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Chapter Text

Jim checked the time on his right and sighed with relief; only two hours, thirteen minutes, and forty-three seconds left until his shift was over, and his well-earned rest began.

God bless the leaves, he thought, looking furtively around before stretching in his chair.

“Stayed up late with any of the crew, Captain?” Bones poked him in the side with his finger, interrupting a series of creaking sounds in his joints, and Jim huddled exhausted in his chair, now uninterested in anyone who saw him.

“Maybe,” he muttered, hiding his face behind his arm.

Bones looked at him worriedly. “Are you feeling ill? Weak? Aching bones? Feeling hot? Headache, stomach pain?” he began to rattle off, running the tricorder around him and turning him over like a roulade to examine his entire body.

“Get that thing off,” Jim hissed, slapping him indiscriminately, but Bones didn’t budge.

“I need to make sure you haven’t caught that damn virus that’s going around the Enterprise,” he explained, holding his head still. “Betsy Adams and Anthony Fisher came into sickbay two days ago, and they seemed fine until they showed me their hands. It was a horrible sight, and they had almost all the symptoms I listed before. God only knows what they did to get it.”

“You couldn’t figure out what it could be?” Jim asked, surprised.

“Not really. The symptoms would look like normal flu except for the fingers; they swelled so much that much of the skin broke off. And while they’ve shrunk back to normal size now, they’re still running a very high fever, and taking them back to their quarters is out of the question. It wouldn't be a problem, except that ten people came in between yesterday and today, and it's not like there are infinite beds."

Bones made a noise of annoyance deep in his chest, and Jim sighed and patted him on the shoulder. He knew well how much Leonard hated failing at something, especially when it came to his job, but it happened very rarely, so no big deal.

"You'll see that in less than a moment, the genius in you will come out like always, Bones," he reassured him. "What are your plans for these days?"

"Since Joanna is staying with her mother this year, I think I'll take the opportunity to stay here and find a damn cure for this thing. Hopefully, at least the healthy ones will leave, and I'll have more time to think without a horde of sick people coming. I've contacted everyone I can to look for clues, but so far, less than zero. In any case, our science officer, having nothing to do, decided to give me a hand.”

Just then, Carol Marcus entered the bridge and gave Bones a huge smile, who responded enthusiastically.

Jim shook his head. “I thought it was strange, this sudden attachment to the crew,” he commented, earning a glare from his friend.

“I always do my job, Captain. And anyway, what have you decided to do? Are you going to try to win the heart of some defenseless girl?”

“Not at all,” Jim blurted out, suddenly irritated. “I’m going to stay in my quarters and sleep until it’s time to sit back in this chair.”

With that, he burrowed his head between his knees.

“Sleep? I’m sure you won’t, Captain.”

“Don’t—” Jim gritted his teeth, blowing air out of his nose, “call me ‘Captain’. At least you do, Bones. I still have Spock to contend with and all those stakes he has up my—”

“Captain.”

Jim spun so quickly that he heard a slight crack from his neck, just to find a stomach two centimeters from his nose.

The stomach in question, he discovered a second later, belonged to Spock, and for some reason that seemed to amuse Bones a great deal.

"Spock," Jim coughed, immediately turning around and looking carefully for any imperfections in the impeccable chair; Bones chuckled even more amusedly. "We were talking about you, Spockey," he informed him, but he fell silent as Jim stepped on his foot.

Spock raised his eyebrows. "Indeed. Captain," he repeated, then turning to Jim, who slowly re-emerged.

"Tell me, Sp—why are you wearing that thing?" Jim asked suddenly, pointing, and the thing itself was a completely black jumpsuit, not unlike the uniform he wore almost constantly, but—

"My shift ended thirty minutes ago," Spock explained, "I preferred to wear these for several reasons. But the point is that—"

"Black suits you," McCoy interjected. "You're sexy," he sneered, and this time they decided to ignore him outright, although Jim noticed a slight twitch in Spock's nose, a sign that a small part of his green blood was boiling with annoyance. Jim smiled at the thought.

"I wish, at the end of your shift, to be able to speak with you," Spock concluded, as if no one had interrupted.

Jim looked at him in surprise. "Did something happen?"

" No, Captain. It is of secondary if not tertiary importance, at this time," Spock reassured him.

Jim sighed in relief, then became curious. "What is it, then?"

" We'll talk about that in... approximately one hour and fifty-three minutes," Spock clarified. He started to leave, but Jim rose from his chair and stopped him before he could set foot in the elevator.

" Spock, should I be worried?" he asked.

Suddenly, he felt nervous. Not that Spock was not mysterious—but above all, in speaking, judging, expressing himself, or giving news, he was always very clear and sincere. So, the idea that he did not quickly state what he had to say, reassured him on one hand, and terrified him on the other.

On the other hand, if it had been very serious, he was sure that he would have told him, whatever it was, so...

“I thought I had already answered that question, even if phrased differently than a no, Captain,” Spock syllabified. He was always so calm; it was nerve-wracking.

"Then why don't you tell me now?" he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest and barely seeing Bones's greeting as she left the bridge with Marcus.

"Because you’re not done with your shift and it's not that important to discuss right now," and Spock's tone of voice reached a vaguely exasperated tone, so much so that Jim went on the attack.

"Okay, then. I can always assign Sulu to take command for a while and—"

"Sometimes I don't understand you, Captain," Spock sighed, and this time he didn't hold back from showing his disappointment. "You would be willing to violate a rulebook to know something you can learn in a little less than two hours. It's illogical."

Jim rolled his eyes. "In fact, you're the logical one here, not me. Two hours is an infinite amount of time," he complained, and almost threw himself at his feet to beg.

"Actually," Spock retorted, "two hours is a very definite time; it equals one hundred and twenty minutes, seven thousand two hundred seconds—"

"I hate you," Jim blurted out in frustration, and in anger, he punched him in the shoulder, remembering a second too late the exact consistency of Spock's body.

He felt a drop of sweat of anticipation run down his temple, and the pain came two seconds later. He bit his lip, trying not to make a sound, concentrating on the ceiling and not on his throbbing knuckles.

Spock frowned. "Are you hurt, Captain?" He untangled his hands from behind his back, but as he brought one toward the other, Jim quickly backed away.

"No, who do you take me for?" he snorted. "See you in two hours." Without even saying goodbye, he sat back in his chair. He waited a few seconds and slowly turned around, pouting as he realized that Spock was gone.

Well, his choice; in any case, he would never give him the satisfaction of admitting that he had bruised himself by punching him, just because he was made of marble.

He had punched Khan; he was no rookie. He just had a gift for hitting people who were less... predisposed to taking it.

"Hey, Sulu," he called, not even caring if he was in an official capacity, "what are Vulcans made of?"

Sulu didn't turn around immediately, but momentarily released the pilot and shrugged. "I don't do anatomy, much less alien anatomy. I think you should ask Doctor McCoy, but I think they're flesh and blood like humans, sir. Even though the blood is green, and the tissues are tougher, which is why—"

“... punching Spock was a stupid move.”

Bones entered the bridge for the umpteenth time, but this time with an ointment in his hand. He stood in front of his best friend and held out his arm. “Give it here,” he ordered.

“How do you know that—"

“Spock told me. Give it here,” he repeated, and Jim slapped his hand over Bones's, wincing in pain a second later.

Bones shook his head. “Why do you do this, Jim? You’re not even married, and you’re already fighting? This isn’t the frustration I was talking about.”

Jim pointedly ignored the snickers coming from Sulu and Chekov, contemplating accidentally throwing them off the Enterprise.

“For a Vulcan with no emotions, he takes great pleasure in teasing,” Jim said through gritted teeth, hissing at the cold ointment.

“He came to me about five minutes after I left here, rather quickly and worriedly, telling me you were hurt. He told me what happened after I asked, so he knew what to bring, so—”

“Okay, okay,” Jim said, annoyed. “You want to defend him? Defend him.”

“You know how much it costs me doing this, Jim,” Bones said.

It did, however, help the clock a great deal. When Bones left, there was only an hour left of his shift; everything in the Enterprise was fine, the space seemed clear of any threats, and Sulu and Chekov were chatting, a sign that there was nothing to worry about.

So, he settled back in his chair and before he knew it, fell asleep.

“Jim. Jim. Wake up, shift’s over.”

A gentle hand was shaking him lightly, and from the gentleness—and the voice, too—it couldn’t have been McCoy.

He slowly opened his eyes and found himself facing Uhura. “Jim, wake up. I have some bags to pack, and I won’t be late for you,” she warned him, offering him a hand to pull himself up.

Jim groaned, more for the pain in his back than for the interrupted sleep, and tried to stand up as best he could. “Where are you going this Christmas?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“I’ll spend it with some friends,” she replied, laconically.

Jim nodded, then Nyota added, “I actually planned it with a different destination and company, but... well, it went another way.” She said it with no reproachful tone and without a precise direction, but as soon as she said it, she made herself smaller, and Jim felt the guilt rise.

As soon as he got on the ship, he knew that no one liked him very much, except Bones. He had very few friends even at the Academy, despite being very popular—especially among the girls. He didn't care, anyway; he was there to do his duty, not to please anyone.

His thought, however, had changed as soon as he saw the relationship that existed among the crew, in which even the most strangers greeted each other with pleasure, while he was taken into consideration more for duty than anything else.

Nyota, then, was in a special category: she was one of the few members of the I Don't Need Jim Kirk's Bird to Survive club, or something like that, and over time Jim had learned to appreciate her, managing to find in her a friend and the sister he had never had.

All of this had changed radically when she and Spock had broken up.

Jim had only found out about it after several weeks, and only by hearsay in the recreation room, since neither of them had changed their professionalism. He had shown no sign of having noticed the girls talking about it, but they had still gone silent and stared at him for a long time, as if he were somehow responsible.

He had not paid much attention. Uhura was a woman, and like most people of that sex, she needed security, warmth, and above all, a lot of words. Considering that Spock could keep quiet for hours and refused to speak unless necessary... well, the defeat was quite understandable.

Despite everything, however, in addition to the fact that the weeks were passing and Uhura had not told him any of this, she had started to remain rather taciturn and to avoid him.

Jim respected her and had stepped aside, confident that whatever was going on (possibly even against him), as soon as she was ready, she would tell him.

Indeed, not even ten days later, she had jumped on him and apologized. He hadn't been able to understand exactly what she was apologizing for, because she had run away without saying anything else, and when they had met again, Jim had told himself that it wasn't that important.

So—

"Jim. You're dreaming again."

Hearing his name, he jumped and shook himself from his thoughts. "I... I'm sorry. For how it went," he murmured, lowering his eyes.

Nyota lifted his chin with a finger and smiled. "It doesn't matter. I've been taught that there's always something better around the corner. Have a good leave, Jim."

Jim barely had time to nod before Nyota had disappeared, and he found himself alone on the bridge. He looked around nervously, looking for something to do: ten minutes of vacation and he was already bored.

God, no.

He certainly couldn't bother Bones and Spock—

"Damn, Spock!"

He flew into the elevator and, on the way to the quarters, he almost crashed into five or six people. However, he arrived at Spock's doors in less than two minutes.

As he approached, they opened automatically. Jim started to speak, but stopped.

Spock was hunched over in bed, diligently packing something into a suitcase, and suddenly Jim realized that Bones was right; black really suited him.

"Humans tend to announce themselves rather loudly. I guess you value everything you did before you came in here."

Jim blushed and took a couple of steps forward, trying very hard not to look at his first officer's ass.

"Oh, did you hear that...? I was late and, uh, I think I fell asleep," he admitted, scratching his head in great embarrassment.

Spock was perpetually punctual—not a minute early, not a minute late. So, the fact that he tried so hard and couldn't do it... Yes, Spock was a pain in the ribs.

"Don't use expressions of doubt about certain things, Jim," Spock agreed, and before Jim could reply, the Vulcan finally turned and looked at him calmly.

"I have something to tell you," he stated.

"Yes, you said that before," Jim sighed, sitting down wearily in a chair.

Spock took a second to look at him in annoyance, then sat up in bed and snorted slightly.

Hesitation. Oh, that was new.

He avoided saying it out loud, but he couldn't help but realize something. "Where are you going with those suitcases?"

His tone came out rather disappointed. It wasn't as if he had counted on anyone, but at the same time, he had almost assumed that Spock would be staying here.

With him.

Well, that was stupid, because Spock hadn't said anything at all, and Jim had no right to complain. And if he wanted to leave, then so be it.

"That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. It's been a long time since I've seen my mother, and I'd like to take advantage of this leave to meet her."

Spock said it casually, and Jim again couldn't help but smile in personal victory: finally, his first officer was showing some humanity.

"Well, then," Jim clapped his hands, trying to look happy for him. The opposite would have been really selfish. "Are you going to Vulcan?"

"Not really; for some reason I still can't figure out, my mother made it clear that she wanted to land on Earth."

"And of course, you find that illogical," Jim concluded for him, but Spock shook his head.

"Not really. It's her planet, and I'm sure that as a human, she misses it. What I don't understand is why she wanted a house to... rent, she called it. A house that she hasn't found yet."

Jim looked at him, the corners of his mouth slightly raised. "Why, don't you miss Vulcan? Your family?"

"I'm a Vulcan, Jim. And Vulcans don't feel homesick."

Jim tried to reply; the tone of Spock’s voice was nostalgic, and Jim was a thousand things, but not stupid. Okay, maybe he was a bit stupid, but he understood some things. And the fact that he didn't want to admit it made him doubly nervous.

Instead, it was Spock who spoke again. “I was able to visualize at least twenty different states of mind in you in less than two hundred seconds, including disappointment, sadness, pity, happiness, and through it all, there was a note of sarcasm that I learned was always a part of you. Do you want to tell me something, Jim?”

Not even Doctor McCoy could give a report so seriously, but Jim imagined that Vulcan standards were different.

In any case, Jim shrank in his chair and burst out laughing. “What? I've never seen a more incorrect diagnosis than that, Spock. You're a first officer and not a psychologist for nothing, hm?” he said arrogantly. “So, is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” he added, and this time his disappointment was evident, so much so that Spock lowered his head.

"No. Or rather, this was the beginning, but there was a second part. It seems obvious to me that it is not of interest to you, so—"

"Wait, are you offended?"

Spock sighed deeply, shook his head, and looked at him with a sort of pity. "No, I was just stating the reality. Now, if you don't mind—"

"Hey, no!" Jim railed, grabbing him by the wrist. "I didn't wait two hours and ten minutes to see you with a broken-hearted Vulcan face. Now you tell me what you have to say—"

"Jim—"

"I'm not moving from here until you tell me," he threatened, sitting back in his chair and bracing his feet. "If I have to, I’ll lock you up and not let you go anywhere."

Spock raised his eyebrows and stared at him, then nodded. " Your immaturity astounds me. Anyway, I wanted to suggest you spend your leave with me."

Jim's thoughts went haywire.

"W—with you...?” he stammered, not taking a deep breath for fear that his shirt would tear in several places.

“With me,” Spock repeated. “And with my parents,” he added, “but you have my word that neither of them will be intrusive towards you.”

Jim could feel the last of his neurons melting into a puddle of confused feelings, and this time he had the distinct impression that Spock was practically laughing under his breath.

“I take this opportunity to apologize in advance for taking the liberty of asking about Dr. McCoy if you had other plans. I figured that in that case, I wouldn't even ask, so as not to put you in a bind of choosing between me and anyone else.”

Jim smirked. “You're pretty sure of your place in my life, aren't you?” he murmured, and realized a second later what he had said.

Oh, Jim, you're a total idiot.

“Absolutely. But I know and have noticed that you humans have a particular propensity for trying not to be rude to anyone, and I am almost certain that in that case you would have had a hard time saying no to me for fear of offending me,” Spock explained.

“And how did you know that I would have said no to you? »

“Logically, you respect the commitments made previously. If I had arrived later, you would certainly have denied the proposal to me.”

Jim rolled his eyes. Logically. It was clear that he had not understood anything.

“You should do fewer calculations and open yourself to more possibilities, Spock. Also, because—wait, did Bones know?” he realized.

“I asked Dr. McCoy not to mention it to anyone. And he gladly agreed, claiming that you would have appreciated the... surprise.”

Jim gave a half-nod of understanding and remained silent, and the room fell silent except for a rhythmic rubbing of thumb and forefinger by Spock.

Bones knew that he hated surprises or any kind of unexpected commitment or situation that could change his plans. Well, not that he had anything particularly important to do, admittedly. And besides, he was hoping—imagining—to spend his leave with him, so...

“I think my house in San Francisco will do, for these days,» he thought aloud.

Spock looked at him, confused. “Excuse me?”

“My house in San Francisco,” Jim nodded, convinced. “There's a large bathroom, and two bedrooms. Your parents will have one, and the two of us... I imagine I could sleep comfortably on the couch. If I remember correctly, it’s fairly large.”

“Should I take that as a positive statement?”

Jim did a pathetic but rather faithful imitation of a military salute and smiled. “Yes, sir.”

Jim began to worry about the whole thing precisely twenty minutes later, when the wave of enthusiasm died down and he found himself alone in his quarters, intent on packing.

Not that he didn't like the idea anymore, but in his few but intense years of experience in certain things, he had avoided close relationships for precisely that reason; he was James Tiberius Kirk, and he truly wasn't cut out for those things. He didn't want serious ties, to avoid having to deal with the hassle of meeting the parents.

It seemed that Spock hadn't paid attention instead, and perhaps there was none of that in his customs, but Amanda was human, so—

So, in a couple of hours, he would find himself facing not one, but two of them.

"Oh my God," he complained, throwing himself on the bed, "I can't do it."

"Yes, you can. You don't want to disappoint your boyfriend and that grumpy Vulcan father-in-law of yours?"

Jim slowly raised his head from the pillow and shook his head at Bones— he didn’t know if he was his best friend anymore, at that point, because he seemed to enjoy seeing him in difficulty a bit too much.

“Sarek is not grumpy. And he’s not my father-in-law, either,” he added, annoyed, tempted to throw something in Bones' face just to wipe the smirk off his face. “If you had told me this before, I wouldn't—"

“What? It wouldn't have changed anything, Jim. Besides, Spock confided in me, and on one hand, I know he did it because he was forced to, but I didn't want to betray his trust. And then you would have ruined everything, because you can't tell lies or keep a secret to yourself.”

“Since when you care more about Spock than me?” Jim felt hurt deep inside. “I can keep a secret.”

"Jim, I heard you gossiping with Scotty about the two new maintenance guys yesterday."

Jim started to open his mouth, but Bones raised his eyebrows and closed it, defeated. "Good," he finally said, "but now help me pack my suitcase."

Exactly one hour later, Jim and Spock found themselves in the transporter room.

"Are you okay, Spock?"

"Excellent, Captain."

Jim sighed deeply. "For the last time, Spock, stop calling me that. We're going on a leave together, for God’s sake! Are you going to call me that in front of your parents, too?"

"I wouldn't mean to offend by telling you that my parents don't care what I plan to call you, Jim," Spock reported impassively, apparently closing the conversation.

Jim looked at him in disbelief and wondered if his friend knew the Terran insults, and just as he was about to use some, Scotty woke them up. “Come on, people, I have to beam a five-hundred-pound load after you. Not everyone goes on vacation!”

“You went a month ago!” Jim protested, obeying.

Scotty shrugged and stared at the destination coordinates on the screen, clapping his hands. “Yeah, well, I love my little girl, especially during Christmas.”

“Of course,” Jim muttered skeptically, then frowned. “Spock, how many suitcases are you carrying, exactly?”

“Since there are four suitcases present, and only one is yours, I assume the remaining three are mine,” he calculated.

 Jim snorted. “Will there ever be a time when you will answer normally and not recite pi to me from memory?”

“I didn't recite pi—"

“Goodness!” Jim exclaimed. “What time will your parents arrive?” he asked, then, completely changing the subject.

“I gave them the coordinates twenty minutes ago; I imagine they are already outside waiting for us.”

“Outside?!” Jim repeated indignantly. “You made them arrive early and didn’t tell me? It must be ten degrees in that place!”

Spock merely batted his eyelashes. “I informed them of the current temperatures, and I’m sure they are dressed appropriately; don’t worry. Anyway, it didn’t seem polite for them to enter a house that wasn’t theirs.”

"It's my house, Spock, not a stranger's!"

"Just because we're colleagues—"

"But we're not just colleagues!" Jim blurted out, blushing immediately after. "We're... we're friends," he muttered, lowering his head in embarrassment.

"Oh, come on," Scotty complained, "you can declare yourselves at home!"

Spock sighed deeply and put his hand on his arm. "We have to go, Jim."

Jim nodded, moving towards the transporter point, and closed his eyes for a moment.

He wasn't sure if the conversation was over or simply postponed, and he didn't even know if there was a real conversation.

Because talking about it again would mean exposing himself, and he should have been the one to make the first move, and he wasn't sure he could do that; there was too much at stake, their friendship first and foremost.

On the other hand, it was guaranteed that on the contrary he would never have been happy, and he wasn't sure that their friendship could survive that way anyway; he had seen how Spock was looked at everywhere, and inside the Enterprise he had three out of four people who followed him everywhere, and who with even the most pathetic excuses spoke to him.

Spock, for his part, had always appeared polite but at the same time disinterested in anything that didn't concern work.

All of this, of course, only fueled people's insistence, and Spock either didn't notice or pretended to.

The fact is that Jim found himself accumulating negative feelings such as jealousy and anger throughout the day, to then vent them in any way possible—mostly, very cold showers—and ended up vomiting his resentment towards Uhura, who somehow had had it even if for a short time or, even worse, on Spock, who was sometimes confused by his conflicting signals.

"Jim."

When he opened his eyes, Jim found himself in the middle of some familiar buildings, and he smiled suddenly in good humor. He looked at Spock and patted him on the shoulder. "Come on, we only have a few hundred meters to go and we're there. Do you need a hand with one of those?" he asked, lingering over his suitcases. One in particular seemed to weigh a lot.

"I don't think it'll help—"

"Come on, give it here," the other one huffed without even letting him finish. He grabbed one of the handles and started off quickly, also to try to warm up a little. "It's freezing," he muttered, somewhat annoyed. Then he looked at Spock. "You're not cold?"

"Actually, no. These suits are made of a special fabric that retains body heat," Spock explained, "so I'm relatively fine. Do you want my jacket?”

Jim was almost tempted to take advantage of it, partly because he was cold and also, well, it was his jacket, not anyone else's. But then, the thought of having to take it off made his stomach churn.

“No, thanks,” he heard himself say, still lost in thought. When he turned to his officer, he realized he was standing a few steps behind.

"Why did you stop?" he asked in bewilderment, approaching.

Spock raised an eyebrow and pointed up. "It's red, Jim."

Jim shrugged. "So? Who cares, let's go."

"I'm 100% sure that the red light on that particular pole you Earthmen call ‘traffic light’ means you have to stop to allow another portion of traffic to continue its journey. And also, to avoid accidents and death," he added, as if thinking about it later.

"Oh my God," Jim groaned in disbelief, "are you seriously giving a traffic education lesson right now? Five days before Christmas and while it's six degrees?"

"Seven."

"What?"

"Seven. The degrees right now are seven," Spock specified, not even remotely appearing to have heard a word Jim had said. "At least, according to my thermometer." He shook his wrist, showing a watch.

"You're insufferable!" Jim blurted out, noticing the green finally turning.

Spock quickened his pace and continued to walk beside him. “You should have thought about that before accepting my proposal.”

And for a moment, Jim swore he had glimpsed a smile on the other's mouth.

Jim tried to shake off a look of deep embarrassment and continued observing the kitchenette with great interest, as if the house were not his.

Cobwebs, he thought desperately, there are cobwebs to be removed.

There had been an initial moment in which he had stopped any bickering, surprised to find himself so suddenly in front of Spock's parents. Having already met Sarek in various situations, he had therefore held out his hand without thinking, immediately remembering that Vulcan hands were different, and had slightly stumbled into a series of apologies, immediately countered by an okay like this from the Vulcan who had silenced him in an instant.

Amanda was different. Although Sarek had been more than accommodating, he had maintained a certain composure and solemnity that Jim had only noticed in Spock.

It was obvious that Amanda was an Earthman, and she seemed to be keen to distinguish herself from her husband; she had broken into a huge smile, and when Jim had thought about holding out his hand, she had put her arm around him and kissed him on both cheeks, leaving him stunned because she was so beautiful.

In any case, it was of little importance compared to the fact that he was now sitting in a chair and the other three on the couch, and while Jim felt uncomfortable, none of them seemed particularly bothered by the silence.

Amanda especially seemed to be studying him with great interest.

“That’s your room,” Jim cleared his throat, indicating a door to Spock, “and the double one is upstairs,” he added, straining to look at both Sarek and Amanda. “I… I thought you might be comfortable there, since—”

“That’s fine,” Amanda nodded softly. “But you? Where will you sleep?”

“Oh, I—the couch. I sleep there,” he concluded.

“It was a kind gesture, offering your room,” Sarek mused, and both Jim and Spock turned quickly, one looking surprised and the other confused.

“No problem,” he replied, hesitantly. He looked back at Spock. “Anyway, there’s a very large closet in that room, and I think it’ll be big enough for all the clothes you brought with you.”

“The suitcase with my clothes is the smallest. There are several things in the other two that could make this leave a lot more interesting than it already is," Spock said, and Jim snorted.

"Hey," he threatened, pointing a finger at him, "let me remind you that it's called ‘leave’, and as leave, I expect you to rest and do nothing else. We're going to go out every day and have fun—"

"I think your definition of fun and mine are quite different," the other commented.

"... and I warn you: if you don't obey, I'll demote you when you get back to the Enterprise," Jim continued undaunted.

Spock frowned. "I don't think you'd do that, Jim."

"You know, I really think that was a joke," his mother interjected, laughing. "A thing you two," she pointed to his son and husband, "will never understand."

"I understand the comic-humorous edge of the Earthlings very well," Sarek disagreed, "what I don't understand is what it's for, considering that most of the time they are untrue statements."

"That's exactly the point of a joke—it doesn't matter," his wife sighed, standing up and looking sternly at her husband. "Now Jim will show us where the brooms, rags, and whatnot are, and you will help me because you promised me a traditional vacation."

"No need, I can do it," Jim began, but Amanda raised her hand. "Aha, no, you need to rest. You're a Captain, you need to relax. There's nothing to eat here," she noted, "so how about you and Spock go buy something and take a nice walk? It's such a beautiful day!"

Spock glanced out the window, and Jim realized that he was very doubtful that a day that was not above ten degrees could be called ‘beautiful’.

In any case, Spock did not protest and simply watched Jim, waiting for him to decide something.

"Oh," Jim said, rising quickly from his chair. "I'll show you the cleaning supplies and put on a coat. I'll be right back."

"I'll wait," Spock said simply.

"Do you like soup?"

Spock sighed, approaching his Captain for what must have been the thirty-second time. “I eat everything but meat, Jim.”

“Really? No allergies or intolerances?”

“No food allergies, no. In any case, it was nice of you to get some cortisone for me.”

Once again, Jim felt himself turn a red color that resembled the soup in his hand.

“Did you… Did you look into my bag?” he asked incredulously.

Spock, though emotionless, seemed quite offended by the question. “Of course not,” he replied dryly. “I was going to bring some with me just in case, but when I asked Dr. McCoy, he said you had already taken several. I considered that they might be for me, since you are allergic to them. If it was a mistake—”

“No!” Jim spat, perhaps a little too quickly to avoid appearing defensive. “No way, they were—they’re for you. Sorry, I was a—”

Spock shoved two more cans into his hand. “I like this soup.”

When they got home about an hour later, Jim stood in the doorway, wondering if they’d taken the right one.

“Okay, what happened?” he gasped.

“I’m pretty sure that’s called cleaning,” Spock agreed, walking past him disinterestedly, and Jim glared.

“Your empathy touches me,” he muttered in annoyance, and slowly climbed the stairs, trying to get his circulation going.

The guest bedroom door was closed, and there was no sound from inside, so he hesitated. Just as he was about to knock, Amanda stepped out, leaving the boy with his hand in the air.

“Oh, you’re back,” she smiled. " Sarek left a little while ago; he had an urgent call from the Embassy."

Jim nodded silently, watching her smile fade quickly.

Of course, he thought. He wondered how much Amanda was destined to enjoy her husband's company, and if somehow his silence could pay for the little presence he could give her.

Spock does, he thought, then, and he automatically found himself smiling like an idiot.

"Ma'am, I wanted to thank thank—"

"My name is Amanda, and I like it. Please, use it," she said, raising her eyebrows so high that Jim wanted to step back, but there was something different in her tone, something that set her apart from Sarek and Spock. She was completely, totally human.

"Amanda, I wanted to thank you for... well, the house hasn't looked like this in a while," he murmured, running a hand through his hair, uncomfortably.

It wasn't that he didn't care about cleanliness—on the contrary, his quarters on Enterprise were more than sparkling. But he visited that house once every two years, and most of the time he was so tired that the last thing he felt like doing was cleaning.

Amanda nodded to the door behind her and asked, "Do you have a moment?"

Jim looked at her in confusion and spontaneously looked down, finding Spock sitting in a chair, intent on staring at them. He looked away, then opened the door, letting Amanda go first, and closed it behind him.

He sat on the edge of the bed, nervous and curious at the same time: what could Amanda possibly want to say that he couldn't freely talk about in front of Spock?

Spock.

Jim paled in a second, worried. It was ridiculous; Amanda hadn't noticed anything, right? And then, noticed what? Jim wasn't a little girl; it wasn't like he thought about him all the time or masturbated at night thinking about him.

He blushed at the thought and thanked whatever gods it wasn't Sarek instead of Amanda, because he really didn't want to explain any of that stuff to a man like that.

"Did you have fun?"

Jim laughed without malice, shaking his head and looking at her with pity, because if she rarely saw her husband, with Spock was worse.

Amanda was alone, and she was trying her best to find out something about her only son, who was so complicated, so different, so unique.

"I don't think so, but in his defense, walking in ten degrees to go buy food, it's not all that fun. By the way, you'd better make a list tomorrow or something, because I haven't had anything real for ages, and Spock only wanted soup—"

"It's one of the things he eats best. As a kid, he thought of it as his prize when he excelled at something."

Amanda looked up, and Jim swallowed. "Amanda—" he began, but she shook her head.

« I—I can't help it. I see him so rarely, and every time  I feel him so distant. I just wish I could be like any other mother, who understands when her son is sick, when he has a problem, when he's in love. And instead... he's a good boy, I couldn't have asked for anything better from my life. He's my life. I just wish he knew it. I don't understand why he changed so suddenly. I know he's not completely human, I know. But I thought he at least kept that little part. That he was proud of it, and instead it's as if... »

Amanda seemed like a river in full flood, ready to overflow at the first opportunity. Jim didn't blame her.

Spock made him lose his temper even though he was just a friend. Because he refused to bring out that part of himself, and Jim was proud, yes, but also so emotional that it seemed strange to him that Spock could ever be ashamed and refuse. Because Spock was also human, after all, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

"A while ago," he said slowly, "I needed to... stimulate his emotions, and there seemed to be nothing in him that could make him angry, annoyed, even just snort. To say I hated him would be an understatement."

He laughed at that, and it wasn't exactly a happy laugh. "The fact is," Jim continued, "I needed to piss him off, to make him react, and the first thing that came to mind... well, it was you. I didn't have a clear idea of ​​what to say, and it didn't help, because two seconds later he... uh, let's say I decided to improve my fighting technique, after that," he muttered.

"Jim..."

"What I mean is, he beat me up for you. He cried when I was dying, and he tried to get back at me afterward. And less than five hours ago, he invited me to spend my leave with him. He doesn't seem so emotionless to me," Jim considered.

"Jim," Amanda said again, and this time it was so forceful that he couldn't help but look up at her.

And suddenly, there was awareness in her eyes. He swallowed hard and forced a smile.

"How long—"

"Long enough to know I lost from the start," Jim answered in a broken voice, and in a moment the temperature had risen too high, and he felt suffocated, so he muttered an excuse me and dashed out the door.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and grabbed his coat from the hanger, barely noticing Spock behind him.

"Jim, can I ask what the topic of your conversation was?"

"Don't you know that curiosity is human? And it killed the cat," Jim snapped, tucking into the sleeves of his coat as quickly as he could.

Spock looked at him, puzzled. "Are we going somewhere?"

"I'm going to get some fresh air; it's hard to breathe in here. You go wherever you want."

He didn't wait for Spock to answer him or anything else, but ran out of the house, stopping only after turning the corner, not knowing what he wanted deep down; that he would follow him, perhaps.

In any case, Spock didn't.

When Jim was back at the gate, his clock struck seven o’clock.

He slowly entered the house, dragging himself along on legs that seemed frozen by the cold, but he barely had time to turn around to lock the door before Spock was behind him, wary.

"Where have you been?"

Jim burst out laughing. "Shit, now I remember why I prefer just fucking them."

Spock examined him carefully, then frowned. "Have you been drinking?"

"I'm afraid not," Jim sighed. "I didn't bring any money with me, and I couldn't find anyone to offer it to me."

Spock started to say something, but Jim groaned and grabbed his shoulder. "My head is spinning. And why is it so cold?" he whimpered.

"I think you have a fever," Spock considered, grabbing him by the waist and carrying him into the bedroom. “Lie down,” he ordered, after taking his jacket off him.

Jim obeyed without complaint, although he made a series of whimpers because of the cold sheets.

"I'm dying, aren't I?" he said after a few minutes. "I haven't even told Bones that I love him."

Spock shook his head. "I'm sure Dr. McCoy has already figured out your obvious affection for him. And the chances of you dying are 0.012%. If that doesn't reassure you, my mother is preparing infusions and compresses that she says are infallible against these problems."

Jim tried to say something, but Spock put his hand against his forehead, and the heat radiated throughout his body, making him shiver.

"You can worry about that tomorrow, Jim. Now rest."

Chapter Text

When Jim woke up, he was slightly dizzy, with a slight tingle of nausea gnawing at his stomach. He also noticed his back was drenched in sweat.

He tried to remember something from the night before, but all he could think of was Spock and a pair of hands pressing his forehead periodically all night.

I slept in his bed. Technically mine, but okay. Very good.

He felt something wet on his forehead, and soon discovered it was nothing more than a rag of... no, he wasn't good enough at recognizing any smell.

He tried to get up quickly, which was a mistake: he saw the room swirling rapidly and had to sit back and close his eyes. He breathed deeply for a few minutes, swallowing frequently, and felt his heartbeat accelerate in a wave of anxiety.

Jim Kirk had already faced many things in his life, but if he could have avoided one, it would have been getting sick: He hated the feeling of being empty, and he became so weak that it bordered on pathetic.

Bones, where are you when I need you? he thought desperately.

He stood up again—slowly, this time—and made his way to the kitchen, and what he saw left him speechless: the entire living room and kitchen were decorated in red and silver, ribbons and snowflakes on every available cabinet and doorknob, and he even saw stickers outside the windows.

"Wh... what happened?" he muttered, looking around. While he wasn't sure he'd decorated anything the day before, he was certain he'd never bought anything like this.

Sarek, sitting at the table, merely gave a look that Jim somehow interpreted as bewilderment, but Amanda broke into a smile and set a cup of coffee next to him. "Are you feeling better this morning?"

“Yes, thank you. I don't understand—"

« It's... a surprise, actually,” Amanda hesitated. “I've wanted to celebrate Christmas our way for a few years, but there's nothing like that on Vulcan, and... I did it with you in mind, too. I thought you might like it, since you've never—"

Had a family.

The words echoed in the air even without being spoken, and Jim felt the lump in his throat that hadn't left him even for a moment grow even bigger.

He looked at Amanda's face and tried to say something, but without understanding how, he found himself surrounded by her arms. He took a deep breath and tried not to shed a tear, because the burning memory of his life before the Academy was still there, but that gesture was too good to waste on crying.

It's okay now. Everything's fine now.

He didn't know how long he remained like that, held tightly in the woman's embrace, but suddenly he felt himself being watched and turned around; Spock stood rigid, his arms at his sides and his thumb and forefinger rubbing so fast they might catch fire.

Jim froze. The last time Spock looked like that, he'd had a series of more or less serious bruises, a broken nose, and even a small scar on his side.

He tried to reassess the last few hours, but his conscience felt clear enough, so—

"Hello," he said cautiously, detaching himself from his mother.

He barely heard Sarek and Amanda moving up the stairs; his focus was on Spock because he wasn't sure exactly what, but something was wrong.

"I notice your functions are back 100%," he began.

Typical Spock.

"Yes, I'm feeling better," he nodded. He noticed his friend's jacket and raised an eyebrow. "Have you been out?"

"Indeed," Spock replied.

Jim grabbed his cup of coffee, now barely warm, and took a sip, uncomfortably.

He's angry.

"I'm sorry about last night. For sleeping in your room."

"If I may correct you, that room—like the entire house—is your property, therefore—"

"All right, we understand!" Jim rushed in, blushing furiously, because Spock was burning him with his gaze, and he didn't understand why.

Then his shoulders and gaze dropped simultaneously, and Jim understood—he wasn't angry but disappointed.

"Please excuse me; I want a few moments alone."

Spock's was little more than a murmur, but in such a firm tone that Jim didn't dare to call him back, simply watching him disappear through the door.

What Spock called ‘a few moments’ turned out to be hours.

Jim had insisted on calling him to the table for lunch (diligently cooked by Amanda with fresh groceries that morning), but Sarek had advised him to simply enjoy his meal. It hadn't even helped that he'd begged Amanda with his eyes, because she'd stroked his wrist and nodded.

Suddenly, Jim felt his nerves skyrocket and pushed his plate away, disgusted and distraught. This wasn't the leave he'd imagined; it wasn't the one he'd been waiting for months, and it wasn't the leave he'd planned with Spock.

Everything was going backwards; he'd wronged his friend, who must have been upset, but asking him what was wrong was like jumping into the mouth of a burning volcano.

When Amanda and Sarek finished eating, Jim took the opportunity to slip onto the couch and curl up passively, hoping at least to get some more sleep.

"I'll tidy up the kitchen, and then there's a tree in the closet ready to be opened and decorated."

Amanda's whisper reached his ear along with a caress of his hair. Jim opened his eyes and closed them immediately with a small sigh, feeling instantly better.

"Did I... did I fall asleep?"

"For only ten minutes," she reassured him. "But that tree—"

Jim propped himself on his arms and stood up, shaking his head. "No offense, but I don't feel like—"

"Are these wires up to the proper safety standards?"

Jim whirled around in time to see Spock completely covered in lights, intent on searching for a probable certification that would guarantee everyone's safety.

Silently, Jim snuck up behind him, grabbed the last piece of wire, and plugged it in.

Jingle Bells began to ring loudly in the air, and the lights became a riot of color. Jim slid down the wall and burst out laughing, followed by Amanda.

Sarek and Spock looked at them, puzzled, but Spock was the first to express his doubts. "Is this a tradition for you humans? Putting electrical wires around people and laughing, I mean."

Jim laughed a little louder but stopped immediately, coming closer and helping him untangle himself. "No. You were just too beautiful an image to let go."

Jim bit his tongue a second after saying that, squinting angrily, but Spock's eyes lit up with calm curiosity—well, certainly more than his own.

"I meant," he forced himself to clarify, "that it's not every day I see my first officer like this." He indicated as he pulled the last piece of wire from under his feet.

"Of course," Spock nodded, and surely Jim must still have had a fever, because what he saw in the Vulcan's eyes couldn't have been sadness.

Absolutely.

Decorating the tree turned out to be more complicated than expected; firstly, while Jim had expected a three-meter tree, it turned out to be a full three. Putting it up, then, had been on a whole other level.

Fortunately, two years earlier, he'd bought a ladder that seemed more than useful for the occasion, though there was a slight argument over who should climb it.

"I'm not a child, Spock," Jim snorted. "I can stand on a ladder without falling. Thanks for your concern, though," he added, and was decidedly offended when his friend raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I'd like to share my thoughts on that statement," he said. "In 81.6% of the cases where you had to demonstrate balance, it was very poor, if not nonexistent. Furthermore, your ability to fall in a nearly correct manner is—"

"My God!" Jim exclaimed, putting his hands on his head. "All right, you climb," he relented, "I'll take care of the low branches."

"Thanks, Jim," Spock nodded, and that was satisfaction, Jim was sure of it. He narrowed his eyes and met Amanda's gaze, who grimaced in amusement.

However, his desire to do so was completely replaced by a desire to watch Spock do it, and he even helped pass him the baubles and garlands—Amanda seemed to have thought big, having the excuse of even briefly touching his fingers.

In any case, the Vulcan seemed so focused that he made Jim regret not having a video camera handy; despite repeatedly stating that he found the Christmas tree a meaningless and highly illogical tradition, he seemed to have excellent taste in decorating it. When he finished surrounding it with lights, Jim handed him a tree topper.

Spock took it confidently but looked at him hesitantly. Jim was almost certain he would have preferred to figure out what it was for rather than ask, but in the end, he had to give in. "What exactly is the purpose of this component?"

Jim stifled a laugh into his sweater sleeve. "That component, as you say, is for the top branch."

Two minutes later, when the ladder was taken away, Jim plugged in the lights and took a few steps back, entranced; the sunset light reflected off the glittering baubles, and the top gleamed like a beacon.

"For a masterpiece like this, you deserve a giant Santa Claus."

His voice came out with difficulty, and Jim felt his stomach lurch. Spock turned to him, narrowing his eyes. "Santa Claus?"

Jim let out a sob of amusement. "He lives at the North Pole, with elves, goblins, and other fantastic creatures. He stays in his enormous house the whole year, preparing all sorts of presents. Whatever a child desires, he brings it between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning and puts it under there,” he said, pointing to the foot of the tree, “but only if he’s been a good boy all year. When I was little, I saw all my friends throwing away everything they wanted, yet I… I tried every year to be better. I thought it was my fault, I thought I was doing something wrong. That I didn’t deserve anything.”

He tried to silence that vomit of meaningless words, but as soon as he closed his mouth, he felt the tears welling up, and for once, he let them go, because Spock didn't seem surprised, or even shocked; he was looking at him intently.

"You're a good man, Jim. You deserve everything you've got," he spoke suddenly. He didn't say it with any particular emphasis or anything, but he raised his arms and ran his thumbs over his eyes, catching the tears before they fell.

Jim let out a sigh of relief and looked straight at him.

If you can feel what I feel, please feel this, too.

Jim woke up with a specific thought for that morning: finding a gift for Spock.

He wasn't sure why, but the idea put him in a good mood. It was also illogical, but Jim was 98.8% illogical (as Spock never failed to remind him and point out), so he eagerly prepared breakfast while still in his pajamas, with the clock barely touching seven and singing a song from a few centuries ago.

About fifteen minutes later, the bathroom door opened, and Spock emerged, clearly already awake for a while.

Jim fell silent suddenly, hoping Spock hadn't heard him. Spock was logical; he didn't pay attention to such—

"Particularly interesting lyrics. Whose is it?"

"Dean Martin. It's Let It Snow, an old song. Christmas-themed," he added, muttering and carefully avoiding looking at him.

"Yes, I heard that," Spock nodded, and Jim thought he detected a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Well, I'm sorry." He laughed nervously. "I didn't think you could hear it. And I thought you were asleep," he accused him, annoyed.

"It's not in my nature to rest my body for so many hours. And your voice reaches rather high decibels that I’m sure my ears would have detected even in the remotest idea that I was sleeping. Still, it's a... pleasant sound," Spock finally conceded.

Jim felt the heat rising in his neck, cheeks, and ears, until he desperately needed to open the window for fear of imploding, especially when he noticed Spock turning a faint green.

Embarrassment.

With a hint of satisfaction, he smiled. "There's some coffee ready," he informed him, "so maybe it will do the trick."

"No."

"No?"

"No," Spock confirmed. At Jim's obvious incomprehension, he sighed. "Caffeine doesn't affect my body, just like other substances that are nearly fatal to you, such as—"

"Alcohol, nicotine, drugs, even?" Jim guessed, impressed, and Spock nodded. "And if you're nervous, how do you release tension?"

"We don't need to release any tension, since it's a mental reflex, and I'm Vul—"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Jim snorted, jumping down from the kitchen, "you're a Vulcan and you never get nervous. Except when I mention your mother. In that case..."

In that case, we see Spock as totally human and pissed off. And hot and—

"I can feel your body temperature rising noticeably. Are you feeling okay?"

Jim was shocked. "What? Oh. Yes. I'm fine. We're going skating tonight," he decided.

Spock tilted his head. "Can you repeat that?"

"Let's go skating, and you can't say no," Jim insisted resolutely.

Spock seemed about to argue, but at the same moment, Amanda and Sarek left the room. "Very well, then. I thought I spotted a chessboard in the closet; if you're not busy—"

"I have one, but after lunch," Jim cut him off. "Bring that board over here, Spock, let's see who's the best!"

"Jim, I don't mean to be offensive, but of all the games we've played—"

"How many are there, exactly?" he chuckled, jokingly.

Spock grimaced. "Two hundred and forty-three, so far. Two hundred and forty-six if you count three games interrupted by various unexpected commitments."

Jim gasped and heard a laugh, probably coming from Amanda.

"And how many have I won?"

"Not even one, Jim," Spock declared.

"Well, maybe those three interrupted—" the other began, annoyed, but Spock interrupted him.

"By my calculations, I would have checkmated in less than five moves in each one."

Jim almost sulked, but changed his mind. "All right! Bring that board over here, let's see who wins!"

Of course, Spock won.

"As always," Jim muttered, unable to help but smile. He was certainly intelligent, but Spock... well, as much as it pained him to admit it, there was a non-human part of him that was constantly ahead of him, chess included.

If it had been unnerving at first, over time, he'd learned to appreciate it, because knowing he wasn't alone, that there would always be someone by his side no matter what, reassured him for once. And it was incredible that he'd come to terms with the fact that yes, he liked Spock, and it didn't seem like a simple crush.

Jim wrapped his coat around himself, suddenly panicked: giving Spock a gift had been a wonderful idea, but thinking about what to give him was slightly less so.

Now, he was practically certain that he'd accept anything willingly, but—

But Spock wasn't just anyone, and he had to learn human traditions, at least the more classic ones, so Jim thought big. What do you give a cold, serious Vulcan to tell him you're important without exposing yourself too much?

He wasn't sure that even if he shouted at him, "I'm in love with you!", Spock would understand the situation well, but it was better to be safe than sorry, because his human side seemed to be full of surprises.

Then a light shone through a window, and Jim lit up too.

"Jim, I still don't understand the purpose of this activity."

"You don't understand something? Ah, finally!"

Jim smiled and patted him on the shoulder, pushing open the door and entering the building. He noticed Spock's insistence on staring at the track, unsure whether it was apprehension or just curiosity.

"I've been reading up on this sport—"

"Oh, you did your homework!"

"... and I've found it's a matter of balance, assuming the ice is even at every point on the rink," Spock finished, no sign of having heard him. "Which is 98.99% certain," he added.

"Well, that's not a bad percentage," Jim observed, but Spock shook his head.

"It is. It's not completely safe, so there's a whole 1.01% that—"

"Come on, Spock," Jim whined, dragging him by the wrist toward a winking, blue-skinned girl who seemed to be working there. Jim smiled back and suddenly felt Spock forcefully tug on his arm to break free.

"What size are you wearing? Shoe size," he clarified, seeing him puzzled, but Spock looked even more confused, so much so that he forgot to wrestle with his wrist.

Jim rolled his eyes. "This is going to be a long one."

Twenty minutes later, Jim found himself thinking that bringing Spock had been both the best and the worst decision of his life; seeing him so obviously trying not to slip was certainly amusing, but the fact that, despite his inexperience, he was managing to do so made Jim feel even more inept.

"On Vulcan, did they train you as kids to be perfect at everything?" he muttered, clutching at his arm to keep from falling. "I hate that," he grunted then, remaining upright against the edge of the track.

Spock sighed. "Must I remind you, Jim, this was your idea?"

"Yes, well, because it was both our first time!" Jim snapped. "But you're still standing, and I've already tripped five times. Five!"

"Six, to be precise," Spock corrected him, "but I guess with practice—"

Jim rolled his eyes. "Of course, I'm sure there are plenty of skating rinks on Enterprise just for Captain Idiot."

"No, but we can go back on our next leave, if that's something you're so fascinated by," his friend mused, and Jim was taken aback.

Next leave? Was he planning on spending another leave with him? Or did he mean he had to go alone? Why would Spock waste time on—

"Is there something bothering you?"

Spock was looking at him apprehensively and, meanwhile, had placed a hand on his shoulder. Jim looked at her dangerously, then lowered his head.

"It's... I'm happy. I'm sadly happy, even if it won't make sense to you," he sighed.

Spock seemed to consider it for a few seconds. "It certainly doesn't make sense, but I've found that 90.6% of the speech of every Earthman I met didn't make sense. I think I'm right in thinking that you find it appealing to make your life difficult, and that you hate it at the same time. This is completely illogical, but not discriminatory.”

Jim was perplexed for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. "Is that a Vulcan-style compliment? Despite that, you apply rather human psychology."

"That's another thing I don't understand," Spock said slowly. Jim frowned, and Spock continued, "Your attachment to my humanity."

Jim felt a boulder compress his stomach and perhaps his lungs, because suddenly breathing became extremely difficult.

What could he say? That he was afraid of losing him? Or that his Vulcan half was beautiful, but his Human half made him perfect?

"It's... a human thing," he finally answered, slowly. "Humanity seeks humanity. Sometimes, it even finds it where there isn't any. We can't help it. It's a stupid, useless, human thing."

Jim half expected Spock to retort, but he was disappointed anyway. "Give me a hand," he said, leaning slightly away from the railing. "In every sense," he specified, holding his arm toward Spock.

The Vulcan hesitated, then caught his wrist and tugged it gently toward him.

"It might help if you focus your gaze on a specific point in front of you," he suggested a few seconds later, and Jim found it quite easy to do what he'd been doing for the past few months: stare at him. He wondered if Spock could sense, if he could somehow understand what he was thinking, and a shiver that registered as anxiety and excitement ran through his body.

They resumed their silence, wandering around the rink for a while; however, both seemed quite distracted until Jim shook himself out of his thoughts and suggested the other leave.

When they went to return their skates, the blue-skinned girl—Maela, according to a tag—smiled again, looking interestedly out from her counter.

"Hello," she smiled, and Jim was about to reply when he realized the greeting wasn't meant for him.

Spock turned and looked at her, and Jim heard a sharp groan of disappointment; Maela was objectively beautiful, definitely part human, and judging by her white hair, the other half was...

"Andorian," Spock analyzed, but she shook her head, amused.

"Almost, try again."

"Honestly, I couldn't say," Spock murmured, holding out his skates. "There's a lot of evidence to support my theory, but then again, you said it was wrong, so I assume—"

"Not entirely wrong," she nodded. "You're Vulcan, aren't you? And part human. A big part, actually," she added, winking. Jim dug his nails into his fist. "I could tell from your language and your precision, but I admit I abused my power," he admitted. "My father is human and Andorian, my mother is Aenar," Maela explained.

"Your features are typical Andorian," Spock observed with interest, "except for the antennae."

"Oh, no. Here." She pushed her hair aside, and small antennae poked out. "I don't know why they're so small, but they've never caused me any issues. The Andorian gene is very strong, but physically. My mother’s is just as strong, but mentally. And the Terrans... well, I took a name from them, their stubbornness, and some customs, like monogamy."

And flirting with random Vulcans without shame, Jim commented to himself.

Not that Spock seemed interested, but not the opposite either; Jim fervently hoped it was purely scientific analysis.

"You're... fascinating," Spock said, and Jim felt his jaw drop to the floor.

"You are, too." Maela's smile widened dramatically. "Fancy a drink one of these days?"

The tips of Spock's ears turned a faint green, but before he could respond, Maela visibly jumped, her gaze falling on Jim, who seemed to be having a full-blown nervous breakdown.

He felt a surge of anger and jealousy creeping from his brain to his stomach, twisting it in a painful knot.

"Oh. I didn't realize that... I’m sorry," Maela murmured, and from her contrite and mortified expression, Jim registered the truth. "Good evening," the alien concluded, disappearing behind a door.

It was when Spock turned to him that Jim froze; Spock was unreadable, as always, a serious expression etched on his face.

"Sorry."

Jim's lips barely moved, but he was sure the other man had heard it. He remained with his head down for an indefinite time, waiting for Spock to scream, or hit him, or whatever, just to get the burning shame off his back.

"Jim, let's go home."

Before he could say anything, Spock was already out the door, and Jim felt a surge of anxiety flooding him to the brim: it was obvious Spock wouldn't scream, much less lay a hand on him, not for something like this. But—

"Spock—"

"The temperature's dropping dramatically, we should—"

"Spock."

He stopped in front of the Vulcan, but the Vulcan shook his head and sighed. "We'd better go home, Jim."

Jim looked at his watch for the umpteenth time; It was exactly 11:51 PM, and he still hadn't been able to sleep.

They had eaten dinner as usual, then Spock and Sarek had retired to their rooms, both in need of meditation and peace. It was clear that Amanda wanted to wait until midnight to wish him a happy Christmas (only to him, since her husband and son had nothing to do with that sort of holiday), but the moment she looked at him, Jim had yawned profusely and retreated to the couch, closing his eyes tightly and hoping Amanda wouldn't ask him any questions.

Indeed, she had simply stroked his head as she now did and had quickly climbed the stairs.

Now, Jim felt guilty about that, too.

The clock struck 11:55 PM, and Jim felt anxiety and nerves rising dangerously in his stomach as he turned a ribboned package repeatedly in his hands, unsure whether to put it under the tree. When he'd seen it in the window, it had seemed obvious that it was made especially for Spock, and he'd bought it with enormous satisfaction, but in retrospect, he wasn't so sure. Partly out of pride, but mostly out of shame, he hadn't dared ask Amanda for anything.

He stared at the card stuck among the ribbons, with the writing "For Spock, Merry Christmas -Jim" on the inside, and was almost tempted to tear it off, along with the ribbon and all the rest of the decorations, which were beginning to seem superfluous and tacky.

The clock finally struck midnight, and Jim jumped. He looked at the package once more and sighed resignedly, lightly patting the couch to avoid waking anyone with the din of the rusty springs.

It creaked dangerously anyway, and he uttered a loud curse, but everything remained calm. He quickly stood up and stealthily made his way to the tree, pushing aside the lower branches to find a spot where the gift would be visible but not too visible.

Damn, Spock, what's going on in my head?

Suddenly, the door behind him opened, and Jim felt his heart leap into his throat. He couldn't help but remain in that position, and for a stupid, futile moment, he hoped Spock hadn't noticed.

"Jim?"

Jim snorted, giving up and turning away. Spock's tone had been uncertain, so much so that Jim tried to make any excuse, but he lost all hope when Spock took a few steps forward and Jim saw him in full: in lodgings clothes, and his hands held a small package.

Jim's eyes widened. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at it. Spock seemed so intent on protecting, hiding it in his chest.

"I suppose you could consider it a gift. Very similar, in fact, to the one you put down there."

Jim gasped like a fish. Gotcha! said a wicked little voice inside his head, and he grimaced in disappointment.

"I don't—who is it for?" He jerked his chin and tried to divert the conversation, even though he was pretty sure Spock wouldn't give in so easily. But Spock, for a hardworking, logical Vulcan, managed to surprise Jim every single time. "Actually, it's for you."

"Oh."

Jim barely managed to suppress the urge to hug him, summoning every ounce of goodwill to remain almost impassive.

"Really?" he murmured, and suddenly his curiosity became so strong that he wanted to snatch whatever he had from Spock's hand.

Spock looked at him condescendingly. "Really. Would I have any reason to lie to you?"

Jim laughed softly. "It's... It's just an expression. Another."

"Asking for confirmation of something you already know is highly—"

"... illogical?" Jim finished for him. "It is," he conceded, bowing to rummage through the tree branches again, "but we are decidedly illogical. This—ah," he exclaimed exultantly, pulling out his package, "is for you."

He handed it to him hesitantly, but he could see a glint of impatience in Spock's eyes. Nevertheless, the Vulcan sat up in bed and began carefully unwrapping it, first removing the card, then the ribbon and bows, and finally meticulously searching for every piece of tape so as not to ruin the paper.

"Spock, paper is meant to be torn. Come on, hurry up."

Oh, God, make him like it.

"I don't understand the rush. Besides, it's a nice-looking paper, I think; it would be illogical to tear it to pieces."

Jim snorted. "It's paper, Spock. I'll buy you as much as you want, but hurry up!"

Finally, the last piece of wrapping was removed, and Spock found himself holding a dark midnight blue box.

"It's very nice, Jim. I assume this is silk," Spock mused, stroking it with a finger, back and forth, and for a moment Jim was mesmerized by the movement. Because if he was so careful with a box, who knows what he would do with—

"The present's inside, Spock," he coughed, rubbing his hand nervously in his pants.

When the box opened, Jim tried to register any sign of surprise, but his friend seemed unfazed.

"I thought a lot about what to give you, but I had no idea what a Vulcan would like, and especially what he would need, since waste is illogical, huh? I noticed you write a lot of notes in a notebook, and that you were using the last pages, so I thought you might find another one useful." And this... it seemed made just for you," he explained, but Spock didn't seem to be listening at all.

Instead, he seemed concentrated on the softness of the leather covering the entire notebook, then drawing an imaginary line along the thick string that tied it. Jim shivered.

"I'm sorry there wasn't much choice in colors. There was even red, but—"

"I don't have much preference for such trivial things as color, but I must admit that purple ranks high on my scale, especially if it's not too bright. So, it's perfect," Spock reassured him. Jim found nothing but honesty in his words and breathed a small sigh of relief. "Thank you, Jim. Would you like to see yours now?"

"I was waiting for it," Jim exhaled, leaning over his hips to try to grab the package. "You'll excuse me if I don't waste time like you did, right?" Without waiting for a response, he tore everything apart until a small green box emerged that looked an awful lot like the usual jewelry ones.

Inside, however, there were no rings or anything of the sort, but a brooch: rectangular, not very large— in fact, it could easily have been one of the normal pins pinned to the uniform, probably silver. Bringing it closer, he could see the word ‘T'hy'la’ engraved on it.

"Is it Vulcan?" he asked, looking up at the other.

Spock nodded. “Yes, it has several meanings, but we could summarize it in a splendid relationship.”

Jim swallowed.

Friend. Spock is just a friend.

"Thank you," he murmured, struggling. "It's beautiful."

"Is there something wrong? If you don't like it, I can change it for something else—"

He shook his head, still staring at it. "God, no, it's perfect." He put it back in the box and placed it on the table beside him, rubbing his temples wearily.

"Meditation is a great remedy for any ailment, but I suppose I can still help you with—"

"No!" Jim exclaimed in terror, abruptly walking away.

Spock slowly lowered his hand, which would probably have brought him some relief, but also a considerable amount of embarrassment if, even only by mistake, his friend saw what was going on in his mind.

"As you wish," Spock agreed, standing up, but Jim could have sworn he had hurt him. "I suppose rest can do the same."

Jim nodded silently and bit his lip as Spock turned away.

Tell him now.

He's a friend.

Tell him now.

"Spock!"

Spock looked at him expectantly, and Jim inhaled sharply. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Jim."

That morning, Jim woke up in a bad mood, and it seemed as if the day was destined to get worse by the hour; first of all, the migraine hadn't gone away at all, and Jim felt like his head was going to explode at any moment.

Later, in the middle of a shower, the hot water had decided not to come on, causing him not to care that there were two well-mannered Vulcans and a lady outside the door, and to curse loudly.

Lastly, Spock seemed to have made every trace of feelings disappear and was back to his usual pointy-eared alien self - a quote from Bones -, so much so that it led Jim to wonder if the boy who had given him the pin had been the same one as always, or an unlikely twin or clone.

One thing was certain: he couldn't give up Spock, and if having to put up with his bad times was a way to avoid losing him, well, he'd make it work.

"I was thinking about something," he exclaimed at one point at the table, and he saw Spock's eyebrows rise in unison.

Jim snorted and slammed a foot on his chair. "Oh, come on, give me some credit! I was thinking we could go out for ice cream this afternoon. It's a dessert that—"

"I know exactly what ice cream is, Jim. And I also know that, just like the word says, it doesn't coincide with the current season."

Jim crossed his arms, annoyed. "Ice cream doesn't have a season."

"Yes, it does," Spock insisted. "In 95.9% of the Earth, ice cream is eaten during the warm months."

"Ah!" Jim said triumphantly, "95.9%, not 100%. 95%; That means 4.1%—"

"... risks unnecessary congestion," Sarek concluded.

"Then let's go get some chocolate."

Jim tried his best not to sound pleading but felt he hadn't succeeded.

"Personally, I don't drink chocolate. But I'd be happy to accompany you anyway."

And this time, Jim truly triumphed.

For what Jim realized was the thousandth time, Spock was right again; the temperature had dropped significantly, and it didn't seem like it would rise even a degree.

"All right, I a-admit," he stuttered, trembling, sitting at a table in a remote, uncrowded corner, carefully chosen as far from the door as possible, "this is not a good time for ice cream."

Spock nodded. "It was understandable," he commented, sitting on the other side.

Soon, an awkward silence fell. Jim had a lot of questions to ask him, but he wasn't sure if they were appropriate at that moment.

When their cups arrived (cocoa and marshmallows for Jim, tea for Spock), he stared at Spock's. "What’s your problem with chocolate?" he asked curiously.

"It has a different effect on Vulcans than on Earthlings," Spock explained, sipping his cup. "It's very similar to the effect alcohol has on you. It causes a significant loss of self-control. Which is why—"

"... you'll never drink it,” Jim finished for him, rolling his eyes. “God forbid anyone sees you drunk."

Drunk Spock must have been quite a sight. At the thought, he burst out laughing.

"Do you find it hilarious that we avoid something we know is harmful?" His friend's tone wasn't angry or annoyed, but Jim sensed it was similar, nonetheless.

"Getting drunk isn't harmful, it's funny," he replied, dipping a marshmallow into the chocolate, "and it wouldn't hurt you now and then, either."

"Do you find it funny having more alcohol than blood in your system and needing to urinate every ten minutes or so? It's not like that for us Vulcans." This time, Spock didn't hide his irritation one bit.

“‘Us Vulcans.’ You mention it so often, you are. Do you really hate Earthlings so much that you want to hide the fact that you're 50% one of them at all costs?"

"I'd say more like 30%. In any case, it's illogical for you to ask such questions, Jim. If I didn't like Earthlings, I wouldn't have accepted a five-year assignment on a ship that was 99% Earthlings. And as you well know, until recently, I had a partner from this planet."

Jim felt a pang in the pit of his stomach. He took a deep breath. "W-why did you two break up?" he finally asked.

He didn't dare look up immediately, but forced himself when he got no answer.

Spock didn't seem annoyed, but genuinely surprised. "I was almost certain you asked her," he said, finishing his tea.

"I didn't ask her anything, because she seemed very shaken. At first, she refused to speak to me unless necessary.”

"That," Spock sighed, "is quite understandable."

Jim cocked his head to the side, surprised. "So, do you know why? Do you know why she wasn't talking to me?"

His friend closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and it was obvious that the conversation was taking a toll on him. "Yes, I know. And I'm afraid it's my fault."

Jim burst out laughing: his fault? Spock never caused anyone any trouble; there was no way—

But then he met his gaze, and realized he wasn't joking. Somehow, Spock had made sure he and Uhura weren't speaking to each other.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

"I'm not sure I can—"

Jim snorted. "Let's get one thing straight; I'll ask you just one more time, as your friend. After that, I'll order you as your Captain."

And always as a friend, I beg you not to force me to do this. There are too many Starfleet regulations at stake.

For the first time, Spock seemed at a loss for what to say. Jim felt guilty for mentioning his job (whose regulations he had violated more than his first officer), but desperate times came...

"I chose to end the relationship between me and the lieutenant. I felt I owed her a sincere explanation for the decision I had made, and I did so."

"And what were those reasons?"

"Jim, don't—"

"Please," he exclaimed. "I won't get angry. Tell me what you said to her."

"At this point, I request an immediate transfer to another ship as soon as this leave is over," Spock declared solemnly.

"Absolutely not!" Jim blurted out indignantly, drawing a few glances his way. He pretended not to see them and succeeded very well, because nothing was more important than Spock at that moment. Well, nothing was ever more important than Spock, but even more so now.

He was on the verge of threatening him again, but he surrendered to the evidence that it was useless. He felt the urge for an aspirin, because his head was pounding insistently. He rubbed his eyes and looked wearily at Spock. "I already promised you that whatever it is, nothing will change between you and me."

"That's an illogical statement, since you don't know what—"

"I don't know why you won't tell me." Jim grew impatient. "What could you have said that was so serious that I should be angry with you? Does it have anything to do with Enterprise? Are you afraid of disciplinary action? Or about Nyota? I assure you, nothing will happen, Spock, but tell me—"

"It's a personal matter," Spock assured him.

"Exactly, it'll be resolved even more smoothly," Jim insisted.

Spock pursed his lips for a moment, then nodded. "The only reason is that I respected her, and still do, too much to lie to her. Continuing any form of relationship with her beyond friendship would have meant lying, because I no longer felt that kind of connection. She asked me if anyone else was involved, and I told her the truth. I apologize in advance."

The last sentence was practically a shameful whisper, and Jim felt confused. "Why are you apologizing? What do I have to do with all this?"

Spock simply looked down, but Jim grabbed his wrist and tugged. "Spock."

"At some unspecified moment, my feelings shifted to someone else. And that person is you."

Jim felt his fingers tingle, but he didn't loosen his grip on Spock's arm. He tried to process his last words, and the enormous boulder he'd been carrying inside for months turned into a pool of conflicting emotions.

"That brooch—you told he had different meanings," he suddenly remembered. "Was that to mislead me? Because in that case, you succeeded very well," he murmured.

"No, Jim, never. What I said is true. I just didn’t want to be too specific, in case you weren’t fine with it," he clarified.

Jim was speechless. "Alright," he said, finally.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "‘Alright’ what?"

"All of this. I'm fine with it. In fact, I’m more than just ‘fine,’" he clarified, smiling.

Spock shook his head. "What I said must not—"

"No," Jim interrupted, "don't say that. I've been acting cowardly for months, not telling you what I want, so maybe the time has come. The worst time, in the worst place, but you're here.

So, before you speak, you should know that I was selfishly happy when I heard you were no longer busy; that I cared more about my pain than others’; that I have been and probably will be jealous of every single person who gets to stay close to you and stares at you as if you were the best meal of the day; that I've lost interest in many useless things, like sleeping with random people; that my priorities have changed, and seeing you at least ten times a day for whatever stupid reason is number one; that I enjoy your silences more than other people's noise; that green has become my favorite color; that you turn me on just talking about percentages, and sometimes I get them wrong only for you to correct me; that last night I wanted to kiss you, and the night before that to make you realize I was about to explode; that in the moments when you weren't talking to me, I felt useless, and that today will be marked on the calendar as the best day of my life.

Jim almost immediately regretted at least nine-tenths of what he'd said, but it was too late anyway. He looked down, feeling his cheeks burn. "N-now you can talk," he said, just to be sure.

"I gather from your words that this is a... declaration."

Hearing that word, Jim tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sob. "Yes, it is. I feel like a total idiot, but a little less so because you're all green."

Spock rubbed the fingers of his free hand together, and Jim smiled. "You do that a lot, you know. When you're nervous or embarrassed. When you’re uncomfortable, right. You twitch, Spock; give up, you're human.

Spock remained in religious silence, but Jim wasn't discouraged; he completely blocked his forearm against the coffee table, palm facing up, and began stroking it with a finger.

"Jim, what—oh!" Spock jumped on the spot, trying to wriggle free, but Jim tightened his grip.

"I knew they were sensitive, but not this sensitive."

"Stop," Spock murmured, but stifled another groan when Jim massaged his knuckles.

"Stop me," Jim chuckled, but he knew he wouldn't: Spock was much stronger than him, and if he'd wanted to, he could have already held him down.

"Everyone will see us, Jim." This time, he couldn't help but groan.

Jim bit his lip, feeling a powerful heat creep down his spine to his groin.

"Let's go home."

If Jim had assumed that once taken that step, everything would have been easier, he was sorely mistaken.

After realizing the house was empty, and while he'd paused for a moment in the kitchen to drink some water, Spock sat upright on the couch, as if expecting some reprimand.

Jim smiled and approached, placing his hands on his shoulders. "Should we head to the bedroom?"

Spock looked down at him, his expression neutral; he nodded, accepting Jim's outstretched hand and following him to the edge of the bed, where he stopped. Jim crawled until his back was to the headboard and stared at him with his arms folded.

"So? Have you decided to stay away from me?" he joked, but in truth, he was beginning to think he'd gone too far. "Did I scare you before? I've been keeping everything inside for a long time, I needed to... I’m sorry if—"

Spock shook his head. "You could never scare me, Jim. I'm just lost in my thoughts."

"Do you want to talk to me about it?" "

Spock hesitated for a moment, then sat down beside him, and Jim was pleased to see that he seemed less tense.

"I thought it wasn't possible," he murmured, staring at his fingers and not daring to look up. "Uhura is a wonderful woman. Being with her was... logical."

Jim felt a twinge of jealousy creep through him, but he forced himself to listen without judgment.

"Then I... I don't..." Spock seemed to be making an immense effort to speak, and Jim made a disgruntled noise.

"If this causes you pain or embarrassment, you don't have to tell me. What you said before is enough for me, at least for now. Until you can... figure it out, I guess."

"I've figured it out for a long time, Jim. Vulcans don't lie, not even to themselves. I thought it wasn't reciprocated. Your friendship, even in pain, would have been enough for me."

"But not for me," Jim admitted, turning to look at him. "I'm sure I would have exploded at some point. I was afraid it would happen in an inappropriate way and place. And the other day, when that girl was practically devouring you, I..." he couldn't continue, hiding his face behind his hands and feeling the inevitable shame rising.

"Jim—"

"Why did you get angry?" Jim asked suddenly. "The day after you were sick... You spent the whole night with me, but in the morning, you were furious. I saw it."

Spock clenched his fists. "I didn't want to. But you went out alone; it was obvious you didn't want me to be with you. And I spent the whole afternoon wondering what I could have done to be so distant, wondering where you were, whether to look for you or give you your space. And when you came back, I saw you like that, and—” His face contorted into a look of pain, and Jim threw himself into his arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chanted quietly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was hurt, and I hurt you, too. I’m so sorry.”

Spock didn’t respond, but Jim felt his grip tighten possessively, and Jim sighed with relief.

They remained like that, frozen in each other’s arms for what seemed like an eternity, but when he tried to pull away, Spock made a displeased noise.

Oh, possessive.

Jim couldn't help but smile. "You know what? I’m gonna go and close the door now, before your parents decide to come back and see us doing illogical and immoral things," he whispered, placing his lips on his ear. Spock seemed more than interested, judging by the indistinct groan that escaped his mouth.

He quickly walked off to do as he told; when he turned back again, Spock was sitting on the edge of the bed, his posture as rigid as ever, but his dark eyes burned with something Jim couldn’t quite place.

Jim leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“So,” he drawled, stepping closer, “what now?”

Spock’s gaze didn’t waver. “Now,” he said, his voice low and steady, “we continue our leave.”

Jim laughed softly, closing the distance between them. He placed a hand on Spock’s shoulder, feeling the tension coiled beneath the Vulcan’s skin. “You’re not great at this whole ‘emotions’ thing, are you?”

Spock’s brow furrowed slightly. “I am attempting to… adapt.”

“Yeah?” Jim tilted his head, his fingers trailing down Spock’s arm, brushing against the sensitive tips of his fingers. He felt Spock shiver—ever so slightly—and it sent a thrill through him. “How’s that going for you?”

Spock caught Jim’s wrist, his grip firm but not painful. “Your methods of testing my patience are ineffective.”

“Are they?” Jim’s grin widened. He leaned in, their faces inches apart now. “Or do you just like the way I push your buttons?”

Spock’s breath caught, and for a moment, Jim thought he might actually say something. Instead, Spock moved fast, pulling Jim into his lap. Jim let out a surprised laugh as he straddled the Vulcan, hands instinctively gripping Spock’s shoulders.

“Whoa, okay,” Jim murmured, his voice dropping to something darker, more playful. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Spock’s hands settled on Jim’s hips, his touch burning through the fabric of his pants. “There is much about me you have yet to learn, Jim.”

Jim’s smirk softened into something more genuine. “Guess you’ll have to show me, then.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, then Spock closed the distance between them, his lips pressing against Jim’s in a kiss that was anything but tentative. It was deep, insistent, almost demanding. Jim melted into it, his hands sliding up to cup Spock’s face, brushing his thumbs against the sensitive points of his ears.

Spock made a low sound in the back of his throat—something between a groan and a growl—and his hold on Jim tightened. He leaned forward, forcing Jim to arch back slightly, their kiss never breaking. When Spock finally pulled away, Jim was breathless, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Damn,” Jim whispered, his voice rough. “I knew you were holding out on me.”

Spock didn’t respond. Instead, he shifted Jim in his lap, one hand slipping under his shirt to explore the smooth planes of his chest. His fingers traced over Jim’s ribs, over his abs, before stopping just above the waistband of his pants. Jim bit his lip, watching Spock’s face for any sign of what he was thinking. But Spock was as unreadable as ever.

“You gonna keep teasing me,” Jim murmured, shifting slightly to press himself harder against Spock’s growing erection, “or are we actually gonna do something about this?”

Spock’s eyes darkened, and in one fluid motion, he stood, lifting Jim with him like he weighed nothing. Jim let out a sharp laugh, wrapping his legs around Spock’s waist, but Spock deposited him onto the bed, following him down and pinning him with a look that made Jim’s stomach flutter.

“Patience,” Spock murmured, his voice a low rumble. “It is not one of your virtues.”

“Guess not,” Jim shot back, unbothered, though his breath hitched when Spock’s fingers began undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Spock pushed the fabric aside, exposing Jim’s chest to the cool air of the room. His hands roamed freely now, mapping every inch of skin he could reach. Jim arched into the touch, his own hands reaching up to tug at Spock’s clothes.

“Off,” he murmured. “Come on, I wanna see you.”

Spock complied, pulling the garment over his head and tossing it aside. Jim’s eyes roved over the Vulcan’s torso, taking in the defined muscles, the faint green tint of his skin. He reached out to touch him, but Spock caught his wrist again.

“Not yet,” he said simply.

Jim groaned in frustration but didn’t argue. He knew better than trying to rush Spock. Instead, he lay back, letting the Vulcan take control. Spock’s hands moved lower now, undoing Jim’s pants and sliding them off. Jim kicked them aside, his body already thrumming with anticipation.

Spock positioned himself between Jim’s legs, his fingers brushing lightly over the inside of his thighs. Jim shivered at the touch, his hands gripping the sheets.

“You good?” he asked, though the question was more for himself than for Spock.

“I am inquiring as to your comfort,” Spock replied matter-of-factly.

Jim snorted. “I’m fine. Just… don’t make me wait too long.”

Spock didn’t respond, instead focusing on preparing Jim with a meticulous precision that bordered on maddening. His fingers were slick with oil—where he’d gotten it from, Jim didn’t ask—and they pressed against Jim slowly but firmly. Jim hissed at the intrusion but relaxed quickly, letting Spock work him open with a focus that was almost clinical.

It didn’t take long for the discomfort to fade, replaced by a deep, building pleasure that had Jim squirming beneath him. Spock’s fingers moved with a slow and steady rhythm, ensuring Jim’s body had time to adjust. The slick glide of the oil made every movement smooth, and Jim couldn’t help but let out a soft groan as Spock pressed deeper. His breath hitched, his hands clutching the sheets tighter as he tried to anchor himself against the growing intensity.

Spock added a second finger gently, his sharp eyes never leaving Jim’s face. He watched intently for any sign of discomfort, ready to pause or adjust at the slightest indication. But Jim only groaned louder, arching into his touch, his body craving more. The Vulcan’s fingers were firm yet careful, curling slightly to brush against the sensitive spot inside him that made Jim’s vision blur. “Right there,” Jim gasped, his voice trembling. “Don’t stop.”

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pressure and pleasure that coiled tightly in his gut. Spock’s fingers worked him open with precision, each thrust sending sparks through Jim’s nerves. When Spock added a third finger, Jim’s breath stuttered, his hips lifting instinctively to meet the intrusion. The stretch was intense but not unbearable, and soon enough, the discomfort melted away, replaced by a heady warmth that made his toes curl.

“You’re doing well,” Spock murmured, his voice low and steady, though Jim could hear the faintest hint of strain beneath it. The Vulcan’s patience was infinite, his focus unshakable as he continued to prepare Jim with methodical care. His fingers curled again, brushing against that sweet spot once more, and Jim cried out, his back arching off the bed. The pleasure was almost too much, a relentless wave that seemed to consume him.

“Fuck,” Jim gasped, his voice breaking. “Fuck, don’t—don’t stop.” His hands fumbled for something to hold onto, eventually settling on Spock’s wrist, as if anchoring himself to the source of his pleasure.

"Spock," Jim let out, just as the third finger slid back out all the way and then deeper than before, curling up against his prostate, causing stars to burst behind his eyelids. "Oh. God, Spock—"

Jim forced his eyes open, gazing up at him wordlessly, begging for more, but Spock withdrew his fingers entirely, leaving Jim empty and trembling. The loss was almost unbearable, a void that begged to be filled.

“Are you ready?” Spock asked, his voice calm but laced with a heat that mirrored Jim’s own. Jim could only nod, his chest heaving as he gazed up at the Vulcan, desperate and pleading without needing to say a word.

Jim didn’t wait for Spock to finish his question, his body already trembling with need. In one fluid motion, he rolled them over, pinning Spock beneath him. The Vulcan’s dark eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he didn’t resist. Jim straddled him, his hands pressing against Spock’s chest as he leaned down to capture his lips in a heated kiss. Their mouths moved together, urgent and demanding, as Jim shifted his hips, lining himself up with Spock’s cock.

The tip pressed against him, and Jim broke the kiss, panting softly as he looked down at Spock. “You’re not getting away so easily,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Spock’s hands settled on Jim’s hips, his touch firm but not controlling. His fingers dug into the soft flesh as if testing, grounding himself in the moment. His gaze was intense, focused entirely on Jim as if weighing every reaction, every flicker of emotion that crossed his face. There was something almost reverent in the way he watched, as though this act was something sacred.

Jim bit his lip, pressing down slowly. The stretch was immediate, a sharp, sweet burn that made his breath catch. He sank inch by inch, his thighs trembling with the effort, until he was fully seated, Spock buried deep inside him. For a moment, neither of them moved. Jim’s hands braced against Spock’s chest, his head tipping back as he adjusted to the sensation.

“God, you feel—” Jim started, but the words dissolved into a groan as he shifted slightly, the movement sending sparks of pleasure through him. Spock’s hands tightened on his hips, his grip almost possessive now, and Jim could feel the tension in his own body building.

Spock’s expression remained stoic, but his breathing had quickened, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. His fingers flexed against Jim’s skin, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and strained. “You are… overwhelming.”

Jim smirked, rocking his hips experimentally. The friction was exquisite, and he let out a shaky moan. “Good overwhelming or bad overwhelming?”

Spock’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Instead, he let his actions speak for him, thrusting his hips upward sharply. Jim cried out, nearly losing his balance as the move pushed him deeper than before. His hands scrambled for purchase, gripping Spock’s shoulders as he began to move in earnest.

Their rhythm started slowing, tentative at first, but it wasn’t long before the pace quickened. Jim rolled his hips, each movement made to draw the most pleasure from both of them. Spock met him thrust for thrust, his strength evident in the way he controlled the motions even as Jim took the lead.

The sensation of being filled so completely was unlike anything Jim had ever experienced. Every movement sent waves of heat coursing through him, tightening his stomach and coiling low in his gut. He could feel the slick slide of Spock’s cock inside him, the stretch and pressure driving him closer to the edge with every passing second.

“You’re—you’re so—” Jim stammered, unable to form a coherent thought. His fingers dug into Spock’s shoulders, nails leaving faint crescents in his skin. His hips moved faster, bouncing almost desperately now as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak.

Spock’s hands slid up Jim’s torso, grazing over his ribs before settling on his chest. His thumbs brushed over Jim’s nipples, teasing them into hardened peaks. The sensation made Jim gasp, his body arching into the touch. “Spock,” he moaned, his voice breaking on the name.

The Vulcan’s fingers traced downward again, skimming over Jim’s abdomen before wrapping around his cock. The sudden contact was electric, and Jim let out a strangled cry, his hips stuttering in their rhythm. Spock stroked him firmly, his movements perfectly in sync with his thrusts. The dual sensations were too much, overwhelming Jim’s senses until he was shaking with need.

“I can’t—I’m not gonna last,” Jim choked out, his voice raw with desperation. His thighs burned with exertion, but he couldn’t stop. Not now.

Spock’s grip tightened on him, his pace becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. His eyes were locked on Jim’s face, taking in every twitch of his features, every hitch of his breath. The sight seemed to push him over the edge, and with a low groan, he came deep inside Jim.

“Jim,” he breathed, caressing his cheek, mesmerized. “My Jim.”

The feeling of Spock pulsing within him, his name pronounced like a prayer, was the final straw for Jim. His orgasm hit him hard, tearing through him with blinding intensity. He cried out, his body trembling violently as he spilled over Spock's hand. The waves of pleasure seemed endless, washing over him in relentless bursts until he was left gasping and boneless atop Spock.

For several moments, they stayed like that, their bodies still joined as they caught their breath. Jim’s forehead rested against Spock’s chest, and he could feel the rapid thud of the Vulcan’s heart beneath his cheek. Slowly, reluctantly, he shifted off Spock, collapsing onto the bed beside him.

Spock turned his head to look at him, his expression unreadable but his eyes softer than usual. “Jim,” he began, but Jim cut him off with a laugh.

“Don’t,” Jim said, breathless and grinning. “Just… don’t.” He reached out, tangling their fingers together. "Are you okay?" he murmured into his hair.

Spock nodded and raised his head, seeking his lips. "T'hy'la," he exhaled, "T'hy'la."

"I love you," Jim said, then bit his lip. He decided to pretend nothing was wrong, moving away from Spock and getting out of bed.

"Do you want to shower first? I'm afraid the two of us would be cramped. Too cramped."

And we wouldn't shower, he added to himself.

"You go, Jim. You're shaking," Spock said, and Jim nodded hesitantly, turning to get some clean underwear.

He knew Spock wasn't made for declarations or anything, but Jim didn't really care. Not too much, at least. They were together. He knew how Spock felt about him, he knew what ‘t'hy'la’ really meant, so—

"Jim," Spock said as he was about to open the door. He looked at him expectantly. "I love you, too."

Jim smiled, ready to enjoy his last day of leave.