Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Dropping to impulse power in five minutes, Captain."

"Thank you, Mr Sulu."

Jim settles back in his chair, not bothering to disguise the thrill this gives him. He's missed this so much that it's as though a physical weight has been lifted from him. He instinctively glances to his right, ready with a dazzling smile.

The jarring realization that there's no one there causes his good cheer to evaporate in an instant. Addressing no one in particular, he sighs, "Bones was right."

"I consider that unlikely," says Spock from behind him. Jim knows it would be ridiculous to suggest that he can feel him there, but the back of his neck is prickling. "To which of the doctor's remarks do you refer?"

"Engineers," Jim replies without turning around. "Always needing to change things. Who thought it would be a good idea to have the science station directly behind the captain's chair? We'll have to have that changed back before…"

He trails off, leaving the before we head out again unspoken. No one presses him, but for the first time he allows himself to wonder what will come after this. They're only officially out for a shakedown, after all; it's not a foregone conclusion that he'll be offered the chance to lead the Enterprise into her second five-year mission once they return.

He's attempting to distract himself from following that train of thought when he turns around to face Spock, but that only makes it worse. While they're out here in the black, he can almost convince himself that nothing has changed, that the intervening years were a figment of his imagination.

Except, of course, that this is not his Enterprise, as the unfamiliar position of the science station all too keenly demonstrates.

As though sensing Jim's eyes on him, Spock turns around slowly, asking a wordless question with the lift of one eyebrow. Jim tries to smile, but the long-missed, familiar expression causes him to physically ache.

Without a word, he swings his chair around to face forwards. He frowns at the viewscreen, where the darkness is melting into points of blue light, which gradually fade to the white pinpricks of stars as their speed decreases. The vast majesty of Jupiter swings into view on the left-hand side of the viewscreen, while over to the right is the bright disk of Sol.

"Mind if I swing around Jupiter's potential well, give us a bit of a kick?" Sulu calls over his shoulder.

"Go for it," says Jim, making a vague gesture towards the gas giant.

Despite his melancholy, he cannot remain unaffected by the combination of Sulu's undimmed enthusiasm and the awe-inspiring sight of Jupiter looming large in the viewscreen. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he murmurs.

"Yes, Jim."

The awe in Spock's voice causes Jim to dart a quizzical look over his shoulder. He immediately regrets the action when he sees the enraptured expression on Spock's face.

Jim snaps his attention back to the viewscreen, frowning. It seems Spock really is back to his pre-Kolinahr self, and while that may be exactly what Jim wanted, he somehow finds it deeply unsettling.

*

Jim feels irritable throughout the drawn-out disembarkation procedure. He knows that he's snapping at people, but he finds their enthusiasm grating. Yes, they've returned safely having saved Earth, but it's not as though it's the first time that's happened.

He forces himself to remain in the transporter room, thanking each crewmember individually, hoping they can't tell that his heart's not in it.

"Well, you're just a bowlful of sunshine," drawls a familiar voice.

Jim doesn't even look up to greet Bones, simply grunting in acknowledgement and barely resisting the urge to scowl at another jubilant ensign.

Bones' response is to prod him in the arm and add, "You have severe emotional problems, you know that?"

"Not now, Bones," Jim growls. "You beaming down?"

"Not a chance," Bones snorts. "I'm taking the shuttle with you."

"I'm taking the transporter," Jim counters, although in truth that's not really his intention.

"And missing the chance to lust over this ship from the outside again?"

Jim tries to quell him with a disbelieving look, even as his stomach lurches with the realization that that is exactly what he wants.

"You're not fooling anyone but yourself," Bones adds with a wry smile. "I've never seen you so miserable as when you have to leave your ship. Now, what I don't understand is why anyone would so desperately want to have their molecules disassembled and go shooting off in a hunk of metal where one tiny hull leak can boil your blood in thirteen seconds. Not to mention –"

"What I have never understood," Spock interrupts, sliding into place on the other side of Jim, "is the logic behind someone who professes to loathe spaceflight and transporter technology choosing to pursue a career in Starfleet."

Jim only just manages not to visibly start at Spock's sudden entrance, unnerved by the fact that he didn't sense his approach. He tries to keep his tone light, but does not look at either of them as he says, "He has a point, Bones."

"Furthermore," Spock adds, "it is of some concern that, as a doctor, you exhibit such limited understanding of medical matters. While blood at human body temperature would boil in a vacuum, it is enclosed in the circulatory system. As such, a hull leak would cause death by hypoxia long before the blood is able to evaporate."

"You think I don't know that?" Bones snaps.

Jim allows their bickering to wash over his head and tries to focus on the bustle of activity around them instead. It's all too familiar, too reminiscent of how things used to be. It's strange, but as awful as it was to have Spock turn up on his bridge again only to be cold and aloof, it's somehow worse to have things so close to the way they should be.

He's relieved beyond measure when the last crewmember finally disembarks and he can order Spock and Bones to break up their fight and accompany him to the shuttle.

Is it fitting that the three of them should be the last to disembark; symbolic, perhaps of the reunion of the best team in Starfleet? Jim can't decide, because it feels more like a cruel reminder that they were thrown together only for a temporary crisis and must now, surely, go their separate ways.

As they leave the Enterprise, Jim cannot take his eyes from her. He feels a familiar stirring at the sight of her, resplendent against the blackness of space, but more than that he feels a deep-seated yearning that is not yet sated.

"Don't think you can marry a ship, Jim," Bones' wry voice interrupts his thoughts.

Jim smirks at him. "Not under Federation law, perhaps…"

Jim reluctantly turns his attention back to the descent to Earth. Spock remains utterly silent throughout the journey, not even responding to Bones' occasional barbs, and Jim begins to wonder exactly what he plans to do now. He can't bring himself to ask, though; their friendship – or whatever it is they have now – still feels too tenuous after all the time apart.

All too soon, they've landed. What now? is looming large in Jim's mind, but he forces himself to focus for just a little while longer. He deals with the necessary officials, and manages to secure them a night's sleep before they have to report for debriefing the following day.

Only then does he turn to Spock and Bones. He still cannot form the question, though, so he's relieved when Bones confronts Spock instead. "You're really not going back to Vulcan?"

Jim doesn't move his head, but he can't stop his eyes drifting to the side, trying to catch Spock's response. He looks eerily calm, with no sign of tension and almost a hint of a smile around his eyes. He answers with conviction, "I have no reason to return to Vulcan. All that I need is here, on Earth."

Jim's stomach lurches. It makes no sense, since that's exactly what he wanted to hear, but he suddenly feels the need to be elsewhere. Before he can take a single step away, though, he's restrained by Bones' hand on his arm.

"Where're you staying?" Bones asks pointedly.

Jim does not look at Spock, but he can somehow feel his discomfort as though it's creeping across the space between them.

"I have not given this much consideration," Spock admits. "However, hotels are plentiful in San Francisco."

"You don't want to live in a hotel," Bones snorts. "Jim'll put you up."

Jim shoots him a deathly glare. "I don't have a lot of room," he says. At Bones' glower, he amends that to, "But yeah, of course." He gives Spock a weak smile, and feels physically pained by the relief evident on his face.

"I'll see you around, then," says Bones, far too quickly. "Right now, there's a bottle of bourbon back home that's calling to me."

Bones stalks off, and Jim gives him a half-hearted wave before turning his attention back to Spock.

There's a long, uncomfortable silence before Spock says, "I consider it unlikely that the doctor is in possession of a speaking beverage."

Jim doesn't even crack a smile; he's in no mood for Spock's particular brand of humor. "It's a figure of speech," he says.

Spock raises an eyebrow, probably at the blunt tone of his voice rather than his actual words, since Jim's fairly sure that Spock is well-versed in English turns of phrase by now. He can't be bothered to rise to it, though; he just sighs and gestures for Spock to follow him.

Somehow, in the entirety of the V'Ger mission, he's managed to avoid being alone with Spock. Now that it's just the two of them, he has no idea what to say. To make matters worse, Spock seems utterly relaxed; during the aircar ride to Jim's apartment, he remarks on how the city has changed since his last visit and enquires after Jim's nephew, Peter. If he notices how stilted Jim's responses are, he doesn't say so.

It's disconcerting, for their demeanors to be so at odds, where before they were so in sync. It annoys Jim all the more because he cannot work out whether his irritation is directed at Spock or at himself. By the time they arrive at his apartment, he's so worked up that he's afraid any attempt at conversation will devolve into a fight, so he decides the safest bet is to feign exhaustion. He gives Spock a cursory tour, then says, "I'm beat. Think I'll call it a night."

"Jim," says Spock, fixing him with that piercing gaze. "I believe there are matters we should discuss."

Jim freezes, his back half-turned to Spock. He closes his eyes, as though the loss of sight can somehow shield him from this moment. Through gritted teeth, he manages, "The debriefing isn't until tomorrow."

He's holding his breath, willing Spock to understand that he simply can't deal with this right now, but whatever wordless understandings used to exist between them seem to have vanished. He can feel Spock looking at him, can sense it in the heaviness of the air between them. There was a time that would have been enough, but now Spock seems to feel the need to press, "It is not of the mission that I wish to speak. I believe you are owed –"

"You owe me nothing," Jim snaps, turning on his heel so that they are facing one another across the room.

Spock raises an eyebrow at his outburst, but chooses not to pass comment, for which Jim is grateful. There's a part of him that wants to have this out now, to have Spock explain why he left and what he expects now that he's back. However, there's another, stronger part of him that fears that path, knows that it may lead him to turn Spock away with more finality than he feels.

The silence is just becoming suffocating when Spock finally says, "If you would allow me to explain…"

There's a note of pleading in Spock's voice that Jim's never been able to resist. He almost can't bring himself to do so now; he trembles with the effort it takes to look away, and his nails are digging painfully into his palms. Through clenched teeth, he manages to grind out, "Not now." With much effort, he forces himself to lighten his tone and add, "You take the bed, I'll sleep on the couch."

"Jim," says Spock, sounding wary, "I do not wish to cause disruption."

Too late, Jim thinks, but he reins himself in and says, "You're not disrupting anything. You were injured, and I know I got you back on duty faster than Bones would have liked. You need to rest."

"Vulcans do not require –"

"I don't want to hear it." Jim cuts himself off when he hears the anger in his own voice. He turns his back on Spock, not wanting to see the surprise in his face. He just doesn't want to deal with this right now; it's all too sudden.

"Jim," Spock begins to protest, but then he appears to stop himself, and says instead, "As you wish."

Jim has to look away in order to maintain his composure. This isn't at all what he wishes; what he wishes is to sleep in his own bed and to take Spock there with him. The last time they tried that, though, he woke up alone to Spock's resignation.

When he dares himself to look, he finds that Spock's expression is strangely soft. The temptation to throw caution to the wind is almost unbearable, but Jim steels himself and utters a curt, "Good night, Spock."

Spock regards him carefully a moment longer, and then turns away without a word.

*

Jim wakes early to the sun streaming through the window, and groans as he realizes that he forgot to draw the drapes last night. He stretches, wincing as his back and shoulders ache in protest at his uncomfortable sleeping position.

He swings his legs over the side of the couch and rubs at his neck. He blinks a few times at his surroundings, and then drops his head into his hands as the memory of the previous day's events comes flooding back.

Spock, is all he can think. There's so much confusion overlaid with that name; the memory of a connection so deep it terrified him, and more recently the all-consuming despair of being without him.

He remembers how alarming it was, to wake up one day to the knowledge that he was not the strong, independent commander he had always believed himself to be – that, in fact, he was nothing without the one who completed him. It was even more startling to realize that what completed him was not his ship, the professed love of his life, but Spock.

Coming to terms with that was hard, perhaps the hardest thing Jim's ever done. When he finally came to terms with it, that should – if anything he had ever been led to believe about love was correct – have been that.

Instead, he woke up one day to find that Spock was gone. Not lost in some tragic accident or gone to pursue the heights of an illustrious career; those things would have hurt, sure, but at least Jim could have understood them. But no, Spock left him without so much as a goodbye, to pursue some Vulcan ritual that would purge him of all emotion. And it doesn't take a genius to work out what emotions had so terrified Spock that he saw the Kolinahr as his only option.

Jim heaves a sigh and shoves that line of thought roughly away. He's spent the last two and a half years obsessing over this, trying to convince himself that he can carry on without Spock. He was managing just fine, too, until the Vulcan went and turned up on his bridge without so much as a by-your-leave.

He hears a sound coming from the bedroom, and is flooded with panic. He can't deal with this, not yet. Cursing himself for his cowardice, he takes a hurried shower, tugs on a fresh uniform and then slips out of the door before Spock can see him.

It's a futile effort, because by the time Jim arrives for his first debriefing of the day, having stopped first at his office, Spock is already there. Jim offers him a wary smile and, without thinking about it, drops into the seat beside him.

He immediately regrets the choice. It would be ridiculous to think that he can feel the heat of the Vulcan's body radiating across the foot or so between them, so perhaps he merely imagines it. Spock's posture and expression betray no discomfort, but Jim can sense the friction nonetheless; it's present in the way Spock does not quite meet his eye when he nods his greeting, and it hangs heavy between them.

Jim is barely aware of Nogura and the other Starfleet officials filing in; he manages to offer them suitably polite greetings, but finds he is hyperaware of every movement, every blink, of the stoic figure beside him.

Apparently Nogura misreads his apprehension, because it's with a sympathetic tilt of the head that he's invited to begin his report.

Jim surprises himself with how easily he's able to slip into professional mode and recount the mission, despite the unrelenting tension that makes him feel as though he's a bow held at full draw.

"There was some confusion over the size of the… entity," Nogura interrupts at one point. "Reports varied between two and eighty-two AUs."

Jim offers a vague, "I'd say two's closer to the mark," while his eyes flicker towards Spock. The expected correction to three decimal places never materializes, though, so Jim presses, "Spock? Were you able to take any measurements?"

"The energy cloud encompassed a diameter of approximately ten-point-three microparsecs," Spock confirms. "Or two-point-one-two Astronomical Units."

Jim makes an easy gesture towards Spock, intended to indicate his agreement with Spock's assessment, but inside he's rattled. The necessity for such direct prompting hasn't existed between them since the early days of his command, and it serves as a galling reminder that things are not as they were.

After that, he offers only half his mind to the continuing debriefing. He gains nothing coherent from the other half, only the sense that he is longing for something that will forever be held just out of reach.

Again, Nogura seems to misread Jim's preoccupation, as it is with a sense of overwrought solemnity that he moves on to the matter of memorials for those lost on the mission.

"Decker and Ilia were not lost," Jim rushes to correct him. "They are officially listed as missing."

There's a general murmur of confusion at that, which is given voice by an ageing scientist Jim does not recognize. "I am not certain I comprehend your account of this incident," he says with an apologetic glance. "Why would anyone choose to be… consumed by that… thing?"

"It already had Ilia." Jim's gaze flickers to the opposite wall as he tries to imagine how he would have felt in that same situation, had Spock been the one taken. His voice is barely audible as he adds, "I can imagine why Decker would want the same fate."

Nogura's expression becomes startlingly sympathetic. "I understand that you were close to one of those lost on this mission. My condolences."

Jim is momentarily confused, before he realises with a guilty start that Nogura's referring to Lori. With all that's happened, he's spared her barely a thought, and for that he hates himself. She deserved better than that.

Before he can stop himself, he's wondering, for the umpteenth time, whether she would have been trying to beam aboard the Enterprise at all if not for their shared past. Would she still be here, had he not so desperately sought comfort after the conclusion of his last mission, after Spock's abrupt departure?

And that thought brings to mind Commander Sonak, and Jim's stubborn insistence on a Vulcan science officer.

Jim's spent the last three years trying to convince himself that he's over Spock, but the memory of that one moment in the transporter room is all it takes to shatter his already fragile self-delusion.

He cannot blame Spock for his own inability to move on, though, and in truth he feels more resignation than anger, especially when Spock catches his eye as he glances up and offers a sincere, "I grieve with thee."

Jim can only manage a weak smile of gratitude, but something within him shifts. That reassuring presence is familiar, and for the first time in three years, he feels some semblance of normality.

*

The first debriefing session continues until past midday, by which time Jim is exhausted.

Spock is as apparently immune to fatigue as ever, because he departs for further meetings with the science department. Jim half-heartedly offers to join him, but he's met with a sternly raised eyebrow and a recommendation that he seek out rest and sustenance, and Jim cannot find it within himself to argue.

All the same, he's disturbed by the pang he feels as he watches Spock walk away. His mood darkens even further when he rounds a corner and almost walks straight into Bones.

"Watch where you're going," Bones grumbles, brushing himself down with exaggerated motions.

"Aren't you in Georgia?" Jim exclaims, earning himself a withering glare.

"Supposed to be." Bones narrows his eyes. "Seems someone drafted me so thoroughly I'm not allowed my life back."

"Meaning you were asked nicely to come back for one quick little debrief?" Jim supplies, and Bones' irritable shrug is confirmation enough. "Well," he continues, his mood considerably brightened, "since you're here, how about buying an old friend lunch?"

Bones snorts in disgust, but he falls into step beside Jim and leads him towards one of the quieter cafés.

"So?" Bones prompts once they're seated with their sandwiches.

Jim shrugs, although he knows he's not getting away with anything that easily; Bones must be determined, since he hasn't even commented on the amount of mayo Jim requested in his sandwich. He decides to play dumb anyway. "So what?"

Bones rolls his eyes and gives an exasperated snort. "You're hopeless," he mutters. "You spend two and a half years obsessing over trying to relive the past. Then they give you your ship back and you even get your smiley Vulcan back. So why do you still look like someone's kicking your favorite puppy?"

Jim carefully avoids his gaze and replies, "It's not that simple."

"You mean you're not getting the Enterprise back?"

"No idea," Jim admits. "She was due to go out on another five-year mission under Decker, so…"

"So now Decker's de – uh, missing, you'll get first choice, right?"

"Maybe." Jim takes a bite of his sandwich and frowns at the wall over Bones' left shoulder. "Haven't asked."

Bones gives him a piercing look, but appears to let the matter drop. "How about Spock, then?"

Jim shrugs. "He was never interested in his own command. Before, anyway. We haven't talked about it."

"I don't mean for the Enterprise." Bones throws up his hands in frustration. "Dammit, Jim, I was there. The guy practically declared his undying love there in Sickbay. Never would have believed he was capable, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes…"

Jim glares at his coffee as he recalls the scene, but he says nothing.

"And don't tell me you don't feel the same way," Bones continues. "I was the one clearing up the mess after he fucked off back to Vulcan, don't you forget."

Jim can't forget, as much as he wants to, and that's precisely the problem. He doesn't feel like talking about it, though, so he repeats, "It's not that simple."

"You're pissed at him because he left, then?"

Hearing it spoken aloud causes Jim's eyes to sting. Feeling suddenly defensive, he snaps, "Wouldn't you be?"

"Hell, yeah," Bones agrees. "Although, if it were me, I'd be more worried about the fact that I'd fallen for a Vulcan."

"It would serve you right if that happened," Jim retorts.

Bones gives him a lopsided smile, and Jim has the fanciful image of him with a prim Vulcan wife. That image quickly fades when Bones' expression turns serious. "How long are you gonna stay mad at him before he wins you over with… dammit, whatever the hell it was you fell for in the first place?"

"I'm not mad. I'm not… anything."

Bones raises a skeptical eyebrow. "You expect me to believe you feel absolutely nothing for him?"

"Not exactly," Jim admits. "But you remember all that time I spent agonizing over whether I should go for it with him?"

"All too well."

Jim shrugs. "Good captains make mistakes, but only the one time."

"You're sitting this one out, then?"

In truth, Jim has made no such decision, but now that he's faced with it, he can see no other option. Spock gave him no indication that there was any problem before, until his abrupt departure. How can he possibly try again, knowing he might unwittingly push too far again?

"Yeah," Jim sighs. "Which," he gives Bones a pointed glare, "would be a whole lot easier if he wasn't living with me."

"Sorry," Bones rolls his eyes. "Thought I was doing you a favor – you two've been driving me crazy with the way you make eyes at each other."

"I haven't done any such thing," Jim protests.

"Whatever you say. As it happens, I think you're doing the right thing, for once."

"Thanks."

Jim smiles as Bones leaves, and wishes he had it in him to agree.

*

Once the meetings are over for the day, Jim spends as much time as he can get away with in his office, but eventually he realizes he has to head home. A quick query to the computer reveals that Spock left two hours ago.

It's already dark out, but he decides to walk. It's strange; only a few days ago, he would have given anything to be going home to Spock. Now that it's a reality, though, the idea fills him with a sense of dread that he can't quite define.

It's not that he doesn't want to be around Spock; quite the opposite, in fact. Nor is it even merely that he fears rejection; at least that would be something he could understand. This unnavigable compromise, in which Spock acknowledges his friendship but nothing more, is somehow much harder to deal with. He's not even sure he wants the parameters laid out, though, because Jim is not yet ready to have that last flicker of hope extinguished.

He hopes that Spock's stoicism will prevent him from bringing up the issue of the two of them, but this new Spock who's reconciled to the idea of emotions, rather than trying constantly to fight them, is someone he doesn't know and can't predict. That very knowledge hurts him more than just about anything, because there was a time he would have been able to predict all of Spock's responses.

His mood is so dark by the time he arrives home that at first, he doesn't even notice the smell of food coming from the kitchen. It's not until Spock appears in the kitchen doorway that he registers it, and then he's so surprised that he forgets to be bitter as he asks, "Are you cooking?"

"Affirmative. Dinner should be completed in approximately twenty-two-point-five minutes."

"Approximately?"

Spock lifts one eyebrow, indicating that he is fully aware of how his timekeeping has always amused Jim, and then returns to the kitchen.

Jim catches himself grinning as he flops into his armchair, but quickly suppresses it. He picks up a book, and in no time at all he's completely absorbed.

He almost doesn't notice when Spock reappears, but then a scotch is pressed into his hand and he's so surprised, that Spock's gone by the time he remembers to mumble, "Thank you."

When Spock calls him over for dinner, his heart sinks. The table is elaborately set, with a white tablecloth and candles. It's uncomfortably romantic, so Jim quietly orders the computer, "Lights to a hundred percent," before making his way over.

If Spock notices or objects, he doesn't say so. He graciously gestures for Jim to take a seat, then disappears and returns a moment later with two plates laden with vegetables and – surprisingly – a steak for Jim.

"You cooked meat?" Jim exclaims.

"I had to access your computer terminal to obtain instructions. I hope you do not object."

"'Course not." Jim frowns at his steak. "Thanks."

Conversation over dinner is stilted, by their standards. Jim talks about his day, the various meetings, the questions Starfleet had about V'Ger in Spock's absence and his attempts at answering them. He's distracted, though; all he can think about is Spock, about the past and what happened to drive him away, or about the future, whatever that may be.

He senses that Spock is equally distracted, but can't tell why. There's a distance to his eyes that usually signifies his occupation with a scientific query; perhaps he is still troubled by his encounter with V'Ger, or is dwelling on the losses they suffered, for Spock always did feel those losses more keenly than many realized. Or perhaps it is contemplation of their past or future that absorbs him – Jim simply cannot tell.

The frustration of not being able to read him when they were once so in tune is overwhelming. Jim knows he should be making more of an effort to bridge the gap between them, but after all that's happened he finds himself at a loss for how to navigate it.

After dinner, Spock suggests a game of chess, and Jim can't think of a good reason to decline. It feels strange, sitting across a chessboard from Spock again. He remembers so many hours spent like this on the ship, before. He remembers the way he used to watch those long fingers, how they almost seemed to be caressing the pieces. He remembers the casual flirtation; how he used to employ his most seductive smiles over the board, and the way Spock's eyes would glint in response.

It all seemed so exciting, back then. He made a game of trying to crack the austere façade, delighting in every hint of a smile or evidence of humor he succeeded in eliciting. When he felt especially daring, he would even make 'accidental' physical contact, with the light brush of a hand across the table.

With the benefit of hindsight, he feels like an idiot. All that time he spent pushing at the boundaries between them, and it never once occurred to him that he would end up pushing so hard that Spock would break and leave him, apparently for good.

He tries to focus on the current game, even though his heart's not quite in it. He recognizes the trap Spock's trying to set, but he can't quite recall the escape strategy he once devised. He makes a random move instead, hoping to throw Spock off balance.

Spock's eyes crease in the hint of a smile, and Jim feels his insides flutter. He hurriedly looks away.

It's unsurprising that Spock wins the game, given Jim's distraction. He tips his king over with a shrug and leans back in his seat, surveying his defeat.

"Best of three?" Spock suggests.

Jim is taken aback, because that used to be his line, and it sounds strange coming from Spock. He's sufficiently unnerved that he agrees without thinking. As they're resetting the board, they reach for the same piece and their hands brush together. Jim whips his away, studiously avoiding eye contact.

They commence their second game in silence, but Jim can't stop himself from darting furtive glances over the table. Spock's eyes are narrowed.

At last, Spock breaks the silence with his usual directness. "My presence here displeases you."

For a moment, Jim just blinks in stunned speechlessness. There's a part of him that wants to answer honestly, to get all this out in the open, but how can he discuss it when he can't even decide how he feels about it? Finally, he gives a vehement shake of his head and says, "No. Absolutely not."

The dubious lift of Spock's eyebrow feels like a punch in the gut. With a sigh, Jim adds, "Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you last night. I just… This is unexpected."

"I understand that this is an imposition, Jim. I apologize for my lack of forethought. I shall seek alternative accommodation."

Jim intends to suggest that that would be a good idea, but he can't bring himself to do so. It hurts to have Spock so near to him, after all that's passed between them. All the same, he can't bear the thought of returning to an empty apartment. "That's not necessary," he says.

Spock holds Jim's gaze, a frown creasing his brow as he considers his response. Finally, he settles for a bland, "Very well."

Jim can feel the weight of Spock's gaze on him, his curiosity so intense it's almost as though it could burn right through him. He feels annoyed. How can Spock expect to go from leaving him without a word in order to escape all the scary emotion, to suddenly returning unannounced and completely blowing him off, to then deciding that he wants to be all emotional again, just like that?

That Spock has tried to explain, and that Jim refused to allow it, does not help; Jim is well aware that his anger is unjustified. He was, after all, the one who caused Spock to leave in the first place.

"Your mood swings are a lot to take," Jim explains. At least, he thinks he's explaining, but as Spock frowns in evident confusion, he realizes that it probably doesn't mean much without the context of his train of thought. He dismisses it with a wave of his hand. "Never mind."

"Is this not what you wanted?"

Jim sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He needs a way out of this conversation, badly, but his wits seem to have escaped him. "It depends what you mean by 'this.'"

Jim inwardly cringes as he hears his own words; somehow, he's ended up inviting the very conversation he doesn't want to have, the one that can only lead to a discussion of where they stand with one another, which Jim is not ready to face. "On second thoughts," he says quickly, before Spock has a chance to respond, "don't answer that."

Spock looks even more confused, but Jim stops himself from elaborating. For a few minutes, he's able to distract himself with the game, but he finds he's overly aware of Spock's gaze on him. With the effort he's making not to catch Spock's eye, he finds instead that his eyes keep being drawn to Spock's hands. He's always loved those hands; they're so elegant, and every movement Spock makes with them is so carefully premeditated. He remembers how those hands felt on his body…

Jim clamps down hard on that thought. He scowls at the board and makes an aggressive move that causes Spock's eyebrow to shoot up.

"Your own disposition is difficult to read," Spock remarks.

Jim doesn't doubt it; his irritation doesn't even make sense to him. He's feeling uncharitable, though, so he says, "Humans are not as logical as you would like, are they?"

Spock hesitates for a moment before replying, "I have often found your logic unconventional, but never lacking."

Somehow, that only irritates Jim further, because now he feels like a jerk, and he's supposed to be the one who was wronged, here; it was Spock who left without giving him a second chance. Everything he says seems to be making things worse, though, so he settles for scowling at the board, pretending to be concentrating on the game though he knows Spock is not fooled.

"There is a hotel point-three kilometers from here," Spock says some time later.

Jim feels himself sag in defeat. He looks Spock in the eye and says, "Please don't. Your presence doesn't… displease me. Really. I just need… time." With a self-deprecating smile, he adds, "I can't adjust as quickly as you can, apparently."

"Did I err in returning?"

"No."

"Then will you permit me the chance to explain the reasons behind my departure?"

"No." Jim gives an inward wince as he realizes how harsh that sounds, and adds, "I mean, you don't need to explain. I can guess, and it doesn't matter any more."

"Your views have changed?"

Jim doesn't know which 'views' Spock's talking about, but it doesn't matter. He sighs. "A lot has changed."

"I understand."

Jim doubts that, somehow, but can hardly blame Spock for his confusion, because he's not sure he understands either.

*

Jim is woken the next morning by the smell of coffee. He blearily staggers into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes and grumbling about the time. He finds Spock there, who, by way of greeting, thrusts a steaming mug into his hands.

Jim breathes in the aroma and blinks his eyes open, just in time to catch Spock hurriedly looking away. Jim bites back a smile as he realizes he's clad only in his briefs. Time was he would have goaded Spock for so blatantly checking him out, but now, he daren't raise the issue.

"Since when do you drink coffee?" he asks, opting for safer ground.

"I do not."

Jim frowns into his mug. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"I know. I was already awake, and recalled your dependence on caffeine."

"I can quit any time," Jim lies through a smile.

"Of course," Spock demurs.

Jim's smile fades. Only a few years ago, Spock would have proceeded to gently tease him about his capacity for self-delusion. He hates that they're walking on eggshells around each other, and even more so because he knows it's his own doing.

"Any plans for today?" Jim asks, trying to keep his tone light.

"The same as your own. Although, prior to the first debriefing of the day, I have business to attend to with Admiral Nogura."

Jim hesitates before replying, "Sure." He wants to ask what the business is, but he fears it may have something to do with the permanency – or otherwise – of his recently reactivated Starfleet commission. Any mention of that would likely entail a discussion about future plans that he's really not ready to get into. "I'll be ready to go in about a half hour."

"Very well."

As Jim turns to go take his shower, he adds over his shoulder, "Thanks for the coffee."

*

Jim is afraid that having Spock around will prove distracting, but the moment they arrive, Spock slips away to attend to whatever business he has. Jim becomes absorbed in all the trivial but diverting paperwork that's piled up on his desk in his absence, and isn't aware of any time having passed before a prickling sensation announces Spock's presence.

"Thought you were off to see Nogura?" Jim says without looking up. "Need directions?"

"My memory of this facility is perfectly adequate, and my business concluded."

"Already? But you've only been gone…" Jim glances at the chronometer. "An hour? Really?"

"One-point-two hours," Spock corrects. "The first meeting commences in five-point-three minutes."

"Of course," Jim groans. As they make their way down the corridor, he adds, "Saving the world would be a lot more fun if we didn't have to explain ourselves afterwards."

"It is necessary."

"I know that, but –"

"I was not disagreeing with you."

Jim catches the unnerving twitch of Spock's lips, and he can't help it; as he opens the door into the briefing room, he's laughing. They move fluidly to sit side by side, and Jim greets the first questions of the day with a smile.

*

They're granted a break of a couple of hours in the middle of the day. Spock disappears to speak to some scientist, so Jim returns to his office, groaning at the unrelenting paperwork.

It seems only a moment later that Spock appears. He doesn't make a sound, but Jim knows the moment he arrives, and looks up from a padd to see him standing formally in the doorway.

When Jim catches his eye, Spock's eyes crinkle in a smile that causes Jim's pulse to quicken. Eager to cover his reaction, he blurts, "Something I can do for you?"

"I do have a request to make. Would you join me for lunch?"

Jim glances at the long list of messages awaiting his attention and the stack of padds on his desk, and then shrugs. "Sure."

As they walk down the corridor together, Spock remarks, "The desk does not suit you."

Jim tries, and fails, to look affronted. He nudges Spock's side and counters, "The new uniform doesn't suit you."

"The new uniform, Admiral, does not flatter anyone."

"Can't argue with that." Jim squints as they emerge into the daylight. "So where'd you want to eat? There's a sandwich place on the corner…"

"I had somewhere in mind. Assuming its continued existence in the form I recall, of course."

Jim shrugs and gestures for him to lead the way. He's expecting a Vulcan restaurant, or perhaps one of those vegan places that serves 101 types of tofu, so he's taken aback when Spock leads him into an Italian restaurant.

"You know they serve meat here?" Jim points out.

"I find their vegetarian fare quite adequate. You introduced me to it yourself, if you recall."

Jim does recall, but he wishes he didn't. It started as an average evening of flirtation over chess, and Jim isn't even sure he remembers how the subject of pasta came up. He does remember encouraging Spock to try various dishes, some of which he appreciated more than others, but most of all he remembers that it was the first night they kissed.

Jim's sure it's just an unfortunate coincidence, but he can't stop thinking about it. He manages to engage only half-heartedly in conversation, and eventually Spock comments on his distracted state.

"You came here while you were at the Academy?" Jim asks.

"Affirmative."

"So you already knew about pasta?"

Spock simply lifts that damned eyebrow, which Jim supposes means he doesn't understand the reference or its implications. Jim heaves a sigh. "Never mind."

*

They share the cooking that evening, and play a few more games of chess, but discuss nothing more serious than the various staff changes in Starfleet.

It becomes a routine, and one that Jim finds himself slipping into with discomfiting ease. He can almost convince himself that everything is normal, except for the near-constant ache in his neck from sleeping on the couch.

Eventually, Starfleet bleeds them dry of information about their mission, so Jim returns to his desk job and Spock takes a teaching position at the Academy.

Conversation with Spock becomes easier, albeit restricted to trivialities. Occasionally, one of them will reference an incident from their shared past, but Jim notices that they both steer clear of any missions that carried emotional weight. It's only when he thinks of this that he realizes just how many of those there were.

And it's that thought that's troubling him one day at work as the questions begin. It's the worst-kept secret in Starfleet that he wants the Enterprise back. She's had her shakedown and is due for her next five-year mission, and there's a widespread assumption that she'll be going out under Jim's command. Whenever anyone asks him about it, though, he neatly deflects the question, offering neither confirmation nor denial.

Nonetheless, it doesn't take long for the applications to start rolling in. There's no shortage of crew who want to serve under the illustrious James T. Kirk, and in their eagerness they don't seem to care that he doesn't, officially, have a ship.

He ought to be more excited by the prospect than he is. He does want to go out into space again, he can't deny that, but now that relations between himself and Spock have thawed towards normal – albeit on an unnaturally platonic level – he can't bear the thought of leaving. Spock seems to be enjoying his teaching role, though, and displays none of the restlessness that Jim feels.

Days blend seamlessly into weeks, and then, inevitably, comes the message from Admiral Nogura requesting a private meeting the following day. Jim doesn't have to ask what it's going to entail; he doesn't know whether he's going to be offered the Enterprise or made to beg for her, but at this stage it doesn't matter, since he has no idea what he would say even were she handed to him on a silver platter.

That evening over chess, Spock remarks on his distracted state. Jim considers his response for a full minute before replying, "Nogura wants to see me in the morning. It sounded… important."

He's not sure what reaction he was expecting – curiosity, perhaps, or a knowingly raised eyebrow – but he's taken aback when Spock looks troubled, even crestfallen. Jim feels his heart plummet, along with any residual hope that Spock may consent to return as his first officer.

Jim knows he should probably ask, but how can he even broach the subject now? He tries to imagine how that might go: Hey, so I know our last five-year mission ended with you never wanting to see me again, and I've spent the last few weeks being as hospitable as an army of Klingons, but you want to do it all again?

He gives a derisive snort at his own idiocy, earning a quizzical eyebrow from Spock, but he does not explain.

*

Jim feels dazed as he emerges from Nogura's office. Somehow, put on the spot and forced to contemplate the alternative of the Enterprise shipping out without him, he's agreed to captain her once more.

Only a few weeks ago, he would have been elated by that thought. Now, his own ambivalence troubles him.

When he returns to his office, the first thing he does is put in a call to Bones.

"You're doing what?" Bones says with an exasperated huff when Jim explains.

"Come on," Jim chides. "You know I'm not suited to this desk jockeying lark."

"Damn right. I just can't believe they'd let you near that ship after the state you returned it in the last time."

"I brought her back as good as new," Jim protests. "Almost." He brushes off Bones' incredulous look. "So do I have a CMO?"

"Me, go out in that death trap again?" Bones scoffs. "Do you think I'm crazy?" Jim gives him a gentle shrug, and earns himself a full-on glare. "You're not trapping me with that drafting nonsense again." Bones jabs the screen with a firm finger. "I checked the rule book, and guess what? No such regulation."

"How odd," Jim remarks, with his best attempt at innocence.

Bones is obviously trying for his most scathing look, but then he visibly capitulates. Throwing up his hands in exasperation, he says, "What the hell. Someone has to keep an eye on you."

"Thanks, Bones," says Jim with a broad grin. "I'll be in touch with details."

Bones' only response is a grunt of irritation and a dismissive wave, and then the screen flickers off.

Jim sits back in his chair, realizing only then that his heart is racing. That's two hurdles he's cleared, regaining the Enterprise and Bones, but in truth they were the two he feared the least.

He's so distracted by pondering the next hurdle that he doesn't notice that he's not alone until he's directly addressed.

"Jim."

Jim tries to cover his startled jump by gesturing Spock towards the other chair, but he remains standing, his hands clasped behind his back and his face annoyingly devoid of any expression to hint at the reason behind his presence.

It's all frighteningly reminiscent of his demeanor after the Kolinahr, and Jim finds the very thought sickening. He fights to keep his voice even as he asks, "Is there a problem?"

"None of which I am aware," says Spock. "I merely wish to enquire after your availability this evening."

Jim frowns; he's spent every evening since returning to Earth at home with Spock. "Only the usual."

"Then, if I may request a deviation from the established pattern?"

"I guess."

"I shall make dinner reservations for twenty-hundred hours." Spock pauses, waiting for Jim's nod of agreement, and then departs with uncharacteristic haste.

When he is gone, Jim stares at the door, confused. He wonders whether Spock already knows of his assignment, or whether he's going to have to break the news himself. Either way, the prospect is not one he relishes.

*

"This is a swanky place." Jim raises his eyebrows at the restaurant; white tablecloths, stunning views over the Bay, and a secluded table decorated by long-stemmed red roses.

The restaurant is full tonight, primarily of couples clasping hands across tables and looking deep into each other's eyes. Of course, he realizes with a heartfelt inward groan: it's Valentine's Day.

There's no reason to suppose Spock would know the significance of the day, though; he's always thought human celebrations illogical. Even Jim's not a fan of this particular tradition, so he elects not to mention it.

"How did you manage to get a table here on such short notice?" he can't help asking.

"Your name carries some weight."

"Ah," Jim teases with a smile. "So that's the reason you invited me?"

"Of course."

Jim smirks into his menu. He finds himself unconsciously scanning the vegetarian options, checking that the restaurant is suitable for Spock before committing to an order himself.

There's a gentle hum of conversation surrounding them, overlaid with pleasant and unobtrusive background music, but Jim and Spock sit in silence until the waiter returns to take their orders and the menus that have been forming a barrier between them.

Once alone again, Spock asks, "How was your meeting with Admiral Nogura?"

It occurs to Jim then that the easiest way to handle this might be to just get it out in one: I have the Enterprise and I want you to join me. It shouldn't be difficult to say, yet the words get stuck in his throat. All he manages is a weak, "It was fine. Nothing unexpected."

Spock's brow furrows, but he does not immediately respond. He turns his attention to the vast window and the Bay beyond, and Jim follows his gaze, watching the boats upon the water and the cars on the bridge while the silence stretches uncomfortably between them.

"Jim," says Spock at last. "You requested time, but I am coming to the realization that time is not something I possess in unlimited supply."

He knows, Jim realizes then, and suddenly Spock's strange demeanor clicks into place. It's not exactly a massive leap of logic to infer that Jim's taking the Enterprise, but it's only now that he realizes that Spock believes Jim's intention is to leave without him. That stings a bit, because the truth is that the only reason he has any doubts about setting off on another five-year mission that he can't imagine doing it without Spock.

He's spared the need to reply immediately by the arrival of their meals. He's able to pass a few minutes with idle observations about the food, but becomes increasingly aware of the weight of Spock's gaze upon him.

"Goddammit, Spock," Jim sighs when he can stand it no longer. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"It would assist me if you could indicate whether or not I am wasting my time on this endeavor."

They eat in silence a while longer, while Jim runs through possible responses in his mind. In the end he admits, "I have no idea what you're talking about. What endeavor?"

He knows the look Spock gives him then; it's the one he uses whenever Jim is especially illogical. "Come on," Jim prompts when he doesn't say anything. "Enlighten me."

"I see."

"Spock," Jim sighs, "I'm not being deliberately obtuse. You're not as easy to read as you think you are."

"You used to say the reverse."

"I used to say a lot of things," Jim mutters under his breath.

They sit in silence while their table is cleared, and Jim begins to feel restless. He wants to get away from all these people to somewhere they can talk alone.

"Evidently I am in error," says Spock. "You are not obligated to remain."

"Actually," Jim responds, realizing Spock has misinterpreted his furtiveness, "I was just thinking we should finish this conversation at home."

Spock nods his agreement and, despite Jim's protests, pays for the meal. He begins to request that an aircar be procured for them, but Jim interrupts to ask, "Would you mind walking?"

Spock dismisses the waiter with a generous tip and gestures for Jim to lead them out.

They walk in silence for a ways. Jim is lost in thought, remembering all the time he spent, years ago now, trying to win Spock over with quiet evenings spent aboard the ship, or lavish restaurants on shore leave. At the time, it seemed a ludicrously big deal. It's only with the benefit of hindsight that he realizes how carefree he was, back when any failed attempt could be repeated over and again until he got it right, back before he understood what he stood to lose if it all went wrong.

He selects a long route that takes them past the harbor, where rigging clanks rhythmically against the masts of yachts, and from there around to the beach. Spock walks in step beside him, casting occasional sidelong glances towards him but saying nothing.

Eventually, Jim comes to a halt at a point looking out towards the ocean. The hazy glow of the city behind them illuminates the ripples upon the surface of the water, which stretches out before them until it meets the blackness of the sky above. He allows his gaze to drift upwards, where the night sky is peppered with the light of stars hosting other worlds. Only the brightest stars are visible against the light pollution of the city, but he can find the belt of Orion, and from there he follows a line south and west to where, just above the horizon, a star he cannot make out is orbited by a red desert planet. He's spent so much time seeking out that star over the last few years, whenever it rose above the horizon, that he can place it precisely even though it's rarely visible this close to the city.

"Sol is an order of magnitude brighter as seen from the surface of Vulcan," Spock says quietly.

Jim understands that's Spock's way of saying he's looked towards Earth, too. He wonders what thoughts led him to do that, whether he's ever regretted his choice, but it doesn't really matter.

The ocean air is cold on his face. It whips through his hair and makes his eyes sting. He lowers his gaze to the horizon, where the Earth curves around on itself, and feels suddenly, hopelessly trapped.

"I can't stay planetside," Jim says, apropos to nothing.

"I am aware of that."

"So you'd think I'd be itching to get back out there."

"Your lack of enthusiasm has been a source of some confusion to me," Spock admits.

Jim shivers in the chill of the night air. Spock moves closer, but does not try to touch him. "Should we proceed?" Spock asks.

"In a minute." Jim pauses before responding to the earlier point. "I want everything to be as it was."

"Nothing is constant – even the stars that appear stationary are moving at hundreds of kilometers per second."

"Right." Jim turns to face Spock, and finds he is watching him, his expression heavily guarded.

"You are angry with me for leaving."

It's the first time either of them has directly said it, and Jim's so stunned by the abruptness of the statement that all he can say is, "Yes. Why did you leave?"

He regrets asking the moment the words are spoken, but he meets Spock's gaze and holds it firmly, demanding a response even though he thinks he knows the truth of it.

"Jim," Spock begins, but then he falters. His expression darkens, and he hesitantly traces a hand up Jim's arm to his shoulder.

Jim can't feel the touch through his layers of clothing, but he shivers regardless. He remembers this, the proximity and anticipation. It's so tempting to just lean in a little and see if he can still respond to Spock the way he used to, to say that the explanation doesn't matter. It does, though, and even though he knows – or can guess – what happened, he still wants to hear it.

"Jim," Spock starts again, "I did not know… I was ashamed. I have spent my life believing that emotions are a sign of weakness."

"I know that. But you could have just said no."

"It was not your request that troubled me. It was my own response."

"You never did respond."

"The fact that a response was required, then. Or rather, the fact that I had permitted myself to become so entangled with you that the matter was even raised.

"I thought that my time spent among humans had weakened my control. And so I sought to rid myself of that weakness. I believed that the Kolinahr was the answer."

"You could still go back and try it again."

"No," Spock confirms. "I did not simply break the Kolinahr to come to your aid. It was denied to me, because my mind was already too far entwined with that of a human."

"So you failed because of me?"

"Perhaps. Or perhaps that was never my destiny; the factors are irrelevant. The truth I sought at Gol, I found instead from V'Ger. I understand now that a life of pure logic is not one that I desire. I no longer feel any shame in this."

Jim looks at him, and he knows that Spock speaks the truth, can see the earnestness in his eyes. There was a time that Spock's admission of their friendship would have meant everything to him, but now, it is still not enough.

"But you tried," Jim points out. "You tried to rid yourself of me."

"It does not help you to know that I am cognizant of my error, and that I would seek to undo it in any way you might require?"

"It does help," Jim acknowledges. "But it's still not enough."

"I have wronged you."

"Yes."

"I understand," Spock says, although he does not look as though he does.

Jim slowly takes his hand and entwines their fingers. He knows how intimate this gesture is, for a Vulcan, but he needs to feel him. Spock's skin is chilled in the night air, but the touch still warms him. Spock's eyes widen, and Jim thinks he can hear his breath catch.

Jim almost asks, then, how Spock would respond were Jim to put the same question to him now, but he's still afraid. That Spock is willing to accept and admit a feeling of friendship for him is a huge step, and he dare not push too far.

"Come on," Jim says at last. "Let's head home."

In Jim's apartment, they stand shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the sea, and they are silent for long, uncomfortable minutes before Spock says, "Am I too late?"

"It is too late," Jim sighs. "But not in the way you mean." It's too late for both of them, really, for Spock to go back to his Vulcan ideals or for Jim to pretend he can be without him, even with the artificial distance they maintain.

Spock lays a hand on his shoulder and turns them so that they face each other. Jim slowly, reluctantly, looks him in the eye, and immediately wishes he hadn't; he's not sure he can refuse Spock anything right now.

Perhaps Spock knows that, or perhaps he fears the reverse, because he says, "Do you doubt the veracity of what I learned from V'Ger?"

"No."

"Yet still you are distant from me." Spock sounds perplexed, perhaps even frustrated, and Jim allows himself a small smile. Irritation, he hears in his mind, as clearly as though it were spoken yesterday. Ah, one of your human emotions.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Jim blurts, "The Enterprise is leaving soon on another five-year mission."

Spock barely reacts to the news. "I had inferred that was the reason for your meeting with Admiral Nogura."

"The position of Captain has been filled." Jim takes a deep breath and can't quite bring himself to look at Spock as he adds, "I've had numerous applications for the First Officer position."

"That is unsurprising."

"So, should I accept one of them?"

Spock lifts one eyebrow. "That is, of course, your choice," he says. "Though I anticipate that you will receive many more applications now that your assignment is formalized." He pauses and looks unsure before adding, "Would you permit me to submit my candidacy?"

Jim closes his eyes and exhales slowly. "If it was as simple as that I'd have just asked you."

For a while, Spock says nothing, and Jim does not dare to open his eyes. He finds himself reliving that day, two and a half years ago, when he awoke to find that Spock was gone, and each of the days afterwards while he fought to come to terms with how badly he had screwed up.

At last, Spock says, "You would prefer a different first officer?"

"No. I can't imagine having anyone else there."

"Then I do not understand the problem."

"Really?" Jim fixes him with a pointed look. "I've tried, Spock. I've tried to convince myself we can just be this," he waves his hand between them. "But I can't do it. I need more from you."

"What do you need?"

"I thought your memory was 'perfectly adequate'?" Jim says with a mirthless laugh.

"It is. Yet, as you said yourself, many things have changed. I believe I have made my intentions quite clear."

Jim puzzles over that for a moment, but can't figure out what Spock's talking about. "What intentions?"

Spock takes a step towards him and hesitantly lays a hand upon his shoulder. He asks a question with a wordless lift of his eyebrow, and Jim responds by lifting Spock's hand to his face.

Spock needs no further invitation. It's a cheat, Jim knows, a substitute for the type of honesty that requires effort, but this level of intimacy is addictive in its raw, ruthless candor.

He can't just hear Spock, he is Spock, in every way that matters. He can feel everything Spock feels, and right now, above all else, that is guilt. He is rehashing his decision to go to Gol, the abject terror he felt at the overwhelming emotions Jim roused in him, the anxiety that led him to seek solace in the cool temperance of logic; his frustration, his need, when Jim called to him across the light years. His desperation to do anything he can to make amends for that dreadful lapse in judgment.

You wish you had found some other truth from V'Ger, don't you?

Yes, is Spock's reply, because there can be nothing but honesty when their minds are joined. There is no regret in the statement, though; it is simply a truth that is.

Jim knows, because he can feel it, that Spock is still reeling from the revelation that the ideal he has been brought up to achieve, that he has sought his whole life, is empty. That he cannot live without this – this simple feeling - that he shunned through fear.

And then he understands, not through a direct explanation or any sequence of images, but simply knows. The last few weeks, with the dinners and the chess and the casual contact… there's a reason it all seems so familiar.

Of course, Spock knows the moment he's understood, because he shares the thoughts. He gradually eases them out of the meld, and Jim staggers backwards, reeling. He had almost managed to forget how that feels, to be inside Spock's head and to know his thoughts.

Spock's fingers linger on his face, tantalizingly warm. For a moment he holds Jim's gaze, and Jim has the idle thought that sometimes it seems that Spock's eyes go deeper even than the meld.

Spock trails his fingers down Jim's jaw, his neck, and come to rest on his shoulder. Jim gives an involuntary shiver and drops his gaze. Spock is dressed entirely in black; Jim's always thought he looked amazing in black, though he's not sure he's ever told him so.

It takes Jim a moment to recover his breath, still reeling from what he's learned. Spock waits, watching him carefully. There's no hesitation in his eyes, and regardless, Jim knows that it's real. He struggles to process it though, and hears himself confirm aloud, "You've been seducing me."

"In a manner of speaking."

"The same way I seduced you, back then."

"I have limited experience on which to draw."

Jim looks away, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm such an idiot. I had no idea. Is this really what you want?"

"It is what I have always wanted. Why else would it have frightened me?" Spock hesitates before adding, "I was unprepared for your own feelings having changed."

The assumption is like a physical blow to Jim, even though he knows it's not an unreasonable one. "That hasn't changed," Jim insists, almost tripping over the words in his eagerness to ensure that Spock understands this. "When I said I wanted things back the way they were, I meant everything. The ship, the crew, and you." He lowers his voice. "Most of all, you."

When he dares to look at Spock again, he's frowning. "I had drawn the opposite conclusion from your actions over the past weeks," he admits.

Jim gives a rueful laugh. "Like I said, it's not that simple. I didn't know if I could cope with keeping myself in check around you all the time. I'd only frighten you away again."

Spock raises one eyebrow, and that's all the confirmation Jim needs that his worry is no longer relevant; Spock is not simply tolerating his advances this time, he's been actively pursuing him. Even thinking of it makes Jim feel dizzy; he's never imagined for a moment that Spock would ever seek this out, of his own volition.

There's still a kernel of doubt in the corner of his mind, though, that will not allow him to accept this so easily. Cautiously, he adds, "I also wasn't sure you'd want to. You seem to like teaching."

"I do find teaching fulfilling," Spock confirms. "Perhaps I may yet return to it some day, but I do not believe we have accomplished all that we might."

Jim moves towards him, idly running one hand along Spock's arm. He barely dares to believe this is real, but he forces himself to voice the question he's been longing to ask. "So you'll rejoin the Enterprise?"

Spock's response is to gather him closer and swoop upon him with a bruising kiss. Jim succumbs without a thought, slipping his arms around Spock's waist and responding as fiercely as he knows how.

In the intervening years, he's forgotten how pliant Spock's lips are against his, how strange it feels to lean up to him, and how hot Spock's body feels against him. It feels new and familiar at the same time, and Jim spends some time simply exploring.

He allows his hands to wander, slipping underneath Spock's shirt to caress heated skin. Spock reacts by deepening the kiss, a sound that is almost a moan escaping from his throat. He pulls away abruptly, his breathing heavy.

"Was that your application?" Jim laughs, his head spinning.

Spock's eyebrow quirks. "Forgive me. I had not intended to… force the issue."

Jim sighs and leans into him, resting his forehead against Spock's shoulder. Spock goes still, but then hesitantly slips his arms around Jim's waist and rests his chin in Jim's hair.

Jim breathes in deeply. Spock's scent awakens memories he's never quite put to rest. He sighs and murmurs, "I've missed this."

Even as the words slip out, he feels ridiculous, but then Spock draws him closer and he suddenly can't remember why this seemed so complicated.

"As have I," Spock replies, and Jim shudders at the raw honesty in his voice.

Jim takes Spock's hand in his and gently caresses long fingers with his own. It's been years since they did this, but the memory is vivid. His fingers run up the length of Spock's, then over and down the inside, keeping the touch to that tantalizing brush of skin that causes a tingle to run along the length of his arm. He hears Spock's breath catch, and that soft sound goes straight to his groin. He lifts his head from Spock's shoulder and captures his lips in a frantic open-mouthed kiss.

It's a slightly awkward position – Jim finds it requires concentration to keep up the steady motion of his hand while kissing Spock so fiercely – but he cannot stop, not when he can feel the way his touch is making Spock quiver.

It is Spock, in the end, who pulls his hand away. Jim's about to protest, but then he feels Spock's hands slide under his shirt, and his cock fills out even further. Spock's hands are warm, and his touch is like an electric current dancing across Jim's skin.

By some unspoken mutual accord, they break off the kiss for long enough to remove each other's shirts, before resuming with renewed purpose. Jim runs his hands over Spock's back and sides and then up his chest, desperately seeking to convince himself that this is real.

Spock's hands, too, are all over Jim, as though Spock is intent on relearning every inch of his skin by touch. Jim moans his encouragement into the kiss, and Spock responds by scraping a nail across a nipple. Jim pulls away with a small cry.

"Shit," Jim gasps. "You haven't forgotten a thing, have you?"

Spock inclines his head and looks almost affronted, though that is belied by the softness in his eyes. "My memory is quite flawless."

Jim grins and runs his fingers over the green-tinged tip of a pointed ear. "Of course it is. So you recall what comes next?"

"Vividly," Spock replies, the word almost a sigh. His fingers trace reverent paths over Jim's shoulders and upper arms, and his expression becomes uncertain. "Do you wish me to proceed?"

With a smirk, Jim presses his full erection against Spock's hip. "I'm hoping that's your plan."

Spock's response is unprecedented in its passion; he pulls Jim against him and kisses him with a force that is quite literally breathtaking. They stagger in the direction of the bedroom, discarding their remaining clothing along the way, and then Spock scoops him into his arms and deposits him onto the bed.

Jim gives a delighted laugh and beckons for Spock to join him, but Spock remains standing by the side of the bed a moment longer, just looking at him.

Jim fights the urge to squirm under the scrutiny, all too aware that his age has begun to show in the time he's been planetside. Spock does not look critical, though; his eyes are so heated that Jim feels he may melt beneath them. Jim allows his own gaze to travel over the entire length of Spock's body; he is thinner now than Jim recalls, and his face is beginning to show the passage of years, but Jim does not believe he has ever looked more perfect. His eyes settle at last on Spock's crotch, where his cock is thick and hard and flushed a dark green. Jim licks his lips hungrily, the memory of scent and taste overwhelming him.

At last, Spock ceases his study; he rests one knee on the side of the bed and swings the other over so that he's straddling Jim. He remains there, barely touching but for the contact between their thighs, his head tilted to the side as his gaze rakes over Jim's body. Frustrated, Jim arches his back, but Spock leans forward, grips his hips and holds him down.

"Dammit, Spock, are you trying to drive me crazy?" Jim groans.

"That is the general idea," says Spock quite agreeably.

Jim traces his hands up Spock's legs to his hips, then slides around to cup his ass. Spock's erection twitches in response to his touch, and then, finally he moves. It's only a very slow, gentle rocking, but it brings their cocks into contact in a way that sends shivers over every inch of Jim's skin.

Spock's hands are everywhere, tracing over every inch of Jim's chest, his shoulders, then running down his arms, as though he wants to feel out every part of him. At first, Jim tries to keep up, but it's so intoxicating, the way the slightest touch of Spock's fingers can cause his nerves to tingle.

It was never like this before, he thinks. Spock was always passive, never took control. That he gained pleasure from their encounters was undeniable, but he never openly delighted in the act the way he appears to be doing now.

"You are overthinking," Spock rasps.

"You're criticizing me for thinking?" Jim laughs.

Spock lifts his eyebrow, and then, quite without warning, dives down and engulfs Jim's cock in his mouth.

Jim lets out a yell of surprise and, before he can stop himself, bucks into Spock's mouth. Spock slips his hands around to cup Jim's ass, holding him in position while he drives him to the brink by sucking in just the way Jim loves, then pressing his tongue to that point that makes him whimper. Jim grabs fistfuls of the sheets and makes helpless keening sounds as heat tears through his body.

Spock was never like this before, either; always dependable and predictable when they were alone. Back then, Jim assumed that was just the price of being with a Vulcan; it's only now he realizes just how much Spock was holding back.

Spock abruptly pulls off of him, causing Jim to cry out in frustration. He's about to order Spock to get back to work, when he catches his eye and is startled by the intensity he sees there.

"Jim, do you have any substances that may serve as lubrication?"

Jim smiles, because the green flush of his skin belies the calmness in his voice. "Bathroom cabinet, top shelf."

Spock runs one hand down the length of Jim's torso, and then slips away. Jim slumps back on the bed, his breathing heavy and his head spinning. He's so sure that he's going to wake up any moment, yet he can feel the way his skin tingles where Spock has touched him, can smell Spock's lingering scent.

And then Spock's there again, covering his body and kissing him fiercely. Jim tries to hold onto him, but Spock is determined and stronger than he is, so Jim gives in.

With mouth and hands, Spock covers every inch of him, until Jim is trembling and pleading. Only then does he delve between his legs and slide slickened fingers back to tease at the entrance to his body.

Jim lifts up his knees and pushes back against Spock's finger, desperate for more, but Spock holds back, watching his face as though he's waiting for something.

"Do you want me to beg?" Jim groans. "Because I will. Whatever you want, just…please…"

He's startled by how swiftly Spock's finger slips inside him. He clenches around it, wanting to feel it, and a shiver runs down his spine.

Spock takes an age to prepare him, as though it's an end in itself. Every so often, he adds a swipe of his tongue against the head of Jim's cock, or takes his balls into his mouth, until Jim is quivering in need and pushing shamelessly against him.

Spock is twisting three fingers inside of him when Jim finally snaps. "Dammit, Spock, I'm ready – I've been ready for a geological age. Won't you just get on with it?"

"You find this pleasurable," says Spock.

"No I –" Jim slumps back and groans as he realizes what Spock's talking about; in the years that have passed, he's managed to forget just how much Spock can pick up through touch. "That's cheating."

He was going for indignant, but it comes out pleading. It has the desired effect, though; Spock wraps one lubricated hand around himself, and then, in one swift motion, replaces fingers with hot, hard cock.

Jim lets out an incoherent moan and grabs at Spock's hips. Spock looms over him, holding still for a moment while Jim adjusts. He can evidently tell when he does, because only then does he start slowly sliding out.

Impatient, Jim tries to guide him into a faster pace by tugging on his hips and bucking into him, but Spock resists. There is an enraptured expression on his face that Jim has never seen before, not in any of the time they've done this. He longs to know what Spock's thinking, but realizes that he never permitted a meld during sex before.

He decides to try his luck anyway; he laces his fingers with Spock's and lifts their joined hands to his face.

"Are you certain?" says Spock on an uneven breath.

"Yes."

It's nothing like their other melds. There's no gentle interlacing of minds; this is an onslaught of emotion and sensation such that Jim has never felt before.

Jim understands now why Spock has never permitted this before, because right now his mind is as disordered as any human's. He senses indignation from Spock, and then the mental equivalent of laughter that's his own, and then all is lost beneath a fierce torrent of desire.

He's aware that Spock has picked up the pace, but the sensations are so unfamiliar that he cannot say exactly what is happening; he feels as though he is thrusting hard, feels every rush of heat and possession that incites, yet he is also lying back, being held down and slammed into.

The intensity is overwhelming, and all too soon he feels the impending rush of inevitable climax. He tries to hold back, but it as though his skin, blood and bones are aflame; he can feel it from his scalp to his toes, and then it's crashing over him, leaving him shuddering and crying out.

He feels a strange flickering sensation in his mind, like a vidscreen drifting in and out of focus, and then he's alone in his head. Spock has collapsed atop him, still shaking and gasping for breath. Jim holds him close and breathes, "Wow."

"I apologize," says Spock. "I was unable to maintain the meld any longer."

"That's fine." Jim rolls them over so that he can drape himself over Spock. "Just means we have to practice more."

"Later."

"Yeah," Jim yawns and tucks his head against Spock's shoulder. "Later."

*

Jim awakens slowly. After weeks of sleeping on the couch, he's unused to the luxury of a real bed, and he stretches out and gives a contented sigh.

He rolls to his side and catches Spock's scent, and the memory of last night comes flooding back. He cannot contain his giddy grin as he moves closer to it.

The instant he realizes the bed is empty, it is as though he has been dealt a swift kick in the stomach. He shoots up to a seated position and quickly scans the room, but Spock is nowhere to be seen.

Fighting not to dwell on how dumb he is, he leaps out of bed and throws open the bedroom door.

He's immediately assaulted by the aroma of fresh coffee and then, just as his harried breathing is returning to normal, Spock appears in the kitchen doorway. He raises his eyebrow and casts an obviously appraising glance over Jim's naked body, and Jim laughs despite himself.

His heart still hammering, Jim shrugs on a bathrobe and leans against the doorjamb. "You know for a genius, you're a bit of an idiot."

"I apologize." Spock crosses the room slowly and hands him his coffee before explaining, "If you recall, I require less sleep than you do. I thought it wise to use the time to compose an application for a position on a new mission."

Jim's grin falters when he realizes that Spock's expression is carefully guarded. "Why do I sense a 'but' coming?"

"Jim, there is something we should have discussed sooner."

Jim's nerves return, multiplied tenfold. He covers it by slipping past Spock into the living room and pacing over to the window. Spock follows him, pausing just behind his right shoulder.

When Spock makes no move to explain, Jim glares out of the window and says, "Go on."

Spock pauses a moment before slowly explaining, "At the end of our last five-year mission, you made a request of me."

Jim squeezes his eyes shut as his stomach feels as though it's plummeting to the floor. As if he needs reminding of that.

"At the time, I could not comply," Spock continues. "Much has changed, however, and I now find that, prior to embarking on a second mission, I wish to make the same request of you."

Jim spins on his heel, gaping. "What?"

"If you are willing, I wish to bond with you according to the custom of each of our worlds."

At first, all Jim can do is stare at him, too stunned even to feel anything. Then laughter rises unbidden from his chest. He flings his arms around Spock's neck and declares, "Well, it's about time."