim, may I meld with you?” Spock asked, the words startling Jim out of his downward spiral. “There is much I desire to say, but I fear I will not be able to communicate my thoughts accurately with words. It would be simpler to show you.”
Ah, yes. Invited into Spock’s mind because there weren’t enough words in Standard to explain how much he hated Jim. Well, if this was the last chance he was going to get to stand in Spock’s mind—he had gotten far too used to being allowed there—he was going to take it, even if it came with Spock’s wrath.
He nodded, and a few seconds later he felt Spock’s fingers brush his psi-points, and then the room around them vanished.
. . .
Jim looked around his new surroundings. When Spock melded them deeply, like he had just done, the background of the meld tended to be a place that Spock was comfortable in. Often, it was his quarters on the Enterprise, and occasionally it was somewhere on Vulcan from his childhood. Right now, however, it was one of the Enterprise’s observation decks.
Almost subconsciously, Jim wandered over to the window, gazing out at the millions of stars that were scattered across the black sky. He felt Spock step up beside him, and he tensed, preparing himself for what was to come. To his surprise, when Spock covered his hands with his own and opened his mind, it wasn’t anger that Jim detected.
It was love.
A hundred different scenes flashed in front of Jim’s eyes, things he had experienced but was now seeing from Spock’s point of view. He saw himself stepping in front of Spock, fists clenched, when someone had dared to insult the Vulcan in front of him. He saw himself hand Spock a Vulcan dish, one he had made by hand after learning that Spock hated the taste of replicated Vulcan cuisine. He saw himself grinning like a fool as Spock read a poem that he had written one night after having one drink too many. He saw the lovestruck expression in his own eyes as Spock lowly explained what this bond between them was, what it meant.
But more than that, he felt the emotions that Spock had felt in each of those moments, and there was so much love Jim thought he might choke on it all. How, how could a man so brilliant, so perfect, love someone like him?
Eventually, the flashes of memory faded, and Spock was standing across from him in the observation lounge once again, a soft smile turning up his lips and lighting his eyes. “Jim, you are my choice. I choose you every day, and I will continue to do so for as long as I live.”
Jim choked back a sob. “You can’t—you can’t just say things like that, Spock,” he mumbled, leaning his forehead against the Vulcan’s. “I want us to be equals. Always. And I know that I can be forceful and—”
Spock cut him off. “Do you remember when I first told you that we were T’hy’la?” he asked.
Jim nodded.
“Our souls are two halves, and they are meant to be together as one. We are a universal constant, Jim, in the same way that scientific laws are.”
Spock sounded so sure, so confident—when had he been anything else?—in what they were that Jim almost felt silly for questioning it in the first place. But that uneasy feeling hadn’t completely dissipated.
“You make it sound so easy,” he breathed. “And I want to believe you. I just—” He took a deep breath, the scent of Spock’s hair—Spock didn’t use the Starfleet-issued shampoo like Jim did, and the smell of it was glorious—filling his nostrils. “I really don’t want to mess this up, Spock.”
As Jim finished speaking, Spock moved his hands to Jim’s shoulders and took a step back. For a moment, it seemed as if the Vulcan were gazing into his very soul, then, a small smile pulled at his lips, and Jim felt his heart leap.
“You will not, Ashayam.” Spock placed a gentle kiss on Jim’s lips, and Jim allowed his eyes to slide closed once again, simply enjoying the overwhelming surety that radiated from Spock. When he opened them again, they were lying in bed once more.
“Thank you, Spock,” he whispered, chuckling slightly. “You always manage to say exactly what I need to hear.”
“You are not a poor wordsmith yourself, Ashayam,” Spock responded with a smile. “Now sleep. The negotiations tomorrow will require your full attention.”
Jim hummed in agreement. “But before the negotiations, I’m going to let Queen Shya know that she needs another throne.” He reached out two fingers for another Ozh’esta. “Unless you’d rather us both kneel.”
Spock’s fingers met Jim’s, and through the bond, Jim could feel his love’s fond exasperation. “Thank you, Jim,” he said quietly.
Jim nodded, resting his head against Spock’s chest as his eyes closed. “I love you, Spock,” he murmured against the fabric, already half-asleep.
“And I, you.”