Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A moment of silence passed before the door pinged and slid open to reveal the good doctor hunched over his PADD. He did not look up in greeting. “Yeah, whaddya want.”

Spock stepped forward to stand at rest in front of the desk. “Good evening, Doctor. I trust you are aware that all Starfleet office furniture is ergonomically designed to prevent prolonged periods of subpar posture.” Perhaps it was not wholly logical to antagonize someone he needed a favor from, but then again, it would be strange if he had refrained, as such interactions had come to be considered normal between them.

McCoy blinked up at him and scowled. “What?”

“I said that I trust you –“

More scowling, now accompanied with a dismissive wave. “No, no, I heard ya the first time. I meant, why in blazes did you come all the way to my office just to give me health advice. I’m the doctor, dammit, which means I only listen to my own medical suggestions. Just ask Chapel.”

After successfully suppressing a smirk, Spock raised a brow. “I do not believe a second opinion, while certainly conforming to the standards of scientific rigor, is necessary in this instance.” McCoy narrowed his eyes and seemed both tempted to protest and unsure whether or not he’d just been insulted, but Spock forged ahead. “However, giving you medical counsel was not the purpose of my visit. In fact, I was hoping to seek your input on a matter of personal importance.”

The desk chair creaked as McCoy leaned back and crossed his arms, brows high on his forehead. “Now wait a minute. Are you sayin’ you’ve come to me, an illogical human, for advice? Is this some sort of trick? Did Jim put you up to this?”

Spock expressed his exasperation by blinking at him. “Vulcans do not play ‘tricks,’ even at the request of their commanding officers.” And no matter how they may be tempted to comply. “It is on a human matter, which makes you an ideal source of knowledge. You are, after all, extremely…human.”

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re insulting humanity or me or both.” He paused, but since Spock was not about to answer that it was the second, McCoy harrumphed and continued. “Well, if it’s not medical, which I’m guessing it isn’t, why don’t you just ask Nyota? Unless…” He squinted at Spock, who merely twitched a brow at him and hoped McCoy wasn’t straining himself. “This is about Jim, isn’t it?”

It would seem even the doctor was capable of reaching a logical conclusion on occasion. Spock inclined his head. “You are, surprisingly, correct, Doctor –“

“Hey!”

“—you were the preferable option, given your longer standing history with the Captain, though I would have asked Nyota had you refused.” This was not a complete truth. In fact, in the first microseconds of realizing he needed a human opinion, his thoughts had turned, as they always had…before, to his mother.

McCoy grumbled under his breath that he hadn’t not refused, but Spock opted to let the interruption and the double negative slide.

“It has come to my attention that it would be beneficial to the working relationship I have with the Captain to extend a reciprocal gesture of goodwill. Since you know him best, I was hoping you had some insights as to what might be suitable.”

While he’d been speaking, McCoy’s signature scowl had slowly been replaced by poorly concealed mirth, which made Spock tense. He was unsure what he had said that the doctor could find so amusing. For a moment, he was reminded of his early academy days when he was frequently on the outside of or, even more frequently, the subject of a Terran joke, though he quickly suppressed the memory and his reaction. McCoy was not, despite Spock’s constant suggestion to the contrary, an ignorant cadet.

The grin McCoy had been “hiding” now broke free. “Spock, I know you’ll correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you just asked me what kind of friendship present you should get Jim.”

Spock’s jaw tightened before he forcibly relaxed it. “You are indeed incorrect. The gesture does not need to be materialistic in nature. The captain…” His eyes fixed on a point past McCoy’s head as he took a breath. “Jim took it upon himself to learn Vulcan, ostensibly for my sake. It would be negligent of me not to do something in return, to express my gratitude for his effort.” He refused to meet the doctor’s gaze but could see peripherally that his features had softened upon hearing this explanation.

“Yeah that sounds like Jim. Didn’t even tell me he was doin’ it so I’m guessin’ he wanted it to be a surprise. Kid’s always had a knack for…well just about everything if I’m honest – though don’t you dare tell him I said that – so I doubt it was that difficult for him.”

Spock inclined his head. “That is what he told me. However, that does not mitigate the gravity of the gesture, especially considering the many duties of a starship captain and the limited practical use the language now serves.”

The doctor’s expression turned solemn. “True enough.” There were a few seconds of silence before McCoy seemed to return to the matter at hand, thankfully letting the subject of Vulcan drop. “So, you want to do something nice in return huh? And apparently something outta human culture. Let me think….”

Though he stood there waiting patiently, the mirth that had returned to the corners of McCoy’s eyes left Spock feeling somewhat wary.

After only a few moments, McCoy smiled with something like triumph. “I got it. It’s a pretty old custom, but still used sometimes today as a token of respect and admiration between close friends. I take it that’s what you’re going for?”

Spock straightened imperceptibly with interest. “That does sound suitable.” He would have requested an explanation had he not been able to tell that McCoy was purposely attempting to build up suspense. There was no need to encourage him.

McCoy grinned. “Great. So, the custom entailed the giving party making an item of jewelry, usually a bracelet, for themselves and the other person. It’s important that they’re hand-made, not bought, and that they match somehow. Then you just give him his. And be sure to wear yours when you do so he understands the significance, since it’s not all that common nowadays.”

For a moment, Spock considered the logistics involved, then nodded. “I see. Fascinating. And you are certain that this is something that Jim will appreciate?”

“Oh, he’ll definitely appreciate it, don’t you worry.”

Spock raised a brow at him. “I assure you, I am not worried.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving a hand. “Did you need anything else or can I get back to my paperwork?”

“You may. Thank you, Dr. McCoy, for your assistance.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned to leave. Before the door slid shut behind him, though, he heard McCoy grumble something about not being “a damn marriage counselor,” but dismissed this as further human illogic.

Six hours earlier

The room was quiet except for the insistent, nervous tapping of a black knight against the edge of the chessboard. Jim ran a hand over his face and hunched further forward over the table he sat at, trying to take some slow, calming breaths. God, this was stupid, he should not be freaking out about this; he was a starship captain, dammit. He’d faced down meetings with admirals and Klingon armadas and a vid call from his mother without breaking a sweat. Mostly. Besides, Uhura had proudly declared him fluent last night after putting him through his paces one more time. And coming from Uhura, that probably meant he spoke it better than some actual Vulcans.

Blowing out his breath, he forced himself to put down the poor knight before he cracked it, and sat back. It was going to be fine. Even if he fucked this up somehow, Spock wasn’t actually an asshole, even if he could be a snarky bastard sometimes. The most he’d do was correct him, maybe make some smart-ass comment, and they’d go on with their evening. No big deal. Jim had done this for Spock, not to earn points with him.

...Okay, he’d done it primarily for Spock.

A ping at the door jarred him from his thoughts. Taking one last calming breath and forcing his muscles to relax into the chair, he called for the computer to grant entry.

His First Officer stepped inside at attention, but as soon as the doors closed behind him, it was his friend that inclined his head in greeting. “Good evening, Jim.”

Jim grinned. It hadn’t been as difficult as he’d expected to get Spock to drop formalities in private. “Hey, Spock. Right on time.”

Spock raised a brow, a not-smile hiding at the corner of his mouth that did funny things to Jim’s insides. “As I have been for 98% of our previous engagements, and yet you still feign surprise.” Instead of coming over to take a seat, Spock walked to the replicator, making Jim belatedly realize that he'd been so worked up, he'd forgotten to get their drinks. Great. “Will the usual suffice?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks.” His nervousness from earlier was coming back full-force, and he struggled to keep it from spilling out into his twitching fingers, bouncing knee, and racing pulse, with minimal success. He could do this. He just had to start talking in Vulcan. To a Vulcan. A perfect Vulcan who was good at everything. No problem.

Said perfect Vulcan came to sit down now carrying two cups of tea, white for himself and chamomile for Jim. He’d been trying to cut back on coffee and caffeine in general since becoming Captain. His insomnia was bad enough as it was, and he needed to be well-rested on the bridge. Plus, in times of crisis when he needed that caffeine boost, he wouldn’t be trying to overcome such a high tolerance.

After taking a careful sip of his tea, hoping it would help soothe his nerves, Jim looked up to find Spock studying him, head slightly tilted. “Uhh… Problem, Spock?”

The barest of furrows formed between Spock’s brows. “Your heart-rate is elevated 14.8% above normal, and your breathing pattern is also irregular. Is there something the matter, Jim?”

Fuck. He should’ve known Spock would notice. Well. He wouldn’t get a better opportunity than this, so he swallowed and put on his best smirk. “Nash-veh muhl. Vesht vokaya-tor du eshan nel-dath t’nashveh ha?”

I’m fine. You’ve memorized my breathing patterns?

Silence. Spock had gone so still, his cup of tea still held up in front of him, that his usual reserve looked downright expressive in comparison, and he was just staring at Jim. Who’d also gone very still, despite his heart-rate jumping with nerves, while he fought with his craving for Spock’s approval.

They remained in this limbo for several agonizing moments before Spock finally blinked and set his tea back down without taking his eyes off Jim. “You have learned Vulcan…” he breathed, switching to it as well, which Jim kept going.

Jim felt his face turning red, and looked down to fiddle with his mug. “Uh…yeah. I, um, started teaching myself a couple months into the mission and roped Uhura into helping me with pronunciation and context. I guess I wanted to…” He stopped short of saying ‘surprise you,’ which might come off as...weird. “…help keep your language alive? And I figured it would be nice for you to have more than just a couple people to speak your native tongue with. I dunno.” He shrugged, and risked a sheepish glance up at Spock, who was, yeah, still staring. “I mean, I’ve never had much trouble picking up alien languages, so it’s not like it was that big a deal. It only took me this long because, you know, starship captain,” he said, pointing vaguely at himself and trying unsuccessfully to effect a cocky smirk.

Now Spock’s expression finally shifted, forming his version of a severe frown (as in, the furrow between his brows was actually noticeable). “You should not belittle your own accomplishments in such a manner. It takes most humans years of study to gain fluency, let alone correct pronunciation.” His features softened as he searched Jim’s eyes; for what, Jim didn’t know. “What you have done, Jim… Nar-vah neruk klem t’nash-veh,” voice softer than Jim had ever heard it. Accept my humble gratitude.

Jim jerked his head up to meet Spock’s gaze more fully, shocked to hear him use such emotional speech, and in Vulcan no less. His throat had gone tight, and he swallowed to clear it so he could speak, the simple reply coming out as a reflex. “Malating.” No problem. But no, he didn’t want Spock to think he was dismissing such meaningful thanks. He frowned. “I mean… Itaren n’oklem.” Thank you for your honorable gratitude.

Spock swallowed and inclined his head, only to keep it bowed as he stared at his tea. His jaw was clenched, like he was trying to control himself, so Jim let the quiet rest for a moment. He’d known that this might dredge up memories of Vulcan for Spock, and suddenly felt guilty for putting him in such a vulnerable position, like he was purposely intruding. So he averted his gaze to give him a semblance of privacy, wanting to apologize without being sure how or for what exactly. And then hating the quiet part of himself that wished he could be someone who was allowed to see Spock like this, to offer comfort. Hold him.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed (likely less than half a minute) before Spock raised his head. He not-smiled at Jim, eyes still somehow softer than usual without actually looking all that different. “Dungi-palikau etek ha,” he asked, setting aside his half-drunk tea. Shall we begin?

Jim let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and grinned. “Ha. Ri-skil-tor du.” Yes. You will not win.

With a twitch of his brow, Spock moved one of his pawns forward. “Talal’fai-tor etek.” We shall see.

Chapter Text

Despite his gratitude for Dr. McCoy’s suggestion, Spock knew better than to take it at face value without some secondary corroboration, given the doctor’s habit for facetiousness (or “mischief” as his mother would have called it). Therefore, once he had managed to escape the questions and concerns of his science officers on gamma shift and retreat to the privacy of his quarters, he pulled out his personal PADD. First, he sent a message to Nyota requesting to have dinner the following evening in his quarters, though as she would be currently sleeping, he did not expect a reply until morning. It had been almost a week since they had had the time to speak more than in passing or through messaging.

Next, he pulled up a browser for the ship’s internet database and did a cursory search for “exchange of bracelets in human culture.” Ignoring the less scientific articles and references, he managed to find quite a few detailing their use in religious ceremonies and the displaying of wealth, but, more importantly, how they had long been used as gifts for friends and family. There was also record of their prominence a few hundred years ago as “friendship bracelets,” giving credence to McCoy’s claim, though he did not bother with reading about the seemingly simple tradition in depth. It was enough to know that McCoy had not been lying.

So satisfied, Spock went about readying his room for meditation. He did not think he would be able to achieve sufficient sleep before he would be due to the bridge for alpha shift. As it was, it took him some time even to slip into meditation, as his mind replayed Jim speaking in Vulcan, smiling and without hesitation, as though he’d been doing so for years. Hearing the distinctive sounds of his native tongue from the mouth of his captain, his friend, had been deeply… satisfying. As though some part of his katra that he hadn't realized had been misaligned had settled into place for the first time. A puzzling reaction.

He theorized it was likely due to the strength of the friendship he already felt for Jim, though this theory did not agree with the fact that Nyota was also a dear friend – had been one for far longer – and yet he’d never felt such a thing when she spoke Vulcan, even if it had always done much to ease his homesickness. Unfortunately, that was the extent of the experiences with close friends he could draw on for conclusions. Vulcan culture did nothing casually, and friendships were no exception. This in addition to his ostracism growing up had led to Spock only ever having acquaintances and study partners until he'd met Nyota at Starfleet Academy. And even then, it had taken time to accustom himself to the presence of that type of relationship.

Perhaps, then, he simply had an easier affinity for Jim, leading to a stronger, more quickly developed bond between them, much in the same way that some family members were naturally closer to each other than others. This seemed the most logical conclusion. Not for the first time, the words of his older self echoed in his ears, speaking of defining friendships. Spock and his Jim were different people from their alternate counterparts, but he was hoping that that was one of the things which would prove to be a universal constant.

Spock entered the debriefing room at exactly the scheduled time the next morning, and went to take his seat across from the captain, who smiled brightly when Spock softened his gaze at him in acknowledgement. Then the sleepy murmurings of the alpha bridge crew fell silent as Jim began the pre-shift meeting.

“I trust all of you have read the mission briefing I sent out, but I’ll quickly sum up. When we arrive at Tela IV, a diplomatic party consisting of myself, Commander Spock, Lieutenant Uhura and her team, and our CMO will beam down to commence negotiations. The Negazi people will be providing our security, and we have no reason to suspect them of any nefarious plots, but I still want there to be a check-in with the ship every hour rather than every three. It’s very important this planet joins the Federation, especially with some of the outlying planets recently withdrawing membership in the face of what happened last year.” Thankfully, no one glanced Spock’s way or otherwise drew further attention to the referred events, and Jim didn’t pause. “In layman terms, we can’t afford to fuck this up.” Jim smirked, which somehow eased some of the nervous tension that had been building among the crew, an effortless feat that Spock never ceased to find impressive.

“But this is the best crew in Starfleet – not to mention the most charming –“ he winked “—so I’m not too worried. Now, if we keep up a pace of warp five and aren’t sidetracked by any inconveniently timed distress calls, we should get there in about a week.” Jim’s gaze slid to Spock’s, brows lifting almost expectantly.

Spock suppressed a smile, though Jim’s mouth twitched in response as if he could see it anyway. “At that heading, we will arrive in approximately 5.42 days, Captain.” For some reason, Jim found his penchant for being so exact amusing, which meant Spock had begun to do so at every reasonable opportunity. The grin that Jim gave him now made something warm unfurl in his chest.

“Thank you, Commander.” He held Spock’s gaze just a moment longer before looking around the room. “Did anyone else have something to add to the discussion?”

Doctor McCoy grunted from where he sat, arms crossed. “I don’t like the idea of not taking any of our own security, Jim. I know they’re mostly peaceful, but it’s the ‘mostly’ that’s got me worried.”

“Which is why we’re going to be doing more frequent check-ins with the ship, Bones. It’s part of their traditions to protect their guests, and they take that responsibility very seriously. There are a couple of nations that aren’t thrilled at the idea of joining, but that’s what the negotiations are for. The ones providing security are the ones who reached out to us in the first place.”

The only response was a reluctant "hmph," which Jim seemed to take as acceptance, grudging though it was.

"All right, now, do the heads of department have anything to discuss while we’re here?” He asked, prompting responses in the negative from said chief officers. “In that case, meeting adjourned. Let’s go relieve gamma shift and get this show on the road.”

The doors to his quarters slid open just as Spock was setting out the pre-dinner tea he had prepared, and he inclined his head in greeting. “Good evening, Nyota.”

She smiled as she came over to the small sitting area of Spock’s quarters and took the opposite side of the couch he perched on. Her eyes looked heavy with weariness, as if she had not been sleeping well or had been working too hard. It was likely both, due to the preparations the communications department was going through for the upcoming mission, not to mention the time she'd apparently been devoting to helping Jim master a new language.

Spock was yet unsure if he should mention his awareness of her role in that matter, or bring it up at all. Strangely, he felt a sort of reluctance to discuss anything that had happened the previous evening in Jim’s quarters with anyone else, even as dear a friend as Nyota. As a Vulcan, he of course highly valued privacy, but this felt…different. More aggressive or protective, and the lack of immediate insight left him feeling unbalanced. He foresaw another sleepless night ahead of himself spent in meditation.

“Hey, Spock. I have to say, this is a nice excuse to make myself take a break from translations. I'm glad you messaged me.” She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, and reached for her tea. “How have you been?”

His eyebrow twitched upward. “I am adequate. I notice, however, that you cannot say the same. While your dedication to your duties is admirable, you must not neglect your health by overworking yourself.”

She snorted and sipped her tea. “You're one to talk. I can tell you didn't sleep last night. Don't give me that look, I’m not guessing.” She gave him a knowing smirk. “So, how'd you like Jim’s surprise?”

Ah. It would seem Nyota had made the decision for him, though he was grateful that she seemed to know not to pry into the details of his and Jim’s exchange. He looked down at his own tea for a moment before meeting her gaze. “It was…very much appreciated. The captain informed me of your role in teaching him.” His eyes took on a teasing glint. “I must admit to some curiosity as to what prompted such impractical generosity.”

She put a hand to her chest in mock affront. "Are you suggesting that I'm not a generous person?”

“I would never imply such an erroneous statement. You are, however, highly efficient, and would not spend your valuable time on something superfluous without sufficient incentive.”

The smile on Nyota’s face faded as she gave him an unreadable look. “Spock. I do not consider teaching someone Vulcan superfluous, and I don't think you do either. Your culture is not dead. Starfleet, the Federation, we won't let that happen. And that means not letting your language die either.”

Spock pondered her statement for a few moments, then inclined his head. “You are correct. I erred in suggesting that such knowledge would be considered unnecessary now by other species.” He hesitated, then met her gaze and let a sliver of his gratitude show in his eyes. “Itaren, Nyota.” Thank you.

“Veling,” she replied. Of course. Then she smiled and shrugged, clearly trying to shift their conversation back to lighter topics. “But, you also weren't wrong. Jim basically groveled at my feet and promised me an extra large favor in thanks. I mean, I probably would have agreed to help him anyway, but he doesn't need to know that.”

The tiniest of smirks tugged at the corners of Spock’s mouth and eyes. “Indeed. May I ask what favor you managed to secure from our captain?”

“I haven't cashed it in yet. I think I'll hang onto it for a while, save it for something good. Maybe until he's forgotten about it.” Her grin was brimming with mischief.

He raised a brow. “That would likely be the most efficient way to make use of it.”

With his tea finished, Spock stood and went to the replicator, entering both his own meal and the one that Nyota dictated to him. Once he'd returned with their food and they’d sat at the cushions surrounding the low coffee table, Spock resumed the conversation.

“I must confess, it was surprising to learn that Jim had gained such proficiency in such a short time. Are you aware of the method he used to accomplish this?” Judging that his plomeek soup had reached a sufficient temperature, he began eating while Nyota mulled over her response around a bite of lentils.

She shrugged. “Not much beyond what we covered in our lessons. I did send him a bunch of materials to use on his own. But mostly, he just picked everything up so quickly. I rarely had to repeat a new phonetic more than twice, and he grasped the concept of utilitarianism without too much trouble. I think the fact that, from what I could weasel out of him, he already knew at least eight other languages, both Terran and alien, helped.”

Spock blinked. Of course, he'd known that Jim was multilingual, but only three languages besides Standard had been listed on his records. But at least eight? Why would the captain keep such information to himself?

Seeming not to notice his momentary distraction, Nyota continued. “Not to mention the benefit of having me as a teacher.” She smirked, then sobered somewhat as she prodded her food with her chopsticks. “Really though, he's just…” she huffed a sigh, “…that irritatingly intelligent, as this ordeal has shown me. I don't know why I was still surprised, in the beginning, especially after…everything. Hell, the first time I met him, he demonstrated a thorough knowledge of linguistics, and he hadn't even stepped foot in Starfleet yet.” She shook her head.

"I had noticed that you seemed to be spending more time with him over the past months, though I had not guessed the reason. I take it you too have come to see him in a more positive light beyond his capability for leadership?” He had to admit to a twinge of regret for letting his friendship with Nyota drift the past few months, despite how busy they had been lately. Especially since he'd managed to maintain the biweekly chess nights with Jim with little deviation.

Nyota’s smile turned fond. “I have. I'd even say we've become pretty good friends. He can still be an arrogant brat sometimes, don't get me wrong, but, I don't know, I guess it's more amusing now than infuriating. He's a brilliant captain and a good person. A good friend. But I'm sure you know all that already.”

There was an uncomfortable, sour stirring in Spock’s chest as she spoke, though he could not discern any logical reason for its existence. He did his best to suppress it and relax the suddenly tense muscles in his shoulders, and inclined his head. “You are correct. I am proud to serve under his command, and to call him my friend.”

For a time, they lapsed into silence, focusing on finishing their meals before they cooled.

Once they'd both cleared away their dishes and settled back onto the couch, Spock brought up one of the main reasons he'd invited her over in the first place.

“Nyota, I was wondering if you could lend me suggestions in a personal matter.”

Her brows rose as she straightened and turned more fully toward him, her legs tucking underneath her. “Of course.”

“Are you familiar with the styles of jewelry human males typically prefer?”

There was a beat of silence, then Nyota’s eyes widened just slightly. “Is this in reference to Jim?”

“Indeed. Dr. McCoy recently advised me on a human tradition that would be appropriate for expressing my regard, though it occurred to me that I have never seen the captain wear jewelry and therefore cannot extrapolate his tastes. You have been spending a fair amount of time with him; have you any insights?”

By now she was staring at him, shock plain on her normally controlled face. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and swallowed before trying again. “I… Spock… since when were you… Oh my god. You should have told me… I didn’t even know…” She raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes looking alarmingly wet.

Brow furrowing, Spock tilted his head in his bewilderment. “Nyota? What is wrong? I would have come to you first for advice on how to proceed, but McCoy has known Jim longer. It was the logical course of action.” Being confronted by such sudden emotionalism was, as always, deeply disconcerting, though he would deny any accusations of panic.

Her hand lowered as she shook her head. “No, no, that’s fine, Spock, I understand. Well, I don’t, really, I just…” She frowned, concerned. “Are you sure, though? I mean, this is Jim, after all.” Her eyes widened slightly. “Not that I don’t think you should! It’s just a bit…sudden? Surely Leonard told you something similar.”

It took a moment for Spock to formulate a reply. He could say with certainty that there were few times in which he’d been more confused than he was now. It seemed to be an inherent hazard of associating with humans. “I do not understand,” he said slowly. “Is there a mandatory waiting period that humans observe before expressing gratitude to another? I am unaware of such a practice. And what does that have to do with Jim as an individual?”

Nyota blinked, mirroring his confusion. “Gratitude? Spock, you know that's not…” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait. What tradition exactly did Leonard tell you about?”

Still wary of the undercurrent of this conversation that he could not figure out, Spock explained. “An old one that is not commonly practiced today but still well-known, used to affirm close friendships. I believe the colloquial term is ‘friendship bracelets.’”

Once again, Nyota froze, only now her face was unreadable and something strange was trying to pull at the edges of her expression. “I…see. Friendship bracelets. Of course. That’s…” She cleared her throat. “That certainly does sound appropriate. How…thoughtful of Leonard to suggest it.”

If he was the sort to make such colorful comparisons, Spock might have equated this change in attitude with being afflicted with whiplash. “Nyota, you clearly misunderstood our topic of conversation. What did you think I was referring to?”

Impossibly, her expression froze further, nearly giving her the appearance of a Vulcan. She blinked, swallowed, blinked again. Then her face thawed, and she gave him a sheepish smile. “Oh, just another human tradition involving jewelry. It’s still practiced today and usually used to establish bonds of a more familial nature, which I was why I kind of…freaked out. It isn’t really something to be done lightly or quickly. Sorry for jumping to conclusions. I should have known better. It is you, after all.”

Spock studied her for a moment with suspicious eyes, while she maintained an amused, vaguely embarrassed expression. “I…see.” He didn’t, but could find no grounds to question her explanation, especially as he was still reeling from their earlier exchange.

Her smile brightened. “So, you want to make Jim a friendship bracelet, right? I’d be happy to help you design it. Bring your PADD over, and we can get started.”

After one last wary look at his friend, Spock stood to do as she requested and attempted to shift his focus to the matter at hand. He could puzzle over what had just happened later that evening, during meditation.

Chapter Text

They had worked on bracelet designs until nearly the start of gamma, and before Nyota had left, she had managed to make Spock promise to get some sleep. If pressed, he would be unable to adequately explain how exactly that had happened. Regardless, it was a promise he had kept, spending only enough time in meditation to maintain his faculties before going to bed.

Thoughts of the bracelets continued to occupy his mind through breakfast and then the pre-shift meeting, wherein he attempted to covertly gauge Jim’s wrist size, and it wasn’t until a few hours into his duties on the bridge that he recalled Nyota’s highly confounding reaction to his initial declaration, replaying it word for word. It still utterly puzzled him. What other tradition could she have been referring to?

The answer came to him as he was relaying the results of a scan of a nearby anomaly to his captain, which was even more unfortunate than the location of his epiphany. His words fell to silence as he was struck with a memory of when he was a very small child, asking his mother why she always wore that ring. At the time, he had failed to understand why a physical representation of a marriage bond was considered necessary. In Vulcan culture, bonded pairs were easily recognizable from unique social cues, even if the relationship was not stated outright. He could say with near certainty that he had never interacted with Jim in a way that indicated either Vulcan or Terran courtship. And yet Nyota had thought…

“..ock? Hey, Spock, you okay?”

His captain’s voice and a firm hand clasping his shoulder jolted him back to the present and the reality of its implications. To his horror, he felt a flush creep across his face as his control lapsed. Unable to meet Jim’s eyes, he looked instead in the direction of Nyota’s station. She was staring at him, concerned, which he realized was likely the current occupation of the entire bridge, but upon meeting his gaze, her own widened in apparent understanding. Biting her lip, she swiftly turned back to her station. If he’d had the capacity, he might’ve resented her abandoning him to his embarrassment, since this was her fault. As it was, he could only just barely manage to get his expression under control before returning his attention to his captain.

Jim gave his shoulder a slight shake, worry etched into his brow, and kept his voice low. “Spock, what’s wrong? Should I get Bones?”

The thought of yet another person, let alone McCoy, witnessing his lack of composure galvanized him. He shook his head and reached up to loosely grip Jim’s wrist, though he was careful to only touch his sleeve. “That will not be necessary, Captain. Nothing is wrong. I apologize for giving you cause for concern.”

Jim did not immediately release him, only spent a moment searching his eyes. It was a struggle for Spock to meet Jim’s gaze steadily, especially since he knew there was still some color in his cheeks and ears. Then Jim murmured low enough for only Spock to hear, “Du ac’ruth ha?” Are you sure?

Startled into speechlessness by the still-new switch to Vulcan, Spock could only jerk his head in affirmation. Despite still not looking completely satisfied with Spock’s reassurances, Jim nodded in return and stepped back, and Spock experienced another layer of confusion as he simultaneously rejoiced at and mourned the loss of the wrist that he let slip from his fingers. He experienced more of the same when Jim turned away, the mantle of Captain settling across his shoulders once more.

“Chekov, report.”

The bridge crew (all except for Nyota) startled as one at being caught watching the exchange and fell back into their duties, while their youngest officer picked up where Spock had so abruptly left off.

In a bit of a daze, Spock turned back to his station and sat, staring at one of his screens without truly seeing what was on it. But that was not acceptable for the chief science officer of a starship, so after a few seconds, he took a breath and made a concentrated effort to focus on his duties. He was Vulcan. Vulcans did not allow themselves such unprofessionalism.

He was met with middling success. Though he only experienced a minimal four percent drop in efficiency, the unwanted thoughts kept trickling in.

Nyota had thought… She’d thought it more likely that he was planning to “propose” to Jim than present a token of friendship? And though she’d certainly been shocked by the mistaken revelation, she had not been disapproving or disbelieving. As if it was within the realm of possibilities.

Which it most definitely was not. For numerous citable reasons.

Try as he might throughout the rest of alpha shift, he could not think of a logical hypothesis that would explain why Nyota had not truly questioned such a conclusion beyond the apparent timing. And so he resolved to seek her out after shift and request (demand) an explanation.

When his relief, a young lieutenant, appeared at the science station, he nodded to her and turned to the communications station, only to find that Nyota had already left the bridge, a deviation from routine which indicated a low probability of coincidence. His eyes narrowed. It was unlike Nyota to avoid confrontation. But no matter, he could use the extra time to further order his thoughts on the subject.

When he went to leave the bridge, Jim was holding the turbolift for him, as was his custom, and Spock did not allow himself to hesitate to join him. As soon as the doors closed, Jim turned to him.

“You up for another game this evening?” Though his tone was light, Spock could see the concern in his eyes and around his mouth. Jim wished to follow up about what had happened on the bridge, in the context of friendship rather than rank.

Spock looked back at the doors. “Negative. After dinner, I will be busy in the labs well into gamma shift.” It was not a lie, and yet it left a similar sour taste in his mouth.

Out of his peripheral, he saw Jim’s face fall with disappointment and perhaps hurt. “Oh. All right, no problem. Just don’t wear yourself out, okay? Get some sleep, or meditation or whatever.”

Regret was gnawing at him as the lift opened once more onto the Officers Deck. They walked in a rare uncomfortable silence down the corridor toward their adjoined quarters. When Jim stopped in front of his own door and put his palm on the scanner, about to step inside, Spock reached out to catch his elbow with just a brush of his hand. It was enough to turn Jim around in the doorway, surprise clear on his expressive face. Any touching between them was usually initiated by Jim. Today was proving to be an anomaly in many regards.

“What’s up, Spock?”

Spock glanced up at him and then away again. “I would not be averse to taking a ‘rain check’ until, perhaps, tomorrow evening?” Their second scheduled chess night for the week took place the day after that, which would mean two days in a row of spending his free time with his captain. It would not be a hardship.

He met Jim’s gaze once more and was greeted with a brilliant grin that made his stomach feel as if a dozen tiny lara birds had taken up residence. It was an alarming sensation, but he assumed it was due to the relief of removing the disappointment from Jim’s expression. “Sure thing, Spock. See you in the mess for dinner?”

Spock inclined his head and released him. “Indeed, Captain.” He regretted his slip of using the title out of habit (they were still in a public corridor) when Jim’s too-blue eyes dimmed somewhat, though the smile remained as Jim stepped back and the door closed between them.

Though their exchange had been brief, Spock found that he was feeling calmer after interacting with Jim. They were the same as they had been yesterday, regardless of Nyota’s assumptions, as was logical. Nothing had changed or needed to. It was just a silly misunderstanding, nothing more.

Feeling only slightly guilty for leaving the bridge without talking to Spock, Nyota took a lift down to medbay and barged into Leonard’s office without asking permission. She made sure her features were severe and disapproving.

He jumped a bit and started griping before he’d even looked up, “What in blazes is so --. Oh. Nyota. Ya need something?” His glare faded into nervousness as he took in her expression.

She crossed her arms and raised her brows at him. “So. Friendship bracelets?”

He went a bit pale and held up his hands. “Ah, hold on now, I didn’t mean no harm.” Her expression remained unimpressed.

“Uh huh. So you didn’t mean any harm by purposely misleading him on the nature of some childish human tradition?”

“No! It’s not like Jim’s going to give him shit for it. Hell, he’ll probably just end up even more smitten.” His eyes widened in panic. “Shit, did you tell him the truth? The hobgoblin’s gonna snap me in half for…”

His guilty diatribe was cut off by Nyota’s sudden laughter. It wasn’t quite the level of mirth she’d given into once she’d gotten back to her quarters last night, though, and didn’t last nearly as long. She grinned as she fell gracefully into one of the chairs in front of the desk while Leonard embodied the definition of gobsmacked.

“Oh, man, you should see the look on your face, Len. Calm down, he has no idea and is probably on his way to the labs to work on those bracelets as we speak. I helped him design them myself.” She winked.

Leonard relaxed. “Well thank God. You had me thinking you were gonna string me up for teasin’ him.” He gave her a considering look. “I didn’t take you for a prankster.”

She smirked. “And I hadn’t realized what an evil genius you could be. Sounds like we could help each other out.”

His eyes narrowed in consideration. “With what, exactly?”

“Getting those two idiots’ heads out of their asses, for starters. I mean, have you seen them during pre-shift meetings? It’s disgusting.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Didn’t think I’d ever seen Jim so infatuated. And the pining. The fuckin’ pining.” He rubbed at his temples as if fighting off a headache.

“It’s pretty painful. I don’t think Spock even realizes how he feels yet. Though, after last night, he might be well on his way…”

Leonard raised his brow. “Yeah? What happened last night?” He made a face. “Wait, do I wanna know?”

Nyota snorted delicately. “Nothing like that, at least not that I know of. No, Spock invited me to dinner last night and asked me for help on the bracelets, only he didn’t come out and say that, oh no, he had to be all vague and start out asking about types of jewelry Jim might like, and, uh.” She cleared her throat, a faint blush darkening her cheeks. “I may have jumped to the stupid conclusion that he’d figured his shit out and was thinking of putting a ring on it, as it were.” And from what she'd been able to deduce from her time with Jim, she’d been pretty sure Spock would get a “yes,” as ill-advised as rushing that kind of thing might be.

For a long moment, Leonard just stared at her, before being taken by a fit of laughter that made him hunch over his desk and knock over a stack of PADDS with the force of it. “Oh dear lord, no fucking way. Did you tell him that?” He burst into another round of laughter, probably thinking of Spock’s reaction.

She sighed and rubbed at her forehead, the embarrassment still sharp. “I was able to play it off a bit – badly – but I think he realized this morning on the bridge. He just kind of…shut down mid-sentence, the poor thing.”

Still snickering, Leonard shook his head. “I would’ve paid money to see that.”

“I think if you had, he would have snapped you in half, just for laughing. You know how proud he is,” she said dryly.

“Boy, do I.” He moved to straighten his PADDs. “So, you were wantin’ to join forces or something? What’d ya have in mind?”

She grinned and rested more of her weight on her arms on the desk. “Nothing too interfering, of course. No one likes a matchmaker, let alone a pair of them. I think we mostly need to focus on helping Spock realize the nature of his feelings. And with the upcoming mission, we should have some good opportunities to do just that. You in?”

His grin matched hers. “You bet your ass I’m in.”

Chapter Text

The time Spock had before dinner was first spent seeing to the dual duties which he’d been unable to during shift and signing off on anything that required it. This only took an hour, which meant he still had several more before he was meant to meet Jim and the rest of the alpha bridge crew in the mess for dinner. With some anticipation, he rose from his desk and left his quarters to head down to the research deck.

As he was the CSO, there was a small lab set aside almost exclusively for his use. Currently, it was empty, its lights flickering on as he stepped inside. He set his PADD in its stand at the primary work table and pulled up the schematics he’d been working on with Nyota. Holding up his hand, he recreated the shape it had formed around Jim’s wrist that morning and used that to make the final adjustments to the bracelet’s measurements. It was lucky that he’d been granted such an opportunity for accuracy, regardless of the less than ideal circumstances. Shaking his head, he pushed away the lingering embarrassment, donned his gloves and goggles, and set to work.

First came the casings. He'd be using a semi-conductive alloy of his own making through the use of appropriate epitaxy, which he formulated by running through various simulations before replication. Unless he was corroborating with humans, he usually performed his experiments in Vulcan, particularly when it came to electromagnetics. The Terran approach to the subject, while accurate, had always struck him as rather contrived and inefficient, though he supposed he might be harboring some level of bias.

It took over an hour to achieve the properties he required, and once it had been replicated (he made a note to log the personal expense that evening so that it might be deducted from his pay), he began the delicate work of heating and shaping it by hand. Engineering such as this was not something he’d done since he was a child. As his hands manipulated the equipment, he found himself sinking into the memory of making a necklace for his mother’s birthday when he was twelve. His motor skills had not finished developing, and he’d burned himself twice as he’d soldered together the intricate chain. But the burns had been worth it when he’d presented the finished piece to his mother and she’d smiled at him like the sun at daybreak and told him how much she loved it. Though the memories would always bring him pain, it had been getting easier with time to focus more on the happiness associated with them rather than the crippling loss.

By the end of the time he allotted himself, the inner casings for the pair of bracelets were complete. Due to the nature of the alloy, they were flexible while maintaining their integrity, enabling easy unclasping. They would serve as suitable vessels for the circuitry he would be printing next time, but for now, he stored them away in his locker and cleaned up the workstation.

When he got to the mess hall, Chekov, Sulu, Nyota, and McCoy were already sitting at their usual table. They noticed him as he made his way to the replicators and waved before returning to their conversation, though Nyota kept her gaze on her tray. Spock loaded up his own tray, then went to join them and ended up sitting across from her, though she only glanced at him, even when he rose a pointed brow at her behavior. It was not as if he intended to initiate what would be a serious and private conversation in such a public setting. There was no need for her avoidance.

"Hey, Spock, how’s it going? You feeling better?” Lieutenant Sulu grinned at him and clapped him on the shoulder, something he’d no doubt picked up from Jim. Though Spock was willing to tolerate such touches from people like Sulu and McCoy, there was no comfort to be derived from them as there was with those from Jim.

Especially in this instance, with the reminder of his lapse this morning. His jaw tensed, but he was saved from answering when Sulu flinched and threw a glare at Chekov across the table. “Hey! No kicking!”

Chekov glared right back. "The Commander already said he was fine, Hikaru.”

Sulu held up his hands in defense. “I was just making sure!”

“’Feelin’ better’? Were ya sick earlier or something?” McCoy paused in his eating to glance over at Spock, who pursed his mouth at the amused glint in McCoy’s eyes. Spock had a sneaking suspicion that he already knew all about what had happened on the bridge.

This suspicion grew stronger when Nyota sighed and rolled her eyes, digging an elbow into McCoy’s side. “All of you drop it and leave him alone. He seems okay now, so who cares?” She finally met Spock’s eyes, and he dipped his head in gratitude.

“Hey, guys, how’s it going? Sorry I’m late, I was helping Scotty out with a project. Couldn’t get him to take a break and join us.” Spock twitched and turned to watch Jim slide into the seat next to him, his tray piled with food, though Spock was pleased to note that most of the selections were healthy.

"Good evening, Captain." Perhaps now that Jim was here, the others would discuss something else.

Jim grinned and then nudged him with an elbow. “Hey, Spock. How’s your work in the labs coming along? Anything cool so far?”

With his more sensitive hearing, he heard Nyota huff a quiet breath in amusement but didn’t spare her a glance as he tensed. “There is nothing to report at present, as it is still in the initial stages. If you wish, I can show you the results in full once complete.”

Much to his relief, Jim just smiled and didn’t press for any further details. “Sounds good. Your work is always interesting. And hey, if you need anyone to bounce ideas off of, I’m your man.”

Warmth spread through Spock’s chest at the praise and softened his mouth. “I appreciate that, Jim.” It was rare that Spock dropped his title in front of others, and Jim blinked at him, his smile widening.

The moment was broken by McCoy making a sound somewhere between a snort and a gag, followed quickly by a yelp as Jim kicked him under the table and sent him a glare, mirroring Sulu and Chekov’s earlier exchange.

Spock quirked a brow at them. "I was under the impression that such methods of communication are reserved for Terran school children, not Starfleet officers. Clearly, the differences between those groups are minimal."

Nyota snickered and Jim threw him a sheepish grin, the only ones who got his dry humor right away. Though, Chekov and Sulu did laugh once they realized they were allowed. McCoy, unsurprisingly, just scowled at him.

The topic was shifted easily enough when Chekov leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity. "So, Keptin, what were you helping Mr. Scott with?"

Jim lit up with excitement. "He got this possibly nuts idea on a way to optimize warp core efficiency so we won't have to refuel as much. I was helping him with the computer simulations and schematics."

Spock raised his brow, impressed. "That would be quite beneficial if it can be achieved."

"Indeed, Keptin! That would be amazing. What was Mr. Scott's idea?"

Soon, half of the table was engaged in a rousing debate on the finer aspects of engineering and warp theory, while the other half rolled their eyes and offered teasing comments or chatted amongst themselves. For his part, Spock did not join in as much as he might have usually done. Without anything pressing to occupy his mind, he found himself distracted by the yet unresolved issue from that morning.

Once dinner had concluded, Spock approached Nyota in the corridor as they were leaving, keeping his voice low so as not to draw attention. “Nyota. If I might have a word?”

She paused easily enough, but her mouth was tense as she turned to him, betraying her discomfort, before it smoothed into a smile. “Of course, Spock. What is it?”

He raised a brow at her. There was little chance that she did not already know his intended topic. “It is a private matter. Would you join me in conference room 4F?”

Though clearly reluctant, she followed him further down the hall to the small, little-used conference room reserved for maintenance staff. Once inside, he turned to her, hands clasped behind his back. “I wished to ask you to explain the reasoning behind your conclusion that I intended to…propose to the captain.“ The phrase felt odd and ridiculous as it left his mouth, and he had to suppress the threat of a blush in response.

“Yes, Spock, I guessed as much.” She heaved a sigh and took a seat, and Spock followed suit. “Look, it was just a misunderstanding, okay? I’m sorry. I just couldn’t think of anything else that had to do with jewelry at the time that you could be talking about. Friendship bracelets aren’t that common anymore.”

Spock was quiet a moment as he considered her words. “But if that was the case, then surely you would have expressed more confusion and requested an explanation rather than jumping to such an illogical conclusion. And you are not illogical, Nyota. Surely there was a basis for your assumption.”

She shrugged and crossed her arms. “I mean, you and the captain are very close. Closer than you and I, even. And you’re a very private person. I figured it was possible you had simply kept the nature of such a relationship secret.” Her eyes widened a bit. “Not that I thought you two were dating before that or anything. It just didn’t seem…impossible, per se. Given your closeness.”

A frown pulled at Spock’s brows. “I see.” Did he truly treat the captain in such a misleading manner? He believed that Nyota hadn’t seen them that way, and her reasoning was logical, but it troubled him that he might be showing an unprofessional level of regard toward Jim in front of the crew. Still frowning, he looked up at Nyota. “I was not aware that my interactions with the captain could be seen as something other than appropriate for friends and colleagues.” Though as friendship was viewed differently in Vulcan culture than in Terran, perhaps some of his behaviors translated poorly in a human context.

Nyota shook her head. “No, no, you’ve been very professional. It’s just clear how highly you regard him, and everyone can tell you’re good friends. But…” She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth as she thought. “I guess…you do treat him differently, even from how you treat me, and we’re also close. I was viewing that through a human lens, rather than a Vulcan one. Which I shouldn’t have been.”

A frisson of alarm bolted through him. “Have I been appearing to treat him as a human would a romantic interest?” The thought made him feel ill with panic. Not because of what the crew would think, but because of Jim. The last thing he wanted was to make his captain feel uncomfortable around him, as such a thing surely would, possibly harming both their friendship and working relationship.

Eyes wide, Nyota straightened and held up a staying hand. “Of course not. You don’t have to worry about that. I just meant, humans tend to, uh, see special treatment as a sign of interest, that’s all. It might be different for Vulcans. But I can say pretty confidently that you haven’t given the captain the wrong idea.”

As usual, Nyota's emotional perceptiveness made it unnecessary for him to explain his feelings on such personal matters, for which he was grateful. He supposed her answer was acceptable for the circumstances, and the last of his worries on the matter had been suitably assuaged.

Nodding, he stood. “Thank you, Nyota. While ultimately faulty, your logic at the time was sound.” He paused, considering his words, before meeting her gaze. “And I would like you to know that I would not keep any such involvement a secret from you, were it to arise.”

Smiling, she stood and stepped forward to lay a light hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, Spock. That's good to know.”

After they parted ways, Spock went straight to his quarters to meditate fully on the events of the past several days. He should not have put it off so long and was determined to examine more closely his interactions with his captain, and, if necessary, make preventative adjustments.

“I think Spock is avoiding me.”

Bones paused with his sandwich halfway to his mouth and looked up at where Jim was (not listlessly) pushing his food around his plate. They were currently eating dinner in Bones’s office instead of the mess hall today, since Jim’s monthly check up had taken longer than they’d expected.

After a moment of belligerent silence, Bones set the sandwich back down and sighed, muttering something under his breath before responding.

“Yeah? What makes you think that?” He sounded as if he was forcing the words past his lips.

Well he could deal. Jim didn’t exactly have anyone else to talk to about this, since even though he was friends with his bridge crew, particularly Sulu and Uhura, he was still kinda their boss. Well, technically, he was also Bones's boss, but that wasn't the same. Not only could the CMO tell the captain what to do sometimes, he and Bones were friends first, before any titles.

“It’s just…I don’t know, he seemed…off during dinner last night, too quiet. And then all through this morning, he barely looked at me, said the bare minimum to answer my questions during shift… He was just so stiff, you know? I’m worried something happened yesterday on the bridge when he…” He waved his hand vaguely, not sure how to sum up how Spock had shut down like he had.

“Glitched out?”

Jim pursed his lips, unamused.

“What? It’s accurate. And I don’t know what you’re talking about, him being ‘stiff.’ Isn't that just his default Vulcan setting? They're all like that Jim, you should know that by now.”

A clenched jaw joined Jim’s irritation. “Bones,” he warned. He wasn’t very tolerant of his friend’s xenophobic jokes when he was in a good mood, and he definitely wasn’t feeling generous just then.

Bones heaved a put-upon sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I’m just yanking your chain, calm down. Though I really haven’t noticed anything weird. Besides, don’t you two have an extra chess date tonight? Doesn’t sound like avoidance to me.”

The tines of Jim’s fork made a weird scraping noise as he went back to pushing at his food. “I think he only suggested it because he felt guilty turning down his captain. At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if he cancelled. I mean, he didn’t eat breakfast or lunch with us, without any message of explanation, at least not to me. That’s weird, right? The guy loves routine, and this is not that.”

Bones shrugged. “Who knows, maybe he's busy, or just wanted some time to himself for a change. You two are basically joined at the hip these days.”

Despite a valiant struggle, Jim felt himself deflate, just a little. He stared at his food. “Hm. Yeah…maybe. I can’t expect him to put up with me all the time. Hell, even you only do under protest.” The words were meant to be joking, but they mostly just came out too flat, too honest. He inwardly cringed at himself, especially when he looked up and was met with way more concern than he’d wanted.

“Aw hell, kid, I didn’t mean it like that. But I’m not sure what you’re expecting from me. If you don’t know what’s going on in the hobgoblin’s head, then I doubly don’t.” Bones rubbed absently at his jaw while Jim just shrugged. “Well, this is gonna sound crazy, I know, but maybe you could…I dunno, ask him instead of getting your knickers in a twist all by yourself? During your date tonight?”

Jim leaned his face into both hands and heaved a breath through them. “Not a date, Bones, shut up.” Though the words came out muffled, Bones seemed to get the gist.

“Uh huh. You keep saying that but…”

In a moment that surprised them both, Jim slammed both hands down on either side of his tray, making the cutlery, Bones, and the PADDs on his desk jump. He was immediately sorry for the outburst, but could still feel the anger pulsing, oily and itchy and too-familiar under his skin as he glared at Bones. “God dammit Bones, would you cut it out with that shit? It’s not fucking funny. And when I inevitably get my heart broken, and it’s even worse because you got my fucking hopes up when I know there’s no point, that’ll be on you!”

Bones was staring at him, wide-eyed, and continued to do so for a long moment before he swallowed and looked down, guilt clouding his expression. He ran a hand through his hair. “Shit, kid. I’m sorry. I mean, I knew you liked him, a lot, but I didn’t think it was…hm.”

The heat behind Jim's anger faded, and he sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. It had been a while since he’d gotten like that, especially with a friend, with Bones. Sure, he got angry pretty regularly on his missions, in the face of injustice or stupidity. But that was controllable, justified anger that didn’t leave a sour taste on his tongue when it faded. Not like this did. This made him feel like he was sixteen again, sitting in his therapist’s too-pleasant office with its too-comfortable chairs that had seemed like a manipulation at the time. Like yet another authority figure offering him nice things without telling him what they (He) really wanted from him. He’d been angry all the time back then, even as he'd hated feeling that way, hated how suspicious he’d been of everyone.

And now, just like then, he couldn’t quite force out an apology for snapping at whoever the unlucky target had been. Not even for Bones. It was too much vulnerability to handle when he felt like this.

Thankfully, Bones didn’t seem bothered by the lack of apology, too lost in his own thoughts, which didn’t look much more pleasant judging by his expression. They ate in tense silence for a few more minutes before Bones abruptly stood and went to the cabinet where he kept his other best friends.

“Bourbon or scotch? Actually, never mind, we’re going with bourbon.”

Jim didn’t much care either way, so he shrugged as Bones retrieved the bottle and two glasses and brought them over to the desk. “It’s been a while since we’ve tried drinking away our feelings.”

“Long enough for us to think it might actually do some good this time. But don’t worry, it’ll just be one glass. I won’t have you blamin’ me for losing to Spock because you were too drunk.” He slid Jim’s drink over, and Jim took a sip as he smirked.

“Please. I could still beat him after four drinks.”

Bones rolled his eyes. “Sure you could, hot shot. Your tolerance isn’t as high as you lead people to believe, and last I checked, you guys had a win ratio of about fifty-fifty. Pretty sure he’d wipe the floor with you after three.”

With a mischievous grin, Jim knocked back the rest of the liquor with only a slight cough and slammed the glass back on the table, sliding it within Bones’s reach. “I’ll take that bet. An extra day off this month says you’re wrong.”

Bones raised his brow, dubious. “Spock will be able to tell if you’re drunk, and then he’ll probably give you some sort of handicap to make it fair, if he still plays at all.”

Jim waved a dismissive hand. “Nah. He’d never go easy on me just because I was dumb enough to drink beforehand. That guy can be pretty competitive. Though, this is assuming he even shows up.” This time, he managed to keep himself from sounding like some pathetic teenager, thank god. It’s not like it was a big deal, anyway. Even if Spock didn’t make their rain check, there was always tomorrow.

Sighing, Bones reached to refill Jim’s glass and pushed it back to him. “He’d have let you know by now if he planned on cancelling, Jim. I thought I was the worrier in this relationship.” He took a gulp of his own drink. “But fine. You’re on, so hurry up and drink. You gotta leave in thirty minutes.”

Half of Jim’s drink disappeared in one go. Then he frowned. “Wait, thirty minutes? I don’t meet Spock for another hour.”

The grin Bones gave him was teasing. “Yeah, but knowing you, you’ll need that extra time to get yourself all prettied up, even if it isn't a date.”

Jim scoffed in mock affront. “Please. I’m always pretty.”

Bones proceeded to list times he had not, in fact, been even remotely pretty. Examples included the one time he’d come out of a fight with two black eyes and a split lip back in the academy and, a bit more recently, an allergic reaction he’d had from alien food that had made his face puff up. Though he was equal parts laughing and groaning with embarrassment, Jim was also relieved that they’d been able to get past the tension from earlier and back to their usual banter. This was why he and Bones had been able to stay friends for so long. He didn’t put up with Jim’s shit, but he was also always willing to forgive him for it.

Chapter Text

Nervousness was not logical. Spock told himself this repeatedly as he stood in front of the door to the shared ‘fresher. As he had been doing for the past 2.14 minutes. There was nothing remarkable about this visit to his captain’s quarters beyond the day, no reason for the apprehension thrumming under his skin and on the back of his tongue. Except, maybe, for the fact that this meeting was only happening because the captain intended to inquire about the incident on the bridge yesterday morning. Jim was not nearly as oblivious as he led some to believe and indeed was one of the most insightful, empathetic people Spock had ever known, capable of wringing the truth from anything and anyone in a manner that felt more like an offering than a theft. And Spock knew he was just as susceptible, even with his Vulcan discipline.

Perhaps, he mused, it would not be as intimidating if he had interacted more with his captain that day. After spending the majority of last night in meditation, he had reached the conclusion that Nyota had been mostly correct in her assessment of the appropriateness of his interactions with Jim. However, Spock had also realized that over the past few months, he had begun to think of his captain with increasing frequency, to the point that now his thoughts turned to Jim in some manner or other an alarming 69.4 percent of his waking time, and 78.1 percent during meditation. In addition, there seemed to be some negative correlation between the length of intervals between talking to Jim and the stability of Spock’s controls.

And so, he had set out to test this hypothesis. His method did not meet his usual standards for rigor, but given the nature of the variables involved (see: Jim), he could not do multiple trials or put controls in place. Instead of eating breakfast in the officer’s mess with the others, he ate in his quarters. During shift, he did not engage Jim in any banter, speaking to him only as a commander should his captain. He worked straight through lunch break. When shift ended, he rode the turbolift in complete silence and went straight to his lab to continue his work, first official, then personal. He ate his evening meal, again, in his quarters. And for the entire day, he had thrown all of his considerable control into keeping his thoughts focused on work, never Jim.

He was not entirely sure what he had expected, as it was unscientific to go into an experiment with clear expectations as to the result. Regardless, if he had expected anything, it would not have been this. A slight rise in efficiency, perhaps, from being more focused, as well as a correctable dip in his controls from missing his friend. Not this.

His efficiency rating had dropped a staggering sixteen percent overall, something which had only ever happened before when his health was somehow compromised. And perhaps it was, in a way, because at this point, his mental controls were frayed around the edges. Not tattered or crippling in their impairment, but certainly in need of more than the cursory meditation he had just completed in preparation for meeting with Jim. It was…shocking, shameful, that he should be so affected, that his captain, even his friend, should have this much influence over him.

It was also highly confusing. The only possible explanation that Spock had been able to come up with so far (which spoke more to his state of mind than to the existence of answers) was that he had never had a ne ki’ne, a telansu before. Nyota was a dear friend as well, a fainusu, and the first one he’d been able to make, but their relationship lacked the synchronicity, the intimacy, that he had with Jim. The closest Terran approximation might be “best friends,” but even that felt lacking and too juvenile. And since this was his first experience with such a thing, it might make sense that he would struggle to adjust, more than he had with Nyota. That he had been so lacking in companionship as a child that he was now clinging to Jim’s too fiercely, putting too much of himself into the connection.

Whatever the case may be, or his own opinion on the matter, the fact remained that distancing himself had indeed been detrimental, proving a certain reliance on his personal relationship with his captain. And while such knowledge was unsettling, it would be illogical to deny or suppress their connection when it was not, itself, inherently unhealthy. Kaiidth.

Acceptance did not make it easier to walk through the ‘fresher and face his captain, even knowing that seeing him would ease his mind. In fact, being aware of how much he valued Jim’s friendship seemed to make obvious his fears – illogical as they were – that he would injure it, that he had injured it by avoiding Jim today. There was little chance that Jim had not noticed, and if he had, it was likely that he had perceived it as a slight.

Spock’s internal chronometer informed him that he was now late by several minutes, a noticeable deviation from the norm. Any longer, and he would only raise Jim’s suspicions. So he gathered his controls more tightly to himself and placed his hand on first one scanner, and then, as he was reaching for the second, a harsh thump and clatter followed by muffled cursing sounded in the next room.

Alarmed, Spock finished opening the door and burst into the captain’s quarters. “Jim!”

The man in question was half-lying on the ground next to the table, clothed in a t-shirt and sweats which he was currently trying to pull away from himself as if they pained him. An empty mug beside him and tea stains, as well a few chess pieces knocked off the upper tier of the tri-d chess board, made it clear what had happened.

Jim didn’t respond until he had stripped off the offending shirt, which had suffered the brunt of the hot liquid, and tossed it away. He looked up at Spock’s approach, expression a sheepish grimace. “Hey, Spock. Well, this is embarrassing.”

As he began to stand, Spock held out a hand to assist him. Jim blinked at it, surprised, then carefully clasped Spock’s clothed forearm, ever mindful of making hand contact. Spock was surprised himself by his own action, given the compromised nature of his shields, and was grateful that Jim had had more foresight, for once, than he currently did. Even so, just the obligatory contact of his hand against Jim’s arm was a shock to his system. He wasn’t sure he’d ever made such deliberate skin contact with Jim before, and certainly not while his shields were less than optimal. The long sleeves of their uniforms kept that from happening, even in times of crisis.

The force of Jim’s mind, though incredibly faint and lacking any transfer of thoughts or emotions, paid Spock’s shields hardly any notice at all, slipping through as a fish through coral and then exploding behind his eyes. It was brilliant, vibrant, a dazzling refraction of light and color that made Spock think of grain rippling in the breeze of a sunny day. Or the view of Shi’Kahr in its valley after he had made the three hour climb past the first foothills of the L-langon mountains during his pre-mature kahs-wan, with the sun just beginning to set. Jim’s mind should have been too loud, too bright and grating, but instead, it was warm and dynamic and awe-inspiring. Spock’s frayed controls settled at the contact, rather than unraveling further, as it washed along the surface of his mind like gentle surf rolling in to smooth out footsteps in sand.

It was only through force of will that Spock released Jim’s arm as soon as he was on his feet, reluctant to lose the pleasant calm he felt suffusing him. The reaction was, objectively, unsettling. Vulcans had an aversion to touch with those who were not clan because of the vulnerability involved for touch telepaths, even with proper shields in place. Jim should not have been able to get past his so easily, non-optimal conditions notwithstanding, and Spock should not have enjoyed it as he did. But perhaps Jim was clan, in a way, as ne ki’ne. Spock did not have enough practical knowledge of the emotional intricacies of Vulcan friendships, given his culture’s propensity for privacy. Perhaps he could ask his father.

Once upright and released, Jim staggered a bit, looking dazed and as-yet unsteady. Spock’s hands twitched as his sides, almost hoping for an excuse to touch him again, which he berated himself for. Though the contact had been too shallow for a breach of privacy, it was not appropriate to seek it out when unnecessary.

He focused instead on the portion of Jim’s torso where the tea had soaked into his shirt. “Jim, you have suffered burns.” The skin was red and blotchy, only mild first degree.

“Huh?” Jim seemed to shake himself from his thoughts and looked down as well, prodding at his abdomen with light fingers. He hissed. “Oh, a bit, yeah. It’s not too bad, though. I think I’ve got some salve around here somewhere. Bones likes to keep me stocked almost as well as his medbay, the mother hen.” As he spoke, he went over to a cabinet just inside his sleeping alcove and crouched to rifle through its contents, though he nearly fell over in the process.

“Are you well? You are not this graceless under normal circumstances.”

Jim blinked and grinned roguishly as he set a hand on the cabinet to (unsuccessfully) hide his swaying as he stood. “You sayin’ I’m graceful, Spock?”

Spock gave him a look that he knew Jim would interpret as exasperated, though Jim turned away to apply the burn salve and likely missed it. When he turned back around, still shirtless and clearly not bothering with finding another one, Spock took the opportunity to examine his captain more closely. His pupils, breathing, heart rate, lack of balance, and ever-so-slight slurring were all deviations from the norm.

Spock’s brow rose, unimpressed and disapproving. “You are intoxicated.”

Jim waved a dismissive hand, though he would not meet Spock’s eyes. “What? Noooo.” At Spock’s continued unimpressed silence, Jim sighed. “I’m only a little tipsy, no big deal. I was hanging out with Bones before this. …Stop looking at me like that. I only had a few drinks, I’m still good to play chess.”

“Sometimes I doubt the doctor is aware that ethanol is not a prescribable medication.”

Jim barked a laugh, and Spock could not help his satisfaction at having caused it. “Yeah, try telling him that.”

“I doubt that would be a productive discussion.”

He laughed again. "Probably not. Anyway, like I said, I’m good. I only fell earlier because I was getting up from the chair and tripped. Which, I mean, might not have happened if I was sober, but I’m not fall-down drunk or anything.”

"Very well. Though I am not sure that our game will be fair, given your disadvantage.”

“Aw, c’mon, Spock, who cares? It’s just a game. I don’t mind losing to you.” He winked, and though Spock knew very well that alcohol made Jim flirtatious, it still came as a surprise and made him feel a bit off balance. The only times he had been flirted with in his life were in jest (as now) or from people at the academy who had fetishized him for being Vulcan, seeking a “challenge,” meaning it was still an odd experience to which he was unsure how to respond, even just to participate in banter.

So he opted to not respond at all, except for a nod of acknowledgement, before going to take his seat. There was a mug set out for him, the tea that had survived Jim’s clumsiness. Jim picked up his empty mug off the floor and sat as well, clearing his throat in a manner that suggested nerves rather than an airway obstruction.

"So, Spock, everything good with you?" There was a pregnant pause after the question, as though he might say more, but it quickly dissipated as Jim clenched his jaw and swallowed.

As Spock had been expecting such a query, he had a ready answer. "Indeed, Jim. I apologize for my lapse on the bridge yesterday. It is nothing to be concerned over."

Jim raised his brows, his persona crossing over into that of a concerned captain, despite the audible slurring. "Really? Because that's the first time I've seen anything like that happen with you. And you tend to be pretty stoic when there is something wrong."

"I understand. However, I assure you, my health is sound, and I will endeavor to ensure that such an issue will not happen again." He hesitated for only a moment before continuing. "I was merely accosted by a...highly unsettling memory, due to a lack of proper meditation the previous night."

Guilt settled in Spock's gut to see the flicker of apparent understanding in Jim's eyes. He'd known that Jim would assume the memory to be related to T'Khasi's destruction. It was a deception, if an indirect one, but the alternative – telling the direct truth – would be mortifying beyond what even he could endure and would lead to questions about the unfinished bracelets. And he wished for it to remain a surprise, despite the illogic of such a desire.

After a moment of studying Spock, as he'd done yesterday on the bridge, Jim released a breath and nodded. "All right, Spock. I'm glad to hear it's nothing serious. Just see that you meditate properly from now on."

Spock inclined his head. "Of course."

“And go see Bones or M’Benga sometime before the mission for a check up, just to be safe.”

It was just this side of being an order, and though he made an attempt, Spock could find no logical rebuttal. So after a brief hesitation, he released the tension in his mouth to say, “Yes, Jim.”

The soft gratitude in Jim’s eyes as he smiled made up for it. “Thanks, Spock. I know you’re being honest with me about being fine, but it will take a load off my mind.”

"Then it is no hardship.” The sincere words tumbled from Spock’s mouth before he had a chance to think about them, but when he did, he had to work to keep himself from tensing. The underlying meaning felt too…something. He was not sure. Too much, somehow. As if he had exposed his throat to a blade.

But of course, this was Jim, who only beamed at him, wide and brilliant, and Spock was – for just a moment – intensely reminded of how his mind had felt as it brushed against Spock’s own.

Then Jim’s hand was reaching across the table, and Spock’s heart skipped in his side as he stilled, allowing the proximity. Only a fraction of the tension leaked from him when Jim’s hand settled on his forearm, a bit firmer than he probably meant as he wobbled forward in his chair.

“You’re a good friend, Spock, you know that? A good ne ki’ne.” He blinked, suddenly unsure. “Is that the right word? I mean, it seemed to fit us.”

Though it was a nonsensical metaphor, Spock’s chest filled with warmth at hearing his own sentiments coming from Jim. He knew he was nearly smiling but did not care as he lightly rested his opposite hand on Jim’s arm, reveling in the brief burst of warmth that filled his mind to match his chest. Jim didn’t even flinch at the contact, just as he hadn’t earlier, and Spock marveled at the trust he was being shown, trust that he would not use his telepathy to invade Jim’s mind. "Ha. Nam-tor etek ne ki’ne." Yes, we are fond friends.

Relief and joy spread across Jim's face as he gave Spock's arm a squeeze before releasing him. Spock made himself do the same.

“Nash-veh kunli,” Jim murmured as he sat back, then looked down at the table, still smiling. I'm glad.

After a brief period of silence that was only a little awkward, they began to set the tri-d chessboard by unspoken agreement. Spock insisted on taking black while Jim protested, citing that he'd been white last time. But Spock refused to be swayed, which eventually led to Jim capitulating with little grace. And yet underneath their banter there still thrummed a new atmosphere between them, one that was warm and comforting. Spock could not remember the last time he had felt so content, even before Nero.

"Ugh, fine. Though I'm really not that drunk. You don't have to take a handicap." Jim made his first move, his eyes squinting a little in concentration as he carefully set the piece down on the middle tier.

Spock raised his brow at the obvious attempt at compensation for declined motor function. "I would hardly classify it as such, since one's odds of winning are not significantly affected by starting order, particularly at levels such as ours." He paused a moment, head tilted in thought even as he moved one of his pawns. “In fact, of our matches, the impact on probability of winning has consistently been less than one percent.”

Jim blinked at him. “Huh. Guess that just shows how evenly matched we are.”

“Indeed.”

For the next hour, they kept up an easy conversation on various topics, scattered with short, comfortable silences. To Spock’s surprise, Jim was holding his own nearly as well as when he was sober, and he still could not say for certain who would win, despite Jim’s inebriation.

A third of the pieces had been removed from play when the computer alerted them to a communication from the bridge. Jim cursed quietly under his breath before giving the go ahead to patch it through.

The officer on duty relayed the message quickly and efficiently. “Captain, you have an incoming transmission from Earth. It has clearance, but the ID is private. Shall I patch it through to your quarters?”

Jim hesitated a moment, then gave an inaudible sigh. “Yeah, Andrews, go ahead. Thank you.”

“Of course, Captain.” He cut out.

Just as Jim was standing to go to the comm terminal on the opposite wall, behind his desk, the screen lit up, displaying a notification that read:

Still standing next to the table, Jim froze, jaw and fists clenching. He made no move toward the terminal, only stared at it.

Unsure of the appropriate course of action, Spock began to stand as well. “I can leave, Jim, and we can continue –“

“No.” Jim cut him off, holding out a hand to motion Spock back into his chair. “No, there’s no need. Computer, reject transmission with a message stating that I'm unavailable.”

The notification disappeared and the screen went dark again and Jim sat back down, while Spock’s eyes widened fractionally. “Jim, you did not have to do that. I would not have been offended.”

Fists still clenched, Jim took a few deep breaths, staring down at them, before lifting his head to meet Spock’s gaze, his own cold and flinty. “I would have rejected it even if you weren’t here, Spock.” He looked away and took another breath, and when he let it out, there was a deep furrow between his brows, something close to a grimace pulling at his face. “Fuck, you must think I’m an ungrateful asshole.” He ran a hand through his hair.

It took only a moment to follow Jim’s line of thinking, and Spock frowned in response. “That is not true. I am sure you have your reasons, Jim. It would be illogical to apply my experiences with my own mother to you with yours and use them to judge you.” After a moment’s hesitation, his curiosity and concern overcame his habit of not prying. “Though, if I may ask, why do you not wish to speak with her?”

A bitter laugh was Jim’s only reply for several moments as he rubbed his hands down his face and then rested his chin on top of their dual fist, staring at the table. Spock waited patiently, feeling no need to urge him further.

Then Jim sighed. “You know, if I was sober I probably wouldn't say any of this but… There’s a lot of reasons, Spock. Mostly, she’s just a really shitty mom. I think she tried, when I was a little kid, but then she got a commission and couldn’t escape the reminder of her dead husband fast enough. Apparently I look just like him. And by that time, she’d remarried some asshole, who knows why, because they sure as hell didn’t love each other. Probably because she thought me and my brother needed a ‘complete family’ or whatever. Or it was cheaper than a babysitter. Either way, he turned out to be a shitty parent himself, worse actually. He was a drunk and physically abusive, and after my mom called me a liar the first time I tried to tell her, I stopped asking for help. My brother got out of there as soon as he could, left me behind. And then…”

He fell silent, blinking as he seemed to shake himself from the memories. “Sorry, I doubt you wanted to hear my whole life story.” Spock opened his mouth to refute him, while the rest of his mind was reeling from what he’d just learned, but Jim continued, resolute.

“Anyway, yeah, she was a bad parent when I was growing up, and then after I was on my own, even once I’d joined Starfleet, she rarely talked to me, forgot my birthdays, that kind of thing.” He sneered. “It was only once I made captain that she put any effort into keeping in touch. I ignored the first two calls, partly because I was busy and partly because I didn’t feel like dealing with that at the time, but I took the third, a few months ago.”

His jaw clenched as he took a couple even breaths. “It didn’t go well. She apologized for not calling me more – but not for any of the other shit – while also trying to blame me for not reaching out either. And then she started going on about how proud she was, how she’d always known I’d be great, like we’d ever been close. Like she didn’t say the exact opposite to me on a regular basis when I was a reckless, angry kid. I eventually just hung up without a word. Haven’t talked to her since. Don’t plan to. Maybe I wasn’t a great son, but she never treated me like family, so...she’s not part of mine anymore.” He shrugged, as though trying to dislodge a weight he'd rather not acknowledge.

Horror. Anger. Pain. Sadness. These had formed a sickly weight in Spock's abdomen, a burning in his chest. Though he had never known trauma at the hands of loved ones, he was not unaware that not all were fit to be parents. And yet to learn that Jim had been made to go through such a thing... He was struggling to accept it, but how could he when it was unacceptable? A horrible, restless energy sat in clumps beneath this skin, itching at him to…to do something. To comfort Jim with illogical platitudes, to find Winona and force her to see her error, to track down Jim’s stepfather and break his cultural vow of pacifism in a way he hadn’t since he was a conflicted child.

But he knew none of those things would actually be helpful or wanted. There was nothing he could do to fix this, and it did not sit well.

After some time, Spock finally found the words he wanted, though with his controls failing in the face of such strong emotions, his voice was low and rough with shared pain. "S’ti th’laktra, Jim.” I grieve with thee.

Jim was still staring at the table, jaw clenched, though at the sound of Spock’s voice, he glanced up, surprise and something vulnerable leaking into the anger. He gave a short nod. “I…thank you. It’s…” He heaved a sigh. “It’s fine, really. I’m fine, now anyway. I’ve been through therapy, accepted it, all that jazz. I don’t sit around wishing things had been different, since that’s pretty pointless. And illogical.” His mouth twitched in the echo of a smile. “Besides, who needs a ‘normal’ family when I’ve got you guys? My friends, my crew. That’s more than enough for me.”

The warmth in Spock’s chest had returned, chasing away the sharpest edges of his anger. “Dor nam-tor t’ maat t’du.” I am honored to be of your clan. Just the idea had something fierce and proud taking root inside him. “But I disagree with your assessment that it is ‘fine,’ or the idea that it ever should be. Your painful experiences will always be a part of you, and the fact that they were terrible and unacceptable is further evidence of how very strong you are, Jim. Most would let such a thing turn them bitter and hateful, with good reason, yet instead you have remained compassionate and brave and unresentful of others. This is an accomplishment deserving of admiration.”

As he'd spoken, Jim’s face had turned quite red, and in the ensuing silence, he continued to stare at Spock, mouth slack, for a moment before dropping his head to look down at the table yet again. He ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. “Um, wow, Spock, I… Thank you? I mean, I’m not sure how keeping myself from turning into a massive dick just because I didn’t have the best childhood was some grand feat, but…thanks for saying so. And for, uh, listening. I know talking about this kind of stuff isn’t really your deal, so I appreciate you humoring me.”

Fond and frustrated exasperation at Jim’s dismissal of praise made Spock huff a quiet sigh. “I did not mind, Jim. I asked after all. Truly, I am honored by your trusting me with something so personal. I am only sorry that those things happened to you.” His hand twitched with the urge to reach out, to offer more tangible comfort.

Jim nodded, still not looking up. “Thanks. And 'course I trust you.”

But even as the words sounded sincere, there was an expression on Jim’s down-turned face that Spock found he did not like. It was tense and sad, with a concerning overlay of perhaps resignation, and Spock attempted to pull him out of whatever memory he’d gotten trapped in. “Jim?”

Sighing, Jim scrubbed a hand over his face before straightening up. “I’m good. And again, thank you.” He managed a warm smile that was only slightly strained. “Don’t tell Bones this, but I think you just surpassed him in friendship levels.”

At first, Spock was just confused by the strange metaphor, but once the meaning caught up with him, he froze, blinking. For a moment, he entertained the notion that Jim meant that Spock, not the doctor, was the closest person to him, the most cherished. But then he brushed it aside, realizing that Jim had been jesting in an attempt to lighten their conversation, and refused to even acknowledge the small spark of disappointment and longing in the back of his mind. He reminded himself of his earlier assessment, that he was clinging too fiercely to his relationship with Jim. Just because he was Spock’s dearest friend did not mean that he had to be Jim’s, and it would be unfair to expect otherwise.

So he purposefully softened his features into an almost-smile and did his best to play along. “Your secret, as they say, is safe with me. I would not wish to incur the good doctor’s wrath, particularly when he has access to a wide selection of prescription drugs and my replicator settings.”

To Spock’s relief, it worked, and Jim was startled into a laugh, already looking more like his usual carefree self. “Good point. I wouldn’t put it past him to poison you out of jealousy.”

“Indeed.”

With the previous air of warm camaraderie restored, they went back to their game and its grounding familiarity. There was still a certain rawness there, lingering in the background of their interactions, but it was not necessarily unpleasant. Rather, it reminded Spock of the roughness that resulted when oxide was scrubbed from a metal, revealing the pure form underneath, shiny and new.

Chapter Text

After their chess game had concluded and Spock had ensured that Jim imbibed sufficient water to counteract the dehydrating effects of the alcohol, Spock retreated to his quarters with a warm farewell. Despite Jim’s equally warm response, however, it still felt lacking somehow and left him with a vague sense of dissatisfaction. And yet he could not discern how such a feeling could have been remedied or why it existed in the first place. The “goodnight, Jim” and almost-smile he’d offered had never felt insufficient before. Perhaps it was related to his recent revelations on his friendship with Jim coupled with the emotional nature of their conversation.

Puzzled but not overly concerned for the moment, Spock went about preparing for meditation, changing into robes and laying out his mat. Though his time spent with Jim and brief contact with his mind had (somehow) soothed much of Spock’s physiological need for meditation, there was still much that he needed to process, including the matters Jim had discussed with him. Even now, there was an unpleasant tangle of emotions threatening to upset his control. Anger in particular was the one he had always struggled with the most.

With the room temperature raised and incense burning, Spock folded himself down onto his mat and went through the process of renewing his mental awareness and control of his body’s functions. Then he consciously slowed those same functions to their bare minimum, freeing up some of his mental faculties to allow for more focus on meditation.

Even now, it took longer to fall into a proper trance than he was accustomed. Bonds were essential to Vulcan health, as they aided in grounding one’s mind during meditation and healing, providing a focus and touchstone. Without them, such things were difficult or even impossible, and there was (had been) an entire institution set up to help bond-less Vulcans find others with compatible minds, in order to form at least temporary ties of friendship to stave off insanity. Not for the first time, Spock felt a sharp wave of sympathy for those surviving Vulcans who had lost all of their bonds so violently. There had been several suicides before the remaining Vulcan government had been able to organize a similar program on the new colony.

Spock was once again grateful that he had had no need for it himself as he reached for his own two remaining familial bonds: one with his father and the other, fainter, with his clan matriarch, T’Pau. He did his best not to examine the “scar” where his mother’s had been.

However, as he was centering himself, something very faint brushed against his awareness. Startled, he jerked away from the unfamiliar intrusion, nearly breaking the beginnings of his trance. The presence curled in on itself in response, and when a corresponding ache throbbed at the base of Spock’s skull, he recognized it for what it was.

A bond.

It was weak and barely there, but a bond nonetheless. Shocked and bewildered, Spock reached out a tentative tendril of thought to prod at it, and the bond instantly unfurled itself once more, reaching back with what one might call enthusiasm. Warmth engulfed him like the most comforting hug, and his mental space glowed with a soft light. As caught up in his shock as he was and with the connection being so weak, it took him a moment to realize that the mental signature of the bond matched that of Jim’s mind.

If he hadn’t been half into a meditative state, Spock was sure he would have been unable to prevent his cheeks flushing with the odd mixture of pleasure and shame he was currently experiencing. Only the most compatible of minds could form the beginnings of a friendship bond without consciously deciding to do so through use of a mind meld. Pride welled in his chest to know for certain that he and Jim were so well-matched, that such closeness was a possibility.

But guilt made a sour note among his happier feelings on the matter, for the fact remained that Jim was psi-null and therefore could not be aware of the bond’s existence, which made interacting with it feel like a violation.

With no small amount of reluctance, Spock extricated himself from the bond’s stubborn grasp, careful to handle it gently lest he transmit any psychic pain to Jim. Then he went back to focusing on his bonds from a distance, widening his awareness to include the new one, despite still struggling to accept its existence as reality. He could grapple with this new development and its implications in due time. First, he needed to finish entering the trance.

Slipping the rest of the way into meditation was less difficult with the extra bond, and so Spock began to categorize the events of the day, using the habit to stabilize his state of mind. There were mental to-do lists to update, results from the lab to further ruminate on, interactions with the crew to re-examine for miscommunications, etc. The day was neatly packaged up and labeled, the memories solidified and stored for ease of recall.

His evening with Jim was saved for last, and he savored the warm memories as he stowed them away, lingering on those of Jim’s smiles, laughter, and brilliant mind. The sound of him shaping the Vulcan words that named Spock his friend. The simple relief of being in his presence after a long day of going without.

And then there was the anger, the rage, that he felt even now at recalling Jim’s tale of his childhood. It was a writhing thing, sharp and vicious, made lively by thoughts of a young Jim, isolated and hurting and abused. He hadn't even had the benefit of loving parents that Spock had had to ease the ache of the struggles of his own youth – which seemed paltry in comparison. The rational part of his mind hoped that he never met the man who had masqueraded as Jim’s father figure lest he do something he would very much not regret. Spock allowed himself to feel the full extent of his fury and examine every reason it existed, before forcing himself to accept that it served no purpose, would not change the past or ease the present. Kaiidth. So he let it sink to the bottom of his mind, tucked away and made dormant, taking its heavy weight with it.

Finally, there was the bond. He could still feel it, a quiet comfort on the fringes of his bonding cortex. It was clearly unlike the other two, and Spock took some time to marvel at the differences and the newness of a bond that was not familial. The one with his father was reliable and comforting yet cool and distant, both from physical separation and from the nature of their relationship. T’Pau’s was even moreso, as he rarely saw her, even as a child. But the one with Jim was warm and buzzing with affection, soothing him more than both of the stronger bonds combined. He knew of the nature of friendship bonds in theory, of course, as such things were taught in youth learning centers, but the reality of it, something he never truly expected to have, was quite different.

The hypothesis that the bond had been forming gradually over time – rather than simply as a result of their earlier contact – offered an explanation as to Spock’s dependence on Jim. If the bond had existed before their meeting that evening, then his distress at cutting himself off from Jim – even if his blocking of the bond had not been deliberate – made more sense. It might also explain the ease with which Jim bypassed his shields and why mental contact with him had been soothing. Though he did not have enough experience with such matters to state causation, having plausible hypotheses did much to ease his anxiety at the unfamiliar. He would definitely need to contact his father or, perhaps, his counterpart for a more informed second opinion.

Either way, Jim would have to be told, as Vulcan morals dictated, and of course Spock would never wish to violate his autonomy in such a manner. And yet…he found himself faced with some reluctance to share his knowledge of the bond. Not many psi-nulls were receptive to invasions of the mind, regardless of their nature, and there was a very good chance (88%) that Jim would request its dissolution, as he was a very private individual by human standards.

Nausea and terror wracked Spock at the thought of losing another bond, of Jim rejecting their connection. Compatibility was not a predictor of consent, as he had learned all too well with T’Pring as a child. But then, the reluctance had been mutual. With Jim…though Spock had not meant to form their bond and had only just become aware of it, already he wished desperately to keep it. He was not sure he could bear to break it himself.

But Jim deserved better than Spock’s selfishness. He’d already had his trust broken by so many, and Spock refused to do the same, even with the potential cost so high. The loss would not kill him, though perhaps he could formulate a sufficient argument to convince Jim to leave it be, even if he had to block it off as a concession. And with Jim’s gift nearing completion, perhaps Spock could justify waiting until after he’d given it to Jim to mention the bond. The only bit of selfishness he’d allow himself in this.

Uneasy resolution made, Spock ended his meditation and spent the remaining few hours until his wake-time sleeping. He dreamt of fields of sun-ripened grain that smoldered to ash, which then scattered in the face of harsh desert winds.

Jim felt like everything had been flipped around. Today, he was the one acting weird with Spock, who in turn was back to engaging in teasing banter and standing near Jim’s chair when things at the science station were slow. Meanwhile, Jim sat stiff with tension, desperately trying to keep his brain from giving him a play-by-play of Most Humiliating Moments From Last Night. He did his best to appear like everything was fine, but from the growing hesitation in Spock’s barely-there body language, he’d noticed. Fuck.

While he was feeling a lot less anxious than he had been yesterday when he’d been irrationally freaking out just because he hadn’t really seen Spock for a day (and seriously, what the hell had been up with that), he’d almost rather go back to that than have to deal with this level of embarrassment. He hadn’t been joking with Spock when he’d said he probably wouldn't talk about that stuff if he was sober. Experience hadn’t exactly made Jim eager to open up about, well, most things, even with the person he was in…with people he cared about. Hell, Bones only knew his sordid tale after a lot of teeth-pulling, yelling, and mandatory release of medical records during one of his many health emergencies. Alcohol hadn’t been enough by itself.

It was possible that Jim was – crazy as it sounded – growing as a person and learning to trust more, but honestly, it probably had more to do with the fact that it was Spock. There’d never been anyone he trusted so much, in so many ways. Sure, he trusted Bones with a lot, with his life, but there were different kinds of trust. With Spock, Jim didn’t have to work to let him in; he had to hold himself back from trying to give him everything. And that was terrifying. Not just because the idea of it was foreign to Jim but also because Spock was the one person who could shatter him with a word.

Desperately in need of a distraction from the growing awkwardness on the bridge (for God’s sake, even the others were noticing; Uhura and Chekov in particular were throwing them concerned glances), Jim pulled up the messenger on his padd.

CptnJimJams: please kill me

CptnJimJams: just...come up here and hypo me with something I’m allergic to

CptnJimJams: it will look like an accident

TheseOldBones: Aren’t you on duty? That’s going to make it difficult, especially with the hobgoblin there. I like living.

CptnJimJams: uuuuuggghhhhh

CptnJimJams: the one time I actually want to be hypoed to death, and you can’t come through for me

Several minutes went by without an answer, leaving Jim to drum a restless hand against its armrest, knee bouncing. When a soft buzz signaled a reply, he snatched the padd up so quickly that he almost fumbled it right out of his lap.

TheseOldBones: All right, I’ll bite. Why the dramatics, kid? Not that you ever really need a reason.

CptnJimJams: I resent that

CptnJimJams: but uh, I may have embarrassed myself so thoroughly that I’m contemplating ejecting myself out an airlock

TheseOldBones: So, the usual. I’m guessing this is about hanging out with Spock last night?

CptnJimJams: …maybe

CptnJimJams: ugh...why’d I let you talk me into getting drunk

CptnJimJams: I spilled my guts all over him, basically committed emotional seppuku

CptnJimJams: it was disgusting

TheseOldBones: Uh oh. Which guts, exactly, did you spill? Like, all of 'em?

CptnJimJams: no, thank fuck for that

CptnJimJams: I don’t think I could ever be drunk enough to willingly tell him…that

CptnJimJams: but fuck, he could have easily figured it out just from me being sappy and telling him my tragic backstory and looking at him like he hung the goddamn stars (more than I usually do)

CptnJimJams: shit Bones, he probably has figured it out, he’s a freaking telepath, fuck

TheseOldBones: Now hold on a minute and stop your panicking. I doubt if he has realized you’ve got a crush on him that he’d just leave it alone. Wouldn’t be logical. He’d tell you, even if he just wanted to let you know how grossly emotional the whole thing is.

CptnJimJams: maybe… unless he just doesn’t want to hurt my feelings

TheseOldBones: Since when has that stopped him from doing anything?

CptnJimJams: Bones…

TheseOldBones: Yeah, yeah, he’s not actual heartless, I know. Still, he’d probably see it as kinder to let you know his stance than leave ya wonderin’.

CptnJimJams: …that does sound like him

TheseOldBones: Hang on, how MUCH of your tragic backstory, exactly, did you tell him?

CptnJimJams: uhhh

CptnJimJams: shit gotta go he’s comin over

Just as Spock came up beside his chair, Jim set the padd aside, face-down, as it started buzzing (angrily, he thought) with more replies and looked up with a smile that he hoped wasn’t as stilted as it felt. “Heeey, Spock, what’s up?” He cringed internally at the awkward tension in his tone. So much for playing it cool.

A furrow forming between his brows, Spock studied him for a moment, then spoke in a tone low enough that it would not carry beyond their own little bubble. “Captain, are you well?”

He kept his voice low to match Spock's. “Yeah, yup, just, uh, didn’t get much sleep last night. But I’m fine.” It wasn’t really a lie. A nightmare had woken him up in the wee hours of the morning and left him unable to go back to sleep, so he was actually pretty damn tired.

Spock’s mouth pursed almost imperceptibly. “As you know, fine has variable definitions. Your behavior is outside the norm.”

Jim flashed him a trademark smirk. “Isn’t it always? That’s just part of my charm. You know you love it.” For a fraction of a second, he froze, if only to keep himself from obviously blanching at the word vomit that had just escaped his traitorous mouth. The word “fuuuuuuck” echoed on loop in his head as he hurriedly continued before Spock could really react to his use of “love,” let alone form a surely-devastating reply. “Honestly, there’s nothing to worry about. You know I get weird when I’m sleep deprived.” Which probably happened a bit more often than advisable for a captain.

After a long moment of intense, anxiety-inducing eye contact, Spock straightened, face smoothing into the sort of blankness that Spock rarely directed at Jim anymore. It made something twist in his gut, leaving him feeling like he’d let something important slip through his fingers.

“Very well, Captain.” Without another glance at him, Spock went back to his station.

A few crew members were trying to study Jim in their peripheral, so Jim donned the mantle of calm, collected Captain and swept a stern gaze over them. They shifted their focus back to their duties, and Jim was left alone with his thoughts.

Fuck. He had to cut this shit out, to stop freaking out over something that probably wasn’t that big a deal. Bones was right; Spock would say something if he knew. And pushing him away wouldn’t somehow undo the vulnerability Jim had showed him last night.

Not that he truly wanted to undo it. He didn’t regret what had passed between them, per se, especially since Spock hadn’t seemed that bothered by his sharing. His friend had been supportive and understanding, managing to convey his sympathy without veering over the fine line into pity. Hell, if Jim didn’t have so many goddamn issues, he’d probably be in a fantastic mood today, especially with the way Spock had complimented him – even if Jim still didn’t think he’d done anything that admirable in his handling of his past.

But he did have issues, whether he wanted them or not. And part of that meant that opening up like he had had left him feeling unmoored and unsure of what to do with himself. How was he supposed to act around Spock after he’d seen Jim like that? Should they be treating each other differently? It wasn’t the same as when Bones had learned of his upbringing, because that had involved a lot of yelling, not a baring of souls.

Or maybe Spock was secretly hoping that it had just been a one-time thing, something he’d been willing to endure for the sake of his friend and captain. Jim himself was torn between hoping that he never exposed himself like that again and desperately wishing that he was allowed to be open with Spock, expected to, whenever he wanted. That Spock would want to share just as much of himself. The usual pipe dream.

Maybe that was the biggest factor in his current anxiety. Not embarrassment, not uncertainty, but fear. Fear that last night had been an exception, nothing but a taste of the sort of intimacy he longed for with Spock. And at the same time, fear that it hadn’t been an exception at all, that they would be more open with each other now, increasing the likelihood that Jim would slip up and reveal himself. And then he might have to sign Spock’s transfer papers. Just the thought made him sick.

An hour before shift ended, the knot in his stomach had become so heavy and twisted, he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to get away. From Spock, the crew. Even the weight of the captain's chair on his shoulders – usually a comfort – felt suffocating. As calmly as he could, he stood, handed the conn over to Spock without quite looking at him, and left for engineering.

Chapter Text

The smell of metal, sweat, and ozone was an abrupt change from the sterile corridor, one that Spock did not often have the chance to experience. Little of his time was spent in engineering, even when he was assisting Scotty with projects. Most of their collaboration took place via padd. Usually, as now, his trips to this department had to do with seeking out his captain.

Jim’s behavior throughout the day had been skittish and tense, and Spock had noticed with some alarm that it was exacerbated by his presence more than that of any other crew member. But even if Jim’s body language had been no cause for concern, their bond would have served in its place. Despite his resolution to not use it to pry without Jim’s knowledge, not even his immaculate shielding could prevent small tendrils of the intense anxiety Jim must be experiencing from bleeding into Spock’s mind.

There were several potential reasons Spock could think of, none of them comforting. Regardless, it needed to be addressed.

As he traversed the clusters of machinery and consoles, feet tapping along the grate flooring, he received several surprised glances from the officers and ensigns that he passed. So far, no hint of Jim, but Commander Scott’s voice rose above the din, serving as a beacon. He seemed to be in a state of his usual agitation, and when Spock rounded a corner, he saw the engineer having an energetic if mostly one-sided discussion with Keenser.

“Ach, no no no! That will never work, I’m tellin’ ya, the couplings cannae –“

Keenser grumbled and stabbed repeatedly at one of the monitor screens they were using to view what was presumably a set of blueprints.

"Oh. Well. I s'pose if we tried it that way… Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

Exasperated, Keenser threw his hands in the air and turned to walk away, only to stop when he caught sight of Spock’s approach. He tugged on the hem of Scott’s shirt.

“What is it now – oh! Commander.” He blinked, froze, then inelegantly reached behind himself to smack at the console, causing one screen to go blank, though it was not the one they had just been viewing. Interesting. “Fancy seein’ you here. Er, I take it you’re after the captain?”

“I am,” he said with an inclination of his head.

Scott nodded and jerked his thumb behind himself and to the right. “Good thing, too. He’s been climbing around in the lower level helping out with some optimizations and maintenance for a couple o’ hours now. I cannae get him to come down, even to work on our, er, engine project. Barely said a word when he showed up, either.” He scratched at the side of his head. “He all right? He only does this when something’s eatin’ at ‘im.”

Spock’s jaw clenched briefly. “That is what I intend to find out.” He nodded in thanks and turned toward the path that would take him down one level.

When he reached the stairs, he heard Scott murmur, “That was a close one, eh?” Potentially intriguing, but as the meaning was not immediately clear, Spock set it aside for now and refocused his attention on finding Jim.

It did not take long, since he passed an ensign who was able to point him in the right direction.

He had assumed that Scott’s use of the phrase “climbing around” had been mere hyperbole. A frisson of panic clenched at his side as he caught sight of Jim halfway up the twelve-meter-high mess of pipes and machinery that made up the main coolant block, without any of the mandatory safety gear save a pair of goggles. He was wearing only a sweat-damp tank top and mechanic’s overalls and seemed to be hanging on entirely through the use of his legs as he installed a new bypass component.

“Jim,” he breathed.

Due to the acoustics, Jim heard him and startled, the grip of his thighs loosening. Spock ran forward until he was directly below, prepared to catch him if necessary. “Jim!”

Thankfully, Jim was able to right himself without much trouble and pushed his goggles up onto his forehead so he could look down, surprise widening his eyes. “Spock?”

Relief and spent adrenaline threatened to make Spock’s hands tremble, and he swallowed as anger welled up as an aftershock. “Jim, you are in violation of multiple health and safety codes. Please come down at once before you injure yourself.”

Ever contrary, Jim smirked and rolled his eyes. “Calm down, Spock, I do this all the time, and I’ve never fallen off. I used to mountain climb when I was younger.”

This knowledge only served to heighten Spock’s alarm, rather than soothe it. All the time? Every line of his body was rigid with tension. “The frequency of past events do not predict future probability. Come down. Now.”

Jim's jaw clenched as they glared at each other for a long moment, but then he slumped and sighed. “Fine. I was almost done anyway. Someone else can finish up.”

After sliding his tools back into the pockets on his belt, he swung himself off his perch to begin his descent, agile and graceful. Beyond the sharp focus of his concern, Spock found himself admiring the aesthetically appealing quality of the movements.

The hands Spock had raised slightly in case Jim slipped proved unnecessary as he landed steadily on his feet in front of Spock. A knot of tension in his gut eased, though his fury did not.

As Jim turned, he startled in the face of an angry Vulcan invading his personal space. “Woah.” He tried to back away only to bump into a pipe.

Though Spock was only a handful of centimeters taller, he still managed to loom over his captain, speaking quickly in low, sharp tones. "Jim. Not making use of the available and mandatory safety equipment increases the likelihood of serious injury by 67%. Even taking into account your competence in such acrobatics, the risk of burns while not wearing gloves or long sleeves is unacceptably high, and mistakes are inevitable, regardless of skill. A fall from that height would result in broken bones at best and mortal injury at worst. I am eager to hear your justification for such an unnecessary and foolish risk to your well-being.”

He was nearly vibrating with the strength of his emotions, with the need to impress upon Jim that Spock would not tolerate this reckless behavior, to…to…

To make Jim submit.

His thoughts flashed to that moment on the bridge, his hand around Jim’s throat, and though the idea of doing such a thing now, even in his rage, was abhorrent to him, the sliver of fear that flashed in Jim’s eyes amidst the shock as Spock crowded him was equally unacceptable.

Guilt squeezed at Spock’s lungs, and he attempted to ease his features somewhat as he took a step back, even if his opinion and feelings on the matter at hand were still valid.

Jim swallowed thickly. “Um… I…” He looked down at Spock’s chest. “I’m…sorry? I didn’t think it was a big deal. I’ve been working on stuff that way since I was a kid.” He shrugged. “But uh, I guess you’re right. It doesn’t exactly set a good example for the crew.”

Spock closed his eyes and took in a slow, steadying breath, before he tried to catch Jim’s gaze once again, with poor results. “While that is also something to take into consideration, my primary concern is for your safety, Jim, which is indeed a very ‘big deal.’ And not simply because you are the captain of this vessel. Your life is valuable outside of the roles you fill.”

Now Jim tilted his face to the floor, breathing tighter and shallower than the norm. “Yeah, I…” his voice caught for a moment, “I know. I do. I just…um, forget, sometimes? Sorry.”

The anger finally eased into something softer, though there were lingering fragments directed at the others who surrounded Jim, who let him forget such a thing as they bought too much into his persona of bravado. Jim might be an exceptional captain, with wells of strength, ability, and intelligence that few can lay claim to, but he was still, as Terrans said, "only human."

"Then I shall endeavor to remind you more often," Spock said, still quiet but gentler now. His hand twitched at his side, but he kept it where it was.

Jim lifted his head and met Spock's gaze, finally, his own a bit wide with something vulnerable as a flush crept up his face. But then he glanced away and swallowed, the vulnerability wiped from his expression to be replaced by wry amusement, though there was also gratitude there as he reached out to squeeze Spock’s shoulder. “You know, you can be surprisingly sappy sometimes for a Vulcan.”

From anyone else, Spock would have taken offense at such teasing, but Jim managed to make the statement sound more fond than critical. So Spock merely raised a dubious eyebrow, amusement threatening the corner of his mouth. “There is no need to be insulting, Captain.”

After flashing a grin, Jim cleared his throat and straightened to look around Spock at the rest of engineering. As he had been listening for potential intrusions, Spock already knew he would see no one. “Right. Anyway, did you need me for something? I’m sure you had a reason for hunting me down besides seeing if I was following regulation.” He gave Spock a look of amused contemplation. “Though I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Spock had to admit to some relief that Jim’s stilted manner from earlier had eased back toward their usual dynamic, even if something uneasy still lingered at the edges. Though that perception could be more due to the fact that even now, the shielded bond still gave an impression of anxiety and apprehension, like feeling heat coming off a closed door.

There was the barest moment of hesitation. “You are correct. However, it is not to do with ship’s business,” he said with meaning.

The ease in Jim’s demeanor faltered like a hologram flickering from insufficient power, and Spock realized that, at least to some extent, it was a façade. This was confirmed by the new line of tension in Jim’s shoulders that most would not notice. Disappointment and apprehension replaced any relief Spock had been feeling.

Jim nodded in understanding. "All right. We can talk in the storage room.” Without waiting for Spock’s agreement, he turned and led the way in the direction of this level’s storage area, tucked into a far corner that saw little traffic.

On the way, they passed an officer walking in the opposite direction with a padd in hand, intent on its contents. However, they did a double take after catching sight of the captain, their eyes widening and face turning red. Beside him, Jim seemed oblivious, even when the officer tripped over nothing from staring so intently, their pace slowing as they drew close. Irritation flared at this lack of professionalism, and Spock narrowed his gaze at them in reprimand, the weight of which was enough to snag their focus away from the captain. Their flush faded in an instant as they blanched and hurried on past, head down.

The lights of the storage room flickered on when they entered, and Jim took a seat on one of the metal crates that were stacked to varying heights along the edges of the small room.

“So, what’s up?” Everything from his tone to expression to body language as he sat sprawled on the crate suggested that this was a casual query, unconcerned, the tension from earlier gone. Spock might have believed it, if not for the impression from the bond and the way that Jim gripped the edge of the crate a little too tightly.

It had been a long time since he’d last been faced with Captain Kirk the Diplomat, and after their closeness the night before, such treatment…it stung.

After a false start, Spock managed to arrange the words he’d been practicing. “Jim, I wished to inquire after your well-being, given your premature departure from the bridge and erratic behavior throughout the morning. I know it was not simply a lack of sleep,” he said to stop the protest he could see forming in Jim’s mouth. “I also wished to apologize. You were intoxicated last night, and I should not have taken advantage of that fact to pry into your past, particularly given that you said you would not have spoken while not under the influence. I am sorry if I have overstepped my bounds and made you uncomfortable.”

Across from where he stood, Jim blinked at him a few times in confusion, eyes wide and mouth parted as incredulity took over his expression. “Wait. What? You’re apologizing? I thought…” He swallowed and seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment before he set his mouth with determination. “You don’t need to apologize, Spock. I’m not upset with you. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. Maybe all that stuff would have been harder to get out of me sober, but I don’t regret telling you. I trust you.”

The knot that had been growing in Spock’s chest eased, replaced by a warmth that was becoming familiar. “I am gratified. But while you may not be upset with me, you are indeed upset. Might I ask why?”

A wry smile cut across Jim’s face. “You’re getting to know me too well, I think.”

Impossible, Spock wanted to say but didn’t.

Jim sighed and looked away. “You know, I actually was a bit worried that maybe I had made you uncomfortable, since you’re Vulcan and all. I know you guys aren’t that big on feelings jams.”

In lighter circumstances, Spock might have feigned confusion at the term, despite being quite able to infer its meaning from context. As it was, he took a step closer, subtle frown pulling at his brow. “With those who are not family, bondmates, or the closest of friends, that is true. However, you are ne ki’ne tal’ka-dam t’nashveh, Jim, and therefore, I do not mind partaking in the occasional ‘feelings jam’ with you. If that was not the case, I would not have asked you such personal queries.”

A smile was tugging at Jim’s mouth, both amused and pleased, and the anxiety that had been seeping from the bond was now gone – at least, its intensity had faded enough that Spock could no longer feel it. “Oh. Um, that’s…good to know. Thank you.”

Spock tilted his head. “Was that the only thing that was bothering you?”

Jim’s smile faltered, and he cleared his throat as he looked at the floor. “Um. Well. No? I just…” He sighed. “Maybe this is dumb, especially from a Terran to a Vulcan, but I’m probably even less accustomed to heart-to-heart talks than you are, and… I’ve kind of been freaking out, a bit. The only other people I’ve ever willingly opened up to about my past like that were my therapists. And they were obligated to listen and help me, it was their job. But you’re…not. So. Yeah. Just not used to it and kind of unsure how to act around you now, I guess. I know it’s not as big a deal as I’m making it out to –“

“Jim,” he said, cutting through the anxious rambling. Jim’s mouth snapped shut, clearly embarrassed. Spock softened his tone. “There is no need to justify yourself. It is not unusual or ‘dumb’ to experience uncertainty in the face of the unfamiliar, particularly in personal matters. And though I am aggrieved by the fact that you previously had no one to share yourself with, I am also honored that you have chosen to do so with me.” A thought occurred to him, and his brow twitched in puzzlement. “Though surely you have done so with McCoy at some point? He has been your friend longer than I.”

The lack of tension in Jim’s shoulders was no longer feigned by this point, and he smiled and shrugged. “I mean, he knows about everything by now, but that took years of weaseling, slip-ups, and getting drunk together. He’s like my brother, sure, but we don’t really talk about our feelings and stuff, unless it’s dire. Just not how we are, and that’s fine. So yeah, I may have known him longer, but I think you and me are closer.” He glanced at Spock, then away.

Spock stood unmoving, too preoccupied grappling with this shift in his perception. Despite this mental struggle, joy at apparently being the person closest to Jim, the one he most trusted, was spreading through his body like wildfire. It was difficult to keep an actual grin from his face.

Clearing his throat, Jim picked at the pant-leg of his overalls. “Speaking of, I would have thought that Nyota would be tal’ka-dam among your friends, not me.”

“I believe the situation is similar to that of you and McCoy.” He was losing the battle against the grin, and when Jim look up, there was a bit more than just a not-smile on his face. Jim’s answering smile was radiant.

Spock contemplated the merits of telling Jim about the bond right then, as the guilt of his silence was beginning to eat at him, and he felt that their friendship was now on surer footing. Maybe Jim trusted him enough that he wouldn’t mind after all.

A ping of requested entry broke through these thoughts, and they both startled, Jim more visibly. After a pause in which they tucked away any intimacy in favor of professionalism, Jim stood and went to unlock the door, Spock close behind. It swished open to reveal a nervous-looking ensign, and her eyes widened to see her captain and his first officer inside a storage room together.

“I—um—I just needed some spare parts and –“

Jim smiled kindly at her. “We were just about done in here, don’t worry about it. Sorry for locking you guys out. Keep up the good work.” He winked and motioned for Spock to follow him out.

They made their way up to main engineering, where Jim stopped. “Hey, I have to talk to Scotty about a few things, and then go clean myself up, but I’ll see you in the mess hall for dinner?”

Spock inclined his head, both disappointed and relieved that he would be informing Jim of the bond as previously planned. "Indeed you will, Captain.”

He carried Jim's smile with him all the way to the labs.

Chapter Text

With one gloved hand steady on the anti-static tweezers, Spock pulled Jim's bracelet closer on the workbench and laid first the buffer layer, then the finished strip of nanocircuitry along the inner casing. The coating on the underside allowed it to bond instantly to the top layer of the buffer material, which would prevent stray charges from jumping onto the circuit and ruining the quantum components. Once he was certain that everything was lined up exactly along the length, he applied the thin shielding that he had designed to attach to the raised sides of the casing so that it did not touch the circuit. He spent another moment examining it for any flaws, then turned to his padd, where he had a custom program set up to connect with the main circuit. Later, he would be installing a battery, but while inside the ship, it was able to feed from the wireless power network.

The connection was successful, and he pulled up the output readings, which looked to be as expected – balanced power distribution, stable quantum entanglements with the yet-to-be-installed components, no noticeable breaks. Then, without looking away from the readings, he carefully picked up the casing and, by degrees, bent it into an ellipse, looking for any signs of this affecting the circuit. Seeing none, he unbent it, then repeated the process a few more times. Satisfied that it would be able to withstand being worn, he smoothed it straight once more, the flexible alloy retaining its shape.

Before he could continue, however, a jolt of vertigo overcame him, followed by the looming threat of a headache. He gripped the edge of the workbench for stability and had to take a moment to center himself and reestablish his controls. He’d only been in the lab an hour and a half, and this was the third time he’d had to stave off the effects of the blocked bond, though this instance was by far the worst. It occurred to him that this could be due to something happening to Jim.

The creeping worry was trying to shift into irrational fear, urging him to open the bond and make sure. But no, if something was wrong, he would have been alerted on his padd or the alarms would be sounding. They were at warp, out of reach of possible threats, and Jim had been in good health not long ago. He was simply trying to justify using the bond. It was not logical. Jim was not in danger. He repeated this to himself until he was able to suppress his fears and the vertigo had passed.

Once he was calm and able to refocus on his task, he repeated the assembly process with his matching bracelet, then set it aside. Another wave of dizziness threatened, but he managed to suppress it more quickly this time.

Next, it was time to install Jim’s components, which were laid out on a small square of anti-static material that resembled paper. The workbench itself was non-conductive, but caution was always wise with such delicate electronics. Spock flipped the casing over circuit-side down. As on the other side, there was a small lip around the edge to accommodate the components. Picking up the tweezers again, he began applying the variously-shaped razor-thin bits of metals and polymers to their pre-marked areas. Usually, a machine was used to assemble such a small device, but McCoy had stressed the importance of them being made through one’s own effort. And as a Vulcan, his precision was quite comparable.

On the padd, he entered the command to activate and link together the components, and brought up the interface for the system as a whole. After running various stress tests to ensure that the quantum connections remained steady and that the components were sufficiently durable, he glanced at the chronometer on the screen as he also checked his internal one.

It was time to join Jim and the others for dinner, but he was satisfied with the day’s progress. All that remained was assembling the less complicated configuration for his own bracelet, then installing the outer casings. Everything afterward would be decorative, which would not take nearly as long. He approximated that another day was all that would be required for them to be completed. And as both he and Jim would have the day off tomorrow, he anticipated being able to present him with the bracelets tomorrow evening.

Once he had stored everything away, he left for the mess hall, steps perhaps a bit quicker than usual. The headache-that-wasn’t was becoming more difficult to stave off. Hopefully, proximity to Jim would be enough to ease the strain on their bond.

He was stopped twice on the way, much to his building irritation. First by an ensign needing an urgent signature, then by a lieutenant from the science department by the name of Welson. Generally, Spock had a high opinion of her. She was straightforward and had never been intimidated by his Vulcan nature.

Today, however, she decided that the best way to get his attention was to lay a hand on his arm as she greeted him, a bright grin on her face. Every muscle in his body tensed as he rounded sharply on her, though she did not remove her hand. He was unaccustomed to being touched by anyone except the alpha bridge crew, and then only on occasion (with the exception of Jim). The rest of the crew had picked up quickly on his preference for not having his personal space invaded, for the most part. It would seem that their rapport had made Welson bold.

Before she could start to ask for whatever it was she needed, Spock fixed her with a stony look, made harsher by the fully formed headache brought on by the intrusion. “Remove your hand, lieutenant.”

Her eyes flew wide as she immediately withdrew, even taking a step back, both hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Commander! I thought…” She trailed off in embarrassment and bit at her lip. “I um, I assumed people just kept their distance from you because they don’t know how to approach you? Since you never seem to mind when, um…” She trailed off again, her eyes flicking to hallway behind him.

“While there may be certain individuals whose proximity I tolerate for the benefit of working relationships, that does not apply to the vast majority of the crew. I am Vulcan and a touch telepath, and prefer to have my personal space respected. Are we clear, lieutenant?”

Her eyes flicked back to his as she nodded, face flushed. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.” She took a half step back, as if considering a full retreat over staying to ask her original question, her gaze going back over his shoulder just as a familiar voice came from behind him.

“Problem, Spock?”

Spock straightened and half turned to see his captain’s approach, accompanied by Commander Scott. Jim – once more in his uniform and free of the grime from engineering – was eyeing Welson with a neutral, curious expression.

“Negative, Captain. Merely a brief cultural misunderstanding.” He turned back to the her. “Lieutenant, I believe you needed something from me?”

Though she looked as though she’d rather be anywhere but in the presence of the three highest ranking officers aboard the ship after embarrassing herself, she cleared her throat. “Ah, it…it wasn’t anything urgent, really. I can send it to you via padd.”

After receiving a nod of dismissal, she saluted and made her escape in the opposite direction.

“Having trouble with your admirers, Spock?” Jim was hardly bothering to hide his gleeful smirk, and Scott wasn’t much better.

Spock raised a brow, unamused and not a little confused. Jim’s tone seemed to imply that he meant admirers of the romantic variety. It was only his awareness of Jim’s nature that kept him from thinking this to be mean-spirited teasing. “That is an illogical and inaccurate assessment of events. I do not have ‘admirers’ with whom to have ‘trouble.’”

Blinking, Scott shared an incredulous look with Jim and asked under his breath, “Is he serious?” Spock did not think he was supposed to have heard.

Jim just shrugged, appearing to let the matter drop, and smiled at Spock. “Were you on your way to the mess, too?”

They walked there together, and Spock realized that his headache had already disappeared, the tension leaving his neck and shoulders. Though the shields around their bond were still uncomfortable, it was bearable once more in Jim’s presence. Spock had to force himself to watch where they were going as much as he looked at Jim while the three of them kept up an easy conversation. He found Jim’s features and expressions to be…soothing. Centering. Vaguely akin to the feeling he’d gotten from touching their bond directly.

In the mess hall, they quickly retrieved their meals and joined the rest of the alpha bridge crew, who had, as usual, left two adjacent seats – this time on the corner – free for their captain and XO.

Also per usual, Sulu clapped Spock on the shoulder once he’d sat down. “Took you guys long enough. We were starting to think you two had gotten held up in another storage room.” He winked. “Though I guess since Scotty here was with you…”

Jim, who’d been frowning at Sulu’s hand where it still rested on Spock’s shoulder, now choked on his sip of juice while Spock tilted his head in puzzlement.

The rest of the table was experiencing various levels of amusement, except for Uhura, who glared daggers at Sulu. “Hikaru, drop it. We’re the command team, not a bunch of bored ensigns eager for gossip.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Lame. But okay, fine, go ahead and ruin my fun.”

After blinking at this exchange, Spock turned to Jim – who was still clearing his throat and red in the face from coughing – and said quietly, “I do not understand. What was Sulu implying?”

Jim gave him a somewhat pained smile. “I’ll, um, I’ll tell you later, okay?”

Satisfied, Spock nodded and turned his attention to his meal.

The ebb and flow of conversation continued without much note for the majority of the meal, Spock only weighing in on occasion with a relevant or corrective statement or if an opportunity to make Jim laugh presented itself. At some point, though, they'd gotten onto the topic of it being unfair that Jim could get pretty much whatever he wanted by flashing a smile, which Jim was denying.

Jim rolled his eyes. “No, Sulu, I am not going to take that bet next shore leave. Buy your own drinks. And you guys are definitely exaggerating. Spock, back me up here, you must have numbers on this.”

After a moment of contemplation, Spock raised a brow. “Indeed I do, Captain. Of your frequent attempts to get what you desire from others using the pleasing nature of your features and what Terrans term ‘charm,’ eighty-one percent are at least partially successful. Sixty-six percent result in the full extent of that which you requested. And twenty percent garner additional, unrequested boons in order to curry your favor.”

There was a moment of silence wherein everyone stared at Spock as they absorbed this, including Jim, whose face looked rather flushed.

“Hah!” Sulu cried, as the crew began laughing. “I knew it! Spock comes through once again.”

Jim scowled with good-natured embarrassment. “Dammit, Spock, you were supposed to be on my side.”

Spock blinked and tilted his head, brow raised. “I apologize, Captain. I was unaware there were sides to be taken. If that is the case, then I shall, of course, retract my previous assessment and ‘throw my lot in with you,’ as always.”

The scowl disappeared from Jim’s face, to be replaced with a slow, pleased smile that was too warm for Spock to look at directly for more than a moment. Spock’s intent had been one of humor, despite his words being entirely truthful, but he could not say he was disappointed by this reaction.

"Awww," said Uhura, “you two are gross.” Bones seemed to agree, as he was making a gagging sound.

"It is wery adorable. They are such good friends.”

Spock’s controls prevented him from blushing at such exclamations, but Jim had no such advantage, his flush returning. He glared at the rest of the table, though a bit of a smile still pulled at his mouth.

“Yeah yeah, go back to finishing your dinners.”

With a mocking salute, Sulu picked up his fork again. “Yes, dad.”

Jim crossed his arms and scoffed, brows high on his head. “Excuse you, if this is some sort of fucked up family, I am definitely the mom.”

Chekov leaned forward to be seen and grinned. “Then Spock is the dad, yes?” He glanced at the ‘dad’ in question as if for confirmation.

Before Spock could voice how illogical such direct familial comparisons were, he was interrupted by Sulu.

“I dunno, you sure that wouldn’t be McCoy?”

The doctor, Jim, and Spock all frowned to varying degrees, though Spock could not quite place why he himself did so beyond the idea being exceptionally nonsensical.

It was Jim who quickly waved a dismissive hand, chuckling. “Nah, he’s more like the druncle.”

Spock raised a brow while the others snickered and McCoy scowled. "Druncle, Captain?"

“Drunk uncle.”

He considered this briefly, then inclined his head. “I see. A fitting comparison within the bounds of this illogical, childish game.”

“Childish indeed. Buncha children, all’a ya.”

McCoy’s grumbling went ignored as they continued to discuss imaginary family dynamics, though Spock did not deign to participate further beyond a judgmental look or two when they continued to refer to him as the ‘dad.’

“You done, Spock?” Jim was gathering the remains of his meal onto his tray.

Spock had already done the same and had been in fact waiting for Jim to finish eating. “I am indeed, Captain. Shall we retire to your quarters for chess?”

The others paused their chatter to give farewells, and as Spock turned away, he quite missed Scott giving Jim an encouraging thumbs-up.

"Computer, raise temperature two degrees.”

Though Spock had informed Jim repeatedly at the start of their mission that there was no need to adjust the temperature, as being a creature of a desert planet made one able to adapt to a wide range of temperatures not just the heat of day, Jim had continued to insist that he at least raise it a little. ‘Just because you can handle the cold without discomfort doesn’t mean you don’t prefer it being warmer. And it’s not inconveniencing me,’ he’d said. After a handful of arguments on the subject, Spock had conceded the point and expressed his gratitude for the consideration, despite its lack of necessity.

On his way to the replicator, Jim peeled off his command gold shirt, leaving just the undershirt, and tossed it over the arm of the couch. “Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll grab our tea.”

Spock did so, and pulled the tri-d chessboard closer to begin resetting it. After a moment, however, he realized that his hands had stilled in their task while his attention had slipped to Jim without his deciding to do so. As if having been snagged on a masterfully composed painting, his eyes were pulled along the contours of Jim’s back, the undershirt pulled tight against well-defined muscle as he moved. The comparison startled him in its aptness, for the feeling he experienced when looking at Jim had many similarities to that when he admired a highly pleasing artwork.

It was not Jim’s beauty that surprised him, as that had always been an established fact. But his reaction to it had shifted at some point, become sharper and more compulsive, though he could not say what had prompted it or what it meant. It was not something he had any familiarity with, nothing to compare it to. Which suggested that perhaps the phenomenon had a connection to their bond. Hopefully his father would be able to answer the request he'd sent earlier that day for information on Vulcan bonds before Spock had to retire for the night. It was unsettling not understanding everything within his own mind.

By the time Jim turned around, only half the board had been reset, and Spock experienced something like embarrassment when he was caught in his staring, though his expression remained neutral. For his part, Jim only smiled, two cups of tea in hand as he came to join him. It was only then that Spock noticed the subtle anxiety in Jim’s body language, and when he checked the shielded bond, there was indeed a vague sense of unease emanating from it.

But before he could express his concern, Jim was sliding a cup toward him, and the scent of the tea distracted him entirely. It was something he hadn’t experienced in almost six months, since he used up the last of his supply of...

His stunned gaze flicked up to meet Jim’s anxious one. “This is Vulcan tea.”

With the loss of T’Khasi, much of its flora had become essentially extinct, and the plant used to make Vulcan tea was no exception. Though some plants survived on select colonies, they were very difficult to grow without the exact conditions of their native home, and the store of tea existing on trade vessels and throughout the federation had become a highly rare and prized commodity overnight. The complex nature of the tea’s chemical makeup made it so-far impossible to replicate effectively, in either plant or drink form, so the only way to obtain it now was to pay the highly inflated prices or make do with the tea mixes meant to imitate it.

But this…this was authentic. Jim must have only gone to the replicator as a front while he prepared this instead.

Jim was staring at his hands now as he rubbed at a knuckle, clearly uncomfortable and maybe hopeful. “Uh, yeah. Or at least, that’s what I was going for. Does it taste okay?”

Too floored to form the questions buzzing in his mind, Spock obediently took a sip. The warm comfort of nostalgia and home washed over him, and his eyes slipped shut as he savored the familiar, spicy earthiness.

“Yes,” he managed. “It does indeed taste ‘okay,’ Jim.” He opened his eyes, feeling a furrow forming between his brows, even as gratitude for Jim’s thoughtful generosity filled him up. “But this must have been incredibly expensive to obtain, especially out here on the fringes of the federation. There was no need to go to such effort.”

A flush was spreading up Jim’s neck and face, and he ran a hand through his hair as his mouth pulled up in a smile. “Uh, well, I did buy some at the last starbase, but only a little bit. And this isn’t it.”

Confused silence. Then, “Explain.”

“Well, so, I have been working with Scotty on the fuel efficiency plans, but he’s also been helping me with this, in our off hours. I got my hands on a small sample of the real thing, to use as a template. For a replicator program.” He glanced up to see Spock’s face, which was slack with stunned disbelief. “It definitely wasn’t easy. Maybe the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to model and code. Strike that. Definitely the hardest thing. We tried to replicate the actual leaves, but ended up having to settle for just the finished product. I wouldn't have been able to do it without Scotty. And apparently we got pretty damn close, if it’s earned the Spock Stamp of Approval.” He grinned, pleased and proud, as he should be.

For a few moments, Spock could only stare, first at Jim, then down at the tea, which had apparently come from the replicator after all. It had to have taken many months to achieve, and simultaneously, Jim had been learning Vulkhansu, one of the most difficult Federation languages a human could attempt to master. All to, at least in part, make Spock feel more at home on the Enterprise. In that moment, Spock felt very small and bewildered in the face of such selfless compassion directed toward him.

“Jim… This is… It is too much.” He lifted his gaze to meet Jim’s still-pleased one. “I hope you know that you owe me nothing.”

Jim blinked at him, eyes flickering with something dark and unreadable, then looked away again as he fidgeted. “It’s just tea, Spock,” he said, though it was obvious to Spock that he was attempting to deflect praise and not belittle the cultural importance of the drink. “And I didn’t do any of it out of obligation. You’re my friend, ne ki’ne t’nashveh. I don’t need a reason to do nice things for you.”

Spock wanted to interject that Jim’s gifts were far outside the realm of simply “nice,” but was struggling to find words that would be adequate.

Jim’s tone turned more light and casual when he received no immediate response, though it sounded somewhat forced. “And besides, the tea wasn’t just for you. I’m going to release the program open-source on the nets now that I know it meets standard, and New Vulcan will get the first copy. Might as well, right?” He looked up to give Spock one of his trademark lopsided smiles.

Again, Spock was shocked into forced silence, and this time he had to slam down his controls against the upswell of emotion he was experiencing, resulting in an utterly blank expression. If Jim had decided instead to sell the program, even at a reduced cost, he would have made a fortune off of the rights to use it. Yet it didn’t seem as if that had even occurred to him as an option, despite the fact that he must have known of the program’s profitability. No, Jim’s first thought was of the surviving colonies and New Vulcan and providing them with some small comfort of home on an alien world. In addition, the availability of a replicable substitute would drive down the costs of the “real” tea, lessening how much merchants could take advantage of those Vulcans without ready access to a replicator.

And yet, Spock could not even be that surprised. Over the past year and a half, he had witnessed his captain’s selflessness, his compassion, both on every mission and directed toward every member of the crew of nearly four hundred people, each of whom he had taken the time to learn by name. And regardless of his fame and the constant praises from those around him, he had never let his confidence turn to arrogance or narcissism, always citing his crew as the biggest reason for his success. All this, despite having been mistreated in nearly every way while he was growing up. Rather than let them make him bitter and selfish, he had instead channeled his experiences into an unrivaled empathy for the hardships and shortcomings of others.

Spock had never felt surer about his decision to serve the man in front of him than he was in that moment, and was struck with the realization that he would never have another captain. Would never want another.

He had apparently been quiet too long, because Jim started to look nervous again. “Uh, Spock? That’s…okay, right? Wait, is that going to make them uncomfortable or something? Like I’m giving them charity? Because that’s not – ”

“Jim.”

His voice sounded strange, too rough, even to his own ears, and Jim’s mouth snapped shut. Of its own accord, Spock’s hand began to move toward Jim in a quickly aborted gesture, aching with the urge to touch, to communicate directly the depths of his gratitude, his regard, his loyalty, because it felt like if he did not, he would spilt apart trying to contain it.

“I…” The attempt died on his tongue, and he looked down from Jim’s concerned gaze to gather himself before trying again. “Perhaps you are correct, and providing my people with some small piece of their home is not that grand a gesture, from a macro perspective. But I know you are aware of the cultural significance of your gift, which is why you went to so much effort.” He looked up to meet Jim’s eyes. “So though I know it is in your nature to do so, please do not attempt to belittle the selfless generosity in your actions. There are few who would offer such an accomplishment to the rest of the galaxy without asking for anything in return.” Jim was now starting to turn red, and his gaze couldn’t seem to find any particular spot to rest, as long as it wasn’t on Spock’s face.

“You are an exceptional person, Jim, an exceptional captain, and the greatest superior officer I have ever had the honor of serving. My people may never thank you directly, but at the very least, I would offer you my gratitude for all you have done, when there was nothing for you to gain.” Taking one more moment to bolster his mental shields, Spock held out his hand.

Jim had gone rather tense in his obvious discomfort at the praise, and he swallowed thickly as he stared at the proffered hand with dazed incomprehension. “Spock, I… What?” But despite his bewilderment, he lifted his own hand to hover next to Spock’s, completely trusting.

His touch gentle, Spock grasped Jim's wrist, right above the heel of his palm, in a way that prompted Jim to return the hold. The song of Jim's mind hummed to him, and a sense of contentment washed over him, the tension going out of the bond now that the contact was acting as a sort of bypass.

He waited until Jim met his eyes, and allowed his emotions to show around his eyes and in the set of his mouth. "Thank you, Jim." This time, standard felt more appropriate for his thanks, to acknowledge Jim's heritage instead.

After a few moments of wide-eyed staring, Jim gifted him a pleased, embarrassed smile and ducked his head. His laugh was choked with emotion, but he made an attempt at confident levity. “Well. You don’t do anything by halves, do you?”

A smile tried to pull at Spock's mouth. “That would be inefficient.”

Jim’s laughed again, less tense this time. Another moment passed before Jim managed to compose himself enough to meet Spock's gaze again, still smiling. He squeezed Spock's wrist, faint affection managing to make itself felt through their skin. "I was happy to do it, Spock. Both for you and your people. It's really the least I could do, and knowing I've helped is reward enough." He huffed, dismissive and amused. "Stars know I don't need the money. What would I even do with it, out here in the black?"

His thumb moved once against Spock's wrist, then he let go. Spock had quite forgotten that they were still touching – the comfort of it making his perception hazy – and his reaction was delayed so that Jim more slipped from his grasp than was released. A jolt of something resembling panic flared along Spock's nerves as their palms brushed. He jerked away, burned, before their fingers could touch as well, and Jim did the same reflexively, expression carefully controlled besides a slight widening of his eyes and a flush coloring his cheeks.

They sat there, frozen for a moment, before Jim cleared his throat and glanced away toward the board. "So. Chess."

Spock looked down at his tea, trying to recover his shaken controls. Already his mind was trying to turn inward, to analyze what had just happened – or rather, almost happened -- and his reaction to it. But this was not the time nor the place, so he forced quiet and calm upon himself, bringing his attention outward. He refused to be an absent guest for the remainder of their evening, especially after Jim's display of kindness.

As he took another long sip of his tea and Jim finished his attempt at setting the board, Spock's thoughts flitted to his own gift. He froze. Compared to what Jim had done, the long months of effort he'd put into everything... Spock's gift suddenly felt painfully inadequate. A mere few days' work for a band of metals and plastics, with little true meaning beyond an obscure nod to Terran culture which Jim did not truly want for. Spock imagined presenting it tomorrow, and tensed further under a wave of impending humiliation. No. It would not be enough. Especially if he intended to reveal their bond as well.

But perhaps the bracelets could be modified to be more meaningful...

"Spock?"

Jim's voice pulled him from his reverie, and he looked up from his tea to see the board was ready and that Jim was smiling at him faintly.

"You ready to play?"

Spock inclined his head with an "affirmative," and made his first move.

For a time, they were quiet, each wrapped half up in their own thoughts as well as the game. Then Spock paused in his reach for his remaining knight.

"I believe you were going to explain Sulu's comment, Jim," he said, only mildly curious.

Frozen in his seat, Jim blinked at him, his increasing heart rate just audible from where Spock sat. "Um. Right." He cleared his throat and looked away, a flush creeping up his neck. "Well, you know how ships run on gossip. Figuratively," he said firmly when Spock was about to make a perhaps snide comment. "And, uh, it looks like the captain and first officer being seen coming out of a storage room together will be enough to fuel the grape vine for days."

Spock puzzled over this for a moment, his head tilted. "I find I still do not understand. Why would the crew wish to speak of our conversing in a storage room? Surely this is unremarkable."

Jim looked pained as he ran a hand through his hair. "Thing is, they don't think we were doing much talking, if you know what I mean."

One brow raised, Spock merely gave him a blank stare.

The hand now dragged down Jim's face in exasperation. "Oh, c'mon, Spock, surely you've heard about this kind of thing, at least in jokes if not for real. Usually when two people go into a closet of any kind together, it's kind of understood that they're not using it for its intended, professional purpose."

After another 4.3 seconds of contemplation, realization eased Spock's features. "I see. You are suggesting that the rumors paint us as having engaged in acts of a sexual nature while in the 'closet.'"

Jim made a sound that was part hysterical laughter, part groan, and by now his face was quite red. "Yep, you hit the nail very, very firmly on the head there, Spock. You have impeccable tact, as always."

Spock opened his mouth to reply, then paused, eyes narrowing. "You are employing sarcasm."

A short fit of giggles overcame the captain as he put his face in his hands. He then mumbled something that sounded like, "how is this my life?" into his palms.

"Jim?" he asked, somewhat concerned.

With a heavy sigh, Jim dropped his hands and straightened, but he was wearing a wry smile. "Anyway, sorry about the rumor. I'm sure it will blow over soon enough when they find something new to obsess over, especially with the mission coming up. Besides, the sensible ones will quickly realize how ridiculous the whole thing is." He waved a dismissive hand. "I mean, you'd never get up to anything like that." It seemed from his tone that he was referring to any sort of improper behavior.

Spock considered this, then inclined his head. "That is correct." Jim blinked and started to nod to himself before Spock continued. "A storage room seems a highly unsuitable location for such activities."

Startled, Jim seemed to choke on nothing before looking up to stare, wide-eyed, at Spock, who was just managing to keep an amused smile off his face. Then Jim burst into laughter, though there was some underlying emotion to it that Spock could not read.

"I mean, you're not wrong," Jim said as his laughter wound down. "Closet sex is super awkward. Especially if it's full of random junk. I once almost got brained by a full paint can in a janitor's closet. Usually it's more a choice of desperation, either for time or because there's nowhere else available that's private."

Spock's face twisted into a barely-there frown, pushing aside his momentary discomfort at discussing his captain’s sexual history. It was not a logical reaction. "I confess I have never understood the urgency expressed by Terrans when seeking such acts. Especially when it overrides all patience or common sense."

The expression in Jim's eyes was unreadable for a moment as he looked at Spock, then he smiled and shrugged. "We just approach it differently, I guess. I'm sure you at least understand the biochemistry of it. Besides, don't Vulcans ever feel such compulsions?"

Thoughts of pon farr crossed Spock's mind, and he stiffened for just a moment before relaxing. Certain that Jim could not be referring to such a thing, Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement. "In certain instances, yes. However, the majority of Vulcans do not feel the need to pursue sexual engagement unless they have found someone whom they wish to bond with. There is a spectrum, of course, just as there is with humans, and there are small portions of the population who are what you would term 'asexual,’ as well as those who experience sexual desire as the average human does. In this, at least, I am considered 'normal' by Vulcan standards and have never felt desire for another myself, though I believe I might for a potential bondmate."

Jim had been paying keen attention to his explanation, and now sat back, his face contemplative. "Huh. That's...really interesting, actually. So basically, most Vulcans are what we call 'demisexual.' Why isn't that more common knowledge? It would probably be really helpful in illustrating how varied our relationship with sex can be, from both an individual and cultural perspective. I mean, we humans have come a long way on our views of sexuality – did you know we used to need words for gender preference? Weird, right? But, we're still not perfect."

This time, witnessing Jim's ability to think critically and intelligently on an unexpected topic did not come as much of a surprise to Spock. Even so, a warm curl of admiration in his chest had his features softening. "It was decided to be irrelevant information by High Command, and then maintained to be so by the High Council. However, your point has merit, and I believe that, especially now, such unnecessary privacy is not wholly logical."

Jim's brows raised in surprise. "Damn, Spock. Calling the High Council illogical. I knew you had to be a rebel, after hearing about how you told the VSA where to shove it. I'd bet you're considered something of a bad boy among Vulcans, aren't you?"

The human urge to roll one's eyes seemed to be contagious, though the look Spock gave him was merely unimpressed. "The associations you are imagining for that term are quite inaccurate within the context of Vulcan culture, as we have no equivalent. I can assure you that I was in no way admired for my decision to turn down the VSA, or if I was, it was not brought to my attention."

Jim grinned, mischief glittering in his eyes. "Uh huh. I don't buy it. Especially after how you saved the Council on Vulcan, they must see you as a badass hero-type now. I bet you even have a fan club. Maybe a statue in your honor."

After giving him a long, unamused stare that only made Jim grin wider, Spock returned his attention to the chess board and moved his knight up a level. "It is your move, Jim."

Though Jim laughed, he complied with the request to get back to the game, and they spent the rest of the evening in competitive focus, with only the occasional bout of casual conversation. Jim was mostly a good sport when he won.

Back in his quarters, Spock went to the shelving unit where he kept most of his personal effects and stood there, considering. Then he reached for a carved wooden box roughly the size of his head and snapped it open. Inside were a multitude of compartments, housing various small trinkets from Vulcan. He ran his hand over a few, feeling the melancholy of nostalgia, then lifted out one in particular. A necklace given to him by his mother as a kahs-wahn present, a week after his return from the harsh trials of the desert. She’d initially been both too relieved and too angry with him for attempting it early to reward him for it, though the loss of his sehlat, I-chaya, had softened much of her temper.

Oblong-cut, opaque stones lined the strand, which was hung with a small pendant carved with the Vulcan calligraphy for "strength in logic." He had not worn it since he was a child, as it was now too short to wear appropriately.

Spock fingered the smooth stones. Each one was some shade of light, brilliant blue, cut through with gold, silver, and white strands and flecks. In ancient times, they had been seen as gifts from the sky goddess, worn by her priests and adorning her shrines. Their composition had been rare even before T'Khasi's destruction, as it was a mineral that only formed under very specific conditions on desert planets. There was only one other known Federation planet where it could be found naturally.

After closing up the box, he tightened his grip on the necklace and headed for his desk and, subsequently, his personal toolkit.

Chapter Text

Creative inspiration was not a foreign feeling to Spock, though most who knew him would be surprised to hear it. It was with him in his music, certainly, when he found the time to compose something, even if his talent had never been laudable enough to warrant professional venture. More often, though, he experienced it in his code and formulas, the unlikely leaps and sparks between two previously disparate concepts as he forced their truths from them. The eternal pursuit of science was, after all, a sort of creation, in much the same way a sculptor unearthed the form waiting within stone.

He was therefore not overly surprised when that particular flavor of single-mindedness welled up in him as he sat at his desk, the loose blue stones backlit by the original design for the bracelets. Before it could start to fade, he snatched up the padd and its stylus and opened a sketching window. It took four drafts of the design he was trying to get out before it began to look right, and by the time he had added the finishing touches, it was already very early morning.

A quick self-assessment told him that he needed both sleep and meditation at this point, to restore his overtaxed mental energies. But his time today would be a precious commodity, one to be allocated efficiently, so he chose to take a short rest. Meditation could be undertaken later in the day.

Several hours later and after a quick, calorie dense breakfast, Spock secured the small stones in his pocket and headed for Medbay, rather than the labs. M’Benga would be expecting him, as he had made an appointment with him two days prior, in accordance with Jim’s request. Despite his limited time, it was a promise he could not afford to renege. In truth, he had to admit to experiencing pleased satisfaction over fulfilling a request that had been made out of genuine concern and affection for his person.

Thankfully, no one stopped him on the way, and so he managed to arrive early, which was fortuitous given that he was almost immediately derailed after stepping through the wide doors. The captain was there in a lonelier part of the ward, sitting on a regular cot under obvious protest as McCoy ran a tricorder over him. Spock experienced a pleasant thrill at seeing Jim so soon and unexpectedly. The instant ease on the bond was a secondary gratification to the buzzing in his side.

“I’m fine, Bones, lay –” he cut himself off mid-sentence as he caught sight of Spock’s approach, a wide, happy smile replacing the annoyance. “Hey, Spock.”

“Captain. Are you well?” Though Jim appeared to be in adequate health, his stoicism meant that was not always a reliable indicator of his well-being. In this, Spock wholly supported the doctor’s overzealous methods.

Jim rolled his eyes, but before he could respond, McCoy spoke over him without looking up. “The idiot only just now told me about the anxiety attack he had yesterday, so I’m checkin’ his brain chemistry.” He withdrew the tricorder, scrolling through the results and frowning. “Hmm. It’s definitely off…”

Spock’s thoughts flew to the bond, and he struggled to keep his expression neutral. “That is an imprecise assessment, doctor. Clarify.”

The doctor continued studying the device, making a thoughtful sound. “Don’t know if I can. Doesn’t look…worrying, exactly, just different.” He turned his attention to Jim. “You been takin’ your meds?”

“Yes, Bones,” he said, exasperated. “Look, I feel fine, okay? Maybe a little more anxiety than usual and a bit of a headache, but it’s not a big deal. Probably just stress, what with the upcoming mission and everything.” He punctuated his dismissal with a shrug.

A wave of guilt caused a faint ringing in Spock’s ears. What Jim was describing was in line with the effects of an incomplete bond being blocked inadequately by the other party. Though Spock had done his best to take on all of the psychic stress that it entailed, he clearly had not been successful. It shamed him, particularly as he was considered to have a high psi rating even among Vulcans and had always received reluctant praise from his telepathy instructors.

For a brief, suspended moment – and without thinking – he parted his mouth to speak, to confess his suspicions, to tell Jim of the bond right then and there. It was not his right to withhold such information when it did not belong to him alone. But then his thoughts caught up with his instinct for honesty, and irrational fear gripped him, held him fast. His mind conjured images of Jim being horrified, angry, demanding the bond be broken. Rejecting their friendship. With everyone in Medbay as witness. Nausea made his hands tremble where they were clasped behind his back. And so he kept silent.

Tonight, he told himself, in a vain attempt to assuage his guilt. I will tell him tonight. It is, after all, a topic meant for a private setting.

McCoy was still grumbling about the readings. “Hmph. S’pose it could be. I’ll modify your hypos. But let me know if there are any new symptoms cropping up. I mean it, Jim.”

The tension bled from Jim’s shoulders as he hopped off the cot. “Will do. So, Spock, what brings you down here?”

Spock pushed the conflict from his mind and eased any stiffness that had gathered in his bearing. “I have an appointment to see Dr. M’Benga shortly, as you requested.”

Jim’s eyes softened. “Thanks again for agreeing to that."

Spock merely inclined his head.

“M’Benga? What’s wrong with seeing me?” McCoy crossed his arms in mock affront, a teasing scowl on his face.

“Namely, doctor, that it occurs far too often,” he said, brow raised.

Clutching a hand to his chest, the doctor effected a hurt expression. “Well that’s just rude. I’m wounded, Spock.” He was only a little better at concealing his amusement than Jim, who was grinning at them.

“It is fortunate, then, that you are currently in Medbay.”

McCoy rolled his eyes, though a smirk still threatened a corner of his mouth. ”Yeah yeah, you’re very clever. Really, though, if all you’re after is a check up to appease Captain Worrywart over here, I can take care of that right now. No need to waste M’Benga’s time or use a biobed for a full scan.” Before Spock could form a rebuttal, McCoy had brought up his tricorder once more, this time to hover over Spock.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spock saw Jim take a step back, as though he feared attracting the doctor’s attention again while so armed. Feigning betrayal, Spock turned his head slightly to give his own subtle version of a glare. Jim just grinned and shrugged as though to say, ‘better you than me.’

He turned back to McCoy, brow raised. “Doctor, I believe—”

His attempt was cut off by McCoy shushing him, and after another moment of consideration, decided there was no sense protesting. The doctor did, after all, make a logical argument. In this instance. So instead, he simply took out his communicator to send M’Benga a quick message explaining the situation.

“Well, Commander, looks like you’re fit as a fiddle, so Jimbo here’s got nothin’ to worry ‘bout,” he said, still scrolling through the results.

Beside him, Jim smiled and huffed in relief, stepping closer. “Guess you’ll be good to come with us tomorrow after all, Spock.” A strange moment passed wherein Jim raised his hand a few inches, then let it drop with a jerk.

There was a delay as Spock blinked at Jim, attempting to figure out the reason for such odd body language. Then he tilted his head. “I was unaware that had been in question, Captain.”

McCoy interrupted them. “Although…” His musing trailed off ominously as he squinted at the screen.

Jim tensed up and stepped over to try to peek at the tricorder. Though Spock raised a brow, he chose not to bring up the regulations regarding patient confidentiality. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Not really sure, if I’m honest. I was comparing Spock’s brain outputs to those from his checkup a couple months ago, and there are some differences that aren’t accounted for by normal deviations over time. Looks almost like acute stress but that can’t be right…”

Spock froze. It should have occurred to him that McCoy would cross check his results and see something of the bond. It should have, and yet it had not. Because he had been too distracted by Jim, by the opportunity to remain longer in his presence, to ease his anxieties firsthand.

And now Jim looked even more worried. “Maybe we should go get M’Benga after all. I can –”

He was turning in the direction of the offices when Spock stepped forward to gain his attention. “No. There is no need. I am aware of the change and its cause. It is nothing potentially dangerous.”

The doctor raised his brows at him. “…You gonna enlighten your CMO and your captain?”

It took some strength of will not to clench his jaw. “Negative. It is a personal matter, and since it is irrelevant to my health or my ability to perform my duties, I am not obligated to ‘enlighten’ you.” Telling any sort of half-truth was always uncomfortable, but doing so to his captain, especially in this context, made him feel rather ill.

They were both frowning at him now, though Jim’s was more concerned and perhaps hurt than McCoy’s irritated scowl.

“This is your brain we’re talkin’ about, Spock, and you’re not a doctor, or a healer for that matter. Now if you don’t want to talk to us about it, fine, but you should at least run it by M’Benga.”

The look Spock gave him was no doubt quite chilly. “I will take your opinion under advisement.”

Just as McCoy was about to reply, his scowl deepening, Jim clapped him rather hard on the shoulder. “Leave it, Bones. If he says he knows what’s up and that it’s not a problem, then we should trust him. He’d never let himself endanger the ship or the crew by not reporting something that could compromise him.”

The confident smile Jim directed at Spock, as well as his words, should have eased the knot in Spock’s gut. Instead, it felt like an accusation, the knot growing tighter.

He inclined his head without quite meeting Jim’s eyes. If Jim noticed, there was no outward sign.

McCoy huffed, his arms crossed. “Fine. But my suggestion stands. Damn, secretive hobgoblins, makin’ my job harder than it needs to be.” He waved a hand to encompass them both. “But fine. You’re both in the clear for good health, and Jim can stop his fretting. Now take your Vulcan and get outta my Medbay.” With that, he stomped away toward the more occupied far corner, the patients there not looking too enthused about his approach.

Jim cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. ”Well, I’m glad to know you’re doing okay.” His gaze flicked over to meet Spock’s, searching or perhaps waiting for something.

Spock blinked at him. “Thank you, Jim. I am also gratified that you are in good health.”

Jim’s mouth tensed for a moment, hesitant. “So…that thing. Um. I won’t pry if you don’t want me to, but were you just being tight-lipped because McCoy was there or…?”

Tension coiled around Spock’s spine once more. “It is not something I wish to discuss at present.”

After a moment of staring, Jim swallowed, his gaze dropping. “Oh. Right, okay.” Then he was smiling, easy and friendly as if nothing had happened, but it smacked of falsehood. “No problem. You have a right to your privacy.”

Confusion and concern made an uneasy pair, but Spock could not afford to speak further on the matter, lest he capitulate in the face of Jim’s smile, even one that did not feel quite genuine. He had, after all, included himself in the percentages he’d cited yesterday. So he merely nodded. “Thank you, Captain.”

Jim returned the nod and cleared his throat as they began to walk toward the exit by unspoken agreement. “Well. What are your plans for the rest of your free day?”

The stones in his pocket suddenly felt heavier than before, nonsensical as the notion was. “There is much work in the labs that I must complete today, before the start of our mission.”

“Aw, c’mon Spock, you’re supposed to use your days off to have some fun, relax.”

“As you have told me on numerous occasions. And again my response is that I find working in the labs to be quite enjoyable. If it would appease you, I can assure you that the project is of personal interest, rather than professional obligation.”

Jim made a considering sound. “That’s better, I guess. Is it that one project you mentioned the other day? Are you far enough along to tell me about it?”

“Not at present. However, I anticipate it being completed this evening.” Nervousness made him hesitate just a moment before he continued. “Will you be available?”

Jim’s face brightened with pleased surprise. “Yeah, I should be.”

They had slowed at a point where the corridor split off, as their intended paths diverged. “Would you then be amenable to dinner in my quarters?”

Something flickered over Jim’s face before he grinned, causing that thrill in Spock’s abdomen again. “Sure, that sounds great, Spock. Does 1800 work?”

His mouth pressed into an almost-smile. “Indeed.”

“Great! See you then.” With a small wave, Jim spun to head down the corridor to the primary turbolift.

Without truly meaning to, Spock watched him go until he’d disappeared around the curve of the ship. It was illogical, but he did not wish to add to the distance between them himself. Already the bond was starting to tremble and ache, like a cable stretched to just before its snapping point. It felt worse than the last time they had parted, though it was impossible to say if that was due to time worsening the symptoms or his lack of meditation.

After a few more steadying breaths, he forced himself to turn away, toward the lift that would take him to the lab levels. This was endurable. It was necessary. He could yet go some hours before meditation was required, and since he would likely have little time to do so, it would be best to do it as close to when he would be meeting Jim as possible. That would be when he’d need his controls the most, not while by himself in the lab.

Nyota walked into McCoy’s office with a bright grin on her face, and started talking before she’d even finished sitting down. “Oh my god, you will not believe this. I couldn’t have planned it better myself. So the Negazi apparently wear –”

“I’m out,” he said, before she could rope him into whatever plan she’d come up with. Knowing how sharp and persuasive Nyota could be, he braced himself to hold his position, his arms crossing reflexively. Dealing with Jim and his goddamn puppy eyes over the years had given him plenty of practice.

Caught in the middle of settling into her chair, she blinked at him, confused. “You’re…what now?”

“The whole…matchmaking thing or whatever you wanna call it.” He shook his head. “I can’t do it. Before, I thought it was just Jim with a little crush and it might be fun to tease him a bit, but… Hell, this ain’t no fun and games. That kid’s dead serious in love with the hobgoblin, though stars know why.” His scowl took on a trace of disgust.

If anything, Nyota appeared to be even more confused now, her face scrunched up as if she’d lost the plot. “Well, yes,” she said slowly. “You thought…” Her eyes narrowed as she raised her hand in a ‘hold up’ gesture. “Wait wait wait. Jim hadn’t told you? And you hadn’t noticed. Are you fucking with me?”

Pride got his hackles up worse than a barn cat, and he scowled something fierce. “No he didn’t tell me! You sayin’ he told you?” He looked off to the side as he continued to grumble, “He’s gonna get so many hypos at his next physical...”

She rolled her eyes, irritation starting to pinch her expression. “Of course he didn’t tell me. I’m Spock’s friend. Not exactly the best choice for a confidant. But he didn’t have to, with the way he talked about Spock constantly when we weren’t covering language lessons and the look in his eyes and the fact that he hasn’t even tried to get laid in almost a year. Jim Kirk, forgoing sex. It was kind of...obvious.”

Great. Now he felt like a shitty friend. And stupid to boot. “Well not to me! I’m a doctor, not a communications expert.” He crossed his arms tighter, not taking it as a good sign that he was on the defensive so soon in the conversation.

“But weren’t you just talking about his pining the other day?”

“I meant puppy love, grade-school pining. That kid plays his cards pretty close to his chest most of the time. More than he probably realizes. But when we were at the Academy, I only ever saw him infatuated with a person for as long as it took to get in their pants. I honestly just thought he was aromantic, at least to some degree.”

She sighed and rubbed wearily at the bridge of her nose as she muttered to herself, though not quietly enough that he couldn’t hear. Which was obviously on purpose. “Of course I decided to team up with the divorcee. What was I thinking.”

The chair creaked as he leaned forward, pointing at her and scowling, despite it lacking much bite. After all, more of his anger was directed at himself and the situation than at Nyota. “Now that’s just uncalled for. Besides, being divorced means I did manage to get married in the first place. I can’t have been completely awful at all that romance business.”

The look she gave him was utterly unimpressed. Kinda bore an eerie resemblance to one of Spock’s stock expressions. “I think the fact that you refer to it as ‘romance business’ is pretty telling.” She even included finger quotes.

McCoy harrumphed. “Whatever, point is, I know now, and I’m no longer comfortable going along with whatever schemes ya been brewin’.” After placing both hands on the desk, he looked her square in the eye. “Mainly because, after thinkin’ about it, you didn’t even sound that sure that Spock returns Jim’s feelings. Has he actually told you or given you any solid hint that he does?”

She confidently opened her mouth to respond, then paused, the unused words falling away without a sound. A sliver of uncertainty creeped into her expression. “Well…not really? It’s just…a feeling I get when he talks about him or looks at him when he thinks no one is watching. He basically flat-out denied it when I brought it up a couple days ago..." She trailed off, eyes going distant for a moment before they snapped back into focus. "But like I said before, I don’t think he’s realized his own feelings yet. Or he’s just really good at hiding them. I’d say it’s a toss-up.”

That was nowhere near good enough. His scowl deepened. “If he’s even got ‘em. Now see, I’m not gonna risk Jim’s heart on a hunch. It’s been through hell as it is. And I mean that as close to literally as is possible. I get that you’re trying to help out your clueless best friend. But Jim is as much my family as Joanna, and I’m gonna prioritize him over every other person on this ship no matter what, every time. And honestly, even if you could convince me that Spock is secretly in love with Jim, I’m still not sure I’d be on board.”

Throughout his little speech, Nyota’s expression had been softening in understanding, maybe even a little concern, but now her head pulled back in offense, eyes narrow and words cold. “And why is that?”

He held up a diffusing hand. “Hold on now. This is about what Jim needs, and what Spock can provide. I don’t think that kid had any sort of close, healthy relationship before me. And with him being his empathetic, puppy-dog self on top of that, he’s damn near starved for affection, more than I can give him. Now he thinks I haven’t noticed, but I know he holds himself back around me, always has, because he could tell I’m not comfortable being the ‘cuddly’ friend. And while what we’ve got suits us just fine, I know that for any sort of romantic partnership, he’s gonna need someone who can freely and gladly give him…all of that. Or he’s goin’ to do the same damn thing with them as he has with me only worse, and make himself small to fit to their preference, rather than say what he needs. And that will kill him slowly.”

Troubled surprise clear on her face – having replaced the anger – Nyota sat back in her chair. “I…didn’t know Jim had been through anything like that…” She pursed her mouth for a moment, brow pinched. “So you’re worried that Spock won’t be able to be…demonstrative enough.”

“Well you know him.” He waved a vague hand. “You gonna tell me he gets all expressive and gushy when you two have your nerd-club hang-outs?”

She worried at her lip. “…No, he doesn’t. And while that might be different for bondmates, or even potential bondmates, your concerns…might have merit. I don’t know. Vulcans don’t really publish much research on the particular intimacies of their relationships, of any kind, so I can’t really tell you anything to the contrary.” A thoughtful frown creased her brow. “But I will say that I think, for a bondmate, Spock would be willing to bend his adherence to Vulcan norms a lot to prevent from hurting them or depriving them of something they need. I mean, his mom seemed pretty happy with Sarek from what I got the chance to see, and trust me, she wasn’t exactly the subdued or distant sort. Spock is half-human.”

That earned only a small hesitation as he considered what were admittedly somewhat decent points. “Well, half the amount of affection Jim needs still isn’t good enough. I don’t want Jim ending up in a relationship that hurts him more than it makes him happy. Just because he loves Spock doesn’t mean they’re good for each other. Romantically, at least.”

After a few seconds of contemplation, Nyota pursed her mouth, looking distinctly unhappy about the turn their discussion had taken. “I suppose it doesn’t, but I think they would be. Spock is a good, caring person. He’d make a good, caring partner. And even you have to admit that he adores Jim.”

“So do I, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna start dating him.” He suppressed a shudder at the thought. Not that there was anything wrong with Jim, just…it was like thinking about dating a brother. Not to mention they’d be a disaster as a couple, for reasons he’d already touched on.

She huffed and stood, using the height to look down her nose at him. “Fine. I’m not going to make you help me. This whole thing isn’t really up to us anyway. Jim’s going to keep on loving him regardless of your opinion, and Spock’s smart enough that he’ll figure his shit out eventually. I’d just prefer it didn’t take the whole fucking mission.”

With a final parting glare, she spun around so that her ponytail snapped behind her and left.

Feeling as though he’d just been through a battle, he slumped back in his chair. “Well that went well.”

The tense silence of the room seemed to agree with him.

It had been a while since Jim had been this relieved to have the day off. After all of the emotional stress of the past week – both positive and negative – some time to decompress and catch up with himself was sorely needed. He liked to imagine that Spock felt something similar when he needed to meditate.

So after his (involuntary) visit to Medbay, he retreated to his quarters to catch up on his leisure reading for a while. It calmed him enough that by the time he was supposed to meet Bones for lunch in the Officer’s Mess, the knot of anxiety that had built up behind his breastbone had eased considerably. And though it still lingered as his thoughts strayed to whatever was going on with Spock and his closed-off silence, he felt more like himself and found it easier to smile at the officers he passed in the corridor.

Bones was already there and glowering in the general direction of his salad – nothing unusual then. But he did look especially grumpy compared to this morning. As Jim got his food and sat, he made sure to set his tray down a bit too hard so that his friend jumped.

“Dammit, Jim,” he said in the face of Jim’s grin.

“Something eating you? You looked like you were planning a murder. Or maybe that’s just your face. It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

After an unamused grunt, Bones began stabbing up a bite of salad. “’M fine. What about you? Still feeling like a winter-born colt?”

Jim shrugged. “Nah, the time off is helping, I think. And good thing, too. Nothing’s worse than trying to get through a diplomatic mission with already high blood pressure.”

“Of course it’s got nothin’ to do with the meds I gave you,” he said pointedly. When Jim just gave him his most oblivious dumb-blonde look, Bones rolled his eyes. “Speaking of health, I take it you’re not going to tell me about Spock’s thing?”

Jim’s oblivious expression was no longer feigned. “His…thing?”

“You know, that brain thing he was being hush hush about.”

“Um…” Jim blinked at him, incredulous. “Why would I know anything about it?”

A moment passed where they both stared as though the other was touched in the head.

“Because,” Bones said with exaggerated slowness. “I assumed he just didn’t want to talk to me. You mean you weren’t able to get it out of him after I left? You did ask, right?”

Flushing, Jim looked down and tried to quiet his unease. “I…yeah, I did. But he brushed me off.” He shrugged. “Guess it’s just something he’d rather keep to himself.”

After taking a slow breath that somehow managed to sound furious, Bones grumbled something under his breath that Jim wasn’t able to catch.

Jim hurried to ease the tension. “It’s fine, Bones. Just because we’ve gotten closer recently doesn’t mean he’s obligated to tell me everything.”

“When it concerns his health, he is! You tell him everything, don’t you? Or at least most things. Least he could do is reciprocate a bit, the damn, cold-hearted Vulcan.”

Wincing at having a sore spot prodded, Jim tried to focus on eating his sandwich. “Exactly. He’s Vulcan. It’s a bigger deal for them to open up. The fact that he’s willing to listen and offer emotional support is probably huge on its own. I shouldn’t hold him to human standards of progression.”

He could feel Bones’s eyes on him. “You wish you could, though.”

“Yeah, well.” He fiddled with straightening his sandwich back up. “Doesn’t matter what I wish. So I’m not going to throw a tantrum or whine about it. He deserves to have his privacy respected.”

They ate in silence for a time before Bones blurted out, “I just don’t understand it.”

Jim finished swallowing his bite of food. “What?”

Bones made a face. “You loving the hobgoblin.”

Every muscle in Jim’s body tensed up as he glanced around the room to see if anyone was paying attention, and also to distract himself from the horrible, gut-dropping sensation he got from hearing those words said out loud. Thankfully, there were few people around and no closer than several tables away.

Then he glared across the table. “What the fuck Bones? I thought we had an unofficial agreement not to talk about that, and certainly not somewhere public.”

His hands and lungs were shaking with adrenaline as the words continued to echo in his head. He might have admitted to himself what he felt for Spock, but he’d also made it his mission not to think about it as much as possible. So even in his own head, it wasn’t a phrase he heard often. The closest he usually came was lingering in the feeling in his weaker moments. It was beyond jarring to actually have it pulled into reality, where he could no longer look away or tell himself that there was even the slightest chance he was mistaken.

“What? It’s not like they can hear us. And you should probably talk to at least someone about it. Doesn’t even have to be me, but I doubt you’ve got many other appropriate options.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” he said dryly, attempting to fall back on levity and sass to deflect.

Bones gave him a look and waited. And waited. With Jim placidly chewing on his sandwich.

“Well?”

Jim took a gulp of water. “Nope.”

“Whaddya mean ‘nope’?” The frustration had brought Bones’s scowl back full force.

“I don’t have to talk to anyone about it. In fact, I am perfectly content to let it fester while ignoring its existence, which you should know by now I am really good at. Definitely one of my top five skills, right up there with sex and bullshitting.”

The staring contest continued, with Bones’s angry wrinkles getting deeper by the second. “I could order you to see one of our therapists.”

“Only if you had justifiable cause. Which you don’t. My health and work performance isn’t suffering, and I’m not sitting around sighing into the distance as I pine away. I’m fine.” He had to be.

Bones glared. “You really want it to reach the point where it isn’t anymore? Heartache ain’t no laughing matter and you know it. Psychology is biology, and that shit can make you sick just as surely as any alien virus.”

Heaving a sigh, Jim dropped his half-eaten sandwich back on the plate and ran a hand over his face. Yeah, he knew all of that – intimately. It had always been of a different sort in the past, but the feeling was similar enough. His jaw trembled, just once, as the weight of everything, both past and looming large, threatened to crush him. But then he swallowed it back down.

“Look, I know, okay? I fucking know,” Jim said, low and quiet. He took a careful breath, feeling cornered. “How about this, you drop it, and I promise that if it…becomes too much, I’ll go to either you or Dr. Retner. I may hate talking about this stuff, but you know I’d never endanger my crew with my stubbornness. Deal?”

Though Bones looked like he was sucking on a lemon, he eventually nodded, much to Jim’s overwhelming relief. “Fine. But don’t think I won’t be monitoring your neural patterns like a hawk.” He stabbed a threatening finger at Jim.

Finally able to manage some semblance of a smile, Jim shrugged. “I’d expect nothing less.” He took a few more hasty bites of his sandwich and then feigned looking at his wrist, despite the fact that no one wore watches anymore. “Oh, well, look at that, I should be on my way to meet up with Sulu now that he’s off shift. See ya, Bones.”

As he retreated, Bones called after him, “Jim, get back here and finish your damn sandwich. Or at least don’t leave your shit for me to clean up. Jim! Ya big baby!”

Well, fuck. There went any inner peace he’d managed to scrape together earlier. He loved Bones, he really did, but sometimes he could be more insensitive than Spock had ever been, despite meaning well. Wrong time, wrong fucking place, wrong approach entirely. Jim shook his head as he waited for the turbolift. Hopefully sparring with Sulu would help his scraping nerves get back to feeling not so raw. It had always helped before, when he’d been an angry teen and even very young adult.

A wry smile pulled at his mouth. Spock probably wouldn’t approve of him thinking about fighting as his own version of meditation. Or maybe he would, what with that whole suus mahna thing. For a long moment, he got caught up in thinking about how Spock looked while going through his forms, all focused control and lethal beauty. Then he shook himself. No, he refused to pine, goddammit.

Or at least, he refused to admit to it.

Chapter Text

Jim slumped into his desk chair with a sigh. Man, it was good to sit down. After hanging out with Sulu and then Scotty, his feet were beat, even with the hot water shower he’d just treated himself to. No rest for the weary, though. At least not mentally. He still had some time before dinner, so he might as well get through some of his messages and paperwork. He cracked his neck and snapped his Padd into its stand.

Aw yeah, Uhura had sent him the last of the modifications for the memo on the Negazi. They were a pretty cool people, even if they were still somewhat divided on the whole Federation thing. The initial trade agreements that had been established after First Contact had been doing a lot to soothe the grumblers over the years, though. Now they finally had a majority wanting to join, which meant a freer flow of information. Uhura and her team had been spending the last few weeks translating and archiving what they’d been sent from Negazi databases. It wasn’t everything yet, but it was a good deal more than the bare essentials on customs and tech they’d had before. As the captain of the diplomatic mission, he got a customized summary of everything to study ahead of time.

He scrolled through the last-minute changes and additions that had been made since a few days ago. Nothing much, really. Just some stuff on personal relationships. Apparently, they didn’t hit on each other in public spaces, around strangers, something that Uhura had taken care to underline with a raised-brow emoji (or the Spock emoji, as the bridge crew called it) next to it.

Jim rolled his eyes. Oh ha ha, James T. Kirk was a slag who couldn’t keep it in his pants. No one had made that joke before. He could just picture the smirk on her face, too. All of his friends were comedians.

Uhura said nothing prohibitory in the memo about playful flirting, though, thank the stars. That was a natural part of his social vocabulary, his charisma. A wink or a well-timed compliment could get him a long way at diplomatic parties. In a strictly professional sense. Even before his bad case of Feelings, he’d known better than to sleep around on the job. Civilians only for that.

At least, that had been his policy, for the short span of time he’d been Captain and not in love with Spock. Now his entire being rebelled against the idea of sleeping with anyone else, even though it wouldn’t actually be cheating. It felt like cheating, and that was, apparently, enough.

And of course he felt wrong picturing it in any kind of detail with Spock, too, because he didn’t have his permission — not to mention Spock was his best friend. So that left him with vague imaginings and his right hand and nothing else. Well. And his toy collection.

But still, that was no substitute for an actual –

Nope, no no no. Even if his conscience would allow for thoughts like that (which it definitely wouldn’t), it was way too close to dinner, when he’d have to have the moral standing to still look Spock in the eye.

Shaking his head, Jim signed off on the changes to the memo and went to finish getting ready.

Sometimes, when he was alone in his quarters like this, he could almost imagine none of it was real. The Spock thing, that is. Maybe what he felt wasn’t really…love. It’s not like he’d had much first-hand experience past the age of fourteen, and certainly none before had been romantic. Even those scarce childhood memories were wispy now — the love he’d once felt for his mother nothing more than a faded ghost. It was possible he was overreaching with his heart, pouring everything into this new person who was kind and got him like few others ever had. It was possible he was so desperate to give himself away, he’d just latched onto Spock because he was bound to Jim by duty and so couldn’t abandon him. The fact that it was doomed didn’t seem to matter. Or was a bonus, since rejection was familiar. And familiar was safe.

In these moments, he could almost convince himself that he could stop. That he could take this bundle of feelings and cut off its blood supply, leave it suffocating in some dark corner of his mind until it no longer plagued him. No longer made his chest and hands and skin ache with an absence that had never been filled. Because stars, it was going to hurt, worse than it already did. Feeling all of this gained him nothing, so maybe he should carve it out and be done with it. Like he’d done with so many others before, with his brother and mother.

But then he’d step into Spock’s quarters, like he did now, and all the brooding maybe's fell away life chaff, useless and forgotten.

Spock was setting out some pre-dinner tea in his most flattering traditional robes — as if Jim had needed further convincing of his folly. The dark colors and intricate gold embroidery set off Spock’s complexion and made him look…regal. A king or a god displaced among common mortals. He’d only seen Spock in these specifically one other time, back before he’d figured out his feelings. Though he’d experienced a thrill of appreciation then, now it was like being punched in the chest. Even with all of his diplomatic training, he couldn’t help the stutter in his steps and struggled to keep his expression pleasantly neutral.

Yeah. He was still fucked.

His own civvies (nice jeans and graphic tee) felt horribly shabby now in comparison. He’d come across the shirt while frantically digging through his drawers for something nice-but-not-too-nice to wear and had thought Spock might find it funny. Now it just felt silly and kind of dumb.

“Good evening, Jim.” Though there wasn’t a smile to go along with the greeting, something in Spock’s face softened when their eyes met, which Jim took as an equivalent.

He flashed a teasing grin, trying to scrounge up some confidence after his mental fumble. “Hey, Spock. Didn’t realize there would be a dress code.”

Only, Spock blinked and looked down at his own attire in what would appear to be concern. “There is not. Are these –“

Jim hurried to cut him off, waving his hands in front of him with wide eyes. “No no! You look great. Fine. I was making fun of my lazy ass, not you. But, uh, I guess I ended up sounding like a jackass anyway. Sorry.” He laughed nervously, feeling wrong-footed and hoping this wasn’t going to set the tone for the rest of the evening.

Spock’s face relaxed without moving a millimeter. “Ah. Thrap-fam'es nufau.” I am not offended. “You, as well, look ‘fine,’ Jim.”

Though as he glanced at Jim’s shirt, he did a subtle double take. It was red and said “If This Shirt Looks Blue You’re Moving Too Fast.” After a moment, he raised one brow, but Jim was pretty certain that there was nothing disdainful in his expression.

“However, while theoretically plausible within the bounds of what humans refer to as the Doppler effect, I can foresee no real world situation wherein a blueshift would occur in an article of clothing to the implied degree and still be measurable by the people involved.” Spock’s mouth twitched with the suggestion of a smile, his eyes dancing with mirth.

Relieved that Spock wasn’t upset and delighted that he’d gotten the reaction he’d wanted, Jim laughed. “I saw it in a gift shop on a starbase a while back and couldn’t pass it up. I knew you’d get a kick out of it,” he said, grinning, as they took their seats.

“I assure you, the shirt has not inflicted any such harms upon my person.”

With a short laugh, Jim gave him a humoring look. “See, I know you too well to fall for that anymore. It’s a real shame that more people aren’t aware of how you’re a low-key comedian. But hey, that just means less competition for your time, so I’m not going to blow your cover.” He winked.

Spock’s already soft eyes warmed to such an extent that Jim thought he might melt in his chair just looking at them. It was the most affection he’d ever seen in a look directed at him, without there being copious alcohol involved (Bones), and having it come from Spock made his insides buzz and his mouth spread into a helpless smile. He had to duck his head to stare at his mug before he revealed too much in his expression.

Silence fell over them as they turned to their tea. It was the Vulcan kind again, and Jim savored the way Spock savored it, watching his eyes flutter shut as he inhaled just before taking the first sip. Giddy pride made Jim’s skin buzz with warmth. He’d done that, given Spock something he could enjoy like that.

He hid his smile against his mug as he drank, the spicy-sap smell lighting up his sinuses, like cumin if it had mint’s punch. Thank the stars he wasn’t allergic to this, because it was actually really good. And, as cheesy and gross as this was, it made him feel closer to Spock when he drank it, so there was that, too.

After a few minutes, Spock’s soft voice broke the peaceful quiet. “I received a missive from my father today. He wished me to pass on the colony’s thanks for the replicator program.”

Unprepared for such a topic, Jim flinched in surprise, almost spilling his tea in his lap, and quickly set it down before he did just that. Good thing he hadn’t been mid-swallow or he’d be choking, too. “Um. Well, shit.” He chuckled awkwardly, uncomfortable with the realization that the whole colony knew it had been him. “I mean, I figured they’d find out it was me if they went to the effort to look, but uh. Yeah.”

Fingering the rim of his mug, he cleared his throat and refused to look up as he contemplated and dismissed various ways to get out of going down to the planet the next time they stopped there. Though, Vulcans were less likely to make a big, embarrassing fuss so…

Dammit, if he was in front of a camera right now, he could handle this no problem, just flash a cocky smile and play up his hero bit. But he couldn’t do that with Spock, leaving just him. Just Jim. Unable to swallow praise when he couldn’t divert it to someone else.

“I take it that means they’ve been, uh, using it and everything?” He glanced up to find Spock watching him carefully.

“Indeed. My father reports a notable increase in efficiency and mental health in colony residents since implementation.” That affectionate look was back, sincere inflection bleeding into Spock’s voice. “Your impact is, as always, significant and appreciated.”

Oh. Jim looked down again and tightened his grip on his mug to hide how it shook. What the fuck. Why the hell were his eyes burning, just because of that? Because of one little sentence? Why did Spock always seem to flay him open like this, and so easily? Jim should be terrified, or uncomfortable at the very least. And in a way, he was. But it wasn’t…bad, somehow. He felt…seen around Spock. Seen but still safe.

Clearing his throat, he took a large gulp of tea, eyes still downcast, and wrestled his reaction down. “Well, I…I’m glad it helped. They deserve all the aid the Federation can provide.”

If he didn’t know better, he might have called Spock’s soft exhale a sigh.

Thankfully, Spock didn’t press the matter further, and as they continued to drink their tea, they chatted about their days. Mostly, it was Spock asking about Jim's, since Spock was still being tight-lipped about his lab project. So Jim told him about hanging out with Sulu on the Rec deck, helping Scotty out in engineering, and the book he’d read that morning until their mugs were empty. By then, Jim had recovered his emotional equilibrium and was feeling pretty mellow and content, as he always did from spending time with Spock. He never felt misunderstood or judged by him, and that was something he had never experienced before. Not even Bones knew him so well.

Maybe he could be okay with nothing more than this.

Spock rose to go to the replicator with their mugs, and Jim ambled over to the shelf of Vulcan artifacts that he rarely got the chance to look at.

“What would you prefer?” Spock’s hand hovered over the menu on the replicator’s screen while he looked at Jim expectantly.

Shrugging, Jim went back to examining the priceless pieces of art and weaponry. He was tempted to pick up what looked like a lavish puzzle box made of both wood and precious stones, but he did have some self-control. “Whatever’s fine. There’s probably some recommendation from Bones for me in there.”

After a brief lull, there came the sounds of a selection being made, followed by the soft hum of the replicator doing its thing.

“Jim, in the time we have known each other, I have noticed that you never seem to voice dietary preferences, as most Terrans do.”

Jim waited a few seconds for some sort of follow up question, but none came. It took a good deal of self-control to remain calm and relaxed when he realized where Spock’s prying would lead. This was the one thing in which he was just as guilty about being unforthcoming as Spock. No one actually wanted to hear the answer, ‘Oh, well, you know, surviving a famine and reaching the point where anything vaguely nutritious looks amazing will do that to you.’ In fact, he’d used quips like that as weapons, at first, to keep people at bay, though he’d carefully skirted direct references to Tarsus.

“Hmm? Sure I do. I’ve got favorite foods. Like, um…apples. And pretty much anything that’s got lots of chocolate in it. And uh. Really spicy Indian food.” He turned away from the puzzle box to catch Spock giving him The Eyebrow.

“I will keep those things in mind. However, that is not quite what I was referring to. I have never seen you express distaste for or refuse to eat any sort of food you have been served, unless it would have induced an allergic reaction. While I applaud the logic of such an attitude, it does not seem congruent with your otherwise highly opinionated, pleasure-oriented nature. I am curious as to the reason for such a disparity.” Behind Spock, the replicator dinged that it had finished its task, but his attention didn’t waver.

For a brief moment, Jim held himself perfectly still, so that he could gather together a plan of action for navigating this topic without actually addressing it. Spock was too perceptive for him to get away with half-assing this.

With a shrug, he flashed a wry smile. “What can I say. I’m a complicated guy. And I just like food in general, is all. Don’t see much point in getting snobby about it, especially since my choices are already so limited by my allergies. So if Bones wants to plan my meals to make sure I get all the stuff I need without getting fat or dying, hey, that’s at least one thing on this ship I don’t have to worry about, right?” He turned his attention to some sort of curved dagger cradled by a stone stand, though he was no longer paying true attention to any of the objects in front of him.

He could feel Spock studying the side of his face. “Very logical.”

Though he kept looking at the filigree on the sheath, he forced a smile. “Why Spock, you’re going to make me blush.”

“I find that unlikely.” There was a clattering of dishes as Spock retrieved their meals.

Did he? Well, thank the stars for Spock being so oblivious. Honestly he sometimes rivaled Bones in emotional unawareness. And that was saying something.

Dinner itself was a quieter affair than usual, though not uncomfortable; they were each mostly caught up in their own thoughts. At least, Jim was. In his attempt to keep his mind out of his past, he kept going back to whatever Spock was hiding from him. Well, not just him, specifically. It’s not as if Spock owed him access into every aspect of his life just because they’d grown closer recently and so was depriving him on purpose. And yet it gnawed at him. What could it be, that it was affecting Spock’s brain? Surely if he was sick, he’d feel obligated to tell his captain, so that couldn’t be it.

Oh god, had a relative died? Shit, that would make sense, if one of his family bonds had broken. That would show up in his scans. But then, why wouldn’t Spock tell him? Friends told each other stuff like that. Right?

By the time they were finishing their meals, the questions and concerns filling Jim’s head had reached an anxious crescendo, and the words spilled from his mouth before he could stop them. “Is there anything you want to tell me, Spock?”

Across from him, Spock froze just as he finished setting his utensils on his empty plate. His eyes darted up to Jim’s, a bit wider than normal, but his face was otherwise expressionless.

“Because you know you can, right? Tell me stuff, that is. Anything. As much as I love the sound of my own voice, I’m a great listener. So…so if anything ever happened with, say, your family or something like that, I’d be happy to lend an ear.” He tried for a reassuring smile, but it was likely strained around the edges. What was he even saying right now? Shut up, for the love of god.

After blinking at him a couple times, Spock frowned and tilted his head, looking uncertain. “I… Thank you, Jim. I will keep that in mind. I am confused, however, as to what prompted such a topic of conversation.”

Jim shifted uncomfortably, face hot and wishing he’d never opened his mouth. “Um. Well, it’s just… I thought maybe, with the whole brain anomaly thing…” He waved a hand in the direction of Spock’s head, as if this was very necessary for clarity. “…something had happened with one of your bonds? Like, maybe something wrong with a family member or… I don’t know. I guess that kind of thing isn’t any of my business. I’m sorry for bringing it up, I know you said you didn’t want to talk about —“

“Jim.” Spock was staring at him, though Jim couldn’t for the life of him read the expression there.

Embarrassed by his rambling (yet again), he clenched his jaw to keep from starting back up, eyes on his plate.

“I appreciate your concern,” Spock said, sounding quite sincere, “however, my family is quite well at present. If that changes, be sure that I will inform you. As for the personal matter, I…will tell you that as well, but…there is something I would like to show you first.”

Oh. The knot that had formed in Jim’s chest in response to Spock’s secrecy eased significantly. Maybe Spock really had meant the “at present” part when he’d deflected Jim’s questions earlier. Of course he had. Jim should have known to take him more literally; Spock never wasted words.

In an uncharacteristic move, Spock stood without gathering their dishes, and motioned for him to move to the couch, which was their after-meal tradition. Confused and emotionally unsettled though he was, Jim obeyed and watched as Spock retrieved something from his desk. Jim wasn’t able to get a good look at whatever it was until Spock had sat down beside him.

It was plain black, lidded, and looked the right size and shape to hold a stack of coasters. Spock’s thumbs brushed at the corners with what Jim was tempted to call a restless energy.

Jim raised his brows. “What’s that?”

Maybe it was actually nervous energy, because Spock swallowed and wasn’t meeting Jim’s eyes. “You expressed interest in being privy to the completion of the personal project I have mentioned. It is finished, if you would like to see.”

Jim had to wrestle with a smile. “I— yeah! Of course I do.” After feeling in the dark all day, this felt like fucking Christmas.

It took another noticeable moment of hesitation before Spock held the box out to him, an invitation. Curiosity made Jim take it with maybe a bit too much haste, so he tried to be more careful when he pulled off the lid.

If someone had asked him beforehand to guess the contents, he might have said a prototype for some new scientific instrument. Or the preserved results of an experiment. But the box held neither of those things. Instead, there was…what looked to be a wrist or arm band nestled half within a protective, stiff foam material and decidedly not made with utility as its primary purpose. What was visible showed beautiful designs of precious stone and filigree, with a base of mostly silver metal and traces of gold.

The silence went on just a little too long as Jim tried to wrap his head around the fact that Spock had been using his time in the labs to make jewelry, but he finally managed to snap out of it enough to look to Spock for some explanation, confusion stark on his face. “You made a…bracelet?”

Spock was looking a bit green around the ears. “Indeed. Jim, I… I do not believe I ever thanked you for your actions the day we met. If not for you, many more of my people may not have escaped, including the entirety of my immediate clan, with whom I have bonds. And afterwards, now, you have done much to make me feel at home and welcome on the Enterprise. Such a debt…it is beyond repayment, and this is not an attempt at such. But you have also given me the gift of your friendship, a gift I cherish beyond any other I have received.”

A faint roaring filled Jim’s ears, and everything in him clenched up in denial of Spock’s praise, as it always did. But at the same time, he had to look down to hide the reluctant beginnings of a bashful smile. Even if he had no idea what was happening or what any of this had to do with Spock’s “personal matter” or the box in his hands. Spock cherished him. Or, well, their friendship anyway.

“There is no material object in the known universe that could accurately convey my gratitude and regard, and this must seem paltry compared to the gifts you have recently given me, but I am hoping that at least the content of my sentiment is communicated if not the depth.”

Jim — still trying to process what Spock was saying as it butted up against his self-worth issues — looked up just as Spock tugged a voluminous sleeve down to display his left wrist. He was wearing another bracelet with the same designs as the one Jim held, only the metals had been inverted in their decoration. A matching pair.

“I was informed of a somewhat old tradition wherein hand-made, matching bracelets are worn by close friends, and have done my best to reproduce it. That one is yours.”

Eyes wide, Jim stopped breathing as he stared.

This couldn’t possibly be happening. There was no way. Because holy shit, Spock had… Spock had made them friendship bracelets. Jim’s throat felt too tight, his chest swirling with an overwhelming mess of fond amusement and gratitude and love. This had to be the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for him, and the fact that Spock didn’t have a complete grasp of the “tradition” made it even more endearing. Jim thought he’d burst from such an excess of emotion.

An irrepressible smile overtook his face, and his eyes were tearing up against his wishes. With reverent fingers, he lifted his bracelet from the box to get a closer look, surprised to find it heavier than he was expecting. “Spock, this is definitely not ‘paltry.’ It’s beautiful. You made them yourself?” He ran his thumb over the designs that ran almost flush along the outside of the band and were mostly comprised of a blue stone that reminded him of lapis lazuli but was too light in color.

“I did, though it did not take me long to complete them. Per my readings on the matter, I attempted to craft and assemble as much of it by hand as possible. However, as they are not simple pieces of jewelry, there were times when I had to rely on machinery.” Before Jim could ask what he meant, Spock was holding up his wrist in demonstration. “They are directly paired with one another for the purpose of communication, meaning that very little will be able to interfere with the connection.”

He pressed on the centerpiece of the design, which looked like a two ring target, and a small holo screen appeared in the air above it. “They support both voice and text-based messaging,” he said as he typed something short on the intangible keyboard and hit send.

The bracelet in Jim’s hand started glowing around the edges of the blue stones, and when he pressed the same spot Spock had, the word “test” was on the screen that appeared. None of the actual technology was new, but it was still impressive that he’d made it mostly by hand without detracting from the beauty or form of the bracelet.

“They can also alert the other if one of us has been seriously injured and serve as homing devices if one of us goes missing, assuming we are able to retain them on our person in such a situation.” Here, he swiped through the holo so it changed to the monitoring screen.

Jim’s grin was starting to hurt his face. Of course Spock would make sure that any present he gave served some sort of practical purpose as well. Being able to talk to Spock on missions, even through inconvenient ion storms, was a gift in and of itself.

“Mine does little more than that,” Spock continued. “Yours, however, has several other capabilities. It can act as a specialized tricorder, and scan any food or drink you come into contact with for potential allergens in the case that Dr. McCoy is unavailable. It is also programmed to make predictions based on your known allergies as to the probability that something unknown will induce a reaction.”

Holy shit. The level of thoughtfulness and concern that had gone into this… His grin fading as he tried to keep himself from flat-out crying, Jim stared at Spock for a few seconds before looking down at the bracelet in his hands. “Spock... I…”

He couldn’t think of a thing to say to finish his thought, so silence thickened the air in the room for a brief moment. Spock cut it abruptly, his words coming just a hair faster than their usual, steady pace. It was as if he had planned out exactly what he wanted to say in bullet points, and wanted to make sure he got through them all.

(What was Jim thinking. Of course that’s what Spock had done.)

“The stones are of Vulcan, called faugen. These in particular were taken from a childhood possession no longer suited for wear.” He glanced at Jim, then away again. “It was my intention to create an appropriate representation of the importance of our friendship and, through it, the joining of our cultures.”

Give Jim a fight or a tense negotiation, and he was in his element. Confrontation might as well be his middle name. But when it came to the emotional sort, even when nothing bad was happening, he floundered. Just a little kid again, learning how to swim. No muscle memory to save him from too many mouthfuls of pool water.

To distract from the tears now streaking his face, he fumbled to put the bracelet on his left wrist with clumsy hands, sniffling. The hinged clasps on the bottom refused to cooperate, so now he looked even more like a dumbass. Great. Who the fuck cried over presents? Weren’t you supposed to be all happy and grinning and shit? And thanking was definitely supposed to happen, not awkwardly falling silent and ignoring such a nice speech and… and…

After a few failed attempts, another pair of hands entered his blurred line of sight.

“…Jim? Should I assist you?”

Jim’s first instinct was to say ‘no,’ his vulnerability making him defensive. But he clearly wasn’t having any luck in this state, and at this point, why should he give a fuck about his dignity. Even if it was still on this plane of existence, he really doubted Spock was judging him.

At his nod, Spock’s graceful fingers steadied the bracelet and hooked and snapped the clasp so that it tightened into place with two smooth motions. All without brushing against skin.

Of course, it fit perfectly despite not being adjustable, remaining just above the wrist so as not to impede movement. He could see himself forgetting he was even wearing it.

“Is it…to your satisfaction?”

Jim looked up through his wet eyes and found a very nervous and uncertain-looking Spock clenching his hands in his lap. Which was ridiculous, because obviously this was the best present anyone had ever gotten, only Jim couldn’t stop sniffling as the tears kept coming, so he couldn’t get out any of the words that were building up behind his sternum.

Too overcome to think, Jim acted on impulse and did the one thing he’d promised himself he’d never do: he hugged Spock.

Not just a quick back-pat or side hug, either. We’re talking a full-on, rib-crushing sort of hug (not that his puny human arms would do any damage). The kind you gave a loved one after not seeing them for a year. Which he guessed wasn’t entirely inaccurate, since that’s about how long he’d wanted to hug Spock and hadn’t been allowed to.

Fuck. And he still wasn’t.

Just a couple seconds into the one-sided embrace, Jim froze, then released the fists he’d made in Spock’s robes like he’d just wrapped himself around a bear. Which, close enough. “Shit, I’m sorr –“

Most of the breath was forced from his lungs when Spock’s arms came around him in definitely the fiercest embrace he’d ever received outside of a fight. Or Spock was trying to kill him. It was hard to say. But there were worse ways to go.

After some shocked hesitation, Jim hugged him back as tightly as he could manage while twisted on a couch. There was no way this wasn’t a one-time deal, so he’d be damned if he didn’t take full advantage of it while he could, and not just because he honestly couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given him a real hug. It had probably been Bones, when he was drunk.

The sensation of Spock’s hard, lean muscle in his arms and pressed against his chest was…bliss. And he’d always thought Spock smelled great – a bit like incense and ozone – but up close, it was even better. His willpower wasn’t strong enough to keep him from dropping his wet face onto Spock’s shoulder so he could breathe him in. Which was still a bit difficult to do what with Spock’s vice grip around his ribs, but Jim could not care less, especially with his brain going all fuzzy and euphoric like it did when Bones gave him the good painkillers.

He had to swallow several times before he could get out at least the most important thing he’d been trying to say, though he wasn’t able to manage the Vulkhansu he’d originally intended.

“Thank you.” For allowing him this much contact, for the bracelet, for his friendship, for…everything. All bundled up in two words that felt too small for the magnitude of this feeling that wasn’t simple at all. The fabric beneath his face was damp now, and he hoped the dark color would hide any tear stains.

And was that Spock’s head leaning lightly against his? He drew a short breath and held very still, so as not to discourage him.

“Thanks are unnecessary, Jim.”

That low voice made soft and close had Jim trying and failing to fight a shiver. Crap. His thoughts were trying to go to places they definitely shouldn’t go (like wanting to kiss him), and he couldn’t afford for Spock to pick up on them. So he cleared his throat and gave Spock one last squeeze before pulling away.

Or trying to. For a moment, he was held captive, no give in Spock’s arms, before Spock caught up to Jim’s intent and slowly released him. As soon as the last point of contact disappeared, Jim had to suppress another shiver, this time from the awful cold that engulfed him despite the warmth of the room. The grief of knowing he’d never hold Spock like that again hit him hard in the wake of knowing what it felt like. Good thing he was already crying, though he redoubled his efforts to subdue it.

The air between them felt thick and heavy and strange, and after brief eye contact where Jim smiled reflexively and Spock didn’t, their gazes fell away. After wiping the moisture from his eyes, Jim looked down at the bracelet on his wrist as he fiddled with it, once again feeling too-full at the sight of it.

“Really though, thank you. It’s beautiful and perfect and by far the best gift anyone has ever given me. ‘Satisfactory’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.” His eyes were burning again, and he took a deep breath in an attempt to keep more tears at bay. No more fucking crying, dammit.

“Dor-tor du nash-veh.” You honor me. After a long, pregnant pause, Spock swallowed just audibly, which snagged Jim’s attention. “Jim…there is something else I must tell you.”

Hope was a cruel, vicious thing that flared bright in his chest for barely a moment before he ruthlessly snuffed it out.

He cleared his throat to ease the hoarseness. “…Okay?”

Spock sat straighter and took a breath, seeming to brace himself. “We are telansu.”

Confusion subsumed any last traces of hope, and he blinked at Spock. They’d already established they were friends, and while it was really nice to hear that Spock also considered him the kind of friend who was actual family in Vulcan culture, Spock’s trepidation didn’t match that revelation. “Oh. Um, ok… I mean, I’m completely on board with that, but why do you look like you just told me you killed my dog?”

Spock’s jaw twitched, and he settled his gaze just over Jim’s shoulder. “You misunderstand. We are not telansu in merely name. We share the beginnings of a mental link. A bond. That is what McCoy’s scans detected.”

That took more seconds to sink in than Jim would like to admit. And when it did, his momentary joy and excitement was crushed under the heel of his terror, all the warm feelings from earlier abandoning him. He paled rapidly enough that he was dizzy for a moment, and he had to catch himself on the cushion next to him.

“We… You…” He felt a bit ill. “A mental link? As in…you can see into my head?”

Spock’s face had become expressionless, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “Not at present. As it formed spontaneously, it is still at a preliminary stage, and not strong enough to enable more than surface, emotional insight without skin contact. And even if it were, I would never violate your privacy in such a manner. I have been blocking the bond since its discovery nearly two days ago.”

The situation was triggering Jim’s fight or flight response, but he was James T. Kirk, starship captain. So instead of outwardly panicking, he went calm and still, his mind sharpening into focus even with his heart racing in his ears.

“So you haven’t been able to read anything from me.”

Spock swallowed. “…That is an incomplete assessment. Only strong negative emotions are capable of overcoming a block in such a manner. It is postulated that this developed as an evolutionary advantage for a telepathic society such as ours, so that those who were suffering would be offered aid when they were in no state to request it. This was the case with the anxiety you experienced yesterday.”

It was an over-explanation – the Vulcan version of babbling – something that Jim had noticed Spock only did when he was nervous or excited. In this situation, he was going to bet on the former.

Jim’s initial relief to know that Spock hadn’t found out about…anything, was short-lived as he considered the fact that Spock had known about this for two days and hadn’t said a thing until after giving his gift.

Jim stood abruptly and took a few steps toward the desk before turning back to face Spock again, his arms folded over his chest to hide the tremble in his hands. Hard metal pressing against his arm made him aware of the bracelet still around his wrist. “Right. Okay. And why did you wait so long to tell me about it?”

Spock could have easily been mistaken for a statue, and there was a long, obvious hesitation before his reply. “I apologize. Perhaps I should have told you at the first opportunity but I…wished to demonstrate how much your friendship means to me in a human manner before revealing the Vulcan manifestation, so that my feelings on the subject would be communicated clearly.”

Jim continued to keep his voice careful and measured, calm, despite the trauma-response expanding in the back of his head. “So that’s why you made these? Because of the bond?”

Blinking, Spock opened his mouth, then closed it again. In any other situation, Jim would be picking a fight with whatever or whoever had put that lost expression on his face, but not now. Self-defense and survival were ruling his brain, threatening to push him into a lash-out sort of anger born of fear and experience. The weight of the bracelet, ironically, was the thing keeping him from spiraling completely into his past, into blind suspicion and assumptions. Too many times already, he’d been manipulated and used by those he’d come to trust, and the brain is very stubborn in its expectations of a pattern.

….the governor smiled at him, all teeth, told him what a fine student he was, that he was going places…a special scholarship that would allow him to enter the colony’s most prestigious academic track…pride, he fell for it, desperate for validation, for a challenge…”Kodos’s pet” said other kids, just jealous, wished they could be in his place…more gifts, more praise (lies, lies)…everything he dreamed at first...then the testing, the experiments, more and more invasive….headaches…screaming…isolation…hearing of famine second hand.…

No. Stop it. He wasn’t there, this wasn’t the same. Was it? It wasn’t. Just his trauma, making matches that weren’t there. Right? But maybe wrong. Maybe the warning was valid, trying to protect him. Maybe…maybe…

“I…” Spock blinked again and swallowed. His tone was stilted and careful, as if he wasn’t sure of the conversation’s subtext but had caught onto the fact that what he said next was very important. “…No. The discovery of our bond occurred after I had already begun working on them. I made them in response to you learning Vulkhansu, after consulting with Dr. McCoy. Learning of the bond merely influenced the timing.”

Jim’s jaw was starting to ache with tension, and he tried very, very hard to think clearly about this. He’d promised himself long ago that he’d never let anyone manipulate him ever again, but he was also terrified of seeing threats that weren’t there and pushing away and hurting someone who didn’t deserve it. The fact that this was someone he loved made everything murkier, not clearer.

….threatening to tell Mom about the beating…Frank feigning confusion and concern…gaslighting him, half-convincing him he’d dreamed it, that the bruises were from something else…Mom denying it too, refusing to believe him…they were his parents, so maybe they were right…maybe he couldn’t trust himself…

Jim blinked and dug his nails into his arm in an attempt to get rid of the ghost images playing out behind his eyes, to keep himself Here. “Timing. Right. So I take it that this bond, it’s something you want to keep? Hence the accompanying present? Whether or not that’s why you made it, it’s still how you’ve used it.” There was only a slight shake in his voice, his fists clenching and unclenching as he studied Spock’s face.

Brow furrowing, Spock flinched back, his mouth opening and closing again. But the protest slowly faded from his face, his gaze dropping to the floor as he thought. It was quiet for an unbearably long minute or so before he looked back up, voice low and rough when he spoke. “…You are correct. It is true that I wish to keep the bond, and though it was not my conscious intention to influence you against your will, my actions have still been…coercive and selfish, a fear response. The majority of psi-null individuals find such connections distasteful in practice. It was logical to expect the same of you. But that is no excuse for my deception.” Shame clouded Spock’s features as he looked down at his hands clenched in his lap. “You have already been exposed to unforgivable betrayals of trust, and I am…appalled that I have now added to their number. I am…so very sorry, Jim. Please know that you have no obligation to agree to keep the bond, and the bracelet — as well as my friendship — will still be yours if you refuse. I…will understand if that is the case.”

Shock cut the strings on Jim’s tension, his shoulders going slack as he stared at Spock. Up until now, Jim had been walking a well-worn path of defensive anger, one that came with certain expectations: excuses, gas-lighting, anger in return. But not sincere remorse and self-reflection, without even an underlying expectation of forgiveness. It took him off-script, leaving him unsure how to feel or react. It didn’t help that his guard hadn’t completely come down, an anxious, cynical voice whispering in his ear that Spock didn’t mean it. That it was just more, elaborate manipulations. Spock was smart enough for it, after all. Smarter than Kodos for sure…

But that…that didn’t sound quite right, did it?

Jim had been here before, in situations where he couldn’t think past the clamor of his trauma. He’d learned the hard way not to make decisions when his head was like this, no matter how right they seemed at the time. So, unable to trust his own thoughts just then, he latched onto the procedure he’d established for himself, one which he knew to be trustworthy outside of this moment. This was the first time he’d ever had to use it for someone other than Bones.

Forcing his feet to stop their mindless pacing, Jim took a few deep breaths before turning to face Spock, who still sat hunched on the couch and staring down at his hands. Jim fixed his eyes on the wall behind him.

“This is too much for me to process right now,” he said, reciting from the script in his head and hoping his voice wasn’t shaking too much. “It’s reminding me of a past trauma, and I can’t think around that. So I’m going to go to my room to calm down, and we can continue this discussion later.”

Though he wasn’t looking directly at Spock, he saw his hesitation, the way his mouth opened as if to argue. But then Spock changed his mind and merely nodded.

Jim didn’t wait another second to head toward the fresher at a careful walk that felt like running. The beginnings of a killer headache crept into the base of his skull as soon as he was back in his own quarters. After grabbing a hypo from his cabinet, he gathered a fresh set of workout clothes. For this, he was going to need his brand of meditation.

Chapter Text

The ache in Jim’s lungs and legs took a while to set in as he ran on the treadmill, but when it did, it was such a fucking relief. Both it and the pounding rhythms of his body and of the music playing through the gym speakers grounded him, gave him something to focus on that wasn’t the panic and numbness screaming in the back of his head. The more he was able to ignore it, the quieter it grew. A fire without fuel.

He closed his eyes to revel in the realness of himself and shut out the distraction of his mirror image running across from him. Because that wasn’t him. He was here.

His skin started to feel like his own again, his sense of self settling back into this body, this present. Where he was a captain with friends filling the space of family. Where he got to sail through the stars and make a difference, far, far away from those who used to hurt him.

By the time his muscles were protesting their second hard workout of the day, the noise in his head had become nothing more than a skittish buzz.

Breath coming in heaves, he slapped the control panel so that the pace slowed to a walk for his cool down. Wouldn’t do to risk passing out when he was by himself. He’d been lucky that the small Officer’s Gym had been empty. It didn’t get used that often, but still, few things were worse than having to deal with people at times like this.

A flash of silver caught his eye as he reached for his small towel, and he almost tripped over his own feet. Right. The bracelet. Forcing his breathing to remain steady, he brought his wrist close and ran his fingers along one edge.

His mouth quirked in a small, complicated smile. If he had passed out, this probably would have let Spock know.

Spock.

Fuck.

Shaking away the tangled thoughts that he wasn’t yet ready to address, Jim finished reaching for his towel to mop the sweat from his face, then chugged a couple gulps from his water bottle. After another few minutes of cool down, he shut off the treadmill and moved to the mat for his stretches.

The ending rituals of his “meditation” were just as important as the process itself. They gave him a sense of closure, created a barrier between him and slipping back into the pit of his own mind.

Breath calm once more, Jim let his raised leg fall back to the mat beneath him and stared up at the ceiling, hands folded over his chest. The pose reminded him of lying in the corn field of his childhood farm at night, hiding from the tension in the house and gazing at the too-distant stars.

Look at where you are. Look at how far you’ve come. You’re safe now.

He closed his eyes. ‘Safe.’ Still such a new concept for him. At times, even terrifying. Enough to make him cringe from a kind word.

Enough to make him run from an outstretched hand.

Thoughts of Spock broke through at last. Guilt threatened to swamp Jim, suck at his limbs and drag him back into the mire, but he shook it off. No.

Be kind to yourself, Jim, he heard one of his therapists say. No matter how well you get, your triggers will never disappear completely. It doesn’t make you weak, and it’s not your fault.

Maybe not. But stars, Spock’s eyes before he’d left... They’d been something more than blank — lifeless.

He should have left sooner than he did, before he said things that could not be taken back. The sound of Spock’s apology rang in his ears, cut into his chest. Jim hadn’t been entirely wrong in his accusations, but they hadn’t warranted such a harsh delivery. Or making Spock feel like he’d done something unforgivable.

Self-revelation burst in his head like a popped bubble. Oh.

Oh.

He’d…done that on purpose, hadn’t he? Slamming that emotional wall down between them. The similarities with his past hadn’t been what triggered him. At least, not at the heart of it.

His fingers felt along the designs of the bracelet as if reading Braille.

It had been this. The whole, aching moment that had passed between them. Too much happiness, too much good all at once. The fear had been hidden beneath it, whispering that it wouldn’t — couldn’t — last. That something terrible and painful was going to come and snatch it away, make him pay for that undeserved taste of joy. The way it always did.

So instead of letting tragedy find him, he’d reached for it himself the first chance he got. A way to choose his own pain, his own punishment.

Jim heaved a tired breath and rubbed at his face before letting his hands slide back onto his chest. Dammit. And he’d been doing so well lately with keeping his thoughts mostly healthy. Especially considering his captaincy — something he’d wanted since he was a kid, and yet held so many opportunities to fuck up. Getting on regular meds back at the academy had done wonders for his state of mind. But this past week or so...it felt like everything was on some downward slide.

Maybe he should talk to Bones, at least about the possibility of...of...

Hold on.

Jim stilled, frowning as he thought. Not a week or so. More like, half a week. And Spock had said he’d discovered the bond a few days ago, which just about lined up with the worsening of Jim’s inner shitstorm. From what Jim knew about Vulcan bonds, though, they weren’t supposed to cause harm, at least when they were healthy and between compatible minds.

Was theirs messed up? Was it doing this?

And how was he going to talk to Spock about it? About everything? Navigating a situation like this was pretty new territory for him. Bones was the only one since Jim had been a kid who he’d let close enough for mutual upsets to even matter. And with him, it was usually pretty easy to fix, if it lingered at all. Another reason he’d let Bones in — for all his crotchety demeanor, he wasn’t one to let things really bother him or hurt his feelings. If Jim fucked up or his head fucked him up, Bones would point it out, tell him to get it together, and that would be that. Easy.

But with Spock… Jim couldn’t see it going like that. There was too much between them, too much Jim could lose with a misstep. And too much evidence that he’d hurt Spock terribly, intentionally or not.

At least his suspicion had fizzled out by now. Of course Spock wasn’t anything like Kodos; Spock was honest and kind and brave. And Jim could say that for sure because he wasn’t the only one who thought so — Pike and Uhura did too, even Bones though he’d never admit it. And Uhura was a communications expert who didn’t put up with bullshit. She wouldn’t be best friends with some master manipulator asshole.

Alongside his need to reassure himself of that fact lingered guilt for having said need, for doubting someone he cared for. But it wasn’t about Spock, he reminded himself, or a lack of trust in him. It was about Jim and his lack of trust in himself. Grounding his judgments in the perspectives of others like that was necessary sometimes, to make the anxious voice in his head shut the fuck up.

(To make sure he wasn’t making a mistake.)

After some minutes of what could be considered brooding, he more or less had a game plan for what he’d say to Spock. Sort of. Jim just hoped they could smooth things out between them. Whatever the outcome.

Before he could embark on that particular awkward journey, though, he had one last thing to do. As insurance.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Jim sat up and arranged himself into a pose he hadn’t used in almost a decade: back straight, legs folded one over the other, hands resting on his knees. A few muscles protested the exaggerated lotus for a moment, before surrendering. Anxiety roiled in his gut at first, but as he continued to think about his focused breathing, it settled, fell away.

Not that it ended up being warranted anyway. Rather than be sucked into a flashback, he was able to focus solely on the clear voice ringing in his head, faded with time though it was.

“Your breathing must be k’rawl — imagine your gut as a bellows. Slow, precise, stoking the flames while neither starving nor gorging them.”

In. Out.

“One cannot forge a proper blade with an ill-kept furnace.”

In. Out.

“Your mind will be the steel, James Kirk.”

—————

Spock,

Here is the document you requested. Might I inquire as to the circumstances that prompted this? I trust all is well.

As for the colony, we have made adequate progress over the past month in re-establishing the VSA, with construction of its new, permanent facilities nearing completion. There have been no changes in my health, and I remain productive.

We received a most remarkable transmission yesterday, containing a replicator program for Vulcan tea. It was sent anonymously and marked open-source. After thorough testing and investigation, our scientists have integrated it into our replicators, and there has since been a notable boost in efficiency and mental health among the colonists. Please pass on our gratitude to your captain.

It is, as always, good to hear from you, sa-fu.

-Sarek

The words on the screen blurred and ran together as Spock stared at them, unseeing. They provided no comfort or quiet pride on Jim’s behalf as they had when he’d first read the message several hours prior. A reply box sat open but empty.

Not for the first time in the past ten minutes, he lifted his hand to the keyboard, hoping words would come. They did not. His thoughts felt too far away, too slow and static like they never were under normal circumstances.

Father, thank you for the —

[Delete]

Father, I am glad gratified that the colony and yourself are —

[Delete]

Sa-mekh, I have erred and do not know how to —

[Delete]

Growling in frustration, Spock tossed the padd back onto his desk with a clatter and dropped his head into his shaking hands as he hunched forward on his elbows.

He had underestimated the toll that blocking a bond – not simply shielding his own mind – would have on his faculties. His brain felt at once too large and too small for his skull, throbbing in time with his pulse. Just this morning, the bond had been only a stifled presence, a pressing discomfort on the fringes of his awareness. Worse than the day before but quite manageable.

Now it was a spearhead pushing on the base of his skull, a demanding pain that was difficult to mitigate with his compromised controls. The bond seemed to be actively defying the block he’d placed on it, trying to grow against its shackles. Instinct screamed at him to free it, to free himself. But listening to it was not an option. If he was to lose this bond, the pain of that loss would only be worse if it was allowed to establish itself unhindered. And that outcome was looking even more likely now.

His eidetic memory accosted him with images of the panic and betrayal on Jim’s face. How he’d pulled away. His back as he fled Spock’s quarters. “This is reminding me of a past trauma…”

Nausea slicked the back of Spock’s tongue, shortening his breath. He had reminded Jim of one of the people who had hurt him, used him. Was Spock truly so different, then, than those faceless people he’d raged against?

Jim deserves better.

Perhaps it would be for the best if Jim rejected their bond.

They were right. They were right…

Perhaps he truly wasn’t suited for any bonds that weren’t familial and obligatory.

Couldn’t keep her safe…

Swallowing past the thickness in his throat, he shoved at the memories metastasizing behind his eyes until they merely lurked like hungry le-matya along the fringes of his mind. No matter how deserved the self-flagellation, it was not a productive use of his time. When (if) Jim decided to continue their discussion, he would have questions. Which meant Spock needed to be prepared to answer them and for whatever came after.

He reached again for the padd, not bothering to control the shaking of his hands, and went to re-open the attachment Sarek had sent him. It was titled “A Treatise on Tel,” a text which was widely considered to be the most detailed and thorough compilation on the nature of Vulcan bonds and, as such, was kept within Vulcan servers for reasons of both privacy and security. The text itself was as extensive as one might expect, and though he had studied it as a child in the course of his standard education, he had not, at the time, seen the logic in perusing it cover to cover.

That had been not long after his failed bonding with T’Pring, when she had begun telling the other children how unsettling his mind had been and that it must have been because of his mixed heritage. The qualities of one’s mind were the most influential factors of individual evaluation and self-worth in Vulcan culture. T’Pring’s gossip had, therefore, turned his unpopularity into true bullying, as his peers incorporated that narrative into their perception of him and used it to justify their xenophobia, becoming more and more demonstrative with it. Spock had lost the few friendly acquaintances he’d had, and had been repeatedly told how he would perish from his Time, since he was not suited to be anyone’s mate. He had internalized this, despite his mother’s and father’s reassurances and their furious meetings with faculty and other parents. Adult intervention had eventually mitigated the abuse he received, but that didn’t change the fact that, deep down, Spock agreed with their assessment — at least to an extent. This led him to the ultimate conclusion that knowledge of bonds beyond what was required by his learning pod would serve him no purpose.

Given recent events, perhaps that assumption had been in error. Or, perhaps he had been more correct than he could have known. The thought that it was almost a certainty that the knowledge gained here would serve only a temporary purpose stilled his hand. Flashes of bonds — too many, his clan, his mother — snapping all at once crashed through his wafer-thin composure. He imagined exposing himself to that pain yet again, kneeling before a mind healer, Jim next to him, eager to be rid of it, to be rid of him…

His breaths came and left too quickly, too harshly. Kaiidth, he told himself. What is, is. What will be, will be.

The kaleidoscope brilliance of Jim’s mind, out of his reach forever…

Chest aching, eyes burning. Kaiidth kaiidth kaiidth…

After some moments of careful breathing and mental effort, he managed to force such imaginings and the pain they brought to join the lurking memories.

Control. He must maintain control. For Jim.

Another deep breath, and he opened the file and flipped to the table of contents.

Beyond the introduction, the chapters covered the various types of bonds that existed and their history; the customs surrounding them across differing cultures Pre-Reform; the role that they played then and now; their neurobiology and how they impact the body; bond health and healing; the matter of bonding with psi-null individuals; their situation within philosophical discourse; the ethics of bonds; and comparisons with the bonds of other telepathic species. Before meeting with Jim earlier today, he’d only had time to review basic information in regards to telan (friendship bonds) and bond shielding.

In his hopeful foolishness, he’d thought this would be sufficient to calm Jim’s fears, with any additional questions being answerable after further research at a later date. But he did not have the energy to add this oversight to his list of regrets. Chances were slim that more preparation would have changed the outcome.

Now, though, he settled in as best he could to delve further into any and all topics that were even remotely relevant to their situation, including the…the breaking of telan.

———

Almost an hour later, the words on the screen (“…see that the relative difference between shield placements impacts…”) had blurred to the point that frequent blinking no longer sufficed for maintained legibility. Small lights danced in his vision in time with the throbbing in his head and the waves of nausea in his gut. His skin felt at once too hot and too cold. Groaning, he let the padd drop from half-numb fingers which he used to rub at his eyes, to no avail.

Perhaps another attempt at meditation would be wise.

He pushed himself to standing with trembling limbs, intent on gathering his mat and incense. No sooner had he taken a few steps, however, that his awareness flickered out, then back in to show him a sideways view of his quarters. The cool floor beneath his cheek was a not unpleasant contrast to the too-warm pounding in his head. Its rhythm seemed…off, but Spock had not the energy nor the focus to determine how or why. That was…not right either.

His time sense also failed him, the minutes blurring together in a haze of pain and confusion.

A most pleasant sound, low and familiar, filtered through the silent noise ringing in his ears. The hand that shook his shoulder was also a comfort, and the combination pushed him back into a measure of awareness.

As his vision focused, Jim’s face swam into view from above. The feeling of being underwater left him with a snap, his hand reaching up of its own volition.

Misinterpreting its intention, Jim took Spock’s forearm in both hands. “Spock! Spock can you hear me? Oh god, what’s wrong? What happened?” Panic pinched his features, eyes roving for some injury.

“Jim?” Though awake and aware once more, his thoughts remained sluggish. Gathering himself, he pushed against the floor, and Jim aided him in sitting up. Spock never once took his eyes off Jim’s face, could not. “You are here.” He frowned. That had been meant to be some sort of question, he was sure.

“Spock,” he jerked the arm he still held once, a bid for attention, “answer me. What happened? Should I get Bones?” The panic had disappeared, buried beneath a captain’s calm urgency.

One blink. Two blinks. Spock must have fainted, that was it — a phenomena he’d never experienced before. Clearly, he’d misjudged the severity of the bond-blocking’s impact on his health. But the literature… The literature had not referenced such dire consequences as a possibility. Perhaps his heritage was playing a factor?

“I… No. His aid is not required.” His shame from before crashed back over him as his head began to clear, and he finally wrenched his gaze away from Jim to fix on a point behind him, swallowing. As the hurt party, Jim should not have to be obligated to care for him, especially when Spock’s condition was his own fault.

Spock attempted to pull his arm back, but Jim refused to relinquish it, eyes narrowed. “Then whose is?”

Caught out, Spock did not answer, his mouth tight. The hand Jim was being so careful not to touch twitched with poorly repressed instinct. Contact. He needed contact. Such an urge held little familiarity for him, but here it was, biting and electric in his fingertips, his palms. The bond hungered for completion, one stripped wire reaching for its match, and Jim was so close, mere centimeters between their hands, if he just slipped his arm down…

A heavy sigh broke his trance before he could act on the impulse, and he blinked muzzily at Jim, who maneuvered to help Spock up further.

“Come on, let’s get you on the couch, at least.”

It was by no means the first time they had done this, and even as weak and sluggish as Spock was, he had little trouble remembering how to shift his weight and when to make it easier on Jim. The arm around his back and the warmth of Jim against his side as they moved were guilty comforts.

“You’re not on the verge of dying, are you? At least tell me that much.” An echo of Jim’s usual flippancy overlaid much more genuine concern, as if to hide it. As if he thought showing too much emotion would be met with reproach or dismissal.

It reminded Spock far too keenly of the early days of their partnership, when they’d still been feeling each other out and correcting misconceptions. Was Jim’s demeanor simply due to Spock’s earlier refusal to answer, or had they truly regressed in their relationship to such an extent due to Spock’s actions?

Spock looked down at his stumbling feet. “I am not. My condition is improving in increments.”

Beyond humming in doubtful acceptance, Jim remained quiet until they’d reached the sitting area without toppling each other.

“Easy does it.” Jim’s voice strained from the effort of supporting so much of Spock’s not insignificant weight, and he stumbled a little as they both worked to lower Spock onto one side of the couch. The dizziness and weakness was fading, so Spock only swayed a little, slumped, as Jim released him.

He stared at where his hands hung limp between his thighs while the cushion next to him jostled from Jim’s weight. The similarity of their positioning to that of earlier unsettled him. He doubted that this interaction would mimic the joy and warmth they’d shared before Spock’s revelation. His hands tried to clench with the memory of the hug, the welcome shock of it. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel it again, that euphoric contentment, the tickle of Jim’s hair against his face. If only…

He didn’t realize how long they’d been sitting in silence until Jim broke it.

“About earlier…”

Spock stiffened, his back straightening to closer to his usual posture.

“I apologize —“

“I’m sorry —“

They blinked at each other, the ghost of a smile twitching at Jim’s mouth.

Spock, though, furrowed his brow in a harsh frown. “Do not apologize, Jim. You were within your right to be upset with me, as I acted —“

A raised hand stopped him. Jim held his gaze unwaveringly, his eyes clear and sharp. Gone was any trace of the haunted distance that had been there before Jim left his quarters.

“Yes, I was. That’s not what I’m apologizing for. What I regret is the effect my trauma response had on you. You seem to be under the impression that you did something horrible and unforgivable, and that’s not true at all.”

Thrown, Spock stared at him, searching for some sign that Jim was only absolving him because he felt he had no choice, what with the nature of their working relationship. Or because he was so often too kind.

“…I… Jim, I do not see how that can be the case. You said yourself that I had reminded you of a previous abuser with my actions. Even if it did not nearly rival what you have suffered in the past, the fact remains that I acted duplicitously for my own selfish gain.” He looked away, unable to hold Jim’s gaze under the weight of his shame and guilt.

Jim took in a deliberate breath, and released it, letting the silence rest for a few moments.

“Dammit… I’m not. I’m not used to…this.” A hand through his hair. “Just…bear with me though, okay? And try to listen, you stubborn bastard,” he added, voice unexpectedly fond.

Spock glanced at him, dubious, but inclined his head.

“All right. So…yes, what you did was selfish and mildly underhanded. You should have told me sooner. And you shouldn’t have accompanied giving such a wonderful gift with a request in return, regardless of you not intending it to be a conditional sort of thing. We are both agreed that that wasn’t okay and pretty dumb. But…hey, guess what? People fuck up sometimes. I know I have. Hell, I can’t say for sure that I wouldn’t have done the same thing in your shoes. Or worse.”

Spock opened his mouth to protest, but Jim just shushed him.

“Uh uh, none of that. You’re listening, remember? Good. So yeah, I get it, okay? You were scared, and probably compromised by the stress of blocking the bond or whatever, and you made a mistake. And then owned up to it. To a concerning degree, honestly. Which means you know why it was wrong and won’t do it again. So I forgive you.” He smiled, gentle and warm.

As Spock processed his words and drank in that warmth, the tension slowly eased from his body. He badly wanted to believe that Jim spoke the truth, that he had not caused Jim irreversible hurt, but doubt still lingered in his expression.

Jim saw it and huffed a breath, smile turning wry. After a moment’s hesitation, he laid a light hand on Spock’s shoulder. “You don’t always have to be perfect, Spock. I admire how hard you try at everything, how much you care, but I’m not gonna stop…being your friend just because you’re as fallible as the rest of us.”

Frayed as his controls were, Spock could not stop his throat from tightening with excess emotion, which he had to look down to hide. He felt more exposed in that moment than he could ever recall being. Something in him trembled, a plucked note. Without realizing, he leaned further into the touch of Jim’s hand, seeking the grounding comfort of it.

You don’t always have to be perfect…

The words stuck in his head, playing in a loop that constricted his chest with every iteration. His eyes felt too warm.

Clearing his throat, he made a valiant effort to regain some semblance of emotional equilibrium so that he could respond.

“I…I greatly appreciate that, Jim. And your forgiveness, though I still worry that I do not fully deserve it. You were in so much pain before you left, and I was the cause, and…”

The hand on his shoulder gave a gentle squeeze, and Jim sighed before releasing him. “It wasn’t because of you. Trauma is… It’s like…like an autoimmune disease, in a way? Always overreacting and attacking your own mind because of anything and everything that might be a threat. Even stuff that’s actually trying to help you. It overrides your brain and warps everything to the point where you’re not even sure what’s because of the trauma and what isn’t. And yeah, people being dishonest or trying to coerce me can potentially set it off, but that hardly ever happens anymore, and isn’t what happened this time, either.”

Confusion and concern served as a distraction which helped Spock wrangle his upset into something more manageable, and he tilted his head curiously. “Then what did?” He blinked. “Of course, you are not obligated to tell me, if it would make you uncomfortable to speak of. I merely wish to understand, so that, if I am able, I might keep such from happening again.”

Looking down, Jim swallowed and fiddled with his bracelet, which gladdened Spock to see him still wearing. He wondered if it had alerted Jim to his state of unconsciousness, prompting him to come when he did.

“It’s…” Jim shook his head. “It’s not something you can prevent, Spock. Really. It wasn’t even because of something bad. But I’ll deal with it, all right? So don’t worry about it.”

Spock stared at the side of his face, puzzling over what could be going on inside Jim’s mind. “Then…your stress response was caused by something…good? I do not understand.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Par for the course, really, when it comes to my head.” Jim flashed a self-deprecating smile, which Spock found distasteful.

His eyes narrowed. “I’m sure that in light of your experiences, it is quite a reasonable response, at least to some extent. Even if I cannot prevent it, I would still offer you whatever support I am able, and will gladly listen to what you wish to share.” Sudden potential insight prompted him to continue. “I would not make such an offer merely out of kindness or pity, Jim. You are my dearest friend. And even if you…” His throat caught before he was able to swallow past it. “Even if you decide to dissolve our bond, the fact remains that my mind would not reach out for yours if I had no desire to know it, as much as you will allow. Bonds do not spring from nothing.”

The silence stretched long and heavy between them, while Spock waited, silently willing Jim to confide in him.

“…But don’t they also go both ways?”

Spock blinked. “Yes, of course they do.” That should be obvious.

Though only Jim’s profile was visible, a clear hardness had settled in the lines of his mouth and jaw. “Then why is it, Spock, that I am expected to bare so much of myself, while you show me nothing in return? Surely, if you actually wanted this bond with me, beyond the extra stability it grants you, you wouldn’t be so damn reluctant to share yourself back.” By the end, his words were laced with venom. Or perhaps bitterness.

Shocked, Spock stared as he processed this revelation, thinking back to past conversations. Had he truly not…

But Jim wasn’t done. “Hell, I know basically jack shit about your childhood, and most of what I know about your likes and dislikes is from observation. And it…well, it fucking sucks, feeling like you don’t want me to know you.”

The last sentence hung in the air, filling it with a ghostly echo.

While Spock continued to stare and Jim continued to look down at his hands, Spock’s memories were confirming Jim’s claims. He’d rarely, if ever, volunteered anything. And it didn’t take much self-analysis to figure out why.

“I apologize, Jim,” he said, voice quiet like it would lessen his vulnerability. “That was not my intention. It merely did not occur to me that you would wish to know such things.”

At last, Jim looked at him, incredulous. “You thought I wouldn’t want to know about my best friend?”

“I… No, that is not...” Frustration pulled his features tight. “Jim, before Nyota, I had never had a friend.” He glanced down, resisting the urge to fidget in trepidation. This was not something he discussed easily, for he had no desire to appear self-pitying. “Certainly not one who asked personal queries. And she did not either, thinking to respect my privacy, for which I was grateful at the time. Expectation for such sharing is simply not one I have faced before, outside immediate family members. It was not an assumption about you specifically, merely about others in general in regards to myself. You did not ask, so I did not think to tell.”

Now Jim was the one staring, mouth slack. “You… Are you serious?” His face seemed to be torn between outrage and sorrow, his hands gesturing broadly. “What the fuck? Never? But…but you’re awesome, who the hell wouldn’t want to be friends with you?”

Oh. Jim was angry on his behalf. Pleased yet discomfited, Spock looked away and shrugged, a human gesture he rarely employed. “It is of no consequence, Jim. I was found to be…strange, by the majority of my peers, and it is not unusual for children to be judgmental and isolatory.”

“Well that’s no fucking excuse.” He ran an aggravated hand through his hair. “God, I’m so sorry, Spock. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that, no matter how ‘strange’ you may have been.” He crossed his arms, glaring at nothing. “I wish I’d known you then. I may have been a little shit, but I would have definitely been your friend.”

Spock, hard-pressed to not smile, ducked his head, his mouth betraying him at the corners. “And I would have been glad of it, particularly as I, too, might have been described as a ‘little shit.’”

The anger evaporated from Jim’s face as he barked a startled laugh. “You know, I can actually see that. Once a rebel, always a rebel, eh, Spock?”

“As you say, Captain.”

His laughter continued another moment before winding down to just a fond smile. “Thank you. For sharing that with me. I hate that you had to deal with that as a kid, but it makes sense that it made you so tight-lipped. I’ll start asking when I want to know something like that from now on, so you know for sure.”

Spock inclined his head, eyes brimming with unveiled emotion. “Itaren.” Thank you. “And I will endeavor to volunteer the same when it seems relevant.”

Now Jim grinned, bright and happy as Spock had not expected to see again that night. “Awesome. Look at us, communicating and everything. Nyota would be proud. Bones too, probably.”

Something in Spock’s chest tightened, almost defensively, at hearing others mentioned in such a moment. Much like he had been reluctant to speak of his and Jim’s interactions with Nyota. Strange. He dismissed the irrational feeling however and quirked a brow. “Indeed. The doctor is quite fond of emotional speech, regardless of context.”

Jim snorted, still smiling, and they lapsed into thoughtful quiet, one that wasn’t quite comfortable but certainly more bearable than before. Spock allowed himself to revel in the relative peace, in his relief that the rift between them had narrowed, coming closer to being healed. Perhaps, as in the erroneous metaphor about broken bones, this too would heal stronger than before. Even the blocked bond no longer felt so piercing in his head, and he now suspected that the pain from earlier had been partially due to their lack of harmony.

As if the thought had been communicated despite Jim’s psi-null status, Jim cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “So, about this bond…”

Peace fleeing him, cold seized Spock’s chest in a vice, and he struggled to swallow. Struggled to breathe in a room suddenly lacking in enough air. He’d known this was coming, had prepared himself for it, and yet nothing could have dulled the edge of his fear in that moment. He scrambled to organize the information he’d gathered, to brace himself for yet another difficult conversation in a string of many. He was not so foolish as to believe that Jim’s forgiveness would translate to acceptance of the bond.

Jim looked down, fiddling again with his bracelet. Spock nearly trembled with how quickly his mind attempted to calculate the probabilities of every possible thing Jim could say, every outcome. Most of them bleak. How would Spock handle it? What would happen to their relationship afterward? A thousand futures stretching out and branching into a thousand-fold more in his mind’s eye. The last time he had felt such gravity within a singular moment, he had been about to face the VSA Admissions Committee. Perhaps not even then. Certainly, it had not held such emotional weight as this one.

“It’s hurting you, isn’t it? It’s what’s been affecting you lately. Why I found you on the floor earlier.”

Yes, a very probable response, given Jim’s character. Forcing himself not to contemplate the less pleasant potentialities that could follow from this beginning (“…best to get rid of it then…”), Spock inclined his head in the shallowest of nods.

“As I mentioned before, I am blocking it, to inhibit its development until a conclusion is reached as to what should be done about it. Particularly strong bonds can resist such restraints, but I believe lack of meditation and adequate rest has exacerbated the issue.” He chose to omit how unprecedented his visceral reaction had been, as well as the effect of their upset. He did not wish Jim to feel guilty.

Jim nodded, as though unsurprised. “And what would happen if you stopped?”

Spock took a moment to weigh his words carefully, not wishing to inject any influence into them, intentional or not. “The stronger a bond is, the more difficult breaking it becomes for the parties involved. Without a block in place, it would strengthen unimpeded due to proximity and time spent together, much in the same way that it formed.”

Beyond a considering glance, Jim, again, did not address his mention of breaking the bond, which was both a relief and cause for anxiety. Perhaps he had not yet made up his mind about it.

“Right. So a friendship bond… a telan. What does that mean, exactly? What does it do when it isn’t being blocked? I think you said before that it can make your, um, touch telepathy easier?”

“That is one effect, yes. It offers an unobstructed pathway between our psyches. With proper shields in place by either party, this pathway remains completely closed. Unshielded, I believe that, given our affinity, we would be able to vaguely sense the other’s proximity and well-being, though I can not say for certain. Clear thoughts would not be able to pass between us without skin contact, even purposefully.”

Jim nodded slowly. “So you wouldn’t be able to just, you know, look inside my head unless we were touching.”

A mix of horror, disgust, and offense made Spock rear back a little. Only awareness of their cultural differences kept him from being short in his reply, though his tone was audibly stern in his need to be understood. “Jim. I would be unable to do such a thing either way. In Vulcan culture, using telepathy on another without their express permission is, in most circumstances, tantamount to rape.”

At last, Jim looked up at him, mouth slack with mirrored horror. “Oh god. Fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you… I mean, I know you’d never…”

Swallowing, Spock released a breath and held up a gentling hand, offense disappearing in an instant. “You come from a psi-null culture and could not know the implications. It was a reasonable concern to address given the circumstances.”

An embarrassed flush lingered on Jim’s face even as he nodded and glanced away again. “Right. Good.” He cleared his throat. “Ok, so the shield thing. How exactly does that differ from blocking?”

“Blocking a bond goes far beyond simple mental shields, which merely surround an individual’s mind. One is usually only placed by healers while a member of the bond recovers from severe illness or injury, or mental damage. Shields are used by all as a matter of day-to-day privacy.”

Jim frowned. “But…you’re not a healer.”

“I am not. However, my telepathic abilities are quite a bit higher than the Vulcan average, and such knowledge was included in the study of bonds as part of my standard education.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed. “If you’ve never done it before, how can you be sure you did it correctly?”

Though Spock’s initial reaction was one of insult, he reined it in. Mostly. “It is a simple procedure, little different from the creation of normal shields, at least in its mechanics if not its required mental fortitude.”

“Well if healers do it all the time, and you did it right, then why has it been hurting you like this? You were barely conscious when I found you. That can’t be normal, lack of meditation or not.”

Spock hesitated, brow furrowing in discomfit. “I…am not certain. Perhaps the fact that it is my own bond makes it less manageable than doing it for others.”

Jim looked him over, not seeming to be satisfied with this answer. “Hmm. Well, at least you seem to be okay now.”

Heat in his ears proved that was not entirely the case. “On the surface, yes. My controls are still not optimal.” His gaze slipped to a point just beyond Jim. “I have noticed that proximity to you eases the symptoms considerably.”

A noticeable pause had him glancing at Jim just in time to catch an odd expression leaving his face. “…Oh.”

Blinking, Spock tilted his head at him, but the moment left as quickly as it came. Jim leaned back into the couch, arms crossed in his more relaxed way of sitting. It eased some of Spock’s own tension, despite the anxiety still buzzing in the back of his head.

“So you’re sure it’s just the block causing all this? And that there’s…you know, nothing, um, wrong with it? With the bond, that is.”

Spock studied Jim’s face. Despite all his predictions, this conversation was not going quite as he had expected. And yet, he could not surprised, either, given Jim’s propensity for the unpredictable. “I cannot imagine why there would be. When I first became aware of it during meditation, it appeared quite healthy.”

Again, Jim nodded to himself. Yet no reply was forthcoming, and the silence stretched across the passing seconds as he stared into the middle distance, seeming lost in thought.

Almost a minute had passed before Spock’s building anxiety became too much for his patience. “Jim?”

Jim flinched, blinking, as though he had been meditating. “Oh. Uh… Sorry, it’s just…a lot to process, I guess. I mean, I never really expected…” A wry smile. “Well, that anyone would actually want a direct line into my head. I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s kind of a mess in here.” More distasteful self-deprecation. And…

Stomach dropping, Spock looked down, hands clenching in the robes that covered his lap. “I must disagree. From what glimpses I have seen, it is…” …beautiful… ”…exceptionally vibrant and dynamic, which anyone who knows you would be able to surmise. If it is your intention to convince me that I should not desire the bond in the first place, your efforts will prove fruitless. And unnecessary.” He had to take a steadying breath, knowing that if he was not careful, his voice would break from the excess emotions pushing against his sternum. He could not bring himself to look at Jim. “If you do not wish to keep it, you need only say, and I will respect your wishes without resentment.”

It took the rest of Spock’s exhausted controls to remain still and unexpressive in the short moments that followed. At this point, he was fervently wishing for a quick end to this ordeal. Glad though he was to be back in Jim’s good graces, he was in dire need of rest and meditation if he was to be functional for the mission tomorrow. At least, it was something to focus on that wasn’t the horrible ache in his side or the tightness in his throat.

“Spock, I…” Jim heaved a sigh. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want it. It sounds awesome, and it’s you so… I just don’t want to give you a concrete answer when I’m still not sure. So how about this. You stop blocking it, first of all, ‘cuz that’s clearly not sustainable. And we’ll just…let it be for a while. You won’t be suffering unnecessarily, and I get a chance to see what it’s like. Then we can go from there. All right?”

Shock kept Spock frozen a moment longer as he processed what Jim was proposing, saying. He might…allow them to keep the bond?

He turned to Jim, wide-eyed. “You… Truly? You are certain?”

Jim met his gaze steadily, a hint of a smile around his mouth. “Of course. I trust you, Spock.”

The offhand way he said it tightened Spock’s throat. It was not a new phrase between them, but there were different types of trust, some harder earned than others. And in this context, after today’s ordeal, it struck him with affecting precision.

His voice reflected this, lacking its usual smoothness. “Thank you, Jim.”

He referred to Jim’s trust as well as the chance he’d been given. Unspent tension released him slowly, leaving his muscles weak with it. However, his relief was incomplete and bittersweet. If Jim decided at a later date to dissolve their bond, when it was fully matured… His heart gave a painful squeeze.

But it would do no good to contemplate such things. For now, Jim was not saying no, and Spock would latch onto that fact with both hands. The concept of a self-fulfilling prophecy was not unknown to him.

“So? You gonna take it off or what?” Jim raised his brows expectantly.

Spock blinked at him, uncomprehending. “Pardon?”

“The block. C’mon, it’s getting really late, and we both need to get some good sleep for the mission tomorrow. Especially you. So chop chop.” His good-natured smirk, however, did not completely conceal some lingering nervousness around his eyes and in his drumming fingers.

Heart rate picking up at the prospect of actually being rid of his pain and stress, Spock swallowed and nodded. Once he’d made himself as comfortable as he could for still sitting on the couch, he took a slow, even breath and slipped into a light meditation.

The angry pulsing from the blocked bond pulled him in without any effort on his part. Removing it required little more than a hard shove, his instincts guiding him more than his knowledge on the matter at this point. It fell away and dissolved without protest, leaving hardly a trace that it had ever been there at all. Truly, it seemed almost...anticlimactic given the turmoil that its existence had caused.

Instant relief washed over him in a cool wave, the bond stretching and settling as if it, too, felt relieved to be free. Only a dull ache remained, which was already fading.

Further tension Spock did not know he’d even been holding onto left him the moment he opened his eyes, and he leaned back into the couch for its support. His limbs had never felt so heavy.

Jim was blinking at him. “Woah. I think…I actually felt that. Like there’d been a little balloon in my head, and it popped... You okay?”

Drowning in sudden exhaustion, Spock nodded, prodding at the freed bond like a sore tooth. The difference was already stark. Everything felt lighter, and there, at the edge of his awareness beyond the bond, was the warm buzz of Jim’s consciousness. It was difficult not to smile in response to the sense of rightness it evoked.

He rolled his head to the side to look at Jim, expression sobering and his voice almost slurring despite his best efforts. “And you, Jim? Are you experiencing any discomfort?”

Jim’s closed eyes snapped open, and he smiled, the nervousness gone. “Nope, I’m fine. Great, actually. My head feels clearer than it has in days.”

Spock frowned. “I am sorry. I did not realize the effects had bled over to such a degree.”

“How could you have? I was barely aware of it myself. So no more apologies tonight, okay? I think we’ve both had our fill.” Jim stood and looked down at him, hands on his hips. “And you look like you’re about to fall asleep. C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

After only a small protest, Spock allowed Jim to help him stand and navigate the way to his sleeping alcove. Later, he would remember only flashes of stumbling along, Jim's arm around his waist, and then of lying on the bed, still in his robes, while something ghosted over his hair. The sound of Jim murmuring something he could not catch, as well as more peace than he had experienced in years, accompanied him into sleep.