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It takes a few days for everything to sink in. It’s a very long seventy-two hours. Despite McCoy’s good intentions, The opinion of the Admiralty seems to be that if he’d allowed Jim to die, it might have been better for everyone. No one comes right out and says it, of course.
Kirk has talked to more Admirals now than he even knew existed. The Vulcan Diplomatic Corps, as obliquely and politely as possible, seems to have the opinion that while McCoy’s serum was extremely clever, they nevertheless cheated , and because Kirk is actually still alive, that the matter of Spock’s ex-fiancee’s standing is in a kind of legal Schrodinger’s box. Kirk, exhausted and angry, suggests they leave her in it. He doesn’t want her, Spock doesn’t want her. Then Ambassador Sarek steps in, and he’s thankfully released from the worst conference call ever.
On top of all of it, Spock is being weird. Spock fiddled with the shifts so that he’s taking the Gamma shift. There’s a skeleton crew on that late, and he knows full well that’s not when he’s needed. True to form, however, he’s left an entire time slot in between so that if there’s an emergency, he will have slept.
Theoretically. He’s only managed to see his first officer for a few minutes in the last three days, and he looked haunted. Distinctly unde rslept. As soon as the Admiralty has stopped roasting him on a spit, he intends to have a highly awkward conversation with Spock about the brooding. Right now, though, he needs to get out of this stupid dress uniform and take a shower.
The door whispers open. The lights are at half already, so he can see the form of his First Officer lying on Kirk’s bed. He’s asleep, although he looks pained, curled into a half ball. He shifts, making a small sound of distress, but doesn’t open his eyes.
Jim quietly sits in his chair to pull off his boots, and then creeps up on the bed and sits on the edge, looking down at Spock. His face is all angles and shadows, tense in sleep.
“Most people,” Jim murmurs, reaching out to lay the back of his fingers against Spock’s cheek, “are relaxed in sleep and tense when awake.”
Spock’s hand reaches up to grasp his. He doesn’t move it away, just holds it, eyes still closed.
“I’m beginning to suspect that when you chose to return to Starfleet and take the consequences for murdering me, that you threw everyone for a loop down there.”
“If by that,” his voice is hoarse, “You mean that I abandoned my home to do so, then yes. T’Pring knew me better than anyone, surprisingly, despite our separation. Most Vulcans would have never let her go after such a daring grab for freedom. She’ll go far. If I had stayed, I would have been protected. Doubtlessly, it was hoped by T’Pau that I would need to turn to Vulcan and then no longer be an embarrassment.”
Spock’s hand hasn’t moved. Jim looks down at him. “Please look at me.”
It seems to take an effort, but he does, studying Jim’s face. There’s an ache there that drags a feeling he’d long learned to bury back to the surface. He wants to ask why Spock is here, but he’s a coward. Instead he says, “What happens for you? In seven years?”
Spock lets out a long breath. “I cannot say. Perhaps I will die for want of a mate. It does not concern me yet. Jim, Pon Farr-”
“I’ve been reading about it,” Jim interrupts. “Oh, I had to go digging, but there’s a few medical journals buried in Starfleet. Bones tells me that you were lucid. After. Lucid and able to give orders.”
Spock just watches him, dark eyes glittering.
“According to the reports I read, that doesn’t happen. You should have been either dying of a fever or having your way with T’Pring.”
Spock sits up. He’s close, so unfairly close. Jim’s head swims, but he keeps talking, clears his throat and tries again. “You - you know that there’s a poem…”
“Yes,” Spock says quietly, “two friends who loved, against all law and tradition. Forced to fight for a woman during the Pon Farr.”
He wants to reach for Spock, but he can’t make himself move. All he can do is stare, stare and make a fool of himself. “So you - you read it then.”
Spock’s lips quirk.
“Damn, Spock, are you going to make me make the first move?”
“No, Jim. I am waiting in your bed, I believe that you have the next move.”
Jim narrows his eyes.