Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Celebrations We Choose

“Is this always how diplomatic missions involving Vulcans tend to go?” Kirk smiles at Amanda, who is crouched behind him in the alcove that is providing cover, her dirt-streaked robes held up in preparation for swift movement.

“Oh no.” Amanda smiles at him, and Kirk can see a bit of Spock in her face; in the way her eyes move; in the hidden mischief. “Sometimes Vulcan diplomatic missions are much more exciting. We aren’t being shot at while my husband undergoes massive heart surgery this time, after all.”

“But you were kidnapped.” Kirk watches the water at the end of the hallway as it continues to retreat, the tide turning so that more of the edifice is safe for those without amphibious natures. “Really, ma’am, you’re going to give the Enterprise a bad reputation, if every time we try to shuttle you somewhere things like this happen.”

Amanda laughs, a soft, warm sound. “The Enterprise already has a reputation for finding new and interesting ways to get into trouble. Do you think I haven’t been keeping track of my son’s exploits?”

“I would never dream of insulting you like that.” Kirk sighs in relief as the last of the water disappears below eye level. The floors that he needs in order to lead Amanda to safety should be available now.

It’s just a matter of following the pre-arranged path, hoping there’s nothing lurking in wait along the path, and then getting to a point where the Enterprise’s transporters can actually lock onto them.

Kirk’s hope that this will be a quick and simple extraction dwindles to nothing as one of the native Cnidareans rolls wetly out of the stairwell he’d been watching. The alien creatures are roughly the size of a beach ball, but with hundreds of tentacles extending outward, and stingers tipping each of those tentacles. The poison they produce will induce massive hallucinations in most other sentient species… and the telepathic field they possess means that their relationships with visitors ha ve often been strained at best even before that .

Having another race with telepathy was supposed to help bridge that gap; to give the Cnidareans someone who wouldn’t strike them as a threat and who could communicate with them more smoothly. Someone who could help nudge them closer to accepting their place in an intergalactic society, given they’ve managed to complete a warp drive far ahead of expected schedule.

Instead Kirk has found himself having to plan a rescue mission for both of Spock’s parents. He’s successfully retrieved Amanda, and he hopes Spock has managed at least as well with Sarek.

Actually he hopes Spock has managed better with Sark, because Kirk is pretty sure that the cnidarean sees him.

Smells him? Given that it doesn’t have eyes like humanoid lifeforms do.

Smells them, the creature following the exact path of their footfalls from one sheltered alcove to another, and Kirk is going to have to fight the beast.

He sets his phaser to its lowest stun setting. Pain is something that the cnidareans transmit easily over long distances, and he doesn’t want to be surrounded by angry telepathic sea urchins while he has a civilian to protect.

He waits as long as he can, and then darts forward, firing as he does. The shot catches the cnidarean in the center of its mass, and the creature seems to explode, limbs arcing outward before going slack.

Breathing a sigh of relief as the creature stops moving, Kirk holds out a hand for Amanda to take. “Be careful; Bones said something about the cnidarea having a strange type of nervous system. Their tentacles can move independently of their brain, so we don’t want to brush anything.”

Amanda nods, and they pick their careful way around the sprawled creature. Kirk takes the lead again, leading with his phaser as they round the first corner and make their careful way down to the second.

One turn.

Another.

A quick dash down one stairway, a skidding run across a puddle-damp hallway, up another stairway.

Close. They’re getting so close.

Up another stairway, and then—

Something plunges deep into his leg, and Kirk gasps in a sharp breath.

He looks down to see a blue-purple tentacle writhing along the floor, connected to a bigger cnidarean than he even knew existed. The tentacle pulses, and something hot forces itself through the muscles of Kirk’s calf. Stings its way through all of his veins.

Kirk doesn’t hesitate. He fires the first stunning shot, and then another. Only after the third does the creature release him, slumping to the floor like the first one.

Jim knows he doesn’t have much time. The world is already starting to get fuzzy around the edges.

But hopefully he has enough.

He remembers the way they’re supposed to go.

He knows that Spock will be waiting there.

All he has to do is deliver Spock’s mother, and surely Kirk’s very competent first officer will be able to handle the rest.

***

The Cnidarean telepathic field itches against Spock’s defenses as he leads his father carefully through the ancient fortress maze.

Both of them are soaking wet, having swum through two submerged tunnels in order to evade their pursuers.

“ So utterly illogical.” Sarek murmurs the words in the softest voice possible as they watch two of the cnidarea twine their tentacles together, speaking silently to one another. “To ask for assistance, and then attack that assistance when it is given.”

“If I am understanding matter correctly, there are at least four if not eight factions among the cnidarea right now. The one that invited you and the one that is hunting you likely do not belong to the same coalition.”

“Cold comfort when you are being the one hunted.” Sarek shakes his head.

“You do not require comfort, Father.” Spock allows one eyebrow to arch slightly. “Only logic.”

“They have not given me that, either. Not when the Federation may have to blockade this planet.” Sarek goes quiet, watching Spock.

Waiting for Spock to act; to do what a Starfleet officer is supposed to do, and handle the conflict.

And like a proper Starfleet officer, Spock handles the conflict by avoiding it altogether. These people have developed a technology beyond what their society is ready for, but they are still people. Spock has no desire to fight with them; only to see that the individuals whose care he has been entrusted with are indeed made safe. Hopefully these people will be able to work out their internal conflicts—or convince Starfleet of why intervention is necessary despite the Prime Directive. Until then, the best thing Spock can do for them is to follow the most salient rule of all healers everywhere: first, do no harm.

He doesn’t have to speak verbally to direct Sarek after him. His father is many things, but a fool is not one of them, and Sarek wishes to return to the Enterprise and away from danger as quickly as possible.

First they have to escape the anomalous fields created by this fortress.

Not much farther, though. Just one more turn, and—

And Spock knows immediately that something is wrong.

Kirk was supposed to rendezvous with them at this locale after liberating Amanda, and though he’s done that, he hasn’t it done it without injury. The captain has his arm around Mother’s shoulders, but it’s not because he’s giving her comfort. His skin has taken on an ashen gray color, and blood trails behind him, a thin trickle leading back towards the part of the fortress where Mother had been kept locked away.

Rage, white hot and useless, tries to well up in Spock’s chest. He immediately quells it, reminding himself that he is Vulcan; that he is a Starfleet officer; that he has seen his captain hurt before, and will most likely see him hurt again, sad as that truth is .

The important thing isn’t whether or not they get hurt, but whether or not they get home . Because so long as they make it back to the Enterprise , there is very little that the good doctor cannot repair.

“It happened only a minute or two ago.” Mother speaks in as loud a whisper as they dare, assisting Kirk in taking a few steps towards them.

Spock shakes himself from his shock and darts forward, replacing his mother’s smaller frame with his own.

Kirk smiles up at him, though his eyes are already too wide, his breathing too fast and shallow. “Sorry, Spock. Those tentacles can reach longer than I thought.”

Spock can already feel Kirk’s psyche starting to lose coherence, the captain’s usually sharp mind seeming to splinter in ten directions at once. And that’s without even direct skin to skin contact. Even as he speaks Spock starts them moving in the right direction. “You have no need to be sorry. Only to strive to control yourself for the next three point seven nine minutes while we reach our rendezvous coordinates.”

“Right.” Kirk squares his jaw, his hand grabbing tight to Spock’s uniform as he leans more heavily against the Vulcan. “I can. Do that.”

Spock isn’t certain the Human physically can . What they know of the neurotoxin currently pumping through Kirk’s system is not pleasant. But all that Kirk can do is try, and all that Spock can do is support him as he does.

He lasts for over two minutes. Despite steadily increasing muscle fasciculations, and a constant quiet barrage of questions such as, “Is the sky turning umber?” and “Has my foot fallen off?”, he doesn’t scream. His thoughts don’t lash out, a psychic call to a feeding frenzy.

He just asks Spock for reassurance, and Spock grants it to him, and he continues on until the next nightmare tries to claim him a few seconds later.

Until they come to their pre-planned exit, and the red-orange sun strikes directly down on them, and Kirk opens his mouth to scream.

Spock feels it, a shattering of Kirk’s hard-fought-for control; a sudden wild tension in the man’s muscles, and a sudden pressure against all of Spock’s sensitive nerves.

Spock moves faster than the desperate Human can, his left hand covering Kirk’s mouth, his right moving to familiar pressure points against the Human’s face. “It’s Spock, Jim. It’s just Spock, and you don’t have to be afraid.”

Jim whimpers into Spock’s hand, but his eyes focus on Spock’s face.

Jim’s thoughts are a discordant jumble, nothing like the usual webs of inspiration and connection that they usually are. Every physical sensation is an assault that triggers amygdala-level reactions based on a certainty of pain and death.

It would be easy to get lost in that morass. Easy to become another problem for Sarek and Mother to have to handle.

But Jim has made it this far, and they don’t have much farther to go.

Spock allows his forehead to rest against Jim’s. “Not much longer, t’hy’la. Not much longer, and we will be home, and Bones can fix this for you.”

Jim’s whimpering ceases, the bursts of chaotic imagery and somatosensory input fading as Jim puts his trust in Spock.

Subsumes his own thoughts in Spock’s, trusting the Vulcan to guide them home.

Spock turns, and finds that Mother has her hands in front of her mouth, her eyes bright with something that could be wonder or fear. “T’hy’la?”

Sarek’s jaw has clenched so tight he could chew rock to powder, but he says nothing.

“T’hy’la,” Spock answers his mother, though it’s hard , the toxin that Jim is fighting striving to pull them both under. To offer them both to these people who have called for aid and returned it with barbarism. “We have been for almost a year. Come, now; let’s get back to the Enterprise before this goes from bad to worse.”

Before Spock loses control, as well, and they become a beacon to all of their enemies.

The last two hundred meters could be an entire world. Every step is agony, Spock having to direct himself and Jim while suppressing the nightmares.

While keeping Jim together .

Because he knows Jim. They have been in each other’s heads on more than one occasion now. Spock wouldn’t have thought it enjoyable, at first. Though Jim is many things—has been precious to him for longer than they’ve been t’hy’la—he is not calm, and he is logical only if he thinks logic the proper tool to bring to a situation.

He can also be fire; all burning righteous rage and sun-hot determination.

He can be ice; certain in his own decisions, unafraid of the threats that others are making.

He can be wind; sliding beneath and around other’s expectations, turning them to his advantage.

He is so very much, and somehow it is a complement to all that Spock is.

Somehow it melds with what Spock is rather than grating against it.

But the toxin pumping through Jim’s body is not kind to him, and it is not kind to Spock. It wants to shred them. To leave them mewling treats for the denizens of this world to devour at their leisure, thoughts and bodies offered up.

Spock will not allow it. He will not allow either of them to be lost.

He will be a bulwark against the storm. He knows himself, and he knows Jim, and he will keep their thoughts and their psyches within acceptable parameters for both. He will ride the nightmares, rather than becoming entangled in them; he will be Jim’s constant reassurance, until such time as it isn’t needed anymore.

He flinches when someone slides under Jim’s other side, afraid of what will come.

Afraid of judgment, or icy cold.

Instead it is his mother who supports some of Jim’s weight, and all that Spock’s reeling mind reads from her is worry for her child.

Her assistance makes it possible for Spock to finish the last fifty steps.

To flip open his communicator, and tell Scotty that they are ready.

The meld does not survive the transporter’s disintegration of them into component parts, and Spock is alone in his head when they arrive on the deck of the Enterprise .

Jim is, too, and his scream seems to fill all the world, drawing Spock back to his side.

Spock, and Bones, who injects something into Jim’s shoulder even as Spock’s hands find the familiar points of contact.

You are safe, Spock soothes the frayed and ragged nerves.

“I’ve got you, Jim. You’re gonna be fine,” Bones reassures.

And then the darkness that the hypospray contained rises up to eat them both, and Spock tumbles to the deck alongside his captain.

***

James Kirk wakes with a splitting headache and a leg that he’s pretty certain would be better off amputated. “Bones,” he slurs out, raising his hands to cover his aching eyes.

“Ah, welcome back to the land of the living, Captain.” Bones’ cheerful voice comes from not too far away.

Because he was worried about Jim? Possibly, but Bones tends to stay near his patients no matter who they are, and no matter how good or grim their prognosis. No paranoia like a medic’s paranoia , he once said, because a medic’s paranoia is sometimes proven true.

“How long have I been out?” Jim starts to sit up, and then decides that would be a bad idea.

“Mmm…” Bones checks the medical read-out. “Five hours and three minutes. But you were stable for pretty much all of it.”

“Well that’s good. Don’t want to give you a heart attack.”

“Since when?” Bones arches one eyebrow up. “ You give me a heart attack on a semi-regular basis. You only don’t when someone else has given you a heart attack, which is also often stressful for me.”

“Yes, yes, I am an absolutely atrocious friend.” Jim manages to shift his hand enough to view most of the med bay. He doesn’t see any other patients, at least.

“No, you’re a wonderful friend. That’s half of why you get into trouble.” Sighing, Bones leans against the head of Jim’s bed, reaching out to touch Jim’s forehead.

As though he needs to feel for a fever when the med display is undoubtedly telling him ten thousand other important things. Jim can’t help but smile up at his old friend. “Everyone else made it out all right, then?”

“Everyone else is physically fine. Our phenomenal first officer gave me a bit of a scare; he’d been using those super psychic Vulcan abilities of his to keep you stable, and it hit him hard when I sedated you to try to actually, you know, fix the problem before you fried your brain in horror seizures.”

“You specified physically fine.” Jim tries to sit up again, and this time he manages it, though he’s glad for Bones’ hand on his shoulder to stabilize him.

“I did,” Bones agrees blithely, not providing any more information.

“What I believe he’s referring to,” Amanda’s soft, beautiful voice says. “Is the fact that Spock and Sarek are fighting again.”

“Oh, come now,” Bones says cheerfully. “Spock assured me they’re not fighting . They’re having a philosophical disagreement about a relationship that’s absolutely none of Sarek’s damn business.”

Jim can’t help the smile that twitches at his lips at Bones’ easy dismissal of what is probably a painful falling out between father and son. He makes sure the expression is smoothed away when he looks at Amanda and asks, “Would you mind telling me what the problem is?”

Amanda draws in a deep breath. “Do you know t’hy’la means?”

“I know what Spock has told me it means. Brother. Soul match. Lover.” Jim keeps his hands steady on the side of the bed. Collapsing would just be embarrassing during a conversation like this.

“It does. Very few on Vulcan will use the word with outsiders.” A small smile flits across Amanda’s face. “It took Sarek almost five years before he called me that.”

“I know I haven’t known Spock for that long—”

Amanda raises her hand. “It’s not that you haven’t known him for long. It’s that…” Amanda hesitates, and takes another step towards Jim, raising her hand to hover it a few inches above his face. “He knew exactly where to touch you. He’s done it before.”

“Yes. Several times. Not just—at first, he did it for a mission. In order to help me. But that hasn’t been every time, no.” Jim looks up into Amanda’s eyes, and keeps his voice gentle, calm, like he would with any matron back home. “Is it something you wish we hadn’t done?”

“It’s not something I ever would have expected my boy to willingly do with someone.” Amanda paces away. “Spock is—always has been—a child torn between worlds. Between duties. Between passions, though he and his father will staunchly deny that such things exist on Vulcan. Being so confident in melding with you—calling you t’hy’la— it’s not something I would have expected. ...and it… stings, that he did not tell us about it. Did not ask advice or directions.”

Jim feels his eyebrows climbing towards his hairline and calls them back down. “I wasn’t aware that Vulcans were terribly big on romantic advice?”

“And human mothers?” Amanda gives a low, rolling laugh. “Oh, don’t worry, I know the answer to that. No children actually want their mother’s advice, but a mother does like to be able to give it. Especially when it is a difficult road that her son walks.”

“It doesn’t have to be difficult.” Jim tentatively pushes his feet against the floor of the Enterprise and decides that no, he really doesn’t want to stand yet. “We love each other. We’re usually discreet and careful about when we show it, but we’re both happy.”

“And how long do you intend to stay together? When you grow old, do you intend to give him your katra ? Do you even know what it is? Do you know what being with a Human does to a Vulcan as their partner ages and dies before them?”

Drawing in a long, slow breath, Jim gives his head a shake. “We’ve talked about some of that. About how we don’t know exactly how fast he’ll age, given his mixed heritage. He hasn’t mentioned anything about a katra, but we’ve also mainly been thinking about how to survive to the end of the Enterprise’s five year mission. Longer term talks will have to happen after that.”

Amanda ducks her head, and Jim watches as she steadies her breathing before meeting his eyes again. “I can see how that would be a decision that seems sound to both of you. But I wish, for his sake, that he told you more about what he is.”

Jim tries his legs again, and though it hurts, he manages to stand.

Manages to hobble over to the older woman, and trace his fingers over hers, not touching her; trace his fingers over her face, again not touching her.

Amanda’s eyes widen, and her lips turn into a slight smile. “Well. I see he has been teaching you some things.”

Jim slides his fingers into the familiar Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper. Infinite diversity in infinite complexity. I think Spock’s been telling me what he’s comfortable sharing, when he’s comfortable sharing it, and I cherish every single moment.”

“I suppose that’s all anyone can ask from the one they love.” Amanda studies Jim for a few seconds more, and then nods. “You and Spock will come have a meal with us. I can’t promise it will be a tan sov , but I certainly intend to try to make it one.”

“I appreciate that, but what’s a tan sov ?” Jim asks politely.

Amanda just smiles, turning away and heading who knows where faster than Jim can currently hobble.

Bones doesn’t help, answering Jim’s questioning look with a shrug and a, “If the food’s good, can you invite me too?”

It almost makes Jim think it’s wo uld be worth limping to his quarters.

Almost, but the leg he was stung in is still a burning throb, and his head seems to expand and contract with every beat of his heart, so instead he limps back to one of the medical berths and collapses face down on it. “Bones, make it all stop hurting.”

“Your wish is my command, Captain.” Bones presses another hypospray against his neck, and Jim sighs in gratitude as the entire world fades to a less painful distance. “If I knew all it takes to make you a good patient is a little domestic drama, I’d have invited the in-laws over sooner.”

Jim thinks he manages to say something cutting, but he’s not entirely certain as he lets his eyes drift closed and gentler sleep takes him.

***

Spock studies his father, waiting for Sarek to talk.

Sarek just stares back at him, eyes a familiar distant cold spark that Spock will not be able to change.

Unlike the last time he and his father faced off like this, Spock finds that he actually doesn’t care to change Sarek’s mind.

Spock is happy with where his life is right now.

Happy.

Once that word would have caused him to balk and rail. Once he would have said that he is not happy; not because he isn’t, but because he doesn’t want to be.

Because he doesn’t want any emotions.

But that’s not true. Perhaps it has never been true. Perhaps it can never be true. Spock is starting to wonder if the true secret to not being controlled by one’s emotions isn’t to deny them entirely, but to let them flow through one’s body. To experience them, but not dwell in them.

And he has experienced happiness with James T. Kirk.

He has experienced it many times, both through his own body, and through what he feels when melded with Jim.

He has been happy, and he will be happy, and he will not risk that happiness for a man who does not understand him.

“This is what you traded the Vulcan Science Academy for.” Sarek is the one who breaks the silence, finally. “A life of danger and a relationship that cannot last.”

“A life of exploration and wonder, and a relationship that will last exactly as long as it is supposed to last. As all relationships last the length of time that they are meant to last .”

Sarek gives his head a small shake. “You try to use philosophy against me?”

“No.” Spock finds that the word is true as it leaves his mouth. “I tell you the philosophy that is currently guiding me.”

Sarek narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t say more.

Spock is the one who cracks the silence first this time. “Is it because he is Human, or because he’s a man, or some other concern that I haven’t yet parsed?”

“Well, he is your commanding officer.” Sarek draws out the words. “And he cannot give you a stable life. He will die before you. There will be no children.”

“The likelihood that I would be able to have children as a hybrid is small anyway, and I have no desire to raise a young person.” Spock draws in a sharp breath. “I know that there are expectations in Vulcan society—”

“Reasonable expectations like the relationships you enter into will help to improve your future prospects?”

“He has.” Spock’s voice comes out quiet but firm. “He always will.”

Sarek sighs. “And when were you going to tell us?”

Spock arches one eyebrow. “When it became relevant.”

“It was relevant the moment you decided he is t’hy’la!”

“Why?” Spock throws the question at his father. “Why does what I do with my life impact yours so much?”

Sarek sinks into a deeper scowl.

“Because you are our child,” Mother’s voice answers from the doorway, and Spock must be more upset by this conversation than he realized, because he didn’t hear her enter. “And we like to know that you are doing well.”

“Mother.” Spock stands, offering his seat.

Mother waves a hand to gesture him back into the chair. “You can make your own choices, Spock—”

“Even if they aren’t good ones,” Sarek mutters.

Mother ignores him. “But we do like to know about them. We want to help, where we can; we want to celebrate, where we can. And that is why, when you drop us off at home, you will stay, and James Kirk will stay, and we will have a tan sov .

Spock freezes, staring up at his mother in shock. “But… that is for after a marriage, Mother.”

“And you are married in all but the legal sense, are you not?”

Sarek raises his eyes to the sky. “Legal is an important sense when most people refer to a legal ly binding contract when they use a word.”

“And so I will celebrate as a mother should celebrate.” Amanda smiles, placing just the tips of her fingers against Sarek’s shoulder. “And you will celebrate with us, my love.”

Sarek sighs, but there’s something Spock had not expected in his eyes when he looks at Mother. And his tone, when he replies, is far gentler than Spock would have thought possible, given his clear disapproval earlier. “I think that is something that can be arranged.”

Standing, Sarek follows Mother as she heads for the door.

Spock watches his parents leave, not entirely certain he knows what’s happening, but starting to suspect everything will turn out all right.

Which is a very Jim thought to have—unsurprising, given how deeply he melded with Jim.

Perhaps that means it is time to find the captain, and reassure him that all is well, the Enterprise safe in the hands of her officers and on its way back to Vulcan.

The fact that Spock will enjoy speaking with his t’hy’la is simply an added bonus.

***

“Okay, Spock, but surely you can tell me a little more about what a tan sov is?” Kirk straightens his dress uniform, though he already knows it looks impeccable. He considers once again whether he should try civilian dress clothes, but that gives far too many options, and right now he just wants to be certain that he looks good and isn’t going to embarrass his first officer in front of his parents.

No… isn’t going to embarrass his t’hy’la.

Bones takes another sip from his glass, one leg crossed over the other where lounging in Jim’s desk chair, watching Jim and Spock. His grin only widens when Jim glares at him.

“I would tell you more if I knew more, Captain.” Spock has also elected to wear his dress uniform and to retreat into formality. “But I have never been invited to a wedding feast before. They can last for several days, and I… did not have close friends who would have delighted in my company for so long.”

“May I make a suggestion?” Bones raises his glass.

Jim turns to him warily. “Is it a suggestion that goes beyond invite me down if the food is good?”

“It is.” Bones finishes his drink and sets the glass down neatly on Jim’s desk. “The suggestion is: do not wear your Starfleet uniforms to your wedding party. Do not obsess over what it’s going to mean. Just go have a good time with people who were really stupidly happy that the two of you survived.”

Jim frowns. “What?”

“Sarek and Amanda.” Bones stands, moving forward to put a hand on each of Jim’s shoulders, maintaining eye contact. “The two of them followed the two of you down to the med bay, and they were doing that hand thing the whole time, and they were watching you, Jim, like if you had the temerity to die, they’d resurrect you just so they could have the pleasure of killing you again.”

Spock scowls, his brows drawn together. “I do not see what that has to do with—”

Bones cuts him off. “I think this really is going to be a celebration. Just Amanda toasting her baby boy all grown up, and figuring out what her son-in-law is when he’s not stabbed, concussed, or drugged out of his mind. So wear nice clothes, but make them comfortable. And don’t try to have a step by step, blow by blow plan. All they said you had to do was show up. So show up!”

Steepling his fingers in front of his face, Spock allows his voice to deepen as he says, “We were already planning to do that, Doctor. Hence why you have been watching us fuss with our uniforms for the last ten minutes.”

Bones tosses himself back down into the seat. “And hence why I am rescuing you from yourselves. I thought between your big brain and Jim’s typical ability to handle himself in social situations, it wouldn’t be necessary, but maybe you guys were missing some context.”

“The context being…” Jim allows a smile to turn up the corner of his mouth. “This isn’t a test, is it? This is really just a celebration.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t put money on Sarek not considering it a test, but he’s a pointy-eared Vulcan, so you can’t win them all.” Bones crosses his legs again. “And I think if it is a test, it’s not one that the two of you can win by going in nervous and trying to impress them. I think it’s something you’ve got to pass just by being you.”

Jim makes a soft sound low in throat, and moves to hover his hand over Spock’s. Not quite touching, but close enough that they can both feel the possibility of contact; both feel the possibility of falling into one another once again. “I think we’re pretty good at being ourselves. What do you say, Spock?”

Spock turns his hand, his fingers following the same paths Jim’s do, just a hair’s breadth between their flesh. “I think I had best go change, Captain.”

“I think I’d best do the same.”

“Then I suppose I had best—” Bones starts to rise, and Jim puts a hand on his shoulder, sending him back into his seat.

Jim pats his friend’s shoulder. “You had best help me find an outfit that’ll look good and not have me dying of heat stroke or sand anything.”

“Yes, sir,” Bones says, picking his glass back up before looking sadly at the empty bottom.

Jim returns to his closet, hopefully for the last time, feeling just a little bit lighter about the whole situation.

***

Spock leads Jim into him childhood home.

It’s strange, trying to imagine what Jim sees. Does he appreciate the artful grace of mathematics that has gone into crafting Sarek’s home, or does he merely see empty space and not know what to make of it?

Jim’s smiling, though; grinning more and more as they follow Amanda through the halls and into a room that is lit by candles in glass mountings that cause the light to throw fractal patterns across every surface. Patterns that shift and shimmy with the movement of the air, an announcement of everyone’s presence; a declaration of every breath, every hint of life.

A table has been set in the center of the room, and four chairs are arranged around it. Platters of food already cover the smooth, polished wood of the surface.

Wood. On Vulcan.

Does Jim understand what that means? Does he appreciate that wood is used only for special occasions?

The sun has started to set, leaving the windows pools of darkness through which faint stars are just starting to peer.

Sarek appears across from them, on the other side of the room, the table between him and their party.

A waiting tension fills the room, but it’s one of joy rather than fear, and so Spock allows it to play out as his parents clearly wish.

“Praise be to all the ancestors that have led to me standing here, the culmination of their struggles and strengths.” Amanda places her hands together, her head bowed as she faces the table. “I thank them for their time; for the wisdom that they encoded in flesh; for the gift that is their heritage, which I have passed on to my child, and that he will hopefully decide one day to pass on again.”

Sark takes a step forward from the other side of the room, mirroring Mother’s movements. “Praise be to all the ancestors that have led down to me. To those whose thoughts have tangled in mine. To those whose theories have enriched my life. To those whose poetry will give my words wings this night. I have offered them all to my child, that he may in turn decide to pass them on again.”

Spock glances at Jim, but Jim still looks... practically giddy, taking in what is clearly a ritual with the same bright, eager eyes with which he might regard an alien planet.

Does that hurt? To be seen as alien? As other?

No, Spock decides. No, not here, not now. It is not judgment that he sees in Jim’s eyes, after all; not judgment that he feels pulsing in the narrow space between them that his hand would like to close. It is excitement, and wonder, and pure, undiluted glee.

Jim is so good at feeling things purely.

Amanda takes another two steps towards the table. “Praise be to my ancestors. To those who raised hands and voices, and built this world which I am offering to my child, and that he may choose to pass on.”

Sarek once more provides a mirror. “Praise be to my ancestors. To those who laid down arms; to those who learned to walk in the path of Surak; to those who have crafted Surak’s teachings into a thousand-fold mosaic that all may walk in their own time, in their own fashion. I have taught my path to my son, that he may choose to pass it down, if he so wills.”

Four steps from Amanda; the start of the Fibonacci sequence, one of the foundational numerical formulae for natural phenomenon. She arrives at the table, and holds her hands over the food. “Praise be to all that has shaped my world, from the smallest spark to the greatest conflagration of spirit. I am honored to pass this all to my son.”

Sarek closes the distance to the table, four steps from him as well, and his hands hover over Amanda’s. “Praise be to all that the spirit of life has touched. Infinite diversity in infinite complexity, you have led us here. May we be sustained, and may we be the sustenance that keeps other alive, onward through the generations.”

“Live long and prosper,” Amanda and Sarek say at the same time, and Spock cannot see his mother’s face, but he can see the way Sarek’s eyes soften; see the way Sarek’s mouth curves just slightly.

He spent so much of his childhood looking for signs that his parents loved each other, and then so much of his adulthood certain that they didn’t. And yet here, as they perform this ritual for him, he is certain both that they love each other and that they love him.

Even if it has not always been in the way he needed.

Even if it has rarely been in the way he wanted, his father too cold, his mother too intent on both folding herself into Vulcan society and maintaining her connections with Earth culture.

Sarek and Amanda finally clasp hands, and then release each other, both turning their full attention to Spock and Jim.

“Come,” Amanda gestures to two of the chairs. “Sit, and be welcome, children of our hearts and home.”

Jim moves forward without hesitation, and Spock follows in his wake. Amanda settles Jim into the seat next to her, and settles Spock next to him.

Spock isn’t surprised when Sarek settles next to Spock, but he is surprised when Sarek starts serving food from the central platters to everyone’s plates. Usually the youngest serves, not the eldest.

But this is not a usual day… and perhaps, just perhaps, that is not something that Spock has to dread.

***

Jim finds himself incredibly glad that he changed out of dress uniform. Though it’s not nearly as uncomfortable as Bones likes to insist, it’s certainly not as comfortable as the simple tunic and dress pants that he decided on.

The clothes don’t quite blend in with Amanda’s clothes, or with the proper Vulcan robes that both Sarek and Spock are wearing, but they at least are in the same wheelhouse.

Jim’s pretty good at managing things so long as they’re tangentially related to something he’s good at.

Amanda makes it easy, smiling and laughing and generally guiding the conversation. It makes up for the silence that radiates out from Sarek.

Silence that doesn’t seem… intentional? No, that’s not quite the right word.

Hostile. The silence doesn’t feel hostile.

It feels more like the silences Spock can fall into, when he wishes to communicate but simply doesn’t know how; either because he’s lacking the words, or because he doesn’t know what it is he wants to say.

The best thing to do for Spock is to give him time and to keep him included, and Jim decides to treat Sarek like that.

The meal lasts for a solid hour, Amanda indicating when something new should be added to their plates and Sarek doing the honors. The meal is entirely vegetarian, which Jim had expected; it’s absolutely delicious, filled with a variety of flavors covering the entirety of the flavor spectrum, and that Jim hadn’t expected.

Just like he hadn’t expected the quiet beauty of the Vulcan buildings, or the ritualized blessings with which the meal had started.

Sometimes it’s good to be surprised.

The meal winds down, and Amanda and Sarek both drift away from the table, leaving Jim and Spock a bit of time to talk.

“Thank you.” Jim clinks his glass against Spock’s. “For inviting me here.”

“I did not. That would be my mother.” Spock takes a sip from his glass. “But I understand and appreciate the sentiment.”

Jim hums and tries again. “Then how about this: thank you for inviting me into your family.”

Spock’s lips move for a moment, and then he whispers, “Thank you for accepting. I know it is not like any other family…”

“No family is.” Jim places his hand gently atop Spock’s. “But yours is beautiful. Both your worlds are beautiful.”

He means it. Spock can feel that he means it, and he presses his fingers against Jim’s, glad that he found this person.

Glad that they found each other.

Infinite diversity in infinite complexity, and sometimes angles that grate against some environments fit exactly into others.

“Spock.” Mother’s voice calls lightly from the window. “Will you come speak with me for a moment?”

“Of course,” Spock says, standing and moving to follow her.

She smiles when he comes up beside her. “You found a wonderful man, you know.”

Spock considers, and then gives a slow nod. “I am aware.”

Mother laughs, and the sound seems to take up residence between Spock’s ribs, vibrating pleasantly. “I’m glad. I know it’s not always easy, a Vulcan loving a Human, but it can be wondrous.”

“I know, Mother.” Spock reaches out to place a hand on Mother’s shoulder. “Thank you for arranging this.”

“I had to. I know you wouldn’t have marked the occasion in any way, and it should be an occasion. Love always should be.” Sliding an arm around his waist, Mother leans her head against Spock’s chest.

“Love doesn’t need to be marked on the calendar. Neither does family.” Spock allows his hand to rest around his mother, a gentle embrace. “But sometimes it is nice to celebrate.”

“Never let a chance to celebrate go by,” Mother warns sternly. “Rarely will you regret celebrating, but often have I regretted not.”

Spock doesn’t argue with his mother. Instead he holds her, and they watch the stars burn brighter and brighter over the desert sands, lights to lead lost travelers through the dark.

***

Jim sits with Sarek, and just like with Spock, eventually the Vulcan decides to break the silence. “Why did you decide to become t’hy’la with my son?”

Jim considers and discards several answers before settling on the simple truth. “I love him.”

Sarek’s eyes narrow. “Love is a chemical reaction. An emotion that no two individuals will describe in exactly the same way. It is not a good reason to disrupt someone’s entire life.”

“It’s the only thing worth disrupting someone’s life for.” Jim holds up a hand. “I know that Vulcan is founded on logic. But it’s founded on logic because Surak loved his people, and was tired of watching them slaughter each other. Love is the reason parents protect their children; the reason we preserve ecosystems; the entirety of Starfleet’s reason for existing.”

“Well if we’re going to redefine the term to mean whatever you want it to mean—”

“You know that’s not what I’m doing, sir.” Jim stares into Sarek’s eyes, willing the far older man to understand. “You know what love is. I’ve seen it between you and your wife; between you and your son. It’s the reason a Vulcan decided to have a hybrid child in the first place, isn’t it?”

Sarek is the one who looks away first. “There are things you have to talk about. Things my wife and discussed at length before we bonded.”

“We’ll discuss them when we need to.” Jim looks towards the window, where Spock stands with his arm around his mother.

“And what’s done is done, as my wife has insisted time and time again.” Sarek follows Jim’s gaze, and his expression softens noticeably once more. “I do wish for you and Spock to live long and prosper, James Kirk. With all of my heart and soul and mind, I wish it.”

“I accept and honor your wishes.” Jim stands, and almost offers a hand to the older man before remembering how much Vulcans dislike casual physical contact as a rule. “Shall we also observe the stars, sir? I do love seeing how they differ by planet, and I am certain Vulcan’s constellations are a sight different from Earth’s.”

Sarek gives him an I know what you’re doing look, but stands, guiding Jim over to another window.

Jim catches Spock’s eye, smiling at the man who is family and friend and lover; the man who is another piece of his soul contained in a different body.

He’s glad they’re having this chance to talk with Spock’s parents.

He’ll be glad to get back to the Enterprise and their mission.

He’s just glad to be here, in a universe with Spock, the two of them breathing the same air and tackling the same trials.

So long as that’s true, James T. Kirk thinks he can take on anything the future holds for them.