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Amanda made a last tour of the house to check the extra rooms she had prepared for the arrival of some of the Enterprise officers. The ship, under Mr Scott's watchful eyes, was undergoing some computer upgrades from Vulcan scientists, the acknowledged experts on the subject, and for a week the crew had been granted shore leave. Sarek had agreed with his wife that the senior officers of the starship should stay at their house as the Ambassador's honoured guests to thank them for saving the diplomats and in particular Sarek's life on that trip to the Babel conference months ago.
Not all of them had accepted, but the Captain had come with his Communications expert, who apparently wanted to learn more on the Vulcan harp and was interested in the Ambassador's collection, and Dr McCoy who had grumbled something about checking on his former patient. And, of course, Spock.
Spock. Her son and her husband were now mostly civil to each other, but she wondered whether he had not followed his Captain to visit an Ambassador rather than accepted to stay at his childhood home with his friends. He had asked her to let him stay in the north wing with his fellow officers instead of his old bedroom, but she could not help putting some mementos in the impersonal room: the bedspread her mother had knit, a holovid of Ee-Chiya, the preserved braid cut after his kahs-wan. She hoped he wouldn't mind, but he still seemed to try and pretend he had never lived in this house or been a child on Vulcan. As if he had no parents, as if they were one more formality to accomplish, one more report to complete � with proper, thorough care but without feeling. As if he did not need them, did not want them. Had they done so bad by him?
Amanda recalled only one occasion when her son had really shown some emotion during that trip on the Enterprise. She had been reading at Sarek's bedside one night while he was meditating when she heard laughter coming from the next room in Sickbay. Curiosity compelled her to rise from her chair and peer into Sickbay. The Captain and Spock were sitting cross-legged on a biobed and facing each other, and each had their fingertips on the other's temples and cheeks. And they were smiling. Spock was smiling. Not that faint, barely-there, slight quirk of the lips Vulcans favoured, but a big, true grin with teeth showing and eyes all a-crinkling. She had not seen such a carefree, happy expression on Spock's face since... since he was seven, probably, and had chosen the Vulcan way. Sarek would not have approved of unrestrained mirth.
She had felt her husband come to stand behind her shoulder and take in the scene before returning to bed, saying 'My wife, attend'. Some people thought Vulcans had no respect to their spouse because of the abrupt way they spoke, but she knew better. She had seen into Sarek's gentle mind. What need had she for sweet words when she had seen herself through his mind's eye?
Before resuming her reading, she had cast a last glance at her son, and what she saw, she knew she would not ever forget nor ever want to. Together, as in tandem, eyes closed, heads slightly tilted to the side, Captain and First Officer had both bent forward, and their lips had touched. It was a chaste kiss in itself, but the way both right hands each stroked an ear, a cheek, a nape, the faint twin sighs she heard then � she knew then that she had been privileged to witness a moment of happiness. Spock was not alone anymore.
And then, Sarek had shattered her bubble. He had said he would talk to them, that melds were not to be taken lightly, that they should be more circumspect and that Spock especially should know better � all the more so, since his telepathy was neither really Vulcan nor anything else, an unknown factor. He could do damage. He might not be able to always control, Sarek had said. Melds were not a leisure activity.
Amanda did not tell him what she had seen: no one could change the Ambassador's mind once it was set on a course.
The door chimed and interrupted her daydreaming.
All four officers were there, looking very military in their dress uniforms and standing at parade rest behind their stocky Captain. Inwardly, she sighed: why should Spock act as a guest?
'Welcome! You needn't be so formal.' She smiled at them. 'Sarek is still at the High Council, but he will be here for dinner. Come, I will show you your rooms.'
As she walked with them around the house and the garden, she noticed her son silently shadowed Kirk and hardly ever let him out of his sight. The Doctor was keeping an eye on the both of them, but she also felt his blue gaze go between her son and herself. The woman, Lieutenant Uhura, was making most of the conversation. She had never been on Vulcan before and asked Amanda all kinds of questions about food, gardening, music or clothes. After a while, she left them to get some rest and refresh themselves before dinner and their meeting with the Ambassador.
While all were seated around the large table, Sarek pondered what his wife had told him after his arrival. He agreed that Spock acted as though he were not in his own home but at a stranger's, and that there was an unresolved tension between him and the Captain. He too saw the Doctor was watching them from the corner of his eye.
Nevertheless, dinner was pleasant. The lady officer had been learning how to play the Vulcan harp from his son, and apparently he had managed to awaken a sincere interest in her for all things Vulcan. Perhaps she would make a good choice of wife for Spock? They both shared a liking for music and served on the same ship. Besides, she was pleasing to the eye. Sarek would have preferred his son to marry a Vulcan woman, but the T'Pring disaster had only proved that most Vulcans would reject him. He hardly ever came back on his home planet, he worked with Humans and he was not a full-blooded Vulcan himself � maybe, then, it was only natural that she should have looked elsewhere? Most of her peers would have done the same in her situation. If only he had followed his father's wishes and stayed on Vulcan � but then, maybe Sarek would have died on that trip to Babel, because there would not have been any compatible blood donor.
Well, there was no need to waste time on might-have-beens.
After dinner, Sarek showed the young lady his collection of Vulcan instruments, and asked her whether she would like to play or sing with Spock. Vulcan he may be, but his wife had taught him a few things about Human courtship rituals. Music was apparently a good place to begin; therefore there would be music.
His son had taught her well. They were aware of each other as they played, attuned as only long-time music partners could be. Spock would need someone for his next pon farr, and who knew when that would be? Between the unknowns of his hybrid physiology and what had happened at the aborted ceremony, no one could foresee it. He looked at the lieutenant again. Yes, she was a good choice for a wife.
To his surprise, Amanda told him emphatically that she would not condone any attempts at finding a partner for their son themselves.
'He should have his chance to make his own choice, Sarek.'
'But this is the Vulcan way, the path he has decided to walk. That is his choice too, is it not?'
'Don't be silly. Bonding children is the custom, not adults. Was I Skonn's choice?'
Sarek tilted his head. 'But if we tell him we think she could be a good wife for him, and that we would approve of his courting her, would it not show our concern for him?'
He was puzzled when she outright laughed. 'You know, back on Earth it's the mother who's supposed to smother her son, not the father. You're stifling him, Sarek. With the best of intentions, I concede, but... There's still time.'
'Yes, there is. Walk with me, my wife.' He touched her fingers.
Often in the evenings, when the heat had receded somewhat and Amanda needed not fear the sun, they would tend their garden or simply rest on a stone bench and enjoy the perfume of the flowers which bloomed in the evenings. It was peaceful.
However, this time, as they were about to reach their favourite spot, they heard voices floating up to them.
'Look, Spock, I didn't want to say anything in front of the crew, especially since it all ended well, but you must realise that you were wrong this time.' It was the Captain, forceful and stern.
'Yes, sir.'
' �Yes, sir�? Is that all you have to say? You endangered my ship and my men. You almost caused a war!'
'But I knew you were still alive.'
'You were lucky, and that is all. Bones said you weren't too happy about being called �Captain� or having to declare me dead, either. Are you just uncomfortable with taking command?'
'You were still alive. I could sense it. You appeared and seemed to ask for help. What was I supposed to do?'
Amanda tried to turn back to the house, but Sarek shook his head. Frowning, he resumed peering through a bush.
Spock's hand was hovering near Jim Kirk's face.
'You know your father said we shouldn't do that too often, Spock.' The Captain did not look afraid, merely concerned.
'He said Vulcans do not meld lightly. It is important to me.'
'Yes... I know it is, Spock, I know it is. But he also said you shouldn't rely too much on melds instead of speech. Especially since you live with Humans.'
Spock looked down, but the Captain caught his hand before it fell on the Vulcan's lap.
'All right. I like it too, you know.' He smiled.
One straddling the stone bench, the other cross-legged, they reached for the meld points.
'My mind to your mind -'
Amanda tried to rush to her son, but Sarek caught her arm. He wanted to see what would happen now. His plans for Spock and Lieutenant Uhura seemed already quite compromised.
Jim did not seem to panic. He stroked Spock's back, murmured soft words of encouragement.
'It's all right, I think I understand now. It's all right, Spock, really, I'm not angry anymore, I promise...'
Sarek walked up to him. 'I saw my son collapse from the house. Allow me to take him back inside.' 'Er, I think he can walk, Ambassador.' 'I think not. He is unconscious, Kirk.'
The Captain of the Enterprise stared at him, then at his friend. Yes, he should have straightened when his father arrived. And his mother � he could see her a few meters behind Sarek. Spock would never be less than ramrod straight, painfully proper in their presence.
'...Spock?' he whispered.
'Come with me. I would speak with you.'
Well, that was a tone one did not argue with. Not that a lot of people dared argue with Sarek of Vulcan anyway, apart perhaps from Amanda � that was, after all, the reason why he was the Vulcan Ambassador, and she was his wife.
He followed them.
Carrying Spock in his arms, Sarek led them not to the north wing where they were housed, but in a more private area they had not seen when Amanda had welcomed them. He laid down Spock on a small bed, then turned to his wife.
'Some items are missing.'
'I put them in his room in the guest wing.'
'What's wrong, Ambassador?'
'Soon, Kirk. Amanda, fetch them, and see if the Doctor can come.'
As she left, Sarek turned to his son.
'Forgive me for prying into matters that are not mine, but what is the exact nature of your relationship with my son?'
Jim stared at him for one insane moment when he thought he would giggle in front of the austere Ambassador, before the situation caught up with him.
'I'm not really sure anymore, Ambassador. I'm not really sure,' he said quietly. He cupped Spock's cheek, and wondered exactly how much the older Vulcan had heard.
'I must know. I heard part of your conversation. He is more attuned to you than it is safe.'
'For him, or for me?'
'Both. Ah, forgive me, Doctor, but I fear Spock is unwell. Since you are his regular physician it was logical to call for you.'
'Well, yes, but what happened?' McCoy was already waving his scanner over the prone body, frowning. 'He's catatonic. I reckon it's one of your mind-things again, right? I can't do anything about that.'
Amanda tucked the quilt she had brought back around Spock and gently smoothed his fringe. She looked up at her husband. 'Sarek.'
'Yes. Kirk, I fear your anger at my son is the cause of his present state. He must have been unshielded, which was unwise, and therefore vulnerable to you. Nonetheless, he should be recovered in the morning. Doctor, will you stay with him for a moment? My wife and I must speak with your Captain.'
'Sure. But he's my patient, and I need to know - '
'We will tell you the relevant facts.'
'I've been given to believe Vulcans are pretty secretive when it comes to their health, Ambassador.'
'I'll tell you anything you need to know, Bones.'
'All right.'
As they left the room, Jim looked at the Vulcan. Had he really done that? He did not mean to hurt him. Right?
The Ambassador and his wife took a seat in front of Jim, who felt he would soon visibly fidget if they did not say anything soon. He decided to break the silence himself.
'Ambassador, you said it was my fault? That Spock's mind is in shock because of my anger? We have melded before, and sometimes in difficult situations. This... has never happened before.'
'I know. As a representative for Vulcan at the Federation, I have studied your missions on the Enterprise. I know what happened with the Tholians. My clearance is high enough that I can read all the reports you send to Starfleet. It is part of my work.'
'Are you trying not to admit you follow Spock's life and career, sir?' Jim asked. Amanda smiled at his daring.
'We do, of course. He's our son. But even if he's not treated as an experiment any longer, he's still a hybrid. It's always been the source of problems, and now...' She sighed.
'My wife is right. Spock pretends to be Vulcan, but he is not.'
'Spock is Vulcan. I see him as Vulcan. Everybody on the ship treats him as such. Why do you begrudge him his identity? He's torn enough as it is.'
'He is, because he doesn't accept he's neither Human nor Vulcan. You've seen his childhood room. The quilt is the only thing from Earth there, and for a long time he even refused to use it. And both Sarek and I are probably guilty of asking too much out of him � I guess we confused him with our expectations...'
'My wife, let us return to more immediate concerns.' The Ambassador turned back to the Captain. 'As has just been said, my son is a hybrid. Everything in him is of a mixed nature, and in effect unique. There are no guidelines. The geneticists privileged his Vulcan heritage but the Human factors affect many things, among which his telepathy. It is not fully Vulcan. He can make contact at a distance, which is almost unheard of among our kind. But on the other hand he cannot shield as thoroughly. And from the reports I have read, he has not protected his mind as he should. He knows all this, but refuses to acknowledge it, and all these melds with different life-forms, computers or fellow crewmen must have weakened what shields he had.'
'This ability has often been useful in the line of duty, Ambassador. As you must have realized when reading the reports.' Jim was beginning to feel annoyed for Spock's sake. Why was it that even his parents denied him so?
'Yes. But I fear he could also become dependent on melds. They can be addictive. The way he asked for it in the garden - '
'Ambassador. Forgive me for interrupting you, but were you spying on us?'
'It was not voluntary. My wife and I accidentally found you melding. Since I knew there was a risk I decided not to leave you alone.'
'And I suppose apologies are illogical?'
'Kirk. You do not understand. If his mind is contaminated by an alien one, then yours could be too. If he is dependent on melds, it only increases the danger to you. You must stop before it is too late.'
Jim Kirk had become a Starship Captain because he would rather command than be commanded, and when your ship was out in space you were pretty much on your own. But now he was being told to completely renounce something he knew Spock needed, and something he himself enjoyed. And yet, he supposed the Ambassador was right. He was, after all, Spock's father. His parents had only his well-being at heart, hadn't they?
'Spock and I... As I think you know, we are... we have a relationship. Of a kind.' Jim looked at Amanda. 'You might remember, Lady, that a few months ago I sent you a few questions about, er, Vulcan mores.'
Jim tried not to look at the raised eyebrow of the Ambassador, and failed. His almost smirking wife was not making him feel any better.
'Yes, you said, if I am not mistaken, that your CMO was curious and that pon farr had raised a few questions that you needed an answer to. As Spock's Captain, of course.'
'Kirk. My wife and I are also aware of the surgery that had to be performed on our son. McCoy contacted some of Spock's childhood doctors, and we have been kept informed. It is a good thing that you have a skilled surgeon on board.'
'Are you saying, Ambassador, that Spock's every move is monitored, recorded, and reported to you? Even on my ship? Without my knowing it? I do not like it, Ambassador. My crew are adults, they are all entitled to their privacy, even from their parents.'
'Captain. We're only worried. For years every day he lived was a blessing. Specialists followed his evolution because he was the first Vulcan / Human hybrid to be born alive. Alive, Captain. Not healthy, because he certainly wasn't then, but alive. Do you know how many were still-born, or were aborted for fear the mother would die with them? And when he decided to enlist in Starfleet... You know Sarek disapproved. We felt Spock threw his miraculous life away. He could be safe here, but he chose a life in which he would regularly be in danger. I can understand, in retrospect. But we would still wish he would take a better care of himself.'
'Then just tell him so.'
'Our son is stubborn, Kirk.'
Jim smiled. 'Yes. Yes, he is. But I asked you those questions, Mrs Sarek, because I needed to know if his behaviour was normal for a Vulcan or due to the, ah, difficulties he had during and after the pon farr. Well, you should know that even if you refuse to acknowledge your son as a Vulcan, you've actually done a pretty good job in giving him all your taboos and mannerisms tenfold, let me tell you. He's not behaving half-way.'
'Do you mean melds are the only intimacy he allows you?'
Jim looked away. 'I need him, you know. It's just... He's confident, efficient, strong, and he's really good at what he does', he said quietly. 'He certainly is the best First Officer and the best Science Officer in the Fleet, but when it becomes personal...'
'James.' Surprised by the mild tone, Jim turned towards the Ambassador. It must be the first time he Ambassador had ever called him by his first name. 'My son has proven himself on a professional level. He is unsure of himself with you, and clings to what he thinks he knows � Vulcan behaviour. But as I have said, he is not fully Vulcan. He must find his way.'
'I suppose.' Jim looked at his friend's parents, and a thought crossed his mind. 'Ambassador, Amanda � don't you... disapprove of our relationship?' They had, after all, first chosen T'Pring � and he could hardly think of someone more different from him.
Sarek was blunt. 'I would prefer my son to give me an heir, which would be a time-consuming process given he is sterile. Genetic manipulations would be necessary. However, provided he is careful, he should live much longer than you. He is young enough that it is not yet a problem. Yes, my wife?'
Jim Kirk did not know whether to be offended, relieved or amused by the kick Amanda had applied to her husband's shin.
'Er, thank you, I suppose, Ambassador.'
'My husband, despite being an Ambassador, can display surprisingly little tact.'
Jim grinned at that, and the heavy atmosphere between them lightened somewhat. 'It's all right. Well, I'll talk with him, and we'll be careful with the melds. I promise.'
'Do not be simply careful, Kirk. Avoid them unless you have no other choice. For both of you. An unshielded long-range telepath like him can become insane when faced too long and too much with the unchecked thoughts of other people and entities. He could lose himself. He must protect his self. As you have seen, a strong emotion from even your mind can harm him. Be thankful the meld was broken before you fainted too � or worse.'
'I'll take care, Ambassador.'
Sarek rose and lifted an eyebrow. 'We know you will. Good night, Captain.'
'Good night, sir.'
Sarek started to walk away, two fingers held in Amanda's direction. 'My wife, attend.'
Jim stayed staring into the dim light for a long time before he went back to what was, apparently, Spock's childhood bedroom. Bones was there, slumped in a chair by the Vulcan's bedside. When Jim walked in, he mumbled something about 'mind tricks that those green-blooded computers can't even control properly', and left after reassuring the Captain that Spock was simply asleep now.
Jim resumed the Doctor's vigil, and watched the face he knew so well while he thought about his conversation with his First Officer's parents. Should he trust them? They were, after all, both skilled in politics, whether by trade or marriage, and Jim had found he did not much trust politicians � in Starfleet, they would send you wherever it suited them, whenever they pleased, which was often neither to the crew and ship's benefit nor to the Federation's.
And yet, he couldn't help but believe in Sarek and Amanda's sincere love and concern for their son. He had never known that Spock had been so fragile as a child. He looked so indestructible sometimes � he remembered him telling off Trelane, bluffing his way into a Romulan ship or facing a court martial and a death sentence without ever asking for help � only to let him accomplish his goal.
I really hated you, then. I thought you had betrayed me, while you were only trying to be loyal to Pike one last time. I wonder why he didn't want to go at first? To protect you? He liked you, I think. It was there in his eyes when we first saw him in that chair � at once elated to see you and ashamed to be seen so powerless by you. When he passed command of the Enterprise he told me I would soon find you irreplaceable. He was right. What would I do without you? Without who you are, without what you are. How many times have we relied on your telepathy? On your strength, on your endurance? It sometimes makes me wonder how other Captains do without their own Vulcans. You are my Vulcan. Mine. I need you on the bridge, I need you on landing parties, I need you for chess games, I need you to work out. Because you can take whatever I dish out, and you're never really angry when I win. Sure, you play the affronted Vulcan, but soon enough the pawns are back on the squares. Please, please, please, don't ever let me take you for granted � or maybe it's too late already? Oh, Spock, I don't even know how to define us. We need each other, but that's not enough, is it? I need what I have to take elsewhere, you crave my mind as an addict his drug, and we can't do anything about it. If only...
The sun was setting again when Dr McCoy deemed Spock was fit enough to join the others for dinner. As he cleaned up he thought back on what his father had told him: that he would not meld ever again with Jim or anyone, anything, unless it was the direst of emergencies. That his collapse the previous night was only confirmation of his inability to take into account his insufficient shields. That he was not Vulcan enough. Again.
Jim had come later and they had played chess quietly. He had told him the meaning of the braid, the tale sewn on the quilt, what a le-matya was. Nothing of importance. Now he feared facing them all at once.
The doctor would keep an eye on his every move, Sarek would look for any unVulcan action, his mother for any non-Human word. Jim would not speak of desire and only think of it, and Uhura would try not to see anything and commit it all to memory while being her usual charming self. And he... he would have to play the game. As always.
'Well, Spock, I think you've almost convinced me that one vegetarian meal from time to time cannot be a bad thing. What do you say, Bones? Aren't you happy?'
'I'm not so sure you can keep it up, Jim, I know you. Anyway, while you two were huddling over that chess game of yours, Mrs Sarek there said we should all go and watch the sun set on a nearby mountain, she says it's fantastic. Are you coming? No, Spock, not you, you go to bed.'
'Well, I'll stay with Spock then. We'll see it another day.'
'I know the view, Captain. You should go. It has cooled enough outside that you should enjoy a pleasant walk. You need some exercise after spending such a long time indoors. I will meditate.'
'Haven't you already? Can we leave him alone, Bones?'
The Doctor eyed them shrewdly.
'We-ell, I suppose it would be better if someone stayed with him...'
Uhura tried not to giggle. As most of the officers on the ship, she pretended not to suspect anything at all between the Captain and the First Officer � but they were sometimes so obvious. Of course, no one ever said anything. Jim Kirk had the occasional affair with a woman on shore leave, and the Vulcan pretended not to know anything of feelings. Which meant they were probably bursting with a tension neither would admit.
'Then that's settled.' Jim turned towards the Ambassador. 'The Doctor thinks we shouldn't leave Spock on his own, and he's too tired to come, so I'm staying with him. Are you taking your communicator, Bones? I want to be able to call you if there's a problem.'
'Er, sure, Jim. See ya.'
'Have a pleasant evening, Kirk.'
Spock looked somewhat dazed at being bypassed by everyone, and simply turned back towards his room.
During their walk, Uhura paid a close attention to the Ambassador and his wife. Yes, they seemed happy together. Relaxed. She hoped Spock could one day find the same peace � he seemed lost sometimes, struggling � she remembered his closed demeanour when they thought the Captain dead. He wouldn't admit it, and he'd defied the Tholians � politely, of course � for the slightest chance to get him back. And he'd been right, this time. But the Captain... while he could be daring sometimes, she wasn't so sure he'd approved of Spock's risking ship and crew. Sometimes, though, when you were in command, there was no right thing to do. Either you lose your people, or you lose their respect and loyalty. And in the next tight situation, when obedience must be immediate and orders unquestioned, you fail - and you die.
As she took in the awesome rocky scenery, she also wondered about Spock's collapse yesterday evening. McCoy had told her about it and admitted he did not know the cause. She had tried to visit him, but Sarek was there and she did not want to disturb them. Still, she had seen his drawn face � and he had looked as she probably would if she were forbidden to play or hear music for the rest of her days. He had seemed marginally less unhappy when the call had come from Starfleet that the Enterprise was to ferry Ambassador Sarek and his party to the Babel conference... Spock's family life did not appear to be very fulfilling for him, to say the least. But, she thought as McCoy gave her a hand to steady her on the gravelly path, he had friends on the Enterprise. People who cared for him. Yes, he was part of the Enterprise crew, and no one would ever let him down, just as he had refused to let down the Captain, just as he'd rescued the bigoted Stiles who was now devoted to him. Mr Spock was not alone, and together, they would wipe that desolate expression off his face.
'Hey, Spock, wait! Why don't you go to your bedroom? It's closer than the north wing.'
'It is a child's bedroom. I am not a child any longer.'
'I suppose you're right.' Jim took a deep breath before asking, 'Spock, have you talked to your father?'
He didn't see Spock's abrupt stop and almost ran into the Vulcan's thin back.
'He... reminded me of elementary safety measures I have neglected. I am afraid I must meditate now. You should have gone with them. I am perfectly able to stay alone, Captain.'
He tried to leave, but a hand on his arm prevented him from walking any further. He froze. Jim's hand, the only one to touch him so often, so warmly, a hand that said 'see, this is my friend!', a hand that hauled him up when he fell down, a hand that could beat him over a chess game, a hand that even sometimes touched his face or stroked his hair � he remembered that one time in his quarters when Jim thought he was asleep and had begun running his fingertips on a sensitive ear tip, on a temple where so many nerves connected, on his unshaven cheek; and at the same time Jim had been massaging his palm, which was then lying quietly in his Captain's lap � oh, it was his best memory, the memory of their sweet first kiss after that terrible, nightmarish week. He was just out of Sickbay and his body hurt all over after the pon farr, and the fight, and the illness when he only wanted to believe it was all over, and eventually the surgery... He'd woken up to McCoy's tired but happy sea-blue gaze, and his first thought was that he should have been dead; and then those concerned eyes reminded him of Jim's trickery to save him. Again. And he had been released to his quarters, and Jim had come, and Jim had kissed him. And it had seemed right then that the universe was just as it should be, that this perfect moment would ever be preserved out of time in his memory, because nothing could ever compare to having his more than friend, more than brother create for him a warm place where he was wanted and loved.
Jim had never released his hand that night. He had stayed there watching over his sleep, and later had stretched over the blanket and let his arm weigh on his chest and ward off any bad dream that would have dared to disturb his much-needed rest and to remind him that full Vulcans should not have dreams.
After that night, everything and nothing had changed. He had progressively resumed his duties, they had played chess together, they had fought Klingons together, and sometimes Jim would smile and he knew he would kiss him again.
But then, they had needed more. Jim began to touch him... elsewhere. He had baulked and said Vulcans did not outside of the Time and that he only needed Jim's mind. They had begun melding, and it was their own private place, and he did not care if Jim shared his bed with another sometimes, because only he, Spock the half-breed, could touch his Captain's mind. But then there had been that trip to the Babel conference when Jim almost died, and Sarek had warned them, and Jim became more insistent, and now... now his father said melding with Jim was too dangerous. And how could he live without it? How?
'Spock? Spock, are you here with me?'
He focussed on the hazel eyes in front of him. 'Ah, Jim...'
His Captain's head bowed for a short moment.
'Come, Spock. You still need rest.'
'I do not require sleep.'
'I'll stay with you for a while, then. Do you want to teach me one of those Vulcan games you talked about? Or - ' Why did Jim left his sentence unfinished?
'What would please you, Jim? You need only speak.'
'I... your parents are gone. And Bones and Uhura, too. I'd like to be with you without fear that someone will come in... you know.'
Spock felt numb. Jim wanted... but he could not. Not that. He was a good scientist, a good officer, a fighter if need be � but not a lover. Not in the physical way. Not for Jim. He was a malformed Vulcan, and he could not give the Human Jim what he wanted. It would hurt like it had hurt when he was in pon farr, and Jim would realize it, and � no.
'No.'
'Spock... Spock, I didn't say sex, well, I mean not necessarily, if you want to of course, fine, but, well...' Jim took a long-fingered hand to his lips. 'Just... be together?'
'Together', he breathed, and moved up his hand to brush away Jim's untidy lock of hair.
He couldn't mess up. He wouldn't. Spock was tense, and trying so hard not to show it � so hard, it was painful to watch him. Jim led the way into Spock's assigned room, and they stood for a while looking over the red sands. Their hands were barely touching, but Jim could feel the heat of Spock's body next to his. McCoy had told him once a few strange things about Vulcan physiology, and he'd tried to look it up himself, but the documents he'd found were not forthcoming. His own Science Officer was like uncharted space he was about to explore, and his self-appointed orders were to be slow and thorough. He always followed orders, even if he was sometimes a little... creative along the way.
He let his fingers inch their way up an arm to the Vulcan's nape, and slid his other hand around a thin waist. Spock looked at him then, and they stared at each other for a timeless moment � until Jim felt himself smile, and he couldn't resist any longer. He began with the neck, just under an ear, where the skin was fine and pale. He went on to nibble the lobe, rub his cheek against the Vulcan's, run his lips on an eyebrow, and then he started kissing in earnest. Softly, on the eyelids, down the nose, around the mouth, and oh! Spock's grip was painful on his hips, but he was kissing him back, really kissing him back, without a meld with Jim's mind to guide him, for the first time. He could feel those fingers digging in his flesh; Spock was fighting, and he was winning. He would not meld.
The sharp pain cleared his head a little, and he took a few steps backwards, closer to the bed. Spock followed him, and raised a hand in front of his flushed face. Jim watched him warily for an instant � had he been wrong? - before Spock raised an eyebrow, and started to undo the buttons of Jim's shirt in his meticulous, careful fashion.
And here he was, the youngest Starship Captain ever, his mouth half open and his eyes probably glazed over, his First Officer's hands on his chest delineating the muscles, circling his nipples, methodically kneading his shoulders from strong neck to upper arms. What would one of those old, stuck-up Admirals say if they could see them? What would Sarek think? Spock had touched him before, but never when he was shirtless. The Vulcan seemed determined, nearly studious...
'Do you want to see me naked, Spock?' he whispered.
'I am... curious. But...'
'You don't have to touch me if you don't want to, Spock. Just tell me what you want.'
The Vulcan nodded, and Jim slowly unzipped his fly and started to take off his trousers. Spock suddenly pushed him to sit on the bed and knelt in front of him. He slid his hands down Jim's calves, removed his shoes, his trousers, looked up at his Captain - a little lost, a little tense.
That was it now, he was naked, Spock had even helped him � but he was still ready to bolt as he had done before. He let a finger follow the line of Spock's fringe.
'You know, Spock, I always love it when you look somewhat dishevelled. Like now.' Jim smiled.
'Jim?'
'Yes?' Encouraging, but not eager � he had scared him off before, he wouldn't now. Not this time.
'I... do not know.'
'There is nothing to know, Spock. Just do what you're comfortable doing. Experiment. That's what we all do, really.'
Jim thought that an appeal to the scientist in Spock might work. Maybe he would be more at ease after he'd satisfied his curiosity? He remembered his first experiences, the trial and error process it was to learn someone else's body, someone else's pleasure. And it had been with his own species... Spock had no species to call his own, after all.
Tentatively, timidly, Spock flattened his hands on Jim's thighs and slid them up to the hips, excruciatingly slowly. The Human tried not to fidget.
'I apologize', Spock said, his eyes on the bruises left by his fingers.
'It's all right.' He widened the angle of his legs a little more � not too much, just enough.
'You are different. The hair.' Spock tugged at a crisp curl. 'The...' His cheeks went slightly greener as he carefully poked a finger under the penis. '...genitals. Are you fully erect?'
Jim coughed. 'Erm. No, not fully.'
'How...?'
'Well, there are, ah, different methods...'
'Jim. Tell me. I want to try. I do not know...'
'Do you masturbate, Spock?' Jim cursed himself when Spock froze.
'No', he said after a while.
'Ah.'
'But I am familiar with the procedure.' Jim's head jerked up. 'At Starfleet Academy...'
Slowly, a pale hand wrapped around Jim, and another buried in his hair to pull him to a warm, alien mouth.
Well, whatever had happened during Spock's Academy days must have been instructive, he thought dazedly. Or maybe it was just that it was Spock's hand and no one else's, the feel of those warmer fingers whose deadly strength he had experienced... It stopped too soon for his taste.
'Moisture?' Spock spread the drop of fluid around the glans, and Jim hissed. He shivered when he watched Spock lick his palm and wrap it back carefully around him, he sighed when he felt a hot tongue there, he whimpered when lips closed over the head, and he tried to speak, to warn the Vulcan, but then it was too late. When he opened his eyes, he couldn't help grinning at the sight of Spock, lips bruised, anxious eyes fastened on his face, and a drop of something whitish on the corner of his mouth.
'You look positively wanton, Mr Spock.' He wiped the semen with a finger and licked it. 'Kiss me'.
It wasn't the best sex of his life, it wasn't even the best blowjob, but it was one he would never forget, when his heart had swelled so much he'd felt like crying and laughing and running, because Spock had given this to him, because Spock had touched him, because it was Spock.
It was a wonderful promise.
Jim tugged Spock down on the bed beside him and looked into brown eyes.
'Can I touch you? I'll stop if you ask me. Please?'
'I trust you.'
Jim did not think he could answer that, and so turned to massaging the Vulcan's fingers and palms. It never failed to soothe Spock and relax his whole body. After a while, he licked a finger, felt a bird-fast pulse in the wrist with his lips, kissed a palm.
Maybe he could take his tunic off, now? There was no protest as he ran his hand on Spock's chest.
'You know, I hate it on me, but I think I love the hair on your chest.'
Obligingly, Spock caressed Jim's smooth pectorals.
'Jim? Show me.'
The Human stared. 'Tell me if you're uncomfortable with something.'
Spock nodded, but Jim was not sure the Vulcan would really say anything... He would have to be very careful, then.
He finished undressing Spock in the fading light of the red planet. They were so different; to him red was war and blood and rage and passion, while green was peace and cool grass and home; but to a Vulcan it must be the other way round...
With his hand, he drew circles on Spock's chest and stomach, he kneaded his thighs, his hips, but Spock seemed unresponsive as though he concentrated very hard on not bracing all his muscles.
'I won't hurt you.'
'I know.' The Vulcan's mouth softened a bit.
Deliberately, Jim kissed a path down Spock's body to have his first proper look at McCoy's job. Yes, they were different down there; Spock's hair was straight and baby-thin, a black down rather than his own springy brown. He traced the little slitted entrance with a finger, not at all like a woman's � it was higher, and there were no lips, just a slight bulge under the skin. It quivered.
'Do you mind?'
Since no response was forthcoming he went on with his exploration. He cupped the groin, he nibbled the fine skin at the juncture between leg and body, he ran his tongue on the strange slit and repeated the gesture with more pressure when Spock did not protest. But he did not seem to grow aroused either.
'Does it hurt?' he asked after he'd poked just the tip of his tongue inside.
'No.'
He did it again, and he felt it then � the moistness, the heat, and something moving inside against his tongue. Spock sighed, and a blunt head started to push its way out. Finally.
He began licking it, but Spock reached out and hauled him up above him.
'Jim, I... Please stay here.' He buried his head in Jim's shoulder and breathed deeply. 'I prefer it here.'
'All right, Spock.' He held the dark head against him and felt arms close around his waist and hold him in place. He would never, ever leave their circle unless thrown out.
He peered down between them and saw a greenish, glistening organ his friend was apparently doing his best to ignore by concentrating on a square inch of his neck. That wouldn't do. But...
'Spock? What are those...?'
Three tendrils, one of them smaller than the other two, were peeking out of the base. Their tiny spoon-shaped endings had been resting against the mucous membrane like so many minuscule fins, but were now unfurling.
'Frals. Their purpose is to help push sperm deeper into the female's genitals to augment the odds of conception. Full Vulcans have only two', he whispered.
'Well, the more, the merrier.' Jim carefully wrapped his fingers around the base and felt a shudder run down Spock's spine. He would have to be much more light-handed than with Human organs, the entire skin seemed as fragile and sensitive as a woman's - there was something to be said for carrying your reproductive bits on the inside, then. The tendrils secured his hand and prevented him from moving it for fear of hurting Spock, so he bent his head to nibble and lick an ear tip while he lightly, rhythmically squeezed his fingers. After a while, he felt the body in his arms tense, then suddenly relax with a sob muffled in his shoulder.
'Spock?'
Jim felt the tendrils release his hand, wave around as if looking for something, then retract as one.
'Spock, talk to me... say something?' There was a short silence.
'The sun is set.'
'Yes...?'
'They will be back shortly. The Doctor will probably want to check on me.'
'Are you politely saying you want me out?' Strong arms tightened around him.
'Jim... please stay. Do not leave now. Do not let the Doctor come in...'
'All right.' After a while, he asked, 'how do you feel?'
There was no answer.
'Spock?'
'Jim. I must apologize. I would prefer not to repeat that last experience often. It is painful not to meld with you, Jim � empty.'
'It's all right, Spock. We don't have to, I promise. Sleep now, I'll stay here. No one will disturb us.'
Well, it had been one weird shore leave. After the excitement of Spock's collapse, things had been quiet. The Ambassador was away for most of the day, and Amanda would show them around ShiKahr and the desert of Vulcan's Forge early in the morning or late in the afternoon. Uhura in particular seemed delighted to visit the planet, and on the last day she decided to buy herself a real Vulcan harp so that she wouldn't always have to borrow Spock's.
The Enterprise officers went together, and for once Spock left his meditations to help her choose properly. McCoy kept a close eye on the Vulcan. He'd been fairly recluse for most of the time, never going out to visit friends or family. He'd hardly said ten words to Sarek too, and then again only 'yes sir, no sir', and as to his mother... She seemed fond of him, but he avoided her too. Well, he avoided everybody except Jim, who spent a few hours each night with him. He heard them, the sound of Spock playing a traditional instrument or setting up the chess board � and sometimes the Captain would sound quite defeated when he cried out, 'Spock!'. McCoy supposed it meant the Vulcan had won again.
At times, the Doctor thought the two officers might be more than friends, and he knew other officers thought it too, but Spock had retreated deep into his shell these last few days, and it wasn't conducive to any kind of shore leave intimacy, was it? Or maybe it was just Spock, withdrawn and almost hiding from his parents' worried gazes. Oh yes, he'd seen it even in Sarek's eyes, the concern for a son who had fled away from them for the smallest chance to be his own man, even if it meant risking his life on a regular basis.
On their way back to the Ambassador's house, they saw a robed figure walking past them, hood drawn over the head. McCoy wondered at the strange symbols on the off-white, roughly-woven wool. It must be someone important, because everyone made way. And... Spock was staring.
'Hey, Spock, who's that?'
The Vulcan seemed to shake himself. 'A Kolinahru.'
'A what?'
'Someone who devotes his or her life to logic, and purified his or her self of all emotions to attain clarity and strength of mind. A worthy, if difficult, goal, Doctor.'
He did not know if it was worthy of not, but one thing was for sure, McCoy did not like the way Spock looked at that monk, and neither did Jim.